Jango (17 page)

She jumped up and seized his hand.

"Take me with you."

"I can't."

"No, Seeker, no!" She sounded as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment. "Don't make me stay here. Not if you're both gone."

The gatekeeper woke, then rubbed his eyes.

"What's this?" he grumbled. "What's going on?"

"Open the door," said Seeker. "As you've been ordered."

The gatekeeper frowned.

"Ordered?" he said. Then, "Yes. Ordered."

He took out a key and unlocked the door and opened it. Seeker passed through into the square outside, and Morning Star followed. The door closed behind them. It was the door through which they had first entered, the door with no handle.

Seeker turned to Morning Star.

"I shouldn't have let you leave, too. You've not had permission to leave."

"Have you had permission to leave?"

He shook his head. She was right. He too was breaking his vow.

"But you can't go where I'm going."

"I know that." She gave him that look of hers that he knew so well, that told him she understood him. "I've always known that."

"What will you do?"

"Look for him."

There was no need to say who she meant.

"He's dead. No one could make a dive like that and live."

"Maybe." But on her face there was a stubborn look that said she was going to go her own way nonetheless. "Come on."

Ahead rose the avenue of ancient pines that Seeker had known all his life. To the left were the steps that ran down the terraced streets all the way to the harbor. Morning Star was already beginning the long descent. Seeker followed.

When they reached the street where his home stood, he came to a stop.

"Wait for me. I won't be long."

Morning Star understood. He hadn't seen his parents for nine months. Who knew what dangers lay ahead, or whether he would ever see them again?

They padded along the dark terraced street, past the low wall where she had crouched and wept so long ago, where she had first touched hands with Seeker and had seen the sparkle of gold that shimmered round him.

When they reached his house, she waited in the street. Seeker found the front-door key in the crevice in the wall where it always lay, and he let himself into the silent house.

His eyes were now fully adjusted to the darkness, and though there was almost no light, he could make out enough to find his way through the familiar rooms. The house was not big, and it was simply furnished. There was the long narrow table, piled with books. There the outdoor coats hanging on hooks on the wall. There the worn wooden armchair in which his father always sat. There the basket for fetching the morning bread.

He climbed the short flight of stairs, knowing every twist of the handrail, avoiding the fifth tread because it squeaked, touching the projecting nail at the top. Ahead, his own tiny bedroom, its door closed. To the right, his parents' room.

For the first time since he had left home, it struck him that the house must be quieter, perhaps sadder, with both Blaze and himself gone. The child grows up and moves on to the challenge of a new life. But for the parents, there is no new life, only the old life, but emptier.

Their bedroom door was open. No need to close it at night when they were the only ones in the house. He stepped into the room, and there they were, lying side by side in the wooden bed, the covers drawn up tight round them. They were both deeply asleep, his mother on her side, facing his father; his father on his back. Seeker stood still and heard their breathing, listening carefully until he could distinguish his mother's more rapid breaths from his father's long slow exhalations. He looked at their faces.

His mother seemed peaceful, and younger than he remembered, her cheek smooth, her lips very slightly parted. His father, by contrast, looked older, the skin pulled more tightly over the bones of his face. All his childhood these two had been the lords of his life, his guides and protectors, the ones whose existence alone gave him the promise that all would be well. And now here they were, asleep and growing old, the same as ever and yet vulnerable, dear to him but already slipping into his past.

"I love you," he whispered. "I'll always love you."

His mother stirred in her sleep, perhaps hearing the murmur in the night, but she didn't wake. He dared not touch them, though he longed to do so. If they woke they wouldn't understand. They would try to stop him going away. So he kissed his own hand instead and then held it over them, giving them his kiss in their sleep.

"Good-bye."

So, he left them and returned to the night street.

Morning Star saw the soft violet shimmer round him and touched his arm. He was trembling. She put her arms round him, and he did the same, hugging her close. They remained like this for a few moments; then they parted and made their way to the steps, and so down to the port.

