Seeker

by William Nicholson

  "Say nothing. Don't react."

  The Wildman nodded and looked down and went on eating his lunch.

  "Hey, Wildman! Where's your brave friends?"

  "Still got your golden hair."

  "You come to rob Radiance? That I'd like to see!"

  "Then maybe a little rock climbing? And then some lake diving?"

  They all laughed loudly at that. The Wildman did not reply or look up.

  "No, this isn't the Wildman. This is the Girlman. The Girlman with the golden hair."

  The bell rang for the return to work. Laughing still, the band of spikers strolled away. Seeker reached out and clasped the Wildman's arm.

  "I'm proud of you," he said.

  "I don't know how much of this I can take," said the Wildman.

  They returned to work and labored on to the end of the day. A half hour before sunset, the bell rang again, and the workers came to shore. They were paid for their day's work, and their papers were signed, and they were free to stay in the city for another night.

  Most of the workers joined the movement of people then taking place all across the city towards the temple square. The time of the evening offering was near. The band of young spikers was especially eager to see the ritual.

  "They fall into the lake. What's so bad about that?"

  "From five hundred feet up, dummy!"

  "So? It's only water."

  "And what's under the water? Rocks!"

  So arguing and exclaiming, they followed the crowds towards the square. Seeker and the Wildman joined the flow of people for part of the way, then peeled off and headed for the house of the oil merchant.

  Loitering once more by the tree in the street, they saw the members of the household leave for the offering. First to go was a handsomely dressed lady with a wide-brimmed hat, who was accompanied by a maidservant. Then the master of the house himself, wearing his robes of office, followed by two plump boys who were clearly his sons. Finally the main body of the house servants, the last of whom closed and locked the big gates behind him.

  Sunset was now approaching. The street was deserted. It seemed safe to explore. Seeker led the way down the alley that ran beside the house.

  "Cellars have to have air," he said. "We're looking for an air hole."

  Almost at once they found an air hole. More than one. They found small grated openings all the way round the wall, at the base where the wall met the ground. Seeker knelt down and put his mouth to the first grating and whispered.

  "Morning Star?"

  There came no answer. He spoke more loudly.

  "Morning Star!"

  No answer. He moved on to the next grating, and the next. He tried each one, without any result.

  "They may have taken her out," said the Wildman.

  "It's possible."

  "She may not be in a cellar at all."

  "It's possible."

  "She may not even be in this house."

  "So what do you suggest?"

  "Me? Nothing."

  "Then shut up."

  Seeker went on kneeling and calling, slowly working his way round the building.

  "This is so stupid," said the Wildman. "There has to be a better way."

  Seeker was getting tired, and he was getting dispirited.

  "Maybe you're right. Maybe she isn't here."

  He sat down and leaned his back against the wall.

  "So what do we do?"

  "I don't know."

  The Wildman looked back at him reproachfully. In the course of the last two days he had got used to the idea that Seeker made the decisions. Now, seeing Seeker close his eyes and give up, if only for the moment, he felt a surge of determination that was all his own.

  "At least let's finish what we started."

  He moved on along the wall, kneeling by the gratings, calling as Seeker had called.

  "Morning Star!"

  He too got no answer; but he pressed on.

  "Morning Star! Hey, girly! You down there?"

  He moved on once more. But this time, as he was moving on, there came a faint voice from underground.

  "Wildman?"

  The Wildman spun round to Seeker.

  "You hear that? She's there!"

  He threw himself back to the ground and put his mouth to the grating, forgetting in his excitement to whisper.

  "Morning Star! Is that you?"

  "Of course it's me," said the faint voice.

  "Are you all right?"

  "Of course I'm not all right."

  Seeker was by his side now. All his tiredness was gone.

  "Morning Star!" he called to her. "It's me, Seeker. Are they keeping you prisoner down there?"

  "No," came the reply. "I'm just sitting here to keep cool."

