Jango (36 page)

But alone among the spikers, the Wildman was not rejoicing. In the heat of the battle, he had burned with the bright light of ecstasy. Was he not a warlord, at the head of his own mighty army? Then the world shook. Then the world changed. Anacrea was no more. The Nom was no more. The Garden was no more. How now was he to find his peace?

The great warlord Noman had conquered the known world, but he had not stopped there. Caring nothing for danger to himself, smashing every rule and every prohibition, asserting his will as his right, he had burst his way into the unknown. There the Wildman longed to follow.

That dream was now ended.

He looked up and saw Morning Star watching him.

"Heya, Star."

"Very quiet, Wildman."

"You too."

"Me too."

"Bad work today."

He gestured at the night sea, towards the place where the island of Anacrea had been.

"I still can't believe it," said Morning Star.

She looked out into the emptiness of the night, and she too grieved. For so long her young dreams had flowed towards the secret green light of the Garden. Now she too must find new dreams.

"What will you do now?" she asked the Wildman.

"Who knows?"

"You got yourself an army."

"Thanks to you."

"Can I come with you, wherever you're going?"

"Sure you can," he said. "We're friends."

Friends.

"As to where I'm going," he said, "I guess it's Spikertown for now."

"Spikertown's as good as anywhere."

And anywhere's good for me, she wanted to say, if you're there.

Wildman rose to his feet.

"Get some sleep," he told her. "Been a long day."

He walked away into the trees.

Morning Star turned and looked into the darkness behind her and saw that Echo Kittle was no longer talking to Seeker. He sat alone, his arms wrapped round his knees, gazing into the night. She caught the faint shimmer of his colors and knew that he was unhappy.

She went to him and sat down by his side. She took his hand and held it in hers, to show she shared his grief at all they had lost. There was no need for words.

The fires blazed on into the night, and one by one the drowsy children were carried away to sleep in the huts, and one by one the others followed. Then, as the stars began to show in the breaks in the clouds above, Morning Star fell asleep, her head on Seeker's lap, there in the open air. Seeker watched her as she slept, and saw the dying firelight flicker on her cheek, and allowed himself, just once, to stroke her hair.

Shortly before dawn a little group of people came to Seeker and sat before him: Chance and Miriander and his brother, Blaze, and other members of the Council of the Nomana.

"You know what we come to ask," said Chance.

Seeker knew.

"No one has ever had so much power. You must be our leader now."

"I don't want the power," said Seeker. "If I could let it go, I would."

"It's been given to you for a reason," said Miriander.

"I was given the power to save the Lost Child," said Seeker. "What use is my power now?"

Others joined them, black silhouettes gathering round, rimmed by the faint glow creeping into the dawn sky. Seeker's father and mother came forward for the first time since the battle and knelt before him. They looked at him with frightened eyes.

"My sweet boy," said his mother, her voice trembling. "We're all so afraid. Only you can help us now."

"We didn't know," said his father. "But we know now."

Seeker reached out to his mother, and he kissed her and embraced her. He kissed his father too, and saw in his father's eyes an uncertainty that had never been there before. How could it be otherwise? He had lost his entire world: his social position, his daily routine, his purpose in life, all turned to dust along with the honors board on which his name had been painted in gold letters.

"I told you, my boy," said his father, coughing a little as he spoke. "Do you remember? I said you weren't the same as the others. I said you were superior to them. You see, I was right."

"Yes, Father. You were right."

The crowd round them was growing all the time.

"Little brother," said Blaze, "everyone's waiting for you to speak."

"What am I to say?"

"Tell them you'll protect them from danger. They're frightened. Tell them we can rebuild what we've lost. Tell them there's a future."

"I see no future."

"Then pretend."

Seeker looked at all the faces turned towards him, and he saw there the fear and the longing. He couldn't tell them what Blaze asked of him.

Miriander watched him and understood.

"You've been given power without limits," she said. "There must be a reason."

"I was given the power to kill the savanters."

"And have you done so?"

"There're two still alive. But what does it matter now? The All and Only is gone."

"You do have a future, Seeker. But you don't know it yet."

"When will I know it?"

"You must wait. You're not lost. You're just young."

"Young?"

This simple word struck deep. It expressed exactly what Seeker was feeling: that he was still a novice, still a disciple. He wanted a teacher. He wanted a father so that he could still be a child for a little longer.

"But you will grow older," said Miriander. "And day by day, year by year, you'll come to know more and more. Then one day you'll look back and find that you had a future all the time, because now it's become your past."

Her words gave Seeker some comfort.

"So it doesn't matter that I feel this way?"

"Live your life simply and in the truth."

There were the faces all round, waiting for him to tell
them what to do. Seeker drew a deep breath, and addressed them.

"Give me a little time on my own," he said. "Let the sun rise. Then I'll speak."

He went alone to the stream to wash away the dust of the night and to drink. He felt hungry.

He crossed the encampment and crunched over the shingle to the shore. Here an early fisherman was up and rigging his boat for the day's work. Seeker came to a stop by the sea's edge and looked out at the dark horizon.

"Clear day dawning," said the fisherman.

"Yes," said Seeker.

"Maybe the world's coming to an end. But it's not ended yet, and there's still fish in the sea."

He took hold of his boat and began to haul it into the water.

"You want a hand?" said Seeker.

"That would be kind."

So Seeker helped him, and between them they got the fishing boat into the shallows. The fisherman then opened a tin box and took out a breakfast of nut bread and smoked fish, which he shared with Seeker.

"Not enough for everyone," he said, "but enough for two."

Every mouthful Seeker ate was delicious.

Light began to spread across the eastern sky.

"Time to get wind in my sail," said the fisherman.

He gave Seeker a friendly wave, pushed off from the
shelving beach, and slipped out to sea in the freshening breeze.