Neither of them had considered the matter of getting off the island in the middle of the night, a time when no boatmen sailed. But here was a small fishing boat moored by the quay, with a boatman asleep on his own bundle of fishing nets, beneath a tarpaulin.

Seeker nudged him awake.

"You're to take us to the mainland," he said. "As you said you would."

The boatman pushed his hands through his hair and shook his head. He was clearly about to protest that he had said no such thing, when it seemed to him that he had.

"Said I would, did I?"

"You did."

"Then, that's what I'll do."

They climbed into his boat, and the boatman cast off. The wind had dropped and the waters were calm. He unshipped the oars and rowed across the narrow channel to the mainland.

"There you are," he said, still puzzled. "If I say I'll do a thing, then I do it."

"Thank you," said Seeker. "But you've already forgotten all about it."

He and Morning Star set off up the steeply rising shore to the level land beyond. Here they paused for a moment and looked back at the looming hulk of the island. Anacrea rose out of the glimmering sea, its rocky sides, its walls and houses, the roofs and domes of the Nom at the top, all outlined against the night sky. Seeker lingered. Morning Star, chilled by the cold night air, wanted to be walking.

"Come on."

Seeker nearly told her why he looked back for so long. But it was only a feeling. There was no basis for it, and almost certainly it wasn't true. So he said nothing. After one last look, he turned his back on the island and strode off across the land.

He had been seized with the sudden premonition that he would never see Anacrea again.

T
HE IMPERIAL AXERS MARCHED OUT OF
R
ADIANCE IN
full armor, eight abreast. Their looped chains clinked in their belt hooks as they strode slowly forward, swinging their huge armored legs, pausing with each third step in the slow ceremonial parade. Each one carried a shiny polished axe in a holster on his right thigh. They wore their parade breastplates, etched with intricate designs, and their parade helmets, topped with scarlet plumes. Rank upon rank wound its solemn way through the city gates, watched and cheered by the people of Radiance. This was not an army going into battle; this was a guard of honor. They cheered from the city walls because they were saved from destruction. Somehow, no one knew how, a solution had been found. Their king, Radiant Leader, was to greet the new warlord as a friend. There was to be no war.

"He's given in," said some. "He'll kneel to the warlord."

"Never," said others. "Radiant Leader is the favored son of the Great Power above. He submits to no man."

The long column of axers came to a halt on the high road west. The order sounded for the ranks to part by three paces, thus forming a human corridor from the city gates all the way down the western road.

Out of the archway came a golden palanquin, carried by sixteen scarlet-robed priests. In the palanquin, partially obscured by the golden curtains that flapped in the breeze, rode Radiant Leader, his head framed by a massive corona of artificial sunflowers fashioned from hammered gold.

Amroth Jahan had learned that morning that the priest-king of the city of Radiance was proposing to present himself in his full glory.

"He can come with the sun in a bucket for all I care," he said, "so long as he kneels to me."

Echo Kittle, riding now with the Jahan's entourage, saw the parade of the imperial axers and wondered very much how the king of such a magnificent army could bear to make a public submission. She herself, with no followers of any kind, still burned with shame each time she thought of how she had knelt and submitted. Then she remembered how the Jahan too had been made to kneel, when he faced the Nomana on the bridge, and how he had wept before her.

"If this priest-king refuses to kneel to you," she said to the Jahan, "will you really destroy his city and all the people in it?"

"I will."

"Out of pride?"

"What I have said I will do, I will do."

"Except with the Nomana."

His ugly face went still, his craggy features set in stone.

"The Nomana too will pay the price of defying me."

With this the Great Jahan dismounted from his horse and climbed into his waiting chariot. The music makers and the mirror bearers formed up on either side. His three sons took up their positions behind him. The companies of mounted Orlans formed orderly ranks that stretched back into the distance. Amroth Jahan meant to match glory with glory.

