She had not spoken.
There came a sharp cry. A cold chill seized her heart. It was as if the blade had plunged deep into her, even as it killed the stranger she could have saved.
Then came a groan, followed by the scuffle of running feet. She looked around and saw the pilgrim running for his life down the road. She shut her eyes tight and blushed a deep hot red.
She heard the rattle of the wheels and the tapping of countless hooves on the stony track as the carriage began to move once more. She felt her left wrist released and the tingle of blood returning to her fingers. She felt the tears rolling down her cheeks.
Then came the mocking voice of the Jahan.
"So now you know."
"You didn't cut his throat," said Echo. "I knew you wouldn't."
"You knew only one thing. That you cared more for your little finger than for another man's life. If I'm a monster, so too are you."
Echo said no more. She couldn't begin to find words for the storm of fear and shock and shame within herself. She had never known men could be so cruel. She had never known she could be so afraid. She had never known she could let a man die.
"Now you will kiss my hand."
He held out his huge hand before her. She took it, then bowed her head and kissed it.
"No more talk of running away."
She hated him then, more than she had ever hated anyone in her life: this great ugly man who made her hate herself. She wanted more than anything to hurt him, and to see him cry as she had cried. She knew she had no choice for the moment but to stay with him. But secretly she vowed that she would die before she married one of his sons. And one day, she would make him in his turn kiss her hand.
3. The Shadow of Noman
MIRIANDER LED THE EIGHT NOVICES INTO THE SHADOW Court. Morning Star, walking in line immediately behind the Wildman, was surprised to see that his colors had changed. The amber brown tones that told her he was uninvolved and unhappy had turned to a pale yellow glow. It was as if he had awoken from sleep. There was something he wanted very much, and his colors told her that he now expected to get it soon.
Once they were in the Shadow Court, Miriander spoke to them.
"We will enter the Night Court," she said, "and sit there for a little while, and I will show you something of the past of our Community. To see this, you will need to share my memories."
She smiled at them as she spoke, and every one of them, not realizing they were doing it, smiled back. This new teacher was so strong and so beautiful that they all wanted to please her.
"These memories will become visible to you as pictures in the air. They are memories that were shown to me by my teacher, and to him by his. In this way the Noble Warriors have forged an unbroken chain of memory from the early days of our Community to today. You will now join this chain."
She led them on into the darkness of the Night Court, and they sat down cross-legged on the ground. The highdomed windowless space was lit only by hundreds of pencil-thin shafts of light, which entered through small holes in the curving roof high above. The stripes and speckles of brightness fell on their faces and clothing, on walls and floor, dissolving their forms into the shadows.
"Look upwards," said Miriander. "Look at nothing. Expect nothing."
Seeker did as he was told. He let his attention fall on the motes of dust that hung in the fine beams of light, and then on the shadowy emptiness beyond. From somewhere outside he thought he heard cries and the pattering of many feet. He felt a rumble in his stomach and realized he was hungry. He wondered what they would be given for lunch. He particularly liked the custard that the meeks sometimes made, when the hens were laying well and there was a surplus of eggs. He even liked the skin that formed on the custard, which most of the others hated. And if they were allowed butter biscuits with the custard, his happiness would be complete.
He smiled at the thought. Then he caught a shifting of the light in the air, and there appeared above him a line of ghostly men and women, all kneeling, with their heads bowed.
"You are seeing a memory of a memory," said Miriander. "You are seeing the first brothers and sisters of our Community."
The images were faint, and the thin shafts of light passed through them, further distancing them. But the kneeling people were visibly dressed as the Nomana were dressed to this day.
"They kneel," said Miriander, "because they expect to die. A warlord has come to Anacrea, and they know his power is too great for them to resist."
"Noman," murmured the Wildman.
They all knew the story of the warlord who had become the founder of the Noble Warriors.
"Yes," said Miriander. "This is the coming of Noman."
Now in the memory-scene above, the novices saw a man stride towards the kneeling figures. In his right hand he held a long straight slender sword. Little more than a shadow among shadows, he came to a stop before the kneeling group, and they looked up at him and spoke to him, though no sound could be heard. Then he raised his right arm, and holding his sword horizontal over his head, as if to guard himself against attack from above, he strode onwards, between the kneeling figures, across the domed space of the Night Court, and so out of sight.
The Wildman's eyes tracked the figure all the way. He half raised one hand, as if he too might hold a sword above his head, but then he lowered it again.
Seeker made no move, but he shivered as he watched. It seemed to him that somehow he had seen this before.
Miriander's quiet voice told the familiar story.
"Noman was the first and last man to go into the Garden. He remained in the Garden for a day and a night. He never spoke of what he found in the Garden. But when he came out, he disbanded his army and joined our Community."
"How long ago did Noman die?" This was Morning Star, gazing up at the ghostly figures above.
"Noman lived on Anacrea over two hundred years ago," said Miriander. "But I never said he died."
