Jango (30 page)

Why have I been given this power? I'm no executioner.

The savanter's earlier words came back into his mind with sudden shocking force.

"Perhaps the All and Only is a prisoner."

Seeker could not doubt the reality and power of the god in the Garden, because time and again he had knelt before the silver screen and felt it for himself. But the brothers and sisters who guarded the Lost Child—could they be jailers? Why was the Garden not open, so that the Lost Child could come and go at will? Who was being protected, and to what end?

The All and Only was the ultimate source of the Nomana's power. No one gives up power voluntarily.

The old man seemed to read his mind.

"You have doubts," he said. "Only the intelligent have doubts."

The wheelchair reached the edge of the cloud pool.

He flatters me, thought Seeker.

Then suddenly he understood what was being done to him.

They've found ways to use the strength of others.

He had thought that meant his newfound power; but everyone has more than one source of strength. Seeker was clever and had always known it. The savanter was turning his own intelligence into the source of his weakness.

Fight them with craziness.

"My head is empty," he said. "I know nothing. I am a stupid."

Words from long ago. The old man frowned and blinked.

Seeker drew a long breath, gathering the lir in him to a sharp spike of concentrated power. The watching savanters realized what he was about to do. All three locked their eyes onto his and struck at him with all their force.

Seeker stood tall. He breathed more deeply still. He let their violence flow into him and fill him to the brim. He was at ease now. The attack had come. No doubts now.

The savanters saw with mounting horror that the force that should have obliterated Seeker was making him stronger with each passing second.

"Get back!" cried the old man. "Get away from him!"

They scrabbled for crutches and sticks. They heaved themselves out of their chairs. The old woman in the wheelchair rolled into the cloud pool.

Seeker released his breath and struck.

The force wave kicked over the armchairs and sent the tall lamp flying. It slammed the savanters to the ground and churned the cloud pool into a white storm. For a few moments nothing could be seen in the cave but the glow of the lamp on the ground, shining like a moon in the shroud of white mist.

Power without limits.

Seeker strode forward and righted the lamp. By its light he studied the bodies on the ground. They lay snapped like porcelain dolls, limbs twisted, eyes empty. Three savanters killed. Four to go. Seeker felt a burning in his chest and belly, and his whole body shivered with an entirely new sensation. It was more wonderful than anything he had ever known before. It was like being passionately hungry
and eating your fill, both at the same time: desire and satisfaction blended together and gulped like wine.

I'm doing the job I was sent to do, he thought.

He strode on to the edge of the cloud pool into which the mother had vanished. He stepped into the thick swirling vapor. When he was immersed as far as his knees, he paused and looked back. Nothing had changed. The great cave was silent. So he walked on, deeper into the mist, and the surface of the cloud pool closed over his head.

In which the novice achieves self-mastery
and becomes a Noble Warrior.

N
ARROW
P
ATH KNELT BEFORE THE
E
LDER AND THE
Community, with his head bowed. The Prior, standing by his side, slowly unwound the badan from his shoulders.

"By your own actions," he said, "you have cast yourself out of our Community. This is not our will. It is yours."

The Prior dropped the badan to the ground.

The Elder gave a sign.

"Let it be done."

Two brothers went to Narrow Path's side as he rose to his feet. They had no need to hold him, though they were there to restrain him should it prove necessary. He went without a murmur.

Outside the Chapter House, on the way to the washhouse, Miriander confronted him, unable to contain her anger.

"Why?" she asked him. "The boy was sent in our time of danger to save us. Don't you want the Nom to be saved?"

Narrow Path made her no reply and went on his way in silence.

In silence he was led into the washhouse and stripped to the waist. His thin arms were raised above his head and strapped to the high water pipes. In silence the brothers and sisters gathered round, and the taps were turned on, and the water streamed down over his bowed head and his naked upper body. He was so thin, there were hollows between his ribs where the water rippled as it fell.

Then the silence ended. The brothers and sisters began to make a buzzing sound. It began softly, on a low note, but little by little it rose in pitch and intensity until it filled the room.

The torment of the cleansing showed on the face of the dangling man, though he uttered not one cry. He twisted his head back and round, as if trying to escape the sound that drilled into his brain. His mouth and cheeks contorted, and his eyes rolled up in their sockets, and his bare feet kicked as if he was being hanged.

The relentless buzzing droned on, scraping and scouring into the deepest recesses of his mind, emptying him of all that had gone into the making of him, washing him out with the unceasing stream of water until at last there was nothing more to take, and the lines of pain that etched his face became smooth again, and the jerking twitches of his body ceased.

They untied him then and laid him down to rest. And when he was rested, they dressed him and escorted him to the outer gate of the Nom.

The Prior spoke the words of dismissal.

"All we have given you now returns to us. Take nothing with you as you go."

Narrow Path gazed back, his face empty of hope or fear.

"You are like a child born again. You are innocent again, and therefore forgiven. Go now, and may the One who understands all things have mercy on you."

Narrow Path set off, moving slowly across the Nom square. When he reached the top of the long steps down the hillside to the harbor, he turned back to look at his former brothers and sisters, and they waved him on. So he descended out of view.

At that moment, over the sea air there came a new sound—the call of a distant horn. Then another, followed by the rattle of drums. The eyes of the Nomana turned north, to the coast. There they saw a line of mounted warriors breasting the last hill before the shore. At first there were no more than thirty or forty, but as they advanced, the line spread and a second line came behind the first, and a third, until the riders reached from the riverbank to the distant fringe of trees. The lines kept coming, and became a swarm. The swarm became a multitude. Behind them, borne down the river by the fast-flowing current, sailed a long chain of heavily laden barges.

"So it begins," said the Elder.

Even as the Nomana watched, the whole strip of coast was turning black with mounted warriors, and the beat of their drums and the crying of their horns filled the air.

