Free Below the Root by Zilpha Keatley Snyder Page B

cheering once the Chosen has become an Ol-zhaan.”
    “It is the custom,” D’ol Salaat said. Although he had accompanied Raamo and Genaa several times, he had spoken to them seldom and always with great brevity.
    “It is because we are still one of them,” Genaa said. “We are still Kindar, and therefore not too holy to be cheered and shouted at. Besides fame and honor probably mean nothing to the Ol-zhaan, and cheering would only offend their dignity. Is that not so, D’ol Salaat?”
    D’ol Salaat’s stately stride continued for a few more paces before he nodded approvingly. “You are quite right, Chosen One,” he said. “When one has been elevated and is truly an Ol-zhaan, one places little value on the praise of the Kindar. As a true Ol-zhaan, you will learn to lift your eyes to higher matters.”
    While D’ol Salaat’s eyes were lifted expressively, Genaa rolled hers toward Raamo in a manner that was not entirely respectful to the young Ol-zhaan. But by the time D’ol Salaat’s eyes had descended to her level, Genaa’s were again wide and admiring.
    “I am sure that one learns many many things of great importance when one becomes a novice—and a true Ol-zhaan,” Genaa said in a voice of unnatural sweetness. Raamo had begun to suspect that when Genaa sounded like an artless child, it was best to be wary. But apparently D’ol Salaat had no such suspicions. He smiled at Genaa, allowing a small crack in his shell of dignity.
    “One does indeed,” he said. Then a sigh escaped him. “When one is a novice,” he said, “one learns—continually. There are classes and lessons and examinations from morning until night. When one is still a Chosen and being fed and honored all over Green-sky, one doesn’t know how lucky—” He stopped suddenly. After glancing sharply at Raamo and Genaa, he turned away and once more assumed his stiffly formal manner. “We must hurry on,” he said. “We are awaited in the chambers of D’ol Regle.”
    During the long days of their year of honor, Raamo and Genaa were often together. During the moments in the temple while they awaited the beginning of a ceremony or the arrival of an Ol-zhaan, they spoke together briefly, with frequent interruptions. But on the long journeys to the other cities of Green-sky, they sometimes walked together and it was at such times that Raamo came to learn many things about Genaa D’anhk. And the more he learned, the more certain he became that she was, indeed, a person of great ability and rare talents. There was, for instance, little doubt that she was possessed of mental powers far beyond that of ordinary Kindar.
    It was not only that her memory was remarkable—she had apparently memorized quickly and almost without effort not only every song and chant but also every story and history that the Garden had been able to provide. To Raamo, whose memory had always been untrustworthy, this alone seemed a remarkable feat. But there was more. If Genaa’s remarkable memory put everything she had ever seen and learned in the past forever at her command, she was in even more extraordinary control of the present. It seemed to Raamo that Genaa absorbed everything—people, events, ideas, essences—with amazing speed and clarity. Each was instantly absorbed and analyzed and judged. And nothing was safe from the cutting edge of Genaa’s mind and the prick of her mocking humor. But while nothing escaped Genaa, she herself escaped everything. Nothing, no person or situation seemed to touch or trouble her. Or so Raamo thought until one day when the Procession of Honor was on its way to the city of Farvald.
    This procession, to the smallest and most isolated of the seven cities, had taken several days and now, as they approached their destination, the small column moved very slowly. The entire distance had been covered on foot, as D’ol Regle would not permit gliding while in procession—not even in open forest. When the portly novice-master had