Below the Root

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  Easing past Raamo, Neric began to circle the tunnel mouth, silently motioning for Raamo to follow. At a fever pitch of excitement, they continued to circle, their eyes glued to the dark opening. The cloud column twisted slowly upward, but nothing else stirred in the gaping tunnel mouth. When they had circled back to their starting place and retreated to a safe distance, Neric spoke.

  “Come,” he said. “Let’s move on before we are poisoned. We have seen what is to be seen here.”

  Dropping another fern frond, Neric altered their course in order to skirt the cloud column. They had gone only a short distance when the path curved, leading them close to the trunk of an enormous grund. The path seemed to circle the trunk, and they were halfway around it when Raamo suddenly stopped and stood still. A few feet ahead, Neric heard him gasp and turned back.

  “What is it?” Neric asked.

  Raamo was standing stiffly, staring down a path that turned off to the right. It was a narrower fainter path, and it led directly between two enormous mushrooms and on into a dense thicket of fern and Vine-stem. The air was suddenly heavy with a sultry sweetness, and Neric realized that the odor was coming from a bush that grew just to the right of the pathway. The bush was heavily covered with bloom of a deep rich shade of purple.

  “This is the place,” Raamo whispered so softly that Neric was not sure that he had heard correctly.

  “The place?” he asked. “What place?”

  “In my dream. I dreamed about this place and—” Raamo stopped, listening intently, but there was not the slightest sound.

  “And what?” Neric shook Raamo’s arm, his round eyes darting nervously.

  “There was a call, a cry for help,” Raamo said.

  “I hear nothing.”

  “Nor I—no wait!” Shutting out the sensations of eyes and ears, Raamo turned his Spirit-force inward to concentrate on receiving in mind-touch, and almost immediately he became aware of it—a faint and indistinct sending that seemed to come from a great distance. Someone, somewhere was sending a weak and wordless plea for help. Then, just as in the dream, Raamo plunged forward down the dim pathway.

  The path curved and turned, and in the dim light Raamo stumbled frequently, but he scarcely noticed. Nor did he react to the fact that Neric, hurrying after him, was continually grabbing at him and urging him to stop and explain. Everything—Neric, the rough pathway, even the fear that still gripped his chest—faded into the background as the cry for help grew louder and more insistent. They had been running for several minutes when the path broke out of the thicket into a small clearing surrounding an enormous grundtrunk. Cowering against the base of the tree, her face contorted with fear, her arms lifted as if to ward them off, was a small child.

  As Raamo’s own panic subsided, an urgent curiosity took its place. He stared at the strange sight before him, exchanged bewildered glances with Neric, and stared again. The child still cowered, tears streaming down her face, and her whole body trembling visibly.

  She was definitely a Kindar child, perhaps six or seven years of age, and perfectly normal in bodily appearance, except for her unusually dark skin. She was dressed, however, in a very strange fashion. Instead of a silken shuba, she was wearing a close-fitting garment made of material that resembled the fur of an animal. The fur was, in texture, so short and fine, and the garment fit the child’s small body so closely, that for a moment Raamo thought it was her own skin. At her throat and from her ears there dangled strands of a hard-surfaced material that Raamo now recognized as metal, and among these strands were sparkling particles that caught the light like sunlit raindrops.

  Perhaps it was because her fear was so apparent, so intense and profound, that it seemed to fill the air around her with a tangible force, that Raamo was slow to realize he was actually pensing her. He knew, of course, that she was frightened; but it took him a little time to realize that his knowledge of her fright was greater and more specific than his eyes and ears could have told him. When he did awaken to the possibility and made a conscious effort to center his Spirit-force on her, he was able to pense clearly that she was begging, pleading, for mercy. He did not pense her pleas in exact words or phrases; but her sending was strong and vivid, and almost without hope.

  “Do not fear us,” he sent in return. “We will not harm you.”

