Below the Root

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  As Raamo had expected, since they had arrived so early, the large counseling room was deserted. The D’ok family sat down to wait. They sat stiffly, saying little, avoiding even eye-touch in their efforts to hide their agitation. Now and then Hearba glanced at Raamo and smiled, and then quickly looked away, obviously afraid that he might pense the unpeacefulness of her mind. At last the hangings of the outer doorway stirred and Genaa D’anhk entered accompanied by a woman. The woman, as tall as Genaa and with a suggestion of the same dark brilliance, was clearly her mother. Approaching the D’ok family, the mother gave her name, Jorda D’anhk, and offered her palms in greeting. The greetings were scarcely over when a youthful novice entered and then drew back the hangings to permit the entry of a tall, firm-chinned woman of middle age, the Ol-zhaan D’ol Fanta.

  “Greetings Chosen Ones and honored families,” she said. “You are awaited. May I ask you to accompany me.”

  The room to which they were led was a robing room where several Kindar men and women, attendants of the outer temple, awaited, bearing every kind of ornamentation—rings and amulets and plumed headdresses as well as a vast array of shubas. The shubas were made of a rare and highly distinctive silk, whose gleaming fibers were produced by an unusually small variety of worm. The resulting cloth was reserved for the use of the Ol-zhaan and for the official robes of Kindar of the highest rank and honor.

  As they entered the robing room, Genaa’s mother and each member of Raamo’s family was met by a group of dressers and led away. Raamo watched as his father, too, surrounded by a small mob of dressers, disappeared into one of the cubicles, waving his arms and protesting that the shuba he was wearing had been specially prepared for the occasion and was quite grand enough for him.

  “Come, Chosen,” D’ol Fanta said. “Your people will be well cared for, and you will see them later in the assembly hall.”

  It was indeed later, much later, when Raamo again saw his family. Clad in gleaming white shubas and crowned with wreaths of golden tree orchids, he and Genaa were led forth onto the high platform in the center of the great assembly hall of Orbora. There below them, on a lower level of the great platform, among the City-masters and Guild-leaders and the directors of the Garden and the Academy, were Valdo and Hearba and Pomma, their familiar faces subtly altered by the strains and tensions of the day. The opening ritual of the long and complicated ceremony had begun and, surrounded by Ol-zhaan and clutching a ceremonial urn and symbol, Raamo joined in the singing of the Spirit Hymn. But as his mouth formed the words of the hymn, he found himself sending in mind-touch a greeting to his family.

  “Thus do I pledge with sacred touch—our Peace and Joy as one shall grow.” Looking down at their upturned faces, he sent the words fervently and with all the Spirit-force that he was able to call forth, unmindful for the moment that they could not pense and that the Ol-zhaan who stood around him surely could. It was not until he had completed the greeting to his family, that it occurred to Raamo that a greeting sent elsewhere during the sacred Spirit Hymn might be considered a sacrilege. For several minutes afterward he awaited a sending, reprimanding him for his offense, but none came, and the ceremony continued.

  At last it was almost over. Each of the Ol-zhaan had taken part in leading the Kindar in songs and chants. The majestic D’ol Regle had spoken at length concerning the virtues and Spirit-gifts of the new Chosen, and the many signs that had shown the deliberating Ol-zhaan that these two were, indeed, the true Chosen, the Spirit-blessed and Guided, destined from birth for the temple and the leadership of Green-sky.

  Overwhelmed by emotion, dazed and blinded by strange sensations, Raamo listened to the cheers and applause of the crowd until at last the cheering ended and a momentary silence fell in the huge hall. And in that moment he found himself pensing a sending that came from someone very near. There was no eye-touch as the sending came from behind him, but Raamo pensed the sent words clearly and distinctly.

  “Do you like it, Twice-chosen?” the sending asked. “Are you learning to need the glory as you need air to breathe? It is meant that you should.”

  The sending stopped, and cautiously turning his head, Raamo searched the faces of the Ol-zhaan who stood behind him, and that of Genaa who stood at his side. The faces of the Ol-zhaan were alike in their noble calm, and Genaa’s beautiful face glowed with the same dazzled emotion that Raamo had been feeling only a moment before.

