Seeker

by William Nicholson

  "They have emptied themselves," said Blaze. "They need to rest."

  There was so much that Seeker didn't understand; and now, on the road home, his brother answered his questions as best as he could.

  "From the moment I left Anacrea," said Blaze, "the Nomana have been watching over me. And over you, too.

  Many a spiker you passed on your way was a member of our Community."

  "But you were cast out!"

  "Forgive me, little brother. It was all a pretense. Forgive me for hurting you. But it had to look real, even to you."

  "You were cleansed! I saw you!"

  "Only enough to teach me how to pretend. I had to make them believe me. I was the bait. We had to find the makers of the weapon, before it was used. So we decided to let them find us."

  "So you did nothing wrong. You're not a traitor."

  "No. I've done nothing wrong. Except to cause grief to those who love me, and to put you and your friends in danger."

  "I always knew it. I knew you were good and brave and strong."

  "Like you, little brother."

  "Oh, no. I could never be like you."

  "You found the weapon before I did. You let them put you in their machine. You knew it would kill you."

  "Yes," said Seeker, remembering. "I did think I was going to die."

  "And why were you willing to die?"

  "Because—"

  He wanted to tell Blaze about the voice. He wanted to tell him how the voice had said, Surely you know that it's you who will save me. But the words would not come.

  Blaze put his arm round Seeker's shoulder, filled with loving pride.

  "It doesn't matter why I know why"

  Then he added with a smile, as he had always done in the old days when they were at school together,

  "Time to go home, little brother."

  Morning Star reached the little house in the hills as twilight was gathering. Amik heard her coming and loped out to meet her. After Amik, bouncing and squealing with excitement at seeing her again, came Lamb. Morning Star knelt down and nuzzled Amik's face, and took the puppy in her arms.

  "Not forgotten me, then, little Lamb?"

  The puppy wriggled in her grasp, as he tried to wag his tail and lick her face all at the same time.

  "Come on. Let's go home."

  She went on through the open door, and there was her father sitting at the table, at work on his copying by the light of two candles. He looked up and pretended not to be surprised, but she could see his colors and caught the quiet surge of joy.

  "So you're back," he said, and returned to the sentence he was copying.

  "Yes, Papa. I'm back."

  "They didn't want you, then?"

  "No. They didn't want me."

  He laid down his pen and pushed back his chair and gave her a long look.

  "More fools them," he said.

  She put the puppy down and went to her father and he embraced her. His arms shook.

  "I've brought someone with me, Papa."

  "You're enough, child," he said. "What do I want with someones?"

  "I don't know, Papa. But you can always send her away."

  "Oh, it's a her, is it? I thought maybe you were bringing me a young man of your own."

  "No, Papa. It's a her."

  She turned and called to the open doorway.

  "Come on in."

  Nobody came.

  "The her doesn't want to come in, child."

  "She thinks you'll be angry."

  "Why should I be angry?"

  "Because she was here long ago, and she went away. And the people she went to didn't want her. And she was ashamed to come back."

  Her father said nothing after that. He just sat very still and gazed at the doorway. Outside, the shadows were lengthening, but it was still brighter than in the candlelit house.

  "Will you be angry, Papa?"

  "I might," he growled. "She always was a stupid woman."

  At that, Mercy showed herself in the doorway.

  "And you always were an ungrateful man."

  "Oh, it's ungrateful, now, is it?"

  "Just look at you, ruining your eyes! Candlelight isn't good enough for book work."

  "They're my eyes, and I shall ruin them if I want to."

  "Well, don't ask me to lead you about on a string when you've gone blind."

  "I won't. You can be sure of that. I'll hold my own string."

  "Your own string! Listen to the man!"

  By now she had come right into the room and was looking round. Little had changed in thirteen years. He watched her and waited.

  "You keep the place well," she said.

  "So I should. It's me that lives here."

  "You keep yourself well, too."

  "I live quietly," he said.

  "I've no wish to disturb you."

  "I've no intention of letting you."

  Morning Star watched their colors change as they spoke, and she knew it would be all right between them. She saw Lamb creep forward to sniff at her mother's feet, and saw her mother bend down to take the puppy in her arms.

  "We have only one life," said Mercy.

  "And you seem to have made a mess of yours."

  "So I have."

  "Ah, well. I don't know that I've done much better. If it suits you to stay a while, it suits me to have you here."

  Morning Star slipped out, unnoticed by either of them. She climbed up the familiar hills, where the flocks were grazing, and there she watched the last of the sunset. Tomorrow she would go once more to Anacrea. She had her father's quiet determination and her mother's broken dreams. Let the one mend the other, and why should her dreams not come true?