"How many more?" said Chance.

The same thought was in all their minds. The power of the Nomana was great, but it was soon exhausted. What if this invading army was so immense that it could soak up all the force they could throw at it, and remain undefeated?

"This was why the boy was sent to us," murmured Miriander.

"But now he's gone."

The danger was suddenly all too close and all too real.

The Elder gave a quiet command.

"Let us open our minds and our hearts to the one Clear Light."

The members of the Community stood between the shimmering white pillars of the Cloister Court and gazed towards the Garden, and each submitted their will to the will of the All and Only. The Elder, too weak to stand, sat in his wheeled chair and fixed his old eyes on the green depths that could be glimpsed through the pierced silver screen. As he did so, those standing nearby saw tears form in his eyes. He was heard to murmur over and over:

"Not my will but yours ... Not my will but yours..."

The Council of the Nomana regrouped in the echoing space of the Chapter House. Word came that the barges were being moored in the river mouth and that engineers had begun to build bridges across the channel. This news
galvanized the members of the Council, and a buzz of urgent voices filled the octagonal space.

"They mean to enter the Nom itself!"

"The walls are thick. Let them try."

"One Noma can hold a bridge."

"But for how long?"

The Elder raised one hand for silence. As he spoke, the uncertainty slipped away from his voice. His words sounded frail but sure.

"We have only one choice. We will meet this enemy in battle. We will strike once. First and Last."

First and Last! The Nomana had no greater power than this mighty strike, which called upon the strength of all the Community, packed into one single devastating explosion. It was rarely used, and had always been overwhelming in its impact. But the First and Last could only be used once.

Narrow Path was rowed to the mainland and put ashore in some haste. The oarsman could see the mass of mounted warriors and had no wish to linger. Narrow Path saw the invaders too, but he was not afraid. He set off across the beach at a steady pace, looking round with puzzled eyes, wishing someone would tell him what he was to do.

When he came up with the riders, he walked through the middle of them, no more aware that they might be a danger to him than if they had been a flock of sheep.

"Hey, you! Where do you think you're going?"

"That's one of the hoodies!"

"Never! Where's his hood?"

A passing Orlan decided he had better take charge of the wanderer. Narrow Path made no objection.

"You come with me."

"Thank you," said Narrow Path.

The Orlan led him away to the band of trees and tethered him there like a calf. Narrow Path sat down on the ground and stared at the horses and rubbed at his temples with the knuckles of both hands.

Behind him, men with axes were at work felling trees. The rhythmic blows of iron on wood filled the air. Then there came new sounds: a fanfare of trumpets and the clang of steel on steel. Narrow Path watched as a chariot approached, bearing a figure on whom shone a dazzle of dancing light. A smile formed on Narrow Path's face for the first time since he had been cleansed. He thought this must be a god come to tell him where he was to go, and what it was he must do. He got onto his knees to show respect.

The men all round him were now beating their swords on their breastplates and cheering, so Narrow Path beat his chest with his hand, too.

The god's chariot stopped not so very far away, and the god pointed his whip across the water to the island.

"I am the Great Jahan!" he cried. "Let the Noble Warriors kneel in submission to me, or I'll hunt them down and kill them like rats!"

The Orlan warriors set up a chant. Narrow Path joined in, beating his skinny chest and crying out in his thin high voice, "Jahan! Jahan! Jahan!"

***

As the Orlan army massed on the coast, a second convoy of barges docked on the east bank a mile upriver. The cargo was off-loaded onto a line of waiting ox wagons under the watchful eye of Evor Ortus. As soon as each wagon received its burden, the ox team was driven off down the road to the coast. The transfer of timber sections from barges to wagons took many hours. By noon a line of ox wagons could be seen winding down the road south.

The last load to be carried off the barges was a wooden box the size of a blanket chest. Professor Ortus supervised the moving of this box himself, shouting to the men who carried it to take care as they lowered it onto a bed of straw in the waiting wagon. He then rode in this wagon himself, with one arm lying over the box, to make sure it remained in place on its journey down the rutted road.

"Steady! Steady!" he cried to the driver.

As they rode along he grinned at nothing and sang to himself.

"
High, high, watch it fly
Like an onion in the sky...
"

Soren Similin was waiting impatiently for Ortus at the construction site.

"They must work faster!" he said as soon as he saw him. "We have very little time. Why don't they work faster?"

"You don't want it to fall down, I suppose," said Ortus.

Similin was wearing a thick brown cloak and a fur hat with earflaps, partly to disguise himself and partly because his prominent ears felt the cold. He was in a state of extreme
agitation. He paced up and down, bundled in his heavy cloak, and scowled at the workmen as they went about their task. Section by section, under the cover of a stand of tall trees, the ramp rose up. From the southern side of the trees, the island of Anacrea was in full view. Also in view, though partly blocked by the mass of the island, was the far bank of the river, where the Orlan warriors swarmed in their thousands.

When the upper part of the highest tower topped the trees, Similin's nervous tension reached a peak.

"They'll see it!" he exclaimed. "How can they not see it?"

"If they see it, they see it," said Ortus.

"They'll come and knock it down! They can, you know. They'll have it down."

"They've not troubled us yet," said the scientist. "And soon now it'll be too late."

"You're sure of your calculations? The bomb won't miss?"

"Oh, no. The bomb won't miss."

"And what then, Professor? What will he do then?" Similin looked across the river at the Orlan army. "Once Anacrea is destroyed, he won't need us any more."

Professor Ortus turned to Similin with a penetrating stare.

"What do you fear he will do?"

"Who knows?" said Similin. "But if it were to come to war between the empire and the Orlans, I fear the worst."

"You will protect us, Radiance. You are the beloved son of the Great Power above."