And All Between (22 page)

But now D’ol Regle was speaking again. “The other alternative,” he was saying. “The only other alternative would be to make it impossible for these nine individuals to reach either the Kindar, to contaminate them with evil knowledge, or the lower regions, to carry the knowledge of the secret opening in the Root to the Pash-shan. This could be done for the present by shutting them away inside the chamber of the Forgotten until more suitable quarters could be prepared to hold them. It would be possible to construct chambers that would be—”

“A prison.” The voice came from the lower table, and D’ol Regle turned his gaze to the Ol-zhaan, D’ol Birta. “Yet another prison?” she said.

“You are right, D’ol Birta,” D’ol Regle said. “Such was the term used on the ancestral planet. But I was about to say that it would be possible to construct chambers that would be comfortable and equipped with every necessity, but from which there would be no means of exit. Thus the danger that threatens Green-sky could be averted, and the threat contained. The people of Green-sky, Kindar and Ol-zhaan alike, could continue to live in the Peace and Love and Joy proclaimed by D’ol Nesh-om in the days of the Flight.”

D’ol Regle’s voice had risen until it rolled forth rich and full, filling the secret chamber with a rhythmic and hypnotic force, and now it dropped suddenly to a compelling whisper.

“These are the choices, fellow Geets-kel. On the one hand change and chaos, danger and despair, and on the other the preservation of all our sacred traditions and values, by the simple expediency of shutting away a handful of dangerous troublemakers. What is your choice, fellow Geets-kel?”

For a moment there was silence. Among the sixteen men and women of the Geets-kel no one moved or spoke, until at last the old Vine-priest, D’ol Wassou, rose to his feet. “Let us hear D’ol Falla,” he said. “Let us hear what D’ol Falla has to say of these matters.”

Shaking his head, D’ol Regle said, “I think it unnecessary to—” But the approving murmur and nodding of heads among the Geets-kel made it apparent that there were others who agreed with D’ol Wassou. Turning to D’ol Falla he said, “Very well then. What would you say to D’ol Wassou, D’ol Falla, and to all who wish to know why you decided upon the strange and dangerous course that you and these others have taken?”

For a moment D’ol Falla seemed to hesitate; and when at last she stepped forward, her movements were trembling and unsure. Her voice, always husky and wavering, was almost unintelligible as she began to speak. “You must know, D’ol Wassou, and all of you who have known me for so long, why I have decided as I have. My goal is now, as it has always been, the happiness and well-being of the Kindar and the faithful observance of the sacred Oath of the Spirit proclaimed to us by Nesh-om. But I have seen how those goals could never be reached by the paths we have been following. This new path has not been easy for me, and I know it would not be easy for any—not for Kindar, nor Erdling, nor Ol-zhaan. But there is a chance it may succeed. It is only a chance, but to return to the temporary security of the old ways would give us not even that. To return to the separation of the Kindar and the Pash-shan is to return to the ancient evil of separation and loss: the loss of intensity of feeling that comes from separation—of people from people, body from Spirit, thought from feeling; and to that which has so long been happening in Green-sky before our eyes, the slow death of the Spirit-skills, apathy and illness; and finally to the very thing we have most wished to avoid—to violence—to the violence that erupts when the instinct to live fully and intensely is denied, and is at last sought for in desperation, through killing and dying.”

For a moment Raamo felt certain that they had won. D’ol Falla had said it so clearly and completely, surely the others would understand and agree. But then he saw that the faces of the Geets-kel were still blank and empty and there was no understanding in their eyes. Could it be that it had sounded so perfect because he had heard more than words, and the Geets-kel had heard much less?

Clearing his throat confidently, D’ol Regle began to speak again. “It is sadly apparent that our honored colleague has, due to her great age, become irrational. It is obviously irrational to blame the loss of the ability to pense and kiniport on the banishment of the Pash-shan. And it surely is irrational to ask us to trade our present security for almost certain destruction. And not only our own destruction, although it is true that it is certainly we, the Ol-zhaan, who will be placed in the greatest danger. Therefore give me your approval, and I will immediately escort these rebels, renegades and aliens to the chamber of the Forgotten, which has already been prepared for their arrival.” As he spoke, D’ol Regle turned towards the table, and for a moment he rested his hand lightly on the weapon that lay there. As if drawn by an irresistible force, every eye in the meeting chamber turned towards the weapon and lingered, as if unable to break away. On the far side of the platform, Teera and Pomma stared at it too, turned to stare wide-eyed at each other, and looked again at the strange object on the table.

Then D’ol Wassou spoke again from the lower table. “And what of your oath, D’ol Regle? What of the Oath of Nesh-om, by which you swore to lift your hand to no one, except to offer Love and Joy?”

Impatiently, D’ol Regle turned once more to face the lower table. Stepping forward, he stared at D’ol Wassou for a long moment before he answered. “I offer no violence,” he said at last. “I offer these rebels who have so seriously threatened our well-being only a comfortable and well-cared-for detainment—unless they will not have it so.”

“I will not have it so!” It was Neric who shouted, in a voice that throbbed with uncontrolled emotion. Stepping away from the other prisoners, he stood alone near the edge of the platform, facing D’ol Regle. “I will not have it so,” he said again, and this time his voice was calmer and even more frightening. “I will not go with you. The others may decide for themselves; but as for me, you must release me or destroy me.”

For a moment the two men stared at each other—the one lean and young, visibly trembling and yet terrible in his supreme certainty—the other stately and imperious and no less rigidly certain of his righteousness. D’ol Regle was turning slowly towards the weapon when suddenly D’ol Falla cried out.

“Wait! Stop!” she cried. “This is not the answer. This has never been the answer.”