The class heard but did not understand. Above them now in the speckled shadows, the kneeling figures were rising to their feet and reaching their arms high in the Nomana salute. And now others were joining them and standing close behind them, saluting also; and more came and stood behind them, and more, until the entire vault of the Night Court was thronging with a great crowd of Nomana, all reaching upwards.
"Memories of memories," said Miriander. "You are seeing every Noble Warrior that has ever lived. They salute you. This is your Community, past and present."
The novices looked up and marvelled at the vast gathering, and in all of them, there swelled the same sensation of pride and fellowship, that these were now their brothers and sisters for all time.
"Go to them," said Miriander.
The novices then rose up from the ground on which they sat and passed among the ghostly figures above, who embraced them and gathered round them with smiling faces. No one of these faces was clearly recognizable, but from them all flowed a current of love and power that warmed them and made them feel as if they had come at last to their true home.
"We are always with you." The murmur of deep voices seemed to come from the mouths of all that great gathering of ghosts. "Our strength is always with you."
Seeker felt it then; so did Morning Star and the Wild-man and the others: a new force sprang to life within them, which they knew was not theirs alone, but was the force of the Community.
Then the insubstantial figures in the air began to melt away, and the novices were seated once more upon the ground.
"You are not alone," said Miriander. "This is the beginning of true strength."
She rose to her feet. The novices too rose. From outside came the sounds of some distant commotion to which Miriander paid no heed. She led them through the open doors of the Night Court into the Cloister Court. Here, in the tranquil light diffused through the pearlstone ceiling, they gazed through the forest of white pillars towards the distant silver screen and prayed the entrance prayer.
"Wise Father, you are
the Clear Light. You are the Reason and the Goal. Guide me in the true way."
Then Miriander resumed her instruction.
"Noman understood that the Lost Child was weak and that his defenders must be strong. He feared that the evil in the world would overwhelm this precious seed of truth. He devoted the rest of his life to building defenses that would stand against all that the future years might bring."
"Was he so fearful?" said Seeker.
"Fearful, and fearless," said Miriander. "His last words were 'My life is an experiment in search of the truth.'"
Seeker shivered again as he heard this. It was so like his own name, the name he had always hated: Seeker after Truth.
"His last words?" said the Wildman. "So he did die."
"His last words before he left us, to submit himself to his last test. He was never seen again."
She led them forward to the space before the silver screen so that they could each offer themselves to the All and Only in their own way. Morning Star approached the Garden with rising nervousness. She kept her eyes on the ground, fearful of the power of the light that streamed through the piercings in the screen. She longed to be close to the Loving Mother, who was also the Lost Child, but the colors were too intense for her, and she dared not look.
This was Morning Star's most secret shame. Because she was unable to look into the Garden, she believed she must be unworthy. How if she was unworthy could she ever become a true Noble Warrior?
The Wildman, meanwhile, was standing very still, staring into the green depths of the Garden. Without realizing he was doing so, he was clenching and unclenching his fists.
He had felt the surge of power as he had entered the Community memory. He had listened to every word spoken by Miriander. The warlord Noman, the greatest of the Noble Warriors, had gained his power by fearlessness. He had forced his way into the secret guarded place. The Wildman saw no reason why he should not do likewise: no reason but fear of the unknown, and the Wildman had no fear of the unknown. The greater the risk, the more he embraced it.
Morning Star guessed what he planned to do just a moment too late. She caught the surge of glowing red that burst from him, and cried out—
"No, Wildman!"
But he had already thrown himself at the silver screen, and finding fingerholds in the piercings, he was pulling himself up, moving so fast that he was almost at the top before Miriander responded. He had his back to her: there was no question of controlling his will.
She jumped.
It was a single spring, but it carried her up and over the Wildman's head. It seemed to the amazed novices that her heel did no more than brush his temple, but he dropped like a stone. Miriander landed and was standing still once more, as if she had never moved. The Wildman lay unconscious on the ground.
"Carry him out."
Morning Star knelt by his side, tears stinging her eyes.
"Is he dead?"
"No," said Miriander. "But his time with us has come to an end."
Morning Star gave a low cry and covered her face with her hands. Seeker felt a shudder of horror at the teacher's words. At an end? That could only mean one thing. The Wildman would be cast out. Therefore, according to the promise he had made to the Elder, Seeker must be cast out, too.
But as they carried the Wildman out into the Shadow Court, their private fears were overtaken by a greater commotion. The Pilgrim Gate had been opened, and a line of Nomana were standing between the gate and a shouting crowd out in the Nom square. The crowd was made up of villagers: farmers, herdsmen, fishermen. They were shouting, but not in anger. They were afraid.
"Help us! Only the Noble Warriors can save us! Come to our help before we lose everything!"
The Nom bell began to ring: not the slow booms of the hour, but a rapid bing-bing-bing of alarm.
