Noman

by William Nicholson

  "Who's there?" she called.

  6 Welcome to the Haven

  CHEERFUL GIVER AND HIS FAMILY PASSED THROUGH THE second set of security gates and were greeted by a squareshaped man with a flat head and tiny but piercing eyes.

  "Company manager," he said. "Name's Pelican. Welcome to the Haven."

  Before them lay a wide-open space in which teams of laborers were hard at work in the noonday heat. On all sides were houses in various stages of being built, and between the building sites snaked long lines of men and women silently performing repetitive tasks. Some were hauling stones, some were carrying timbers. Most were passing baskets of soil from hand to hand in one direction, and buckets of mortar back in the other.

  "What you see before you," said Pelican, "is Phase Two of the Haven. By next spring the work will be complete. The grass will be seeded. This will be a charming neighborhood. Children will play on spreading lawns. Their parents will sit in the shade of a cool terrace, served their drinks by well-trained servants, looking forward to an excellent dinner prepared by the best chefs. And all walled, gated, and guarded. Security guaranteed."

  "Dusty," complained Cheerful Giver's youngest son.

  "Horrible," said his brother.

  "I can't imagine where they find the servants," said Blessing.

  "No need to worry about that," said Pelican. "All company staff are polite, obedient, and clean. Perhaps you've already noticed that even our building workers are clean."

  "They are clean," admitted Blessing.

  "When they come to us, they're little better than animals. Filthy, starving, in rags. The company gives them new clothes, new purpose, new pride."

  As they watched, one of the workers stumbled under his load of earth and spilled it. A supervisor pulled him to his feet.

  "Pick it up! Keep the line moving!"

  "How much are they paid?" asked Cheerful Giver.

  "The company gives them life," said Pelican. "Who can put a price on life?"

  "So, no actual cash money?"

  "What use is money to them? Prices rise. Shops are burned. Bandits steal. No, sir, the company repays its workers by giving them what is far more precious—self-respect."

  "Please don't think I'm criticizing," said Cheerful Giver. "I've been an employer myself, on a large scale, too. I've always suspected that forced labor is the answer."

  "Not forced labor, sir." Pelican looked pained. "Structured labor."

  He led them through the building site to the inner part of the island. Here the work had been completed, and a number of large handsome houses stood on a grid of neatly raked gravel paths. Beyond them, on the island's far shore, rose a squat windowless tower built of dark stone blocks.

  "And here we have Phase One," said Pelican.

  This inner region presented a charming scene to the weary visitors. All was calm and still but for the coming and going of a number of small children carrying watering cans or rakes.

  "You see, my dear," said Cheerful Giver approvingly, "here are the happy children at play."

  Pelican coughed, then addressed Blessing.

  "You raised the question of servants, madam. The company has found its own original solution to the problem. We recruit and employ children between the ages of six and twelve. The company has found that children are better adapted to domestic tasks than their parents. And of course their parents are more naturally suited to the heavier building work."

  Cheerful Giver's boys were intrigued.

  "Look!" they cried. "They've got dog collars!"

  "For training purposes," said Pelican.

  He beckoned to a boy who was at work raking a gravel path. The boy dropped his rake and came at once. Pelican fingered the leather collar buckled round the boy's neck.

  "You see here, at the back, an iron ring. During training, the junior help are kept on leads. You'll often hear people say that spiker children can't be taught. Not so. Keep them on a lead. Give clear, simple instructions. Beat them if they disobey. It really is as simple as that. A few weeks, and they can come off the lead. Eh, young fellow?"

  He patted the boy on the head.

  "Yes, sir," said the boy.

  "Back to work, then."

  The boy ran back to his rake.

  "Dad!" cried Cheerful Giver's older son. "Can I have a spiker boy on a lead?"

  Cheerful Giver was pleased. It was the first sign of enthusiasm his son had shown since they had left Radiance.

  "I don't see why not," he said.

