Until the Celebration (11 page)

Except for a sagging overgrown nid, a lopsided tendril table, and a short-legged bench, the chamber was empty. It was obviously the work of children, built long ago as a secret meeting place and, apparently, now forgotten and deserted. It was, however, isolated and well hidden, qualities that made it well suited to the purposes of the young man. Seating himself on the bench, the youth settled himself to wait and rest—but he did not relax his guard or allow his vigilance to diminish. He was, after all, D’ol Salaat, holy Ol-zhaan and loyal disciple of the great D’ol Regle, on a mission of great peril and awesome responsibility.

D’ol Salaat was now an outcast, living in exile in the secret community of Wissen-wald, a day’s journey to the northeast of Orbora. It was not an easy life nor, at the moment, a richly rewarding one, in terms of honor and glory. But he had faith in the inspired teachings of the glorious D’ol Wissen, in the time-tested traditions and institutions, and, most of all, in the strength and wisdom of the noble D’ol Regle.

Thus musing, D’ol Salaat had, perhaps, allowed his vigilance to relax for the merest fraction of a second, because he was suddenly aware that two persons had entered the tiny chamber and were now standing directly before him. Springing to his feet in some confusion, D’ol Salaat immediately composed himself and demanded that the newcomers recite the password and oath of allegiance to the Great Perpetuator, D’ol Regle—an oath composed some weeks before by D’ol Salaat himself. The newcomers were well known to him, Kindar who had for some time been in the service of the exiles. However, the oath and the password were a part of the new ritual for loyal Kindar and were therefore not to be neglected. When the rituals were properly completed, D’ol Salaat wasted no time in getting to the matter at hand.

“Greetings, loyal Kindar,” he said, taking care to smile with gracious benevolence so that the humble Kindar might not be overwhelmed at his presence. “What news do you bring me concerning the missions that you have been given to perform? You, Quon, what luck have you had in recruiting Kindar workmen?”

Quon, a pale-eyed old man with a small nervous mouth, stared at D’ol Salaat as if in consternation for some moments before he spoke. At last he stammered, “No—not—I’m afraid ... not a great deal, Honored One. I have found four, perhaps five, who would be willing to join the community, I am sure. They speak openly of their unjoyfulness at having to live and work with Erdlings and their fear for the future of Orbora under the Rejoyners. But they are older men and for the most part unskilled in the use of the metal tools of the Erdlings. Is it absolutely necessary that the recruits be those who are assigned to the use of the fire-cursed instruments of the Erdlings?”

D’ol Salaat sighed loudly, but with great patience. “I have explained the need to you before,” he said. “It will be necessary for the community to establish its own orchards as quickly as possible, so that we may have an independent food supply. And in order to do so, we must quickly clear away the forest so that produce trees can be planted. For this we must have metal tools, and workmen who can use them.”

The old man nodded, but weakly and without conviction. “But would it not be better for the Ol-zhaan to clear the forest by means of grunspreking, as was done when the great orchards of Orbora were planted in the early days? Cannot the Ol-zhaan deaden the grunds and rooftrees by means of grunspreking—as was done by the blessed D’ol Wissen?”

D’ol Salaat sighed again and more loudly. “Of course, the Ol-zhaan can still clear the trees by means of grunspreking. But—you see—we do not have time to wait for the trees to disintegrate after they have been deadened through grunspreking. Therefore we must make use of the Erdling tools. Certainly some of the Kindar workers must be adept in their use by now.”

“Oh yes, Honored One. Some of the workmen in my own guild use Erdling tools daily now—with no fear at all. But they are, for the most part, in sympathy with the Rejoyners. I have heard some of them speak ... The old man paused, and his eyes fell in embarrassed confusion.

“Yes, yes,” D’ol Salaat urged. “You have heard them speak of what?”

With his eyes still averted and his voice trembling, Quon continued, “I have heard them speak with great harshness concerning D’ol Regle. They feel great unjoyfulness towards D’ol Regle concerning the tool-of-violence and the holy ... the two children. I think it would not be wise to speak to them of Wissen-wald and of D’ol Regle.”

“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.”

H
IRO 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 to 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.