Miriander hurried the novices through the side door into the novitiate and told them to take the unconscious Wildman to his bed in the novitiate dormitory.
"He won't wake for many hours," she said. "I must leave you for a short time. Use that time to prepare for your training. Once the training begins, you will each be alone."
As she spoke, members of the Community were hurrying past, heading for the Chapter House. The villagers' cries could still be heard, coming over the high wall. Miriander now followed in her turn.
Seeker's brother appeared, walking fast.
"Blaze!" cried Seeker. "What's happened?"
"Trouble on the mainland," said Blaze. "A new warlord on the rampage. The Elder has called a council."
***
The novices laid the Wildman on his bed in the dormitory and covered him with a blanket. He looked peaceful in his sleep. Morning Star brushed the golden curls away from his face, then lightly stroked his cheeks. The others left, all but Seeker.
Morning Star spoke to him in her distress.
"He will wake, won't he?"
"He'll wake," said Seeker. "But he shouldn't have done that."
"What will they do to him?"
"He'll be cleansed. He'll be emptied of everything he's ever learned. He'll be like a child again."
He said nothing of the risk to himself. Morning Star's concern was all for the Wildman.
"Like a child!" she exclaimed.
Morning Star looked down on him. He was so fragile in his sleep, so helpless and so beautiful.
"We mustn't let that happen, Seeker. He's our friend."
"Yes, of course. But I'm afraid it may be too late."
"We have to help him." And she said again, "He's our friend."
As she spoke she was swept by a sudden overpowering memory. She was remembering the beautiful golden youth who had stood on the prow of his riverboat and cried out to the noonday sun, "Do you love me?" With the memory, with the image of his bold laughing face, came a piercing sensation that made her gasp with its intensity. For a moment she was unable to breathe. Then, as she breathed again and felt the chill air fill her lungs, it seemed to her that everything had changed. This beautiful broken boy sleeping before her had become infinitely precious to her.
She had never loved him before, in his crazy arrogance. But she loved him now. She didn't want to love him. She was angry with herself for loving him. But as she stroked his sleeping brow and watched his blond eyelashes tremble in his dreams, she longed for him to cry his echoing cry once more, so that she could answer him, "Yes, Wildman. I love you."
It was impossible to say any of this to Seeker. She was ashamed of her feelings and did not understand where they had sprung from. Better to say nothing and hope that the storm of emotion would pass.
Seeker had noticed nothing. He had troubles of his own. He was gazing out through the narrow windows of the dormitory over the terraced streets of Anacrea, all the way down to the little harbor. He was remembering the days he had passed in the school yard, staring up at this very window, waving to his brother, wondering if he ever saw him.
Morning Star looked round at him and saw the blue-gray color of sadness. She felt a pang of guilt.
"Now you're unhappy, too."
"Yes." There was no point in denying it. She could read his every mood. But that didn't mean she understood its source. "Just one of those passing feelings."
"Like a cloud shadow."
"Not shadow, exactly. More like emptiness. As if I'm going to lose everything."
His searching gaze located the street where he had lived all his life. He could just make out the corner of his house. He realized he was looking for the house as if he would never see it again.
"Why should you lose everything?"
He couldn't tell her. She was so grieved over the Wild-man: how could he tell her that the Wildman's rash act might drive him too from the Nom? Moreover there was a shyness in Seeker that made it impossible for him to ask for Morning Star's pity—a shyness that was edged with pride. She could read his colors. His feelings were open to her, if she chose to look.
"I don't know," he said. "It's only a feeling."
/> "You'd tell me, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. I'd tell you."
They often spoke in this kind of shorthand, without naming the fears or sadnesses that were their true subject.
"Wildman never told me," she said. He caught the slight tremor in her voice.
"But you saw his colors. You knew."
"I wish I didn't know."
"You have a great gift, Star."
"Do you think so? Most times I'd rather not know."
"I like your knowing," said Seeker. "I like not having to explain."
She looked at him closely then, and it seemed to him that she guessed.
"But knowing isn't enough, is it? I can't make the emptiness go away."
"No. But at least there's someone who knows what I'm feeling."
"You're lucky. I wish—"
He understood what she couldn't bring herself to say.
"You wish there were someone like that for you."
She nodded.
"There're so many things inside me I can't say."
"Yes, you can. You can say them to me."
But she shook her head.
"I can't. It's not that I don't trust you. You're my best friend in all the world. It's just that I'm ashamed."
"You? What have you got to be ashamed about?"
He looked so surprised, it made her laugh.
"There!" she said. "I knew it. You think I'm all pink and good and uncomplicated. But I'm not."
"What are you?"
"I'm dark and wicked and mysterious."
Then Seeker laughed too, because it was so absurd to think of her that way; and so they left the dormitory to join the others.
The meeting in the Chapter House lasted longer than expected, and twilight shadows were gathering when at last the members of the Community emerged. Miriander came to the waiting novices and told them there had been a division of opinion within the council.