  The child continued to cower, but her eyes turned searchingly to his. Stepping closer he took her wrist. She cringed at his touch, but he pressed his palm to hers and repeated the sending. Her eyes searched his, and al though she still shrank away from him, her sobs began to slacken.

  “Can you pense her?” Neric asked.

  Raamo nodded.

  “She can speak then?”

  “I don’t know. I pensed feeling only—no words.”

  “You know what she is, don’t you?” Neric asked. “She must be a slave child. A kidnapped Kindar. She must have been captive since she was a very young infant, poor thing.”

  “But how is it that she is free now?” Raamo said. “How is it that she is above the Root?”

  “I don’t know. Unless it is true that the Root is withering, and there is somewhere an opening large enough for a child of her size to pass through. What was it that you pensed?”

  “Only that she fears us and begs not to be harmed.”

  Neric nodded. “We must be very strange and frightening to her. She does not know what we are.”

  As they were speaking, the girl’s eyes darted between their faces. Now, suddenly, she lifted her hand and, pointing at the seal on Neric’s shuba she spoke. Although her voice shook with sobs, and she pronounced her vowels strangely in a slurring singsong, the words were unmistakable. “Are you not Ol-zhaan?” she asked.

  Raamo and Neric stared at her in astonishment.

  “Yes, we are Ol-zhaan,” Neric said. “And are you not a Kindar child who has been held captive by the Pash-shan?” He reached out and put his hand on the girl’s head. “You must not fear us,” he said. “We are of your kind, and we would not harm you.” He turned away to Raamo. “How do you suppose she learned to speak? Unless some of the fallen children have been old enough to have learned speech and have taught the others.”

  “Or else the Pash-shan speak as we do.”

  “I suppose that is possible,” Neric said. “I can’t remember being taught anything concerning their manner of speech. But I had always thought of them as being incapable of speaking as humans do.”

  It was just then that a small furry creature similar to the one they had seen earlier appeared at their feet and, with one bound, leaped into the child’s outstretched arms.

  “Look,” Raamo said. “It is tame.” He crouched, bringing his head to the same level as the child’s. Reaching out he touched the soft fur of the little animal. “Is it yours?” he asked, smiling. “What is it called?”

  “It’s my lapan,” she said. “His name is Haba.”

  “Haba,” Raamo repeated, stroking the animal’s head.

  “And what is your name?”

  “Teera. My name is Teera.”

  Neric touched Raamo’s shoulder. “Come,” he said. “It is not safe here. We must—” he stopped, staring at the little girl in consternation. “What are we to do?” he said. “We can’t leave her.”

  “No,” Raamo said, “and it would be wrong to take her with us into danger. I think we must take her to safety as quickly as we can and come back again later to search further.”

  Neric sighed. “But it will be many days before there is another free time when we can get away and not be missed. And we have learned nothing yet.”

  “Perhaps we have,” Raamo said. He motioned toward the child and, speaking softly behind his hand, said, “She has lived among them, and we have found that she can speak. Who knows what she may be able to tell us?”

  “That is true,” Neric said. “You are right, Raamo. We will take her back with us, and when she is used to us we will question her carefully and—but where will we take her? If she goes w
ith us to the temple, we will have to explain everything. We will have to admit that we have been to the forest floor. That would ruin everything and might be very dangerous for us all. Unless we could find a deserted chamber and hide her there...

  “No,” Raamo said. “She would be lonely and afraid. She must be with others who will treat her kindly and—I have it. I know where she can be taken.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  IT WAS ALMOST DARK before Raamo and Neric and the slave child, Teera, reached the lowest level of Grandgrund. As they crouched on a leafy side branch within sight of the nid-place of the D’ok family, Raamo’s legs were trembling from exhaustion. The journey back from the place where they had found Teera had been unexpectedly difficult and time-consuming.

  From the first moment, although they had explained carefully that they were taking her to a safe place where she would be treated kindly, the child had been reluctant to accompany them. She had hung back, refusing to take even the first step, while Raamo and then Neric took turns trying to overcome her fear by telling her about the kind and gentle people who would care for her. She listened and seemed to understand, but said nothing, and continued to pull away from them when they tried gently to lead her away.

