Below the Root

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  Raamo shook his head.

  “The sunlight,” Neric said, his lifted eyebrows inviting Raamo to share his incredulous reaction. “I was sure she was speaking an untruth at first. But then she explained that all Erdlings—a term she apparently uses to mean both Pash-shan and Kindar slaves—spend many hours daily in the areas where the tunnels run between the aisle of the orchard trees. And the sun, she says, falling down between the grillwork of Root, quickly turns skin to that strange golden hue.”

  “But what does she say of the Pash-shan?” Raamo asked.

  Neric shook his head, sighing. “Very little, I’m afraid. She speaks to me quite freely now concerning many things, but when I mention the Pash-shan, she stares at me strangely and begins to tremble. She must be deathly afraid of the very memory of them, poor child. I will be glad when the next free day comes and you can accompany me to your parents’ home to question her. Perhaps by pensing, you will be able to learn more.”

  “You have learned nothing then, concerning the Pash-shan?”

  “A little. I learned for instance that they are indeed flesheaters, as we have been told. Teera told me that much when I questioned her concerning her escape. She said that she had run away from the Pash-shan because they were going to eat her pet, the small creature she calls Haba. She said she was trying to find a hiding place, and was wandering down ventilation tunnels far from her living place, when she discovered a spot where the Root left an opening large enough for her to squeeze through. She put the lapan through the hole first and then followed it, although the cold of the Root was painful and frightening. Then the lapan ran from her, and in following it she became lost and could not find the tunnel opening again. I think she must have been wandering for at least two days when we found her.”

  “Do you think she speaks truthfully?” Raamo asked.

  “I think so,” Neric said, “for the most part, at least. But not freely. She obviously dislikes my questions, and answers as briefly as possible. But she does answer—unless I question her directly about the Pash-shan.”

  It was some days later that Raamo, leaving his last class of the day and starting back toward the novice hall with Genaa, encountered Neric on the central platform of the grove. Neric hurried past, pretending to be engrossed in private thought, but his sending was clear and urgent and charged with excitement. “Meet me at the hiding place. I have much to tell you.”

  Raamo continued on some distance before he turned to go back, telling Genaa that he had forgotten a book that D’ol Regle had promised to loan him for the evening. When he pushed his way through the Wissenvine curtain, Neric sprang to meet him.

  “I have news,” he said, “concerning the Pash-shan and—” he lowered his voice, “—and I think, the Geets-kel. I was again today at the nid-place of your parents and again questioned the slave child, Teera. I questioned her concerning the cloud columns of the Pash-shan, and she seemed surprised, amused even, that I considered them to be poisonous—and produced by the Pash-shan in order to carry evil and noxious vapors into Green-sky. I was speaking of the cloud column that we saw coming from the tunnel near where we found her, and she said, ‘Cloud column? Oh, you mean the smoke.’ And then she went on to explain that—”

  Suddenly interrupting himself, Neric asked, “Have you learned yet about fire, in your study of preflight history with D’ol Regle?”

  “Yes,” Raamo said. “Only a few days ago D’ol Regle spoke at great length concerning fire and how it had been a blessing and a curse to our ancestors and how the first Ol-zhaan had banished it from Green-sky.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Neric said. “And the child, Teera, described fire to me much as D’ol Regle did, likening it to dancing petals of sunlight that produce warmth and light—and great pain, if touched. According to her telling, the Pash-shan make use of it for many purposes, but in particular in the preparation of flesh for food. The flesh is heated until it withers and turns dark, and then it is eaten while it is still hot.” Neric’s lips curled in disgust as he spoke, and Raamo felt his own stomach convulse in rebellion. “The fires of the Pash-shan, Teera says, are fed by lumps of black material that is dug from deep tunnels,” Neric went on. “It is also necessary to the production of different kinds of metals, such as that used in the ornaments she was wearing when we found her. However—” And here Neric paused to lend significance to what he was about to say. “However—Teera insists that a cloud column produced by fire, or smoke as she calls it, is not poisonous or even harmful unless breathed in an enclosed place, and that although the Pash-shan and captured Kindar always live near fire, they are not harmed by it.” Neric leaned forward sharply and lowered his voice. “This, I think, is of great significance. Why are we told that the cloud columns are poisonous vapors produced by the Pash-shan to bring harm, if in fact they are only smoke? I am sure the Geets-kel are behind this falsehood for some reason of their own.”

