So he hit her back, a whack across her face with his open palm. At that she flew on him, pulling at his hair, pummelling his body, kneeing his groin, sending his bundle of provisions flying. He fought her off, pushing her to the ground, but she sprang up again and locked her arms round him, pinning his arms against his body.
"You squirt of pus!" she said, panting. "You'll have me whether you want to or not!"
"I won't!"
"You can't do better. They all want me. You know they do."
"I don't want anybody," he said. "Not yet a while."
He pushed the girl off him at last. She stood there glowering at him with her handsome eyes.
"You're mine or you're nobody's," she said. "If you go with any other girl, I'll kill you both."
"You won't have to do that, Princess. I'm going away."
"You'll come back."
"Maybe not for years."
"I'll come looking for you."
"No you won't. You'll forget all about me. I'll come back one day and you won't even know who I am."
"How's that?" she said. "You planning on turning into somebody else?"
"Maybe I am," he said.
"You're just fine the way you are."
"Used to be I thought so, too. Not any more."
There was something in his voice when he said this that quieted her down.
"What is it you want, Wildman?"
"That's what I have to go find out."
"Some other girl?"
"No. Not a girl."
"If it was a girl, would it be me?"
"Yes," he said. "If it was a girl, it would be you."
She could ask no more, and she knew it.
"That's all right, then," she said. "I'll wait for you."
"Might be forever."
"Oh, no." She sounded scornful. "Boys always want girls in the end. It just takes them longer to find it out."
She left him there, and he picked up his bundle and continued on his way back to the boat.
There he laid out the ham sausage and the corn pudding, and he and Seeker and Morning Star ate their supper and made plans.
"How far is it to Radiance?"
"Two days' walk."
"You ever been there, Wildman?"
"Not me, no."
Their plan was to enter the city as migrant workers, and then start their search for the secret weapon.
"That should be easy," said Morning Star, "considering we know nothing at all."
"We could ask the River Prophet," said the Wildman.
"Who's that?"
"She's like a fortune-teller. But she's got real knowledge. All the knowledge there is to be had."
"Is she a spiker, too?"
"Oh, yes, she's a spiker. We've all sorts in Spikertown."
When they had eaten, they settled down in blankets on the cabin floor to sleep. Morning Star found herself wondering about the Wildman's past.
"So where did you come from, Wildman? Before you were a spiker."
"Been a spiker all my life," he replied.
"You must have had parents."
"Not that I ever knew."
"So who looked after you when you were little?"
"There was a whole crowd of us looked after each other. There was a kid called Snakey. He was good to me. He watched out for me. That's as far back as I can remember, lying down to sleep where I could see Snakey and thinking, I'll be safe tonight."
"How old were you then?"
"Four. Five."
"And how old was Snakey?"
"Eight or nine."
Morning Star fell silent, thinking of how her own father had always been there, within close reach, every night of her life. It was not something she'd ever thought of as a kindness on his part; but now, listening to the Wildman, she found a new cause to love her father. She wondered what it was like for him now, alone in their little house, and knew it must be hard. So she felt in her pocket for her little braid of lamb's wool and pressed it to her cheek, and said silently: I love you, Papa.
Seeker asked, "What do you think happened to your parents, Wildman?"
"Never did know," said the Wildman. "Never did care.
"Maybe they died."
"Or maybe they just went off."
He spoke lightly, as if it were a matter of indifference to him; but Morning Star could see the faint violet glow that hovered round his head, and she knew he was hurt more than he chose to say.
Those who sought information in Spikertown, and those who sought guidance, and all the rest who just wanted their fortune told, walked the river path to consult the old lady who called herself the River Prophet. For the sake of convenience, her home and her place of work were combined, the one on top of the other, and both stood on a flat-bottomed barge that was moored by a bend in the river on the edge of town. The lower part of the structure was a miniature temple, built of wood and painted white. The temple had a handsome four-pillared portico on its front, the pillars necessarily close together, with a triangular pediment above. Inside the portico was a pair of white-painted wooden doors, and beyond the doors, the temple itself, just big enough to hold the River Prophet's throne and a space before it for her petitioners to kneel at her feet.
On top of the temple, like a shaggy low-brimmed hat, sat a thatched cottage. This comical arrangement made the craft taller than it was long, and entirely unsailable. But the River Prophet had no plans to sail away. This was where she conducted her business, and it suited her very well.
A bell hung from one of the white pillars, and by it there was a sign that read FOR PROPHET RING BELL. Here, early the next morning, came the Wildman and Seeker and Morning Star. There was a second sign by the bell that read THE PROPHET IS OUT.
"She never goes out," said the Wildman, frowning.
He rang the bell, long and loud.
"Go away!" shouted a shrill voice from the upper room. "It's my day off."
"We got fresh knowledge," the Wildman called out. "About the hoodies."
This was met with silence.
"You wait," said the Wildman. "She can't resist fresh knowledge."
He was right. The shutters on the upper window now opened, and the Prophet herself looked out: a round wrinkly face framed by a mass of frizzy white hair.
