“You are right,” Yagg said. “I am not a good Gystig. I do not attend their ceremonies or follow their ritual. And I observe the days of fasting only when my food ration is so small that I have no choice. But I was reared in a Gystig cavernclan, and in recent years I have begun to think that someday, when I leave the tunnels, I may return to the faith.”

  “I am surprised that the Nekom would accept a guide with Gystig leanings,” Herd said.

  Yagg shrugged. “They were not interested in my beliefs, but only in my knowledge of the far tunnels. And I served them well. We did not find what they were seeking, but at least I kept them out of the crevices and rockfalls.”

  Kanna’s mind chilled with a sudden fright for Teera, which Yagg, for all his seeming bluntness, appeared to pense quickly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to frighten you. There is little chance that your daughter has wandered far enough to reach the unexplored areas. And all such hazards are fenced off wherever they have been found and charted.”

  But although Kanna tried to accept Yagg’s assurance, she found herself thinking more and more often of the dark bottomless pits, the narrow crevices, and the caverns where the slightest vibration from a footfall, or even a shout, might bring tons of rock crashing down from the ceiling domes. Not only as she trudged through the endless tunnels, but also at night when she tried to sleep, she was haunted by images of Teera, walking alone and tiny under trembling rock masses, or wandering blindly towards hidden precipices. By the fourth day of the search, Kanna’s hands had begun to tremble constantly and her legs were so weak that she was almost unable to keep up with the other members of her searching party.

  On the fifth day, an open Council was held to determine whether the hunt should be continued. The Council was held in the huge central cavern, because all the searchers were expected to attend and, since it happened to fall on a free day, many others would undoubtedly be present. Diversions were scarce in Erda, and any open Council was looked upon as a source of entertainment and attended by many who had little or no involvement in the matter under discussion. The disappearance of Teera Eld was by now general knowledge, and the huge cavern was certain to be packed by sympathetic and curious onlookers.

  Kanna and Herd arrived early and were seated on the central platform not far from the seats of the Councilors. The spectators began to gather soon afterwards, arriving, for the most part, singly or in groups of two or three. Now and then, however, a large number of people entered together and made their way to open areas where they could be seated as a group.

  Sighing, Kanna pointed to one such group, which entered noisily and was making its way down the central aisle. Stomping their feet in close cadence, they, from time to time, shouted slogans, which were largely unintelligible because of the echoing noises of the crowd, and waved long poles on which were mounted emblems that vaguely resembled the curved knives carried by hunters.

  “Look,” Kanna said. “It is the Nekom. We’ll be lucky if the Councilors get around to discussing the search before the free day is over. See there is Axon Befal. If he is allowed to speak, we will be here forever.”

  “There are Hax-dok here also,” Herd said. “They, too, will undoubtedly wish to speak.”

  “Why? Why?” Kanna said, her voice shaking. “Why would the Hax-dok or the Nekom be interested in the search for a lost child? What has Teera to do with their magic spells or their useless hatreds?”

  “Nothing, Kanna,” Herd said, pulling her to him to comfort her. “It is only that they miss no opportunity to get a large audience for their message. It’s quite likely they will scarcely bother to pretend that they are here because of Teera.”

  Herd’s prediction proved to be only too true. As soon as Kir Oblan had stated the purpose of the assembly and asked for suggestions or statements from those who had been engaged in the search, Axon Befal, a short, swarthy man with flashing dark eyes, rose to his feet and asked to be allowed to speak. When the Councilor suggested mildly that the leaders of search teams should be heard from first, at least twenty Nekom sprang up and began to shout protests. Immediately, Axon Befal leaped on to the platform and, to the cheers of his followers, began to address the crowd.

  “Men and women of Erda,” he shouted in a voice that seemed to be too large and impressive to have issued from his narrow chest, “we are gathered here to extend our sympathy and support to the family of a martyr to our holy cause. Yes, a martyr. A martyr because it was in protest against the deprivations that have been afflicted upon us by our ancient enemy that this child ran away into the tunnels and became one more tragic victim of the unjust persecutions to which all Erdlings are daily subjected.”

