Seeker

by William Nicholson

  She knew this was a gift, but it was a gift that brought her no advantages. Her friends and neighbors in the remote hillside village where she lived knew nothing about it. This made her feel strange, as if she didn't quite belong.

  After breakfast was cleared away and her father was at work on his copying and she still hadn't spoken, she sat on the floor by the stove and played with the puppy. She had a short length of knotted twine, which she pulled along the floor, and the puppy hunted it and pounced on it and shook it by the throat until it was dead. As she played, she let her thoughts run free. What she thought about was the puzzle of the mask.

  Morning Star believed she was quite different on the inside from the way she looked on the outside: so much so that it was as if she went about wearing a mask. Her mother had called her beautiful in her letter, and her father often called her beautiful too, but she knew it was not so. She had a pale oval face, with a little nose and a little mouth, and timid pale blue eyes. The masked Morning Star was docile and useful and lived her life without being noticed. But inside, the real Morning Star was quite different: much more knowing and sharp and critical. It wasn't that she was clever, in the sense of being able to talk cleverly. But all she had to do was look at someone and she knew what it was they most wanted or most feared. A lot of what people said was lies, or at best a kind of noise designed to distract. What they actually did depended on what they wanted and what they feared.

  Take the goatboy, Filka. When he had asked for the puppy, his colors had gone a browny red, one of the early stages of anger. She had seen the resentment in him, the readiness to take offence, the fear of rejection. It was all in his colors. He didn't want a dog; he wanted to be given the respect that he felt his neighbors denied him.

  All this Morning Star understood because she had taught herself to trust the colors and ignore the chatter. But no one apart from her father knew this about her. They thought she was silent because she was shy. They thought she was sweet but dull, like a bun.

  "What do they know, little Lamb?" she said to the puppy. The puppy, responding to the affection in her voice, pranced up on his little hind legs and tried to lick her face.

  "Maybe you can see the colors," she said to him, bending down. "Maybe all animals can."

  Morning Star often wondered whether her mother could see the colors. Her father said no, she had never spoken to him about seeing colors. But he said it in a hesitating way. When she pressed, he told her that there had been times when her mother had been troubled and had spoken of a darkness that came in the day. It was as if for her the shadow of night had fallen over the light of day and she alone were lost in the darkness. Then the shadow would pass, like clouds blown by the wind, and she would smile again.

  "When the darkness came over her, there was nothing I could do. I don't believe she even heard me."

  "Poor Mama. What was it that made her sad?"

  "That I never did know. Perhaps she knew her home here wasn't where she was meant to be."

  "So she's happy now."

  "Oh, she'll be singing like a bird now. It was all she ever really wanted."

  Now it seemed to Morning Star it was all she wanted, too. She had learned all that could be learned, from travellers who passed through the village. She knew that she must make the long journey to the holy island of Anacrea. She knew that she must present herself there on the day of the annual Congregation. She knew that this was in four days' time, therefore she must begin the journey the morning after tomorrow.

  Her father would expect her to leave home soon, to take up a job or to marry. Most of the village girls married at sixteen. But even so, she dreaded the moment of telling him, and she kept putting it off all through the day.

  Then at last the day was ending, and the sun was dropping in the sky, and her father was preparing to climb back up to the hill pastures to watch over the sheep.

  "Maybe I'll come with you again, Papa," she said.

  This was not usual, for her to spend two nights running on the hillside. But her father just nodded and said, "As you wish."

  She took the puppy with her, as before. And so they set off with rug and bag up the steeply sloping path.

  Near the sheep fields, in the fading evening light, they came upon the goatboy again. He was standing by the track, still as a statue, staring into the far distance. He seemed unaware of their approach. Morning Star caught sight of an unfamiliar color round him, a silvery glow that made her shiver. Puzzled, she kept her eyes on him as she went by. She was still watching him when suddenly he twisted his head round towards her and stared directly into her eyes.

  "Stop!" he cried. "Stand still, where you are!"

  She stopped. His command sounded so urgent, so unlike him. His eyes were fixed on her, but in some strange way she felt he still didn't see her.

  "They want to see you," he said.

  "Who? Who wants to see me?"

  "You interest them."

  He stared at her, eyes popping, shining with that disturbing silvery glow.

  "You're mad," she said.

  She felt the puppy wriggle in her arms, and she was about to move on, when the goatboy shuddered all up and down his body and his expression changed. It was as if he were waking from a trance. He saw her bewildered look, and he leered at her.

  "See?" he said. "Didn't know about them, did you?"

  "About who?"

  "I got special friends."

  The puppy gave a sharp yap. Filka's eyes flicked down. Before she knew what he was doing he had reached out one hand, seized the puppy, and pranced away from her. It was so quick and unexpected that he was right over on the far side of the track before she could react.

  "Give him back!" she cried.

  "I got him now!" he replied, taunting her. He held the bleating puppy high in the air above his head.

  She took a step towards him, but he danced back, away from her.

