The two Kindar serving men had been chosen, for instance, from the many who served in the palace, for certain qualities that made them uniquely suited for the great responsibility. They were simple men, proud of their service in high places, and intensely loyal to the person and power of D’ol Regle. They were, D’ol Regle mused, true Kindar, personifications of the time-honored Kindar virtues of innocence and faith. Not once since the morning when he had asked them to fetch two large portage baskets, and to accompany him on an exceedingly strange mission, had they questioned in word or manner the tasks that they had been given to do. D’ol Regle had, of course, praised them highly, indicating that the transportation of the two children to his palace was a matter of great importance and, at least for the present, of great secrecy—and that they, Tarn D’ald and Pino D’erl, would, at the proper time, be rewarded with the highest honor and acclaim. There was, D’ol Regle felt sure, no need for any apprehension concerning Tarn and Pino, no matter what transpired or what might be asked of them. And the even more intensely loyal D’ol Salaat had also been sworn to silence and could be relied upon.

  There were others, however, whose behavior was much harder to predict. Among such there were the parents of the child Pomma, Hearba and Valdo D’ok. They had been told that the two children had been taken to the Temple for special testing by the Ol-zhaan, and that such an occurrence was a thing that reflected great honor on the children and on their entire family. However, since the first day, they had not seemed to be entirely satisfied. In the short time since the children had been taken, the mother had twice hired a messenger to carry to D’ol Regle an inquiry concerning the children’s welfare, and the length of time that they would be kept in the Temple Grove. But whatever their suspicions, the parents of Pomma were only Kindar and no real threat to D’ol Regle’s plans. Of more concern was the strange behavior of some among the Geets-kel, themselves.

  D’ol Regle had called a meeting of the Geets-kel immediately after the two children had been safely installed in the hidden chamber. They had assembled quickly, sixteen of them in all. They were, without exception, men and women of high honor, well versed in all the skills of leadership, and fully aware of the great responsibilities of their high offices. And yet, when they had been told, when D’ol Regle had made clear to them the catastrophic nature of the danger facing them—and all Green-sky—there were some among them who seemed unable to see clearly and act decisively. There was, for instance, D’ol Wassou, who repeatedly demanded that D’ol Falla be summoned to the meeting to state her case before her fellow Geets-kel and to take part in their decision.

  That old Wassou should be so unreasonable was perhaps to be expected, considering the fact that he was a fellow Vine-priest with D’ol Falla. But the reaction of D’ol Birta had been harder to understand. D’ol Birta, high priest of the Garden, and the final authority in all matters pertaining to the education and Spirit-growth of the Kindar, was a woman of vigorous and forceful character. None among the Ol-zhaan seemed more perfectly suited to the high honor and responsibility of her position. And yet, when D’ol Regle had finished explaining the steps that would have to be taken if the rebels refused to listen to reason, D’ol Birta’s behavior was surprisingly unsuitable. Rising suddenly from her place at the council table, she had begun to speak in a voice that wavered strangely.

  “I will take no part in such horrors,” she had said. “I will not oppose you, D’ol Regle, if the others feel that there is no alternative. But I could never agree to it, never take part in it.” And turning hastily, she had stumbled blindly from the chamber.

  The council had been a long and painful one, but when it had at last been concluded, D’ol Regle’s plan had been accepted. And, since there was no time to lose, he had immediately put it into effect.

  Hurrying to the palace of the high priest of the Vine, D’ol Regle had entered unannounced and had made his way directly to the secret chamber known as the Forgotten. Fortunately, years before he had been entrusted with a key, the only duplicate of the one that D’ol Falla carried always on her person. The palace was huge and rambling, and D’ol Falla kept few serving people, so it was with little difficulty that D’ol Regle had reached the hidden chamber without being observed, completed his business there, and returned to the entry way. There he blew upon the entry flute, until at last an elderly serving woman had appeared. And not long afterwards, in answer to his summons, D’ol Falla, herself, had entered the reception hall.

