Seeker (15 page)

Out through the arch they came, walking slowly, their badans over their heads, pair after pair after pair. In the light of the dying sunset, and in the flicker of the torches' flames, their pure white ceremonial clothing took on a warm reddish glow. The Nomana came out of the Nom singing, to present themselves to the people they served.

Seeker looked for his brother and trembled for the coming disgrace. In this light, and with the head-coverings shadowing the faces, it was impossible to tell one from another. More and more flowed out through the Pilgrim Gate, venerable sages, famous fighters, and youngsters who had only just won their badans. The chant grew stronger and stronger. Seeker gripped his mother's hand and took long breaths and allowed himself, at least until the singing stopped, to feel his habitual awe at the power that was gathering before him. These men and women who had nothing, who all dressed alike to the point of anonymity, were the saviours of the world. If there was justice, it was because the Nomana administered it. If there was liberty, it was because the Nomana enforced it. These men and women, who carried no weapons and wore no armor, were the Noble Warriors of the true way, and none could stand against them.

Now the tail of the long procession was in view, and the last of the Nomana were taking their places. They stood chanting in their lines, ten deep, and filled the fourth side of the Congregation ground, beneath the towering walls of the Nom.

The ranks parted, and there, in his wheeled chair pushed by his faithful old meek, was the Elder of the Community. The chair was wheeled out into the central open space, and there the attendant meek drew back the Elder's badan so that his deeply lined face could be seen.

The Elder raised one withered hand. The chant ended, and silence fell over the great gathering. Then one among the ranks of the Nomana stepped forward, a young woman. She walked softly, her eyes downcast, to stand beside the Elder in the middle of the open space. Here she paused a moment, then looked up and began to sing, unaccompanied. Her voice was strong and beautiful, every word pure and clear to the listening multitude beneath the torch-lit sky.

"
Mother who made us
Father who guides us
Child who needs us
Light of our days and peace of our nights
Our reason and our goal
We wake in your shadow
We walk in your footsteps
We sleep in your arms...
Always and everywhere
Today and forever
Lead us to the Garden
To rest in the Garden
To live in the Garden
With you ...
"

As the last note died away, the singer lowered her head once more and returned to the silent lines of the Nomana.

The Elder cleared his throat with a dry clicking sound.

"In the name of the All and Only," he said, "we, your servants, stand ready to be called to account."

His creaky voice spoke the words that were required by the Rule, as laid down by their founder, Noman. For all their power, the Nomana were not a law unto themselves. Those who had grievances against them were entitled to come to the Congregation and speak out. But no one ever did. There was one there that day who might have spoken, had the time been right. But Soren Similin kept his silence, knowing that the day was not yet come; and that when it came, his intervention would be louder than speech.

The Elder waited for a decent interval. Seeker's eyes roamed round, and he saw the watchmen high on the walls of the Nom and knew that even though the Pilgrim Gate had been closed, the entire Community remained on high alert.

The Elder then nodded to the Prior. The Prior unfolded a paper and read out, as he did each year, the numbers enrolled in the Community. In the course of the last year, thirty-five members had retired. Twelve novices had made their final vows. New applicants were invited to present themselves for selection this evening. But first, sadly, one existing member of the Community would be leaving.

A low murmur passed through the listening crowd. A Noma leaving? That was unusual.

"I call on this Congregation," the Prior said gravely, "to enforce the judgement of the Community, according to the Rule of the Nomana."

An electric silence fell. A casting out! Seeker felt his mother's hand tremble in his. Out from the ranks stepped a lone Noma, drawing back his badan. Seeker's heart almost stopped beating. That big shambling gait, that open face. Only now he did not smile. He stared unseeingly before him.

Oh, my brother! What have they done to you?

Soren Similin watched with a sudden sharp attention.

Seeker turned to look up at his mother and saw her eyes were shining with unshed tears. He looked up at his father and saw his face set hard, expressionless, not moving so much as an eyelid.

"Blaze of justice," said the Prior, "you have been judged guilty of transgressing the Rule of our Community."

There followed a pause, in which it seemed the entire gathering held its breath. Blaze stared blankly before him, as if unaware of the gravity of the moment.

"It is the will of this Community, in punishment of your most grave transgression, that you be cast out."

A sigh rose up from the shocked crowd of pilgrims and islanders. Cast out! All eyes looked to the evildoer. They could see it on that bland, expressionless face. He had been cleansed. He would barely even remember his own name. The Prior reached up one hand and unwound the badan from Blaze's head. As he did so, he recited the terrible words of the verdict.

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

Seeker saw the tears roll down his mother's cheeks.
Brother!
he cried in his heart.
Speak out! Tell them this is wrong!

"You are now like a child born again. You are innocent again and therefore forgiven."

Seeker felt his father shudder and then go still again. Blaze himself stood motionless, looking so young, so vulnerable, without his badan. Seeker watched him with tears in his eyes.

Blaze! What have they done to you? Why? Tell me they're wrong!

"You were once our brother, and for that there will always be a welcome for you here. But the time has come for you to make a new life in a new place. Go now, and may the One who understands all things have mercy on you.

Silent to the last, Blaze did as he was told. He set off across the paved ground towards the steps, not turning once to bid farewell to his family. Seeker made a move to run after him, but his father's hand closed over his arm in a grip so hard it hurt. He looked up at his father's face, wanting to see there pain, or at least pity, but all he saw was iron self-control.

"Father—it's Blaze. Your son!"

"I have only one son now."

As his father spoke these words, Seeker felt the mist lift around him. What duty did he owe this father who could cast out his own son? The Noma had said to him on the morning of his birthday, "Your life is your own. If it's not the life you want, only you can change it."

