Until the Celebration (8 page)

Almost involuntarily Wassou’s hand lifted, and the tips of his fingers moved very slowly across his face. The healers had told him that he had been kept in isolation for so long in order to protect him—that he was not yet strong enough to bear the strain of social contact. But he had guessed that there was greater need to protect those who might otherwise have visited him. He had not seen his face. His request for an Erdling mirror, or even a gazing bowl, had not been granted. But he could see what the Erdling knives had done to his arms and shoulders, and the tips of his fingers had told him much, more than he wished to know. And now D’ol Falla was bringing Raamo to see him.

He loved D’ol Falla. He had always loved her. But there were times when he thought that her great wisdom was like an ancient tapestry—a thing of beauty but full of unexpected holes. Was it possible that she had not foreseen the effect of this meeting on the sensitive, Spirit-haunted boy.

Rousing himself, Wassou limped hastily to the windows and drew shut the hangings, closing out the soft green glow. Then he took a long hooded cloak from the wardrobe. Placing his chair in the darkest corner of the room, he seated himself carefully, pulling the hood forward as far as it would go around his face. He had barely finished his careful arrangements when the door hangings were thrust aside and healer entered, closely followed by D’ol Falla and behind her, the boy, Raamo.

Wassou waited while his visitors spoke at some length with the healing woman. It was obvious that she was overjoyed at the opportunity to speak with Raamo who, since the Rejoyning, had become the object of almost as much reverent adoration as the holy children. At her urgent request, Raamo sang the greeting with her, and then the parting, and both in the old unshortened version, while Wassou waited in a torment of anxious anticipation. When at last the healer departed, and the boy and D’ol Falla turned to cross the darkened chamber, pity and apprehension lay like a great weight at the pit of Wassou’s stomach. Then, to his horror, as D’ol Falla finished the greeting, she bent and pressed her cheek to his, dislodging his hood so that it fell back and revealed his face to Raamo’s gaze. As Raamo extended his hands for the greeting, his eyes rested on Wassou’s face, and the old man waited for them to widen in horror.

“It gives me great Joy to see you again after so long a time,” the boy said, and his eyes spoke of Joy and of concern, but not of distress and repulsion, as Wassou had feared they would.

“And I you,” Wassou said, pressing Raamo’s hands between his own and struggling to keep his voice from quavering with relief and gratitude. “Please be seated, both of you. And please, draw your chairs closer so we can talk more easily. There is fresh fruit on the table by the window. Won’t you have a paam or a small pan-fruit, D’ol Falla? The paams are the kind you like, the small green ones.”

The paams reminded D’ol Falla of how the small juicy fruit had first been developed by a gifted grunspreker when she was still a very young woman, and of how Wassou had brought her a basketful as a present on the first anniversary of their meeting. And so they spoke for some time of the past, as they had done so often in the last week. But finally the talk turned to the present, and Wassou asked for news concerning events that had taken place since he had been confined to the chambers of healing. He found that, suddenly, he was eager to hear what progress had been made while he had been recovering. He asked first about the new Garden being prepared for Erdling children.

“I have not been there myself,” D’ol Falla said. “But I have received reports concerning the Garden. Classes are scheduled to begin on the first day of the fifth moon. The building is almost completed, but there have been new delays in the training of teachers and in the planning of the classes. There have been many meetings between the educators, both Erdling and Kindar, and the Erdling parents, but little has been decided. The Erdling parents do not agree among themselves on how many of the traditional Kindar classes they wish to have included in their new curriculum. Most of them want their children to receive instruction in the Spirit-skills, but not all. And many are opposed to the classes in Love and Joy. There is, I’m afraid, only one area of complete agreement, and that concerns the classes in gliding and use of the shuba. The necessity for that has been demonstrated too many times to leave room for argument.”

“I know,” Wassou said, “only too well. There is an Erdling child in the next nid-chamber. He had only begun to take instruction and was not yet certified, but his parents allowed him to climb to the farheights with a group of his companions. He was just below the fronds of the roof trees when he fell. There is some doubt if he will ever walk again.”

“It is unfortunate that some of the Erdlings have moved into the heights before there was time to prepare for their arrival. Though their impatience is understandable, of course.”

