The Best of Robert Bloch (23 page)

For three days Forbes and his men had taken records of daily existence in the mines and the subterranean grottoes where all the food for the planet was grown. He reviewed his conversation with the "peasants"—that's what they'd be called on Oldstyle Earth, and that's how he thought of them now. He remembered the hints of curious beliefs which the workers of Pyris held. They were afraid to dig in certain grottoes, they kept away from the pits after dark, and they whispered of certain things which meant nothing to the men in Forbes's crew. But he had scanned the Oldstyle past on Earth, and that's how he'd run into Shakespeare, and similarities. The similarities excited him sufficiently to have his equipment set up in what he thought was the logical spot at the logical time. The blasted heath at midnight.

Now Forbes crouched there and waited for what appears on blasted heaths.

It came.

Audio got it first, faint and far away. The rush of matter through atmosphere, and above it the shriller sounds, splintering the silence.

One of the technicians, Kalt, began to mutter. "Bedamned! Voices. Voices in the sky!"

Visio took over now. The delicate cameras were on target, automatically focusing and feeding out
infra
and
ultra
to record what human eyes could not as yet perceive. And then the distant objects came into the range of normal viewing.

"Look!" Kalt whispered to his companions. "Pyrans. Up there, in the sky. And what are they riding on?"

Forbes could have told him. Forbes could have told him what comes to blasted heaths at midnight, and what they rode upon. But he kept silent, rather than disturb them at their work.

A month ago he himself would not have been disturbed, but since then he'd done that filmscan. And now he knew about witches.

They rode on broomsticks to the Sabbath, swooped from the skies—witches and warlocks, wizards and sorceresses, coming in coven to adore Satan, the Black Master of the Flock.

Of course, all this was ancient superstition, and earthly superstition besides. It had no basis in reality.

But he was seeing it now.

The broomsticks—were those long shafts really broomsticks?—soared overhead and then descended into the crater. The riders—were those frowsy hags really witches?—cackled and shrieked, their voices echoing below the crater rim.

Now fire blazed below, and the flames blazed blue as the crones cast powder upon the pyres. The hags were naked now, their anointed bodies shimmering in the smoke.

"Bedamned!" muttered Kalt again, like the sensible modern technician he was. Forbes reflected that the man didn't even know the meaning of the word he used. It was merely a commonplace expression. Once it had been a jocular curse—"I'll be damned!" And before that, back in the ancient days of 1500-1700 Oldstyle, it had a literal meaning. It was, in those times, an acknowledgment of fact. People
were
damned. They
did
sell their souls to Satan. And they danced around fires and chanted while the smoke swirled. The damned danced.

They were dancing now.

Forbes recognized the ritual from what he'd scanned. He knew about the unguent cast on the fire, the ointment on the naked bodies, about belladonna and aconite and other forgotten drugs. He knew about the rituals they chanted in the Pyric tongue. Of course they could not be adoring Satan—he'd go over the audio records very thoroughly in the future—but at the moment he thought he could detect repeated shouts of a word resembling "Sire."

But everything else was familiar, dreadfully so. When the figure stepped out of the shadows, wearing a hood crowned with
kort
-horns, Forbes was reminded of the Master of the Sabbath, who wore the Sign of the Goat or the antlers of the Black Stag. Here it would be a
kort
, of course, for it was the only quadruped on Pyris.

The Master of the Sabbath, whatever his Pyric title, was leading the chanting now. And he brought the
kort
into the firelight, and he wielded the knife and filled the bowl and gave all to drink of the sacrifice. Then the smoke swirled up and the voices howled and—

The
temrars
came. Forbes recognized the soldiers of the Kal as they rose along the opposite rim of the crater. He recognized their breastplates, their spears and swords, and the two-man slings which hurled arrows of steel.

The arrows were speeding now, through the smoke. And the Kal's men clambered down the sides of the crater. The crones wailed.

Then came another shout—from behind.