If ever he was to change his life, today was the day.

Only if he entered the Nom would he understand the wrong that had been done to Blaze. Only if he became a Noble Warrior would he have the power to put it right.

The buried longing now exploded within him. What had always been impossible now suddenly seemed possible. The desire sprang into life with such intensity that he could barely speak. It was the wrong moment, the moment of Blaze's disgrace. It was the wrong desire, not his father's plan for him at all. But it was too strong in him to remain undeclared.

"Father," he said, stammering. "Father—I ask your permission—I would like to join—I ask to take Blaze's place."

"You?" His father turned and looked down at him in cold surprise. "I thought we understood that was out of the question."

"Yes, Father, I know. But now that—now that—"

There were no words. To be a warrior for the All and Only—to ask for nothing and to possess nothing—to protect the Lost Child and obey the Wise Father—to forge mind and body into an instrument of the true way—it was all he had ever wanted in life. Not to be a teacher: that was his father's dream for him, not his own dream. What had his father known of his nature when he named him? How could he read the heart of a newborn baby? But of course it wasn't the baby's heart he had read, it was his own.

"Let me try! Please!"

"The Nomana would never accept you," said his father, gripping his arm harder still. "Yours is a different path in life. Don't torment yourself with what can never be."

His steady, unfeeling gaze turned away across the crowded square, to watch Blaze pass out of sight.

Morning Star too was watching the departure of the exile. She didn't fully understand what was happening, but she could see from his colors, the blue and violet glimmer round him as he went, that he was enduring great pain. She kept expecting someone to reach out to him, or call to him with some word of farewell that would break the cruel silence. But no voice was heard.

After Blaze was gone, and as the business of the Congregation resumed, a second figure slipped away, unnoticed, and took the path to the steps. Soren Similin had seen enough. He believed he had his man.

"S
EARCH YOUR HEARTS," SAID THE
N
OVICE
M
ASTER
. "Ask yourself why you wish to join our Community."

His grave eyes ranged over the lines of young men and women before him. Most were just sixteen years old: and for them, as for Morning Star, this was the moment for which they had been preparing themselves for as long as they could remember.

"In the secrecy of your heart, answer that question with perfect truth."

His eyes moved steadily from one to the next, holding each pair of young eyes for a moment, commanding their attention.

"If you want glory, this is not the life for you."

Morning Star looked into her own heart and answered truthfully that she did not want glory.

"If you want dominion over others, this is not the life for you."

No, she thought. I don't want dominion over others.

"If you want to win special favor with the All and Only, this is not the life for you."

Is that what I want? Morning Star felt a sudden shiver of doubt. She did want to be close to the Loving Mother. Was that wrong? Did that mean she was weak? Would she be rejected because she wanted it? Her mind shrank from the prospect. It was unthinkable. How could she go back to her old life, and go on living in the old way, with nothing to hope for?

So what is it I hope for?

"But if, rather than seeking any benefit for yourself, you want to give your life in the service of others—"

Yes! she thought. That's what I want! To serve. To be of use. Not to allow my youth and whatever talents I have to trickle away like spilled water and be wasted.

"—then it may be that you can follow the way of the Nomana. But that way is hard."

Let it be hard! responded Morning Star joyously in her heart. The harder the better.

"It's lonely."

Have I not been lonely all my life?

"It offers no material rewards."

There's nothing I want, but to serve the Loving Mother.

"On the day you enter the Nom as a novice, your old life ends and a new life begins. Ask yourself, is that truly what you want?"

Yes! Yes! Let a new life begin for me!

"Those of you who are so decided, go forward now in a humble spirit of acceptance."

They heard the sounds of the bolts being drawn back on the Pilgrim Gate.

"Whatever happens is the will of the All and Only, and is for the best."

Seeker was not among the applicants who had come forward for selection, but his place was nearby, and he could hear every word the Novice Master said. His father had let go of his arm and now stood stiff and erect by his right side; his mother on his left. Seeker stood quietly, doing as he had been told. He watched as the Pilgrim Gate swung open to receive the applicants.

Surely you know that where your way lies, the door is always open.

Not the voice: only the memory of the voice. Seeker stared at the Pilgrim Gate. The world is full of open doors, he told himself. Why am I so sure that this one has opened for me?

The applicants were filing through the archway in a slow-moving line, guided by the attendant meeks. Morning Star moved with them, shivering with longing and doubt. Her moment of madness earlier in the Nom had shaken her confidence. Perhaps there was a fault in her, a weakness that made her unworthy. If she was not selected, she would go—she would go—somewhere—anywhere—but not back, never back. This new life was too long awaited. To go back would be a return to childhood, and much as she loved her father, she could never be a child again. She had no choice. She must go on.

But would she be selected? The other applicants all seemed so much more confident. She knew she looked like a simpleminded girl. Most times she could never think what to say. She had a face no one remembered. Why should they select her? They couldn't see inside her. They had no way of knowing what she was really like. But then, she thought, I'll tell them my mother is one of them. I'll tell them I can see the colors. Then they'll look at me differently. They'll say, there must be more to her than meets the eye. They'll see beyond the mask.

The last of the applicants had just passed through the Pilgrim Gate when she heard the thud of running feet and a boy ran full tilt into her, almost knocking her to the ground. His colors startled her: he was fizzing like a firework, fierce reds, greens, and gold. Red and green just meant a crass youth, but gold was rare. So rare she wasn't even sure what it meant.

"Sorry!" he said, panting, looking fearfully behind him.

Before Morning Star could ask him what he was doing, a man appeared in the archway behind them and, pointing his finger at the runaway boy, called to him in a commanding voice.

"Come back at once!"

The boy got behind Morning Star, as if he expected the man to throw something at him.