  Pausing only long enough to allow his followers’ roar of angry approval to subside, Axon Befal’s voice rose again, louder and more hysterical than before.

  The organization known as the Nekom, of which Axon Befal was the acknowledged leader, was not officially recognized, nor were its beliefs and tenets widely held among the general population of Erda. But because of its forceful and noisy tactics, it constantly received a great deal of attention. The stated purpose of the Nekom was the return to Green-sky and the elimination of the Ol-zhaan. To this end the Nekom held meetings, laid plans, made preparations and practiced strategies, all of which, in the face of the indestructibility of the Root, as well as the great power of the Ol-zhaan, seemed to most Erdlings to be to little purpose. But to those among the Erdlings whose frustration with the privations of their lives had reached an almost unbearable intensity, the lack of realism in the goals of the Nekom seemed unimportant. It was enough for them to find, in the Nekom, the opportunity to express their feelings of hatred and revenge.

  Axon Befal continued his harangue, to the wild enthusiasm of his followers, and the variously interested, indignant, or amused response of the rest of the large audience, until his voice began to falter under the strain. A rasping wheeze became rapidly more severe, and as his voice faded into a hoarse whisper, Axon Begal delivered a final accusation—that the Ol-zhaan, and the Ol-zhaan alone, were responsible for his failing voice—a symptom, no doubt, of a fatal illness brought on by a lifetime of exposure to the fumes of the furnaces of Erda.

  When the leader of the Nekom was finally forced by his failing voice to relinquish the platform, he was almost immediately replaced by another speaker whose voice was often heard throughout Erda. She was called Bruha, and she appeared on the speakers’ platform so suddenly that not only the audience, but also the members of the council were left wondering exactly how her right to be there had been established.

  She was tall for an Erdling and extremely thin. Her deep-set eyes, fixed and fiery with inner certainties, had a strangely mesmerizing effect on her fellow Erdlings, whose convictions tended to be more wavering. Stepping to the very edge of the platform, she raised her hands high above her head and for several minutes stood perfectly still. Only her lips moved, silently, and the reflected fire of the surrounding torches leaped and flickered in her eyes.

  In the huge assembly cavern, conversation trickled away into a silence that grew gradually more complete. At last Bruha spoke into a stillness that was like that of death. Her voice was thin and high and of a piercing intensity.

  “I appear before you, fellow Erdlings, to bring a message from the departed Spirit of the lost child, Teera Eld. The Spirit voice of Teera has spoken to me and has told me that it is only through the powers of the Hax-dok that the Root will be destroyed and the people of Erda will regain their freedom. The Spirit of Teera admonishes the people of Erda to join the Society of the Hax-dok and by taking part in their holy rituals, hasten the day when the withering of the Root will be complete and the Erdling will again be free.”

  For many minutes the voice of Bruha rose and fell in hypnotic rhythms, and her audience listened in entranced silence. They listened intently, although most of them had long been familiar with the claims of the Hax-dok and with the elaborate rituals and sacrificial offerings with which the group had been trying for generations to reverse the enchantment of the Root and cause it to return to its natural state. The Erdlings listened because they had no choice, and while they listened many of them believed, however briefly, in the magical promises of the Hax-dok. But as soon as Bruha relinquished the speakers’ platform and the sharp thin flame of her presence was no longer before them, they returned their minds to other things.

  It was not until then that Kir Oblan, as the presiding Councilor, was able to hear the suggestions of the leaders of the search and to begin the discussion of what should be done in the matter of the lost child. After hearing reports of carefully conducted explorations, which had covered all the known and charted areas around Erda, and had even in many cases, extended far out into the unknown regions, the Council came to the sad decision that the search should be abandoned. The parents of the child, Teera, would, of course, be excused from their duties at their places of service for as long as they wished, and were free to continue to search alone for however long they felt they must. But all other searchers would be expected to return to their usual employment.