"Oh, it's you," she said. "Well? What have you got?"
"If we give you fresh knowledge, you got to answer our questions," said the Wildman.
"Answers cost money," said the old woman. "I can't eat knowledge, can I? And the chances are I know it already."
"This knowledge happened the day before yesterday. At the gathering of the hoodies."
"The hoodies?" The Prophet stopped sounding irritable. "Go on."
"You'll answer our questions?"
"If you pay."
So the Wildman told about the casting out of Blaze. The Prophet listened, then nodded to show she was satisfied.
"I'll come down."
A few moments later, the temple doors opened, to reveal a little girl. She was about nine years old and had curly orange hair and a face that was a mass of freckles.
"Kneel to the River Prophet," she said in a high singsong. Then, spoiling the effect, "Usually the faithful bring me sweeties."
The Prophet was already shuffling towards her gold-painted throne.
"Kneel, kneel," she said. "If you don't show respect, I'm nobody special. If I'm nobody special, I can't help you. Work it out for yourself."
They knelt.
"Why haven't they got any sweeties?" asked the orange-haired child.
"Shut up about sweeties," said the Prophet. "So why was this Noma cast out?"
"We don't know."
"Had they cleansed him?"
"Yes." This was Seeker, blinking sudden tears from his eyes. "He was my brother."
"You're from Anacrea?"
"Yes."
"Is your brother dead?"
"No."
"Then I take it he still is your brother."
Seeker bit h
is lip. He was already speaking of Blaze as if he was in the past.
"Tell me about your brother."
The River Prophet was a kind of drain for information. Every little detail that trickled down the gutters of the days ended up in this vast tank of memory. While the freckled child twisted and whined for attention, Seeker told all he could think to tell about Blaze: how he had always been the favorite of their father; how he had been good and decent and strong; how he had wanted nothing in life but to become a Noma and serve the All and Only.
"So you've no idea at all what this brother of yours might have done to get himself cast out?"
"No idea at all."
"Humph." The Prophet frowned with puzzlement. "Very odd."
"I wanna do wee-wee," said the child.
"We've given you fresh knowledge," said the Wildman. "Now you've got to answer our questions."
The Prophet shot the Wildman a sharp look.
"Answers cost money."
The Wildman produced a gold shilling.
"Get on with it, then. Today's my day off."
"We've heard about a secret weapon being built in Radiance. We want to know what it is, and where we can find it."
"Secret weapon, eh?"
"I wanna do wee-wee!"
"Be quiet."
The Prophet closed her eyes.
"Leave me," she said. "I'll call you back when I'm ready."
All this time, the three visitors had been on their knees. Now they got up and went back out into the portico, and the doors closed after them.
"There's something not right about her," said Morning Star.
"You wait and see," said the Wildman.
After about five minutes the doors opened again, and there was the River Prophet, hunched on her throne, with the orange-haired child curled up at her feet, sucking on the loose end of one sleeve and looking sullen. The visitors forgot to kneel.
"Well?" said the Prophet. "Don't I get any respect?"
They knelt.
"Not that I have much in the way of answers for you. This secret weapon must be very secret. I don't know where it is. I can only tell you it's an explosive weapon, and it's been tested, and it's very powerful."
"Who tested it?" asked the Wildman.
"I don't know."
Morning Star gazed at her. She had been growing more and more puzzled since their first sight of the Prophet. The puzzle sprang from her colors; or rather, her lack of colors. All that she could detect was a very faint tinge of green, which was not at all the color she would expect from one who was wise and crammed with knowledge. Now as she spoke to them, there were flickers of orange round her white-haired head.
"Make them go away," whined the freckled child. "I'm tired."
Morning Star turned her attention to the child. Seeker was asking a second question.
"Can you tell me where my brother Blaze has gone?"
"No, no more questions. You've had your lot. You didn't give me much fresh knowledge, and it's my day off. Now go away and leave me in peace."
"It's the girl!" cried Morning Star. All round the child was a deep blue gleam, a blue so dense it was almost indigo. Morning Star had seen this color only very rarely before, and always on people of great age. It was the color of knowledge. "The answers come from the girl!"
"Nonsense!" said the Prophet.
"She knows nothing!" insisted Morning Star. "The girl's the one with the knowledge!"
"It's a lie!" said the Prophet.
"How does she know?" said the child.
The Prophet took hold of the child and cradled her protectively in her arms.
"You can't have her!" she said, her voice cracking with emotion. "Go away! Leave us alone. I won't let you take her. You'll have to kill me first!"
"We don't want to take her," said Seeker, watching with surprise.
"You've brought that killer here! You mean to kill me and take my little girl!"
She was becoming frantic. Her little girl seemed quite untroubled.
"Tell her we won't take the girl, Wildman."
"We don't want her. We want knowledge."
Little by little, they calmed the old woman down. Then she bowed her white-haired head in shame.
"It's just a way to make a living," she said sorrowfully. "Don't blame an old woman for wanting to live."
"So you have no knowledge after all?"