  At last she said, “Can I take Haba?”

  “Haba?” Neric said. “Oh, the little animal? Yes, of course you can take him.”

  She regarded Neric intently, her long dark-lashed eyes still liquid from her recent tears. “They won’t eat him, will they?”

  “Eat him?” Neric’s lips curled in disgust. “Eat an animal? Of course not.” He turned to look at Raamo, his face contorted with horror and pity.

  Giving her pet to Neric to hold, Teera held out her hands to Raamo. “Tell me,” she said. “Tell me this way.”

  With palm and eye touch, Raamo sent, “You and Haba will be welcomed with great kindness. No one in Green-sky would think of eating your pet.”

  But Teera shook her head, and her return sending was one of bewilderment. Raamo tried again, this time sending only a wordless assurance of truth and good faith. This Teera understood. A tiny smile touched her tear-stained face and, reclaiming her lapan, she at last moved forward.

  They walked in single file along the dark thicket pathway, past the cloud-breathing tunnel mouth and then, by following the frond markers, back to the thick stand of Vine-stem down which they had climbed. But having reached the route to safety, they encountered new and unanticipated complications. It was obvious that the makeshift Vine ladder would be hard enough to climb with both hands free, so it was necessary, first of all, to devise some kind of carrier for the lapan. After some experimenting and much looping and tying, the green tabard that marked Raamo as a novice was converted into a carrying pouch large enough to accommodate the small animal.

  As Raamo and Neric worked on the pouch, Teera watched with interest but apparently with no understanding of what lay behind their actions. For, when the pouch was finished and the lapan placed inside it, and Raamo began to climb up the Vine, her reaction was shocked surprise—and panic.

  “No, no,” she cried, when she saw that she was expected to climb behind him. “I cannot. I’m afraid. I will fall.”

  “Hush! Hush!” Neric whispered, glancing around in fear that her voice might have attracted the attention of the Pash-shan. “Come back down and talk to her, Raamo. She doesn’t want to climb.”

  She would have to climb. There was no other way, since she was too large for them to carry. But convincing the once more tearful Teera of the fact was a long and arduous process. Raamo and Neric argued, reasoned, and reassured in turn, with one of them talking and pleading while the other stood watch, fearfully searching the deepening shadows around them. At last she agreed to try—and the climbing began.

  The climb went on—and on—and on. Every few feet Teera would panic and, clutching blindly, would refuse to loosen so much as a finger to reach for the next hold. Then Raamo would have to work his way back down to her—or Neric work his way up—gently loosen her grip and guide her hands upward. Starting, stopping, comforting and cajoling, they progressed a few inches at a time, until at last they reached the level of the first grund-branches. There another crisis occurred.

  In the lead, Raamo had climbed up to a level slightly above the branch and then glided easily down to light on its broad surface. But when he stood at the edge and reached out toward Teera, she refused to jump the small gap between their reaching hands. It was not until he had collected some Vine tendrils, which Neric then tied carefully around her waist, that he was able to pull her across to safety.

  Collapsed on the broad surface of the deserted grund-branch, Neric stared at the still sobbing Teera. “Great Sorrow!” he exclaimed. “I almost wish we’d left her to the mercy of the Pash-shan. I’m exhausted.”

  “And I also,” Raamo said. “But her fear is to be expected, I suppose. Openness and heights are as frightening to her as dark airless tunnels would be to us. And perhaps in the depths of her mind there is some memory of her fall to the forest floor. She was probably injured by the fall—and then to have been seized and pulled down into the earth by such fearful creatures—it is no wonder that the fear of falling causes her such great mind-pain.”

