Hammerfall

“ Safety!” Marak shouted out in the inspiration of his heart. “Safety! That’s become more scarce than water on the Lakht! The refuge you came here to find, all of you, water, food, and shelter enough for every household! I, Marak Trin, I’ve come in from across the Lakht with a caravan and we’re going out again, to bring you all to a place where one refuge for you exists, off the edge of the plateau, beyond the village of Pori! I’ve seen it! I’ve seen a river green-sided with palms. I’ve seen beshti wandering free of harness. I’ve seen craftsmen in their tents, working for the pride of their craft! I’ve seen the heart of the tower that provides this place and keeps the star-fall away from its land! I’ve been inside it, and I know it exists!”

Cries rose up to him, one and another just out of earshot trying to position himself to hear and the attempt crushing those nearest.

“I say safety,” Marak repeated for those who were in earshot of a shout. “I say a caravan leaving the holy city, going to an oasis where you and your children will live!”

That created its own babble, repeated mouth to ear among the crowd, and now, caught in the press of bodies forward, riders controlled irritated, snappish beasts.

“The tribes will move first,” Marak shouted, while the fire boiled and bubbled within his vision, while the stink of heated rock assaulted his imagination. “The Keran and the Haga, of the deep Lakht, will go first. Then the Ila’s caravan. Then tribes beyond that. And the villages! Let every tribe, let every village, let every man forgive their feuds! What is the law of the Lakht? What is the god’s law? That when the wind rises, any man may come into a tent, regardless of feuds, to the number the tent will bear! No just man can deny shelter!”

Grim veiled men nodded. It was the law. And now for the first time there was a hush over the crowd. Those who could possibly hear leaned close.

“The Keran are the kinsmen of my wife, the Haga are the kinsmen of my mother,” Marak shouted, as loudly as he had in him, “and to them I entrust the guidance of the caravan. The Ila will go with me, in my band. Then the rest of the tribes, in their honor, as they determine precedence, then the villages, as they determine precedence. Those of the city, you with no tents, no knowledge of the desert, each tent of the villages will take one or two of you, and those who have to walk, will walk following the beshri, with riders to guard you and to set the pace. Each lord of a tribe will govern his tribe, each lord of a village will govern his village.” Fire, the visions said to him, overwhelming all sense of what he had to say. Random words welled up in him, not his own, warning of this disaster and that, and he smothered them, fighting for his sanity and his own sense. “More,— more! each strong and reputable and god-fearing man will carry, besides his day’s water, the wisdom of the au’it, on his person, one book! These strong men will bring the wisdom of the au’it to the new land and they will have their names and the names of their houses written down forever! One book, one bookwith a man or a band or a tribe will assure the carriers of it a welcome in the paradise the Ila will rule! If a man of the tribes and of the villages wishes to carry that burden for himself, let him come forward now to the priests and present himself to the au’it, who will entrust him with that honor! Spread that word! Paradisefor the bearers of the books!”

The priests had by no means realized what sacrilege he intended. Perhaps they imagined they alone would carry those books, pulling their carts through the deep desert. Perhaps at very least they expected more order about it, a making of orderly lists: but the mood and tenor of the crowd was not in favor of long lines and meticulous recording of names.

“No!” the chief priest shouted at him, and a murmur went out from the ridge, all the way back, over the grumbling complaint of beshti and a lone, frightened voice shouting above the rest, “What did he say, what did he say?”

“Paradise!” he shouted. “Water enough and food enough for you and your children!” He lifted his arms and shouted with all the strength that that was in him, half-kneeling on Osan’s saddle as he did. “When men think they will all die, they gather together, not to die alone. You all came here to die, and not to die alone, but we have better news! We know the path to paradise! We move at sunset. We’re not going to die. We refuse to die! Those who survive this journey are all going to live, in a paradise on this earth!”

A young carava

He was not the only one. Men waved their arms and cried aloud. Those at the back of the gathering were still trying to find out what was said; but those near the front saw the books and rushed at them, overwhelming the priests as men took books for themselves, snatched two and three in their passion for rescue. Pages were imperiled in squabbles. A cart axle cracked in the press of bodies, and spilled its load of books onto the sand, priests scrambling to save them as the crowd utterly mobbed the carts.

Norit screamed above the cries of the crowd, wild-eyed, a madwoman beyond any doubt. “The hammer of heaven is coming down!” Norit cried. “Listen to Marak Trin! Prepare to move!”

The priests shouted to their own wild-eyed hearers, “Respect the god, in the Ila’s name!” Believers cried out, “The god and the Ila, the god and the Ila his regent!” while fire rained down in Marak’s vision.

Now he knew the city folk would follow, and follow with the passion of belief, never mind what they believed, only thatthey believed, and drove their bodies with the strength of that belief. It wasthe god that would save them, because they would go, and go, and go, believing in paradise.

Marak, Marak, Marak, his voices di

“A judgment on the earth!” Norit cried over all the tumult: “The hammer of heaven is coming! Do you see it, Marak, do you see it? It’s coming! We’re losing time!”

Luz was afraid. Luzherself was gripped by fear. He saw in his vision a falling rock, saw it strike, saw a ring of fire spreading out from it; and a taste like copper came into his mouth. Haste, haste, hastedi

He saw Hati similarly afflicted by the vision, her hands clamped over her ears, and he fought to still his own shrieking voices, trying to use his wits for what still had to be done.

“Captain!” he shouted at Memnanan. “As soon as you can get there, bring the Ila to us where Tofi’s camped, at the southwest corner, on the flat. He’s waiting for us. He’ll need help there: he has the beshti, and he has to keep them!“

“Do you want a detachment with you?” Memnanan asked him.

“You’ll need them for your own safety!” Marak yelled back. “Go!” He turned Osan’s head, tried to speak coherently to the tribal lords, less bothered by the shouting below, at the carts than at the noise in his head, the flaming rings that obscured his sight.

Memnanan led his men off to the north, off the edge of the ridge. But to the face of the ridge, coming up toward them, was the lord of the Keran, still among the foremost, and he looked no happier.

“Norit, stay with us!” Marak said, and turned Osan’s head, suddenly within close-range shouting distance of the veiled man, in the surrounding tumult, both of them mounted, over the heads of the pandemonium below. “I’m Marak Trin Tain,” he shouted out across the racket. “I’ve married this woman. She’s never complained of your fairness. And I’ve heard nothing but good of the Keran, and I want you to the lead, omi! Forgive me for putting it forward without begging your goodwill, but the sky gives us no time for such courtesies.”