  The business of the Council was completed, and the assembly was dismissed; but before they could depart, an old man dressed in a flowing robe of unadorned lapan skin arose from his place in the crowd and began to speak.

  “It is Vatar, the old man of the Gystig,” people whispered, and those who had started to leave returned to their places.

  “My beloved Erdlings,” the old man was saying in a voice that, although quavering with age, was yet rich and full. “On this sad occasion, may we take but one moment to offer our loving sympathy to the bereaved parents of the lost child—”

  “Yes, yes,” the murmur of approval spread through the crowd and many turned toward the platform where Herd and Kanna still stood, their faces wet with tears.

  “—and at the same time to make humble supplication to the all-knowing Spirit for forgiveness of our sins, and to grant us the grace to accept our fate in the certain knowledge that true freedom lies only in the Spirit, and that—”

  But now as the quavering voice continued, there were many who ceased to listen. Some continued to focus their minds and Spirits on the Elds, sending them their pity and sympathy, but others turned away, frowning, and began to move away from their places toward the exits. But even those who walked away maintained, for the most part, a respectful silence, so that the old man, Vatar, was not interrupted. With closed eyes, his face and hands uplifted, he continued to speak while the vast cavern emptied, until at last only a scattered few remained. Those few continued to stand with bowed heads until Vatar ceased to speak and then, crowding around him for his blessing, they followed him from the cavern.

  In the days that followed, Kanna and Herd continued to search the far regions, carrying on their backs heavy packs containing nid-furs, and food and lantern fuel, so that it would not be necessary for them to return to Erda often for food and rest. Marking their path carefully, they ranged far out into the unknown areas until, at last, Kanna sickened and they were forced to return.

  Then with Kanna safe in the care of the clan, Herd returned to the search and tramped all alone, farther and farther into the unknown regions.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  PERHAPS IT WAS PARTLY the new shuba, a beautiful garment of shimmering blending pinks and golds, along with the excitement of seeing Raamo again, that gave Pomma such an extraordinary feeling of delighted anticipation. Seated in the large, luxuriously furnished common room of her family’s nid-place, along with her parents, Valdo and Hearba D’ok, and her new friend and sister, Teera, Pomma could hardly keep from leaping up and dancing about the room. Her fingers twitched and tangled in her lap, and her feet moved involuntarily in little dancelike motions. She knew her parents were watching her, smiling delightedly, and now and then Pomma smiled back. It had been a long time, a very long time, since she had felt so wonderfully happy and alive and had taken such Joy from anything at all—except, of course, the Berry.

  At the thought of the Berry, Pomma’s hand moved involuntarily towards the pouch that she kept at her waist—but then it stopped. There were no Berries there. It had been several days since she had kept Berries handy in her belt-pouch so that they could be quickly eaten when the dark, empty pain swept through her body. But the pain had been less of late, and besides, Teera did not like her to eat so many Berries.

  “Don’t eat those things,” Teera always said. “When you eat them, your Spirit goes back into yourself so that I can’t pense you at all. If you eat them, we won’t be able to image for a long time. And I want to image some more about gliding.”

  “But you can have some, too,” Pomma had said, holding them out to Teera, fat ripe Berries, oozing with thick dark juice. “Eat some, and you won’t mind about not imaging.”

  But Teera shook her head, shuddering. “I don’t like them,” she said. “They make me feel strange, like everything was dissolving and floating away from me.”

  And so, because of Teera, there were no Berries now in Pomma’s belt-pouch. But there was the beautiful new shuba, and the fact that Raamo would be arriving at any moment.

  And then suddenly the door hangings were flung aside, and Raamo was there, along with the tall young Ol-zhaan, D’ol Neric, and Pomma was running to meet them.

  For several minutes all was joyous confusion, an intermingling of bodies, palms, cries of Joy and hastily sung greetings. When, at last, the greetings were complete, Raamo turned his full attention to Pomma, and she preened before him, holding out her arms and twirling on the tips of her toes.

