Below the Root

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  They came, at last, to another large archway, and through it D’ol Regle led them into a large assembly hall. The hall was full of Ol-zhaan. Seated around an enormous table-board were more than forty men and women of all ages, who looked up at them as they entered. As the many pairs of searching eyes met Raamo’s, he began again to feel the quivering pulsing agitation that had troubled him the day before. Only a few times in his life had he exchanged eye-touch with even one Ol-zhaan, and now to stand before so many filled him with disquieting sensations. Instinctively his eyes fell. Unable to raise his eyes, he tried instead to collect himself enough to center his Spirit-force in sending, so that the Ol-zhaan might pense his gratitude and devotion.

  D’ol Regle was speaking, naming Raamo and Genaa, and then leading them around the table to greet each of the Ol-zhaan individually. Several he had seen before. He recognized D’ol Birta, a woman of middle age who came often to the Garden to counsel the teachers. A few others Raamo remembered seeing at public meetings and ceremonies. And at the head of the table sat D’ol Falla, the tiny, green-eyed ancient who had spoken to him at his counseling and whom he had seen in the place of honor at the rear of the Vine Procession.

  Approaching D’ol Falla, Raamo raised his eyes with great effort and for only a moment he looked into the eyes of the old woman. They were large eyes, clear and deep and of an intensely brilliant shade of green. They seemed to Raamo to be full of ancient wisdom and at the same time strangely youthful; they stared into Raamo’s with an intensity that was almost painful.

  It seemed to Raamo that the faces of all the Ol-zhaan, whether strange or familiar, were alike in their glory and majesty. Wreathed in the glowing sheen of their shuba hoods, they seemed to be surrounded by a mysterious aura no less awesome than the cloud-spun wreaths of light that often glorified the brightest of Green-sky’s moons.

  When the rounds of greetings were over at last, Raamo and Genaa were taken to a smaller chamber where, alone again with D’ol Regle, they listened while he spoke at length, instructing and exhorting. They were told to continue to be silent about the choosing until the general assembly, except with their own families, and to mind-block carefully if they were in contact with children who might be young enough to pense and yet old enough to understand what it meant to be a Chosen. In the meantime they were to help their families prepare to move to new nid-places on the lowest level of Grand- grund. On the morning of the assembly, they were to return to the outer temple with their families, two hours before the time the assembly was to begin.

  The instructions of D’ol Regle were given in voice-speaking, loudly and clearly, but they readied Raamo, through the haze of his excitement, as uncertainly as the weak sendings of a half-blocked mind. It was not until he and Genaa had been escorted to the inner gate, and D’ol Regle had left them, that Raamo realized just how little he had retained. His emotions, his response to the events of the morning, he remembered well—would always remember. But the facts, the carefully detailed instructions, were blurred and unclear.

  “Good-bye then, until the morning of the assembly,” Genaa said, offering her palms for the ritual of parting.

  And Raamo had to ask, “At what hour? At what hour did D’ol Regle say we were to be here?”

  Genaa looked at him in surprise. “The tenth hour,” she said. “Didn’t you hear him?”

  Raamo grimaced in embarrassment. “I heard him, but my mind was elsewhere. I do that often.”

  Genaa smiled, arching an eyebrow. “We are to wait in the large counseling chamber for the Ol-zhaan D’ol Fanta,” she said. “Do you remember that?”

  “Yes, I remember that,” Raamo said. “Which one is she?”

  Genaa shook her head. “She sat—” she paused, counting in her mind, “—fifth on the far side of the table. Of middle age—with a large chin.”

  Raamo stared. “Do you remember all their names?” he asked.

  “I think so.” Genaa said. “On the far side there was D’ol Druvo and D’ol Wassou and—”

  Raamo shook his head admiringly. “I see now why you were chosen,” he said. “I remember only two or three and those because I had seen them before. My memory has never been—”

  At that moment, while he was still speaking, Raamo was interrupted by a sending that spoke his name so strongly that he heard it clearly, although he was making no effort to pense. With no conscious effort, without even centering his Spirit-force, he found himself pensing someone who called his name. “Raamo,” he heard. “Raamo D’ok. Look behind you.”

