“You may be right,” Raamo said. “I don’t know. I cannot think they would harm Pomma—”
“Fool,” Neric said. “You are a fool, Raamo.”
“Perhaps,” Raamo said. “But what can we do? How can we protect her?”
“I don’t know,” Neric said. “First, of course, we must warn her to be silent. We must impress on her the necessity of absolute silence concerning what she has heard. And I can tell your mother that she must not yet be allowed to return to her classes at the Garden. With less contact with other children, she will be less tempted to reveal what she has learned. And then we must plan. We must begin to plan what can be done to overcome the power of the Geets-kel and—to free the Erdlings.”
“But how can we do that?” Raamo asked. “Our plan was only to discover the secret, and now we have done that. I can think of nothing more we can do. Unless—unless we simply go to the Geets-kel and tell them what has happened and what we have learned and—”
Neric threw up his hands in exasperation. “Raamo. Sometimes I despair of your sanity, and of my own for choosing you as my accomplice. The Geets-kel are evil. Their motives are evil. We could do no worse than to tamely deliver ourselves into their hands.”
“Evil?” Raamo said. “But why?” Bowing his head he pressed the palms of his hands against his forehead as if it were possible to catch and hold his thoughts and thus to still the turmoil of his mind. Long moments passed in silence. At last Raamo raised his head and looked at Genaa. She had not spoken for a long time. She was sitting very still, her chin lifted and her eyes glowing darkly.
“Genaa,” Raamo said. “What do you think? What do you think we should do?”
“What you should do, Raamo, I cannot say. But I know what I will do and what I will never do. I will never take part in any plan to free the Pash-shan. And if I thought that it was possible for you and Neric to free them I would—I would go to the Geets-kel and tell them what you planned to do.”
“I told you,” Neric said bitterly. “I warned you Raamo about your precious Genaa, and you would not listen.”
“It is because of your father, isn’t it?” Raamo said. “But do you still believe that he was killed by the Pash-shan? Even now that we know the Pash-shan are not sharp-fanged monsters? How could the Erdlings have killed him and for what purpose?”
“I don’t know that,” Genaa said. “But I know that my father went down to the forest floor to try to make contact with the Pash-shan, and he never returned.”
“Aha!” Neric said suddenly. “Did anyone else know of his plans? Had he, perhaps, confided in a sympathetic Ol-zhaan? Did he seek counsel concerning his plan to contact the Pash-shan? If he did, he was probably taken not by the Pash-shan but by the Geets-kel. And that would explain many of the other disappearances of adult Kindar that have occurred in recent years.”
“I thought of that,” Genaa said. “I thought of the possibility that the Geets-kel might have somehow arranged for his disappearance. But they did not know. Before he left, he told me that no one else knew. He said he was only telling me so I would know what had happened if anything went wrong. He said he had been working on a theory concerning the Pash-shan, and that if his guesses were correct, he would be in no danger; but that if he did not return by nightfall, I would know that he would never return again, and that I should not wait and hope as it would only make the sorrow harder to bear.
“And then he left. I saw him go. I followed him until he began to climb down below the lowest branches. He never came back. I don’t know what the monsters in human form who call themselves Erdlings did to him, but I know that he is dead. If he were not dead, he would find some way to let me know. So the Erdlings must have killed him. And so you see that I could never help you to free them.”
Genaa had been staring down at the floor as she spoke, but now she raised her head and looked toward Raamo with eyes that were like dead moons. “I would help you, Raamo, if you were planning to kill them,” she said. “My cause is still to rid Green-sky of the curse of the Pash-shan.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THERE SEEMED TO BE nothing more to say. Nothing could be said that would alter either Neric’s or Genaa’s determination to oppose evil as they saw it. And as for Raamo, he could find no words at all to express the fear that gripped him, a fear that arose from no identifiable threat but only from a tormenting feeling of uncertainty—an unaccustomed and tortuous uncertainty that seemed to be pulling him into small painful pieces.
Before they left the D’ok nid-place, Raamo went to Pomma’s chamber to tell her that they were leaving and to warn her to speak to no one concerning Teera, or of any of the things she had heard discussed that day in the common room. Hearba and Valdo having been summoned and bid farewell, the three young Ol-zhaan took advantage of the lull in foot traffic brought about by the approaching hour of food-taking and made good their retreat to the open forest. They spoke little as they skirted the city and approached the Temple Grove through hidden sidepaths. But when they had safely reached Neric’s hideaway in the Vine-screen near the Great Hall, Neric once more confronted Genaa.
“I must ask for some assurance,” he said, “for one promise.”
“And what promise is that?” Genaa asked.
“An exchange, a promise for a promise. We will promise to let you know what we plan to do, if you will promise not to go to the Geets-kel until then. That you will wait until you hear our plans before you decide to betray us to the Geets-kel.”
“And how do I know that I can trust you to keep your part of the promise?” Genaa asked coldly.
“Surely you do not distrust Raamo?” Neric said.
Turning to Raamo, Genaa held out both her hands. “Tell me you will do nothing without including me,” she said.
“In mind-touch?” Raamo asked.
