Noman (27 page)

"I do love you, Wildman," she said.

T
HE GREAT FOREST WAS BEHIND
S
EEKER NOW, AND THE
flatlands, and he was following the winding road that climbed the western hills. The sun was in his eyes and the wind was at his back and he was moving fast. The shivering of the land was with him all the time now, the deep boom sounding behind him every few minutes, always a little closer with each reverberation. He felt he was being herded as a shepherd sets his dogs to herd his sheep, letting them show their teeth but never permitting them to attack. His enemy was guiding him to his destination, for a purpose he did not yet understand.

Manlir meant him to find the True Nom.

Now as he came over the ridge, a view opened up before him that made him stop and stare. It was the valley of the Scar, lit by the descending western sun. He had come this way before, travelling eastward, hunting the fleeing savanters.

So I've come back.

He looked down on the harsh glory of the desert valley, with its towering stone spires that stood like sentinels down its dusty way, and the high jagged crag of the Scar. It was a pitiless landscape, but it was magnificent. The warm wind blew on his back, urging him on. And carried on the wind, relentless, inescapable, the sound of the one who drove him, the deep beat of a distant drum, the tread of an army's marching feet.

He descended the hillside and strode on between the high tines. Now that he was among them, they clustered before him like the trunks of trees in some giant winter forest. He passed from inky shadow to golden sunlight and back again, as the sun sank towards the Scar. He moved fast, loping now over the dry land, feeling the wind on his back, racing for the same goal, seeker and hunter. Surely now they were close. He scanned the valley as he ran, looking for a doorway, certain now that he was very close. But all he saw were the stripes of light and dark, and the dazzling sun ahead.

He slowed to a walk so that he could look about him with closer attention. It must be near, it must be here, he sensed it so strongly: the door into the True Nom. But there were no buildings, no walls, no doors. Only this leafless forest of stone, these guardian columns through which he was passing.

He looked up. The sky above him was a soft blue, a muted ever-deepening blue as the calm sky yielded slowly to night. He looked down again, at the sunlit columns of stone.

Why do I feel I know this place so well?

The elusive memory teased the edges of his mind for a few moments longer. Then as he gave up the search, it flickered into view.

Of course.

All this time he had been looking for the entrance to the True Nom—but he was in it. He had entered it an hour and more ago. This was the Cloister Court, this entire pillared valley. Surely he was inside the True Nom and was approaching its heart, which could only be the great crag called the Scar.

He fixed his eyes on the dark mass, now silhouetted against the sunset sky. He walked on until he reached the rim of its shadow, and there he came to a stop. If this was the heart of the True Nom, the Garden within was well guarded indeed. The towering cliff of rock was a far more formidable obstacle than a high silver fence. But he remembered the last time he had been here. When the sun had set, for a few short moments the Scar revealed its many portals.

The deep boom sounded all round him. He turned to look, as if Manlir might rise up in the form of an old man, or in the form of the Joy Boy, and confront him at last. But he saw no one—only the changing colors of the sky reflected on the high stone tines, and the distant hills beyond.

"Where are you?" he called. "Why do you wait?"

But he knew now what they were both waiting for. They were waiting for sunset, with its gold and scarlet key.

The shadow of the Scar crept over him, bringing with it cooler air. He looked back at that forbidding height and saw the red sun touch its rim. He held his gaze steadily on the rock face, and drew deep slow breaths. Then the disc of the sun slipped down behind the rim of rock, and the Scar began to glow. Light burst through the mighty rock face, turning the monolith into a burning pyre. As the setting sun descended unseen, the Scar was pierced and jewelled and starred with brilliance. A lance of light, hurled from the crag, sliced across the land to Seeker's feet. The rays of the sun came streaming through a slot briefly illuminated in the Scar: a slot like a doorway.

