Above the crowd, high on the central stage, D’ol Falla waited and watched the gathering of the great multitude. She had been asked to speak to the people, and her speaking would be the beginning of the ceremony. But she did not know what she would say. There was no Kindar ritual for grief or sorrow, and she did not know the Erdling ceremonies.
There were many sad things that could be spoken of. She could speak of Hearba and Valdo, the parents of Raamo and of Pomma, who were now childless and ill of grieving. She could speak of her own sorrow and of her fear that all hope had been lost with Raamo. But when the time came for the ceremony to begin, and Hiro led her forward to the front of the great platform, she still had not decided what it was that she would say.
At the platform’s edge she stopped and looked out over the great multitude and up at the small hanging stages where newsingers waited to relay her words so that they would reach the farthest fringes of the crowd. And words came into her mind as if through a far distant pensing.
“Let us rejoice,” she said.
She saw and felt the shocked astonishment beginning all around her and spreading outward as the newsingers repeated her words again and again like receding echoes.
“There has been much to mourn for,” she went on, “and we have mourned. I, too, have sorrowed—and blindly—so it was only now, only this moment, that I saw what lies before our eyes. Look! Look around you. You have come together, a vast multitude, without fear and suspicion, and you have comforted each other with touching and with the sharing of tears. Truly, we are rejoyned, and we have done it alone—with only the power that lies among us.”
She paused, and the people looked at each other, some in bewilderment and some in dawning recognition.
D’ol Falla would have spoken further, but at that moment the crowd’s attention was distracted by a gliding figure who, swooping down steeply from far above, was circling directly over the amphitheater, as if looking for an opening in which to land. Heads were shaken and there were mutterings of disapproval. It was inexcusable that a latecomer should choose to arrive at such a ceremony in so distracting a manner.
Then the gliding figure banked sharply and dropped suddenly to a landing on the hanging platform of a newsinger, sending the platform into such wild gyrations that the newsinger was almost pitched off into the crowd below. Indignant gasps and even angry shouts came from all over the amphitheater. But then it became obvious that the newcomer, a Kindar woman, was speaking to the newsinger in a highly agitated manner. It was suddenly apparent that the intruder’s rude arrival was due not to thoughtlessness, but to the urgency of the message she had come to bring.
Finally, the newsinger turned and, lifting his hands high above his head in a gesture of rejoicing, he shouted, “The children are found. The holy children are safe and well. The children have returned.”
The other newsingers took up the cry and spread it to the farthest edges of the crowd, and for several minutes here was a great joyous confusion. All over the amphitheater there were shouts and cries, tears and laughter, and on the great stage all the members of the Joined Council crowded around Teera’s parents, Kanna and Herd, to share in their happiness.
When the confusion had, at last, died away, it was seen that the woman messenger had been summoned to the stage and was being questioned by the Chief Mediator.
And then, in turn, Hiro spoke to the multitude and told them what he had learned.
“This woman is Ciela D’ote,” he said. “Serving woman to the D’ok family in the Vine Palace. She stayed today in the palace to care for the parents of Raamo and Pomma, who were still too ill from grief to attend the ceremony. Around the tenth hour, after all the others who dwelt in the palace had departed, a group of children appeared at he gates, and with them were the lost ones, Pomma D’ok and Teera Eld. And so Ciela was sent here to tell us that Valdo and Hearba are coming to the amphitheater by way of branchpath and stairway and will bring the children with them.”
Amid cheers and cries of Joy, Kanna and Herd came down from the high stage and set out to meet their daughter. But the Chief Mediator asked that all others remain in their places; and so they waited quietly except for a high-pitched hum of whispered anticipation. Many questions remained to be answered, but when Hiro questioned Ciela further, he found that she knew little more than she had already revealed.
At last there was a stirring far to the rear of the crowd, heads began turning, and then a group of figures appeared at the far end of the center aisle: four larger figures and around them a dozen smaller ones. As they came nearer, the people could see that it was true—the holy children of the Rejoyning had been returned to them. Before the eager eyes of the multitude, they walked down the long aisle: the fragilely beautiful Kindar child, and the dark and vivid daughter of Erdlings, living symbols of the Rejoyning and of the people’s faith in Spirit-power.
They mounted the great stage, and the parents of the holy children led them forward, not only Pomma and Teera, but the others also, to the edge of the high platform, where they might be seen by all the people. They stood close together, their faces solemn, and some of the younger ones hung their heads in fright. Several of the children were clearly of Erdling parentage. They ranged in age from a girl of eleven or twelve, to two little boys who were no more than four years of age. There were no shouts or cheers now; but all over the amphitheater, the people rose, both Erdling and Kindar, and extended their arms in the gesture of welcome.
