Seeker (10 page)

Morning Star was speechless. She had been so focused on the boatmen that she had failed to guard against Barban.

"Show more respect next time!" he crowed from the canoe. "Nobody insults an axer!"

The boatman with the paddle turned the canoe upstream, while the second boatman rummaged for a bundle in the bottom of the canoe. Morning Star was still bewildered. The boatmen's colors had been strong and clear, even before Barban had spoken to them. How could she have misread the situation so completely?

"Evil little witch!" shouted Barban. "I hope the spikers get you!"

The second boatman gave a flip of his arm to unloose the bundle, and a net swooped upward like a wave and fell down over Barban even as he called out his taunts. The net was weighted all round its edges, and the man who threw it was skilled in his business. Before Barban knew what was happening, the net had closed tight all round him and dragged him down into the canoe bottom. There, both working together, making swift well-practiced movements, the boatmen covered him with a heavy blanket and pinned him down with iron bars. Trussed, bundled, and caged, the bewildered axer could be heard howling out his muffled rage as the canoe carried him away upriver.

Morning Star had no idea who the boatmen were or why they wanted Barban; but her faith in her colors was restored. Barban had schemed to rob her, certainly; but the boatmen were cleverer schemers and robbers than he. Now, already, the canoe was gone from sight. Slowly the rapid beating of her heart became calmer, and she turned her thoughts to her own situation.

She had no regrets about the loss of her escort. Nor was she afraid to continue her journey alone. She had no fear of travelling spikers, and as for robbers, she trusted her acute senses to keep her out of trouble. But with Barban had gone all her money. All she had left were the clothes she was wearing and the little twist of lamb's wool that had been her father's parting gift.

She took the wool out of her pocket now and pressed it to her cheek.

"I'm sorry to lose your money, Papa," she whispered. "I know how hard you worked for it. But you've no cause to worry about me. I'll find my way to Anacrea, one way or another. And then I'll be with Mama again."

They are watching.
Day by day their bodies grow weaker.
Day by day their minds grow stronger.
Their will reaches out to the little people.
Their will finds those who know how to obey.
For the old ones, this is a matter of life and death.
Their life. Everyone else's death.

"U
H
U
H
! W
HO DO WE HATE?
"

Bam-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

"Nomana! Nomana!"

Ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-bam!

Radiant Vision, son of Radiant Harvest, inheritor of the imperial throne, priest-king and ruler of the empire of Radiance, and most favored son of the Great Power above, stood with his legs apart, beating with his fists on a drum, his face red and sweating with effort, and yelled at the top of his voice.

"Uh! Uh! Who will we kill?"

Bam-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

"Nomana! Nomana!"

Ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-bam!

Only one other person was in the room with the king, and that was his personal secretary, Soren Similin. He was a strikingly ugly young man. With his long narrow nose, his bulging eyes, and his prominent ears, his face looked as if it had been put together out of spare parts, none of which matched. But when he spoke, as he did now, it was in an unexpectedly sweet and musical voice.

"Jab out their eyes, Radiance."

The king took his cue, hammering on the drum.

"Uh! Uh! Jab out their eyes!"

Bam-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

"Nomana die! Nomana die!"

Ba-ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

This hate training was the secretary's own idea, introduced by him shortly after his arrival at the court of Radiance. Similin was an outlander, raised in the poor north, with none of the rights and privileges of the citizens of the empire. His rapid rise to favor with the king had astonished all at court. The High Priest in particular had done his best to warn the king against putting too much trust in the ugly young man.

"We know nothing about him, Radiance. We have no idea what has brought him here or what it is he wants."

"Yes, we do," retorted the king. "He wants the Nomana destroyed. It's no secret."

"But why, Radiance?"

"They refuse to worship the Radiant Power. They think they're superior to everyone else. But I mean to teach them who's superior!"

The High Priest frowned and shook his head.

"We have found it best to leave the Nomana alone, Radiance. They do have powers—"

"Tricks!" shouted the king. "Tricks! I'll show them tricks!"

So the High Priest and the rest of the court were obliged to look on as the seed planted by the ugly young outlander blossomed into an obsession with the king. Whatever doubts and questions they had about this, they had to admit that the hate training did wonders for the king's morale. He emerged from each session glowing and invigorated.

"Uh! Uh! Rip out their hearts!"

Bam-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

"Nomana die! Suffer and die!"

Ba-ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!

Within three weeks of Soren Similin's arrival in Radiance, the priest-king declared it was his imperial will that Anacrea be destroyed.

On the day that this new policy was made public, Soren Similin returned to his modest quarters and dropped to his knees. He touched his forehead to the ground and murmured aloud.

"Have I done well, mistress?"

You have done well,
came the reply that only he could hear.

"All that I do, I do for you."

You are the cup into which we pour our wine.

"I brim with your fullness."

The harvest time approaches. The little people will kneel before you and call you their lord.

"My power will be your power, mistress. I am your surrogate. You command me as the heart commands the hand."

Your obedience is pleasing to us,
said the soft sweet voice.

"Am I deserving, mistress?"

You are deserving.

Then the sweetness came upon him. Swooning in bliss, he received his reward.

The time of the evening offering was now approaching. The sun was descending over the Great Basin Lake. In the royal temple of Radiance, the priests and the court officials were assembling to perform their ritual duties. The keeper of the Corona was dressing the sunflower heads in the great fan-shaped structure that would sit on the king's shoulders. The royal wives were entering, one by one, each one shepherding her single child. The little procession of three crimson-robed priests, tinkling their little silver bells, was on its way to the holding tank to collect the evening's tribute. And six levels below, in the temple square, the broad plaza that ran down to the shores of the lake, the people of Radiance were gathering to gossip and spend their money on the trinkets for sale from the wandering vendors.