  Raamo nodded. “Perhaps,” he said. “It is certainly not that the Geets-kel do not know that the Pash-shan are able to make fire, because D’ol Regle spoke of their use of it. He told us that fire lives by consuming certain materials such as plant life of all kinds, and Genaa asked if the Root could not then be destroyed by fire also. But D’ol Regle said that it could not because it was not a natural growth, but an enchanted one—and if it were not so the Pash-shan would long since have destroyed it and escaped into Green-sky.”

  “Ah,” Neric said, “that, too, is of significance.” He pondered for a moment, and then, suddenly rousing himself, he said, “but I am forgetting other news, good news. Your sister, Pomma. Her condition seems to be somewhat improved. Your mother says she has begun to eat a little more, and she seems a little stronger. On my last visit I found her sitting on the floor of her chamber trying to teach Teera the game of Five-Pense.”

  Raamo’s heart seemed to float upward as if a dark weight had been removed. “I thank you. I thank you, Neric, for this news,” he said.

  “It is most welcome news for me, also,” Neric said. “And not only for the sake of your sister, but for my own sake, also. I had long ago decided that my Ceremonies of

  Healing were of little use, but now I begin to wonder if I may not have, after all, some slight Spirit-force for healing. It gives me great happiness to think that it may be so.”

  Raamo rose and moved toward the curtain of Vine. “I had best be going,” he said. “I am expected at the novice hall, and my absence might arouse some curiosity. I will meet you here again on the free day, right after the ceremony.”

  “Good,” Neric said. “Teera has asked about you. I think she feels more at ease in your presence than in mine. I am expecting much from your next meeting with her. I am sure that we will learn many things concerning the Pash-shan when you next meet her.”

  “I hope so—” Raamo was beginning when he paused suddenly with his hand lifted for silence. “What was that?” he asked.

  “What was what?” Neric said.

  “I heard a rustling—” Raamo parted the thick sheltering leaves of the Vine and looked out toward the branch-path. There was no one in sight. “That’s strange,” he said. “I was sure I heard—or felt—a presence other than our own.”

  “Perhaps it was a trencher bird,” Neric said. “There are many in this part of the grove.”

  “Perhaps,” Raamo said. “Until the free day then, Peace and Joy to you.”

  “And Joy to you Raamo,” Neric said, offering his palms.

  “But not Peace?” Raamo asked, smiling.

  “But not Peace,” Neric said. “May we not accept the comfort of peaceful minds until we have discovered the secret of the Geets-kel.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  THE DAYS THAT FOLLOWED passed very swiftly. For the first time in many weeks, the knowledge of Pomma’s illness no longer haunted the quiet corners of Raamo’s days. He attended his classes with renewed interest and began to find himself looking forward to some of them, in particular his daily meeting with the ancient D’ol Falla
.

  D’ol Falla lived in the most magnificent living chambers in the entire grove. These chambers, which according to legend had been originally constructed for D’ol Wissen himself and had for many generations been the dwelling place of the high priest of the Vine, were splendid examples of the skill and artistry of Kindar architecture. Beginning in a large and lavish reception hall, just to the east of the central platform of the grove, the chambers ranged upward, so skillfully supported and suspended that they seemed almost to be floating—a drift of large airy chambers connected by hallways woven of hardened tendril—mellowed by time to a smooth ivory-hued filigree and interwoven with living honey-vine. Covered rampways ascended between levels, and beautifully fashioned Vine-screens enclosed the entire area, giving unity and privacy to the enormous dwelling-place.

