Noman (12 page)

Seeker could not look away. He met the old man's eyes in the mirror and he saw there an intent probing intelligence, and a compassionate understanding, and an immense reservoir of latent power. The body might be crumbling, but the eyes showed that the force within was as vigorous as in youth. Seeker gazed into those eyes and felt that he was falling into them and that there was no end to his falling.

He jerked his head away from the mirror to look directly at the armchair. It was empty.

Stupidly, wanting to believe his eyes deceived him, he felt the armchair with his hands. Nothing. He looked back into the mirror. Nothing. He sat himself down in the armchair, assuming the position taken by the old man, one hand on the chair's left arm, the other hand on—what had the right hand been holding? He recalled the image. A stick. No, a sword. The right hand had held a long slender blade. Why had he not paid attention to that before?

He arranged his own right hand as if he too held a sword, then looked up again at the mirror. There, gazing back at him from the armchair, sword in hand, was the old man.

This time Seeker did not turn away.

"Here I am," he said.

The old man nodded in acknowledgment. Seeker saw now that over his shoulders he wore a badan, faded almost to white, and frayed down the sides, but for all that, a badan.

"You're a Noble Warrior," Seeker said.

Again the old man nodded.

"And you are Seeker after Truth," he said.

His voice was like his eyes: deep and clear and filled with power. It made Seeker shiver to hear him. He looked into his eyes as he listened, and he felt as if he were falling again, and his hands grasped the arms of the chair.

"You've done well," said the old man.

"No," replied Seeker. He had nothing to hide. Those eyes held him and penetrated him. "I've failed to do what I was sent to do."

"There's little to fear in failure," said the old man. A sudden smile made sharp wrinkles in the dry skin round his mouth. "Failure is the end of one road and the beginning of the next. You've come a long way. You have farther to go."

The more Seeker looked into the old man's eyes, the more he liked him. He felt the old man's gaze on him as a child feels his father's loving scrutiny. He sensed that he was known, approved, and loved.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I am Noman," came the reply.

Seeker now looked on that shrivelled face with awe. This was the only living being ever to have entered the Garden and come face-to-face with the All and Only. This was the man who had founded the Noble Warriors and written their Rule. This was the warlord who had surrendered all his power to live simply and in the truth, to possess nothing and to build no lasting home. Here at last he would find the answers he sought.

"Tell me what to do," he said. "Tell me how to use the powers given to me. Tell me where to go. I can't go on like this, lost and alone."

"Lost and alone?" The old man's eyes reproved him. "Am I not with you? Have I not always been with you?"

"I didn't know it."

"But now you know. And you know you have always known it."

"Yes." So it was. The certainty that now came to him somehow included the past, as well as the future.

"You have so much more knowledge than you know. It waits for you."

"Tell me now. Make me understand now." Seeker heard his own voice rise in agitation even as he saw the old man slowly shake his head. "Why must I be kept in darkness?"

"I can't live your life for you," said Noman. "This is your journey, not mine."

"What journey?"

"You must find your own way."

"How? Why?" As Seeker understood that he was not to be given the commands he longed for, he gave way to a rush of disappointment. "How can I know where I'm to go? You say you've always been with me. Then, guide me. Instruct me. Order me. I'm ready to do all I can. I'm ready to obey, but how can I obey if I don't know what it is I'm to do?"

He was close to tears and ashamed of his own weakness, but he couldn't help himself. He bit his lip to stop himself from crying, then fixed the old man with his pleading eyes.

"Seeker," said Noman, "I don't want your obedience. I have known what it is to command men. Those who carry out my orders are no wiser than my own hands."

He spread his frail bony hands before him.

"My hands know nothing. My hands will die with me when I die."

He looked up, and the brilliance of his eyes shocked Seeker once again.

"You must live your own life and die your own death. Your life is an experiment in search of the truth."

"What if the experiment fails?" said Seeker. "What if I'm not strong enough?"