“No!” she said, impatiently. “You know I cannot pense. But if you tell me with your eyes and palms as well as your voice, I will believe you.”
So the promise was given, and a pledge made to meet again in the same place on the next free day. Then the three prepared to leave the hiding place for the branch-paths of the grove. Since it was not yet dark, Ol-zhaan and Kindar helpers were still abroad on the grove branchpaths. Neric peered out cautiously through the Vine leaves. After several minutes he motioned to Genaa.
“All right,” he said, “there is no one coming—no, wait!” Grabbing her arm, he suddenly pulled her back behind the Vine screen. There was another long wait before he turned to whisper, “It was that paraso, D’ol Salaat. He appeared very suddenly near the hall entrance and then went by slowly, looking in this direction. I hope he didn’t see you.”
Genaa’s shrug made it plain that she could not be concerned with the actions of such as D’ol Salaat. She stepped out through the growth of Vine, and in a few seconds was strolling casually along the branchpath. When she had disappeared, Neric turned to Raamo.
“Do you think she will keep her promise?” he asked.
“She will keep it,” Raamo said. “But I don’t know what else she will do.”
Neric sighed. “If only we could find out more—discover new information that might influence her. If we could find out more about her father. I’m almost certain the Geets-kel had a hand in his disappearance. In the days between now and the next free-day, we must think long and hard about what we have learned today and what we should do about it. If we are alert and diligent, perhaps we will find a way to learn something of great importance. But one last word of warning, Raamo. Be very careful when you are with D’ol Falla. There are rumors that she was once greatly gifted in the skills of the Spirit. I would remind you to guard carefully against revealing our secrets to her in your attempt to learn the ones of which she is the guardian.”
In the days that followed, Raamo had much to occupy his mind. Most of all he thought of the Pash-shan—the Pash-shan who in horrible, half-seen forms had haunted his childhood nightmares, and who it now seemed were only other Kindar—Kind
ar who had been shut away, thrust down into darkness and transformed into fearful threatening legends.
He considered, too, what should be done about it, but he came to few decisions. There seemed so little that could be done. It could not be right and good that the Erdlings should be imprisoned and the Kindar deceived and deluded; but there was the Root, and no decision could alter the fact that the Root was indestructible. There were the rumors, of course, that the Root was withering. Teera, herself, was proof that somewhere it had withered enough to permit the passage of a small girl. Perhaps the withering would continue, and in the meantime there was the possibility that food could be supplied to the hungry Erdlings. But that would mean the Kindar must be told.
But should the Kindar be told? Raamo did not even know if Neric would agree that they should tell the Kindar, and he was quite sure that Genaa would not agree. And what would happen when the Kindar knew? When they saw that they had been deceived about the Pash-shan, would they then believe in nothing? And if they no longer believed in the Ol-zhaan, would they also lose their faith in everything and everyone? It seemed to Raamo that Kindar who had no faith in each other and in Spirit-life, would not be Kindar at all.
And what would happen when the disillusioned Kindar went to the forest floor and met their imprisoned kinspeople? What strange things, what thoughts and feelings, what habits and reactions would they learn from these mysterious, long-imprisoned Kindar of darkness?
Raamo pondered all these questions over and over again without arriving at any answers. But in spite of his unanswered questions and fearful uncertainties, he began to be aware that a belief was growing in his mind and becoming daily more strong and insistent. That belief was that knowledge of the true nature of the Pash-shan belonged to the Kindar, and that it could not be right to keep it from them.
During those days, Raamo also thought often of Neric’s warning concerning D’ol Falla. Daily, as he made his way from the novice hall to the central platform and from there to the ornate door-arch of D’ol Falla’s chambers, he reminded himself that he must be very careful. He must watch and listen for the slightest flaw in the mind-blocking of the old woman, at the same time being on constant guard to prevent any relaxation of his own. It was not an easy thing to do.
D’ol Falla was beginning to teach Raamo the many intricate rituals of the Vine, and there was much drill and repetition. But more than ever now, as he listened to the soft rasp of the old woman’s voice, Raamo was tormented by the constant awareness of a dim uncertain questing, a blind searching that seemed to hover just beyond the edge of his own consciousness. And, more than ever, he found it hard to refrain from lowering his own barriers and reaching out in open response. But he did not. Instead he reminded himself of Neric’s warning and firmly turned his thoughts to the ordered patterns of the ritual chants.
When the next free day finally arrived, Raamo hurriedly left the great hall after the morning ceremony, only to be detained by D’ol Salaat. D’ol Salaat, it seemed, had no plans for the free day and wanted to know how Raamo was planning to enjoy the hours of relaxation. It took some quick thinking and talking before D’ol Salaat could be sent on his way and Raamo was free to make his careful approach to the meeting place. Fearful that he would be keeping the others waiting, he finally pushed his way through the Vine-screen, only to find that there was no one there. Looking around, he noticed a large grundleaf attached to a Vine-tendril in such a way that it could not fail to attract attention. Someone had written on the leaf in large letters and left it where it was certain to be seen. Raamo had just begun to read the message when the Vine parted and Neric entered the hiding place.
“What is it?” he asked.
“A message,” Raamo said, and together they read what Genaa had written.