Forbes turned, but too late. Another group of
temrars
had crept up in the darkness, to pinion the arms of his crew. And they used their swords now—not on the men, but on the receptors and the equipment. In a moment, audio and visio were wreckage.

The tall, spade-bearded leader confronted Forbes, placed his hand on his heart in salute, and murmured, "You are to follow me. It is the wish of the Kal."

Forbes heard Kalt protesting and cut him off with a curt gesture. He remembered that he was the guest of an alien culture, and a primitive one. They had already destroyed his records, and they were perfectly capable of destroying him, just as they would probably destroy the witches in the pit below. "Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live." Wasn't that an old biblical injunction? Strange, that there should be this similarity.

And there were more similarities to come, as Forbes and his companions were escorted, on
kort
-back, across the nighted plain. Forbes could close his eyes and easily imagine himself transported across space and time to ancient Earth. The clank of armor, the thud of hoof-beats, the remorseless tread of the iron legions returning victorious to the castle of the king—all were part of another world. A world of conquerors and commoners, of mage and magic.

Forbes couldn't repress an ironic grin. He, the self-styled representative of modern intergalactic culture, was a prisoner of these superstitious savages. A single sweep of a sword had shattered the finest and most delicate scientific recording instruments yet devised. This wasn't his world of force and cunning, and he'd do best to deal with it on those terms.

Perhaps he'd treated the Kal too lightly. Certainly the Pyric people feared their ruler. They gave him their toil, their allegiance, their taxes, and their daughters. He owned the mines and the grottoes and was worshipped like a god.

So perhaps those who opposed the Kal would find new gods to worship. Sire, or whatever he was called, would be more than a Devil. He'd be the Kal's chief political opponent. No wonder his soldiers sought the witches out.

Now they came to the valley and the citadel of the Kal. Rising within the walls of stone was the great fortress, its silhouette serrated against the sky. The company made its way through narrow streets to broader avenues, down the ramps and into the castle proper.

And here, in one of the stone antechambers, Forbes found Siddons, the ship's astrogator, and the other members of the crew.

"They came for us an hour ago," Siddons said. "No, they didn't try to force their way inside—locks were closed, anyhow. But they summoned, and we didn't resist. There's a guard around the ship now, but none of them went in, or even tried to enter. I don't understand it."

Forbes mustered a show of confidence. "We'll find out all about it when I see the Kal."

"The Kal will see you now." It was the spade-bearded
temrar
who spoke, who led Forbes away alone and gestured to the others to keep back.

Forbes followed him down a long corridor, then halted as the
temrar
indicated a small door. "Please to enter," he said.

Nodding, Forbes opened the door, stepped inside, and faced the Kal.

The hairy little fat man was seated behind a large table. His pudgy hands rested on the tabletop and cradled a silver shape.

He tucked it away in the folds of his sleeve as Forbes entered and nodded at him gravely.

"I had you brought here for your own protection," the Kal said. "Your lives are in danger."

"From what?"

"The
wrali
. Or, as you would call them, witches."

"Why should they harm us?"

"Because you threaten their way of life. And unless you leave, they will destroy you. That was the purpose of their rites this evening—to summon Sire, the Evil One."

Forbes smiled. "But that's superstition," he said. "They can't harm us with spells or enchantments. Surely you don't believe, for example, that a witch or one of your
wrali
can kill a man by sticking pins into his image or melting it over a hot fire. Or do you?"

The Kal's voice, like his face, was inscrutable. "It is not a question of what I believe. It is a question of what my people believe. And is it not true that once there were men who believed in witchcraft on Earth?"

"True." Forbes hesitated. "But how would
you
know that?"

"Because the
wrali
have a legend. According to that legend, the inhabitants of Pyris came, originally, from Earth."

"Our Earth?"

"Exactly. Haven't you noticed the similarities in language, in concept, in the system of government corresponding to olden days? And isn't our
wrali
-worship of Sire similar to the witch-worship of Satan?"

The Kal smiled now. "I'm not the ignorant barbarian you think me to be—it is only through choice that I appear so. And you might do well to ponder our legend.