"You may fail. It has happened before. If you fail, I will know I have been wrong."

"I have failed. I was sent to kill seven savanters. Five are dead. One I carry within me. But the seventh got away."

"Then you will continue to search for him."

"He got away on a boat. I saw the litter carried away. I saw the boat sail out to sea."

"That litter was empty. It had been empty all along. The last savanter is here, now, in the old kingdom."

Seeker heard this with amazement. So the hunt was not over yet.

"Where?"

"He's at the center of a great gathering of people. He's getting ready to harvest their lives." Noman's voice took on a bitter edge. "His name is Manlir. You think you are the only one to have failed? Manlir was my first and greatest failure."

"Manlir?"

Seeker recalled the savanter in the land cloud, who had spoken of one of his fellows as Manny.

"Manlir was the best of us," said Noman. "He chose the path of knowledge. I chose the path of faith. Both are necessary. It was he who discovered the force in us, the force in all living things, that he called lir. But as Manlir grew old and saw his own death approaching, he became angry and afraid. He dreaded death. He used the power of his knowledge to find a way to prolong his life. To be young again."

"He takes the lir from others," said Seeker. "I've seen it."

"He believes that if he can take enough lir into himself, he will become immortal."

"Is he right?"

"Possibly. No one knows."

"And the people whose lir he takes?"

"You say you've seen that for yourself. There's no life without lir."

"And I am to stop him!" This was a clear goal. This was a purpose for his power. "And if I do, I'll have done what I was sent to do."

The old man's eyes flashed with anger, and his voice cut like a knife.

"You child!" he cried. "Can you only act when others give you orders? When will you be a man? When will you come out of the shadow and walk in your own light?"

"If I'm a child," said Seeker, angered in his turn, "then let me alone! Let me grow up in my own time."

Noman's ancient face stared back at him out of the mirror. Slowly, he nodded his head.

"You're right. Old men lose the luxury of patience. I want to see the proof before I die. I have failed once. I want to see the experiment succeed."

"And if I kill the seventh savanter, will you have your proof?"

"The experiment is far bigger than that."

"Bigger than that?"

It struck Seeker now that he had paid too little attention to this so-called experiment. He had supposed it to be the test of strength in which he was enlisted: the battle between the Noble Warriors and the savanters.

"What is this experiment?"

Noman closed his eyes. Seeker remained silent, sensing that Noman was debating within himself how much to reveal. After a few moments, without opening his eyes, Noman began to speak.

"Imagine," he said, "that a farmer sets out to grow a field of corn. He knows that so long as he protects the seedlings from frost, and clears the weeds from the young shoots, and waters the plants in the dry months, his corn will come to harvest and feed his family. But he also knows that he can't be in his cornfield all day. He has other concerns. He may fall ill. He may die. One day he must die. So he says to himself: How can I plant my seed so that it will grow and survive without me? Then my family will be fed after I'm gone. He knows the many dangers of this cruel land. He fences his field, and he irrigates it, and he picks only the hardiest seeds. Then he watches and sees the corn grow to ripeness all by itself. The autumn winds blow. The seeds scatter. Winter comes, and the land freezes. The frosts pass, and the land wakes into spring. The farmer could return to the field and plant new corn, but he chooses not to. He watches the scattered seeds take root but does nothing to protect them. Many die. He does not intervene. Why not? Because if the seeds he planted so long ago show that they can renew themselves without him, the farmer will know that he has planted living corn. He may die, but the corn will return each spring. Living corn will feed his children, and his children's children, forever."

With that he opened his eyes, but even as he looked on him, Seeker felt his withdrawal.

"Don't leave me," Seeker said, suddenly afraid.

Noman raised his long sword over his head, as if the slender weapon in his frail hand had the power to protect them both.

"I am always with you."

The blade flashed, reflecting the light from the tall window, making Seeker blink. When he looked again into the mirror, the old man was gone. There was the reflection of the armchair. And in the armchair, his right hand upraised, the reflection of himself.

