is it that you want of me, D’ol Neric?”
The smile sharpened. “What do I want of you?” D’ol Neric was sending. “I want you to meet me here, in the great hall tonight. Beneath the Spirit Altar. During the first fall of rain.”
“Why?” Raamo sent, but no answer came. “I can’t!” He sent the words with all the force of his being, centering every fiber of his body and Spirit into the sending.
“You can,” the sending came again. “Come!” And then D’ol Neric lowered his eyes and sent no more.
When the ceremony was ended and all the Kindar had left the Temple Hall and the grove of the Ol-zhaan, Raamo and Genaa were given the green tabards that marked them as novices and taken to their new home. There in a cluster of chambers built around a large central hall, they would live during the three years of their novitiate. Surrounding the central hall, which was used by all as common room, dining hall and classroom, were many smaller chambers, several of which were assigned to the private use of each of the novices.
As soon as Raamo and Genaa entered the Novice Hall, D’ol Salaat presented himself and announced that it was his duty as second-year novice to make the newcomers welcome and acquaint them with their new surroundings. This he proceeded to do with great thoroughness and verbosity, making it immediately clear that the silent reserve that he had previously demonstrated had been the result of something other than natural inclination. As he chattered on and on about everything from the seating order at food-taking, to the singular honor of his recent assignment as Orchard Protector, Genaa’s responses became more and more openly derisive. At last, D’ol Druva, who was also in the second novitiate year, intervened and led Genaa away, leaving Raamo alone with his relentlessly informative host.
Staggering a little from exhaustion, Raamo followed D’ol Salaat from chamber to chamber, until at last, to his great relief, he was left alone in the chambers that had been assigned for his use. Climbing into the large, freshly woven nid, he collapsed gratefully, staring up at the empty honey lamp and trying to force the swarming turmoil of his thoughts and emotions into some sort of an orderly and meaningful whole. He had made little progress when, sometime later, he was summoned to the central hall for the evening food-taking.
The food was good and plentiful, and the other novices were friendly and curious. Genaa, too, seemed to be in excellent spirits. Apparently untouched by the stresses and strains of the long day, she joined in the conversation at the table with poise and self-assurance, laughing easily and often, and coolly refusing to be patronized by the still busily officious D’ol Salaat. But Raamo, still feeling tired and spent, and increasingly troubled by the memory of D’ol Neric’s eyes and his strange command, hurriedly finished his meal and returned to his own chambers.
Time passed, the green-tinged forest light softened and grew dim. The air cooled and freshened and at last the silence was broken by a soothing murmur. The first fall of the night rains had begun.
Raamo rose from his nid and went to the window. What should he do? What strange secret purposes lay behind D’ol Neric’s weird behavior, and what part could he, Raamo, play in those purposes? In vain, he searched his memory for a custom, a tradition or a rule that might help him determine what the proper behavior would be in the situation in which he found himself. For many minutes he trembled on the edge of a decision, moving one moment toward the window and the next back to the safety of his nid. Several times he reminded himself that he was now an Ol-zhaan and therefore undoubtedly possessed of a new and superior ability to act with wisdom and good judgment. But when his decision was finally made, it was surprisingly true to his old familiar nature.
Since his faulty memory failed to remind him of a helpful rule or
The smile sharpened. “What do I want of you?” D’ol Neric was sending. “I want you to meet me here, in the great hall tonight. Beneath the Spirit Altar. During the first fall of rain.”
“Why?” Raamo sent, but no answer came. “I can’t!” He sent the words with all the force of his being, centering every fiber of his body and Spirit into the sending.
“You can,” the sending came again. “Come!” And then D’ol Neric lowered his eyes and sent no more.
When the ceremony was ended and all the Kindar had left the Temple Hall and the grove of the Ol-zhaan, Raamo and Genaa were given the green tabards that marked them as novices and taken to their new home. There in a cluster of chambers built around a large central hall, they would live during the three years of their novitiate. Surrounding the central hall, which was used by all as common room, dining hall and classroom, were many smaller chambers, several of which were assigned to the private use of each of the novices.
As soon as Raamo and Genaa entered the Novice Hall, D’ol Salaat presented himself and announced that it was his duty as second-year novice to make the newcomers welcome and acquaint them with their new surroundings. This he proceeded to do with great thoroughness and verbosity, making it immediately clear that the silent reserve that he had previously demonstrated had been the result of something other than natural inclination. As he chattered on and on about everything from the seating order at food-taking, to the singular honor of his recent assignment as Orchard Protector, Genaa’s responses became more and more openly derisive. At last, D’ol Druva, who was also in the second novitiate year, intervened and led Genaa away, leaving Raamo alone with his relentlessly informative host.
Staggering a little from exhaustion, Raamo followed D’ol Salaat from chamber to chamber, until at last, to his great relief, he was left alone in the chambers that had been assigned for his use. Climbing into the large, freshly woven nid, he collapsed gratefully, staring up at the empty honey lamp and trying to force the swarming turmoil of his thoughts and emotions into some sort of an orderly and meaningful whole. He had made little progress when, sometime later, he was summoned to the central hall for the evening food-taking.
The food was good and plentiful, and the other novices were friendly and curious. Genaa, too, seemed to be in excellent spirits. Apparently untouched by the stresses and strains of the long day, she joined in the conversation at the table with poise and self-assurance, laughing easily and often, and coolly refusing to be patronized by the still busily officious D’ol Salaat. But Raamo, still feeling tired and spent, and increasingly troubled by the memory of D’ol Neric’s eyes and his strange command, hurriedly finished his meal and returned to his own chambers.
Time passed, the green-tinged forest light softened and grew dim. The air cooled and freshened and at last the silence was broken by a soothing murmur. The first fall of the night rains had begun.
Raamo rose from his nid and went to the window. What should he do? What strange secret purposes lay behind D’ol Neric’s weird behavior, and what part could he, Raamo, play in those purposes? In vain, he searched his memory for a custom, a tradition or a rule that might help him determine what the proper behavior would be in the situation in which he found himself. For many minutes he trembled on the edge of a decision, moving one moment toward the window and the next back to the safety of his nid. Several times he reminded himself that he was now an Ol-zhaan and therefore undoubtedly possessed of a new and superior ability to act with wisdom and good judgment. But when his decision was finally made, it was surprisingly true to his old familiar nature.
Since his faulty memory failed to remind him of a helpful rule or
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