  "You come after me, I'll smash him!" he cried. "I'll smash his head on a stone!"

  "No!" Morning Star came to a stop. "Don't hurt him!"

  The puppy was squealing and struggling in the goatboy's big-knuckled hand. Amik stood, ears pricked forward, growling softly. Morning Star, choking with fear and anger, turned to her father.

  "Papa! He can't!"

  "You let me be," called Filka. "You got a dog already. This dog's mine now."

  Arkaty tried to calm him down with his gentle voice.

  "Come along now, Filka. This is no way to do things. We're all friends and neighbors."

  "I'm not good enough for you," retorted Filka. "Don't think I don't know. Funny-in-the-head Filka, you say. But I got special friends."

  Arkaty made a move towards him.

  "Let me be!" cried Filka. "Or I kill the little dog!"

  And he really did swing the puppy down towards an outcrop of rock, but he stopped short when Morning Star screamed.

  Arkaty lowered his hand.

  "This is not kind," he said reproachfully.

  "Not kind!" jeered Filka. "When was anyone ever kind to Filka? But I got special friends now. So you can all just let me be!"

  With these words, he turned and ran off up the hillside, into the deepening twilight.

  Morning Star burst into bitter sobs.

  "He's so horrible! So horrible!"

  Her father put his arm round her and comforted her as best as he could. She clung to him and sobbed and sobbed.

  "I'll go and have a word with him tomorrow," he said.

  "He's hateful, hateful, hateful."

  "He's a cranky lad, I know. But he's good to his goats. He'll be kind to the little pup."

  "I never even said good-bye."

  There was nothing to be done for now. They climbed the path on into the sheep field, and there her father settled her down and pulled the rug over her and let her cry out all her tears. When at last she fell silent, he kissed her wet cheeks and said to her, "So who else do you need to say good-bye to, then?"

  She looked up at him,
blinking the tears from her eyes.

  "Are you going to tell me?" he said. "Or is it to be mumbo-dumbo all the way, until you go?"

  "Go where?"

  "To your holy island."

  "You know!"

  "How could I not know? You're my own child, aren't your?"

  "Oh, Papa! How can I ever leave you? Say you don't want me to go, and I won't go." "Oh, so you won't go. And what then?"

  "I'll stay here with you."

  "And what will you do here with me all the rest of your life? Nothing is what you'll do. No, my lambling, you go and see what's to be seen and come back one day and tell me all about it."

  "How will you get along without me?"

  "Am I newborn? Didn't I get along for almost thirty years before you showed yourself?"

  "Won't you be lonely?"

  "No doubt I shall. And maybe you'll be lonely, too."

  "Yes. I will."

  She put her arms round him under the rug and hugged him close and was filled with love for him.

  "So you'll be off the morning after next, I think."

  "Oh, Papa. You know everything."

  "And it's a long way to your holy island, and a dangerous way to get there."

  "I'll not come to harm."

  "You'll not come to harm because you'll not go alone."

  "Not go alone? But you can't leave the flock."

  "And that is why I've arranged for you to have a companion on the road."

  In this way, to her astonishment, Morning Star learned that her father had been quietly preparing for this time. He had made arrangements to hire an escort to go with his daughter all the way to the holy island. So all the time she had been fearing to break it to him that she was leaving, he had been planning her departure.

  "What sort of companion?"

  "A man who knows how to chase away any spikers who want to cause trouble. The book factor is arranging it all. The book factor is bringing him."

  "Papa! How much are you having to pay for this?"

  "That's of no importance. What else is my money for?"

  "But I don't want a companion. Truly I don't."

  "Then take him for my sake. You're safe with me, and you'll be safe on the holy island, but between the one and the other there's bad men and mad men and all sorts else."

  She hugged him even tighter under the rug.

  "I shouldn't leave you."

  "The sooner the better," he said. "I shall be able to do as I please for once in my life."

  But she could see the colors glowing round him, and there, mingled with the rose red of his love for her, was the darker violet of heartache. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see; but even with her eyes closed, she felt his pain.

  "You're too good to me."

  "And why shouldn't I be?" he said. "Being good to my child is the same as being good to myself."

  9. Parting Wisdom

  THE BOOK FACTOR ARRIVED PUNCTUALLY, BENT LOW under the weight of his pack of books. He carried his pack in his own peculiar way, taking the full weight on a strap that went over his forehead. Thus laden, he would tilt himself forward and, balanced by the weight on his back, would proceed at a steady trot that looked as if he were forever running to stop himself from falling on his face.

  "Here I am again," he declared, letting his pack sink to the ground. "And glad of the rest, believe you me."

  With him was the biggest man Morning Star had ever seen in her life. The book factor watched Arkaty's face and saw with satisfaction his expression of awe.

  "Well, old friend. Have I done right by you?"

  "Right enough."

  The big man held out a big hand and boomed out in a big voice.

  "Barban at your service."

