“My thinking is,” Churry said to his trusted lieutenant, Mordimorandasheen Trust, Mordy, “that if we go to Hobbs Land and simply destroy these so-called Gods—Shan Damzel says there can’t be more than a dozen of them—what follows will prove to us whether there’s any threat or not.”
“Wasn’t he more worried about the ones he thinks may be on Ahabar?” asked Mordy Trust.
“Well, yes. But Ahabar has quite a large army, and the only outside Doors are in Fenice, which would mean fighting our way half across a continent or figuring out some time-consuming and surreptitious way of getting to Voorstod. Hobbs Land doesn’t even have a militia. Half a dozen security people, and that’s about it.”
“Better odds, is that it?”
“Well, frankly, I don’t anticipate any opposition on Hobbs Land at all. It will be a preemptive, sanitary strike, to wipe out something that may be dangerous. So long as that’s all we do, nobody is going to become violent over it.”
“So long as that’s all we do. We won’t carry any weapons, then.”
“Don’t be silly,” laughed Churry, delighted with the prospect of action at last. “We may need to bluff a few farmers into moving off. It’s at least partly a training exercise, so we’ll go in full battle kit, of course.”
• Sam, Jep, and Saturday stopped briefly in Fenice to be decorated by the Queen. Maire received posthumous notice of a respectful kind. At Sam’s request, it was a private ceremony, though Queen Wilhulmia had longed for something a bit more weighty and regal. Since the Hobbs Landers were mourning Maire Manone, however, she forced herself to be understanding. When she placed the Order of Ahabar around Sam Girat’s neck and pressed her cheek against his own, she didn’t like the looks of him. Physically he seemed well enough, but there was something sadly wrong with him otherwise.
It was announced at the ceremony that Stenta Thilion was to have a tomb in Green Hurrah. A planetary contest for the two inscriptions on that tomb would be sponsored by the palace. One inscription was to memorialize the life and great talent of Stenta Thilion; the other was to decry the ugliness of fanaticism. The Queen made this announcement just before she bid Sam and his party farewell.
By this time, though no Ahabarian was aware of it, the underground net begun with the burials in Selmouth and Sarby and continued in Cloud and Scaery and dozens of other Voorstod hamlets, had covered all of Voorstod but the mountains, had crossed the border into Green Hurrah where it had spread swiftly through the fertile area, and was now exploring the deep soil of Jeramish. Ahead of this line went certain missionary Gharm, quietly and largely unnoticed, carrying out burials here and burials there. By the time of the winter rains, they felt they would have raised Tchenka almost halfway to Fenice. Everywhere near Voorstod upon Ahabar, biologists were noting the sudden emergence of new species that the Gharm greeted as old friends.
• Upon the moon Ninfadel, a flurry and swirl of arrival: prophets, carts, men, flocks, women and children last, many of them crying from the pain of the Door.
The guards that met them were sanguine, quiet-faced, saying Ninfadel, Ninfadel, you are on the moon Ninfadel—to general disbelief and fury, waved fists and maledictions. The prophets were not armed, but the guards were both armed and watchful. They took no notice of the threats.
“We’ve drilled new wells for you and your animals. We’ve erected pens to hold your flocks. There’s a bright yellow luminescent line out there. Stay above it, and you’ll be perfectly safe.”
To the assembled multitude, the guards and Native Matters persons gave their usual lecture: point one, point two, point three, to the end. They passed out face masks and nose plugs. Inventories of both were virtually depleted when they were through. After the lecture, prophets and the Faithful rose in their wrath and departed, not having listened; the flocks, women, and children followed, not having understood.
Most of the face plates and nose filters were left lying on the ground inside the walls. Guards and Native Matters persons shrugged. Porsa or prophets, the shrugs said. Good riddance to either. Neither group had been ordered to look after Voorstoders who refused to be enlightened about their circumstances.
The Voorstoders received enlightenment almost at once. Their flocks of vlish and dermot moved, for the most part, at the direction of the herdsmen. A few animals, however, dazed by the the Door and attracted by the scent of herbary, broke from the herds and ran down the hill. Herdsmen ran after them. Though the highlands widened south of the outpost, at the outpost itself the hills sloped steeply and the margins for error were small. The animals plunged downward, ever more swiftly, crossing the yellow line. All but one of the herdsmen skidded to a stop. That one had paid no attention to the warnings, and he plunged after the animals, whooping, as though it were a game.
The entire Voorstod population had the best possible view of what occurred thereafter. They heard and smelted it as well.
The prophet glared, belatedly inserting his nose plugs. His sons approached him, instinctively seeking reassurance.
“We can’t … we can’t live here,” said the eldest.
“We can live here,” said the Awateh loudly, and then more softly, “for a short time.” He raised his voice again, shouting instructions. The animals were herded into the pens which had been provided. The wide black tents were set up, those for the men first, then those for the women. At the point the pens had been built, the highlands were a mile across. The Voorstoders could still smell the Porsa, but not overwhelmingly. They could see the heaving