  “Who was sending?” Raamo sent. “Who was sending? Who was it that sent to me and called me Twice-chosen?” But there was no answer.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  THE CEREMONY OF THE Choosing ended with a great procession down the central aisle of the assembly hall and out onto the public branchways of Orbora. Led by the Ol-zhaan and followed by hundreds of singing, shouting Kindar, Raamo and Genaa and their families were led out of the great hall and across the city center to their new nid-places on the third Northeast branchpath of Grandgrund.

  Arriving before a new and spacious nid-place, the Ol-zhaan escorted the D’ok family onto the large open dooryard, and there, as two novice Ol-zhaan held back the door hangings, D’ol Regle asked Raamo to turn once more to the crowd and respond to its acclaim. With his family beside him, Raamo raised his hands in a gesture of gratitude and response as the shouts and cheers increased in intensity; they did not fade until at last he and his family were permitted to retire to the privacy of their new home. As the noise of the crowd dwindled, D’ol Regle spoke to them briefly concerning their new privileges and responsibilities; and then he, too, left and they were alone.

  The room, the common room of their new nid-place, was enormous, and furnished in a manner far beyond the means of ordinary Kindar. In the place of the usual chairs and lounges fashioned of hardened tendril, this room contained many pieces carved from inlaid wood and covered with richly ornamented pillows. Since all woodwork was slowly and laboriously done by hand tools with cutting edges fashioned from trencher-beak, such furnishings were extremely rare and valuable. Walking slowly to the center of the room, the D’ok family stared uneasily at their magnificent surroundings.

  A strange transformation had begun to come over them. Where, a moment before they had been glowing, shining, smiling—as alight with excitement and emotion as newly caught moonmoths—they were now suddenly limp and silent. Raamo moved slowly to the nearest chair and collapsed into it. He sat for many minutes, as unaware of his surroundings as if he were deep in sleep, as he listened to the thunderous reverberating echoes that filled his mind. Perhaps his eyes had rested on Pomma for a long time before he awakened to what he was seeing.

  Curled into the corner of a carved panwood lounge, Pomma seemed reduced to the size of a sima, her pale face withered and wizened with exhaustion. Seated on opposite sides of the room, Hearba and Valdo, lost in their own minds, seemed not to have noticed. Crossing to the lounge, Raamo pulled Pomma into his lap, where she curled against his chest like a baby treebear. Softly he began to sing a Psalm of Peace, the one that likened the fall of the night rain to warm soft voices. The psalm had always been one of Pomma’s favorites; and as Raamo sang, she raised her head and smiled weakly.

  Soon after, Valdo and Hearba joined in the singing, and as the moments passed, the recurring returning rhythms and the intricate close harmonies brought the singers back to at least a portion of their usual peaceful-ness and close communion.

  “But we can’t stay here tonight,” Hearba said suddenly, when the psalm was over. “All our belongings are still in our old nid-place in Skygrund.”

  As if in answer, a woman appeared in the inner doorway. “I am Ciela,” she said. “I am assigned as a helper in your nid-place. You will find, I think, that everything you need is here. You may, of course, send for any of your old possessions if you think you will have further need of them. But this nid-place has been provided for you with the best of everything. Food, clothing, furniture, tapestries—”

  “Baya,” Pomma cried suddenly. “I want Baya.”

  The wom
an, Ciela, smiled. “Baya, too, has been supplied,” she said, and disappearing briefly, she returned with the whimpering sima, who immediately scampered to Pomma and, leaping into her arms, clung to her neck.

  Smiling, Hearba offered her palms to the woman in greeting. “I thank you,” she said, when the greeting was completed, “for your kindness in coming to help us find our way about in this huge nid-place on this long day, which has left us quite exhausted. But perhaps you should quickly show us where we are to eat and sleep, as the night rains will soon begin and you will be unable to reach your own nid-place.”

  “You do not understand,” Ciela said. “My nid-place is here. I am assigned. You will find that with your special duties and responsibilities as the parents of a Chosen, you will have little time for such tasks as nid-weaving and food preparation.”

