Noman

by William Nicholson

  "Do you see me?"

  "Yes. I see you."

  "Who am I?"

  "You are Noman."

  "Look deeper."

  Seeker met that bottomless gaze and he understood all of it at last.

  I know you. I am you.

  "You are Noman. You are Jango. You are me."

  Then Noman drew him into a close embrace in his aged arms.

  "Have I not always been with you?"

  Apart and united, loved and alone, Seeker sank into Noman and was him. He saw through his eyes and thought his thoughts. He saw his own young face and found that he was weeping and wondered why he wept. He saw Noman's face, and it too was stained with tears. He kissed the old man's paper-thin cheek, and one of them spoke to the other, saying, "So the experiment has succeeded at last. We're ready now."

  Then Seeker let his mind open like a door, and through it he fell into a sea of memories. This spiralling embrace was Seeker and Jango and Noman, it was all three at once, melting in and out of each other, a single mind dizzy with youth and age, with pity and wonder and love. He had lived for two hundred years, and lived now in this infinite moment in every one of those years at once. He was a baby at the breast and a warlord at the head of a conquering army and a crazy old man sitting on a stick waiting by an empty road. He was a lonely boy in a classroom and he was a lover in his lover's arms and he was a philosopher who dreamed of making a better world.

  Swooping like a falcon down the years, plunging through never-known always-present memories, he stood once more on the summit of the island of Anacrea, before the screen that protected the Garden. He was Noman the omnipotent warlord. He commanded his warriors to tear down the screen. Alone, he entered the sacred wilderness. He found the Garden empty. He stayed in that godless wilderness for a day and a night. By the time he left, he knew the truth: it was he, in his own greed for knowledge, who had killed the god.

  I am Noman. I am the Assassin.

  Turn and turn again in this dance of the ages, and he was Jango, patient in faith, come to find what he needed too much to find; come to kneel, weeping tears of joy, before the All and Only; come to seek the truth, and to fail to see it.

  I am Jango. I am the believer.

  Turn and turn again, and he was Seeker crossing the line of darkness between the reaches of light towards an empty chair in an empty Garden; come to seek the truth, and to find it; come to bear the burden of that emptiness.

  I am Seeker. I am the Assassin come again.

  Too much knowledge kills the gods.

  And what does the Assassin do then? He gives the world back what he has killed, and pays the price with his silence.

  First I chose knowledge. Now I choose faith.

  Wall up the Garden. Seal the doors. Set warriors to protect the approaches. Act as if you believe. The people need gods.

  How many centuries does it take to soothe the fear in men's hearts? This is the great experiment. Have we made mistakes? Of course. But the experiment is not over yet. We have a brother.

  Our brother is the one we love more than any other, the one we wish to be, our elder and wiser. Our brother was the first to understand the life that beats in all things, the first to feel its limitless power. And now he is the first to be intoxicated by life, to be addicted to life, to conceive the possibility that he can live forever.

  My life is all life. I will never die.

  Believing he is all life, he is willing to let others die that he may live. This is his madness. This is why he is the last enemy.

  Manlir our brother hears and mocks our experiment, speaking from a far memory. He speaks in bitterness and in truth.

  "You give the people an everlasting childhood. Is that your way of loving mankind?"

  And Seeker, remembering, hears himself speak, hears Noman's answer.

  "I give them faith."

  We have given them guides and called them the Noble Warriors. We have armed them with power, but not too much. We have given them an enemy, so that they remain vigilant.

  And yes, there are casualties along the way. When the necessary enemy grows too strong, there must be an intervention. The plan allows for that. There must be a new defender of the faith, there must be deaths, there must be sacrifices. There must be renewal. When the opportunity presents itself, the Community must be torn up by its roots and left to find its own way back to new life, new vigor, new faith. Men can heal themselves. We have planted living corn.

  Another remembered voice in the sea of memories: the voice of the Elder.

