Gather Darkness

by Fritz Leiber

  The thunder rose to a shattering climax. A great shadow darkened the Sanctuary. A vast ellipsoid construction appeared overhead from the direction of the sun and came to rest above the Blasted Heath, its mighty repulsor beams plowing like huge pillars into the gray soil, digging great pits. While it still rocked there aloft, circular ports began to open in its dully gleaming surface.

  Goniface waited for the look of dismay to come over his adversary's face. But it never came.

  As the thunder died the Black Man smiled in a friendly way and said casually, "Oh, I know all about the relief ship from Luciferopolis. I came out to see it land. What you say about it is largely true. I also know that Lucifer is the name of the Morning Star—Venus. Unfortunately for the Hierarchy, it's also one of the names of Satan. Of course, it's understandable that you wouldn't know about the recent turn of events there. Communications with Venus have been very bad, haven't they? And not altogether because she's moving toward opposition. I fancy. Still, I would have thought that you'd have guessed that the Witchcraft was operating on Venus, too—and that it would work a little faster in the colonies than on the mother planet. I imagine it's been all over on Mars, too, for some time, but since Mars is on the other side of the Sun, it will be a couple of months before we find out for sure."

  He turned and looked up. From the open ports of the spaceship, black squadrons were darting, to the amazement and awe of the wanderers on the terrace, who looked as if they might start a panicky flight.

  "They'll be all angels, I imagine," he commented. "Just refinished in black and touched up a bit. Except the bigger ones. You call those archangels and seraphim, I believe?

  "You see, it was really our relief ship," he went on reflectively. "I imagine that Asmodeus understood from the beginning that any revolt against the Hierarchy must be multi-planetary. Besides, the Hierarchy was always a bit more shaky in the two colonies. The colonies are supposed to have been a bit more in the right, I'm told, in the interplanetary war that paved the way for the Hierarchy. It would have taken a big war like the Interplanetary one to have shattered the Golden Age, wouldn't it now? The Blasted Heath itself is one of the scars of that war, isn't it? Devilish weapons they used in those days. Ours would seem very puny to them by comparison."

  He looked sideways at Goniface. With a certain malicious humor, he remarked, "Must have been rather comforting for you priests to know that you could always call for aid from Heaven, or escape there if need be—and an ironic pleasure in knowing that the myth of mankind storming Heaven was no more than literally true. Well, now we'll have a bit of Heaven on earth for a change."

  Goniface no longer sought to conceal his sick self-contempt.

  "I hardly need remind you," he said coldly, "that it would be just as well—indeed, very wise—to order my immediate execution. Unless you desire to enjoy further crude jibes at my expense."

  The Black Man laughed heartily. "I do enjoy them," he said. "I seem to be one of the few who can enjoy that sort of thing." This with a quick glance at Sharlson Naurya. Then he looked at Goniface and his voice grew somewhat more serious. "No, I'm afraid we can't enjoy the luxury of that kind of revenge. We're too shorthanded to spare material. The Hierarchy had its hands full managing the commoners, so our difficulties must be very obvious to you. We can't spare a mind like yours. It occurs to me that Brother Dhomas would as soon remake personalities in one direction as another—all he cares about is the changing. Of course, it might not work, Jarles was rather a costly success, wasn't he? Still, with suitable precautions, it's worth a try."

  After the former World Hierarch had been led away, the Black Man and Sharlson Naurya watched the jittery excitement of the crowd as some of the black devil squadrons landed on the lower terraces and their Venusian-colonist pilots emerged. Then they turned toward the Cathedral and noted that the workmen had almost completed their circuit of the Great God's neck.

  He confided to her in an undertone. "I'm a lot more eager than I even admitted to put the best Hierarchic minds to work on our side. It's no joke about us being short-handed—especially considering what we want to do. And Asmodeus dead—oblivion be good to him! When I think of what's coming! Things will be quiet for a few days, but after that—First of all, the commoners will want to kill off all the priests. There's a little of that sort of thing going on right now. We're their only protection. Next, the commoners are still thoroughly steeped in supernaturalism. They take it as a matter of course that the Witchcraft will be set up as a religion. They fully expect to go to church and find an image of Sathanas over the altar. They're probably already disappointed that there aren't a lot more satanic miracles going on. When they find that we consider the Witchcraft finished, some of them will want to revive it against us. Others, a little later, will decide to revive the cult of the Great God. On top of all that, Hierarchic counterrevolutions will be attempted! I fear that all of us will spend very busy old ages—if we live that long. When you think of the work that's going to be involved in educating the commoners and remaking their social system and gradually shifting them over to Hierarchic—I mean scientific—economy! For, of course, at the beginning we'll have to maintain both economies—feudal and Hierarchic—which will inevitably suggest to some of our none-too-well-balanced co-workers that it would be very convenient to revive the Hierarchy under a new name, with black robes instead of scarlet. Oh, things will be lively, never fear!"