  Reliving that moment—the moment of confrontation—aroused such strong emotions that for many minutes D’ol Regle’s beautifully prepared breakfast lay untouched upon his table board. Strange unnamed feelings of great intensity filled his mind and heart as he thought over what he had said and how D’ol Falla had reacted.

  At last, sighing, he pushed himself back from the table and, after carefully wiping his hands on a silken napkin, he crossed the large richly furnished chamber. From the western end of his balcony he could, by leaning slightly forward, catch a glimpse of the graceful flights and rampways of the Vine Palace. It was, indeed, a thing of beauty, and it would undoubtedly soon be his—but for the time being it was still the abode of D’ol Falla. Staring intently, he found himself wishing that he could image—like an infant Kindar. Wishing that he could see D’ol Falla now, now that she knew. Now that she had had time to reach a full realization of the dilemma that confronted her. When he had faced her, she had reacted with a prideful reserve which she had managed to maintain until he had left her presence. But what would she be doing now? How would she appear—now that she had had ample time to consider the full extent of the disaster which she had brought down upon herself—now that she knew that all her treacherous plans were discovered and that her power and honor, even her life, lay like a fragile mistborne blossom in the hands of D’ol Regle?

  And at the same time, while the two young hostages played their games and practiced the Spirit-skills of their ancestors, and while the novice-master brooded on his balcony, D’ol Falla was waiting in the small reception room of her palace, trying to prepare herself for the pain that lay just ahead. Raamo would soon be arriving, and it would be necessary to tell him of D’ol Regle’s visit and of the message that he had come to bring. It would be necessary for her to tell Raamo that their plans were known and that his sister and the Erdling child had been abducted. And that D’ol Regle and the Geets-kel were demanding that all who had been involved in the plan to free the Erdlings submit themselves to the Geets-kel in exchange for the lives of the captive children.

  Closing her eyes, D’ol Falla tried to shut her mind, if only for a moment, to the pain and turmoil that seemed to be pressing in on her from every side. She was suddenly overcome with a feeling of helplessness and of total exhaustion. It is too much, she thought, and I am too old and tired.

  She had been waiting for what seemed to be a very long time, enclosed in pain and darkness, when suddenly she became aware of a faint whisper of mind-touch. Her eyes flew open to see Raamo standing before her—and as his eyes met hers the whisper become a wordless message of concern.

  “What is it?” he said at last in voice-speech. “What has happened? What is it that concerns Pomma and Teera?”

  Speaking slowly and with great difficulty, D’ol Falla told him of the kidnapped children, and of how

  D’ol Regle had come to her and told her of the Geets-kel’s meeting and what had there been agreed upon. She spoke also of how D’ol Regle had entered the Vine Palace secretly and had gone into the Forgotten and taken possession of the one tool of violence that was still equipped to perform its terrible function. As she spoke, fear and horror caused by her words lay open and unblocked in Raamo’s eyes and mind, causing her own voice to stumble and falter.

  “Surely he could not have meant—” Raamo began. “He did not say that—”

  “He said that the safety of the children depended upon our surrendering ourselves—without having spoken to anyone else of what we know. He said that you and I, Neric and Genaa must come silently and secretly to the small council chamber in the heights of the grove before rainfall this evening and there await the will of the Geets-kel.”

  “But Neric and Genaa are gone. They are by now below the Root. We don’t know when they will return.”

  “Yes, I told him that. And he said that we should then wait here for their return. When they come, we are to bring them with us to the council chamber. And if they bring the Verban, Hiro D’anhk, with them, he also must accompany us to the chamber.”

  There was a long silence, a dark and hopeless silence, before Raamo said, “What will we do?”

  “I don’t know. It would be but a small sacrifice for me to surrender what little is left of my life for the safety of the children. But I cannot believe that our purpose is ours alone to surrender. And I do not know what Neric and Genaa will do when they return. But we must decide what we, you and I, will do in the meantime, and inform D’ol Regle before this evening’s rainfall.”

  Raamo sank slowly to the floor, borne down by the weight of his despair.