  It was here Raamo came daily, either alone or with D’ol Druvo, the third-year novice who was also preparing for service as a priest of the Vine. In a small chamber off the large reception hall, D’ol Falla would be waiting. She was always there when Raamo entered, seated in a large thronelike chair of woven tendril.

  She was a tiny woman, as thin and sere as a dry leaf. So fragile did she appear that one almost feared to touch her palms in greeting lest they crumble away at contact. The skin of her face was webbed with a delicate network of tiny wrinkles, but her legendary beauty was still evident in the proportion of her features and the intense vitality of her astonishingly youthful green eyes.

  In her high whispery voice she spoke to Raamo of many things that were of deep and consuming interest to him. She spoke of D’ol Wissen, the first priest of the Vine, of the forest floor, of the Root, and sometimes of the Pash-shan. As she spoke, her eyes probed into Raamo’s and at times he felt the faintest whisper of mind-touch, as if blind and blunted Spirit fingers were prying at the edges of his mind. The whisper intrigued him, tempted him to release his careful mind-blocking and center his Spirit-force in a response so strong that the barrier would fall away and the silent whisper would reveal its secrets. But remembering Neric’s warning about D’ol Falla, that she was among the Geets-kel, Raamo resisted the temptation and only watched and listened.

  If Raamo was greatly interested in every mention made by D’ol Falla of the Pash-shan, there was one whose interest seemed to be even greater than his own. Every evening when Raamo had returned from D’ol Falla’s class, Genaa was waiting for him with many questions. As she listened to every word, to every scrap of information, Genaa’s dark eyes glowed with a bright intensity that was almost frightening. And when Raamo was slow to answer or had little to impart, she quickly became impatient.

  “Is that all?” she would say. “Surely she has told you more than that by now. If only my request had been granted and I had been the one to be assigned as Vine priest!”

  On the next free day, thirteen days after Teera had been placed in the custody of the D’ok family, Raamo and Neric met again in their secret hiding place. The morning ceremony was over, and the rest of the day was theirs. Immediately, by hidden sidebranch and then by open forest, they began their long roundabout journey to the lower level of Grandgrund. Approaching cautiously, they crept through Vine-growths and leafy branchends until they came to the spot where they had waited on the night they brought Teera to the D’ok nid-place. Even now, with no strangely attired slave child in their company, it was of the greatest importance that they not be observed. The rule that prohibited a novice Ol-zhaan from visiting his family during the first year of his novitiate was well known to all Kindar. Hidden behind a large cluster of grundleaves, they watched and waited until the branchpath was free of strolling Kindar, and then they walked swiftly to the doorway of the D’ok nid-place.

  Since they had been warned by Neric on his last visit, the D’ok family was expecting their arrival. They were waiting, gathered together in the common room, when Raamo and Neric threw back the door hangings and rushed into the room. For a moment all was a confusion of joyous cries and hastily sung greetings. Valdo, Hearba and Pomma, too, crowded around Raamo, pressing their palms to his and laughing with Joy. It was several minutes before the uproar subsided enough for Raamo to make use of his eyes with understanding.

  The first thing he saw clearly, and with great happiness, was Pomma. Dressed in a new shuba of blending golds and pinks, she stood before him glowing like a moonmoth. Her lovely eyes shone with Joy at Raamo’s presence, and her cheeks pulsed with color. She was still painfully thin and her pale skin still seemed to be almost transparent, but the change for the better was undeniable.

  “See how much better I am, Raam—, I mean D’ol Raamo. Look how much fatter.” Pomma held out her still pitifully thin arms proudly. “And Teera, too.” Running back to where Teera watched shyly from the hallway, Pomma pulled her forward. “Look how much fatter Teera is. Teera loves to eat. She likes eggs best, but she loves to eat everything. She hadn’t ever tasted eggs before or tree mushrooms either, but she likes them very much. Mother says she’s never seen a child eat as much as Teera does.”

  Stooping to put himself at the child’s level, Raamo held out his palms to Teera, and she responded hesitantly. She did, indeed, seem healthier and stronger, and her expressive full-lipped face was more rounded.

