Jango

by William Nicholson

  "We are in mortal danger," said Narrow Path. "Our enemy is preparing to strike."

  Shock upon shock: Seeker could only stare.

  "How do I know these things? Because you have come. You would not have been revealed to us unless the need was desperate."

  "But what am I?" said Seeker, struggling to understand. "Who am I?"

  "You? You are nobody. You have no significance. All that matters is that you have been given the power, and that you use it."

  He came very close to Seeker and whispered with a terrible intensity. "You must kill our enemy."

  "Who is our enemy?"

  "The old enemy who has stalked us through the years and has sworn to destroy us."

  "The Assassin?"

  "The Assassin is a legend. The Assassin may be the name given to the one who strikes. But the orders come from the true enemy."

  Again Seeker asked, "Who is this enemy?"

  "I will show you."

  Narrow Path then turned the covered lantern to the wall so that its light no longer fell on him, and he took Seeker's hands in his. Seeker understood that this was not a gesture of fellowship. The older man was passing on a part of himself through touch.

  "Look up."

  Seeker looked up.

  "Memories of memories," said Narrow Path.

  There above in the darkness a group of ghostly figures slowly appeared. There were seven of them, kneeling in a ring. Impossible to tell whether they were men or women, but from the stoop of their backs and the slowness of their movements, it was clear they were very old.

  "This is not my memory. I share with you a memory of the Community."

  "I see them."

  "Now look more closely."

  Seeker tried to make out the figures in the darkness, but they were insubstantial as smoke. Then, as he stared, they gained definition, and he saw that there were other indistinct figures forming a kneeling circle round them, resting their hands on the shoulders of the old people and bowing down their heads on their outstretched arms. Round this kneeling circle knelt a wider circle, their hands on the shoulders of those before them, their heads too resting on their arms; and yet more who knelt beyond; and so the ever-widening circles, linked by touch, disappeared into the shadows.

  Seeker stared at the faces of those in the outer circles and saw that they were not old like the seven at the center. They were gaunt and pale, with unblinking eyes and white bloodless lips.

  His gaze travelled back through the rings to the seven old people kneeling at the center. As he reached them it seemed to him that they turned their faces towards him and studied him with their ancient indifferent eyes.

  "Who are they?" he asked.

  "They call themselves savanters. The lords of wisdom."

  "And who are those gathered round them?"

  "The ones who give them life. The savanters are old—too old to live—and yet they live."

  "And do they still live today?"

  "Still today. Each life is sustained by many other lives. It's a kind of immortality."

  "And they are our enemy?"

  "They have sworn to destroy us."

  He passed one hand through the air and the ghostly images faded away.

  "Can they do that?"

  "They are old, but they use the strength of others. They can turn armies against us. We have great powers, but our powers have limits."

  "But I," said Seeker slowly, "am different."

  "Yes."

  "Am I stronger than them?"

  "That is what you will find out."

  "But I'm to be cleansed." The folly of this decision at such a time of danger bewildered him. "Why? Why doesn't the Community use my powers to protect the Nom?"

  "Maybe there are those who don't want to protect the Nom."

  "What! In the Community?"

  "There's a traitor in the Nom. I've suspected it for some time. I believe this traitor, following the orders of the savanters, has caused the Community to make the wrong decision."

  "Even the Elder!"

  "The savanters have great power."

  Seeker looked at the burning eyes of his informant and felt how intensely Narrow Path was willing him to believe in his words. For this very reason, he felt sudden doubt. Why should Narrow Path alone see how his powers must be used?

  "You're thinking," said Narrow Path, "that I might be the traitor."

  "How can I be sure of anything?"

  "If I'm the traitor, if I'm lying to you, if the Elder and the Community are right and wise—then tomorrow you will be cleansed. The door you now see opening before you will be slammed shut."

  No! cried Seeker in his heart. My whole life, my struggle to be accepted as a Noble Warrior, my training and my power, it must all be for a purpose. The voices that have spoken to me, the words of the Elder, my own deepest instincts—all tell me I have a task to do that's not yet done. I can't let the door close on my life.

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

  Narrow Path was watching and waiting.

  "Where is this enemy?" said Seeker.

  A glint of triumph flashed in Narrow Path's sharp eyes.

  "You believe me."

  "I believe there's more I must do."

  "You must leave tonight, while the Community sleeps. You must travel fast. There are armies on the march. We have very little time. As to where you're to go—you've heard of the great forest called the Glimmen?"

  Seeker nodded.

  "Follow the high road through the Glimmen. Where the trees end you'll see a band of mist lying low over the ground. They call it the land cloud. Go into the cloud."

  "I'll find them there?"

  "Find them. And kill them. Don't hesitate. Kill them all."

  "And if I fail?"

  Narrow Path shrugged. "The day of the Noble Warriors will be over."

  He took up his lantern.

  "Wait for two hours at least. I'll leave this door unlocked. As for the other gates, each one has a gatekeeper. Your will is stronger than the will of a gatekeeper."

  He turned to go.