  "I will let the Nom be destroyed," he says, his heart heavy. "But the brothers and sisters must know that the Lost Child is still with us."

  "All must go," we say. "They must be stripped and left with nothing. Then from nothing their faith will be born again."

  "So I must be the traitor."

  "You betray their present to ensure their future. There can be no greater act of love."

  Oh, the vastness of our plan! Oh, its outrageous ambition, its passionate love for mankind, its fragility!

  If I can make there be light instead of darkness, I can end the hurting of the world.

  All moments merging into one moment. All voices become one voice.

  I am Noman. Long ago I began this experiment. I watch over it as a loving father watches over his growing child.

  I am Jango. I am the one who failed. I am the keeper of the key to the door that is always open. I am the guide who waits by the roadside for my chance to come again.

  And I am Seeker. My life is an experiment in search of the truth.

  Noman released Seeker from his embrace.

  "You're ready now," he said.

  "Will you be with me?"

  "How can I not be? I am you."

  "Then, let it begin."

  26 Duel

  IT WAS FULL NIGHT WHEN SEEKER DESCENDED FROM the Scar and stepped onto the floor of the valley. In this moment there was no wind, no sound from the deep ground—only a far dark stillness.

  Manlir was waiting. He felt him in the silence.

  He began to walk. On either side rose the tall needles of rock that guarded the valley of the Scar. Ahead the line of hills. Beyond the hills lay the great plain, and the forest, and the fertile fields, and the river that flowed to the sea. Seeker knew that the final combat was near, but he did not know where it would take place. He waited for his enemy to declare himself.

  "Here I am!" he cried into the night.

  A sudden mighty crack split the sky. The ground bulged beneath his feet. The tine of rock before him toppled and came crashing down, smashing into fragments so close to him that he felt the sting of its flying shards. Out of the rattle of shattering rock rose a cackle of laughter. The ground heaved again. All down the valley the tines shivered and began to fall.

  Seeker ran, springing this way and that to avoid each new rockfall, racing to outrun the rippling ground as it devastated the valley. As he reached the hill path he turned to see the last of the columns crumble and smash behind him, and there sounded again that mocking laugh. The whole valley heaved and shook. The great Scar itself rose up as if lifted by a sleeping giant, and then with a roar like thunder, it sank down again. As it sank it broke apart, the whole massive crag crazed like a glass bowl, shivered into fragments, and fell into itself in a cloud of dust. Seeker was far away; its destruction was no threat to him, nor was it meant to be. It was a show of power.

  Now Manlir began his game in earnest. A ripple of movement in the valley swelled and accelerated. Seeker saw the land rise up towards him as a wave rolls in to the shore. He retreated before it, racing up the hillside, and from the hilltop hurled himself out into midair. As he did so, the hill swelled up beneath him and burst and sank down again.

  He fell to earth in the valley below, landing on feet and hands, lithe as a cat, and ran on. As he ran, the hills rose and fell like the coverlet on a bed shaken by giant unseen hands; but always behind him, driving him onwards.

  He wants me to
live, Seeker thought as he ran. He wants me to feel his power, but he needs to keep me alive.

  Down the last hillside, out onto the plain. Waves of earthquake followed him, opening up sudden fissures before his feet. He dodged and leaped, this way and that, hurdling the crevasses, working his way towards the forest.

  Now at his feet he heard a scurrying sound and saw that the ground was alive with rats. They came out of the cracks in their thousands, maddened by terror. His bare feet trod on writhing fur as he ran.

  Still the land cracked and heaved, and now slithering out of the gaping ground came snakes, their bronze bodies whipping over the turbulent earth, also crazed by fear. But now, close by, the greater darkness of the Glimmen offered its refuge. Seeker dived between the trees, and his enemy followed, always just behind him.

