“Are you going to retract what you said?” his eldest brother taunted.
“No,” said Noren. There was nothing else he could say. He bit down hard on his lip and took the beating with scarcely a sound, until at last, mercifully, the world went dark around him and he knew no more before morning.
* * *
When he awoke it was approaching midday; he could tell because before he’d mustered the courage to move, the sound of rain began. The trial, by long established custom, would be held an hour past noon, so he had two hours in which to prepare himself.
Painfully, Noren pulled himself to a sitting position. He was badly bruised, but as far as he could determine there were no bones broken. It could have been much worse; his strength had been so nearly gone at the outset, he judged, that he’d lost consciousness sooner than his assailants had expected.
The brutally-tight ropes with which he’d been bound had been loosened slightly, no doubt so that he would present a better appearance at the trial; the jailers must have grown fearful of the Technicians’ censure. Noren flexed his fingers and found that they worked normally. While doing so he was abruptly overcome by nausea and, crawling to the clay pot in the corner, was violently, wretchedly ill. After that he lay down again, tormented by thirst and unsure as to whether his fortitude would be equal to the challenges ahead.
The outcome of the trial, of course, was a foregone conclusion. He had not asked for an advocate to defend him, as would have been necessary had he been falsely accused. The coming judgment was a mere formality, for he was, according to village law, manifestly guilty, and he had no intention of denying it. An advocate’s defense would not help. There was only one defense: the truth. He had no illusions; he knew that no such defense could save him; but truth—Truth, in the special sense in which he had always thought of it—was in itself worth proclaiming. If he came out with it boldly, perhaps his words might influence someone, and that way his life would not be entirely wasted.
He had resigned himself to dying, though he knew no actual death sentence would be pronounced. The sentencing of heretics, unlike that of people convicted of other crimes, was not within the jurisdiction of the village council; it lay with the Scholars, and the Scholars were thought to be merciful. That was why the accused was sometimes murdered without benefit of trial, for never within memory had any heretic been sentenced to die. The passing of sentence, however, was part of the ceremony of public recantation—and Noren did not intend to recant.
Nobody had been told what happened to heretics who refused to recant—there were not many such, and in fact it was doubtful whether one could be mentioned by name—but it was commonly assumed that they must be killed. That, after all, was the only fate worse than the doom of those who did recant, for on one thing all rumors agreed: no heretic who had entered the City had ever been seen again, except during recantation itself where the chilling phrase “we hereby commute your sentence to perpetual confinement” invariably ended the ceremony.
The question of how heretics were persuaded to recant was discussed only in whispers. The threat of death presumably had a good deal to do with it, yet that could not be the whole story; many before Noren had been determined never to give in, declaring themselves entirely ready to die for their convictions, only to deny all those convictions a few weeks later. Enough strong men had done so to indicate that it was not merely a matter of losing one’s nerve.
Determinedly Noren pushed such speculations from his mind. He must forget them; he must pull himself together for the trial. Drawing himself upright once more, he leaned against the wall of the airless cell, hoping he would prove able to stand alone.
A jailer—not one of those who’d come during the night—brought him water and untied his bonds, making it plain that plenty of assistants were within call. After drinking, Noren cleaned himself up as best he could. Then he was taken under guard to the village hall. There were no hecklers in the street, for everybody who had a free afternoon was already packed inside. A trial was something few would want to miss. As he entered, Noren saw to his dismay that Talyra was seated in the front row. He’d feared they would force her to attend, and he knew that his most difficult task would be to protect her. Now more than ever, he cursed himself for having revealed his secret and thereby placed her in jeopardy. She was alone; her parents were not present, nor was his own father, who was no doubt unable to face the shame.
All eyes were on Noren as he took the place designated before his six judges, the village councilmen. At the sight of the bruises on his face and arms, Talyra bent her head in anguish, but his battered appearance was ignored by everyone else, including the Technicians, who sat in the back of the room. Both of them avoided his glance. His feelings were confused in regard to the Technicians; they might have been sent to trap him, still the young man’s discontent had seemed genuine.
One by one the witnesses gave their reports of what had occurred at the inn. A number of them had short memories and related the street version of Noren’s remarks rather than what he had actually said, causing most of the women in the room to turn pale with horror at the blasphemy; Talyra, staring at him, seemed about to faint. Noren found himself blushing for her sake, but as far as he was concerned it was a matter of small significance; he had not used words of that sort, but he could scarcely deny that he had thought them.
Arnil spoke last, and he gave a faithful account. That it was an ordeal for him was obvious; yet he had been required to swear by the Mother Star that his testimony would be true and complete, and he therefore had no alternative. Noren was glad when the old innkeeper was dismissed, and he himself was ordered to stand. The judges’ table was positioned so that in facing them, he still met the hostile gaze of the spectators. It did not shake him. For the first time in his life he was free to say what he really thought.
“You have heard your accusers,” the Chief of Council said to him sternly. “Do you dare to deny your guilt?”
