Jango (12 page)

Silence in the Chapter House.

Seeker felt a surge of exaltation burn through his body. What he had just done, he knew, was one-tenth—one-hundredth—of what he could do. Intoxicated by the discovery of his immense power, he lifted his hand and swept it over the lines of watching Nomana, as a child rattles a stick along a picket fence. One after another, in rapid succession, the Nomana jerked their faces to one side, as if they had been smacked.

Then he turned and bowed to his teacher, Miriander.

Narrow Path leaned forward and fixed Seeker with a sharp look.

"Now, boy," he said, "are you weary?"

Weary? Not at all. He was surging with energy.

He shook his head.

"Do you feel stronger than before?"

"Yes, Brother."

Now that he said it, he knew that it was true. He did feel stronger. But how could that be?

He looked towards the slumped body of his combat teacher. Chance hadn't moved. Only then did it occur to Seeker that his teacher might have been badly hurt. Forgetting the staring faces of the Community, he went and knelt by his side.

"Forgive me, Teacher," he said.

Chance stirred, then raised his head to look on his pupil. He tried to speak but could not.

"I didn't know my own strength," said Seeker.

Chance nodded and smiled faintly.

"Your own," he whispered, "and mine."

Then Seeker understood. The blow that had crippled Chance had sucked the strength from him. That force, that lir, had flowed into Seeker himself.

Every blow I strike makes me stronger.

He reached out one hand and helped his combat teacher rise to his feet. He felt the weight on his arm. Chance had aged ten years.

When Seeker turned round once more he saw that the Elder had woken, if he had ever been asleep. His eyes were open, and he was watching Seeker. On his face was a look of unbearable sadness. Seeker looked beyond him at the rows of watching faces. The Nomana were staring back at him in utter silence, as if he was something terrible and monstrous. A great ache grew in his heart as he looked from face to face and found there no answering kindness.

What have I done? Why do they fear me? My strength is their strength. Such power as I have comes from the All and Only. Am I not sworn to protect the Lost Child? Am I not a brother among brothers?

He turned to Miriander. Her beautiful face looked on him with compassion.

"We've been waiting for you for a long time," she said. "Now that you've come at last, we're afraid."

"Why?" said Seeker. "What is there to fear?"

"Power without limits," she said softly.

Seeker felt an icy coldness pass through him, and all round him it seemed that the world stood still. The row upon row of gray-clad figures retreated into the distance, became paintings on a shadowed wall. The lantern above climbed through space to become the white sun, a distant blur in the clouds. The floor beneath his feet fell away, and he was standing on the tops of trees, on the windblown leaves themselves.

He was beyond the reach of humankind. Alone, forever.

Overwhelmed by desolation, he dropped to his knees and put his hands to his face and wept.

The Wildman looked out from the storeroom where he had been hiding and saw that the courtyard was empty. No one had come looking for him. It seemed that the Nomana had more urgent concerns. The doors and gates that led out of the novitiate were all locked. They had no reason to fear he would escape.

The Wildman knew exactly what he would do. He had imagined it so many times, it was almost as if he had done it already. But this time, in place of his imaginings, would be the act.

One perfect dive.

He swung himself up onto the lower part of the wall, and from here, using the uneven blocks of stone to offer hand- and footholds, he heaved himself up to the parapet itself. Here, crouching, fingers spread on the wall's top, he found his balance and slowly rose to his feet. He was standing now with his back to the courtyard and with the wide ocean horizon before him. He felt the wind lift his long golden hair and ruffle the badan that lay loose over his shoulders. Then he looked down.

Far, far below the waves were rolling in, to crash and burst against the island's rocky base. The tide was high and the wind was off the sea, and the entire lower part of the Nom's great soaring wall was hazed with spray. No way of knowing how deep the water was and how far out the rocks lay.

"Soon find out," he said to himself. It was the kind of crazy risk he had taken time and again in the old days. "If you win, you win. If you lose, it's all over, and what do you care?"