“I arrived early and have gone on ahead, as I wish to speak privately with Teera. Join me there. Genaa.”
“Privately,” Neric said. “What is she up to now?”
Raamo shook his head. “I doubt that she will have much success,” he said. “Unless she can somehow convince Teera of her good will.”
“Good will!” Neric said. “When she has said that she would like to kill all the Pash-shan, even though they are only imprisoned Kindar?”
“I don’t think she really meant it,” Raamo said, “or, at least, she would not mean it if she took time to consider. But whatever her true feelings are—Teera will know. Although she cannot mind-speak, her pensing of emotion and feelings is very quick and accurate. She will know what lies beneath the questions Genaa asks her, perhaps better than Genaa herself.”
“Perhaps,” Neric said. “In any case, we had best hurry. I may not be noted for my skill at foretelling, but I feel quite certain that this private interview with the glorious D’ol Genaa bodes no good for our little Pash-shan, and perhaps no good for us.”
Raamo and Neric made the long roundabout journey to the D’ok nid-place in a very short time, but it became obvious, the moment they entered, that the time had not been short enough. Pomma met them in the doorway, and her face was wet with tears.
“They’ve gone,” she said. “D’ol Genaa came and talked to Teera alone, and then they came out and went away. I asked them where they were going, but they didn’t say anything except D’ol Genaa said to tell you that they were going to the forest floor.”
“That was all?” Raamo asked. “She didn’t say why?”
“No,” Pomma said. “That was all she said. But I think she had been crying.”
“Teera was crying?” Neric asked.
“No. D’ol Genaa.”
“Genaa? Crying?” Neric said. He grabbed Raamo’s shoulder. “Let us go quickly,” he said. “There is no time to waste.”
“What is it?” Pomma cried, bursting into a fresh flood of tears. “What is she going to do? What will she do to Teera?”
Quickly reassuring Pomma as best he could, Raamo joined Neric in the doorway to wait until a break in the traffic of strolling Kindar made it possible to hurry to the safety of their vantage point in the nearest leafy branch-end. There they paused long enough to plan their pursuit.
“She would have gone this way to the outskirts of the city,” Neric said. “I would guess that if we go to the first uninhabited grund and seek out the first strong stand of Vine, we will not be far from the route taken by our impetuous colleague. She is in no mood for caution or patience, I think.”
“Yes,” Raamo said, “but she will not be able to move swiftly with Teera. If we hurry, perhaps we will be able to catch them before—”
Already pushing his way through the thicket of end-branches, Neric looked back to ask, “Before what? What do you think she plans to do with Teera? Do you think she plans to harm her?”
“I don’t know,” Raamo said. “It seems impossible. But if she forced Teera to tell her something concerning her father’s death, and if in truth, the Erdlings were responsible—I don’t know what she might do. She might—do almost anything.”
“Aha,” Neric exulted. “I am relieved, at least, that you are beginning to sec more clearly. But do not berate yourself. You are not the first to be blinded by beauty.”
Soon after crossing over from Grandgrund to the dense endbranches of the first forest grund, Raamo noticed a loosely twisted spiral of heavy Vine-stems passing directly through a leafy thicket of grundtwigs. Near the Vine, a grundleaf’s succulent surface had recently been marred, as if by grasping fingers.
“This way,” Raamo said, and swinging onto the Vine, he climbed quickly downward, with Neric following close behind. Within a very few minutes, they were standing, for the second time, on the forest floor.
As before, the light under the arching ferns was muted, deeply shadowed in shades of green, and in the still air the rich heavy scents seemed almost tangible to tongue and fingertips. No sound of voices or footsteps broke the silence, but here and there in the soft moss small rounded imprints were clearly visible. The imprints had quite possibly been made by the heels of smal
l human feet, and led away from the Vine ladder in a southerly direction. Silently, alert for the slightest sound or motion in the surrounding undergrowth, Raamo and Neric crept forward.
In spurts and starts, losing the trail and finding it again, they zigzagged down long corridors under arching fern-fronds, and then crossed a more open area where the fern gave way to low, wide-leafed plants bearing enormous blood-red blossoms. Twice the trail led them across small crevices full of flowing water before it plunged back into a dense growth of towering fern. Here the boles of the ferns grew so closely that the narrow pathway twisted and turned constantly and beneath the interwoven fronds the light faded to a greenish twilight. Bending low, peering, even feeling for the faint indentations, their progress had slowed almost to a crawl when a sudden sound brought them to their feet, staring at each other in wild conjecture. Far in the distance a voice, a thin childish voice, was shouting for help.
“Help,” the sound came again. “Help me. It’s Teera. Help me.”
Frantically Neric and Raamo plunged forward, twisting and turning as they dodged around the fern boles and Vine-stems and scrambled over the decaying trunks of fallen rooftrees.
The call came again, much closer now, “It’s Teera. Help me. It’s Teera.”’
As the last shout died away, Raamo broke through a thick wall of undergrowth and stopped short. Following close behind, Neric was unable to stop in time to prevent a sharp collision. But the crashing of underbrush and the thud of colliding bodies went entirely unnoticed by the two people who were already occupying the clearing.
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