  "Wait," said Seeker.

  Narrow Path stopped, his eyes cast down.

  "Who else has the key to this door?"

  "No one else," said Narrow Path.

  "So the Community will know it's you who sets me free."

  "They will know."

  "And what will become of you?"

  Narrow Path looked up then, and on his gaunt face there appeared a wry smile.

  "Each of us serves in our own way," he said. "I give what I have to give."

  With that he left, and the cell was plunged once more into darkness.

  Morning Star lay on her hard bed, unable to sleep. In her mind, over and over again, she saw the Wildman dive. In her mind, she called out to him, "Don't go! Wait for me!" as she had wanted to do at the time. But she had not dared to speak. She saw that long lean body flashing down into the mist, so pure and beautiful, so alive. How could he be dead? Though her reason told her no man could survive such a fall, her heart cried out that he was still living. And she—was she living? This no longer felt like life. Shut off from the one source of comfort, the Loving Mother in the Garden, driven away by her own terrors, her own worthlessness, what was left to her in the Nom? Even Seeker, dear good Seeker, had been taken away for some unknown purpose.

  I must go, too.

  Not in search of some new goal, but to escape the burden of failure that weighed her down here on Anacrea.

  I'm like my mother after all, she thought. I don't deserve to be a Noble Warrior. I live too close to the edge of madness.

  Better to leave and go back to the mainland and build a new life for herself. And if the Wildman were still alive—

  She left her bed and felt in the darkness for the little bundle of lamb's wool her father had given her when she left home. She had no other possession in the world. Even her clothes belonged to the Nom.

  Moving with soft steps, sh
e left the room and padded down the passage to the open air of the courtyard. On the far side was the door that led out to the Nom square. The door was locked. A gatekeeper dozed beside it.

  For the first time, it struck Morning Star that she could not leave the Nom even if she wanted to. The Community would have to authorize her departure. And for that, she would have to be cleansed.

  Her courage left her. Despairing, she sat down on the ground and put her head in her hands and wished she was home again with her father and mother and the dogs, gentle Amik and eager Lamb. She wished she was on the hillside with the flock. She wished she was little again.

  Seeker waited until silence filled the great castle-monastery. Then he felt his way in the darkness to the unlocked door and followed the rock passage to the flight of steps. At the top of the steps was a door that was also unlocked, no doubt left that way by Narrow Path. Beyond the door, he found himself at last in the cold night air. It was a moonless night, but after the dark of the underground room, his eyes found light enough to know that he was in the lesser courtyard of the Community quarters. Facing him was the washhouse where they planned to cleanse him in the morning.

  He crossed the raked pebbles, treading lightly, and passed down the Chapter Passage to the novitiate. The iron-barred gate in the stone arch ahead was closed. Beside it dozed a sleepy meek.

  Seeker touched the meek on the arm to wake him.

  "Open the gate," he whispered.

  The meek blinked and stared at him.

  "I've no orders to open the gate in the night," he said.

  "Look at me."

  The meek stared at Seeker. His blinking slowed and stopped.

  "Yes, I do have orders," he said. "Somehow I had forgotten them."

  He unlocked the gate and Seeker passed through into the novitiate. Moving rapidly, he made his way into the cloistered courtyard, heading for the exit door. There, curled up by the wall, was Morning Star.

  "Star!" he whispered. "What are you doing?"

  She looked up, and the unhappiness in her face shocked him.

  "Where are you going?" she said.

  "Away. I can't explain."

  "The door's locked."

  "The door will be opened for me."

  She jumped up and seized his hand.

  "Take me with you."

  "I can't."

  "No, Seeker, no!" She sounded as if she was going to burst into tears at any moment. "Don't make me stay here. Not if you're both gone."

  The gatekeeper woke, then rubbed his eyes.

  "What's this?" he grumbled. "What's going on?"

  "Open the door," said Seeker. "As you've been ordered."

  The gatekeeper frowned.

  "Ordered?" he said. Then, "Yes. Ordered."

  He took out a key and unlocked the door and opened it. Seeker passed through into the square outside, and Morning Star followed. The door closed behind them. It was the door through which they had first entered, the door with no handle.

  Seeker turned to Morning Star.

  "I shouldn't have let you leave, too. You've not had permission to leave."

  "Have you had permission to leave?"

  He shook his head. She was right. He too was breaking his vow.

  "But you can't go where I'm going."

  "I know that." She gave him that look of hers that he knew so well, that told him she understood him. "I've always known that."

  "What will you do?"

  "Look for him."

  There was no need to say who she meant.

  "He's dead. No one could make a dive like that and live."

  "Maybe." But on her face there was a stubborn look that said she was going to go her own way nonetheless. "Come on."

  Ahead rose the avenue of ancient pines that Seeker had known all his life. To the left were the steps that ran down the terraced streets all the way to the harbor. Morning Star was already beginning the long descent. Seeker followed.

  When they reached the street where his home stood, he came to a stop.

  "Wait for me. I won't be long."