He was physically fitter than he had ever been. The Nom's training had transformed a powerful young man into one who knew how to use every muscle in his body to maximum effect. He had never understood the notion of lir, but he had learned how to control it and knew that he was now ten times the fighter he had been before. He admired the Nomana with all his heart and knew he would regret to the end of his days that he couldn't be one of them. But he wasn't staying to be cleansed.

He heard a cry from the courtyard below and, turning, saw one of the meeks pointing up at him, calling to him.

"Come down! Come down!"

He turned away again and focused his attention on what he was about to do. Using his training, he gathered his lir, drawing it into the pit of his stomach—not to deliver a strike, as in combat, but to preserve his own life for as long as possible when he slammed into the water. As he felt the lir flow at his command, his lean body became still and alert.

Now there were more shouts from the courtyard. He thought he recognized Morning Star's voice, and Seeker's, too. He raised one hand above his head and waved in a gesture of farewell. He heard the scrabble of hands and feet climbing the wall towards him. Too late, he thought. Where I'm going, you won't want to follow.

He stretched up onto the tips of his toes and leaned into the wind. As he felt himself begin to fall, he kicked with all his might, to propel himself clear of the wall. And so, curving in the morning air, he turned over in a graceful arc and fell arrow-straight down towards the foaming waves.

He heard the torn edge of screams. He felt the slap of air. He smelled the onrushing ocean. And for a few moments, dropping without effort, he was perfectly, blissfully at peace.

Through the slots in the high wall, they saw him vanish into the turbulent water far below. They watched the heaving, rolling surface of the sea and looked for a head breaking through to air, or strong arms striking for the shore; but they saw nothing. They watched until they knew that the Wildman could not still be alive. Then they turned away.

Miriander had charge of Seeker.

"Come now," she said.

Instead, Seeker went to Morning Star, who was kneeling on the stone floor of the yard with her face in her hands. He knelt with her and put his arms round her, and she began to sob.

"He's gone," she said. And then, in time with her sobs, as if she was trying to cry him out of her, she said again and again, "Gone. Gone. Gone."

Seeker felt her shudder in his arms, and he looked up to his waiting teacher.

"Give me a little time with her."

Miriander nodded.

He drew Morning Star gently to her feet, thinking he knew a way to bring her comfort.

"We could have stopped him," she said. "We were his friends."

"No," he said. "We can't live his life for him."

Now that she had begun to talk, the words came tumbling out of her, and Seeker let her talk, hoping it would ease her pain.

"He was so unhappy and I did nothing. What could I do? He told me he felt crushed and trapped and tied. Why did he feel that? He wanted peace. He wanted it so much. And now he'll never find it."

Seeker led her down the passage that opened into the Shadow Court, his arm round her the whole way.

"Don't tell me he's gone," she said, holding tight to his hand. "Tell me he'll come back one day, the way he used to be, laughing and golden and beautiful. He didn't have to dive. Don't let him dive. It's too high, and there are rocks beneath the waves. And even if he dives..."

They were in the deep gloom of the Shadow Court.

She stopped and pulled Seeker round so that she could see his face.

"Even if he dives," she said, her eyes burning, "it doesn't mean the sun will rise again. Will you tell him that? Tell him the sun won't rise. If he dives, the dawn will never come. Tell him. Please tell him."

He put both arms round her now and held her close, to soothe her bewildered spirit.

"I'll tell him."

"But he's gone. How could I forget? It's too late."

She wept in his arms.

"Come," said Seeker. "Let's lay our grief before the Loving Mother and ask for comfort."

She went with him through the speckled light of the Night Court, not noticing her surroundings.

"Don't tell him I love him," she said. "He doesn't want me to love him, so I'll not love him. Tell him so, and maybe he'll come back. Tell him I love him so much I'll not love him."

"I'll tell him," said Seeker sadly.

They entered the cool white space of the Cloister Court. Ahead glinted the silver screen that bounded the Garden. The closer they came to the Garden, the tighter Morning Star gripped Seeker's arm.

