“Yes, I see. You are probably right. You must use your own judgment in these matters, since it would be unsafe for me to be seen in Orbora. Otherwise I would come with you to the guild halls to speak with the workers and make them see that their only hope lies with us and with D’ol Regle. So it is up to you, Quon, to make them see the truth. It is a great responsibility, and someday when D’ol Regle has returned to Temple Grove, you will be richly rewarded. And now, you, Maala. What luck have you had with your task?”
The other Kindar, a woman of middle age with a thin, firm-chinned face, stepped forward briskly. “I, too, have little to report,” she said. “It is two months now since I began searching, and I have been over every inch of the palace. I have listened carefully to every conversation that I have been able to overhear; but I have, as yet, no clue to the hiding place of the tool-of-violence. Isn’t it possible that it has been dismantled, broken into little pieces, and the parts scattered?”
“No,” D’ol Salaat said. “I have spoken to D’ol Regle concerning the matter, and he has assured me that it would be impossible. D’ol Regle told me that the tool-of-violence was constructed around a force capsule in such a way that it could not be disassembled or deactivated without releasing its power in a great consuming wave of energy that would destroy everything for miles around. He says that D’ol Falla knows this, and that she would not allow the weapon to be tampered with in any way. D’ol Regle has told me that if you have heard no one speaking of the tool-of-violence, it must mean that no one knows of its continued existence except D’ol Falla—and it must, therefore, be hidden in a place that would be accessible to her. Since she is old and fragile, it is apt to be in or near her own quarters in the Vine Palace.”
“Yes, Honored One,” Maala said. “I will try to search again in such places.”
D’ol Salaat was disappointed. He had traveled the long distance to this rendezvous with great effort and personal risk and to what purpose? Neither of his Kindar agents had made any progress in the tasks to which they had been assigned. Their lack of success was due, he felt certain, to the fact that, like most Kindar, they were simply unable to function in a capacity that required initiative and imagination. Stifling his impatience as best he could, he asked them a last question. “Is there anything else you have learned—of which D’ol Regle should be informed? Anything which might affect the wellbeing of the community, and the furtherance of our holy purpose?”
The old man Quon’s feet shuffled nervously and his mouth opened and closed several times in rapid succession. Obviously he was considering some form of communication.
“Yes, yes,” D’ol Salaat urged with some forcefulness.
“It is about the Erdling who is called Axon Befal, Honored One. About Axon Befal and those who are his followers and are called the Nekom.”
“Yes, yes—well?”
“There are whispers. ... Some people are saying—that they, too, have made a community in the open forest. And that they have sharp-edged tools-of-violence. They have already made an attack upon the old man who is called Wassou, and who was once a Geets-kel—as I told you before, Honored One. And after that they were exiled to Farbelo. But now there are rumors that they have left Farbelo and have built a community in the forest.”
“The old man is D’ol Wassou,” D’ol Salaat corrected. “An Ol-zhaan is always an Ol-zhaan. Does he still live?”
“Yes, Honored One. D’ol Wassou was badly harmed, but he still lives. There are whispers, however, that the Nekom are planning to harm others—perhaps many others.”
A thrill of fear raced upward from the soles of D’ol Salaat’s feet to the top of his head. “It this true? Is there any proof?” Turning to the woman he asked, “Have you heard of this, also?”
“No,” she said. “I have heard nothing recently that concerned the Nekom.”
“It is not yet widely known,” Quon said. “There has been no mention of it in the announcements of the Joined Council. It has only been whispered of among the Kindar who work daily with Erdling craftsmen.”
“I see,” D’ol Salaat said, struggling to keep his voice firm and steady. “It is probably no more than baseless rumor. But I will speak of it to D’ol Regle when I return to Wissen-wald.”
Since the Kindar seemed to have nothing further to report, D’ol Salaat dismissed them; but as they were leaving, walking backward with their arms outstretched in the ritual gesture of reverence and respect, as was proper for Kindar leaving the presence of an Ol-zhaan, a further thought occurred to D’ol Salaat. Calling the woman back, he gave her a final exhortation.
