Morning Star was not in the crowd in the temple square. Quite where she was no one knew.
Midnight came and went, and some of the people left, no longer believing any god would come. The rest huddled together and slept round the glowing bonfire.
"This is stupid," said Caressa. "I'm tired and nothing's going to happen. Let's sleep."
"You sleep if you want," said the Wildman. "I'll call you if something happens."
Then something did happen. There came the sounds of a faraway voice singing and the tread of many feet. Those who were awake round the fire prodded their sleeping companions.
"Wake up! Someone's coming!"
A flickering column of lanterns wound its way down the street and into the square, and with it came the song, high and clear.
"Mother who made us
Father who guides us
Child who needs us
Light of our days and peace of our nights..."
The lantern-bearers formed an escort. In their midst, lit by their swaying lights, walked Morning Star, head held high, eyes fixed on the temple rock, singing. The crowd woke and watched, filled once more with eager anticipation.
"It's the little mother," they told each other. "The child will come now."
Morning Star crossed the square and made her way up the many flights of steps that clung to the side of the great rock, singing all the way.
"We wake in your shadow
We walk in your footsteps
We sleep in your arms..."
The Wildman watched her climb, with bright eyes.
"Heya," he said softly to Caressa. "Star won't let us down."
"Lead us to the Garden
To rest in the Garden
To live in the Garden
With you..."
Now the people in the square could see her emerge onto the top level of the rock, lit by the ring of lanterns, silhouetted against the moonlit sky. She stood before the stone wall that was to be the new Garden, and there her song came to an end. Like everyone else in the city that night, she too now waited for the coming of the Lost Child.
The sight filled the crowd with a new intensity of anticipation.
"You see," they told each other. "The god'll come now."
"How will we know?"
"You just know. That's how it is with gods."
Candle sellers moved through the crowd, crying their wares. "Light a candle to greet the god!"
"What do I want a candle for?"
"Shine a light for the Lost Child to find his way!"
Once one person had bought a candle and lit it, others began to think it must be the thing to do, and soon the square was a sea of candle flames. Everyone was now awake and eagerly staring up at the high Garden.
"Must be soon now," they told one another, seeing the faint twinkle of the morning star on the dawn horizon. Tired though they were, none slept. All wanted to see the coming of the god.
Caressa felt the tension acutely.
"Wildman," she whispered. "What do we do? The sun'll come up, there'll be no god, and what do we do?"
"I got a feeling about this one, Princess. I feel like it's going to work out."
"Then it needs to be soon. Look east."
Many eyes were looking east. The ridge of mountains was now rimmed with pale light. A rumor sprang up and ran through the crowd that the god would come with the sunrise. Some watched the glow on the horizon; others kept their eyes fixed on the stone wall high on the temple rock, eager to be the first to spot the moment the god entered the Garden.
"There! I saw something! I think I saw—"
A young woman in the crowd pointed, stammering in her excitement.
"What? Where?"
The sun broke over the mountains. People looked from the sudden dazzle of light to the temple rock. The rays of the rising sun pierced the cracks between the stones and lit up the Garden like a lantern.
Morning Star suddenly let out an unearthly cry. The sound caused a sensation. All eyes reached up to gaze on the dazzle of the Garden.
"I see it! I see it!"
Many more now thought they saw movement in the Garden. The excitement infected all those round them.
"See! Something moving!"
"Where?"
"I see it! I see it!"
"It's a little child! Oh, the dear one!"
"There! I see it!"
The whole crowd was in a ferment now. Those who had seen nothing to start with now supposed they too saw movement—a figure, a child—and seeing, weeping with joy, they believed.
"The god has come! The child will protect us!"
"I never thought I'd live to see this day!"
"Now all our troubles are over!"
Caressa looked from the temple rock to the Wildman and back to the temple rock.
"I don't see it, Wildman. What do you see?"
"I see what they see," said the Wildman.
Caressa looked round at the ecstatic crowd and shook her head in admiration.
"Act as if you believe, and they'll believe."
The big gate of Cheerful Giver's old house stood open, and the courtyard inside was littered with leaves and the remains of fires, but Morning Star remembered it well. She crossed to the cellar steps and went down into the dark space below. She stood there, letting her eyes adjust to the light that fell through the grated air hole. She had been tethered here and had expected to die. But for all the terror of those days, she found herself envying her younger self. She still had her colors then. She still had her dream of becoming a Noble Warrior. She still had her faith in the god of the Garden.
Now what was left?
She had watched the joyful crowd from the top of the temple rock and felt only sadness. It clung to her like a blanket of darkness. Everything had happened as she had said it would, but there was nothing there. The people believed because they wanted to believe. They had passed the night waiting and watching for the god to come, and so the god had come. She felt no superiority over them. How could she? She too had once believed in the god, and with as little reason. The very eagerness with which this crowd now embraced belief told her that there was no god, only the hunger for a god. She shared their hunger, but could not share their faith. Seeker would understand.
"Where are you, Seeker?"