Slowly he rose from the chair, and slowly he made his way down the long mirrored room. His reflections, repeated forever, walked with him.

He left the room by the end doors. Here was an entrance hall. The outer door stood open. A flight of steps led down to an overgrown driveway flanked by tall trees. At the far end of the driveway ran the high road. He was lost no more.

As he stood looking out of the mansion, a horse and rider came down the road and stopped to gaze on the great house. Seeker recognized the rider. He descended the steps and walked down the drive to her side.

"We meet again," said Echo Kittle. "Is this your house?"

"No."

"So where are you going?"

"Wherever the road leads," said Seeker.

"Would you like company on your way there?"

"I may be poor company."

"Any company's better than none," said Echo.

So they set off down the road together, Echo riding Kell, and Seeker striding by her side. From time to time Echo glanced down at Seeker, and when he caught her look, she smiled.

"Since we're travelling together," she said, "let's at least be friends."

T
HE
C
ASPIANS WERE GRAZING ALONG THE BANKS OF
the river. There were a hundred and more of the beautiful beasts, running wild now that the Orlan army had disintegrated. The grass was short and dry, and they had to keep moving to find enough to eat. Where the bank was shallow, they picked their way carefully to the river's edge and drank the yellow water. The day was hot and the air round the Caspians was swarming with flies. From time to time one of them looked up, attentive to the smallest sounds; then a shake of the long golden mane, to disperse the flies, and the head dropped down again to resume grazing.

A splash from upriver, and into view shot a long canoe paddled by four men. The Caspians sprang back from the river's edge. A second canoe followed, and a third. The men in the canoes began shouting at the herd and hurling small stones. The Caspians wheeled about and trotted away from the riverbank, putting distance between themselves and the river men.

But ahead of them, over the brow of the slope, there appeared a line of spikers holding a long net. The net hung from their raised hands and dragged over the stiff grass. The Caspians wheeled again, to run south, only to find a second line of men approaching from that direction, too. Sensing that a trap was closing in round them, they came to a stop, huddled close together, nostrils flaring with fear, and looked about them to see where the danger was greatest.

When the ring round the herd was complete, the spikers with the nets stopped advancing and stood still in the bright sun. Over the brow of the hill, stepping slowly, came a horse and rider. The ring parted to let them through, then closed behind them. It was the Wildman, riding the Caspian called Sky.

He rode with an easy grace, his long golden hair floating as he came, like the Caspian's golden mane. He wore scarlet and amber and brilliant green, and all down his bronzed arms, his silver bracelets flashed. He rode the Orlan way, without saddle or harness, and Sky responded to his slightest pressure.

He came close to the frightened herd of Caspians and spoke to them quietly, then let them smell both him and Sky and know that they meant no harm.

"Heya, my beauties. Quiet now, my beauties."

The men in the canoes, drifting downriver in the slow current, set about paddling to stay by the herd. The swish of the paddles spooked the edgy Caspians, and one of them made a break for a gap in the ring of men. The gap closed at once, but now half the herd was on the move, and the line of spikers on the northern rim faced a panicky charge.

"Let them come!" cried the Wildman. "Let the net have them!"

The spikers in the line of charge held the long net before them, only releasing it and throwing themselves clear as the Caspians struck it. The net was swept forward, dragging with it long lines of spikers, to right and left, but it did not break. The Caspians found themselves packed together into a thrashing bunch and tried to turn about to escape and so became even more entangled.

"Stand steady!" called the Wildman. "Hold them there! Be strong! Be still!"

He himself proceeded on Sky at a walking pace to the terrified herd, now bundled on all sides within the net. He slipped off his mount, leaving Sky free, and vaulted over the net into the heaving, shivering mass of horses.

The surrounding spikers watched with smiles on their faces as the Wildman pushed his way among the captive beasts. He moved from Caspian to Caspian, embracing them one by one, pressing his face to their heads, speaking to them, letting them feel the nearness and the harmlessness of his body.