The golden palanquin advanced between the lines of axers. Rank by rank, the axers fell to the ground, abasing themselves in advance of their Radiant Leader. The leading priest of those bearing the palanquin then intoned, "Stand before our Radiant Leader!" The prostrate axers rose up, to stand tall and motionless as their priest-king went by.

This created a ripplelike effect, as the magnificent soldiers dipped and rose again. Amroth Jahan, advancing to meet the ruler of the city, noted the perfect formation of the axers, and the mounting potency of the ruler's approach on the waves of motion, and he nodded his head in professional appreciation.

"Prettily done," he murmured to himself. To have such a king kneel to him would be satisfying.

"Stand before our Radiant Leader!"

The Jahan could hear the cries of the priests clearly now. It didn't strike him as strange that the ranks of soldiers were required to stand to show respect. He himself was advancing, standing tall in his chariot, to the sound of drums and horns, and lit by the flashing of reflected light. The front rank of his immense mounted army was moving with him, spread out on either side like the rolling surf of a sea that must sweep all before it.

Now the palanquin had reached the front rank of the axers, and the leading line had fallen to the ground and risen again. The scarlet-robed priests came to a stop and stood like statues, bearing the full weight of the palanquin. Radiant Leader could be clearly seen within, magnificently draped in cloth of gold.

Amroth Jahan led his advancing line of Orlans to within ten paces of the unmoving axers and raised his hand. At once, with perfect discipline, the entire mounted army shuddered to a halt. The Jahan then spoke to his sons, without taking his gaze from the gold curtains that fluttered in the wind.

"Ride forward to this king. Tell him I wait for him to kneel before me, as a sign of his respect for me."

All three of his sons urged their Caspians forward and trotted across the space between the two armies. Echo, mounted on Kell beside the Great Jahan's chariot, saw Sasha Jahan lean forward from his mount and speak to the king behind the gold curtains and receive an answer. Then the three sons returned to their father.

"The king asks you to stand before him," said Sasha Jahan in some confusion, "as a sign of your respect for him."

"But I am standing," said the Jahan.

"Yes, Father. I told him so."

"Will he not kneel to me?"

"The king is already kneeling, Father."

"Already kneeling?"

The Jahan now felt confused. Who here was showing respect to whom?

He flicked the traces of the Caspians harnessed to his high chariot and drove forward across the empty space to the golden palanquin. There he saw that the king was indeed kneeling, in that he was comfortably positioned with his lower legs tucked beneath his upper legs and his bottom resting on his heels.

Radiant Leader inclined his head towards the Jahan.

"We are equals," he said. "The Great Jahan does not need to stand before me."

"But I'm not—that is, I don't—"

The Jahan was nonplussed. He wished to make it clear he intended no show of respect by remaining standing, but could not think what else to do.

"The empire and the people of Radiance welcome you," said Radiant Leader. "In your honor I have ordered three days of celebration."

"But first," said the Jahan, "you must kneel—that is, submit to me—for all to see."

"Three days of feasting and games," said Radiant Leader, seeming not to have heard him. "Let your finest warriors try their strength against ours. Let our loveliest ladies delight your eyes."

"Do you or do you not," said the Jahan doggedly, "submit to me?"

"Ah, yes. The oath of allegiance. You refer to the solemn oath of allegiance."

"Yes," said the Jahan, liking the sound of this. "Your solemn oath of allegiance to me."

"The solemn oath of allegiance," said Radiant Leader, "will be the conclusion of our celebrations. It will be the climax."

"The climax? You mean it will come at the end?"

"Of course. The climax can't come at the beginning."

"But three days!" said the Jahan. "Am I to be kept waiting three days?"

"Sir," said Radiant Leader, dropping his voice to a whisper, "you and I are not common men. We are exalted above the herd. We are the principal actors on the stage of this world. Let the scene be set and the expectations of our audience prepared. Let there be a prelude, a time of mounting expectation. Then let the climax strike like thunder and lightning. Let you and I appear before the awed spectators as gods. You seek a triumph. Let this be the triumph of triumphs."