  “See how much better I am,” she told him, “and Teera, too.” It was not until then that Pomma, looking around her, noticed that Teera had retreated to stand partly hidden behind the hangings of the hallway door. Reluctantly she allowed Pomma to lead her forward.

  “Look how much fatter Teera is. Teera loves to eat,” Pomma said. Raamo bent down and offered his palms to Teera in greeting, while Pomma chattered on about what Teera ate and how much.

  “It is not to be wondered at that Teera was hungry when she came to you,” Raamo said, smiling at Pomma. “She had been wandering without anything to eat for two days when we found her.”

  “I know,” Pomma said eagerly. “And before that too, she was hungry. Teera says that everyone is hungry below the Root.”

  There was a quick exchange of glances between Raamo and D’ol Neric as Pomma spoke. Watching them, Pomma failed to notice Teera until she felt a touch upon her arm and turned to see Teera staring at her with fear-widened eyes. Guessing quickly that Teera feared her mention of those who lived below the Root, Pomma quickly turned the talk to other matters. Knowing that Raamo would be interested and approving, she spoke of Teera’s dislike of the Berry, and of the games and songs that they had taught each other. But when she boastingly mentioned that she and Teera were able to play Five-Pense all the way to the third level, Raamo laughed unbelievingly and accused her of exaggeration.

  “No,” Pomma told him emphatically. “I’m not over-speaking. We can truly. I thought I was too old, too, but Teera and I can pense each other. We can do Signals and Choices all the time, and sometimes we can do Images. We can’t do Thoughts and Words yet, but I think we’re going to. Isn’t that wonderful?”

  Before Raamo could answer Neric interrupted. Asking Pomma to come and talk to him, he told Raamo to take Teera into Pomma’s room in order to speak privately with her. “Wouldn’t you like to speak to Teera, D’ol Raamo?” he asked.

  “Yes I would,” Raamo said. “Teera, would you come with me?”

  As Raamo started to lead Teera from the room, D’ol Neric lifted Pomma up beside him on the pan-wood bench and gave her his full attention. Thrilled and more than a little awed by her proximity to the young Healing Ol-zhaan, Pomma was momentarily speechless. Glancing down nervously at her fingers fidgeting with the edges of a wing-panel and then up at the faces of her parents who were watching from across the room, Pomma avoided the eyes of D’ol Neric as he began to question her gently. But before she could answer, there was a sound from the front entry hall, and Pomma looked up in time to see the door hangings thrown back as a tall young woman appeared in the opening. It was D’ol Genaa.

  The beautiful young Ol-zhaan, D’ol Genaa, was well known to the D’ok family as she was, like Raamo, a novice Ol-zhaan and had been Raamo’s fellow Chosen the year before. During the previous year she had appeared with Raamo at the many celebrations of the choosing and had gone with him on the Journeys of Honor to the outlying cities of Green-sky. As it was traditional for the families of the Chosen to accompany them on these pilgrimages, Pomma and her family had had many opportunities to observe the beautiful young girl Genaa D’anhk, who was now the Ol-zhaan, D’ol Genaa. But Pomma had never seen her look as she did now.

  Tall and commanding and yet delicately graceful in every line and movement, D’ol Genaa stood framed in the arch of the doorway, her beauty glowing as richly as a paraso bird caught in a ray of sunlight. But there was something in the rigid contours of her face and in the dark intensity of her stare that made Pomma shrink back behind D’ol Neric.

  “I, too, would like to speak to Teera,” D’ol Genaa said, and as Pomma and her parents and even D’ol Neric stared in speechless surprise she swept across the room to where Raamo and Teera had paused in the door to the hallway.

  As Teera disappeared down the hallway between Raamo and D’ol Genaa, Pomma stared after her uneasily. Hastily she tried to center her Spirit-force—to try to reach out to Teera in mind-touch, but without success. Teera had disappeared from view, leaving behind her only a faint wisp of feeling. It was only the vaguest and most uncertain of contacts, but Pomma recognized the answering tremor in her own mind as one of fear.