Gods of Green Mountain (16 page)

Ras-Far walked again on the long terrace, looking now in another direction. Through the transparent dome, he could look now beyond the city, out over the vast wild spaces still untamed and uncivilized. El Sod-a-Por still lived out there. It was still the same arid and barren, sterile rocky land that had beaten down his ancestors, so they fell in exhaustion at the first darkness. No time, and no energy left over from the struggle for daily existence to think of wars, of coveting what your neighbor had. They had shed some blood in sacrificial offerings to the Gods in the beginning, but that had been done in good faith, reluctantly, not in joy, or sensual pleasure in giving pain.

He stared now at the same Scarlet Mountains, jagged and rough, and that same single Green Mountain was there, so rounded and smooth. The home of Gods. Wonder who had dreamed that up? Perhaps he should pray more, have more faith, really believe Gods lived there. In every folklore tale there was some grain of truth hidden beneath all the nonsense.

Out there the burran trees still groveled to the ground; the sparse growth of the vegetation wouldn't cover his dinner plate. Could anyone, in all truth, really desire to return to that? True, the storms had abated and withdrawn somewhat. But that could be just an illusion, because they were shielded and so well protected, and the fierceness of the storms couldn't easily be determined when one sat comfortably ensconced watching the wall-reflectors' colorful entertainment.

A small delicate hand covered his that rested on the railing, twining her slim fingers in between his thick blunt ones. Sharita asked in a soft voice, "Where did we go wrong, Father? Why do they hate us so much?"

These same questions haunted his nights, and prowled his feet restlessly through the long palace corridors, seeking answers for riddles of the past. He had his own private theory that he had discussed with his cabinet ministers a few days ago. They had nodded, depressingly agreeing that his hypothesis could be the correct one.

It began way back, in the time after the Founder Far-Awn first discovered the miraculous pufars. Caught up in the exhilarating momentum of the event, and all that followed, not one person on Upper Sod-a-Por had thought to crawl through those long and dark maze of tortuous tunnels to reach the lower borderlands. It had been so many years since the last killing journey had been made by either side, the lower people seemed unreal and shadowed in memory. Always it had been a treacherous journey, risking one's life with the dangers of the dim-despairs that were lurking, always ready to creep upon one who stayed too long underground.

When the trip was finally made--a courier sent by Far-Awn--he carried with him a torch made of the star-flower seeds that couldn't be extinguished by the cold sweeping drafts that constantly whistled through the eerie tunnels. This news bearer had taken with him as much of the pufar fruit as possible, and many packets of seeds.

While those of the lower regions were only starting their first crops of pufars, already those on the upper borderlands were living in villages protected from the storms.

The fruit and the seeds had been accepted gratefully. Quickly the crops of pufars produced fruit, and soon all down there were delighted to be well fed at last. No one there had questioned why the seeds and fruit had not been brought sooner; they seemed to understand they had been only overlooked in the thrill and excitement of so much good luck all at once. Never could those of the lowerlands catch up with the advances made by the first planters. What discoveries they made were only a repeat of what had been discovered before. What uses they found for the pufars were already surpassed by the first innovators. The Lower Dorrainians didn't have the thrill of inventing, the excitement of originally creating. They were not the explorers; they were only the tag-alongs.

Their cities never reached the magnificent splendor of those on the upperlands. Through the years an attitude developed: "The younger son would never reach the goals of achievement set by the elder, for he had a head start." Readily they gave into their own pronouncement, their own judgment, and accepted the role of the follower, not the leader. Upper Dorraine happily, confidently led the way, and not selfishly. Each and every success they shared with their less adventuresome brothers. The people of Lower Dorraine did not have to expend their intellectual capacities and physical energies devising methods to do things better and more efficiently. Upper Dorraine did that for them.

So Upper Dorraine became the working and thinking machine, and Lower Dorraine became the pleasure-seeking beneficiary. In the pursuit of self-gratification, however, Lower Dorraine became the acknowledged leader. Its cities took on a holiday design and a carnival atmosphere. The people stopped trying to compete with the upperlands in science, manufacturing, agriculture, but they developed instead thousands of ways to be entertained while being indolent. In their joyful, carefree pursuit of pleasure, they didn't have the time or inclination to keep their homes and buildings in repair. Their once rich and bright cities declined into a kind of slovenly, garish, former grandeur.

Each year that passed added to the differences between the two halves of the same whole. Between them a strained, annoyed relationship developed, like a once happy family split by bitter quarrels over minor issues. To be regarded with good-humored indulgence, however brotherly concerned, was considered by the Lowers as patronizing condescension. The recipients became bitter, angry; the bestower became bewildered, wondering why generosity had become a thing to cause animosity.

Now, in his own reign, King Ras-Far had to concede that the covert antagonism was out in the open, needle sharp and pricking! He wondered how many days would pass before the needles became knives, and the needle pricks, open bloody wounds. Already several minor provinces were battling over trifling issues, such as fences, and an inch or two of ground. El Dorraine had not known a real war, not in Far-Awn's long reign. And not in his time would Ras-Far allow blood spilled on the ground to spoil the God-given blessings that were theirs.

His long, grim face made the princess place her hand consolingly on his arm, interrupting Ras-Far's flowing river of anxieties. "Father, you look so troubled and sad. Is the situation really that serious? Hate was much too strong a word for me to use. Maybe only dislike would be more appropriate." She smiled and looked at him with so much loving warmth, Ras-Far smiled too.