  Morning Star understood. He hadn't seen his parents for nine months. Who knew what dangers lay ahead, or whether he would ever see them again?

  They padded along the dark terraced street, past the low wall where she had crouched and wept so long ago, where she had first touched hands with Seeker and had seen the sparkle of gold that shimmered round him.

  When they reached his house, she waited in the street. Seeker found the front-door key in the crevice in the wall where it always lay, and he let himself into the silent house.

  His eyes were now fully adjusted to the darkness, and though there was almost no light, he could make out enough to find his way through the familiar rooms. The house was not big, and it was simply furnished. There was the long narrow table, piled with books. There the outdoor coats hanging on hooks on the wall. There the worn wooden armchair in which his father always sat. There the basket for fetching the morning bread.

  He climbed the short flight of stairs, knowing every twist of the handrail, avoiding the fifth tread because it squeaked, touching the projecting nail at the top. Ahead, his own tiny bedroom, its door closed. To the right, his parents' room.

  For the first time since he had left home, it struck him that the house must be quieter, perhaps sadder, with both Blaze and himself gone. The child grows up and moves on to the challenge of a new life. But for the parents, there is no new life, only the old life, but emptier.

  Their bedroom door was open. No need to close it at night when they were the only ones in the house. He stepped into the room, and there they were, lying side by side in the wooden bed, the covers drawn up tight round them. They were both deeply asleep, his mother on her side, facing his father; his father on his back. Seeker stood still and heard their breathing, listening carefully until he could distinguish his mother's more rapid breaths from his father's long slow exhalations. He looked at their faces.

  His mother seemed peaceful, and younger than he remembered, her cheek smooth, her lips very slightly parted. His father, by contrast, looked older, the skin pulled more tightly over the bones of his face. All his childhood these two had been the lords of his life, his guides and protectors, the ones whose existence alone gave him the promise that all would be well. And now here they were, asleep and growing old, the same as ever and yet vulnerable, dear to him but already slipping into his past.

  "I love you," he whispered. "I'll always love you."

  His mother stirred in her sleep, perhaps hearing the murmur in the night, but she didn't wake. He dared not touch them, though he longed to do so. If they woke they wouldn't understand. They would try to stop him going away. So he kissed his own hand instead and then held it over them, giving them his kiss in their sleep.

  "Good-bye."

  So, he left them and returned to the night street.

  Morning Star saw the soft violet shimmer round him and touched his arm. He was trembling. She put her arms round him, and he did the same, hugging her close. They remained like this for a few moments; then they parted and made their way to the steps, and so down to the port.

  Neither of them had considered the matter of getting off the island in the middle of the night, a time when no boatmen sailed. But here was a small fishing boat moored by the quay, with a boatman asleep on his own bundle of fishing nets, beneath a tarpaulin.

  Seeker nudged him awake.

  "You're to take us to the mainland," he said. "As you said you would."

  The boatman pushed his hands through his hair and shook his head. He was clearly about to protest that he had said no such thing, when it seemed to him that he had.

  "Said I would, did I?"

  "You did."

  "Then, that's what I'll do."

  They climbed into his boat, and the boatman cast off. The wind had dropped and the waters were calm. He unshipped the oars and rowed across the narrow channel to the mainland.

  "There you are," he said, still puzzled.
"If I say I'll do a thing, then I do it."

  "Thank you," said Seeker. "But you've already forgotten all about it."

  He and Morning Star set off up the steeply rising shore to the level land beyond. Here they paused for a moment and looked back at the looming hulk of the island. Anacrea rose out of the glimmering sea, its rocky sides, its walls and houses, the roofs and domes of the Nom at the top, all outlined against the night sky. Seeker lingered. Morning Star, chilled by the cold night air, wanted to be walking.

  "Come on."

  Seeker nearly told her why he looked back for so long. But it was only a feeling. There was no basis for it, and almost certainly it wasn't true. So he said nothing. After one last look, he turned his back on the island and strode off across the land.

  He had been seized with the sudden premonition that he would never see Anacrea again.

  11. Kneeling and Standing

  THE IMPERIAL AXERS MARCHED OUT OF RADIANCE IN full armor, eight abreast. Their looped chains clinked in their belt hooks as they strode slowly forward, swinging their huge armored legs, pausing with each third step in the slow ceremonial parade. Each one carried a shiny polished axe in a holster on his right thigh. They wore their parade breastplates, etched with intricate designs, and their parade helmets, topped with scarlet plumes. Rank upon rank wound its solemn way through the city gates, watched and cheered by the people of Radiance. This was not an army going into battle; this was a guard of honor. They cheered from the city walls because they were saved from destruction. Somehow, no one knew how, a solution had been found. Their king, Radiant Leader, was to greet the new warlord as a friend. There was to be no war.

  "He's given in," said some. "He'll kneel to the warlord."

  "Never," said others. "Radiant Leader is the favored son of the Great Power above. He submits to no man."

  The long column of axers came to a halt on the high road west. The order sounded for the ranks to part by three paces, thus forming a human corridor from the city gates all the way down the western road.