  “Valdo?” Hearba said questioningly, clearly asking him to intervene, and Raamo easily pensed her distress at the thought of sharing their nid-place with a stranger. But when Valdo responded by offering his thanks to Ciela, Hearba tried again. “We have always cared for our own—” she was saying when Ciela interrupted.

  “You have never had the care of so large a nid-place,” Ciela said, “nor the many responsibilities of a Chosen family. I think you will find that you need my help.”

  “Who is it that sends—” Hearba began haltingly, and then paused, troubled that the stranger might find her thoughtless and ungrateful.

  “By whom was I assigned?” Ciela asked. “By the Ol-zhaan. There is a helper assigned by the Ol-zhaan to the family of every Chosen, as I have been assigned to you.”

  Hearba bowed her head to signify her acceptance of the wisdom of the Ol-zhaan, the holy leaders of Green-sky.

  In the days that followed, Raamo remained with his family in the new nid-place. Just as before, his father and mother went daily to work as harvester and embroiderer, and Pomma returned to her classes at the Garden. But there were many differences.

  The D’ok family members were now persons of honor, and as such they found many differences in old familiar situations and relationships. People with whom they had long worked and played—friends with whom they had, only a few weeks before, danced and sung in the grund-halls, beloved friends with whom, in their Youth Hall days, they had once daily practiced rituals of close communion, even those with whom, as infants, they had once played Five-Pense—all these now stepped aside to let them pass and even asked them for advice in important matters—as if they had suddenly become authorities on everything from the nesting habits of trencher birds to the best way to cure an infant of fits of tearfulness.

  Relationships within the family changed also, at least for a time. But as the days went by, old habits overcame newly acquired attitudes of respect and reverence—and soon Raamo was scolded and instructed by his parents and teased by his sister very much as before. At times it was hard for them to remember that he was soon to be transformed into a being of holy wisdom and great power. There were times when Raamo, himself, was almost able to forget.

  There were, however, many reminders. From time to time a messenger, usually one of the novice Ol-zhaan, would arrive to escort Raamo to the temple to take part in a ceremony or celebration, or to a guild or assembly hall where he was to be honored at a public gathering or banquet. At such times Raamo and Genaa proceeded along branchpaths in a small procession, led by a symbol-bearing novice and followed by small crowds of admiring Kindar. Gradually Raamo became accustomed to the crowds and began to expect and enjoy the shouts of praise and commendation. The gracious gesture of response and gratitude became easy, and almost as natural as a smile.

  “Why do they cheer and shout for the Chosen only during their year of honor?” Raamo asked their novice guide one day while they were on their way to the temple. They had just reached the midheights of Stargrund, and the cheering crowds had been left behind. The novice, a short, round-faced youth called D’ol Salaat, had, himself, been a Chosen only the year before. His glance was quick and narrow as Raamo went on, “I don’t understand why there is no more cheering once the Chosen has become an Ol-zhaan.”

  “It is the custom,” D’ol Salaat said. Although he had accompanied Raamo and Genaa several times, he had spoken to them seldom and always with great brevity.

  “It is because we are still one of them,” Genaa said. “We are still Kindar, and therefore not too holy to be cheered and shouted at. Besides fame and honor probably mean nothing to the Ol-zhaan, and cheering would only offend their dignity. Is that not so, D’ol Salaat?”

  D’ol Salaat’s stately stride continued for a few more paces before he nodded approvingly. “You are quite right, Chosen One,” he said. “When one has been elevated and is truly an Ol-zhaan, one places little value on the praise of the Kindar. As a true Ol-zhaan, you will learn to lift your eyes to higher matters.”

  While D’ol Salaat’s eyes were lifted expressively, Genaa rolled hers toward Raamo in a manner that was not entirely respectful to the young Ol-zhaan. But by the time D’ol Salaat’s eyes had descended to her level, Genaa’s were again wide and admiring.

  “I am sure that one learns many many things of great importance when one becomes a novice—and a true Ol-zhaan,” Genaa said in a voice of unnatural sweetness. Raamo had begun to suspect that when Genaa sounded like an artless child, it was best to be wary. But apparently D’ol Salaat had no such suspicions. He smiled at Genaa, allowing a small crack in his shell of dignity.