The High Priest, arrayed in his golden robe, waited impatiently for the hate session to end. He could hear the king's great bellows of rage coming through the closed doors. Unaware that he was doing so, the High Priest curled his lips and murmured, "Dangerous nonsense!" and, "Ugly, ugly!"

A bloodcurdling yell from beyond the doors signalled the climax of the session. The doors opened and the king came hobbling out. He was overweight, and his knee joints gave him pain; but for all that, he was beaming.

"We'll see them squirm yet," he said, rubbing his hands. "We've a surprise in store for them! Eh, Similin?"

"Yes, Radiance," said the secretary, following a few paces behind with lowered gaze.

"Let it be soon!" said the king.

"Not long now, Radiance," murmured the secretary.

The king nodded at his wives, who all dimpled and dipped as he passed, and reaching out his arms on either side, he prepared to be dressed in his ceremonial garments. The High Priest spoke low to the secretary.

"What is this surprise?"

"I am no more than the king's humble servant," said Soren Similin.

"Something to do with the Nomana, I suppose."

"Forgive me, Holiness. The king commands my silence."

The tinkle of silver bells sounded again as the crimson-robed priests passed by, now leading the evening's tribute: a man dressed in white, his eyes blank, his steps uncertain. The priests held him by the arms on each side, to help him on his way. The High Priest saw, and shook his head. The tribute had been doped again. Gone were the glory days when the tributes were prisoners captured in war, who went to their deaths with their heads held high, screaming defiance at the world.

As for the king's secretary and his pious silence, the High Priest reckoned he could guess the secret easily enough. The only surprise the king could be so eager for these days was news of the destruction of the Nomana. How this froglike young man could give the king hope of such a thing was another matter. The Nomana were not so easy to destroy.

The keeper of the Cape now presented the heavy gold-embroidered garment to the Handler of the Cape, who placed it on the king's back. Then the keeper of the Corona gave the heavy object to the Handler of the Corona, who lowered it onto the king's shoulders. The stiff fanlike structure rose up behind the king's head, giving him a magnificent halo of fresh-picked sunflower heads, all golden petals and honey-colored seeds.

The High Priest checked that the tribute was now in place, then he gave a sign to the temple choir. The choristers were lined up at the back of the broad open terrace outside, where the king would shortly present himself to his people. The choir now began to sing, their faces to the setting sun as it sank towards the waters of the Great Basin Lake.

"
O Radiance! O Radiance!
Our lord, our life, our light!
Receive from us! Receive from us!
Our tribute for this night!
"

Down in the packed square below, the people stopped chattering and turned their attention to the temple rock. This massive granite shaft towered five hundred feet above the lake and leaned a little outward over the water, towards the west. All up its eastern side the great temple had been built, terrace after terrace, rising to the highest level, which was just below the summit of the rock. There on the summit stood the three red-robed priests, holding the tribute between them. Soon now, when the setting sun touched the water, the offering would be made. Then night would fall. But the people of Radiance need have no fear: so long as the offering was made, the sun would rise again. The Radiant Power would shine on them and bring them riches and victories. Had it not been so for a hundred years? Was Radiance not the greatest power in the land?

The royal party now emerged onto the high terrace, to cheers from the people below. The king waved to the crowd, then took up his ritual position, facing the setting sun, and spread his arms. This caused the gold cape to open out like the wings of a celestial bird, glowing gold and scarlet in the river of light cast by the sun over the surface of the lake.

The choir sang ecstatically.

"
O Radiance! O Radiance!
This life we humbly give!
Return to us! Return to us!
Through you alone we live!
"

The sun touched the water. The priests on the top of the high rock shuffled the tribute closer to the edge. The evening was warm and still, with barely a breath of wind.

The king's secretary stood at the back of the crowd of priests and officials, near the king's bodyguard, who was one of the massive armored axers. The bodyguard had seen it all hundreds of times, and he was openly yawning. Similin was paying very little attention himself. His mind was wrestling with a particularly complex problem.

Soren Similin liked problems. He had a subtle and powerful brain, and he was confident that he would find a solution. The harder the problem, the more satisfaction he got from solving it, because it raised him all the higher above the little people. But for his brain, he would still be one of them. His father, and his father's father before him, had been poor village weavers. As a child, Soren Similin had watched as the merchants came to buy, and he had seen the way his father sat with lowered eyes, and the merchants cheated him, and his father had said nothing. That was when Soren had known that his father was one of the little people.

Then everything had changed. He had been chosen.

When the voice first sounded in his head, he had not been surprised.

You are cleverer than those round you,
the voice had said.
You deserve more. Help us, and you will get all you could ever desire.

He never knew who it was who instructed him; only that they were superior to himself and to everyone he had ever met. Their only limitation, it seemed, was the weakness of their bodies.

With our bodies we can do little,
he was told.
With our intelligence, we can do much. Soon now all this will change and we will become perfect.

Until that day, they worked to achieve their goal through surrogates. Similin had no idea how many surrogates there were apart from himself, nor what the goal was towards which he worked. All he knew was that he obeyed them, and he was rewarded: not only with the sweet bliss he had learned to crave, but with worldly success. His unseen mistress had guided each step of his journey and smoothed away all obstacles in his path. Now here he was, at the heart of the court of Radiance, on the point of accomplishing his greatest mission. He would solve the last outstanding problem and so would please the one he sought above all others to please, and she would raise him to power.

Now the crowd in the square below fell silent, and the voice of a solo singer rang out over the golden roofs of the city.