At a velocity of fifty miles per hour he steered the Ormazdian globe directly at its Ahrimanic twin. It was frightening to see the other projector station expand swiftly on the viewscreen until its striated surface hurtled close and still loomed larger. Histrina screamed, her hand to her mouth. Collision came with a shattering, clanging noise which rang throughout the station, but there was little effect on the two humans otherwise—the inertial field ensured that. Instead of being smashed against the forward wall, they felt no more than a shudder. Laedo heard a hiss of escaping air, but he didn’t worry about it very much. The inertial field would also be capable of compensating for breaches in hull integrity; if that failed bulkheads would close, sealing off the damaged area.
Ahriman moved, pushed off position. Where the two globes came in contact they seemed stuck together, but this was only because Laedo was keeping up the pressure, accelerating Ahriman down towards the surface of Erspia-1.
As soon as they hit the atmosphere he disengaged. Ahriman kept on falling, well within the gravity well by now. If the station staff, demented as they would be by a century and a half of living in the backwash of the evil beam, still had the presence of mind to activate the star drive, then his gamble would be lost.
He had been careful not to take Histrina and himself through the Ahrimanic beam. He continued to stay well clear of it as he followed the station down, aware that the structure might start to tumble. It did not appear to recover, but plummeted towards the ground, hurtling through the thin cloud layer.
At the very end the staff seemed to make some attempt to regain control. The station faltered in its trajectory. But it was too late. The globe struck the ground and crumpled, then went rolling much as the Ormazdian station had on Erspia-2, though with far more destructive results. When it came to rest, it was all but shattered. As for the cylindrical tube of the beam projector, that was gone altogether, the place where it had been gaping up at the sky.
Very likely the staff had survived. The inertial field should have held through all or most of the landing, which would have saved them.
But with luck, the station itself was permanently out of action. Dipping low, he passed several times over the wreck to test whether any violent thoughts came into his mind. He detected nothing abnormal.
Erspia-1’s long, artificially contrived moral drama was over.
Turning the station aside, he began, with Histrina’s help, to search for the village of Courhart.
TEN
Homecoming
Histrina’s heart was in her mouth as they sailed through the air over her home world. Her mind was in confusion. She could remember doing violent things, even killing people, but it was as if somebody else had done them. She could not, now, understand what had made her behave in that way.
She was nervous of coming home. She was extremely nervous of facing the priest and confessing her sins. But she was also eager to see her family again. She felt as though she had been away for years, though in reality it was only days.
After a while she spotted a landmark: a range of high hills known as the Thespan Mounts. Laedo had noticed that similar formations dotted all the Erspia worlds. He surmised that Klystar had put them there as windbreaks; part of a pattern of climatic variation.
They passed over the smashed and still-smoking remains of villages. Once they saw a column of men, some mounted, some on foot, dragging themselves towards an unknown destination. The men gawped upwards as the projector station passed over, momentarily pausing from their incessant quarrels and fights. Their once gaudy apparel was bedraggled and torn.
Histrina became more and more frightened as she saw the burned and deserted villages. When Courhart came in sight she shrieked.
It was the same as everywhere else. The roofs of the few unburnt cottages had been stoved in. But unlike in many of the other villages, there were still some people about, stumbling among the ruins.
And what gave her some faint cause for hope, the chapel still stood.
Knuckles in her mouth, she sat staring at the screen. Guided by Laedo, the station descended and set down outside the village.
He turned to her, and said gently, “I told you there might be bad news, Histrina.”
Histrina gave a bird-like cry and ran from the control room along the corridor leading to the hatch.
Before Laedo could gather his wits she had pulled the lever to open it and was hurrying down the stairway even as it unfolded. She went racing towards the ruined village.
What a terrible sight! Blackened walls, desolation, smashed furniture thrown out into the streets. Histrina looked wildly about her for some sign of life. She spotted a ragged boy sitting on a wall, head hanging.
She ran up to him. He raised a smudged, tear-stained face. Even in his wretched condition she recognised him.
“Tippy!”
In place of a greeting, the youngster gave her an evil leer.
Then his face collapsed and he began to weep in snivelling sobs.
Her home! Histrina left the boy and ran until she came to the cottage where she had been raised.
It had been burned like the others.
Disconsolately she wandered through the charred, once cosy rooms. Where were her parents? Where was her younger sister Questra? There was no sign of them.
The sound of footsteps brought her to the door. Ragged, bearded, weaponed men stood grinning at her.
From their colourful clothing she knew they were of Hoggora’s camp; but they seemed to have forgotten to take care of their appearance. It was as if they were too sunk in depravity to care. Indeed they seemed exhausted.
“What a choice morsel,” said one teasingly. He grinned, showing white teeth. “How about it, lads?”
Another spoke sullenly. “Hoggora says the young ones are to be taken to the chapel, for the Father.”
“Oh, for the Father.” The first speaker shrugged, and turned away. “Take her, then.”
The Father! Perhaps he could tell her if her family was safe! Unresistingly Histrina allowed herself to be grabbed by the wrist and led away. At the entrance porch to the chapel, she was yanked roughly within.
It was as she remembered. The coolness, the sense of calm, the slanting sunlight penetrating the dimness.
But something was wrong. Instead of the aroma of incense, there was the smell of blood.
“More sport for you, Father,” said the warrior who had brought her here. “We found her in one of the cottages.”
He departed. Histrina directed her gaze down the length of the chapel.
The priest of the Good God, Father Gromund whom she had known all her life, was standing by the alter. As usual he was dressed in his brocaded robe with the golden sunburst on the front. But his hair was matted and tangled, and the robe itself was stained and dirtied.
Dirtied. With dried blood.
Father Gromund turned to meet her gaze. His eyes widened in recognition.
“Histrina! My dear young Histrina! I have you at last!” he made an impatient gesture into the shadows. “
Bring her here!”
Father Gromund’s tonsured acolyte crept forward into the sunlight. Whereas before his young face had been soft, doe-eyed, almost effeminate, now it was grim and determined. He quickened his pace, strode to Histrina and grabbed her roughly by the arm. “Come.”
Dragging her the length of the nave, he thrust her at the priest and disappeared once more into the darkness.
Then Histrina’s bewilderment began in earnest. Before she knew what was happening Father Gromund had picked her up and had lain her back on the altar. Expertly he fastened thongs to her wrists and ankles. These were fixed to the altar in some way. She was helpless, lying face up, arms and legs drawn down to the floor.