A strategic weakness, said Raj. Would be fatal if the scrub lands weren’t so poor. So it is in the interest of Zentrum to keep them poor or at least to keep them sedated. And he doesn’t care how he does it, either. When the Redlanders have built up to any extent, he doesn’t just allow them to invade. He practically invites them in.
Your people have myths of these nomadic invasions. They are called the Blood Winds.
“I know about that,” said Abel, again returning to the spoken word to expresses a more complicated thought. “Elder Newfeld taught us about it in Thursday school.”
The people of the Land had grown wicked and disobeyed the commandments of God, the elder had said. So Zentrum, God’s voice, allowed their enemies to attack and destroy every other man, woman, and child. Even the donts. That was the part Abel particularly hated.
Zentrum made an accommodation with the invading Redlander tribes. They were given lands, titles, wealth. They stayed, interbred-and were absorbed into the surviving populace. This has happened time and again.
It’s going to happen again, Abel, Raj said. Soon.
What’s going to happen?
Blood Winds. They’re coming.
Abel leaned back, slowed the flyer. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach. In the stories, the Redlanders hadn’t just killed the people of the Land. They’d spitted babies on the ends of their spears. They’d taken kids away to be slaves forever.
And worst of all, they tortured the riding donts before they slaughtered them. Cut off their hoofpads. Tied their mouths closed and plugged their blowholes so they couldn’t breathe.
Abel loved riding donts, loved everything about them. It hurt him inside to hear a dont scream in pain. It really bothered him if that pain came from a whip lashing or the kick of a glassrock spur. If he hated one thing more than all else, it was people who were mean to donts.
“They’re going to kill the donts? All of them? They can’t do that!”
Maybe they can and maybe they can’t, Raj said, his tone softer. That’s part of why we’re here, Center and me.
You can stop it? But you said God wants them to win, to-
Raj cut him off. Zentrum. Again, lad, Zentrum is not God. God doesn’t care who wins or loses a fight. Well, let’s just say God’s thinking on such matters is a bit hard to figure. Zentrum, on the other hand, has a very simple plan. Keep things the way they’ve always been. Forever. Maintain stasis.
He has achieved this aim on Duisberg for nearly three thousand years by restricting the population to this peculiar blend of Neolithic and early industrial-age technology.
Abel pictured the Land, the rolling fields of barley and flax he’d passed on the way from Lindron to Hestinga. The flitterdonts and the hardbacks and especially Mot, the little riding dont that was his special mount.
“What’s wrong with Stasis? That’s what all the Laws and Edicts are supposed to be for.”
Can’t last, Raj said. And there’s no fallback.
Zentrum has made a fundamental miscalculation that will destine this planet to ruin, said Center. It was based on insufficient information. After all, when the Collapse came, the slide was rapid due to nannite viral infection of electronica via the Tanachi Net. A secured military or planetary defense computer of some sort, a being such as myself in original configuration, is often the only electronic suite that survived intact. My kind can be an extremely protective, even paranoid, lot.
Creativity, innovation, people having a say in their own governance, said Raj. Zentrum hates all that.
The words and their meanings again exploded in Abel’s mind. He closed his eyes against the strain, but it didn’t seem to help. This was not a headache. It was more like a mind ache.
And within all the words, one shining, horrible, wondrous, amazing fact stood out.
What the voice said was true.
Zentrum was not God. Not even the voice of God.
Zentrum was a mean Thursday school teacher who wanted you to sit up straight and recite the Law for watch after watch. Who never let you do anything that wasn’t Edict. Who whacked you with the correction stick when you got out of Stasis for even one second.
In the Land, it’s Thursday forever, lad, said Raj.
When Abel opened his eyes again, he was hovering over the Fourth Cataract near the River’s headwaters as it cascaded out of the Schnee.
A village stretched below him. Its rooftops not flat, as were all roofs Abel had ever seen so far. These were oddly tilted and joined at the center in ridges.
They’re for shedding the autumn rains, lad, Raj said with a chuckle. Never seen the like, have you? Not only that, sometimes in midwinter they’re topped with snow.
White, like in the stories?
Yes, lad. At least for a day. Then the dust settles in and browns it down.
Behold Orash, Progar District, said Center. Behold the gateway of the Blood Wind.
2
Observe:
The Redlanders flooded down the Escarpment toward the forts at the choke point of the River. The donts they rode upon were Valley stock sold to them by the very villagers they were now attacking. It didn’t matter. The Redlanders cut through the villagers like a scythe.
Time to go down, said Raj, and abruptly Abel found himself off the flyer and standing in a village street.
The principle street of Orash in a not-distant future. Observe:
Screaming people were running past him. Babies were crying. Children were yelling for their parents, for their brothers and sisters.
Nobody knew where to go or what to do.
Because there wasn’t anywhere to go.
The rumble of massed riding donts in the distance. Men on dontback. Abel recognized the sound well enough without Center’s data planting.
Screams that were screams of pain.
A single villager charging down the street straight at Abel, a wild look on his face and insanity in his eyes.
It was the eyes that frightened Abel the most.
He’s seen something, Abel thought to himself. Something horrible.
Their eyes locked, and the man headed directly toward Abel at a quick pace, as if tugged by a lanyard.
Abel flinched. The man with the crazy eyes was going to run right over him. There was no time to dodge, no time to jump away.
But then the man stumbled. Slowed.
Still his eyes remained locked with Abel’s.
And then he keeled over and fell on his face at Abel’s feet.
The man’s back was pierced with arrows as if he were a human pincushion. And there was a gunshot to the left shoulder blade. Meat and muscle hung loose, and the ball had wreaked terrible damage to the bone.
It looks like a ragged, bloody cave, Abel thought. Bone glinted within torn skin.
Enough, said Raj.