D’ol Falla’s voice, usually so slight and rasping, had, for one moment been loud and clear, but now it faded to a weak whisper. “There is another way—another answer. There must be.” Turning to Raamo, she reached out to him pleadingly. “Raamo. The answer. What is it?” Grasping his arm, she pulled him forward to stand beside her, between Neric and D’ol Regle.

Staring into the green eyes, caught up in the intensity of her faith in him, Raamo was swept by a sudden feeling of confidence. Surely now, when it was so desperately needed, it would come to him—the answer that D’ol Falla felt so certain he was meant to find.

Closing his mind to all else, he concentrated every particle of his being and sent his Spirit-force out into the shadows of the unknown, seeking and listening, but no words came to him, nor any images. Instead it came again with maddening insistence, the hauntingly irregular melody of the “Answer Song.” He fought against it, trying to shut it out, to reach past it—but to no avail.

When he could hope no longer, he opened his eyes. D’ol Falla was still regarding him pleadingly. Turning away, he looked towards the Geets-kel. Looking down at their upturned faces, it seemed to Raamo that the Geets-kel, too, were expecting a foretelling—depending on him for an answer.

Holding out his hands in a gesture of helplessness, he shook his head sadly. And then, because he had no other message, and because the song, the children’s nonsense song, still echoed in his mind, he began to sing:

“What is the answer?

When will it come?

When the day is danced and sung,

And night is sweet and softly swung,

And all between becomes among,

And they are we and old is young,

And earth is sky,

And all is one.

Then will the answer come,

Then will it come to be,

Then it will be.”

He sang sadly, with his eyes closed against the tears of despair, and his voice fell soft but clear into a deep stillness. He sang it through to the end, and as the last words faded, there was a gasp, and then a low swelling moan, which seemed to come from many throats.

For a moment Raamo thought they moaned for him—for the childish foolishness of his response to their entreaty. But only for a moment, because then he was suddenly aware of the great flowing Spirit-power that he had felt once before—in the palace of D’ol Regle. “Uniforce,” a voice breathed. “It is uniforce.” Opening his eyes, Raamo saw that the Geets-kel were staring as if in awe, and then rising, one by one, to extend their arms in the Kindar gesture of reverence and respect.

Turning, Raamo looked past D’ol Regle—a D’ol Regle whose majestic bulk seemed strangely shrunken and whose rigid calm had been replaced by what seemed to be a bewilderment that was quickly crumbling into abject fear.

Beyond the trembling mass of the novice-master were the children, Pomma and Teera, still bound and standing against the far wall. But they were not as they had been before. They now stood erect, their arms stretched out before them, their small faces transformed—alight with a deep, still radiance. Their hands, with fingers widespread, reached out towards the center of the platform, to something that was moving slowly towards them through the air.

Airborne, turning slowly in space, the ancient artifact of violence seemed also to be strangely transformed. Relieved of its harsh and heavy nature and rendered airy and unreal, it drifted slowly towards the children and then sank gently to the floor before their feet.

For a moment they stared down at it, their faces still and intent; and then, turning slowly, they looked at each other. For a fleeting instant Teera’s full lips curved in a smile that was mischievously triumphant, and Pomma’s eyes danced in answer. Then, solemnly, they turned to face the others—and the results of the game they had taught each other how to play.

Zilpha Keatley Snyder (b. 1927) is the three-time Newbery Honor–winning author of classic children’s novels such as
The Egypt Game
,
The Headless Cupid
, and
The Witches of Worm
. Her adventure and fantasy stories are beloved by many generations.

Snyder was born in Lemoore, California, in 1927. Her father, William Keatley, worked for Shell Oil, but as a would-be rancher he and his family always lived on a small farm. Snyder’s parents were both storytellers, and their tales often kept their children entertained during quiet evenings at home.

Snyder began reading and telling stories of her own at an early age. By the time she was four years old she was able to read novels and newspapers intended for adults. When she wasn’t reading, she was making up and embellishing stories. When she was eight, Snyder decided that she would be a writer—a profession in which embellishment and imagination were accepted and rewarded.

Snyder’s adolescent years were made more difficult by her studious country upbringing and by the fact that she had been advanced a grade when she started school. As other girls were going to dances and discovering boys, Snyder retreated into books. The stories transported her from her small room to a larger, remarkable universe.

At Whittier College, Zilpha Keatley Snyder met her future husband, Larry Snyder. After graduation, she began teaching upper-level elementary classes. Snyder taught for nine years, including three years as a master teacher for the University of California, Berkeley. The classroom experience gave Snyder a fresh appreciation of the interests and capabilities of preteens.

As she continued her teaching career, Snyder gained more free time. She began writing at night, after teaching during the day; her husband helped by typing out her manuscripts. After finishing her first novel, she sent it to a publisher. It was accepted on her first try. That book,
Season of Ponies
, was published in 1964.

In 1967, her fourth novel,
The Egypt Game
, won the Newbery Honor for excellence in children’s literature. Snyder went on to win that honor two more times, for her novels
The Headless Cupid
and
The Witches of Worm. The Headless Cupid
introduced the Stanley family, a clan she revisited three more times over her career.

Snyder’s
The Changeling
(1970), in which two young girls invent a fantasy world dominated by trees, became the inspiration for her 1974 fantasy series, the Green Sky Trilogy. Snyder completed that series by writing a computer game sequel called Below the Root. The game went on to earn cult classic status.

Over the almost fifty years of her career, Snyder has written about topics as diverse as time-traveling ghosts, serenading gargoyles, and adoption at the turn of the twentieth century. Today, she lives with her husband in Mill Valley, California. When not writing, Snyder enjoys reading and traveling.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

copyright © 1976 by Zilpha Keatley Snyder