  "And can I beat him?"

  "If he's naughty."

  "I want one, too!" cried his brother.

  The two boys ran off to inspect the child with the rake. Cheerful Giver turned complacently to his wife.

  "Well, my dear. I think you'll allow that life here could be bearable."

  "Life must be borne, I suppose," said Blessing.

  "The tower over there," said Cheerful Giver to Pelican, "what is its purpose?"

  "Security within security," said Pelican. "The last redoubt. In event of emergency."

  "Yeow!" shrieked one of the boys. "He hit me! Beat him! Put him on a lead! He hit me with his rake!"

  "You poked him," said his brother.

  "He hit me with his rake!"

  The spiker child fell to his knees, sobbing and shaking. Pelican strode over to him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

  "Please, sir, he poked my eye. I had to, sir. He was jabbing my eye."

  Blessing clasped her son in her arms.

  "Has he hurt you, darling? Show me where it hurts."

  "I want to beat him! I want to see him cry!"

  "He's crying already," said his brother.

  "That's just snivelling. I want proper crying."

  Cheerful Giver didn't want his son's newfound enthusiasm to fade.

  "I know we've not yet made our payment," he said to Pelican, speaking low, "but I am in a position to proceed. Would my lad be allowed to beat the spiker boy on account, as you might say?"

  Pelican tipped his head on one side to consider the proposition.

  "On payment of the deposit," he said. "I don't mean to be difficult, but we do get people looking round the Haven, and when it comes to the point"—he smiled and opened an empty palm, to indicate the absence of money.

  "Understood."

  Cheerful Giver extracted some gold shillings from his heavy coat and pressed them into Pelican's hand.

  "All I want is for my boy to be happy."

  Pelican attached a lead to the spiker child's collar and handed the lead to Cheerful Giver.

  "Give it to me!" cried Cheerful Giver's son. "I'm the one he hit, not you."

  "Here you are, son," said Cheerful Giver hastily. "I was giving him to you."

  "Get me a stick!"

  Pelican volunteered his own staff.

  "I'm going to drag him about a bit first. Then I'm going to beat him."

  The spiker child shivered and whined.

  "Please, sir. Won't do it again."

  "Too bad! You hit me. Now you get a beating."

  He gave a sharp jerk on the lead and the spiker child trotted, sobbing, after him.

  A sharp cry sounded from the ramparts. A bell began to clang. Pelican looked round, suddenly alert.

  "Intruder alarm," he said.

  "Intruders!" cried Blessing.

  "Nothing to fear. Walled, gated, and guarded. Security guaranteed."

  "Can I go on with the beating?"

  A creaking sound filled the air.

  "The bolts! Look at the bolts!"

  The bolts that secured the gates were bending. Some massive force was pushing at the gates from the far side.

  "What—!"

  The bolts snapped. The gates burst apart, slamming against the walls, kicking up a cloud of dust. Out of the dust stepped a lone unarmed man with staring eyes.

  "Seize him!" cried Pelican.

  The guards all broke into a run at the same time, converging on the lone figure.

  He looked
through them as they came, searching the area beyond them. They launched themselves at him as he strode forward, but somehow they missed him and found themselves striking at empty air. On he came, untouchable, unstoppable.

  Pelican gaped in amazement. The building workers laid down their loads. Cheerful Giver's son let go of the spiker boy and began to howl.

  "Make him stop! I don't like him!"

  Seeker's sweeping gaze identified Pelican. He came to a stop before him and fixed him with his staring eyes.

  "Where are they?" he said.

  Pelican meant to resist but found he could not.

  "In the tower," he said.

  Seeker knew now that his long hunt was over. The last two savanters had nowhere left to run. Mere stone walls could not stand in his way.

  He drew one long deep breath that made all his body vibrate. Then he raised both his hands and pointed his fingers at the tower. The air before him turned dark. A stream of pure force flowed from the tips of his fingers.