“Maala,” he said. “The rumor of which Quon spoke is undoubtedly false. But if it should not be—if there is a possibility that the Nekom are preparing for violence—it is even more urgent that you successfully complete the assignment that has been given to you. It is absolutely imperative that you find the ancient tool-of-violence and deliver it to D’ol Regle in Wissen-wald.”
As he spoke, he stared sternly at the Kindar woman, and she trembled before his gaze.
“Yes, Honored One,” she said. “I will search for it night and day.”
Chapter Eleven
HIRO D’ANHK FOUND HIMSELF fervently muttering the words of the Hymn of Peace—precisely as would any well-trained Garden child when faced with a situation that might cause unjoyfulness. Pushing aside the tapestries, he stepped out onto the balcony of his nid-chamber. At first he saw nothing to indicate the source of the disturbance. The broad branch-path below his balcony was deserted; but the shrieks and shouts continued, and their source was clearly not far away.
Then, as he watched, a thicket of leafy endbranches quivered violently and erupted two children who, scrambling to their feet, began to race in circles, screaming in obviously joyful abandon. Unseen on his balcony, Hiro examined with curiosity both the screaming children and his own reaction.
The children were, perhaps, four or five years old, and although they were both dressed as Kindar in silken shubas, the tawny skin and stocky build of one revealed his Erdling parentage. Undoubtedly the child of one of the young Erdling families who had recently immigrated into the farheights of the city. The other, lightboned and agile as a sima, his small head covered by a closecropped mass of bright curls, was clearly Kindar. Watching their play, a senseless and almost hysterical game of chase and be chased, aroused in Hiro a strange feeling of anxiety. The anxiety, he realized, had several causes and arose from many levels.
On the immediate level, it was simply very troubling, when there was so much to be accomplished, to have his thinking disturbed by unnecessary noise. It was only a month until the Celebration, decreed by the Joined Council, to commemorate the first anniversary of the Rejoyning. It was necessary for him to think clearly and without distraction. Each day, it seemed, there was less to celebrate, and yet the long-awaited ceremony must take place. Yet what should it be? What could it be?
On another level, his uneasiness at the sound of the children was unreasoned, almost instinctive, and arose from his childhood when, like all Kindar children, he had been carefully taught to avoid any rough and uncontrolled activity that might lead to pain or frustration, and thereby to unjoyful emotions.
But there was yet another level—another reason why he found the sight and sound of the two children so disturbing. Appearing as they had, suddenly beneath his balcony, they seemed to be an omen—a vivid and unescapable symbol of the events of the past year and of the many problems yet to be resolved.
A scream of real panic interrupted the excited shrieks, and Hiro leaned forward in time to see the two children teetering on the edge of the branchpath. Gripping each other, they struggled to regain their balance, lost the struggle, and pitched forward into space. Hiro gasped, mindful of the possibility that the Erdling child might have had scant training in the use of the shuba. Leaning far out, he watched helplessly as the children fell.
Pushing himself free from his desperately clinging playmate, the Kindar boy tumbled once t
o bring his body into a horizontal position. Then, suddenly extending his arms and legs, he tightened the wing-panels of his shuba. The wide panels billowed and, his slight weight easily supported, he swooped briefly upwards and then began a sloping glide to the nearest branchpath. Below him the Erdling boy still fell, twisting and turning, his wing-panels flapping uselessly. He fell down and down, past flights of paraso birds, past vine thickets and branchpaths, past clustered nid-places. At last, far below, he managed to straighten his limbs at the right moment, and the panels billowed and held. When he disappeared from Hiro’s sight, he was at last gliding, erratically, but slowly, towards the forest floor.
He would land unharmed and should have little difficulty finding one of the surface villages, and eventually he would be returned to his parents’ home in the farheights. But it was, indeed, to be regretted that some of the young Erdling families had moved into the heights before their children could be properly trained and prepared.