  “Raamo,” D’ol Falla said. “It has come—the ancient dilemma. The question of what can be done in the face of evil power. In the past—before the Flight—there were those who opposed violence in violent ways, and the evil grew and spread; and there were others who sacrificed themselves in the name of peace, and the evil swallowed them and flourished. At last there was only flight. But the evil has followed us, and we can fly no farther. When I spoke of this last night, you said that you thought there was an answer. You are a child of the Spirit and must seek now for the wisdom of the Spirit. What is the answer, Raamo?”

  Raamo sat where he had collapsed on the floor, his body slight and graceful as a young child’s, his face blank and calm. The fear had gone from his eyes.

  “The answer—will be,” he said.

  But hearing him, D’ol Falla could not convince herself that the words were more than the hopefulness of childhood.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  IN THE BLACKNESS OF the tunnels there was no way to judge the passage of time. It had been hours, many long hours, perhaps even days, since Neric and Genaa had moved slowly away from the opening in the Root and into total darkness. Inching their way forward, shuffling their feet through the rough, abrasive dirt of the tunnel floor, or sliding their hands along the dank walls, they felt their way down seemingly endless corridors of darkness. As they crept forward, they counted, and at regular intervals they left behind them a strand of fern to mark their path. Several times the sound of water trickling had led them to springs that oozed out of the tunnel walls. The water from the springs fell into rocky basins and formed small streams, which flowed along the tunnel for a short distance and then disappeared into the porous earth. Now and then they stopped to drink or to rest briefly, sitting close together for comfort against the tunnel wall. But finding themselves too restless and uneasy to relax, they were soon up and moving forward.

  Again and again as she felt her way through the darkness, Genaa found herself racked and tortured by terrible imaginings. As the dark hours passed, her fear and dread grew stronger and stronger until it became a silent scream. At last it became unbearable and stopping suddenly, she reached out for Neric and pulled him to a stop.

  “What is it?” he asked. “Did you hear something?”

  “No.” Genaa gasped. “At least not with my ears. But it’s almost as if I am hearing. It’s almost as if I am pensing the fear of the others. The others who groped their way down these same tunnels.”

  “I know,” Neric said. “I too have felt it.” Strangely comforted, Genaa suddenly began to shiver. It was as if she had been, until that moment, too immobilized with fear, too lost in dread, for even that small release of tension. Grasping Neric’s hands, she could feel that they, too, were trembling.

  “There is no reason for such fear, I know,” Genaa said. “Not for us. We could be afraid of going in circles, of not reaching the inhabited areas where we might be found by the Erdlings, but that is all. The terror that has been tormenting me is not for that. It is their fear—the Verban’s. It is as if they left it behind them in these tunnels, in the rocks and earth and the cold thick air—as if it is still here, so strong and real that we cannot help feeling it.”

  “Yes,” Neric said. “Perhaps it is so. It is like that, like the fear of the Pash-shan—the terrible unknown.”

  Genaa moaned softly.

  “But think,” Neric said. “Only think what will be done if our mission is successful. There will be no more terrible unknown, no more Pash-shan to haunt the dreams of the Kindar.”

  “And no more Verban, lost, blind and alone, in the lair of monsters.”

  When they again moved forward, Genaa found that her fear had become, not less, but more bearable. Shuffling, groping and stumbling, they went on and on for many hours until, at last, weak and exhausted, they stopped again to rest. Leaning against a thick, gnarled protrusion of grundroot, they ate a few mouthfuls of Genaa’s pan-fruit and then tried to sleep. But they soon found that in spite of their exhaustion, sleep did not come quickly. It seemed to Genaa that to sleep on the cold, hard earth would be almost impossible for anyone whose body was accustomed to the soft swaying comfort of a nid. A nid—even the thought was somehow soothing. She let her mind drift with the thought, rocking, swaying into forgetfulness, and then suddenly she found herself shaken out of a deep sleep by a short strangled cry.

