This Star Shall Abide (13 page)

The whole family walked out to the road with him after the meal. “Thanks for the supper,” he told the woman. “You’re surely a good cook.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand. “May the spirit of the Mother Star be with you,” she said.

“And with you,” Noren answered, half-wishing he could mean more by the words than a courteous response to hospitality. He turned rapidly and started up the curving road, toward the top of the hill.

*
 
*
 
*

Noren stopped at many farms after that, for breakfast or for supper, but rarely more than once a day. Some families were cordial, as Lew’s had been; others were less so and demanded payment. When possible he asked for work before offering money, for he knew he must save as many of Talyra’s coins as he could to use at the markets, where there would be no farms and he would have to buy food from shopkeepers. That meant that he got little sleep, since he traveled by night, but working in someone’s fields was safer than sleeping in them. It was increasingly hard to find hiding places, for the closer he got to the City, the fewer patches of uncleared land he found.

He passed through villages only in darkness. It amazed him that he encountered no Technicians searching for him, nor even heard rumors from the farmers of such a search; and as the days went by the tension in him grew. If the Scholar Stefred wanted him caught, why wasn’t a more intensive effort being made?

At last he could endure it no longer and decided to risk a deliberate inquiry. The people he ate with that day were friendly, but did not seem particular devout; the subject, Noren felt, could safely be raised.

“I hear they’re on the lookout for an escaped heretic,” he said casually.

“Oh?” the farmer replied. “I was in to the center only yesterday, and nobody said a word about that.”

“It was a trader who told me,” Noren asserted. “Perhaps the man’s not thought to be near here; traders pick up news from all over.”

“I can’t understand why anybody would get himself convicted of heresy,” the wife declared.

“Some people just don’t believe everything in the Prophecy, I guess,” said Noren in a noncommittal tone.

“No doubt, but why do they admit it when they know what’s bound to happen? It’s all words anyway; is that worth suffering for?”

“Heretics must think so. Or else they think that the High Law’s not what it should be, and that if they could get people to agree with them things could be changed.”

“Rubbish,” said the man. “The High Law is as it is, and the best way for a man to live comfortably is to follow it and keep his mouth shut.”

“Once,” Noren said slowly, “I heard a heretic say that he cared more for truth than for comfort.”

“Goodness!” exclaimed the wife. “A nice boy like you shouldn’t be talking to heretics. You could get yourself in trouble.”

“He said it in public,” answered Noren with a straight face. “It was at his trial.”

“What happened to him?” she inquired.

“He was convicted and locked up to be turned over to the Scholars. Do you think he deserved it?”

“Frankly, I don’t,” the man admitted. “Live and let live, I say; I don’t hold with punishing a man for what he thinks. But you’d not catch me talking that way in the village.”

His eyes narrowed with sudden suspicion. “You wouldn’t repeat it, would you?”

“No,” Noren assured him, “I wouldn’t.”

It was apparent that his escape had not been publicized; perhaps Talyra had not even needed to use the story they’d concocted. If the inhabitants of villages along the road hadn’t been alerted to watch for him, Noren concluded, it could only be that the Scholars were hoping he’d feel falsely secure and would grow careless. Their strategy was more subtle than he’d anticipated, which was all the more reason for him to move with caution.

Yet he could not resist sounding out more farmers as to their opinions. The first one’s view seemed predominant; though there were some sincerely devout people, and others who took out a dislike of the Scholars’ supremacy on anybody who dared oppose it, the majority of those he met couldn’t have cared less whether the Prophecy was true or the High Law justified. Like his own father, they were interested only in practical affairs. Noren soon found that he could safely make comments bordering on heresy as long as he saw such people in the privacy of their homes, but he guessed that in a crowd they would be quick to clamor for his condemnation.

Would those he met at the City markets be any different? Noren wondered. If they weren’t, he had no chance whatsoever to arouse opposition to the High Law; he must face that fact realistically. And what action could be taken even if he did succeed in convincing people? He had never gotten that far in his plans; he’d merely felt—and still felt, despite everything—that refusing to believe lies was in itself an act of importance.