  As he broke off he noticed that a fat little priest with a black armband was peering at him and at Sharlson Naurya from a distance—timidly and nervously, as if debating whether to attempt to introduce himself and perhaps ask a favor. Apparently the looks he got in return frightened rather than encouraged him, for he turned and walked off rapidly.

  "I know that priest," said Naurya. "He was the one who—"

  "I know him even better," the Black Man interrupted. "Brother Chulian. Dear little Brother Chulian. Mild, soft, quite well-intentioned, but utterly selfish—and completely typical of the vast majority of them. When you think that we've got to integrate chaps like that back into their families, or at least back into the society of commoners, remembering—as you know well—that commoners are no paragons of loving kindness, but have been turned hard and cold by generations of useless, back-breaking toil—Oh, well, we've been over that before. But doesn't it suggest to you that I'll need someone to comfort me during the years of exasperation and thankless labor ahead?"

  And he looked very frankly at Sharlson Naurya.

  And she looked back at him as frankly. For a moment the grave, tired lines of her face softened into a smile. Then she slowly shook her head and looked away. The Black Man followed the direction of her gaze.

  He was standing at the far end of the uppermost terrace, his back to them, looking out into space. He still wore the scarlet robe of a Fourth Circle priest.

  "Oh, I suppose you're right," the Black Man admitted rather unwillingly after a moment. "I suppose he deserves something, too, after the rough time he's had. And I don't suppose the provisional government will want to execute him for the murder of Asmodeus. Yes, I see your point, all right!" he finished rather sourly.

  She nodded. "I've lived for a thing like revenge," she said softly. "I've gone through something of the kind of hell he's going through. When it was over, this morning, he tried to kill himself. I made him promise—"

  As he turned to go, she added, "After all, you at least have a sense of humor to comfort you."

  "Yes," he admitted. "But there are some situations in which a sense of humor isn't very amusing."

  And with that he turned to walk away. But a crooked figure in rags and a peaked hat, accompanied by a black cat and hurriedly hobbling up the terraces, waved her cane at him to wait. To either side the commoners made way for her, bowing low and making awed reverences. They seemed rather relieved to see someone who was obviously and undeniably a witch. It satisfied their sense of what was fitting in the situation.

  "Silly ninnikins!" was the contemptuou
s term that Mother Jujy applied to them when she arrived, somewhat out of breath, on the topmost terrace. "Everywhere bobbing and scraping to me, as if I were an archpriest or some other monstrosity! A few days ago they wanted to burn Mother Jujy, but we don't hear any talk of that now!"

  "Greetings, ancient and honorable one," said the Black Man. "Do you dislike the homage that is your due? Is there anything that you desire? You have only to ask."

  "Maybe I've come for my pint of blood," she suggested darkly.

  "Oh, Mother Jujy," replied the Black Man, cutting short Dickon's floridly piped gratitude, "that pint of blood is the most precious in the world. If we were going to put the Cathedral to its former use, I would have that pint of blood enshrined as the most sacred relic of them all."

  "Stuff and nonsense!" said Mother Jujy. "I'm a wicked old woman and I like vile sensations. That's the only reason I let him play the vampire." She leered at Dickon. "No, I didn't come here to be buttered with praise. I want to know what's going to happen to me."

  "I think you can be of very great help to us," said the Black Man thoughtfully. "We stand in need of your—er—no-nonsense point of view, and the commoners will want, even more than before, just that sort of counsel that you alone can give them. A kind of general liaison officer, perhaps—"

  Mother Jujy emphatically shook her head. "No. A witch I am and a witch I remain! And I want to tell you I don't like what's going on! Why, your people are going around telling commoners that Sathanas doesn't exist!"

  "That's right, Mother Jujy. The Hierarchy and the Witchcraft are both finished."

  "I don't like it! You'll get into trouble if you start giving away your secrets. That always happens."

  "I'm afraid you're right," he said.

  With a hollow reverberation, as of departing thunder, the head of the Great God crashed in the Square.

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