He walked towards it, slowly at first, then faster, then at a run. He clambered up and found that the high fissure was wide enough for him to pass through. Its base sloped upwards, a bed of loose scree on which he scrambled as he hurried to climb. Up and up, eyes squinting into the dazzle of sunlight, until the enclosing walls on either side fell away. He found himself standing on a high narrow ledge looking down into a great hollow. The hollow was dense with trees and shrubs and grasses. Beyond the trees was the gleam of water.

I'm in the Garden.

But not quite in. The ledge on which he stood was high above the hollow, and there was no path down. The light was changing every moment as the sun set. Already the far side of the Garden was in shadow. Then he heard the sound of his pursuer behind him, the beat sounding faster now:
boom-boom-boom.
Seeker did not hesitate. He launched himself off the ledge as if it were no more than a grassy hill before him.

He fell, and rolled, covering his head with his arms as he went; and as he rolled, he heard the sound of crashing and thought that his enemy was falling after him. But when he came to rest and looked about him, he found he was alone.

Shaken but unhurt, he rose to his feet. There before him was a verdant wilderness, far bigger and deeper and more mysterious than it had looked from above. It was in shadow now, lit only by the diffused glow of the sky. This tender twilight made the scene all the more beautiful in Seeker's eyes—vast and secret, a fitting refuge for a Wounded Warrior, a Lost Child.

He made his way into the trees, pushing through deep undergrowth, looking round him as he went. He saw no living creature. He thought he heard a sound behind, but when he stopped and looked, there was nothing.

He came after a while to the water. It was a large pool; more than a pool, a lake. It glowed with light, its clear water bubbling where an underground stream rose up to feed it. The rippled water shivered the reflections of the overhanging trees. He stood by its verge and knelt down and cupped his hands to drink. The water was cold. He splashed his face and neck, burned by the long walk in the sun. Then rising to his feet again, he saw that the lake was crossed by a low bridge, an unrailed timber track raised a few inches above the water's surface. This bridge, barely wide enough for one person to walk, disappeared into the shadows on the far side. There, surely, he would come to the end of his journey.

It struck Seeker then that the sounds that had followed him ever since the end of the Great Embrace were now silenced. Manlir had not entered the Garden after him. Or if he had come, he had come quietly.

He followed the lake's margin to the start of the bridge. He tested the planks with one foot. The surface was slippery, but the structure supported his weight. He crossed the bridge slowly, steadily, reaching fearfully with his eyes before him. The lake was very wide, wider than he had supposed, and the bridge was longer. For a time he was alone in a silvery world, held between water and sky. Then the far shore came into view. There among the trees a shelter waited for him, a natural bower formed by overarching branches.

In the bower stood a chair.

Seeker strained to see through the shadows. For a little while he could not tell what he saw. It seemed to him that the chair was empty, but he must come closer to be certain. He scanned the surrounding trees as best as he could in the gathering darkness, but he saw no sign of life. As far as he could tell, he was alone.

Then he heard a sound behind him: the soft fall of bare feet on the timbers of the bridge. He turned and saw the figure of an old man coming slowly towards him, moving with the aid of a stick, crossing the black strip between the softly glowing panes of still water.

"Jango?"

The old man raised his stick in answer. His frail voice called out to Seeker over the water.

"Do you see?"

"No," said Seeker, his own voice sounding loud in the stillness. "I see nothing."

"Look again. Have faith. Look again."

Seeker looked again, but still he could see nothing. A sudden terrible dread seized him.

I don't want to look. I don't want to know.

"Do you see?" repeated Jango.

"No," Seeker replied. "It's too dark."

He was very near the end of the bridge now. He tried to continue, but his legs would not move. The heavy dread weighed him down, held him back. He had come to a halt twenty paces or so from the clearing in the trees. Here he waited for the old man to join him.

"Seeker," said Jango, coming up to him and gripping his arm, "you must be strong. You must go on. You must hold to your faith." His voice trembled with urgency. "Manlir is waiting for you."

"I can't," said Seeker helplessly. "I don't know why, but I can't."

"Why should you fear to see the All and Only? Isn't this the moment you've longed for all your life?"