"And Father, I will go to that ball after all. To take that sad grim look from your face, and give you perhaps happier days ahead, I will be as sweet as honeyed jelly to one and all! Hidden inside of me is a whole storage bin of grace and charm that shall radiate throughout the ballroom. I've been saving it for something special, and maybe this is the occasion. The shining light of my favor will erase completely the thoughts I've overheard some express, that your daughter is haughty and arrogant, remote and cold, without sensitivity or heart."

Both of the king's large hands were caught in her small ones, and she whirled him around the terrace.

"I will dance with every country bumpkin, and flirt with every petty official, even if he has warts on his chin, and hair flowing from his nose. I will be so dazzling that only son of the bakaret from Rai-Caitin, will feel a flame of desire for me blaze so raging high it will never be blown out, even from the fiercest winds sent from both bays!"

"There is no reason for you to pump your balloon so high, Sharita," Ras-Far stated drily, though secretly he was amused and pleased. "Just being your normal polite and friendly self will be sufficient."

"Normal and polite friendly self--when, if ever, did that kind of personality ensnare a man, especially one of his ilk?"

"Ilk?" snapped Ras-Far. "They are not barbarians--they only wish to make us think they are! And don't you dare try to ensnare that poor boy--that is the last complication I want. You know I don't want you to marry one of them."

Sharita laughed at the paradox Ras-Far gave her. "But I thought that was the purpose of this ball. And I think you are much too generous with them, Father. Personally, I consider them uncivilized, degenerate, and uncouth--why they possibly even smell bad!"

For the first time in many days, the king threw back his head and roared with laughter; delighted to see his daughter so animated and alive--even if it was only in bad temper, for it made her human. This way she wasn't a cold, detached, remote princess on a pedestal.

"My dear girl, to my knowledge, you have never met a person from Lower Dorraine. How can you possibly know what they are like?"

"People talk, Father, and I do have ears. The news-reflector shows, Father, and I do have eyes. And with the knowledge gained by my ears and eyes, I do have a brain that can assimilate facts and form conclusions."

This time Ras-Far refused to be charmed, and he spoke with gravity: "Now, I am very serious, Sharita. This is not a matter of levity, and I am going to speak to you honestly. You are a beautiful, intelligent, and charming person--when you choose to be. Unfortunately, you don't often choose to be. You are much too exclusive here on your high pinnacle with your little pets for friends. Your apartment sees too much of you, and we on the lower levels see too little. Come down and join us, maybe you'll discover those that live on lower levels are not mere insects, but as intelligent and human as you are. Let our peoples know you, learn to know them; after all, one day you will be their queen." He turned his eyes away, for she appeared hurt, injured by the one person she fully trusted.

"And Sharita, never pass your judgment on anyone, or anything, until you yourself have seen and listened with those so-observing eyes, and so-discerning ears. Seek the truth for yourself, and ignore the gossip and rumors, and what you see on the news-reflector. Remember that it too can be biased in our favor, since we control it. And when your eyes and ears have given you the facts, use your heart as well as your brain when you draw conclusions. Try sometimes putting yourself in the place of a Lower Dorrainian, and thinking abut us from their vantage point. We are inclined to think of the Founder as all perfect. But Grandfather Far-Awn was only human too. He made mistakes. When he came back with the pufars, immediately a delegation should have been sent underground to the lowerlands, taking with them a huge supply of the fruit and seeds. Instead, everyone here became so enthralled with the good life that those poor starving people below us were completely forgotten. I can't blame them for feeling some resentment. We should have worked together in those first days, growing side by side in equal ratio. If we could turn back the clock and do things over, that's the way I would have it."

During all of this, Sharita bowed her head, feeling contrite and ashamed. When her father finished speaking, she raised her head with tears in her eyes. "You are right, Father, about everything. I will try to be different, and see their point of view." Through her tears she smiled radiantly, throwing her arms about Ras-Far and looking up into his face. "You are a very wise man, and deserve to be king. I hope you reign forever!"

Ras-Far looked down at her lovely face, a queer queasiness in the pit of his stomach. Forever was such a long, long time.

That night, Ras-Far and La Bara sat on twin golden thrones on a dais at the far end of a mammoth oval ballroom. Stylized versions of the fluted pufar leaves shaped the high backs of the thrones, and clever carvings of the puhlet features designed the arms and legs of the splendid gleaming chairs.

La Bara wore the scarlet gown, though it did make her look greener, and she was magnificently royal in her shimmering gown, her sparkling jewels, and the high diamond crown. Beneath that impressive crown was the reddest and thickest hair in all of Upper and Lower El Dorraine.

The slick, mirror-bright floor was of iridescent crystal, rocks that abounded naturally all over the wild countryside. Chains of sparkling raindrop crystals were draped across the spacious room, casting and reflecting the glimmerings of ten thousand burning candles, for it was agreed by everyone there were no lights as romantic and festive as candles burning. Triple tiers of balconies rimmed the oval room, and three flights of winged spiraling staircases fanned gracefully to the three levels. Crimson, scarlet, rose, and pink flowers were banked in lush profusion under tall gold-framed mirrors. The footmen and official palace guards wore brilliant uniforms of red, gold, and white. Red was the color of the evening's decor, to flatter the queen's scarlet gown.

Splendid white marble columns rose to towering heights to support a vaulted ceiling painted with murals. But there were skylight openings in between the colorful scenes so the purple-plum heavens could be seen. The sky glittered with twinkling stars. The tiny triple moons beamed their rays of bluish green silver, gilding each rooftop, leaf, and petal.

Beautifully gowned women danced in the arms of equally glorious males, for a palace ball was the time to wear the best one had. Lilting music played from the first balcony orchestra, while two other orchestras awaited their turns.