Even if the star-gods never wreck Biblos, or force the explosers to do it for them, fanatics like Jop and UrKachu will only grow more numerous and bold as the social fabric unravels.
As if to illustrate the point, a squadron of Jop’s comrades entered camp before sundown — a dozen hard-looking men equipped with bows and swords, who slaked their parched throats at the oasis without turning their backs on UrKachu’s clansmen, but glanced with satisfaction at the pyre of dying books.
The two groups have a common goal. An end to literary “vanities.” Replacing the current sages. Hewing closer to the dictates of the Scrolls.
Later, when we’re all firmly on the Path, we can return to slaughtering and ambushing each other, deciding who’s top predator on a sinking pyramid of redeemed animals.
The blaze collapsed, spewing sparks and curled paper scraps that seemed to swoop in whirling air currents. Standing next to Sara, the Stranger caught one in his hand and peered, as if trying to read what it once said. Perhaps he recognized something that was much like him, in a poignant way. Once eloquent, it had now lost the magic of speech.
The librarians weren’t alone watching with horrified, soot-streaked faces. A young mated pair of hoonish pilgrims clutched each other, umbling a funeral dirge, as if a loved one’s heart spine lay in the filthy coals. Several qheuens stared in apparent dismay, along with — lest we forget — a handful of sorrowful urrish traders.
The smoke-stench made her think of darkness. The kind that does not end with dawn.
“All right, everybody! Your attention, please. Here is the plan.”
It was Jop, breaking the somber silence, approaching as part of a foursome, with UrKachu, Ulgor, and a grim, sunburned man whose rugged face and flinty hardness made him seem almost a different species from the soft, bookish librarians. Even the Urunthai treated this human with grudging deference. Painted warriors stepped quickly out of his way. Sara found him familiar somehow.
“We’ll be leaving in two groups,” Jop went on. “The larger will proceed to Salty Hoof Marsh. If any militia platoons hear o’ this raid and care to give chase, that’s the first place they’ll look, so some of you may be ‘rescued’ in a week or so. That’s fine by us.
“The smaller group’s gonna go faster. Humans will ride, switchin’ to fresh donkeys every half midura. Don’t cause trouble or even think of sneakin’ off in the dark. The Urunthai are expert trackers, and you won’t get far. Any questions?”
When no one spoke, Jop shoved a finger at the Stranger. “You. Over there.” He gestured where the biggest, strongest-looking beasts were tethered single file, beside the oasis pond. The Stranger hesitated, glancing at Sara.
“It’s all right. She can go along. Can’t have our hostage goin’ sick on us, eh?” Jop turned to Sara. “I expect you’ll be willin’ to take care of him awhile longer.”
“If I can take my bags. And Prify, of course.”
The four leaders muttered among themselves. UrKachu hissed objections, but Ulgor sided with the humans, even if it meant sacrificing some of the booty robbed from the caravan merchants. Two donkeys had their trade goods dumped on the ground, to make room.
Another argument erupted when the Stranger straddled the animal he had been assigned, with his feet almost dragging on both sides. He refused to surrender the dulcimer, keeping the instrument clutched under one arm. With ill temper, UrKachu snorted disgust but gave in.
From her own perch on a sturdy donkey, Sara watched the hard-faced man gesture toward Kurt the Exploser, sitting with his nephew, silently watching events unfold.
“And you, Lord Exploser,” Jop told Kurt with a respectful bow, “I’m afraid there are questions my friends want to ask, and this is no place to persuade you to answer “em.”
Ignoring the implied threat, the gray-bearded man from Tarek Town carried his satchel over to the donkey train, with Jomah close behind. When a pair of Urunthai reached for the valise, Kurt spoke in a soft, gravelly voice.
“The contents are… delicate.”
They backed away. No one interfered as he chose a pack beast, dumped its load of plunder on the ground, and tied the valise in place.
Equal numbers of human radicals and Urunthai warriors made up the rest of the “fast group.” The men looked almost as ungainly on their donkeys as the tall Stranger, and more uncomfortable. For many, it must be their first experience riding.
“You aren’t coming?” Sara asked Jop.
“I’ve been away from my farm too long,” he answered. “Also, there’s unfinished business in Dolo. A certain dam needs tendin’ to, the sooner the better.”
Sara’s head jerked, but it wasn’t Jop’s statement of destructive intent that made her blink suddenly. Rather, she had glimpsed something over his shoulder: a stream of bubbles, rising to the surface of the pond.
Blade. He’s still underwater, listening to everything!
“Don’t worry, lass,” Jop assured, misconstruing her briefly dazed look. “I’ll make sure your dad gets out, before the cursed thing blows.”
Before Sara could reply, UrKachu cut in.
“Now it is (well past) time to end delays and perform actions! Let us be off!”
One of her tails switched the lead donkey’s rump, and the queue jostled forward.
Abruptly, Sara slid off her saddle and planted her feet, causing her mount to stutter in confusion, sending a ripple of jerks down the chain in both directions. One of the rough men tumbled to the ground, raising amused snorts from some Urunthai.
“No!” Sara said, with grim determination. “First I want to know where we are going.”
Jop urged in a low voice, “Miss Sara, please. I don’t even know myself—”
He cut off, glancing past her nervously as the flinty-eyed hunter approached.
“What seems to be the problem?” His deep voice seemed strangely cultured for his rough appearance. Sara met his steady gray eyes.
“I won’t mount till you tell me where we’re going.”
The hunter lifted an eyebrow. “We could tie you aboard.”
Sara laughed. “These little donkeys have enough trouble carrying a willing rider, let alone one who’s throwing her weight around, trying to trip the poor beast. And if you truss me like a bag o’ spuds, the bouncing will break my ribs.”
“Perhaps we’re willing to take that chance,” he began — then frowned as the Stranger, Kurt, and Prity slid off their beasts as well, crossing their arms.
The warrior sighed. “What difference can it possibly make to you, knowing in advance?”
The more he spoke, the more familiar he sounded. Sara felt sure she had met him before!
“My ward needs medical attention. So far, we’ve held off infection with special unguents provided by our traeki pharmacist. Since you don’t plan to bring ers chariot along with your ‘fast group,’ we had better ask Pzora for a supply to take with us.”
The man nodded. “That can be arranged.” He motioned for the Stranger to go join Pzora.
Unwrapping the rewq that had lately replaced his gauze bandages, the spaceman exposed the gaping wound in the side of his head. On seeing it, several desert-men hissed and made superstitious gestures against bad luck. While his symbiont joined Pzora’s rewq in a tangled ball, exchanging enzymes, the Stranger made a flutter of rapid hand motions to the traeki — Sara thought she caught a brief snatch of song — before he bowed to present his injury for cleaning and treatment.
She spoke again.
“Furthermore, any stock Pzora provides will stay good for just a few days, so you better figure on taking us someplace with another expert pharmacist, or you may have a useless hostage on your hands. The star-gods won’t pay much for a dead man, whether he’s their friend or foe.”
The renegade looked at her for a long, appraising moment, then turned to confer with UrKachu and Ulgor. When he returned, he wore a thin smile.