"Yes! But what if—"

"Don't say the words!" cut in Jango sharply. "Don't think the thought! Look at me."

Seeker turned his back on the dark clearing in the trees and faced the old man. Jango's eyes burned with a fierce energy. He laid down his stick on the bridge and raised his arms.

"I had hoped not to have to do this," Jango said. "But I see that I must."

Seeker understood that he was to come into the old man's embrace. He stepped forward. Jango put his bony hands on his shoulders and gazed deep into his eyes.

"Do you see me?"

"Yes. I see you."

"Who am I?"

"You are Jango."

"That is one of my names. Look deeper."

Seeker looked closely at the old man's weathered face, lit by the last glow of the setting sun. As he did so, it seemed to him that he recognized him from long ago. He resembled someone he had once known well. But he could not tell who.

"Have we known each other in some earlier time?" he said.

"Indeed we have. Look deeper."

Seeker gazed for another long moment at that old and gentle face, searching for clues. Jango closed his eyes, and then opened them again. Seeker blinked too, in instinctive response. As soon as he did so, he had his answer.

"Of course! I know you!"

"So you do."

"But how—how is it possible?"

Jango held him with his steady gaze. Seeker, looking at him now in fearful amazement, could say no more.

I know you. I am you.

This never-known always-familiar face before him was himself grown old.

Now Jango took him in his thin and trembling arms, and Seeker held him close, and it was the strangest sensation.
It was apartness and oneness together. It was the sublime comfort of total love, and yet he was alone.

As they embraced, Seeker felt the old man dissolve in his arms, and he sank into him and was him. Now he was Jango, embracing his younger self.

I am more than I know.

Then, like two dancers holding each other close, turning together, he was Seeker once more, and the old man was gazing at him with long-cherished love.

"Look with my eyes, Seeker. Look into the Garden."

Seeker turned then and looked again into the clearing. The deep shadow tricked his gaze, and for a little while he could not tell what he saw.

"Have faith," said Jango. "See with the eyes of faith."

Seeker looked among the trees into the bower where the chair was placed, and all at once a wave of joy rose in his heart, and his eyes filled with tears.

"I see!" he whispered.

The All and Only was before him, beckoning him forward.

"Go to him."

Trembling now, weeping with joy, Seeker crossed what remained of the bridge and stepped onto the shore. Jango came after him. There before the overpowering presence, Seeker fell to his knees and felt himself warmed by transcendent love.

"Command me," he said.

From behind him came a deep close boom of sound.

Seeker leaped to his feet and turned to face the lake. The sound filled the world. There could be no mistaking now: Manlir had entered the Garden. But Seeker knew his faith was strong. He was ready.

Boom!
So deep and strong that surely the waters of the lake must shiver to hear it. But nothing moved. Jango was watching him, leaning on his stick. Then his old eyes too turned to stare across the lake.

A figure was coming into view on the bridge, far away. Too far to detect any details, but he was in the form of a man, and he moved with a slow grace that could only be born of great strength.

Seeker calmed his mind, ready to strike.

"Let him come," he said.

The deep boom sounded nearer: not the footsteps of the approaching stranger, but the power that rolled before him. Prompted by some inner instinct, Seeker stepped back onto the bridge. There on that blade of darkness he would meet his enemy, and so the final combat would be fought at last.

As the stranger approached, Seeker advanced to meet him. There was little light left in the sky now, and such light as there was, reflecting on the lake, threw all else into silhouette. So it was two dark forms who converged upon each other, to the slow boom of the sounding land.

Is it me he comes to destroy, thought Seeker, or is it the All and Only? Is this the Assassin of the legend, whose day must surely come? If so, I am no more than an obstacle in his way. But he will find I'm not so easy to pass.

Now the stranger was close. Seeker stilled his mind for combat. Instinctively taking his ground, he adopted the stance known as the Tranquil Alert. His arms loose at his sides, he let his eyes defocus so that he could catch any and all movement. The stranger too, seeing him halt, came to a stop. All round him, the rolling boom of sound filled the air.