  Seeker met the Wildman's eyes and they both grinned.

  "Good to hear you, girly," said the Wildman. "We'll get you out of there."

  "That would be nice."

  "Is the door locked?"

  "The door is locked. I'm chained to a wall. Apart from that, there's nothing to keep me here."

  "Oh."

  They sat down on the dirt and leaned against the wall, and their euphoria at finding their friend drained away. The small voice spoke again, from the cellar below.

  "You still there?"

  "Yes."

  "Are you going to help me?"

  "Yes. But how?"

  "Here's what you do. Get a big leaf. Can you get a big leaf?"

  "Yes."

  "Get a knife or a sharp stick. Scratch writing on the leaf. Write three words: Seek—your—daughter."

  "Why?"

  "Just do it. Do exactly what I say. What are you to write on the leaf?"

  "Seek your daughter."

  "Good. Roll the leaf up, and tie it with grass. Got that?"

  "Yes."

  "Then come back tonight and leave the rolled-up leaf in the iron ring on the gate."

  From the temple square came the sound of the people singing. Both Seeker and the Wildman looked up towards the temple rock, the top of which was visible from where they were sitting. They could just make out the priests standing on the rock's high lip, with the day's tribute held between them, his head hanging.

  Seeker asked, "How long do we have?"

  "Three more days."

  "We'll get you out."

  "No you won't. I'll do that myself. You just do exactly as I tell you. Leave the rolled-up leaf in the iron ring. Don't let anyone see you."

  "When shall we come back?"

  "Same time tomorrow."

  "We'll be here."

  The singing stopped. They looked up. They saw the tribute fall. They heard his thin distant scream as he fell. Then there was silence.

  The little voice emerged from the grating once more.

  "Thanks for finding me."

  The next morning, the servant who opened the gates of Cheerful Giver's house found a rolled-up leaf in the gate ring and pulled apart the grass with which it was tied, half expecting to find it contained something. Instead, he found a mysterious message. He took the leaf to the housekeeper. The housekeeper took it to the master. Cheerful Giver studied it while eating his breakfast, and then showed it to his wife. His wife studied the message on the leaf, and like everyone else, she could make nothing of it.

  "Seek your daughter? Whose daughter?" She herself had only sons. She summoned the servant who had found the leaf.

  "You say it was on our gate?"

  "Yes, my lady. Rolled up."

  "Do any of the servants have daughters?"

  "Yes, my lady."

  "Have any of them lost their daughters?"

  "No, my lady."

  The puzzle of the leaf message was still filling Blessing's mind when she paid her morning visit to her tribute. She had taken on herself the task of removing the breakfast tray.

  "Such an odd thing has happened," she said.

  "I knew it!" exclaimed Morning Star. "This is how I dreamed it would be!"

&n
bsp; "Dreamed what?"

  "A message has been sent to you. Oh, I can hardly breathe!"

  She clutched at her throat and gasped.

  "What is this, child? You must tell me."

  "A message has been sent to you. I'm sure of it!"

  "Yes, in a manner of speaking. That is, a message has arrived. For whom, we don't know."

  "Does it say—" Again, Morning Star seemed overcome. She bowed her head, and struggled for breath. "Does it say—Seek your daughter?"

  Blessing went pale.

  "Yes," she said.

  "Just as I dreamed," murmured Morning Star. "So it must be true."

  "What must be true?"

  "How can I tell you, my lady? I am nothing. Why should you listen to me?"

  "Please! I beg you! Tell me!"

  "I knew it as soon as I saw you. I felt the connection. I felt the stream of love."

  "What—what—what are you saying?"

  Blessing was flushing and stammering. She had begun to guess at an extraordinary possibility.

  "Do you believe in other lives?" said Morning Star. "Do you believe we have lived and died before?"

  "Oh, my dear! I don't know—sometimes it does seem to me—but how can I tell?"

  "Trust your loving heart!" cried Morning Star. "I don't need to say the words. Perhaps you even dreamed the same dream."