  “True,” Neric said, grinning ruefully. “There can be no doubt that fear can cause great mind-pain, and other pains as well.” Gingerly he touched a bruised and swollen lip with the tip of his finger. “On the Vine,” he explained in answer to Raamo’s questioning look, “during one of her spasms of mind-pain, she kicked me full in the mouth.” He rose to his feet, sighing. “We still have to get her down some narrow sidebranches if we are to reach your parents’ nid-place unobserved. We had best be going. Darkness will soon be upon us.”

  Thus it was that Raamo and Neric and a weary tear-stained girl child crouched behind sheltering grundleaves and watched the last straggling Kindar hurrying to their nid-places as darkness fell. When the branchpath was at last deserted, they struggled to their feet and, with Teera between them, hurried down the branch and burst into the common room of the D’ok nid-place.

  The room was empty, but sounds of voices came from the hall leading to the pantry. Raamo recognized his mother’s voice and that of the helper, Ciela.

  “I will take Teera to Pomma’s chamber,” he whispered. “When we are gone, you call and announce your presence to my mother. Then bring her with you to Pomma’s chamber.”

  If Hearba was surprised to find the young priest of healing, D’ol Neric, in her common room so close to the time of rainfall, she carefully hid it, out of politeness and respect. But when, on entering her daughter’s chamber, she found Raamo, holding Pomma in his arms, with a weirdly clad girl child standing beside him, her careful calm was lost completely—first to Joy, and then to shock and consternation.

  “Raamo,” she cried joyously and then, “Why are you here? You were not to visit us during the first year of your novitiate. What is it? What has happened?”

  There was no time for lengthy explanations. There was no time even to call Valdo D’ok from his nid-chamber where he was resting before the evening food-taking. Neric explained briefly that the girl had been a slave of the Pash-shan, only recently rescued, and that she must be sheltered and kept secure and secret until such time as he or Raamo returned for her.

  Keeping his face under strict control, forcing a false smile to hide his grief over her worsened condition, Raamo hugged Pomma a last time and carried her back to her nid. “Remember Pomma,” he whispered, “I will need your help in keeping Teera’s presence a secret. And in keeping her content and happy here in our home.”

  “Is she really going to stay here with us?” Pomma asked. “Is she to live here with me in my chamber?”

  Raamo nodded.

  “But what of Ciela?” Hearba asked. “She will surely have to see the child.”

  ”I will speak to her now,” Neric said. “I will tell her the child’s presence here is approved by the Ol-zhaan, and that she must no
t speak of it to anyone. But Ciela must not see you here, Raamo, so while I am speaking to her, you must wait for me in the entryway. We must hurry, for we have far to go if we are to approach the Temple-grove from the outer forest. And the rain has already begun.”

  Turning to his mother, Raamo took time for only the briefest palm-touch before he hurried across the common room and out into the darkness and softly falling rain.

  The journey back to the grove was long, uncomfortable and frightening. Stumbling through the wet darkness along slippery branchpaths, Raamo and Neric finally arrived on the outskirts of the grove, just in time to be trapped there by a belated group of Ol-zhaan making their way from the great hall to their chambers. At last the stragglers disappeared and, waving a silent good-bye to Neric, Raamo made his way across the public branch-path and darted into the branchends, where Neric’s secret route led him to the roof of the novice hall. A few minutes later he dropped softly down onto the balcony of his chamber and crept wet and trembling through the window.

  A dozen days passed before another free afternoon made it possible for Raamo to return again, secretly, to the house of his parents. In the meantime, however, Neric was able to visit the D’ok’s nid-place three times, as a part of his ministry of healing in the city of Orbora. Following each of these visits he was able to arrange brief meetings with Raamo to tell him what he had learned.

  “You should see her,” he told Raamo, during a meeting in their trysting place behind the curtain of Vine near the Temple Hall. “They have dressed her in one of your sister’s shubas and arranged her hair more normally, and one would scarcely notice her on any branchpath in Green-sky, except of course, if she spoke—with that strange slurring accent of hers. Even her skin seems to be a more normal shade now. Do you know what she says caused its darkness?”