“I deny that I’ve done anything to feel guilty for,” Noren said steadily, “but I don’t dispute the testimony. The charges are true.”
A gasp arose from the spectators; they had not expected him to be so brazen. “Do you mean to say you see nothing wrong in blaspheming not only against our High Priests the Scholars, but against the Prophecy itself?” demanded one of the judges incredulously.
“There isn’t anything wrong in it,” Noren replied. “The Scholars, as I said, are no better than other men; in fact they’re worse, for it’s they who’ve done wrong in keeping knowledge from us. The Prophecy blinds us to the absurdity of the High Law through which they’ve established their power, and that’s exactly why they wrote it.”
At once the room was in uproar; several people jumped from their seats, shouting angrily for immediate condemnation. “Silence!” ordered the Chief of Council, banging the table with his fist. “I agree that the provocation was very great, but under the law—the High Law as well as our own—this boy must receive a fair trial.”
“What need is there to investigate any further?” protested another councilman. “We have evidence of his guilt from his own lips as well as from those of ten witnesses, two of whom are his brothers.”
“One of those witnesses, the innkeeper, felt that the boy was not himself and was unaware of the import of his words,” reminded someone.
“That is belied by the statement he has just made,” the Chief of Council pointed out. “However, it is proper that we determine whether or not his heresy is of long standing.” Turning to Noren he inquired, “How long have you held the false view you just expressed here?”
“It is not false,” Noren declared calmly. “I have held it since childhood, but I never told anyone.”
“Never? You have been a heretic for years and yet kept your pernicious ideas entirely to yourself? I would think rather that you might have corrupted others in secret.”
Noren had known this issue would be raised, and he had decided how he must deal with it. The risk i
n telling the whole truth was less than that in attempting to evade it, for Talyra would be required to testify anyway, and she would not lie under oath; he must forestall any suspicion that she might have supported him. “As a child, I discussed my beliefs with another heretic who is now dead,” he answered. “After his death, I was afraid. I spoke to no one until two nights ago. At that time I confessed them to my betrothed, whereupon she broke our betrothal and has refused to see me since.”
Pain crossed Talyra’s face, a look not merely of sorrow, but of deep hurt. Bewildered, Noren wondered why the truth should evoke such a look, for surely she knew that the fact she’d broken off with him was her best protection. And then he saw. She was blaming herself for his arrest! She thought he had not trusted her and had spoken in the tavern because he considered himself already doomed.
It was providential. Though he longed to say something reassuring, he knew he must do the opposite. His greatest fear had been that although her refusal to go through with the marriage would be corroborated by both his family and hers, she would be suspect because she’d failed to report him; now, by one small but cruel lie, he could ensure her safety.
“She told me she wouldn’t reveal her reason for calling off the wedding.” he went on, “but I could see that her piety was stronger than whatever love she had once felt for me. After that there was little point in caution, for though she was kept home by illness yesterday, she would surely have denounced me as soon as she was able to.”
Talyra turned away from him, her suffering obvious to all. “The girl’s piety is indeed well known,” one of the councilmen said. “It is plain that in betrothing herself to this scoundrel, she was the innocent victim of his deceit. I see no need to subject her to questioning, since he has already admitted his crime. I see no need to question anyone else at all. The case is clear-cut.”
The Chief of Council nodded. “That’s quite true. However, the boy himself must be examined further. Not only did he say blasphemous and heretical things, but he said them to Technicians! It is fortunate for him, and for all of us, that the High Law toward which he shows such disrespect does not in itself forbid the voicing of wicked ideas, and that its enforcement is left to us in any case; otherwise he would have been instantly struck down by those Technicians’ wrath. We would not have them think us tolerant of whatever other heresies he may be harboring.”
There was a murmur of agreement. “We of this village,” the man continued, “are respectable, reverent people, ever mindful of the High Law’s demands. We must concede that although we may forbid heresy in our own laws, it is not ours to chastise; yet should we fail to root out this boy’s errors and censure him severely for them, our name would be forever tarnished.”
Noren waited with newly-revived confidence. He had anticipated this and in fact had hoped for it; only under cross-examination would he be permitted to argue for his beliefs. He was fighting not for his freedom, which could not be won in any case, but to be heard; if this was to be his only chance, he was going to make the most of it.
All six of the councilmen glared at him reproachfully. “The Book of the Prophecy,” one of them began, “tells us that at the time of the Founding, the Scholars in their wisdom made the High Law, and that although its mysteries will not be made plain to us until the Mother Star appears, we are nevertheless bound to follow it. It is possible that you are ignorant of the reason for this?”
“I am not ignorant of the reason that’s given,” said Noren. “It’s claimed that without the High Law, people could not survive. But why should we assume that to be the real reason?”
“Because the book says so,” declared the man, as if to a very stupid child.
Noren laughed. “That doesn’t prove anything. When the Scholars wrote the book, they naturally put in a reason that sounded good.”
“Have you no respect for anything sacred?” cried another judge indignantly.