"Not me, no. Not a jot. But my little girl, she knows everything. Tell her what you like, she never forgets, do you, my flower? They said she was a Funny, but she's not a Funny. She's just different. Aren't you, my flower?"
"When will they go away?"
"Soon, my love. Soon."
There was something oddly disconnected about the girl. Here was her protector almost in tears, confessing her fraud, and the child seemed not to be aware of it.
"So she gives true answers?"
"Oh, yes. True as can be. People come to us from all over, and they tell us what they know, and my flower remembers it all. Then when someone comes and asks a question, as you have done, she casts the question like a hook into her memory and pulls out whatever catches the hook."
"So it was the girl who said the weapon had been tested?"
"Of course."
They looked at the child, who was back chewing on her sleeve and paying them no attention. It seemed impossible.
"How does she know?"
"There was a story about some cattle burned alive in the fields outside Radiance. Another, about a freak wave on the lake that sank a fishing boat. She puts all the little pieces together without even knowing she's doing it or what she's come up with when she's done."
The child lay and sucked her sleeve and ignored them all.
"Is she your granddaughter?"
"Not exactly."
"So what is she?"
"Well—you might say I found her. But we get on very happily together, don't we, my flower?"
"I like it when you give me sweeties," she offered.
The old woman looked at them with pleading eyes.
"She couldn't do it without me. It's our living, being a prophet. Please don't tell anyone."
"Not if you answer our questions," said Seeker. "I mean, not if she answers our questions."
"What else do you want to know?"
"Where my brother's gone."
"The Noma who was cast out? That's too new. She won't know that."
Morning Star then spoke. Her voice trembled a little.
"Ask her where my mother is. She left thirteen years ago."
The Prophet frowned. "You'll have to give her more to go on than that."
"My mother's name is Mercy. She left us thirteen years ago this midsummer to join the Community on Anacrea. They sent her away. She never came home."
"Anything else about her?"
"I was very little. I don't remember. My father always told me she was very beautiful. And that it was a rainy summer when she left. The rainiest for years."
"Well, we can try."
"Shall I tell the child?"
"You've told her. She hears everything, and forgets nothing." She stroked the little girl's head. "Take a look, my flower."
The strange child pulled a face to show she was unwilling to make the effort.
"With them watching?"
"Yes, my love."
So she sat herself up, cross-legged on the floor, and closed her eyes. She started to mutter and moan, and then the moan became a half-recognizable mumble of words and phrases with no connecting meaning.
"Anacrea ... Pretty lady ... Rain! So much rain!...Death in the family ... Cry, cry, cry ... The road to the mother bear ... Someone needs to take care ... Have you seen the new governess?...Naughty children! Do as you're told!...No better than a servant ... White curtains blowing in the wind ... Some have all the luck, not that she knows it ... And the pretty little governess, crying behind closed doors ... Well, well, well..."
Slowly the murmuring voice faded into silence. Morning Star looked
up at the old woman, her eyes glistening with tears, though she hardly knew why.
"Does it mean anything?"
"A little," she said. "I think your mother is working as a governess to a rich family. She's been very unhappy."
"Oh, Mama!" said Morning Star, unable to hold back a sob. "Where can I find her?"
"The road to the mother bear. White curtains blowing in the wind."
"I don't understand."
"I'm sorry. Nor do I."
21. Seeker's Plan
AS THEY MADE THEIR WAY BACK DOWN THE RIVER PATH, Seeker and the Wildman spoke of their coming journey, but Morning Star remained silent. She was still distressed by the news of her mother. It had been enough to reawaken the pain of her memory, but not enough to be of any use.
After a while the Wildman noticed her silence.
"What's the matter with her?"
"She wants to find her mother."
"We're not going chasing after any mothers," said the Wildman. "We're going to find this weapon, and we're going to join the Nomana, and we're going to get all their powers. And we don't need any mothers."
"Are you stupid?" said Seeker. "Or just nasty?"
The Wildman went very still.
"Nobody talks to me like that."
"Can't you see she's upset?"
"You calling me stupid?"
"Stupid. And blind. And deaf."
The Wildman shot out one golden arm and gripped Seeker by the throat.
"You don't love me no more?" he hissed, his eyes shining very brightly. Seeker was choking too much to answer.
Morning Star drew back one arm and smacked the Wildman as hard as she could across the side of his face. He staggered back, releasing his grip on Seeker.
"You're stupid and nasty and blind and deaf!" she shouted at him. "And we don't love you!"
Then she turned to Seeker, who was massaging his throat.
"Has he hurt you?"
"Not too bad."
"What about me?" cried the Wildman. "You hurt me!"
"Good."
"You want me to slit your necks?"
"Go right ahead."
She glowered at him fiercely.
"Come on, spiker! Bandit! Wild man! Let's see this famous neck-slitting! Start with me!"
She stretched out her neck, inviting him to attack her.
"No," he said, now sounding peevish. "I won't. Slit your own neck."
"All right. So are you coming with us, or do you want to go on alone?"