When the skylight dwindled and the shadows turned greener in the wildgreen, the pods would open and the people would climb out, their limbs soft, their faces shining with remembered joy,eyes soft and faraway, their movements slow. But some of the pods remained shut as the people wandered back toward Pink Circle; there were some who liked the pleasure pods so much that they would not come out for a day, or two days, or a week or a week-week sometimes; and in fact, every spring when the pleasure pods ripened, there were always some dark old pods from the year before that hung, heavy and shriveled, on the dead vines, until the wind, or a boy climbing,or a heavy bird alighting knocked them down and they rolled into the carpetvines. These were old people mostly, who had nothing to gain by coming out of the pleasure pods, but there were young ones too, some every year, and even a child occasionally, who stayed in the pods and never came out.
What more can be said of Pink Circle, that long gone place, than that it was perfect, an elysium, without discord or bad food? Thus it was, thus it had always been, until that black day unforetold by Knowers, when a nonperson climbed down into the wildgreen. Yes, he came from the sky, for a doughgirl saw him: he opened the door like a yawn in the sky, and fell, and caught himself in the trees of the wildgreen; and thus he came into the world of men.
Go down, said the voice; but the puzzle was how to do it. The revolving shield was a kind of door, yet there were no stairs below, not even a pole to climb. It was a door for birds, not men. Bracing himself against the slow impalpable pressure that was trying to force him down, he put his head through the hole and saw that the nearest tree ended in a crown of tangled stalks, some green, most brown and dead, against the sky two ells away. The glare of the skylight, so close to his face, dazzled him and made dark spots float before his eyes.
He drew back, perplexed. It would be no great matter to lower himself by his hands through the hole, then swing and let go, to land in the treetop. But unless he could somehow prop the shield open, it would be moving while he hung from it, and might catch him by the fingers.
Go down.
Thorinn took off his belt and leg-thongs and tied them together as he had done before, with the sword dangling at the end. Holding the shield open, he dropped the sword and swung it in a slow arc, farther each time, until it caught in the treetop. The first time it was only lightly tangled, and came free again; the second time it held fast. When he tugged on it, a branch of the treetop nodded toward him. He knotted the other end of the cord to his wrist, then doubled his legs and swung them down through the hole. The sky above his head was one bright dazzle. The cord tied to his wrist led nowhere; he no longer knew which way the tree was. What if the sword had come loose from the branch? The shield was turning, it would close on his fingers... He let go, reached for the cord as he felt himself afloat, falling. He pulled the cord in, hand over hand; at last it tightened, and now he could see the tree like a great green hill tilting, leaning toward him. Twigs lashed him, then the tree struck like a giant club and he was clinging somehow to a branch, safe, dizzy, breathless, and triumphant, in the warm wind. The skylight was screened by leaves above him, turning the world into a shimmer of silver and green. All the leaves were in faint constant motion; the tree itself swayed slightly, rocking Thorinn back and forth as he clung to the branch. Faint and dizzy, he clambered into a more secure position atop the branch, then worked his way down along it until he could brace his back against the trunk. Some bright insect, of a kind Thorinn had never seen before, drifted by, hovered for a moment, and was gone. He saw now that there were golden fruits among the leaves. A trickle of sweat ran down his ribs. Indeed, it was warm here, and no wonder, so close under the sky.
The thong ran away slanting, disappeared among the bright leaves overhead. He tugged at it, saw a responding movement above. He untied the thong from his wrist, wrapped it loosely around a branch, and began to climb. He found the sword snugged up against a fork in the branch, and freed it. He tugged at the thong, and after a moment it came up. He buckled the sword-belt around his waist, put the thongs away in his wallet.
He had hoped to get a better view of the countryside from here, but the dazzle was so great that he could see nothing. His leather shirt was stuck to his back; sweat stung his eyes. He began climbing down the branch.
Farther down, where the limbs were bigger and closer together, he was able to drop from one to another. The glare lessened rapidly, but he felt as warm as ever; he was stifling in his leather garments. He stopped where a broad limb made a convenient perch, peeled off his shirt, and felt better at once. A breeze fingered his bare chest and back. How good it felt, and what a fragrance there was in the air!
The shirt was too bulky to go into his wallet; he tied the sleeves together and hung it around his neck. Then his legs began to feel all the stiffer and hotter because his body was so cool and free, and he took the breeks off too and tied them around his waist.
As he descended again, he began to catch glimpses of the ground through the branches. It was carpeted with vines and grass, only less green than the leaves around him. Now he began to realize how incredibly tall the tree was. He dropped from one branch to another, then the next, and still the ground receded below him.
As he paused for breath, he heard a distant shrilling of voices below. He crouched, listening. There they came again, nearer. Two piping notes, poot-toot, then a chorus that echoed them. Then a deeper voice, boom, boom, boom; then the high voices again. He could not make out the words. From where he stood, he could see a little patch of greensward between the branches. As he watched, a flash of color crossed a corner of this patch and was gone. He was not sure what he had seen—something flame-colored and moving, and an impression of a face tilted toward him. Startlingly near, a voice called in two clear notes. Boom, came the answer, not far off; then there was a rustling in the branches below.
Thorinn flattened himself against the trunk. The flash of color came again, and stopped. Down there on the grass, something round and bright was looking up at him. He could not make it out; it was more like a flower than a man, but it had eyes and a face. It made no threatening gesture, but simply stood and gazed up at him. He saw its mouth open; the lips were red. Poot-toot!
The leaves of a nearby branch threshed violently. Turning, Thorinn saw something gray and agile clasping the branch, swinging itself up, coming upright. Another thrashing sound, and another, and another. The things were all around him, and now there were more of the bright-colored ones below, all standing and gazing up, while the gray things, booming, sprang toward him among the branches. They were men or demons, gray-skinned like Goryat and his sons but impossibly thin, with arms, legs, and torsos like twigs. Boom, boom, from one side and the other, echoing among the leaves; and from below, poot-toot, twitter.
Thorinn stood with his back against the tree, sword in hand, trying to see all ways at once. But the gray things, in a half-circle around him, came no nearer. Hairless and naked, they had no weapons; they smiled and gestured, showing their empty hands.