  "Oh, child. I have such strange dreams."

  "Did you dream that in another life, a life now gone by, we were as close as two people can ever be? Did you dream that you were my—?"

  She never spoke the word. She just looked at Blessing, but all at once she smiled a sweet shy smile. So it was Blessing who spoke the word, hardly daring to make a sound.

  "Your mother?"

  Morning Star bowed her head. Blessing felt a wave of ecstasy flow through her. She advanced on Morning Star and folded her in her stout arms.

  "You were my baby girl!"

  Morning Star was careful not to go too fast too soon.

  "Only a dream, my lady. Who is to say?"

  "But the message!"

  "These things are mysteries."

  "Why, from the moment I set eyes on you, I knew you were linked to me, in some special way."

  "I felt it, too. I've been so happy, ever since I entered your house. Even with—"

  She held up the wrist on which the manacle was fixed.

  For the first time, Blessing realized she faced a dilemma. She stared at Morning Star, stricken.

  "I can't send you to be an offering! Not my own daughter!"

  "Who better to die for you, my lady?" said Morning Star softly. "You gave me life. It's yours to take away."

  "Oh, this is terrible!" Blessing wrung her hands and almost wailed with dismay. "What can I do? My husband doesn't believe in dreams. He has his heart set on a willing tribute. And now—here you are—and oh! it's all going wrong!"

  "Not wrong, my lady. Everything comes to pass as the Great Power wills."

  "But what am I to do?"

  "Don't be afraid. If it's the will of the Great Power that your husband shall see the truth, then that too will come to pass. We shall see what messages the night brings."

  "Oh, I do hope so! There's so little time. The day after tomorrow, at sunset—oh! I can't bear to think of it!"

  Seeker and the Wildman spent a second day picking tomatoes in the floating gardens. In the late afternoon, by ill luck, they found themselves working at a row of vines on the other side of which were the young men who had taunted them the previous day.

  "Hey, boys! Watch your step! Here comes the Girlman!"

  "Hey there, Girlman! Those tomatoes look kind of angry!"

  "You take care, Girlman! A tomato can be real mean."

  They snickered softly as they picked.

  "Hey," said one of them, "did you hear how Girlman picked a fight with a hoodie?"

  "You stick with the tomatoes, Girlman. Hoodies are out of your league."

  Seeker could see how near his friend was to snapping under the strain. He decided to draw the taunts on to himself.

  "Are you talking about the Nomana?" he said.

  "What's it to you, babyface?"

  "Only that I hate the Nomana."

  "You hate the Nomana! Oh, my! The Nomana must be pissing their pants!"

  "The Nomana are rotten to the core," said Seeker. "The sooner they're smashed the better."

  Even the Wildman was surprised by this, until he recalled Seeker's plan to find the weapon. The workers on the other side of the vine hardly knew whether to laugh or be afraid.

  "Smashed! Listen to the boy! So what did the Nomana do to you?"

  "They ruined my brother's life. They disgraced him, for no reason. I hate them all."

  Seeker's outburst was so unusual in the controlled atmosphere of the working parties that word of it spread up and down the lines and came to the attention of the supervisors. One of them strolled up the floating walkways to question Seeker more.

  "Are you the one who hates the hoodies?"

  "Yes," said Seeker.

  "Have you ever actually met a hoodie?"

  "I was born on Anacrea. My brother was a Noma, until they cast him out."

  "Is that so! And what might your name be?"

  "Seeker after Truth."

  "Now there's a name and a half. And do you seek after truth?"

  "No. I seek revenge."

  "Is that so!"

  The supervisor looked him up and down and nodded and strolled away.

  When the working day ended, Seeker saw this same supervisor was standing on the shore by the pay desk with a priest, and that they were watching him.

  "Wildman," he whispered. "I think they've taken the bait. If necessary, will you go to Morning Star alone?"