  “One does indeed,” he said. Then a sigh escaped him. “When one is a novice,” he said, “one learns—continually. There are classes and lessons and examinations from morning until night. When one is still a Chosen and being fed and honored all over Green-sky, one doesn’t know how lucky—” He stopped suddenly. After glancing sharply at Raamo and Genaa, he turned away and once more assumed his stiffly formal manner. “We must hurry on,” he said. “We are awaited in the chambers of D’ol Regle.”

  During the long days of their year of honor, Raamo and Genaa were often together. During the moments in the temple while they awaited the beginning of a ceremony or the arrival of an Ol-zhaan, they spoke together briefly, with frequent interruptions. But on the long journeys to the other cities of Green-sky, they sometimes walked together and it was at such times that Raamo came to learn many things about Genaa D’anhk. And the more he learned, the more certain he became that she was, indeed, a person of great ability and rare talents. There was, for instance, little doubt that she was possessed of mental powers far beyond that of ordinary Kindar.

  It was not only that her memory was remarkable—she had apparently memorized quickly and almost without effort not only every song and chant but also every story and history that the Garden had been able to provide. To Raamo, whose memory had always been untrustworthy, this alone seemed a remarkable feat. But there was more. If Genaa’s remarkable memory put everything she had ever seen and learned in the past forever at her command, she was in even more extraordinary control of the present. It seemed to Raamo that Genaa absorbed everything—people, events, ideas, essences—with amazing speed and clarity. Each was instantly absorbed and analyzed and judged. And nothing was safe from the cutting edge of Genaa’s mind and the prick of her mocking humor. But while nothing escaped Genaa, she herself escaped everything. Nothing, no person or situation seemed to touch or trouble her. Or so Raamo thought until one day when the Procession of Honor was on its way to the city of Farvald.

  This procession, to the smallest and most isolated of the seven cities, had taken several days and now, as they approached their destination, the small column moved very slowly. The entire distance had been covered on foot, as D’ol Regle would not permit gliding while in procession—not even in open forest. When the portly novice-master had explained that gliding, as a means of progression, was lacking in the dignity and majesty so necessary to the occasion, Genaa had whispered to Raamo that D’ol Regle would probably like gliding better if he liked sweetened pan a little less.

  “He
’d need wing-panels as wide as a branchway,” she said, grinning at Raamo, and Raamo couldn’t resist grinning back. “So we all have to walk for five days when we could easily have made it in two.”

  Raamo and Genaa were walking together well to the rear of the straggling column of marchers, made up of D’ol Regle and five other Ol-zhaan, six Kindar porters, and the families of Raamo and Genaa. Later on, as they approached the city, the two Chosen would have to take their places near the head of the procession. But for the moment everyone was too exhausted to trouble themselves over their whereabouts.

  “Are we nearly there?” Raamo asked. “Do these grunds look familiar to you?”

  “Yes,” Genaa said. “Within the hour we should be reaching the outskirts of the city.” There was no hint of eagerness in her voice.

  “Aren’t you pleased to be returning to your birthplace after having been so long away,” Raamo asked. “Many among those who cheer for you here as Chosen will be old friends and classmates. Is that not so?”

  Genaa nodded. “Yes,” she said. “And the thought is somewhat pleasing, if that is your meaning. But Farvald is not my birthplace.”

  “Where were you born then?”

  “In Orbora. My father was then Director of the Academy.”

  Raamo stared at Genaa in astonishment. He had never before heard her speak of her father, and it seemed very strange that one would not speak of a parent who had held a position of such high honor. The Academy of Orbora trained teachers for the Gardens as well as those others among the Kindar who were destined for professions of great honor and responsibility. The Director of the Academy ranked with the City-masters at the very top of Kindar society.

  Genaa turned her face away from Raamo’s gaze, but not before he had read there something quite different from her usual clear-eyed composure. Pensing quickly he found, as he had suspected, that her mind-blocking was not complete. In that brief moment he pensed that Genaa’s father was dead and that his death had brought her bitter anguish.