During his none-too-frequent intervals of sleep he dreamed a lot. There were the old recurring nightmares of the City, now immediate and concrete: he would find himself bound hand and foot, facing the Scholar Stefred, who towered over him in a dark cavern filled with terrifying Machines; and he would wake trembling, telling himself that he could elude capture forever, yet knowing better. But there were also other dreams in which he was not afraid, but instead was on the verge of meeting secret, inexpressible things that he approached with joy—things concerning the ultimate, forbidden knowledge that was hidden behind the City’s walls. Always, to his frustration, he woke just as he was about to learn the answers. On those occasions he could scarcely wait for dusk before starting off, and he drove himself to walk faster and faster through the night, knowing that it was foolish, yet seeing no real reason to resist his growing compulsion. The City and its mysteries had become a goal both feared and longed for; but the longing outweighed the fear.

It became harder and harder to locate spots where he could rest. Farms were small and crowded close together near the City, while villages were comparatively large; almost all the wild plants had been cut. Then too, there were no streams. Long, straight conduits stretched off into the distance from sandy beds that were thereafter dry, and the work-beasts were watered in unnaturally-shallow ponds. At first that puzzled Noren, but before long he figured it out: the water was being channeled into the City itself, purified, and then sent out through the clay aqueducts that paralleled the main roads, from which pipes branched off to fill the huge village cisterns where people drew what they needed to supplement what was collected from rain. Fortunately he had the carrying-jug; he’d been replenishing it at farms in any case, since he might have aroused suspicion had he stopped for a meal without requesting water.

The day came when at first light Noren could see nothing around him but flat fields—newly-planted grainfields, the season zone being the same as Prosperity’s—without a tinge of purple anywhere, nor yet of gray-green apart from fodder. There were a good many houses, but he’d had plenty to eat the previous evening and he never stopped for breakfast unless his shelter was already chosen, for he felt it was dangerous to walk far after sunrise. This time he had no choice; he must keep going.

The sky to his left was yellow. One of the moons, it was hard to tell which, traced a thin white curve above a silhouetted barn. Overhead a few fading stars displayed a faint, determined sparkle. Where was the Mother Star supposed to appear, anyway: in one of the constellations, or in some unnatural place like the zenith? Noren couldn’t recall that the Prophecy told, and since whoever had written it had gone to so much trouble to manufacture details like the exact date, they might at least have mentioned where to look. Not that that wasn’t a silly question to waste thought on when there were so many true enigmas, like what stars
were,
for instance—real stars! Having walked for countless hours under them, Noren had often stared upward in bafflement, wondering whether even the Scholars possessed knowledge of that sort.

The sun bulged over the horizon, blinding Noren momentarily, and in the same instant he heard an ominous sound. An aircar was floating toward him above the field! With the new-risen sun behind it, it was hard to see; but a long, dark shadow preceded it, and it was headed directly for him.

Noren did not have time to consider the situation; he reacted instinctively. Without stopping to think that if by any chance the men in the aircar weren’t hunting for him, it would be unwise to attract their attention by an attempt to evade them, he threw himself headlong into the ditch beside the road. As he fell, a sharp rock stabbed into his knee, dazing him with pain, and he lay helpless while the aircar hovered and dropped lower.

Incredibly, it did not land. The Technicians saw him; Noren was sure of that, for as he turned onto his back their faces were clear, but to his astonishment the aircar rose abruptly and drifted off in the direction of the City. Bewildered, he tried to climb out of the ditch—only to find that the injured knee would not support his weight.

Chapter Six

For some time Noren remained in the ditch, at a loss to know what to do. He could go no farther alone. Once the worst of the pain subsided, he realized that he would be able to walk with the aid of a strong bandage; but the fabric of his tunic was too coarse to tear, and in any case, he could not climb. Moreover, the Technicians would undoubtedly be back for him. Though those particular ones apparently hadn’t known that he was an escaped heretic, they would surely report what they had seen, for it was not normal for a villager to run from Technicians—and they would then be told that a fugitive was being sought.