  “Peace and Joy to you, Teera,” he said, and then to Pomma, “It is not to be wondered at that Teera was hungry when she came to you. She had been wandering without anything to eat for two days when we found her.”

  “I know,” Pomma said. “And before that, too, she was hungry. Teera says that everyone is hungry below the Root.”

  Raamo and Neric exchanged quick glances, but before Raamo could question Teera, Pomma went on. “Teera likes everything to eat except Berries. She doesn’t like Berries at all. Isn’t that funny?”

  “I like them,” Teera said, in her soft slurring voice. “I like the taste of them, but I don’t like the way they make me feel. They make me feel dizzy—like looking down and thinking I might fall. The Berries make me feel like falling.”

  Pomma giggled. “Teera likes to play games,” she said. “I’ve been teaching her games and songs. I’ve taught her the Rain Song and the Naughty Bear. And she already knew how to play Hide-and-Find and Toss-Up, just like we do. And soon, when I’m better and when Teera doesn’t have to be a secret anymore, I’m going to teach her how to glide and climb and we’re going to go beak-hunting together. And do you know what, Raamo? We can even play Five-Pense together.”

  Raamo laughed, delighted at his sister’s enthusiasm and amused by her exaggeration.

  “Five-Pense?” he asked. “Even Five-Pense? Aren’t you overspeaking just a little?”

  Five-Pense, a game that was revered as symbolic of all the beauties of childhood, depended on mind-touch, and progressed through five levels of communication, each one requiring greater Spirit-force and mind-response. It was played, usually, only by the very young, and certainly not by children of Pomma’s age, who had long been unable to pense.

  “No,” Pomma said. “I’m not overspeaking. We can truly. I thought I was too old, too, but Teera and I can pense each other. We can do Signals and Choices all the time, and sometimes we can do Images. We can’t do Four and Five yet, but I think we’re going to. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Neric caught Raamo’s eye and, making very obvious signals, he said, “Pomma, would you come sit here by me for a while. I would like to speak to you, and I think D’ol Raamo would like to speak privately with Teera for a few moments.” He jerked his head in the direction of Pomma’s chamber. “Wouldn’t you like to speak to Teera, D’ol Raamo?”

  “Yes, I would,” Raamo said. “Teera, would you come with me?”

  He reached for her hand to lead her out of the room, but she shrank back. “To ask me questions?” she asked. “You want to ask me questions?”

  Instead of answering, Raamo captured the child’s nervously fluttering hands and with palm- and eye-touch he sent a wordless reassurance of comfort and goodwill. The fear clouding Teera’s eye
s cleared slowly and at last she nodded.

  “If you will pardon,” Raamo said to Hearba and Valdo. “I would like to speak to Teera alone for a few minutes.”

  But as Raamo turned to go, the door hangings in the front entry were suddenly flung aside and a voice said, “And I, too, would like to speak to Teera.”

  It was Genaa D’anhk. Standing framed in the arch of the doorway, Genaa had never looked lovelier, or more intimidating. She stood tall and straight, graceful and yet commanding, the rich luxury of her beauty contrasting strangely with something starkly narrow and rigid in her manner, and in the intensity with which she stared at Teera. Brushing aside the greeting of Raamo’s parents with the slightest of gestures, Genaa moved forward, and Raamo found himself moving, with her, toward the hallway that led to Pomma’s chamber.

  Inside the chamber, Genaa began at once to question Teera, who was once more cringing and trembling.

  “I wish to speak to you of the Pash-shan,” Genaa said to the child. “What do they look like? Can they speak? Why do they persecute the Kindar?”

  Shrinking back against the wall, Teera covered her face with her hands. “I don’t know,” she sobbed. “I can’t tell you about them. I can’t. I can’t.”

  “You can’t what? Why can’t you tell us about them? They can’t harm you here. What are you afraid of?”

  Genaa was holding Teera firmly by both shoulders, but the child seemed to be wilting in her grasp, so weakened by fear that she appeared to be on the point of collapse. At last Raamo intervened. Pulling Genaa away, he spoke to her softly.