  The great trees of the Glimmen now fell as the tines in the valley of the Scar had fallen, ripped up by their roots, hurled across his path as if they were straws. The forest was trampled like grass in his wake, and yet not one tree trunk hit him as it fell, not one branch. The sound of the falling trees filled the night, every crash a thousand crashes as branch shattered on branch. And over the agony of the forest rose a sound like laughter, which was the sound of power rejoicing in itself.

  What is it he wants with me?

  Out of the darkness now and into the fields, bucked by the surging ground, riding the land waves like a skiff at sea, the first light of dawn creeping over the mountains to the east. He was covering the ground so fast and with such bounding strides that his feet seemed barely to touch the earth at all. Manlir who possessed all force, whose will drove the force of the world, hurled him onwards, back down the road he had travelled, back down the years of his life.

  I can't do this alone.

  Ahead now the pale gleam of the river, and Seeker was in his home country. As he ran he raised his head high and made the call. The long wordless cry sang out from him towards the distant great lake and the city of Radiance, towards the villages of the plains and the hills and the mountains.

  "Nomana!"

  The three syllables stretched out into a cry that rose high in the cold air of dawn and travelled for miles.

  "Noo-maaa-naaa!"

  He would be heard. The cry would be passed on. He had made the call.

  As he reached the river, the rage of Manlir struck its slow waters and churned up a great wave. Without a moment's hesitation Seeker sprang into the heart of the wave and let it rise and roll, carrying him with it. It swelled with such force that on either side the riverbanks burst as it passed. High on the crest of the wave, Seeker let himself be swept downriver unharmed, as trees and rocks were lifted up and tossed aside in the roaring path of its destruction. Unlucky barges out on early river journeys were overtaken and flung into the air like toys, while Seeker, borne on the smooth crest, rose high above the flying debris.

  As the sun rose he saw that he was approaching the river mouth, swept south so fast that a day's journey had gone by in minutes. And here at the end, as the river widened, the raging wave sank down and the racing of the water slowed, and he found himself swimming with steady strokes through slow currents to land.

  He stepped out of the water onto a shelving beach he knew well. Once there had been an island in this river mouth. Once it had been his home.

  Has he let me go? Or has he delivered me to the place he wants me?

  Now on the open beach he saw a gathering of people, and in their midst a white-canopied litter. Nearby a second band of men were at work on a small boat that was hauled up in the shallow water. They were tying white streamers to the boat's mast and rigging. Seeker recognized the signs. They were preparing a sea funeral.

  The silence and the stillness felt unreal after the shock and roar that had delivered him here. The mourners seemed unaware of the explosions in the land. But Manlir had not gone away. Seeker could sense him, waiting.

  He needs me alive. He has brought me here. For what purpose?

  He approached the group round the white litter. As he came near, a flurry of wind lifted the canopy and he saw the body within. It was the Joy Boy.

  Suddenly Seeker understood: and understanding, he knew he must escape, now, at once, as quickly as he could. He sprang up the hillside, feeling a force rise up from the ground like a wind to pursue him. He raced to the lip of the high cliff and stood for a brief moment looking down on the ocean pounding below. As the ground on which he stood began to shake and crack, he launched himself from the cliff, arching out over the sea, and turned in a graceful curve to plummet, head down, hands outreached, body straight as an arrow, into the ocean.

  One perfect dive.

  At once, silence. He streamed into the green depths, slick as a fish, deep underwater, propelling himself down and down, and for one long moment all was light, all was quietness. Then below him the seabed heaved, and even as he turned to flee, the explosion burst round him.

  The mourners on the shore looked on in astonishment as the sea erupted, hurling a giant spout of water into the air. In that gush they saw tumbling and turning the figure of a flailing man.

  Seeker turned in midair, and in one giddy moment saw far over the land, saw the figures racing for the coast, before he slammed back into the water. Now in the blinding turmoil, knowing he could not escape, knowing help was on its way, he drove himself towards the source of the power. There in the deep water he found the heart of the force and let it seize him and spin him round and carry him away.