As Hiro returned to his chamber, he noticed that the lamps had not been tended, a task he usually performed immediately upon rising from his nid. Gathering the lamps, he returned to the balcony and released the now dimly glowing moon-moths and watched them hum away into the greening morning air. They had served throughout the night, their phosphorescent bodies lighting his labors, and now they were free to feed and rest. But Hiro’s labors remained unfinished.
Sighing, he returned to his chamber and to the many problems that had been submitted to him for review. All around the chamber, spread out on immense table-boards, were a seemingly endless array of petitions, requests, complaints and protests—some hastily jotted on grund-leaf, others carefully embroidered on silken scrolls, and some scrawled on the now familiar tablets of Erdling slate. It was urgently necessary for him to finish evaluating these messages and to determine which must receive the immediate attention of the Joined Council. Which, that is, posed the greatest threat not only to the long-range well-being of the planet, but to the immediate future, and the great Celebration that was barely a month away.
That they had come so far, that so many enormously shattering changes had taken place without major tragedies was, in itself, a triumph, although there were certainly many problems as yet unsolved, and great dangers still to be faced. There were still, almost daily, times when the future hung in the balance, so delicately poised between growth and disaster that the smallest thing—the carcass of a trencher bird on an Erdling hearth-fire, or the whispered use of the hated word “Pash-shan”—could plunge the entire planet into a catastrophe too terrible to be imagined.
Hiro returned to his task at the table-boards, but he had accomplished little when his bond-partner, Jorda, appeared in the doorway.
“It is far past the hour for food-taking,” she said. “Will you eat and rest now, before the meeting of the Council?” Coming to him, she took his hands and pulled him down to sit beside her on a bench of woven tendril. “You will be ill, Hiro.”
Shaking his head impatiently, Hiro began to deny the truth of Jorda’s warning, but an overwhelming sensation of exhaustion made him close his eyes and lean his head against the benchback. Jorda pressed her palms to his and, although he could not pense, he was vividly aware of her sharing of his weariness and anxiety.
“You are right,” Hiro said. “I forget that my strength is no longer as limitless as it was in our youth hall days. You do well to remind me that I no longer have such endurance. The years have brought changes.”
“It is remarkable that you have endured at all,” Jorda said. “These last three years—two in exile in Erda and now these last months with so great a burden of responsibility. Any other would be dead by now, or far gone in Berry-dreaming.” She rose suddenly. “Rest,” she said. “I will bring food here, to your chamber.”
Closing his eyes, Hiro had begun the ritual of relaxation when the doorhangings were again thrust aside and Neric paced into the chamber.
“I am sorry to disturb you,” Neric said. “Jorda said you were resting, but there are matters than can’t wait.”
Hiro looked at the taut, eager face and sighed inwardly. So much was owed to this young man, and yet—there were times when the sharp edges of Neric’s convictions were bruising to those who were close to him.
“What is it, Neric?” Hiro asked.
“It concerns the crew of workmen who were promised from Upper Erda to work on the amphitheater. The city-master promised fifty to be at the clearing by the seventh hour, and they have not yet arrived. The clearing of fern and rooftree is far behind schedule, and many of the stages and platforms are only partially completed. The wreaths and garlands cannot be hung until the clearing is completed and—”
“Could extra Kindar workers be assigned to take the place of the Erdlings?”
“It has already been tried. But the tasks remaining are those that require the use of Erdling tools. Many of the Kindar workers are still unskilled in their use, and some even now refuse to use them.”
“Refuse to use Erdling tools?”
“Yes. Because they are of metal and formed by fire. Some claim such tools are infused with evil powers.”
Hiro’s sigh was, to say the least, unjoyful, and would have been perhaps better described by the Erdling term “angry.” “Who spreads such tales still?” he demanded. “I thought we had stopped such rumors long ago.”