For only a minute the children stood before the multitude, and then they were led through an entry arch to the waiting and robing rooms behind the great stage. When they were gone, Herd Eld spoke briefly to the Joined Council and then came forward with Hiro D’anhk to the place of speakers.
“It has been decided that Herd Eld will speak to us of what he has learned of the disappearance of the children and how they came to be restored to us.”
So it was the father of Teera who told the story just as he had heard it from the children—of how in the days following the Rejoyning, Teera and Pomma’s lives were greatly changed, and when they had a little time in which to play their old games, they found they had forgotten much that they had taught each other. They had been saddened to find that they were no longer able to pense or image; but when they realized that they might never again be able to summon the power of uniforce, they began to be tormented by fear and guilt.
Without a true understanding of why it was so, they knew that the adulation of the people, and also in some mysterious way, the future of the Rejoyning depended on their ability to merge their Spirit-force in such a way that things of apparent solid and heavy natures would be moved and changed. They believed that sooner or later they would have to go before the people and demonstrate that ability—and they knew, now, that they would fail. So they began to feel deceitful and guilty, and after a time, the Vine Palace, which had seemed so great and glorious when they had first been taken there to live, began to seem more and more like a prison where they awaited the inevitable disclosure of their guilty secret. And then one day they heard that the time would soon come when they would be asked to go before the people, and it was soon afterwards that they asked Teera’s clan-sibling, Charn, to help them run away.
For the past month, and all during the time that the far reaches of the forest had been searched for them daily, they had been no farther away than the Garden, the old Orbora Garden, which Charn had once attended. Charn had taken them there because of a hidden place, which he had helped to build, between the grundbranches that supported the garden floor. It had been a good hiding place, quickly accessible to the children of the secret troupe that had been formed to care for the fugitives—to bring them food and also to provide them with almost constant company and entertainment. This troupe, made up of Charn’s special friends and some younger siblings who were admitted because they had discovered the secret, made life very pleasant and exciting for the two little girls who had been, for such a long time, without the company of other c
hildren.
There had been times when Pomma and Teera had remembered their parents with guilt and grief; but they had begun to experience faint signs of returning Spirit-force, and so they had waited, hoping to recover the power of uniforce.
But then, only five days before, the children had come to them with the terrible news of Raamo’s death; and for a time Pomma had been ill with grief. So they had waited until she was able to speak and reason, and then, only that morning, they had started for the palace. But the secret, roundabout route that Charn had planned, took longer than they had expected, and they arrived too late at the palace, after everyone had departed for the amphitheater, except for Ciela and the grieving parents of Pomma.
When Herd finished his story, and the farthest newsinger had repeated the last phrase, an uneasy silence descended. The people looked at each other uncertainly. The children had been restored to them, but they had come back no longer the same. They had gone away living symbols of hope, and had returned—as children.
Then D’ol Falla came forward again to the place of speaking, and the people turned to hear what she would say.
“I had begun to speak to you of the power that comes from among us,” she said, “and of seeing that which has long been before our eyes. I have seen only now what I should have known long ago—why it was that Raamo spoke so often against the adoration of the children. We have heard how a great burden was placed on them by forcing them into the role of symbols. But I see now that we harmed not only the children, but ourselves as well. I see now that Raamo’s warning was for the danger of letting our hopes rest on the powers of great leaders, of outside forces, however strong or holy, when, instead, our hope should have been in the power and strength that comes from within and among us, and from our birthright as Kindar.
“For we are all born as Kindar and ever have been. We are all born innocent of fear and hatred, and innocent, also, of limitations and barriers. We are all, at birth, greatly Spirit-gifted, perhaps in ways as yet unguessed. And the Rejoyning will come, in the end, not through Rejoyners, nor Councils, nor even through miracles, but through accepting the powers and responsibilities that are our birthright. And when that time comes, we will all be, simply, the Zhaan, the people—the one people of Green-sky.”
When D’ol Falla ceased speaking, the people were quiet. She pensed that their minds were full of hope, but also of a weary understanding of the long path that still lay ahead. And D’ol Falla, herself, felt suddenly very weary.
Hiro D’anhk had come forward to speak to the people. He spoke solemnly of things accomplished and of things yet to be done. But D’ol Falla found that she could not listen. She had done her part, and she was too old and tired to do more. So she left the great stage, moving quietly so she would not be missed, and went back among the robing rooms to look for a place to rest and be alone. But she found instead the room in which the children were waiting.
The room, which had been designed to hold materials necessary for ceremonial functions, was quite large and lined with shelves and wardrobes. In the open space in the center, the children were seated close together on the floor, except for the two littlest boys who were playing near the farthest wall.