  Seeker and Blaze went home together. Their mother wept for joy, and their father shook his head and said nothing, because he was so proud of his two sons, and so ashamed of himself for having doubted Blaze, and so bewildered by the sudden change from grief to glory.

  "We thought you were gone forever," said their mother, scolding and laughing. "We thought we'd never see either of you again."

  "Forgive me for disobeying you, Father," said Seeker.

  "You're back," said his father. "Safe home. That's all that matters." He cleared his throat and coughed. His voice wasn't as controlled as he liked it to be.

  "And forgive me for a second act of disobedience, Father."

  "What now, my boy?"

  "I mean to ask permission to join the Community."

  His father frowned. Blaze put one arm round his young brother's shoulders.

  "I shall present him myself, Father. He was born to be a Noma."

  "I see. You think so? I see." He fidgeted and coughed and showed his discomfort in every way, but as they both knew, his discomfort was with himself, not with them. "I wanted only the best for you. For both of you. A father must do what he can to guide his children. To guide his children, you know."

  "And so you have, Father," said Seeker. "But I'm sixteen now. I'm of age. I ask your permission to find my own way.

  "I see. Yes. Well, you seem to have found it."

  The Wildman waited at the harborside for his friends to return. He sat with his legs dangling over the dock wall, feeling the warmth of the sun on his face. His mind was empty: no fears, no demands; at least, not in this sun-filled moment. He felt safe and he felt trusting. A new path in life was about to unfold before him. There would be guides on this new path. For the first time in his life, he would not be meeting each new day alone. And as for where the path led—

  "I'm to be a hoodie!" he told himself; and he smiled with delight at the thought. He had seen the hoodies in action in Radiance, and wanted more strongly than ever to possess that potent stillness.

  Seeker would see to it all. This was Seeker's home, and his brother was a hoodie. The Wildman trusted Seeker more than he had ever trusted anyone in his life. More even than Snakey, who had protected him when he was little; because one day, without warning or explanation, Snakey had gone.


  Seeker had clasped his hand and said, "I stand with you from today to the end of the world."

  The Wildman believed him.

  He looked up at the bright sun above and laughed aloud. He called out to nobody, to the gulls and the falcons on the cliff, to the fishermen mending their nets, to the blank windows of the castle-monastery high above.

  "Heya! Do you lo-o-ove me?"

  Blaze led his brother up the steps to the top, where the two lines of old pines grew. Here, instead of turning towards the high walls of the Nom, he pointed the other way, to the cliff end of the path. There, by the rails that guarded the cliff edge, Seeker saw a hunched figure in a wheelchair.

  "He's waiting for you."

  "Won't you be coming with me?"

  "No," said Blaze. "He wants to see you alone."

  So Seeker walked down the path alone, between the twisted pines, in and out of the shadows cast by their high fists of foliage. The shrunken old man in the wheelchair paid no attention to his coming, but went on gazing out over the sea. Seeker came to a stop, standing quietly by his side.

  "So, Seeker after Truth." The Elder turned his head at last to look at him. "They tell me you have served us well, and now you want to join the Community."

  "Yes, Elder."

  "Is your heart still full of anger?"

  "No, Elder. I know better now."

  "And yet there will come a day when you will hate the Nomana and all we stand for."

  "And after that, will I learn to know better again?"

  The Elder smiled.

  "You begin to understand."

  He turned his watery eyes back on the great ocean.

  "Have you ever wondered what lies beyond the horizon?"

  "Yes, Elder. Many times."

  "Other lands?"

  "I like to think so, Elder."

  "And in those other lands, is the Always and Everywhere there, too? Does the Clear Light shine beyond the horizon?"

  "I'm sure of it, Elder."

  "Our life is hard. You know that."

  "Yes, Elder."

  "Hard in ways you can't yet imagine."

  "I'm sixteen years old, Elder," said Seeker. "How can I know what lies ahead for me? I must do my best with the little knowledge I have."

  The Elder nodded.

  "You rebuke me. You're right to do so."

  "No, Elder, I didn't mean—"

  The old man waved one hand to indicate that he wasn't angry.

  "If you wish to join our Community, you shall do so. You have won that right for yourself."

  Seeker felt a great calmness flow into him. It wasn't a feeling of triumph at all. Just a sense of Tightness: that this was how his life was meant to be.

  Then he remembered his friends. He had wanted friends for so long, and now he had two friends who he knew would be with him for the rest of his life.

  "And Morning Star? And the Wildman? They too will be joining the Community?"