"The tale is this. Long ago, on your Earth, witches were persecuted, burned, hanged, torn to pieces, because they believed in Satan, or Sire. And a certain group, facing extinction on your planet, invoked the Evil One to save them. He granted their desires. They mounted their broomsticks and flew into space—flew here, to Pyris."

Forbes blinked. "You don't believe that, do you?" he asked.

"Legends are interesting, you must admit. They do offer explanations."

"I have another." Forbes considered for a moment. "On our Earth, long ago, science was as suspect as witchcraft. Scientists performing experiments or investigations could be accused of black magic and executed just as witches were.

"Now suppose a certain man, or group of men, working in secret, managed somehow to hit upon the principles of atomic propulsion and space travel—just as we know the alchemists investigated atomic theory? And in order to escape from a hostile environment, they actually built a ship and came here? Whereupon a clique of warriors among their descendants determined to seize the power of government, gradually debased the people and enslaved them—planting such crude legends to keep them in the grip of superstition?"

The Kal shrugged. "You find that theory more attractive than witchcraft, eh?"

Forbes met his gaze. "It's logical. Somewhere in this world the sources of scientific knowledge must still exist, suppressed only to maintain the present rulers in control. I rather suspect that the
wrali
understand some of it. I saw them ride to the meeting tonight on broomsticks, and I'm thinking now that those broomsticks contained individual power packs."

The Kal shrugged again. "I see there are no secrets to the trained scientific mind. But now that you know the story, I must ask you to leave, for your own safety. The
wrali
fear you and may take drastic measures."

Forbes bowed his head. "Very well. We can take off immediately, if you release us."

"You will be escorted to your ship. Is there anything you need, any service you require?"

"No, thank you." Forbes hesitated. "It's just that I'm sorry. Sorry to see a world still existing in such savagery as yours, when it isn't necessary. That men here are still ruled by ignorance and superstition."

The Kal tugged at his beard. "But suppose there were truth to the legends? Suppose that Sire, or Satan, does rule here and that science dares not oppose magic? That this world stays in barbarism because it is the Evil One's wish to rule, and that science must bow before sorcery lest everything be destroyed?"

Forbes smiled. "You know that's nonsense," he replied. "I can't accept that, any more than you can."

"Yet you'll go now and leave us to our savagery?"

"I have no choice."

"Very well, then." The Kal inclined his head. Forbes went to the door, and the Kal spoke to his
temrar
, gave orders for safe escort back to the ship.

Then the door closed, and the Kal was alone in the little room. He stared into the flame from the brazier, then extracted the gleaming object from his sleeve once more. He turned it over and over with his pudgy hands, and after he had examined it quite thoroughly he merely sat and waited.

After a time, the door opened again. A Pyran came in, wearing a hood crowned with
kort
-horns.

"They are gone?" asked the Kal.

"Back to the ship. Soon they depart."

"I am sorry about tonight," the Kal said. "I trust the
temrars
did not actually hurt anyone, but they had to make it convincing. If Earth ever suspected that the government and the
wrali
work together, then nothing could stop them from returning. As it is, I think we deceived them and they are gone for good."

The hooded one stood stock-still, and his head was cocked as though he were listening. "I can sense them now," he murmured. "I can reach the one called Forbes, on the ship. He is thinking of his report. He will put in a request for an expedition to come back here. He wants to bring a new government from his planet and civilize all Pyris." The hooded one sighed. "It is as I told you it would be. Your plan has failed."

The Kal rose. "I'm sorry," he said. "I tried to save them. First I told him the truth about how we came to Pyris, and about the power of magic. But he didn't believe me. He preferred to think it was all science, disguised as legend."

"Then it must be ended my way," the hooded one declared. "We work together,
wrali
and
temrars
, although the people do not know. We work together to keep this planet in ignorance, keep our race from civilization and science—because with science, worship of the Evil One would cease. And that was the ancient promise we made when we came here—that our people would always worship. We must keep that promise in order to survive.