“Are the immigrants to the heights still mostly young families?” Wassou asked.

“Yes.” It was Raamo who answered. “Many of the older people have found that they cannot overcome their fear of heights. So they prefer the surface cities. And there are some who prefer to go on living in Erda, just as they have always done. But wherever they go, all the immigrants want private nid-places—they do not like our youth halls and guild homes.”

“Yes, there are still many problems,” D’ol Falla said. “And not only concerning the Gardens and nid-places. Of late, since your illness, there has been a great deal of dissatisfaction among the distributors at the public pantries and warehouses, particularly in the hall of shubas.”

“The hall of shubas?” Wassou asked. “Are there then too few shubas for the immigrants. If that is true they must, indeed, be arriving in Orbora in great numbers. There has always been a great surplus of shubas in the warehouses.”

Raamo smiled. “The Erdlings have become very fond of shubas. Even those who live in Erda or in surface cities and do not glide or plan to learn have discarded their tunics for shubas. Everyone in Erda has a shuba now, or two or three. That is, everyone who has a friend or relative who has immigrated and is entitled to be served at the Orbora warehouses.”

“But there is more to the problem than the Erdlings’ interest in shubas,” D’ol Falla said. “The trouble arises from the difference in our systems of distribution. While we have always distributed necessities according to need, and all else by honor ranking, the Erdlings are used to an exchange based on small disks of metal, which are known as tokens.”

“Ah yes,” Wassou said, “I have heard the term. But I never realized its significance.”

“The tokens are earned by service, and they can then be exchanged for anything in any amount, as long as they last. Except for food, of course, which was carefully rationed, the Erdlings are not used to any other limits on their acquisitions. So the immigrants come to our warehouses and ask for many things; and because their needs and ranking have not been established, the distributors have been reluctant to refuse them. Even the goods that have been, by long tradition, reserved for Kindar of high honor, such as pan-wood furniture and the most richly embroidered shubas, have been asked for and given to the Erdling immigrants.”

“The silkhouses have been working extra hours and on free days, but still there are not enough shubas,” Raamo said. “And Kindar who must glide in ragged shubas are made unjoyful to know that fine new shubas are being worn now in the mines of Erda.”

“A new calling should be made for apprentices to the silkworkers’ and embroiderers’ guilds,” Wassou suggested.

“It has already been done, and several times. But the skills are not quickly learned,” D’ol Falla said. “And the time cycle from moth to worm to woven silk cannot be hastened. It will be some time before the number of shubas produced can be greatly increased.”

“Yes, yes, of course.” Wassou shook his head. “Well, well. We foresaw that there would be many problems, but I think no one guessed that a shortage of shubas would be among them. But then, we predicted some that have not come to pass. One in particular. Regle has not returned to Orbora. We have been very fortunate in that respect. I would never have guessed that Regle would let seven months go by without returning to Orbora to try to vindicate himself—and to sow dissension between Erdling and Kindar. He still has not been seen?”

“No, he has not been seen, but—”

“But what?”

“Last week it was reported to the Council that a harvester who had arrived early in the orchard saw three men carrying heavy bags leaving the pan-grove. The harvester did not recognize them, but from his description it seems likely that two of the men were Tarn and Pino, two Kindar serving men who disappeared with Regle on the day of the Rejoyning.”

“And the third?”

“The harvester did not see his face, but he was wearing a white shuba.”

“A white shuba. An Ol-zhaan then. D’ol Regle himself?”

“No. The man was short and slighter in build. It could not have been Regle. But there are others who disappeared—other Ol-zhaan. D’ol Salaat, of course, and then soon afterwards, Ruuro and Povaal. And recently there have been a few others.”

“What can it mean?”

“I don’t know,” D’ol Falla said. “But it is possible that Regle has established a settlement somewhere in the open forest and is gathering around him all those whose opposition to the Rejoyning has caused them to flee Orbora. It is a troublesome thought.”

“And Axon Befal? Has he remained in exile?”

“Yes. He and the three others who helped in the attack are still living in Farbelo, being watched by Erdling guards. They seem to be living quietly. There have been no recent reports of meetings or speeches.”