She spoke aloud, knowing there was no one to hear.
"Find me. Help me. I'm in prison, here in the darkness."
This time of course no voice came to her from the grating. So she climbed back up out of the cellar into the bright light of the courtyard. And there was the Wildman.
"Been looking all over for you," he said.
"I've been keeping away," said Morning Star. "I'm not good company these days."
"What is it, Star? You should be proud. You made it all happen."
"For everyone else, maybe. Not for me."
They sat down side by side on the step that led up to the house's main door. The sunlight glittered on the Wildman's bracelets.
"You're going to go look for him, aren't you?"
"Yes."
"Think that'll help?"
"No."
They grinned at each other.
"Things keep on changing, Star. Never know what's coming."
"You got what you want, Wildman?"
"Some. Not all."
"What's left to want?"
"Oh, you know. Me and Caressa, we don't seem to be able to sit quiet. She's a bitch with a bark, that one."
"You never were any good at sitting quiet."
"Maybe not. But I'll tell you what, Star. There's one thing I can't get out of my head. First thing I ever heard from a hoodie: 'Seek your own peace,' he said."
"Still looking for peace?"
"Don't know that I'm looking. No, I'd say I've just about given up."
"Maybe you found it."
"Not a chance. Not with Caressa and her yabba-yabba in my face all day."
One of the Wildman's men came into the courtyard looking for him.
br />
"Go away," said the Wildman.
The spiker retreated to the street outside.
"Always someone pestering me."
"Maybe you found your peace," Morning Star said again. "Maybe you just don't know it. Peace isn't the same thing as quietness."
"So what is it?"
"Being right with yourself. Being who you really are. Living the life you were made to live."
"Heya, Star! Where'd you learn that?"
"I don't know. I just thought it."
"So have you found your peace?"
"No. Not yet. But I think you have, Wildman. I think when you're fighting with Caressa, you're at peace."
The Wildman let out a great laugh.
"That crazy woman! She'll give me no peace for as long as I live!"
Morning Star looked at his golden laughing face and remembered how she had loved him with such intensity that it hurt her just to look at him. It didn't hurt now. Not one bit.
"I do love you, Wildman," she said.
24 Look with Your Own Eyes
THE GREAT FOREST WAS BEHIND SEEKER NOW, AND THE flatlands, and he was following the winding road that climbed the western hills. The sun was in his eyes and the wind was at his back and he was moving fast. The shivering of the land was with him all the time now, the deep boom sounding behind him every few minutes, always a little closer with each reverberation. He felt he was being herded as a shepherd sets his dogs to herd his sheep, letting them show their teeth but never permitting them to attack. His enemy was guiding him to his destination, for a purpose he did not yet understand.
Manlir meant him to find the True Nom.
Now as he came over the ridge, a view opened up before him that made him stop and stare. It was the valley of the Scar, lit by the descending western sun. He had come this way before, travelling eastward, hunting the fleeing savanters.
So I've come back.
He looked down on the harsh glory of the desert valley, with its towering stone spires that stood like sentinels down its dusty way, and the high jagged crag of the Scar. It was a pitiless landscape, but it was magnificent. The warm wind blew on his back, urging him on. And carried on the wind, relentless, inescapable, the sound of the one who drove him, the deep beat of a distant drum, the tread of an army's marching feet.
He descended the hillside and strode on between the high tines. Now that he was among them, they clustered before him like the trunks of trees in some giant winter forest. He passed from inky shadow to golden sunlight and back again, as the sun sank towards the Scar. He moved fast, loping now over the dry land, feeling the wind on his back, racing for the same goal, seeker and hunter. Surely now they were close. He scanned the valley as he ran, looking for a doorway, certain now that he was very close. But all he saw were the stripes of light and dark, and the dazzling sun ahead.
He slowed to a walk so that he could look about him with closer attention. It must be near, it must be here, he sensed it so strongly: the door into the True Nom. But there were no buildings, no walls, no doors. Only this leafless forest of stone, these guardian columns through which he was passing.
He looked up. The sky above him was a soft blue, a muted ever-deepening blue as the calm sky yielded slowly to night. He looked down again, at the sunlit columns of stone.
Why do I feel I know this place so well?
The elusive memory teased the edges of his mind for a few moments longer. Then as he gave up the search, it flickered into view.
Of course.
All this time he had been looking for the entrance to the True Nom—but he was in it. He had entered it an hour and more ago. This was the Cloister Court, this entire pillared valley. Surely he was inside the True Nom and was approaching its heart, which could only be the great crag called the Scar.
He fixed his eyes on the dark mass, now silhouetted against the sunset sky. He walked on until he reached the rim of its shadow, and there he came to a stop. If this was the heart of the True Nom, the Garden within was well guarded indeed. The towering cliff of rock was a far more formidable obstacle than a high silver fence. But he remembered the last time he had been here. When the sun had set, for a few short moments the Scar revealed its many portals.