  For a moment it seemed to Genaa that it was she, herself, who had screamed—as if the fear that had tortured her since she entered the tunnels had burst forth from her throat at last. But as full consciousness returned, she became aware that her eyes, which had for so long been blind and useless in the darkness, were no longer so. Wide open and staring, her eyes were registering light and motion. Somewhere in the darkness before her, two small lights bobbed and weaved unevenly, and in their small radius there was rapid movement, flickering and indistinct. The lights grew smaller, the movement more uncertain, and then quite suddenly they disappeared, and once again there was nothing but total darkness.

  “Did you see them?” Neric’s voice whispered urgently.

  “Them?” Genaa said. “I saw something. I was asleep, then something woke me, a cry, I think, and I saw something—two lights in the distance. What was it?”

  “I’m not certain. I saw little more than you did. But I think it might have been people. People carrying lanterns and running. Running away from us.”

  “Away from us?” Genaa said, and then she understood. “It is our seals and shubas,” she said. “They fear us as Ol-zhaan. Why didn’t we think of it? We should have found Kindar shubas to wear before we entered the tunnels.”

  “Yes,” Neric said, “it occurred to me, but not until we were many hours in the tunnels.”

  Genaa bit her lip in frustration. How could she have been so stupid. It was as if her ability to plan and reason had deserted her, now that it really mattered.

  “If we had only thought to wear Kindar shubas, we would at this moment be on our way to Erda,” she said. “Those Erdlings who are probably still running in terror would be guiding us, and welcoming us as newly banished Verban.”

  “I know,” Neric said. “I know.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “We could remove our shubas,” Neric said reluctantly. The thought was troublesome and uncomfortable. Uncomfortable because of the deep pervading chill of the tunnels, and troublesome for less rational reasons. Careful training made all Kindar children fearful of venturing beyond the walls of their nid-places without the garment that protected them from the one great danger—the fall to the forest floor.

  Genaa shuddered and then shook her head, realizing the instinctive and unreasoned nature of her reaction. “It’s a strange place to fear falling,” she said.

  “Yes, but not a strange place to fear the cold,” Neric said. “I am already as cold and stiff as a dead sima. Without my shuba I—”

  But Genaa interrupted. “There is no need,” she said. “It would be useless. The Erdlings who have seen us will soon alert all Erda to our presence, and the fact that we are Ol-zhaan. It is unlikely that they will cease to fear us because we have removed our seals and shubas. Since we have already been seen, we might just as well continue as we are. We can only hope that we will be awake when we next meet Erdlings so we can try to convince them that we mean no harm. I almost wish, now, that we had not told the Erdling, Tocar, to be silent concerning his meeting with us. He could have spread the word that there are some Ol-zhaan who are not enemies of Erda.”

  “True,” Neric said. “But since we did not, we can only hope that we can induce the next Erdlings we meet to listen to us instead of running. It has occurred to me, however, that the next Erdlings we meet may be looking for us and have no intentions of running away.”

  “What do you think their intentions would be then? To accept us as Verban—or something other?”

  “I don’t know,” Neric said. “I don’t know. Except that to an Erdling, an Ol-zhaan is not a human. To them we are the curse that has imprisoned them. We are darkness and hunger and the cold barrier of the Root. They fear us because they believe we have great powers, but they have metal and fire, and the truth about the past. I do not think that they will run for long.”

  “Yes,” Genaa said. “But if we can get them to listen, to talk to us—”

  “We can try,” Neric said.

  Once more they began to move forward. But now they stopped more and more often to listen, straining their ears to catch even the faintest and most distant sound. But except for the occasional trickle of a spring, the silence all around them was as deep and complete as the darkness. And still the dark corridors stretched on endlessly. But they seemed larger and wider, and now and then smaller passageways branched off, leading steeply upwards. At the beginning of one of these small tunnels Neric noticed a slight difference in the quality of the air. The darkness was still complete, but he seemed to feel a faint breath of warmth and motion against his upturned face. Pulling Genaa after him, he scrambled up the steeply inclined passageway and, in only a few minutes, the blackness around them began to fade to gray; and a moment later, there appeared above them a bright rectangle of light. When the tunnel ended, they were standing below the opening of a ventilation tunnel, and directly above their heads was the grillwork of Root.