  "The girl, yes. But the other one—I think even you can see that he's not suited to our way of life."

  "No, Elder. I don't see."

  The Elder looked up in surprise.

  "He's shown himself to be brave. That I grant. But he has no understanding of what we do, or why."

  "He'll learn, Elder."

  "But he has no faith."

  "He'll find it."

  Seeker didn't mean to be so stubborn in contradicting the Elder, but he found himself without any arguments other than his own conviction. He could see how unlikely a candidate the Wildman must seem; but he himself had no doubts. Also, the Wildman trusted him.

  "Perhaps you allow your friendship to color your judgement," said the Elder gently.

  "We made a compact to help each other. We stood by each other. I can't walk away from him now."

  The Nom bell began to toll, calling the Community to their daily gathering.

  "Wheel me back, will you?"

  Seeker took the handles of the wheelchair and swung it round to face back down the tree-lined path to the Nom.

  "What if we were to take this wild young man into the Community," said the Elder, "and then find we'd made a mistake? Would you admit you had been wrong?"

  "Yes."

  "And accept responsibility?"

  "Yes."

  "He would have to leave us. And you, if you take on this responsibility, you would have to leave us also. Do you understand that?"

  "Yes."

  "He would be stripped of his powers. And so would you.

  Seeker felt a chill over all his body. The Elder did not use the word, but Seeker knew well enough what he meant. He would be cleansed. How could he dare to take such a risk?

  And yet, he knew the answer: risk or no risk, this was the way before him, and he had no choice but to take it.

  Where your way lies, the door is always open.

  The voice had not meant him to see his true way wherever there was an open door. He had learned that much on the high rock in Radiance. The voice had meant, Follow your true way, and the doors will open before you.

  "Did I imagine the voice I heard in the Nom, Elder?"

  "No. The voice was real."

  "Do you know where it came from?"

  "Yes. I know. And you will know, when you're ready."

  "When will that be?"

  "Patience. You wouldn't wish to be old before your time, I think."

  "No, Elder."

  The Elder said no more, and let himself be wheeled between the twisted pines towards the Nom. When they reached the Pilgrim Gate, Blaze was gone, and a meek was standing there, waiting to take the Elder on into the Nom itself.

  Seeker dared to speak.

  "What is your decision, Elder?"

  "Have you understood what I have said to you?"

  "Yes, Elder."

  "Then you will all be invited to join the Community. All three. But yours is the responsibility. Does that content you?"

  "Yes, Elder."

  The Elder nodded, and held up one hand. Seeker took it and, respectfully bowing his head, he kissed it. Then the Elder in his turn drew Seeker's hand down to his own dry lips, and he kissed it.

  "We have been waiting for you, Seeker after Truth."

  They stood together in the shadow of the high walls of the Nom, beside the small door that had no handle. Each carried a simple night-bag that contained all they now possessed in the world. The Novice Master stood before them, ready to admit them; with one of the Nom meeks in attendance. Watching from the side were Seeker's mother and father, and Morning Star's mother and father.

  In this humble manner, they made their vows.

  "I swear to live my life simply and in the truth. To possess nothing and to build no lasting home. To love no one person above all others. To use my powers to bring justice to the oppressed, and freedom to the enslaved. To love and protect the All and Only. And always and everywhere to obey the Rule of the Nomana."

  Morning Star was watching Seeker as he made his vow, and she saw again in his aura the shimmer of gold she had noted before. This time, perhaps because of the solemnity of the occasion, she caught the sense of the color: it was a high reaching, a longing for the ideal, a hunger for what was lasting and true.

  Oh, my friend, she thought as she gazed on the fine glow that trembled about him. You and I and the Wildman will all become Noble Warriors. But your journey will take you farther and deeper than either of us.

  Then she turned to embrace her father and mother, and Seeker did the same. Morning Star cried a little, as did the two mothers; but already the thoughts of the new novices were reaching beyond this time of parting, to the new life that was about to begin. For each of them, the speaking aloud of the vow had been the moment at which their old life had ended. This lingering self that accepted kisses and words of farewell was no more than a retreating shadow.

  The door to the novitiate then opened: that narrow iron-bound door that had no handle on its outer side. They passed through without looking back. Then came the cla
ng of the door as it closed, and the scrape of the long bolts as they rang home; and they were gone.

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  William Nicholson is the author of the acclaimed Wind on Fire trilogy as well as the screenplays for Gladiator and Shadowlands, both of which were nominated for Academy Awards. He lives in Sussex, England, with his wife and their three children.

  www.williamnicholson.co.uk

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