  "Of course."

  Seeker was right. No sooner had he stepped off the bobbing walkway onto the lakeshore than the supervisor came gliding forward and took him by the arm.

  "Seeker after Truth," he said. "I have a holy man here who would like to meet you."

  The priest was bland-faced and middle-aged. He studied Seeker with a suspicious gaze.

  "You come from Anacrea?"

  "Yes."

  "But you have a grudge against the Nomana?"

  "I'd kill them all, if you call that a grudge."

  "You're young to talk of killing."

  "Do only old men kill?"

  The priest nodded at that.

  "Perhaps you would like to meet some others who think as you do."

  The Wildman watched as Seeker was led away by the stranger. Seeker left without a word to him, or even a look, and was soon lost to sight. Everyone else was on the move, as the time of the offering approached. Alone now and full of unease, the Wildman crossed the city to the house where Morning Star was imprisoned.

  As before, he waited for the household to empty Then he found the grating through which he could talk to Morning Star.

  "Heya!" he called. "You still there?"

  "Of course I'm still here," came the familiar irritated voice. "Where's Seeker?"

  "He's gone off with some people who hate the hoodies."

  "Has he!"

  There was a silence from the grating. The Wildman was about to say again, You still there? but he stopped himself. Instead he said,

  "You got a plan?"

  "Did Seeker say where he'd meet you again?"

  "No. He just went."

  "So there's only you."

  "Yes."

  "I suppose I'll just have to make the best of it."

  "You want your neck slit, girly?"

  "Be quiet and listen."

  The Wildman became quiet and listened. After all, he told himself, it was because of him that she was locked in the cellar.

  "The city is full of wild cats. Have you seen them?"

  "Yes."

  "Do you think you could catch one of them?"

  "Catch a cat? Sure I can."

  "Then catch a cat tonight. A yellow cat."
/>   "A yellow cat."

  "Take one of your own hairs. A long blond hair."

  "My own hair?"

  "Just one. Tie it round the cat's right front leg."

  "Why?"

  "Just do it. Make sure it's tight. I don't want the cat pulling it off."

  "The cat'll hate it."

  "Feed the cat. Feed it all it can eat. That way it'll sleep."

  "Feed the cat."

  "And tie it to the gates of the house."

  "Like last night."

  "Except it's not a rolled-up leaf any more. It's a cat."

  "Yes, I know."

  "Just checking."

  "Do I come back same time tomorrow?"

  "You or Seeker. Seeker would be better. But you'll do."

  "You want to get your—"

  "Yes, I know. Let's hope I live long enough for you to slit my throat."

  The priest led Seeker to a section of the city that was mostly lodging houses. Because the people who lived here were not citizens of Radiance and did not attend the evening offering, there was more life here than elsewhere in the city. The bars were busy, and the lamps were lit in the windows. Seeker followed the priest to one of these bars, and here he was told to sit down and wait. The priest went back out into the street.

  The bar was plain and bare, a drinking place for poor men, but it was clean and well-kept. The barman nodded at Seeker, and Seeker nodded back, and shortly he was brought the standard order of a slab of white bread and a small flagon of red wine. He was not asked to pay. He ate and drank in silence.

  In a little while the priest reappeared, followed by a second man, a small balding man with staring eyes.

  "Here he is," said the priest. "Born on Anacrea."

  "Born on Anacrea." The small man studied Seeker with an almost hungry intensity. "Young."

  "Too young?"

  "No, no. It could work well for us. If he's got what we need."

  "Ask him."

  The small man had never taken his eyes off Seeker.

  "So, young man," he said. "I am told you're called Seeker after Truth. But truth is not what you most desire."

  Seeker did not blink or look away.

  "All I want," he said, "is for the Nomana to die."

  "The Nomana are powerful. What can you do against them?"

  "I've heard there's a weapon that can destroy even the Nomana."

  "Have you, now?"

  "If I could find this weapon, I would use it."