  Raamo turned quickly, but at first he saw nothing and no one. But then something stirred in a distant doorway where someone was standing in the shadows.

  “Ah, it is true, then,” the sending came again. “This time they have chosen well. And I, also, choose you. You are twice chosen, D’ol Raamo.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  THE SUN WAS HIGH above the forest when Raamo set out from the grove of the Ol-zhaan, bound for his own nid-place in the upper midheights of Skygrund on the western edge of Orbora. The journey was not a long one or ordinarily very time-consuming. By climbing to the upper heights of Stargrund and from there beginning a glide that would take him through the heights of the two Gardengrunds and across the outskirts of Silkgrund, he could have reached his own home tree in a matter of minutes. Instead, he did not arrive until the sun was sinking beyond the far forest and the day was almost gone.

  On leaving the temple grove, it had occurred to Raamo to climb high up into the upper branches of Stargrund and, among the narrow, swaying branches of the heights, to try to cross over the entire city until he reached the high branches of Skygrund. Up there, far from the press and bustle of the public branchpaths, with all the beauty of Orbora, the Temple City, spread out below him, he could be alone with his thoughts for as long as it pleased him.

  He began his climb by way of Startrunk and, until the Vine ladders ended, he climbed very swiftly. But once among the myriad interwoven branches of the upper heights, his progress diminished to a leisurely exploration in the general direction of his home. He walked slowly along branches not much wider than a man’s arm and scrambled to adjoining branches through networks of Wissenvine. Once or twice he slid down the smooth narrow trunk of a rooftree until, on a lower level, he was able to reach the branch of the next grund. And several times, when cozy moss-grown forks offered a secure resting place, he stopped awhile to think and dream. Swaying in the constant warm breezes of the high forest, he nibbled on tree mushrooms and thought of many things.

  Swinging there, just below the rooffronds, as free and solitary as the high-flying rain dove, Raamo thought of his past life, his childhood, now so suddenly over. Looking back it seemed to have been a time of great happiness. A quiet time of careless freedom, of long hours spent with other boys and girls, climbing, gliding, and exploring in an endless playground of forest and sky. He remembered day-long explorations into the open forest far from the city, where he and his friends, supposedly searching for trencher beaks, had made other and more exciting discoveries. He remembered wild scrambles along untrodden branches after the small cuddly treebears, which, although easily tamed, were not often accepted by parents as nid-pets because of their big appetites and messy habits. He remembered the building of special meeting places in the branches of uninhabited grunds where groups of boys and girls who were close friends would meet to talk, to play games, and to practice the rituals of love and friendship that they had been taught since earliest infancy.

  He remembered also, other times, when prodded by strange urgings, which left him feeling bewildered and guilty, he had, with a few daring friends, climbed down to within a few feet of the forest floor—although he knew well how dangerous and how disapproved such explorations were. But somehow, the strange tantalizing thrill had been too much to resist.

  No Kindar was ever supposed to go below the lowest level of Grundtree branches, but by scrambling through tangled Wissenvines, or shinnying, sima fashion, down small rooftree trunks,
it was possible to go much lower, without actually setting foot on the forest floor. Hanging there, perhaps a hundred feet below the safety of the great public branchways, perhaps even low enough to touch and be touched by the great feathery fronds of fern, or the smooth pale skin of a mushroom dome, the world of the forest floor was very near and incredibly strange and fascinating.

  The air was warm and close and full of dark pungent smells, so different from the rainwashed breezes of the high forest. The earth itself, the rich dark soil of Green-sky—a mystery to a tree-born Kindar—was visible in places where pathways wound in and out, worn bare of grasses by unimaginable paws or feet. From here and there beneath the undergrowth there came mysterious sounds, perhaps the skittering and chattering of small earth creatures—or perhaps something far more sinister. Was it not possible that the noises came from farther down, drifting up ventilation tunnels and out through the grillwork of Wissenvine? Or even more terrifying to contemplate, could the sounds be coming from very near—perhaps from just below the nearest arch of fern-frond, where long clawed monsters—somehow released from their earthly prison—crouched tense and ready. Such thoughts were enough to send the bravest of guilty explorers scrambling for the safety of the great branches of the nearest grund.