“I respect truth,” Noren said soberly. “I respect it too much to believe anything merely because some book or some person tells me I should. I want to really know! Maybe you’d rather accept stories that make you feel comfortable about the way things are, but I care more for truth than for comfort.”
For a moment the councilman seemed incapable of reply. “I shall pass over the enormity of your arrogance,” he told Noren after an ominous pause, “and simply point out to you that it is self-evident that we could not survive without the High Law. We live only by the grace of the Scholars. If they did not send us water, we would die of thirst. If they did not send Machines to quicken the land, no grain would sprout; and if they did not cause rain, the sprouts would die. For that matter, if the Scholars blessed no seed there would be no grain in the first place, nor would there be fowl if they had not favored our ancestors with the gift of fertile eggs. We would all starve.”
“I too will pass over much,” said Noren slowly, realizing that he could not possibly present the details of his thoughts about all these topics. “I will concede that we are dependent on the Scholars’ knowledge and on the use of Machines. But knowledge and Machines should be shared by all of us. It is not right for them to be controlled by Scholars.”
“Of course it is right! It is how things have been since the time of the Founding.”
“I do not believe in the Founding,” said Noren.
Once again the Chief of Council had to pound on the table to restore order, and this time it took quite a while to obtain it. No one in the village had ever heard of a heretic going so far as to deny the Prophecy’s account of the Founding.
“Just how do you think people got here,” inquired a councilman sarcastically, “if they did not come from the sky? Did they rise out of the ground, perhaps, like plants?”
With many interruptions, Noren attempted to explain his theory about the savages, noticing hopelessly that nobody was taking him seriously. “The savages are idiots,” protested someone in an exasperated tone.
“Maybe our original ancestors were idiots, and as they learned more, became more intelligent.”
That was the wrong thing to say. It was also a mistake to suggest that the ancestors of the Scholars and Technicians might have been idiots. Noren perceived that whatever secret support he might have gained had been wiped out; the spectators were now firmly united against him.
“You can achieve nothing by mocking us,” the Chief of Council admonished. “You are exhausting our patience! Everyone knows that the savages are idiots because they disobeyed the High Law and drank impure water.”
Noren hesitated only a moment; he had nothing to lose, and perhaps he could convince someone that in this respect at least, the High Law was foolish. “I doubt that,” he asserted. “I myself drank from a stream only yesterday, and as you see I’m still quite sane.”
There was an exclamation of horrified disbelief, and the judges scowled, as if they considered that last point to be somewhat questionable. “You are not an idiot yet,” one of them conceded, “but we know nothing of how long the process takes. Any morning you could wake up to find yourself transformed.”
“It’s indeed fortunate that the boy was apprehended before his marriage,” stated another coldly. “Some say that if a man should drink impure water and remain unchanged, his wife would give birth to idiot children.”
Noren looked out at the people in surprise; that story was not prevalent, and he had never heard it before. He caught Talyra’s eye, seeing that she was more shocked and wounded than ever. Oh, Talyra, he thought wretchedly, surely you don’t believe such nonsense! But he knew that she did, and that she would never marry him after this even if he were to recant and be miraculously released. He also, for the first time, understood the real reason for Kern’s murder; Kern had been all too popular with girls.
The councilmen huddled together; Noren realized that they were about to pronounce the verdict and that he would have little more chance to speak. Desperately he said, “Forget about the Founding! Forget all I’ve said if you wish, but is i
t not a fact that the Prophecy itself admits that it’s not good for the Scholars to keep things from us? Does it not say that someday they will no longer do so, that knowledge and Machines will come to everyone and that ‘the children of the Star will find their own wisdom and choose their own Law’? Why would the Scholars have made such a promise if not because they knew that’s how the world should be? I don’t deny that they’re wise! They knew, and they also knew that the promise would keep us content to hope instead of seizing what’s rightfully ours.”
“The promise was not made by the Scholars,” reproved the Chief of Council. “It came from the Mother Star itself. The Prophecy will be fulfilled when the Star appears to us and not a day sooner; to believe that things should be otherwise is the worst sort of heresy.”
It was not the worst sort, and Noren, seeing that his case was lost, took the ultimate step of defiance. “I do not believe that there is a Mother Star,” he stated honestly.
He expected pandemonium, but instead, the room remained hushed; everybody was speechless. Finally the Chief of Council mustered the composure to proceed. “We’ll waste no more time here,” he said, “for it’s plain that you are past redemption. I grow cold at the thought of the punishments that will be yours when you enter the City! Are you not aware that the Technicians present in this room have a Machine wherewith they have recorded every word you have said? When you face the Scholars, Noren, you will be forced to listen to those words spoken by your own voice; and it will then be too late to plead for the forgiveness you will crave.”
Noren hadn’t known of the Recording Machine, but though startling, the idea of hearing his testimony repeated did not strike him as the dire ordeal it was evidently intended to be. “Do you think I don’t plan to be truthful before the Scholars?” he demanded. “If my words are recorded, then I’ll be saved the trouble of saying the same things over.
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