Seeker remained on the beach, watching the approach of dawn, thinking of nothing. The clouds of the previous night had dispersed, leaving only a low bank on the southern horizon, which now began to glow rose pink with the light of the not-yet-risen sun. It reminded him of the day he had stood by the Elder's side on the high overlook of Anacrea, and the Elder had said, "Have you ever wondered what lies beyond the horizon?"

Other lands.

And does the Clear Light shine beyond the horizon?

As this memory passed through his mind, the sun rose, and its light streamed across the water like an answer to his question. How could the Clear Light not still shine?

It wasn't an answer. It was the return of hope. Dawn makes the unknown future endurable.

He turned about and climbed back up the slope to the encampment, his shadow long and clear before him. The first person he met was the school meek, Gift. The old man was peering at him with anxious eyes.

"You will speak to them, won't you?" he said. "They don't know where they're to go."

"Yes," said Seeker. "I'll speak."

"The words will come," said Gift.

This was what Seeker too had come to believe. He had no god and no guidance, only the sense that this was not an ending but a beginning. So he decided to enter each new moment without foreknowledge and find what was to be found there.

The fires had been rekindled by now, and most of the people were up. As they saw him approaching, they began to gather, in the hope that he had a message for them. The Nomana gathered, and beyond them the people of Anacrea, and beyond them the spikers. Already they looked on him as living proof that their god was not dead.

"My friends, my teachers, my elders," he said, his eyes travelling over the grave faces of the Nomana. "My brothers and sisters. Each of us has made the same vow, to possess nothing and to build no lasting home. If what we held to be true was true before, it's true still. Our mission remains unchanged. We use our powers to bring justice to the oppressed and freedom to the enslaved. We are still Noble Warriors. And the little that we can do, we must do, so that others will know good men too can be strong."

This had been spoken by Noman long ago, as they all knew. So it turned out not to be so hard to find the words to say after all.

"I go on my way alone, leaderless, without certainty. So must you. One day we'll hear the call of the Nomana again. We'll come together again then, stronger than we were before."

How do I know that? he thought as he spoke. Our home is destroyed, our god is dead.

"For now we hope without hope and keep faith without faith. We'll travel light, don't you think? We'll go far. We'll blow away on the wind. And when we float to Earth again, what will be left of our Community? Memory—and love."

He found he was smiling as he finished, for all the gravity of his words. His brother, Blaze, came forward and embraced him.

"I'll be waiting, little brother. Call me, and I'll come."

Together they sought out their father and mother, to make their farewells.

"Are we to go on the road, too?" said their mother.

"No," said Seeker. "You're needed here. Look." He pointed to the makeshift huts. "Already a new town is being born. Think how much there is to be done."

"But the Nom is gone. What are we to do here without the Nom?"

"People must still eat, Mama, and be clothed. Roofs must be raised, and streets paved, and cattle reared, and fences built. You'll want a meetinghouse and a town council, and you may be a councilor. And you'll want a school, Father. The children must have a school. New walls, new honors boards."

"Ah, now, as to the honors boards," said his father, "I've been thinking of a different approach. It strikes me that our boards were too small. What we need is names all over the walls. The name of every child who passes through the school."

"And will all the names be in gold?"

"Oh, I think so, yes. You see, one can never quite tell how any of them are going to turn out. So it seems wisest to honor them all."

Seeker then embraced his father and kissed his mother and left them with his brother, Blaze. He passed from
friend to friend, making his farewells. He bowed before his teachers Miriander and Chance. And so he came to the group of spiker chiefs, where the Wildman stood waiting for him.

"You a bandit again, Wildman?"

"Bandit and spiker and Noma, too," he replied, showing his badan. He had it tied round his waist like a sash. "Don't know what I am. Don't know what you are, either."

"I'm your friend."

"Heya, Seeker! To the end of the world!"

Seeker glanced across at Morning Star.

"She going with you?"

"Seems so."

"You watch over her."

"She'll watch over me, more like."

And so, last of all, Seeker made his farewells to Morning Star.

"I'll not forget you, Star."

"You'd better not."

"I hope you find what you want."

"Where I'm going," she said, "I don't think I'll find anything I want. But I'll go, anyway."

"None of us get to choose our own way."

"So who's doing the choosing?" she said.

"I don't know."

"If you ever find out, you come and tell me. I've got a whole lot of complaints about how my life has been run so far."

"I wouldn't want you any other way. Well, apart from one or two minor changes."

He knew she could read his colors, so she didn't pretend not to understand.

"You're the best friend I have in all the world, Seeker," she said. "And you always will be."

She held up her palm, and his hand met hers, and they interclasped their fingers.

"Don't say good-bye," he said.

With that, he left her and strode away briskly up the slope. At the top of the hill he turned back, knowing they were all watching him, and raised his hands high above his head in the Nomana salute. Then he passed on out of sight.

O
N THE ROAD WEST,
S
EEKER PASSED MANY BANDS OF
Orlans, no longer in their companies or under the command of the Jahan's captains. The humiliation of their leader had shattered the cohesion of the horde, and it had disintegrated into hundreds of smaller bands of stragglers and marauders. Many were heading back to the land of their origin. Some reckoned to stay and take advantage of the collapse of the empire of Radiance. All knew only one way to survive: by pillage and plunder.

None of those Seeker passed on the road gave him a second glance. Word had spread rapidly that the god of the Nomana had been killed, and in that land of many gods, it was taken for granted that those who lost their god also lost their power. Seeker did not wish to disabuse them. He had no desire to attract attention.

He walked on steadily down the road, his badan drawn tight round his head against the cold, until the white sun began to decline in the sky. He needed to rest and to eat. So seeing a roadhouse ahead, he decided to allow himself a short break.