  Even now, when he was no longer a rebellious child daring to explore forbidden places, the thought of the forest floor and its mysteries was intriguing to Raamo. Forgetting for the moment the great responsibilities and honor that lay in his future, he let his mind drift over the possibility of descending once more to the lowest limits of safety. Rolling over onto his stomach, he looked down from his resting place, down and down, past branch and Vine, past branchpaths and nid-places, past the clustering buildings and hallways of the city, to where the earth lay—deep and dark and hidden, underlying everything—supporting, feeding, replenishing every spark of life in all of Green-sky. And yet harboring in its dark depths unthinkable evils.

  “I’ll go once more,” Raamo thought. “Before I go to become an Ol-zhaan, I’ll go down once more to the forest floor. Perhaps I’ll even touch the earth with my bare hand.” The very thought sent a convulsive shudder up the backs of his legs and along his backbone all the way to the base of his skull. A moment later he shook his head violently as cold disgust swept over him. How could he? How could he give way to such unworthy desires now, now when he had been granted such a high and sacred honor. What would the Ol-zhaan think of him if they knew? Surely they would reject him and choose someone more deserving to take his place as a Chosen.

  Later in the day during the course of his long slow journey home, Raamo stopped and rested again. This time he lay on his stomach on a springy branch and rocked with the breezes while his mind drifted, too, from place to place. He thought of his friends, girls and boys with whom he had attended the Garden for so many years. Very soon now they would be beginning their apprenticeships, and soon afterward they would be inducted into the appropriate guilds. After a year of successful apprenticeship, they would be free, if they wished, to move out of their family nid-places into one of the Youth Halls, where they would live a joyful carefree existence in the company of other young people.

  The life of the Youth Halls was spoken of fondly and with nostalgia by older Kindar, who had long since chosen a permanent nid-mate and the more highly honored but less carefree existence of family life. Garden students looked forward to their Youth Hall years, and many of the songs and stories of the troubadours centered around the ever-changing romances of the Hall residents. It was a time of many and varied relationships, of testing and growing through close communion with many friends and fellow workers. Most Kindar lived for at least ten years in Youth Halls before they chose to form a family and move to private nid-places.

  Family life was highly honored in Green-sky and seriously prepared for. and no one was eligible for the ritual of bonding until he or she was in his twenty-fourth year. But there came a time, for most Kindar, when the bustle of group activities and the ever-changing relationships of the Halls seemed less fulfilling than the richly rewarding Joys of family and children.

  There were no children born in the Youth Halls. All the residents were required to take part in weekly ceremonies in which Youth Wafers were distributed—large flaky tablets that, when consumed regularly, produced temporary sterility.

  Children were greatly loved in Green-sky and admired for their natural gifts of Love and Spirit. Nearly all Kindar wished to become parents, so a time usually came when a permanent nid-mate was chosen, a bonding ritual was performed, a new surname chosen, and the new family moved into its own nid-place.

  Such were the probabilities that Raamo’s friends had to look forward to; but his own probabilities were much more uncertain and mysterious. It occurred to Raamo that he did not even know if Ol-zhaan had nid-mates. It was a question that had never before entered his mind. Somehow the Ol-zhaan had always seemed so far above and beyond the life of ordinary mortals that he had never connected them with anything so human and natural.

  Suddenly Raamo found himself thinking of Genaa, the other Chosen. It seemed obvious to Raamo that she was, indeed, well chosen. Remembering the graceful strength of her bearing and the startling brilliance of her dark eyes, he could see that she had been set apart from birth—a child born to high destiny.

