Jango (9 page)

He looked around.

"Where are all the others?"

"They're in training."

"When am I to go?"

"You'll be made ready for your departure soon, and then you'll go."

"Made ready." The Wildman felt his mind clearing. He knew what that meant, and he knew he didn't want it. "I don't want to be made ready."

"I'm sorry," said Miriander. "You can't leave the Nom until the Community permits it."

"I'm a prisoner?"

"Only until you're ready. You'll be free soon."

The door to Seeker's cell opened, and his teacher Miriander entered. She looked at him carefully.

"How is it?" she asked. "Is it hard to be alone?"

"Yes," he replied.

"The door isn't locked," she said. "Whenever you want to go, you can go."

"I'll go when you tell me to go," he said.

She looked round the room. Her eyes took in the apple pips, in a row on the table.

"What do you do to pass the time?"

"Watch the clouds," he said.

"Nothing is dependable," she told him softly. "Nothing lasts."

She left him alone.

After that there were changes. There came a scrabbling on the roof above, and unseen hands pinned a drape of white cloth over the pane of glass. Daylight still entered his room below, but more faintly now, and his view of the clouds was gone.

When the next meal came, there was no apple. The meek who brought it swept the apple pips off the table and took them away.

"Very well," said Seeker to himself. "My powers of endurance are to be tested to the limit. I won't fail."

It was hard without the clouds to watch. He spent more time on the floor, by the door, watching the movements of the spider and the tiny ants.

Later a meek came with a brush and swept away the cobweb, and the spider with it, and stopped up the little hole by which the ants came into the room.

"No matter," said Seeker to himself. "I can tell myself stories."

He lay on his bed and gazed at the cracks on the wall and turned the dusty plaster into a land of empires at war.

Then there came more scrabbling on the roof, and a drape of black cloth was drawn over his one source of light. From then on he was in darkness.

This was hard indeed.

"No matter," he said to himself. "This testing time will end. All I have to do is endure."

He still did his exercises. For recreation he now moved round the room, feeling the walls as he went, learning to be familiar with each bump and crack. When his fingers reached the door, and passed by the latch, there were times when he felt a rush of longing to lift the latch and open the door and step out into light and noise and company. But he controlled the impulse. He was determined to complete the training.

Miriander returned.

"Is it still hard?" she asked.

"Yes," he replied.

"Whenever you want to go, you can go."

"I'll go when you tell me to go."

"What do you do to pass the time now?"

"I do nothing, Teacher."

"And yet you don't go."

"I know that this is my training."

Miriander heard this and was silent for a moment. Then she said, "You are no longer under instruction. You must do as you think best."

She left.

Seeker was bewildered. Was the training over? How could it be? He had learned nothing. All the hours of loneliness and darkness must surely be for a purpose. Perhaps, he thought, he was meant to leave his cell and seek that purpose outside. His heart leaped with hope. He went to the door, in the darkness, and felt for the latch.

But she had not told him to leave. She had told him only to do as he thought best. All his instincts cried out that to leave now would be failure. The very intensity of his longing to leave was a clear warning.

"No," he said to himself. "This too is a test. I won't fail."

But now he found the passing of the dark hours was much harder. He had to struggle against the doubt that squatted like a seagull on his shoulder and nudged him with its beak.

What's the point?
said the seagull.
You're achieving nothing here.

"But I am," Seeker replied. "I'm showing that I can pass this test."

What test? You do nothing. Anyone can do nothing.

"This is a test of strength," said Seeker to his doubt. "I'm showing that I'm strong."

Even as he told himself he was strong, he felt himself weakening. He began to suffer from a confusion in his thoughts. Once or twice, when talking to the gull on his shoulder, he found he was speaking aloud.

"I'm talking to myself. I'm not so strong after all."

If this testing time was not making him strong, if it was doing the very opposite and he was becoming weaker all the time, then what was the point of going on?

Again he went to the door and put his hand to the latch. Again his heart soared at the hope of release.

"So will I fail after all?"

His hand jerked back from the latch as if it had burned him.

"There," he told himself. "That's why I'm to go on. Because I refuse to fail. Nothing else matters. I won't fail."

Morning Star too received a visit from her teacher and was told that she was free to leave her cell when she was ready to go. Like Seeker, she wondered if this was some further test; but even if it was, she knew she could not stay alone in that darkness.

"If I'm to fail, let me fail," she said to herself.

So she found the door latch and opened the door and went out into the passage beyond. A pale evening light flowed down the passage from the courtyard, softly illuminating the stone walls. Morning Star touched the archway as she passed through, grateful for the simple gift of light. Then she heard voices and found other novices gathered in the courtyard, all recently emerged from their cells, all wearing the same dazed expression. They were sharing their experiences and puzzling over the purpose of them. Two nights and two days had gone by. What were they meant to have learned? What had the training been for?

Winter greeted Morning Star.

"Almost the last," he said. "How was it for you?"

"Hard. I'm glad to be out."

Their voices sounded unusually clear.

"It was horrible," said Jobal. "I wanted to scream."

But they were all smiling. They kept touching each other and laughing.

"Has anyone seen the Wildman?"

"He's gone. He's not in the dormitory any more."

"Gone?"

A sudden dread filled Morning Star's heart. How could he be gone already? She looked round for Seeker.

"Where's Seeker?"

"Still in his cell. He's the only one who hasn't come out."

That night was the worst of all for Seeker. A whole flock of gulls now descended on him, and his doubts tore at him without ceasing. A hundred times he reached for the latch, and every time, he let his hand fall back to his side.

"If I go now, what's it all been for? Nothing."

His doubts screeched at him, saying, "Of course it's all for nothing. So why go on?"

"I will not fail."

"Fail what?" said his doubts. "There's no test here."