  The watchers on the shore saw a churning on the surface of the sea as if a typhoon were raging towards the horizon, gouging a trough in the bright water as it went. Beneath the seething surface, Seeker drew the force ever closer towards him, no longer resisting.

  Funny thing, strength. You can drink it in.

  He met his enemy now, and clasped him in his arms. Angered, the raging underwater whirlwind broke surface once more, hurling Seeker up on a plume of spiralling foam. But Seeker did not release his grip. He was now locked to the one who sought to possess him, and his enemy, drawing on the power of the ocean, multiplied again and again the force of his blows. Turning and diving, thrashing the depths like a sea monster, the giant will that was Manlir threw the ocean up into mountains and let the mountains crash down again, and still Seeker did not yield.

  Seeker knew now that they were well matched. He was too strong to be overpowered, not strong enough to escape.

  The ocean beneath him heaved, rising up to form a towering peak of water that climbed as high as the clouds, an awesome display of power over the elements. Raised up on this sea mountain Seeker turned his gaze to the land, and there he saw his salvation.

  "Nomana!"

  They had come in answer to his call. They came in their hundreds, striding to the cliff top from which he had dived, forming an ever-growing line along the horizon, lit by the rays of the rising sun.

  "Noble Warriors!" cried Seeker. "Be with me now!"

  As the sea mountain subsided, carrying him back down to the thrashing surface, he saw his brothers and sisters reach out their hands towards him and he felt their lir enter him. As he was sucked into the depths once more, he could feel their lir still piercing the green water, like rays of sunlight, flooding him with power. He turned and turned in the spiralling combat, wrapping his growing strength round his enemy, containing him now, absorbing him now, dominating him at last.

  You pursued me for my power. Now receive my power.

  One last desperate spasm of resistance lifted Seeker out into the air, and down again into shallow water. Then it was over.

  He rose and walked slowly out onto the shore. The mourners fell back, afraid. Seeker turned to greet the Noble Warriors standing on the cliff top. He raised his weary arms in the Nomana salute. Their arms went up in answer.

  He spoke to the mourners by the litter. "Take off the canopy."

  Frightened hands fumbled to undo the straps. There in the dawn light lay the body of the one they called the Beloved. Seeker be
nt over the litter and took the dead man in his arms. He held him close and gently fed back into him the life force he had prematurely released. As the mourners looked on, a miracle took place.

  First there came a slight twitch of the dead man's fingers. Then his lips parted, and he was heard to utter a sigh. Then his eyes opened. The Joy Boy had come back to life.

  He looked at Seeker for a long moment, and those round him, astonished, hardly able to believe their eyes, kept utter silence. Then he spoke.

  "Why?"

  His voice was faint, thin, fragile as glass.

  "Your journey is not yet over," said Seeker.

  The Joy Boy raised one trembling hand and touched Seeker on the cheek.

  "Must I go all the way?"

  "We must both go all the way."

  Seeker lowered him gently to the ground. The Joy Boy then parted from Seeker's embrace and stood alone. He turned to the band of mourners. Awed and fearful, they fell to their knees. "Beloved!" they cried.

  He smiled at them. He looked across the beach to the boat with the white streamers. "Is the boat ready?" he said.

  "Beloved! Don't leave us!"

  He shook his head and did not reply. Instead he turned to Seeker. "Promise me you won't let the knowledge die."

  "I promise," said Seeker.

  The Joy Boy set off alone over the shingle towards the boat. As he went he released his borrowed youth and turned before the eyes of the watchers into an old man. By the time he reached the boat, he was stooped, shrunken, half blind, barely able to stand. There, leaning on the boat's side, he turned back and raised one hand to beckon to Seeker.

  Seeker opened his arms wide. Out from where he stood there stepped a second old man, who was Noman. He turned and touched Seeker's cheek as the Joy Boy had done, and on his ancient familiar face Seeker saw the coming of a serene surrender. The old warlord was entering his time of peace at last.