  The stone wall of the tower shuddered and cracked open. A cloud of dust belched out of the gaping hole. The cracking and tumbling of falling masonry filled the air. Then out of the dust came the figure of a woman in black.

  She came slowly, walking with great difficulty, a stick in each hand: a stooping, frail old lady.

  Seeker began to move once more, slowly now, his eyes locked on to her aged eyes. She came to a stop and waited for him.

  Cheerful Giver and his family looked on with jaws agape, as did Pelican and all the others in the Haven. This was not their battle. There were powers at large here that were beyond their understanding.

  When he was close, the old lady spoke to Seeker, her voice as thin and frail as her body.

  "You don't know what you do," she said.

  "I do what I must," said Seeker.

  It had already begun, the conflict of wills. Neither struck a blow. They held each other's eyes and fought for domination, mind over mind.

  "You have strength, boy," said the old lady, "but no love."

  Seeker said nothing. Little by little he was overwhelming the savanter. The proud spirit within that aged body was bending before him. He was the hunter. With each day that had passed since he had begun his hunt he had grown stronger. Now nothing and no one could resist his power.

  Seeker felt no joy, no pride. This was what he had been empowered to do. He was a destroyer. Now he would destroy.

  The old lady uttered a small cry and tottered on her sticks. A look of terror distorted her deeply wrinkled face. Seeker did not relent. Slowly, helplessly, she slid to the ground, and lay there curled up on one side. For a few moments more she could be heard whimpering softly. Then she fell silent.

  Seeker knelt down by her side to satisfy himself that all was truly over. He rolled her onto her back. Her eyes opened.

  "No love," she hissed.

  With that, her withered arms shot up and seized his head. She pressed her face to his lips and kissed his mouth. She held him with ferocious strength, and her kiss sucked at his face, and he could not shake her off. He struggled to break her grip, but even as he did so he could feel her face softening against his, losing its outline, melting into his. He thought her intention was to suffocate him, to fill his mouth and nostrils with her decomposing flesh, so that he would die, too. But then he felt her breath in his mouth and knew that it was more dangerous by far. She meant to live on within him.

  He choked as he fought, and twisted his head from side to side, but she held fast. Now her face and his were fusing into one. If he were to tear her from him he would rip his own flesh from his skull. She was dying, he could feel the power draining out of her, but in the last moments of her dying she was binding herself to him forever.

  He heard sounds ahead. Someone else was moving in the shattered tower. The last savanter. The final kill. Seeker knew then that he had very little time and only one way to release himself.

  Let her in. Let her death feed on my life.

  He released his grasping hands. He let go his resisting mind. He let her fall into him through the kiss, like one who loses their last prop. She had not expected it. She fell fast, and in falling, she loosed her grip on him. In this way she fell deep into him even as her withered body dropped away from him; and he found himself free once more, looking down at a lifeless, faceless corpse.

  There came the grinding rumble of timber on stone, the snap of a boat's sail in the wind. Seeker jumped up and raced to the tower. He vaulted over the rubble of the breach he had himself made, then bounded through the ruins of an inner hall to a doorway beyond. Here the doors were open wide, giving onto a stone launch ramp that sloped steeply down to the sea. A small sailing boat was slicing into the water, the wind driving it rapidly from the shore. Beneath its sail Seeker saw a single litter, shrouded in a white canopy.

  The last savanter.

  In a rage of despair he poured his power into the water and caused the sea to seethe and boil. But all his anger served only to drive the boat farther out to sea; and great though his power was, the ocean was greater. His little storm was soon dispersed into that boundless immensity.

  He watched the craft sail away out of his reach towards the far horizon, towards other lands, and a terrible desolation possessed him. His power had been given him for a single purpose, and he had failed.

  Leave one alive and it will all begin again.

  7 Share the Joy

  THE DAY WAS ENDING AS MORNING STAR AND HER LITTLE band of spiker children took the hill road out of the village.

