THE DAY WAS ALMOST over. It was a day of full service in the month of two moons, almost ten months after the beginning of the time of the Rejoyning. In the great orchard of Orbora the harvesters, laden with full packs of produce, were leaving the trees—carrying heavy, hard-shelled braazer nuts, fruits of many varieties, and the great full-bodied pan-fruit so indispensable to every Kindar food-taking.
At the sound of the foreman’s signal flute, many of the harvesters began the upward climb to the connecting ramps and branchways that led back to the storage halls and robing rooms of Orchardgrund, just as generations of harvesters had done before them. But now, there was also another route and another destination.
Now, at the sound of the flute, a goodly number of the heavily laden workers started to make their way downward by means of newly constructed hanging stairways that led down to the earth below. Too weighed down by their heavy packs to attempt to glide, they climbed slowly and carefully until they reached the orchard floor. Once there, they joined a procession of their fellow workers that wound its way to a number of long, low storage halls near the edge of the grund forest. There they deposited the produce that would be picked up later by Erdling carriers and transported to one of the surface cities or, perhaps, down to the caverns of Erda. These harvesters, whose job it was to supply the Erdlings who had not yet immigrated to the heights, were nearly all very young. The reason for this lay in the persistence of old fears. Veteran harvesters were not really frightened. They knew now that the terrible stories of the Pash-shan had not been true. Yet even to look at the forest floor still caused them a deep, unreasoned discomfort. So they were allowed to continue in the old ways, while the younger harvesters supplied the new Erdling storage halls.
On this particular day, as the harvesters moved out of the orchards, they were being watched by a small group hidden among the leaf-grown endbranches of a large forest grund. When the great orchard was finally deserted, the band of watchers moved out onto an open branchway. They were five in number, and one of them was wearing a shuba which, although frayed and soiled, had obviously once been white. Ten months after the abolishment of every distinction that had set the Ol-zhaan apart from their fellow Kindar, the young man who was leading the furtive advance out into the open orchard was dressed in the white shuba and the green-gold seal of the Ol-zhaan.
“All right,” he said suddenly, turning back to his followers. “Quickly now. Little enough time remains before the rains. Tarn, you and Pino take the pan grove. You, Wuul, try the nut trees, and Corro, see what has been left in the fruit rows. But be sure to leave the orchard at the first drops of rain and return to the outpost. I will meet you there, and we will wait until daybreak to return to Wissen-wald.”
Stepping to the edge of the high grundbranch, the Kindar workers launched themselves into space, their empty packs flapping behind them. For a moment, the young Ol-zhaan stood watching, and then moving purposefully and hastily, he began to make his way around the orchard in the direction of Orbora. The forest was dense here, with leafy endbranch thickets and heavy curtains of Vine making gliding impossible. So the traveler made his way on foot, trotting down narrow branches and scrambling through dense thickets of endgrowth. When he reached the outskirts of the city, he began to move slowly and carefully. At last he stopped and, looking carefully all around, pushed his way into a large thicket that concealed a tiny, crudely built chamber constructed of frond and woven tendril.
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.”