  "Trained as an axer," said the factor with pride. "Retired from active duty now."

  "You're most welcome, sir," said Arkaty.

  "And this must be the little lady." Barban stooped down to place his face at the level of Morning Star's eyes and showed her his strong white teeth. "We'll get you to your destination, little lady, as safe as if you was still at home."

  "Thank you," said Morning Star. To her dismay, she realized that she disliked him intensely.

  "You'll take a glass before you go?" said her father.

  "I never say no to a glass," said the big man, and laughed a booming laugh.

  They went into the house, and Arkaty poured out four glasses of his most special wine. Morning Star knew the bottle had been saved to drink on her last day. Barban, who did not know this, drank down his glassful in a single swallow, as if to show what a big throat he had. Her father, wanting the moment to last, raised his glass to his daughter and gave her a sweet smile.

  "To you, my star."

  She raised her glass to his, and they clinked.

  "And to you, Papa."

  Barban put down his glass, tore open his jacket, and bared his naked torso at them.

  "Hit me!" he cried. "Go on, hit me! Any of you. Hit me anywhere you like."

  They looked at him in surprise. He was standing with his legs apart and his arms pulled back, inviting a blow to his bare chest or stomach. A gold medal hung round his neck, with an image of the sun on it.

  "Hard as rock! Go on! Hit me!"

  "I'm confident you're a suitable escort for my daughter," said Arkaty.

  "Try the goods before you buy," said Barban. "You're paying for the best. I want you to know it."

  "I'm not really accustomed to hitting people," said Arkaty.

  Barban turned to the book factor.

  "You, sir. Take a swing at me. Do your very worst."

  "Well," said the factor. "If you think I should."

  He struck the big man lightly on the abdomen.

  "No, no!" cried Barban. "I didn't say tickle me. I said hit me."

  Morning Star found the whole display ludicrous. She put down her glass. The book factor hit Barban again, rather harder. The big man laughed.

  "Still can't feel you!"

  "Let me try," said Morning Star.

  She reached out her fingers, found a plump fold of flesh just above his hips, and pinched hard.

  Barban let out a shrill shriek of pain.

  "Ow-ow-ow!" he screamed.

  "I think he felt that," said Morning Star, her eyes round with innocence.

  "That was a pinch!" He glared at her, as he rubbed the hurting flesh. "That wasn't a hit; it was a pinch."

  "I think you should apologize, my dear."

  "I'm sorry, Mr. Barban."

  "Only girls pinch," he said bitterly.

  "That's all right, then," she said. "I'm quite sure we won't be attacked on the road by girls."

  The big man buttoned his jacket up again. He turned to Arkaty, no longer smiling.

  "You have the money?"

  "Yes. I have it here."

  He took a money box and tipped its contents out into a small bag. Morning Star realized he was proposing to pay out the full fee there and then.

  "Papa," she said, "I'm sure the usual practice is to pay half the fee now and the other half when the job is done."

  "Is that so?" said her father. "Is that the usual practice?"

  "Usual when there's no trust," said Barban. He threw an angry look at Morning Star. His colors had gone orange-red, the very worst combination.

  "Perhaps you would rather not accept the job," she said.

  "Oh, no! You don't catch me like that! I've come a long way to be here. I'll do my part, and I expect to be paid for it."

  "So you shall," said Arkaty.

  "You don't seem to realize," Barban went on, still crossly rubbing at the pinch mark on his side, "that you are hiring the very best in personal protection." He pulled out the medal that hung round his neck. "See that? That means axer! Yes, sir. I was one of the mighty axers of the empire of Radiance!"

  "I'm afraid I don't know what that is," said Morning Star.

  "Axer!" exclaimed Barban indignantly. "The name that strikes dread into the hearts of all men
! Axer! Axer!"

  Morning Star gazed back at him with no visible signs of dread in her heart.

  "Papa," she said, "give Mr. Barban half his fee, and give me the other half. I will pay it when we get to Anacrea."

  The big man gave an angry shrug.

  "Do as you please. It's all one to me."

  "If our friend is happy to accept the arrangement," said the book factor, "it is perfectly usual. The fee is substantial."

  "The best costs more," said Barban sullenly.

  So it was settled. Morning Star watched as her father counted out the money, and was shocked by the amount. Two hundred shillings! Her father earned a shilling a week for his copying. How could this man be worth so much?

  Arkaty put one hundred gold shillings into a little money pouch and gave it to his daughter. The rest he gave to the big man.

  "You'll take good care of her, won't you?"

  "So long as she takes good care of my money."

  "It's a dangerous world."

  Arkaty and the book factor then completed their own business; and so at last the time had come to part. Morning Star fetched her bag, which had been packed and ready for days. The book factor heaved on the broad strap of his load, and went out onto the path, beckoning the big man to follow him. Father and daughter were left for a last moment together.

  "So it seems like you're on your way," said her father.

  "But I'll come back. I'll come back to tell you all about it."