hated Nomana—
We are waiting.
Radiant Leader heard the soft voice, and his excitement evaporated. I'll never be free, he thought bitterly to himself. The voice will always return.
"Here I am, Mistress."
He had tired of it long ago, the insatiable demands of the mysterious old people he had never seen, their dry hunger for the moisture of young lives. He hated it all now, it disgusted him, but how could he escape? The voice lived inside his own head.
We need more.
"I'm tired."
Tired?
The voice in his head sounded mocking. And to think he had loved her once, this never-seen mistress.
What right have you to be tired? You rule only to serve us.
"I have served you!" In his frustration he shouted his reply, which was absurd, since she could hear even his most silent thoughts. "When will you be satisfied?"
When the harvest is complete.
"It never ends! How many have I sent you? Thousands! Thousands upon thousands! And still you want more."
It will end soon now. Be patient.
He bowed his head and was silent. His unseen mistress, feeling the passing of his brief resistance, became gentle.
You have done well. We are pleased with you.
He accepted his reward in silence; but the brief jolt of bliss no longer pleased him as it once had. He would gladly have done without it, to be released from the demands. But the old people would not let him go. He was too successful. To feed the hunger of his mistress, he had told his subjects he could give them eternal life; and by making this reward available only to the chosen few, he had caused them to clamor for it. All he had to do was point, and off they marched. He had no idea what happened to them after that, nor did he care. They never came back. Maybe they did get eternal life. If not, they were contributing to it. Wasn't that what the old people wanted them for?
He sighed as he rubbed the heaviness from his face. Then, lowering his hands, his eyes fell on a goatskin drum that had been used by his predecessor. He picked it up and began to beat a rhythm, to release the tension in him.
Bam! Bam! Ba-ba-bam!
It was the rhythm of the hate training he had invented for the old king, back when he was his lowly secretary Soren Similin. How did it go?
"Uh! Uh! Gouge out their eyes!"
Simple, but in its way satisfying.
He beat the drum harder.
Bam! Bam! Ba-ba-bam!
"Uh! Uh! Rip out their hearts!"
The old king had hated the Nomana. Now that he beat the same drum and chanted the same chant, Similin realized he hated the Nomana, too. He hated them because they were more powerful than Radiance, and he hated them because they were free. Everyone had to submit to someone—even he, Radiant Leader, son of the Great Power above, must obey the commands of his mistress. But the Nomana obeyed no one.
Ba-ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!
"Nomana die! Nomana die!"
Maybe now they would. Maybe the professor's mad scheme would work.
That reminded him of the day's news. Radiance was in danger from a new threat: this so-called master of the world, who demanded that he, Radiant Leader, greet him on his knees. He needed to buy time—three days, if possible. Somehow he must stall this new warlord until he was armed and protected by Ortus's explosive power.
But on one matter he was in no doubt. He would kneel to no one.
7. Power without Limits
S EEKER STOOD BY HIS TEACHER'S SIDE, IN THE CENTER of the Chapter House, and all round him, on the three tiers of benches that lined the walls, were the members of the Community. Directly in front of him sat the Elder, his head sunk and his eyes closed. Beside the Elder sat the sallow-faced Narrow Path. It was Narrow Path who had found him when he first strayed into the Nom, and who had urged that he be cleansed.
Now they'll tell me I'm to leave the Nom, thought Seeker. The Wildman and I will be cast out together.
Only a few hours earlier this prospect would have devastated him. But now he felt no dismay, and no fear. He could still feel within himself the glow
We are waiting.
Radiant Leader heard the soft voice, and his excitement evaporated. I'll never be free, he thought bitterly to himself. The voice will always return.
"Here I am, Mistress."
He had tired of it long ago, the insatiable demands of the mysterious old people he had never seen, their dry hunger for the moisture of young lives. He hated it all now, it disgusted him, but how could he escape? The voice lived inside his own head.
We need more.
"I'm tired."
Tired?
The voice in his head sounded mocking. And to think he had loved her once, this never-seen mistress.
What right have you to be tired? You rule only to serve us.
"I have served you!" In his frustration he shouted his reply, which was absurd, since she could hear even his most silent thoughts. "When will you be satisfied?"
When the harvest is complete.
"It never ends! How many have I sent you? Thousands! Thousands upon thousands! And still you want more."
It will end soon now. Be patient.
He bowed his head and was silent. His unseen mistress, feeling the passing of his brief resistance, became gentle.
You have done well. We are pleased with you.
He accepted his reward in silence; but the brief jolt of bliss no longer pleased him as it once had. He would gladly have done without it, to be released from the demands. But the old people would not let him go. He was too successful. To feed the hunger of his mistress, he had told his subjects he could give them eternal life; and by making this reward available only to the chosen few, he had caused them to clamor for it. All he had to do was point, and off they marched. He had no idea what happened to them after that, nor did he care. They never came back. Maybe they did get eternal life. If not, they were contributing to it. Wasn't that what the old people wanted them for?
He sighed as he rubbed the heaviness from his face. Then, lowering his hands, his eyes fell on a goatskin drum that had been used by his predecessor. He picked it up and began to beat a rhythm, to release the tension in him.
Bam! Bam! Ba-ba-bam!
It was the rhythm of the hate training he had invented for the old king, back when he was his lowly secretary Soren Similin. How did it go?
"Uh! Uh! Gouge out their eyes!"
Simple, but in its way satisfying.
He beat the drum harder.
Bam! Bam! Ba-ba-bam!
"Uh! Uh! Rip out their hearts!"
The old king had hated the Nomana. Now that he beat the same drum and chanted the same chant, Similin realized he hated the Nomana, too. He hated them because they were more powerful than Radiance, and he hated them because they were free. Everyone had to submit to someone—even he, Radiant Leader, son of the Great Power above, must obey the commands of his mistress. But the Nomana obeyed no one.
Ba-ba-ba-bam! Ba-ba-ba-bam!
"Nomana die! Nomana die!"
Maybe now they would. Maybe the professor's mad scheme would work.
That reminded him of the day's news. Radiance was in danger from a new threat: this so-called master of the world, who demanded that he, Radiant Leader, greet him on his knees. He needed to buy time—three days, if possible. Somehow he must stall this new warlord until he was armed and protected by Ortus's explosive power.
But on one matter he was in no doubt. He would kneel to no one.
7. Power without Limits
S EEKER STOOD BY HIS TEACHER'S SIDE, IN THE CENTER of the Chapter House, and all round him, on the three tiers of benches that lined the walls, were the members of the Community. Directly in front of him sat the Elder, his head sunk and his eyes closed. Beside the Elder sat the sallow-faced Narrow Path. It was Narrow Path who had found him when he first strayed into the Nom, and who had urged that he be cleansed.
Now they'll tell me I'm to leave the Nom, thought Seeker. The Wildman and I will be cast out together.
Only a few hours earlier this prospect would have devastated him. But now he felt no dismay, and no fear. He could still feel within himself the glow
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