  Perhaps I, too, he thought, have in my features and bearing the marks of grace and wisdom. Perhaps, if I could have seen myself clearly, I would have guessed long ago. It is strange though, that no one has ever told me of it—that I have not even pensed that someone looking at me was wondering at the significance of such great beauty. Of course my mother did say that she had long suspected that I—

  He stopped then, laughing. “Paraso!” he said to himself, calling himself by the name of the proudest and stupidest of birds. “All mothers have such suspicions. Doubtless our mother suspects that Pomma, too, is destined to great things. Such is the way with mothers.”

  The wonder of it returned then in a great wave, and Raamo floated on it, marveling. He marveled at his choosing, at the grandeur of the inner temple and at the beauty of the faces of the Ol-zhaan. And, remembering, he marveled, too, at the sending he had received as he was leaving the temple grounds.

  It was not often that he was able to pense without eye-touch—without seeing the sender, or even knowing who it might be. But someone who hid behind the hangings of a far doorway had called in mind-touch and had said that he was well chosen. And twice chosen—by the speaker himself.

  “Chosen for what? Who was the shadow in the doorway, and for what purpose has he chosen me?” Raamo asked himself, as he rocked on the high branches far above Orbora. The question returned again and again to his mind as he made his way home to his nid-place in the midheights of Skygrund. He thought of it often in the days that followed.

  Time fled by. Raamo stayed close to his nid-place, avoiding contact with friends and classmates. Not that they would ask him directly concerning the results of his Second Counseling, since it was traditional to wait until the public assembly when, after the presentation of the Chosen, all thirteen-year-olds announced their new professions and were honored at banquets given by the guilds that they would soon join. But Raamo knew it would be difficult to keep his secret from friends with whom he had once played Five-Pense, and with whom he had often practiced rituals of close communion. So he stayed at home busying himself with the construction of carrying bags of woven tendril, which he then carefully packed with household goods, in preparation for the day when he and his family would move to their new nid-place on the lower level of Grandgrund. In the evenings, by the light of the honey lamps, the whole family worked together preparing a new shuba for Valdo, his old one being somewhat worn and shabby and unsuited for such an important occasion as the assembly at which it would be announced that his only son was a Chosen. While Raamo, along with Pomma and Valdo himself, stitched and restitched the seams of the wing-panels, Hearba decorated the front and hood with richly colored embr
oidery.

  A plain man, ungiven to finery, Valdo had never before allowed himself the luxury of so fine a shuba, and even while they worked he spoke scoffingly of such frippery. But when the shuba was finished and he tried it on, running his roughened hands over the rich smoothness of the silk, he looked down admiringly at the gleaming threads stitched into intricate patterns across his chest.

  “It makes me feel—different.” he said. “Like a different person.”

  “You look as grand as Ruulba D’arsh, the City-master,” Hearba said, and Valdo nodded in agreement.

  “I might, at that,” he said. “I wish I could see myself. Pomma, make me a gazing bowl.”

  When Pomma returned with a wide bowl lined with dark grundleaf, and full of clear water, Valdo stared into it at his own image for several minutes, with unmistakable satisfaction.

  On the morning of the assembly, the whole family rose very early, and long before the appointed hour they left their nid-place and started on their way to the temple. The night rains had not long been over. Gleaming droplets lined the edges of every leaf, and the reservoirs on the roofs of the nid-places they passed were still full to brimming. Their first glide took them through the branches of the first Gardengrund and well into the eastern branches of the second. There they landed and briefly climbed again, until their height was sufficient to enable a second glide to bring them to the lower level of Stargrund. The ladders of Startrunk, usually so heavily traveled, were almost deserted, for few people left their nid-places so early on the morning of a Free-day, when all working places and even the Garden were closed and silent. In only a few minutes the D’ok family had reached the midheights and the beginning of the ramp that led to the temple.

  Until that moment Raamo had followed behind his parents. Whether gliding or climbing he had waited, as always, with his sister while his parents led the way. But now, as the outer gate of the temple loomed above them, Valdo stepped aside and motioned for Raamo to precede him. And so with his family following close behind him, Raamo pushed aside the rich hangings and entered the temple of the Ol-zhaan.