D’ol Falla had entered quietly, and for a moment no one seemed to be aware of her presence. The oldest of the children, a Kindar girl of perhaps twelve years, was speaking in a low earnest voice. She broke off suddenly, and rising, she crossed the room to lift the little boys down from the shelves on which they had been climbing. It was while she was returning to the circle that she noticed D’ol Falla.
“Look,” she whispered, “the old one.”
The children turned, and immediately Pomma and Teera ran to her and embraced her, and Charn followed only a few steps behind.
“Did you come to get us?” Teera asked apprehensively. “Do they want us, now, out there?”
“No,” D’ol Falla said. “I was not sent for you. They are busy speaking and will be for some time to come. I was only very tired and looking for a place to rest.”
A low stool was found and placed near the circle of children, and when she was seated, they crowded around her, except for the little boys, who had gone back to climbing. The others looked up at her with anxious faces, and she pensed their concern for many things that they did not fully understand.
She began to speak to them comfortingly, assuring them that what they had done would be understood, and that they had not caused evil or harmed the Rejoyning. They listened earnestly and with great attentiveness, except that Charn left the group briefly to once more lift the little boys down from a high shelf. The Kindar boy, a flower-faced infant with thick bright curls, sat down docilely upon the floor, but the Erdling boy clung to the shelf in protest until Charn pulled him free.
“Stay down from there, Brant,” he said, “before you harm something.”
“That one is Charn’s brother,” Teera told D’ol Falla.
“And the other one is my brother,” the oldest girl said. “They want to see that urn on the highest shelf. I told them to stay down, but they’ve never seen a thing like that before.”
D’ol Falla went on speaking of how it was possible that the disappearance of Pomma and Teera had been, in some ways, helpful, since it had shocked the people into a silence that had permitted listening. And from the listening had come the beginnings of understanding. She was not sure that they understood, but she knew that they were comforted, and she felt that she, herself, was comforted and her weariness somehow lightened.
And suddenly that lightness began to grow until it became a great flowing force. D’ol Falla felt herself turning with it to face the far wall of the room where the two little boys were sitting side by side, their faces still and intent and their arms stretched out before them. Above them, the great marble urn was drifting slowly through the air.
The older children watched until the urn had reached the floor, and then they turned away as if they had seen nothing strange at all. Breathless with sudden Joy, D’ol Falla sat motionless, until Teera leaned forward, her face glowing with the delight of a shared secret.
“Shh,” Teera whispered. “We haven’t told them yet. They still think it’s only a game.”
A Biography of Zilpha Keatley Snyder
Zilpha Keatley Snyder (b. 1927) is the three-time Newbery Honor–winning author of classic children’s novels such as The Egypt Game, The Headless Cupid, and The Witches of Worm. Her adventure and fantasy stories are beloved by many generations.
Snyder was born in Lemoore, California, in 1927. Her father, William Keatley, worked for Shell Oil, but as a would-be rancher he and his family always lived on a small farm. Snyder’s parents were both storytellers, and their tales often kept their children entertained during quiet evenings at home.
Snyder began reading and telling stories of her own at an early age. By the time she was four years old she was able to read novels and newspapers intended for adults. When she wasn’t reading, she was making up and embellishing stories. When she was eight, Snyder decided that she would be a writer—a profession in which embellishment and imagination were accepted and rewarded.
Snyder’s adolescent years were made more difficult by her studious country upbringing and by the fact that she had been advanced a grade when she started school. As other girls were going to dances and discovering boys, Snyder retreated into books. The stories transported her from her small room to a larger, remarkable universe.
At Whittier College, Zilpha Keatley Snyder met her future husband, Larry Snyder. After graduation, she began teaching upper-level elementary classes. Snyder taught for nine years, including three years as a master teacher for the University of California, Berkeley. The classroom experience gave Snyder a fresh appreciation of the interests and capabilities of preteens.
As she continued her teaching career, Snyder gained more free time. She began writing at night, after teaching during the day; her husband helped by typing out her manuscripts. After finishing her first novel
, she sent it to a publisher. It was accepted on her first try. That book, Season of Ponies, was published in 1964.
In 1967, her fourth novel, The Egypt Game, won the Newbery Honor for excellence in children’s literature. Snyder went on to win that honor two more times, for her novels The Headless Cupid and The Witches of Worm. The Headless Cupid introduced the Stanley family, a clan she revisited three more times over her career.
Snyder’s The Changeling (1970), in which two young girls invent a fantasy world dominated by trees, became the inspiration for her 1974 fantasy series, the Green Sky Trilogy. Snyder completed that series by writing a computer game sequel called Below the Root. The game went on to earn cult classic status.
Over the almost fifty years of her career, Snyder has written about topics as diverse as time-traveling ghosts, serenading gargoyles, and adoption at the turn of the twentieth century. Today, she lives with her husband in Mill Valley, California. When not writing, Snyder enjoys reading and traveling.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
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