As the sun rose higher, he propped himself against the stony bank and prepared to hail the first passer-by. As close to the City as he was, the road would be heavily traveled. He had no choice but to trust to luck in being found by someone who would help him without asking too many questions.

Luck was with him: a trader’s sledge appeared before anybody else came by, and the trader was bound for the markets. He was a lean, brisk man who answered Noren’s shout with cheerful alacrity. “I fell, and I can’t walk till my knee’s bandaged, I guess,” Noren told him ruefully, “but I can drive. I’ll spell you if you’ll take me.” Something in the man’s manner warned him that it would be best not to mention his coins unless he had to.

“I’ll do that,” the trader declared. “I’d like to drive straight through tonight so’s to get there by mid-morning.” He boosted Noren to the seat and, yanking the reins, cursed casually at the work-beast.

After so many days and nights of effort, it was a relief to sit back and let himself be carried along. Also, he was less conspicuous, for on this road sledges and strings of work-beasts outnumbered people on foot. That would compensate, Noren hoped, for the peril of going through village centers in broad daylight. It was his first good look at the region’s centers, which, like the local farms, had quite a few buildings of sun-dried brick instead of stone; clay must be more plentiful than at home, where all that could be found was purified by Machine for the making of pipe and pottery.

The sledge jarred, and a fowl squawked noisily; Noren twisted around. There were hens in back, in wicker crates. Did hens sense that they were on the way to the butcher? Of course hens weren’t very bright, but then, there were times when brightness was a questionable advantage. He sucked in deep breaths, trying to dispel the fogginess from his mind; it was hard to keep his eyes open. He found himself wondering how long it had been since he had left his own village.

And then a new question worked its way into his thoughts: just how did the Scholars… kill a person? The rumors gave no hint. All the people he’d ever heard of—aside from the few who’d been hanged or who’d been victims of accidents, rare illnesses or murder—had died of old age. How Technicians died no one knew; and as for the Scholars themselves, it was generally supposed that they didn’t, though that was probably untrue.

Throughout the long, hot day the work-beast plodded steadily forward, resting only during the pre-noon downpour. When the rain stopped, Noren took over the driving, but the dazed, lethargic feeling stayed with him. The trader was not a talkative man and for that Noren was glad, since between his drowsiness and the persistent ache in his knee it was all he could do to keep a firm grip on the reins. He ought to be more afraid, he thought. He ought to be watching with alarm for the inevitable approach of another aircar, but it all seemed too unreal to matter.

At sundown they halted again by a pond, where the work-beast was allowed to drink, and shared bread washed down with ale from a jug that had been stashed under the seat. The trader drank considerably more of this than Noren, and as a result drove only a short while after they started again; soon he was snoring in the back of the sledge, leaving Noren to keep the work-beast moving. The road was well-lighted, for all three major moons were at full phase and even Little Moon seemed to shine with extraordinary brilliance. The time when the Mother Star itself shall blaze as bright as Little Moon, he thought wistfully: if there could indeed be such a time—a time when some immutable power would bring about the downfall of the Scholars and the fulfillment of all their empty promises—how different the world would be! The ancient knowledge shall be free to all people… why ancient? Noren wondered. Why had the Scholars who wrote the Prophecy used that particular word? It was almost as if there’d been a source of knowledge that had preceded them.

Long before he reached it, Noren could see the lights of the City. The whole valley seemed to glimmer. There were dozens of lights, white and yellow and green, swarming around a shining beacon that made him feel that if the Scholars wished, they could place the Mother Star in the sky themselves. He had known that the City was lit by Power, but he had not dreamed that there could be so much Power in the world at one time. He drew rein, overcome by emotions he could scarcely interpret. The moment he’d been anticipating was at hand: the end of his search was in sight, for better or for worse, and he looked upon it less with terror than with eagerness.