  "Where are we going now?" said Burny.

  "To find the happy people."

  "I never seen any happy people," said Libbet.

  Morning Star was puzzled and concerned for her parents. Her father never strayed far from his flock. But she had found the sheep on the hillside without a shepherd.

  She had no way of knowing where they had gone, and so she was taking the road that led along the ridge of hills to the lowlands. She followed the long slanting track that climbed the flank of the last hill, panting now. Hem strode stolidly beside her, just half a pace ahead to show he was the leader, but glancing back from time to time to make sure he was leading in the right direction. Burny held tight to one of her hands, and little black-eyed Deedy held tight to the other.

  Hem crested the brow first and came to a stop, staring down into the plains below. Morning Star joined him, with the rest of the children. They all looked in silent surprise at the scene now laid out before them in the light of the setting sun.

  An immense crowd of people was gathering in the river valley. From all directions more groups of people could be seen making their way to join this crowd, so that it was growing all the time. These were not soldiers, or bandits. Even from this distance it was clear that the crowd was made up of women and children as much as men. From the crowd rose up the sound of singing and laughter.

  "What's them all doing?" said Burny, tugging at Morning Star's hand.

  "Don't know," said Morning Star. She was trying to read the aura of the great crowd. It was hard, because as the sun set, it sent streams of red light over the plains; but as far as she could make out, the crowd's color was rose pink, the color of happiness.

  "Only one way to find out," she said. "Who's coming with me?"

  "Me," said Burny.

  "Me," said Deedy.

  Hem, the leader, was already on the way down. So they all descended the steeply sloping hillside together.

  The sun had set by the time they reached the fringe of the crowd, and fires were burning brightly. As they approached, they were spotted by a stout middle-aged woman who had unpinned her long hair to let it fly wildly about her head. She hurried to meet them, arms spread wide, a great beam of welcome on her face.

  "Joy!" she cried. "Joy to young and old! Share our joy!"

  She embraced Morning Star as if they were long-lost friends.

  "Thank you," said Morning Star, backing out of the embrace.

  She ges
tured to the milling crowd.

  "What is all this?"

  "This! Don't you know?" The beaming lady gave a happy laugh and spun round and round, arms waving and hair flying. "This is the Joyous!"

  "The Joyous?"

  "The gift of the Beloved to all people! To you, and you, and you!"

  She patted Libbet and Burny and Hem. Hem jerked back from her touch.

  "Oh, you young separator!" cried the happy lady, wagging one finger at Hem. "I was just the same as you once. But the Beloved has shown us that separation is pain. Let go of your pain! Come to the Joyous!"

  "Who is the Beloved?" said Morning Star.

  "The Beloved?" The happy lady rolled her eyes upwards and clasped her hands to her chest, momentarily unable to put into words the intensity of her feelings. "The Beloved is our teacher and our guide. You must go to him—yes, and you, and all of you! Look on his dear beautiful face just once and you'll follow him for the rest of your life."

  "Does he have a name?"

  "A name? He is the Beloved. He is the Joy Boy."

  With that, she ran dancing and skipping back to her own group, to be received with hugs and laughter.

  "Funny in the head," said Libbet.

  "Maybe," said Morning Star. "But she's not the only one."

  They made their way deeper into the crowd, and on every side, clusters of people were holding hands and laughing. Many were dancing, linked in small rings of five or six, spinning round and round, their heads thrown back, kept from tumbling to the ground only by their clasped hands.

  "Drunk," said Hem.

  A sharp yap drew Morning Star's attention. She caught a flash of white between the legs of the crowd.

  "Lamb!"

  The dog came bounding towards her, wagging the whole back half of his body in his excitement at finding her. He sprang up, his front paws on her thighs, and made small squealing sounds of delight.

  "Oh, Lamb! Are you drunk, too?" She rubbed his head and face with her hands and pressed her cheek to his wet nose. "Where are they? Where's Mama and Papa?"