As D’ol Falla spoke, she glanced anxiously at Raamo and, following her gaze, Wassou saw that Raamo had risen to his feet. His face was very pale, and his eyes were shadowed. He began to move slowly towards the doorway with a stiff, shuffling gait.

“What is it, Raamo?” D’ol Falla said sharply.

The boy started, and then smiled distractedly. “I think, perhaps I had better go now,” he said. “There is to be a ceremony at the Temple—the Hymns to Nesh-om—I promised that I would take part in the singing.”

“Yes,” D’ol Falla said. “I, too, am going to the ceremony. But I will stay a little longer with Wassou. Go on ahead, Raamo, and I will meet you there soon.”

Raamo sang the parting and was almost to the doorway when he turned back to Wassou. “I have been asked to be present at the first day of classes at the new Garden,” he said. “When it is over, I will come again to tell you about it.”

“I thank you, Raamo,” the old man said. “I will be most anxious to hear. The Garden has been much in my thoughts these last few days.”

When the boy was gone, Wassou turned to D’ol Falla, frowning. “What was it? Is the boy ill, or was it caused by something that we said? I had expected—feared—that when he saw me, he might be ... The old man’s scarred face twisted into a rueful smile. “But there was nothing—he seemed hardly to have noticed, but now this ...

“I think it was because we spoke of Axon Befal,” D’ol Falla said. “As a member of the Council, Raamo was required to attend the judging of Axon and his followers. He sat in the great hall all day, staring at the Nekom, and then for three days he was very ill. He did not eat or speak. I think his Spirit was sickened by what he saw.”

“But yet he looked at me—at my face—without fear or revulsion ...

Rising slowly to her feet, D’ol Falla went to Wassou and took his wounded face between her hands. “Dear friend,” she said. “When Raamo looked at you, he saw a sane and healthy Spirit. It was in the Nekom that he saw mutilation.”

S
EVERAL DAYS AFTER VISITING
Wassou in the chambers of healing, Raamo was at the evening food-taking at the Vine Palace. He was to go to the opening of the new Garden for Erdling children the next morning and Pomma and Teera were begging to be allowed to go with him.

“My mother said that my clan-brother, Charn, will be at the new Garden,” Teera said. “It has been so long since I’ve seen Charn. And Pomma has never seen him. I know that Pomma would like Charn. Couldn’t we go with you to the new Garden?”

“Yes, Raamo. Please take us with you,” Pomma begged. “We’re so tired of staying in the palace all the time.”

“No, Pomma,” Hearba said. “It will be a celebration for the people who have worked to build the new Garden. The builders and planners and the Erdling families. I’m afraid it would only be a distraction if you and Teera were there.”

Pomma stared at her mother, her chin held high. “They would want us to come,” she said. “I know they would want us to come. They would be honored.”

For a moment Hearba returned her daughter’s stare. “Pomma,” she said through tight lips, and then for a time she said nothing more. At last she sighed and saying, “I am going to my chamber to chant a Hymn of Peace,” she turned and went away.

Watching, Raamo was aware, once more, of the faint and shadowy warning he had so often felt in the months since the Rejoyning. Going to his sister he held out both hands for her palm-touch. “Pomma,” he said, “I want to speak with you. It has been a long time since we spoke deeply.”

But Pomma quickly put her hands behind her and backed away. “Not now,” she said. “Please not now, Raamo. I—I am very tired. I think I’ll just go to my chamber now to rest. Are you coming, Teera?”

Pomma left the hall hastily, but Teera lingered for a moment.

“Will you look for Charn?” she asked. “Will you speak to him and give him my greetings?”

“I will. And I will invite him to come here to the palace to see you and Pomma. Perhaps he might be able to come quite often. I know it has been hard for you and Pomma to live as you have in the past months—shut away here in the palace.”

Teera threw her arms around Raamo delightedly, and then ran after Pomma, leaving Raamo to think, as he had so many times before, about his worries for the children.

They had changed since the Rejoyning, of that there could be no doubt. Yet nothing really fearful had happened. It was not a tragedy, after all, if children of nine years were sometimes petulant and demanding or even secretive and troubled. But when Raamo closed his eyes and imaged the faces of Pomma and Teera, a cloud still hovered, as threatening as before.