Jango

by William Nicholson

  The Wildman saw nothing of the colors, but he did see the change in the men. At first there was little more to observe than a shifting about, as if they sought to find more comfortable positions. Then they met each other's eyes, warily, unsure what had happened. Then they grinned at each other and looked round more confidently. Finally there came a straightening of backs and a squaring of shoulders, and without realizing what they were doing, they formed themselves into a single battalion.

  Morning Star stepped back, and turning to look at them, she felt an extraordinary burst of elation. One color was now uniting them all. She trembled with exhaustion. The effort had been far greater than she had foreseen, but it could be done. She knew now that she could add band after band, and each new group would share the dominant emotion of the main body. She was building the perfect instrument for war.

  "They'll stand together now," she said to the Wildman.

  "Heya! Will it work with more?"

  "Many as you want."

  "I want them all."

  "Take them all," said Morning Star. "There's no limit."

  "Every race and every tribe," said the Wildman, awed by the prospect before him. "Everyone. That's what I want. An army of everyone."

  "I give it to you, Wildman," said Morning Star. Silently she added, Because I love you.

  The Wildman spoke to the new spiker army, massed before him on the water meadows.

  "Heya, bravas! Do you lo-o-ove me?"

  Back came a pounding cheer.

  "Wildman! Wildman! Wildman!"

  "Are we afraid of the Orlans?"

  "No!"

  "Shall we drive the Orlans from our land?"

  "Yes!"

  "Will you follow me into battle?"

  "Wildman! Wildman! Wildman!"

  And to Anacrea? And into the heart of the Nom? And into the Garden itself? But these things he did not say aloud.

  20 Savanters

  SEEKER WALKED ON INTO THE CLOUD MORE SLOWLY now. He could no longer hear the sound of the fleeing savanter. He had no way of orienting himself. Then he became aware that the mist round him was in motion. Nearby it was too fine to see, but ahead, where it formed the ever-retreating wall that closed him in, it was slowly flowing. The flow was not uniform—it was a drifting eddying swirl, but it did have an overall direction. It was flowing towards him, from some unseen source. Insensibly Seeker was directing himself towards this source, as if following a river to its spring.

  The ground was now descending. Little by little he sensed that the light was diminishing and that he was in the shadow of higher land to either side. Then the shadow deepened. In the gloom and the mist it was hard to make out his surroundings, but the sound of the air was changing.

  I'm going underground, he thought.

  If it was true, the entrance to this vault must have been very large. There was no doorway, no obvious change from outside to in. Only the shadowy mist all round and a soft echo of his own footfalls from above.

  As he went on, he became sure that he was right.

  The light was all behind him now. The farther he walked, the fainter it grew, that band of bright mist; until when he looked back he saw that it was indeed the mouth of a cave.

  There came flickers of light ahead, and the scuffling sound of many slow-moving feet. Seeker shrank back. The flickers of light grew stronger and threw shadows—shadows of moving people. Then, round a bend in the cave wall, came a procession of men and women carrying lanterns, murmuring and sighing as they came.

  They wore white robes. They staggered as they walked. Their eyes roamed about but saw nothing, and frequently, as if barely able to remain awake, their eyelids closed. Their cheeks were sunken. They breathed with difficulty. They were quite unaware that they were being watched.

  As they went by, some of their murmuring voices could be heard.

  "Live forever," they were saying. "Live forever..."

  Seeker stared at them with horror and dread. These people were not old, or sick. They were empty. Their bodies still functioned, but the force that gave them life was gone.

  The lir had been sucked out of them.

  Even as he watched, one in the wretched shuffling line stumbled and fell and did not move again. The others shambled on, unseeing and uncaring, their feet treading on the fallen man as they passed.

  This was the work of the savanters. This was why he had been sent to kill them.

  Seeker went on, deeper into the cave. Now the mist was streaming into his face as he walked. He was coming closer to its source.

  Here and there lanterns lay on the ground, some still burning, offering the only illumination. Beside the lanterns lay more fallen bodies of men and women, all emptied, all dead. Seeker stopped by one of them, a youth not much older than he was himself. He reached down to close the dead boy's eyes. At his touch, the face disintegrated into a flurry of dust. Seeker started back, shocked. As the dust settled, he saw the side of the head: an ear, the neck, but nothing more.

  The anger in him grew. Whoever did this, he thought, deserves to die.

  He caught the shine of a new light ahead, a glow that was more than an abandoned lantern. The streaming mist made it impossible to know how large the cave was through which he was passing, but he now sensed that the space ahead was a great deal larger.

  He walked towards the light. As he did so he saw that the mist was growing denser and that the mist at his feet was the densest of all. It was rolling towards him over the ground like cream, curling round his ankles and completely obscuring his feet as it flowed on down the long cave to the open air.

  The source of light now revealed itself. It was a lamp, on a high lampstand, rising out of the mist. The lamp's brightly burning flame was shrouded by a handsome fringed lampshade made of patterned silk, amber on scarlet. The fringe was made of gold tassels. It was the sort of lamp you might expect to find in a rich lady's drawing room.