“Who knows? Rumors fly thicker than moon-moths at dusk. A few Kindar have injured themselves recently on the sharp edges of certain Erdling instruments, through carelessness or a lack of skill. But the rumors do not seem to arise from such logical causes.”
“What would you have me do?” Hiro asked, after a moment’s silence.
Neric’s eyes narrowed as he recognized the impatience and weariness in Hiro’s voice. “If you send a messenger to Kir Oblan, or one of the other Erdling Councilors, perhaps they could urge the Erdling workmen to report to the amphitheater.”
“Perhaps. I shall see what I can do. But, as you well know, Erdlings are apt to respond to directives in their own way and at their own timing. But I shall send the message.”
Neric raised both hands in a gesture of thankfulness and turned abruptly toward the doorway. Then, stopping just as abruptly, he came back, gesturing to the laden tables. “How is it progressing?” he asked. “Have you been able to review all the petitions?”
“Nearly all. I have almost finished selecting the issues that must be placed before the Council today. We are to meet at the twelfth hour.” He turned back to the tables, but Neric lingered near the doorway, seemingly uncertain whether to go or stay. For a time Hiro ignored his presence, hoping that there would be no more—no other crises to be faced. But still Neric hesitated. Hiro closed his eyes and breathed slowly and deeply before he turned, smiling.
“And—?”
The younger man’s eyes blinked rapidly and then fell in confusion. “I—I have no wish to trouble you further,” he said. “And it may be of little importance. I cannot see that there is anything that can be done, but ...
Hiro waited.
“It concerns Axon Befal. It seems he has disappeared.”
“Disappeared? How could he disappear?”
“He has not been seen for almost a month. The nid-place to which he was assigned at the time of his banishment, in the surface city of Farbelo, is abandoned. And he has not been reporting to his place of service.”
“For almost a month? How is it that we have not been informed?”
“I don’t know. I heard of it only through rumor, but when I spoke of it this morning to an Erdling Councilor whom I happened to meet on a branchpath, he seemed to know of it. Though he seemed to think it was a matter of no great consequence. He said that Befal had probably decided to live alone in the forest, and that it was no concern of the Council’s as long as he did not return to Orbora.”
Hiro nodded. “Possibly. But I cannot see Axon living as a recluse—”
“Nor I.”
“Yet the same was said of
Regle when he fled Orbora. And he has not returned to spread dissension as we feared he would do.” Hiro sighed deeply. “And so, now, there is another who has fled—to return constantly in dark imaginings.”
“But surely there can be no connection, no common conspiracy. Not between Regle and Axon.”
“It would seem unlikely,” Hiro said. “Although they do have a trait in common—the lust for power.”
“I know,” Neric said. “It has occurred to me.”
It was then that Jorda returned bearing a tray of food and drink, and behind her came Raamo. He approached Hiro uncertainly and offered his palms in greeting.
“You are much troubled,” he said, “and I am sorry to come here to add to your worries.” His dark gaze flowed outward as he pensed Hiro’s exhaustion.
Hiro smiled. “I will rest soon—after the Celebration. What is it that you must tell me?”
“It concerns the banners,” Raamo said. “The banners that are being hung along the great branchways, proclaiming the Celebration.”
“Banners? What is it concerning banners that could be of such importance?”
Raamo’s face flushed. “It will seem unimportant,” he said, “but it is not. It is that some of the banners—many of them—are naming the ceremony the Celebration of the Holy Children, instead of the Rejoyning, as was decreed by the Council.”
Hiro turned to Neric. “What do you know of this?” he asked.
Neric was smiling. “But little,” he said. “The official banners speak of the Rejoyning, but there are many others, prepared by guilds and societies and halls—Erdling groups as well as Kindar. You know, Raamo, the great Love and honor there is for Teera and Pomma throughout Green-sky. It seems to me only to be expected that some should wish to name the ceremony in their honor.” Turning to Hiro he said, “Raamo has spoken to me concerning the adoration of the children, but I must confess that I have seen only good arise from it.”
Until the Celebration Page 9