"No," she said. "No nearer. I'll be punished."

"Punished? For what?"

"For the madness in me."

"There's no madness in you," he said. "Only sadness. Let the Loving Mother comfort you."

But she would go no farther. She shook with fear.

"The colors," she said. "Don't let me dive into the colors. If I dive, I'll drown."

He held her tight, pressing her head to his chest so that her eyes would close.

"No dive," he murmured to her. "No dive. No colors. Only me, holding you tight."

As he held her, he felt an ache in his heart. But this was no time to be thinking of himself.

"The Wildman dived," she whispered. "Did I see him dive? I think I did. But you must tell me the truth."

"Yes," said Seeker. "He dived."

"And will the sun now rise again?"

"Yes. The sun will rise again."

"Will you tell him I'm stronger now? Tell him I'll not love him any more."

"I'll tell him."

"We can be friends again, the way we used to be. You and me and the Wildman. We were good friends, weren't we?"

"Good friends."

Then she was silent. Her breathing grew even against his chest. He stroked some stray hair back from her flushed cheek. He heard a soft sound behind him, and there was Miriander, waiting for him.

"We have to go back now," he said.

Morning Star walked back with him, and with every step she took she became calmer and her mind became clearer.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I've been confused."

"It's the shock," said Seeker. "We're all shocked."

"I don't know what I've been saying. Forget it all. It's all nonsense."

"I'll take you back to your room. Let you rest."

They returned to the novitiate. At the entrance to the long passage where the novices had their cells, he came to a stop.

"I'm all right now," she said. "Thank you."

She held out one hand. Absurdly, after he had held her close to him and stroked the tears from her cheeks and felt her cling to him so tight, he now shook her hand.

"You'll always be my friend, won't you?" she said.

"Always."

Miriander led Seeker down a flight of steps into a lower level of the Nom, which he had not known existed. The passages and rooms through which they passed had been cut out of the rock itself and were windowless, dimly lit by small lamps placed on the floor.

After a while he could see bright light ahead. A shaft had been cut through the rock to the open air, and down this shaft streamed the cold clear daylight, so much more powerful, even on a cloudy winter's day, than the little amber glow of the lamps.

In this last room, in the pool of daylight, sat the Elder, in his wheelchair. His weak old eyes were on Seeker with the expression he had worn before, of an overwhelming sadness. He made a sign to Miriander. She bowed and left them.

"So you are the one," the Elder said. "As I have suspected since you first came to us."

He spoke with difficulty. He had grown much weaker since Seeker had last been alone with him. Seeker waited, feeling the beating of his own heart, for the soft creaky voice to begin again. Now at last he would be told the meaning of the changes that were taking possession of him.

"Your coming, at this time, warns us that we are in great danger. This has been long expected."

The Elder fell silent, exhausted.

"If I have more power than others, Elder, it's at the service of the Nom. Only tell me what I'm to do."

"More power, yes." The Elder sighed. "Our strength is as the strength of a wounded warrior, and victory makes us weak. You remember?"

"Yes, Elder."

"But not for you."

Seeker bowed his head in acknowledgment and in obedience. If extra powers had been given him, it was the will of the All and Only. He waited to be told what to do.

"What was it the voice said to you, Seeker, all those months ago?"

Seeker spoke the well-remembered words.

"'Surely you know that it's you who will save me.'"

"So, so," murmured the Elder. "You can save, or you can destroy."

"Why would I want to destroy, Elder?"

"Power is a terrible thing, my boy."

Then he crinkled his worn face into a small smile.

"But you're a boy no longer."

"I haven't asked for this, Elder. None of this is my doing."

"Do you fear the power?"

"Yes, Elder."

"Good. That's good." He thought for a while. "You know you can be released."

Seeker knew of only one way: he could be cleansed. That would drain him of his power, but also of his past and everything that made him who he was. He would be returned to early childhood.

"There are those in the Community," said the Elder,
"who say that it should be done. They say it is our duty not to loose such unlimited power into the world."