Then, deeper into the night, came a doubt that was even harder to dismiss.

"Look at you," said this doubt. "Unable to sleep. Tormented by uncertainty. As miserable as you've ever been in your life. Is that strength? Is that endurance? Of course not. You've failed. Why not admit it?"

He felt his way to the bed and lay down to sleep, worn out by the turmoil in his mind.

"Tomorrow. I'll decide what to do tomorrow."

He closed his eyes. The darkness in the room was so complete that it made no difference.

I could sleep with my eyes open, he thought.

So he opened his eyes and slept.

He was woken by a light. The light came from the passage. His door was opening, and someone was coming into his room, carrying a candle.

It was Morning Star. She was wearing bright-colored clothes and had glittering bracelets all up her arms, like a bandit.

Seeker sat up, overjoyed to be able to see and to talk and to have company.

"Oh, Star! You don't know how good it is to see you!"

She put the candle down on the table, beside the half-f glass of water.

"You're the only one who's failed," she said.

"What?" Her voice was different. She sounded glad that he had failed. "Have I failed?"

"You weren't strong enough."

"But I tried so hard. It isn't over, is it?"

"Of course it's over. You're the only one still in here."

She turned to the door, which still stood half open. Reaching out one hand, she called to someone waiting outside.

"Come in."

The Wildman came in. He too wore the gaudy clothes of a bandit. He clasped the hand that Morning Star held out to him, looking strong and handsome and happy, as in the early days.

"He doesn't know it's over," Morning Star said to him. "He doesn't know he's failed."

The Wildman shrugged.

"Just not strong enough," he said.

He smiled at Morning Star, and she smiled back. Seeker saw those smiles and could hardly think at all, so many conflicting emotions were rising up and churning within him. He felt sick, and hurt, and angry, and he wanted to burst into tears.

"Please," he said at last. "Help me."

"Too late," said Morning Star. "We have to go now."

Still holding hands, their bracelets jingling, she and the Wildman left the room, and the door closed behind them.

Left alone, Seeker groaned.

"When did it happen?" he cried. "When did I fail?"

His teacher's voice answered him.

"When you called for a candle."

She was sitting on the chair by the table, the candlelight rimming her lovely face. Seeker had not seen her come in.

"But I didn't call for a candle."

"Then why is there a candle here?"

"She brought the candle with her. My friend, Morning Star."

"Your friend took her candle away with her. Don't you remember?"

He remembered now: Morning Star leaving the room, holding the Wildman's hand with one hand, the other hand carrying the candle. There had been darkness after they had left. Now there was light.

"Did I call for a candle?"

"You weren't strong enough."

"So it's true. I've failed the test."

"Yes," said Miriander without pity. "You have failed."

Seeker let his stinging eyes close and was thankful to feel the soothing flow of tears. There was nothing more to strive for. He could release himself and slide into the warm waters of exhaustion. He could give up.

He slept.

He woke to darkness. The candle was gone. His head ached and his body was stiff. He sat up on the bed and rubbed at his temples, and the terrors of the night slowly returned to him. He felt his face burn with shame, even as a cold sweat of misery broke out over his body.

"What now?" he asked himself. "What's to become of me?"

No need to remain in the utter darkness of this hateful room. This room that had witnessed his failure.

He stood and staggered, then found his balance with difficulty.

"Even my own body fails me."

He walked unsteadily to the door and felt for the latch. There was no latch. He felt all round where it should have been. There was no door.

Slowly, feeling his way with his fingers, he worked round the walls and so came to the door at last. Somehow it had moved to the opposite wall. He lifted the latch, and the door opened.

The passage outside was in darkness. That meant it was still night. He could feel cool air on his face but could see nothing at all.

When he had been brought to this room the door had been on his left. So now he turned to the right and felt his way along the wall. Before, there had been other doors in the passage, but now, as his hands passed over the smooth plaster, he could feel no doors. His only guide was the cool air that blew towards him. He shuffled blindly towards the source of the open air.

It must have been the darkest and most moonless of nights, because in a little while he sensed he was in the open courtyard but still could see nothing at all. Following his memory only, he set out across unmarked space, hands before him.

Now he sensed he had entered another hallway. He must have gone through an open door without knowing it. On he went, telling himself that soon he must come upon a light. Somebody somewhere in the Nom would be awake and on watch. This now was all he craved: the comfort of another human voice. The loneliness had lasted too long.

As if in response to the intensity of his need, he saw the glimmer of soft light ahead. He was crossing some great empty space, on the far side of which loomed the rectangular shape of a doorway. The glow of light lay beyond.

As soon as he reached the doorway, he recognized where he was. The great space he had just crossed was the Night Court. He was now entering the pillared hall of the Cloister Court. Some way ahead, beyond the silent forest of pillars, rose the silver screen that protected the Garden, the screen pierced by many thousands of patterned holes. The light glowed through these holes. It was shining from within the Garden itself.

A wash of relief and gratitude flowed through Seeker's entire being. The All and Only would never leave him. He was not alone after all. The Wise Father would take him in his arms. The Loving Mother would kiss his aching eyes. The Quiet Watcher would protect him. Here at last he could rest.

He made his way forward through the pillars to the screen, his eyes fixed on the source of light within. He heard a faint sound, the familiar scrape-scrape of a broom sweeping the stone floor. Somewhere, even now in the middle of the night, a meek was at work. He looked around, but could make out no one in the darkness. Then, turning back to the silver screen, he saw that the light had grown brighter.

There had never been such a light in the Garden before. The Garden was open to the sky above, and by day he had seen it bathed in sunlight. But at night no lamps were lit there. For who was there to light them?

Who but the Lost Child himself? For was he not also called the Clear Light?

Suddenly, overwhelmingly, it came to Seeker that he was about to see with his own eyes the being who had created the world.