The deep boom sounded all round him. He turned to look, as if Manlir might rise up in the form of an old man, or in the form of the Joy Boy, and confront him at last. But he saw no one—only the changing colors of the sky reflected on the high stone tines, and the distant hills beyond.
"Where are you?" he called. "Why do you wait?"
But he knew now what they were both waiting for. They were waiting for sunset, with its gold and scarlet key.
The shadow of the Scar crept over him, bringing with it cooler air. He looked back at that forbidding height and saw the red sun touch its rim. He held his gaze steadily on the rock face, and drew deep slow breaths. Then the disc of the sun slipped down behind the rim of rock, and the Scar began to glow. Light burst through the mighty rock face, turning the monolith into a burning pyre. As the setting sun descended unseen, the Scar was pierced and jewelled and starred with brilliance. A lance of light, hurled from the crag, sliced across the land to Seeker's feet. The rays of the sun came streaming through a slot briefly illuminated in the Scar: a slot like a doorway.
He walked towards it, slowly at first, then faster, then at a run. He clambered up and found that the high fissure was wide enough for him to pass through. Its base sloped upwards, a bed of loose scree on which he scrambled as he hurried to climb. Up and up, eyes squinting into the dazzle of sunlight, until the enclosing walls on either side fell away. He found himself standing on a high narrow ledge looking down into a great hollow. The hollow was dense with trees and shrubs and grasses. Beyond the trees was the gleam of water.
I'm in the Garden.
But not quite in. The ledge on which he stood was high above the hollow, and there was no path down. The light was changing every moment as the sun set. Already the far side of the Garden was in shadow. Then he heard the sound of his pursuer behind him, the beat sounding faster now: boom-boom-boom. Seeker did not hesitate. He launched himself off the ledge as if it were no more than a grassy hill before him.
He fell, and rolled, covering his head with his arms as he went; and as he rolled, he heard the sound of crashing and thought that his enemy was falling after him. But when he came to rest and looked about him, he found he was alone.
Shaken but unhurt, he rose to his feet. There before him was a verdant wilderness, far bigger and deeper and more mysterious than it had looked from above. It was in shadow now, lit only by the diffused glow of the sky. This tender twilight made the scene all the more beautiful in Seeker's eyes—vast and secret, a fitting refuge for a Wounded Warrior, a Lost Child.
He made his way into the trees, pushing through deep undergrowth, looking round him as he went. He saw no living creature. He thought he heard a sound behind, but when he stopped and looked, there was nothing.
He came after a while to the water. It was a large pool; more than a pool, a lake. It glowed with light, its clear water bubbling where an underground stream rose up to feed it. The rippled water shivered the reflections of the overhanging trees. He stood by its verge and knelt down and cupped his hands to drink. The water was cold. He splashed his face and neck, burned by the long walk in the sun. Then rising to his feet again, he saw that the lake was crossed by a low bridge, an unrailed timber track raised a few inches above the water's surface. This bridge, barely wide enough for one person to walk, disappeared into the shadows on the far side. There, surely, he would come to the end of his journey.
It struck Seeker then that the sounds that had followed him ever since the end of the Great Embrace were now silenced. Manlir had not entered the Garden after him. Or if he had come, he had come quietly.
He followed the lake's margin to the start of the bridge. He tested the planks with one foot. The surface was slippery, but the structure supported his weight. He crossed the bridge slowly,
steadily, reaching fearfully with his eyes before him. The lake was very wide, wider than he had supposed, and the bridge was longer. For a time he was alone in a silvery world, held between water and sky. Then the far shore came into view. There among the trees a shelter waited for him, a natural bower formed by overarching branches.
In the bower stood a chair.
Seeker strained to see through the shadows. For a little while he could not tell what he saw. It seemed to him that the chair was empty, but he must come closer to be certain. He scanned the surrounding trees as best as he could in the gathering darkness, but he saw no sign of life. As far as he could tell, he was alone.
Then he heard a sound behind him: the soft fall of bare feet on the timbers of the bridge. He turned and saw the figure of an old man coming slowly towards him, moving with the aid of a stick, crossing the black strip between the softly glowing panes of still water.
"Jango?"
The old man raised his stick in answer. His frail voice called out to Seeker over the water.
"Do you see?"
"No," said Seeker, his own voice sounding loud in the stillness. "I see nothing."
"Look again. Have faith. Look again."
Seeker looked again, but still he could see nothing. A sudden terrible dread seized him.
I don't want to look. I don't want to know.
"Do you see?" repeated Jango.
"No," Seeker replied. "It's too dark."
He was very near the end of the bridge now. He tried to continue, but his legs would not move. The heavy dread weighed him down, held him back. He had come to a halt twenty paces or so from the clearing in the trees. Here he waited for the old man to join him.
"Seeker," said Jango, coming up to him and gripping his arm, "you must be strong. You must go on. You must hold to your faith." His voice trembled with urgency. "Manlir is waiting for you."
"I can't," said Seeker helplessly. "I don't know why, but I can't."
"Why should you fear to see the All and Only? Isn't this the moment you've longed for all your life?"