  Seeker approached the lamp and so found himself in the presence of a small gathering of elderly people. They were watching him with intent and wary eyes.

  There were four of them. They sat in a semicircle round the lamp, three in comfortably upholstered armchairs, one in a wheelchair, wrapped in a woolen blanket. Two were old men and two were old women. The one in the wheelchair had her head bent down to her chest and was asleep. Beside their chairs were low tables on which stood small bottles and half-filled glasses and vases of flowers, and books.

  "A visitor!" said one of the old men, waving a crutch in the air.

  "What does he say?" said the old woman in the armchair.

  "He says we have a visitor, dear."

  "No, I won't," snapped the old woman crossly. "Who am I to go visiting? Everyone I ever knew is dead. I won't be told to go visiting."

  "No, dear. The visitor has come to us."

  "Oh, leave the old goat alone," said the man with the crutch.

  "I shall be very glad to receive the visitor," said the old lady, "but my hair must be brushed first, and I like just the smallest touch of rouge."

  "You haven't got any hair."

  "A touch of rouge gives an air of animation and is not vulgar."

  "Who did she say was vulgar?"

  "No, no—"

  "I'm not the one who does my doings in my chair."

  "There he goes! On about doings again! And in front of a visitor, too."

  Seeker stood gazing at this scene in utter confusion. The four before him, so extremely old, so helpless, so half out of their wits, could hardly be the enemy he sought. He could only think they were more of the savanters' victims. In which case, where were the savanters? He looked into the mist, expecting to find further passages, deeper caves. But all he could see within the reach of the lamp's light was the edge of a wide pool. At first it seemed the mist lay on the surface of the water. Then he saw that there was no water, only cloud. From this lake of creamy vapor flowed the mist that rolled over the ground and down the cave. This if anything was its source.

  The old
man pointed his crutch at Seeker and spoke.

  "You! How old are you?"

  "Sixteen," said Seeker.

  "Sixteen! Very good! Well done!"

  "What does he say?" chirped the old woman.

  "He says he's sixteen, dear."

  "Sixteen! That's a great big lie!"

  "The visitor, dear."

  "He always was a liar. But he doesn't fool me."

  "Oh, suck an egg, you old goat."

  Seeker felt it was time to intervene.

  "I'm looking for the savanters," he said.

  He caught a tiny movement from the old lady who was asleep in the wheelchair, or perhaps not asleep.

  "Savanters?" The old man shook his head. "Never heard of them."

  "Most likely dead," said the second old man. "Most people you want turn out to be dead."

  "What is it he says?" said the old lady.

  "He's looking for someone."

  "Tell him to come nearer. I don't hear as well as I did."

  Seeker was already moving forward. He went not to the old lady who had spoken, but to the one who was asleep in the wheelchair with her head on her chest. As he came close, she raised her head, turning it to the light.

  It was the mother.

  She screamed a high scream of fury.

  "Don't let him touch me!"

  At once a great change came over the old people. The senile gaping fell away, to be replaced by looks of keen and calculating intelligence. All four, old as they were in body, suddenly seemed powerful and alert.

  "It's him!" screamed the mother. "He's come back!"

  They all stared at Seeker in fear and hatred.

  "Leave this to me."

  It was the old man with the crutch who spoke, but his voice was now quite different. He spoke simply and clearly, in tones that sounded impossibly youthful coming from such a withered mouth.

  He was obeyed at once. The mother sat back in her wheelchair and was silent. The old man turned to Seeker.

  "Forgive our modest deception," he said. "We have learned to be wary of strangers. We are indeed savanters."

  He bowed his head in a courteous greeting.

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Seeker after Truth."

  "You have been sent by the Nomana?"

  "Yes."

  "To kill us?"

  "Yes."

  "Here we are. You have the power. We are at your mercy."

  Seeker hesitated. This was not the fearful encounter for which he had prepared himself.

  "You know why, of course." The old man was watching him with a calm gaze. "You know why the Nomana fear us."

  "You seek to destroy the Nom."

  "That is so. But why is it so?"

  "I don't need to know that."

  "Our crime is that we have dared to seek truths beyond the limits set by the Nom. So you see, we too are seekers after truth. And for this reason alone, the Nomana fear us and send you to kill us."

  "I have sworn to protect the Nom," said Seeker.

  "To protect the Nom? Or the god who lives in the Garden?"

  "The All and Only."

  The ancient man held Seeker with his glittering eyes and his strangely young voice.

  "Perhaps the All and Only is a prisoner," he said. "Have you ever thought of that?"

  He smiled a bitter smile.

  "We are the lords of wisdom," he went on. "We have devoted all the years of our long lives to overcoming the evils of existence. We have learned how to cure diseases. We have learned how to postpone death itself, perhaps forever. We have done all this so that we can ease the suffering of humankind. Is this not the true way to serve the All and Only?"

  Seeker shook his head. He clung to what he knew. He had seen the husks of living men and women left to crumble in the cave.

  "I've seen what you do to humankind."

  "They feel no pain. They are sacrificed for the good of all. What you have seen distresses you. But every society makes sacrifices to ensure its own survival. In war many die in defense of their country. These few have given their lives in a far greater cause."

  "They've given their lives for a lie. You tell them they'll live forever."

  "Is that a lie? Look at us. We have overcome death. We have a kind of eternal life. But our cause is greater than that. What is eternal life without eternal youth?"

  "Forever young," murmured the other savanters, like a prayer. "Forever young."

  "We have not yet achieved our goal, but we're very close. We need a little more. Just a little more."

  The old man watched Seeker intently throughout this exchange, to see if he showed any signs of opening his mind to what he was hearing.

  "We are not deceiving you, Seeker after Truth. We deny nothing. We have no secrets. We are the enemies of the Nom."

  "And I serve the Nom."

  "What other truth have you ever known, in all your young life? But there are other truths. The Nom believes there must be limits set to how far humankind should go in the pursuit of wisdom. We believe there can be no limits. The Nom hopes to make the world just. We hope to make it wise. The Nom offers mysteries. We offer answers. If you think we should be killed for that, do it now."

  He spread his thin old arms wide, as if to invite the killing blow. The others too spread their arms.

  Seeker looked at them and neither spoke nor moved. He held tight to his loyalty to the Nom, but beyond that he felt his certainties beginning to crumble. He had set out on his pursuit of the savanters on the word of only one man, Narrow Path. Narrow Path had led him to expect great danger. If the savanters were to attack him, he would fight them as his declared enemies and kill them. But they did not attack him. How could he kill them in cold blood?

  Now of all times he needed to hear the voice in his head. But nothing came. He recalled what the voice had said to him before.

  Surely you know that where your way lies, the door is always open.

  No doors here.

  He recalled his night visit to the Garden. The figure of a man he had seen there had said to him, "Nothing is dependable. Nothing lasts." It had seemed like wisdom at the time, but it was of no use to him here.

  He recalled Jango's words: "You must not defend. You must attack." But the savanters were not fighting him. They were reasoning with him.

  He was on his own.

  As he hesitated, the one who called herself the mother put her hands to the wheels of her wheelchair and set it in motion. She turned the chair about, moving slowly, and began to roll towards the cloud pool.

  "Stop!" called Seeker.

  She did not stop. The old man watched him, smiling his twisted smile, as if it amused him to witness his dilemma.

  "Not so easy, is it?" he said. "You have to be so very sure, to kill. And you're not sure."

  "No. I'm not sure."

  "That's because you have an open and inquiring mind. It takes a closed mind to be sure. Intelligent people know there's always more to understand. And you are very intelligent."

  The wheelchair creaked on its way. In a short time the mother would reach the edge of the cloud pool. Seeker knew the old man was trying to manipulate him. But he also knew that what he said was right.

  Why have I been given this power? I'm no executioner.

  The savanter's earlier words came back into his mind with sudden shocking force.

  "Perhaps the All and Only is a prisoner."

  Seeker could not doubt the reality and power of the god in the Garden, because time and again he had knelt before the silver screen and felt it for himself. But the brothers and sisters who guarded the Lost Child—could they be jailers? Why was the Garden not open, so that the Lost Child could come and go at will? Who was being protected, and to what end?

  The All and Only was the ultimate source of the Nomana's power. No one gives up power voluntarily.

  The old man seemed to read his mind.

  "You have doubts," he said. "Only the intelligent have doubts."

  The w
heelchair reached the edge of the cloud pool.

  He flatters me, thought Seeker.

  Then suddenly he understood what was being done to him.

  They've found ways to use the strength of others.

  He had thought that meant his newfound power; but everyone has more than one source of strength. Seeker was clever and had always known it. The savanter was turning his own intelligence into the source of his weakness.

  Fight them with craziness.

  "My head is empty," he said. "I know nothing. I am a stupid."

  Words from long ago. The old man frowned and blinked.

  Seeker drew a long breath, gathering the lir in him to a sharp spike of concentrated power. The watching savanters realized what he was about to do. All three locked their eyes onto his and struck at him with all their force.

  Seeker stood tall. He breathed more deeply still. He let their violence flow into him and fill him to the brim. He was at ease now. The attack had come. No doubts now.

  The savanters saw with mounting horror that the force that should have obliterated Seeker was making him stronger with each passing second.

  "Get back!" cried the old man. "Get away from him!"

  They scrabbled for crutches and sticks. They heaved themselves out of their chairs. The old woman in the wheelchair rolled into the cloud pool.

  Seeker released his breath and struck.

  The force wave kicked over the armchairs and sent the tall lamp flying. It slammed the savanters to the ground and churned the cloud pool into a white storm. For a few moments nothing could be seen in the cave but the glow of the lamp on the ground, shining like a moon in the shroud of white mist.

  Power without limits.

  Seeker strode forward and righted the lamp. By its light he studied the bodies on the ground. They lay snapped like porcelain dolls, limbs twisted, eyes empty. Three savanters killed. Four to go. Seeker felt a burning in his chest and belly, and his whole body shivered with an entirely new sensation. It was more wonderful than anything he had ever known before. It was like being passionately hungry and eating your fill, both at the same time: desire and satisfaction blended together and gulped like wine.