Walter Miller, Jr.: Saint Leibowitz and the Wild Horse Woman

Nor was she to be found in Valana.

But Aberlott was, working as a secular scribe in the square of Saint John’s, under the walls of the Great Hall of Saint Ston’s and next door to the old Papal Palace where Amen had delivered his now-legendary seventeen-hour acceptance speech. The air of Valana was rich with the familiar urban smells of horse dung, food, and smoke. The streets were bustling; after the Crusade’s defeat, many of the Nomads had come to settle in the narrow strip of farmland watered by the mountains. They bought and sold horses and cattle, changing their ways to suit their world’s changing ways.

“I got tired of being a soldier,” Aberlott said. “Did you tire of being a cardinal, Your Excellency?”

“I’m not a cardinal anymore,” Blacktooth said, finding his old companion’s sarcasm as tiresome as ever. Aberlott had a long scar under one eye, which he said he had “earned” outside the gates of Hannegan City when the Texark troops had outflanked and ambushed Høngan Ösle’s warriors. It went well with his missing ear.

“I almost bled to death,” Aberlott said. “I ended up in Hannegan City. Once the fighting was over, the Empire just folded us in, like raisins into a cake. Many of the Qæsach dri Vørdar’s Nomads are now part of the Emperor’s guard. I wandered around for a few weeks, then got a spot as secretary to a N’Ork Churchman who arrived for the conclave, and couldn’t speak Ol’zark.”

“Conclave?”

“Oh, yes,” Aberlott said. “Sorely Nauwhat called a conclave and had himself made Pope, or perhaps we might say Filpeo had him made Pope. Urion Benefez was bitter; still is, I imagine. Without Brownpony to resist and stall and prevaricate, the bishops and archbishops drifted in, and Sorely nullified all the nullifications of the Amen Two, and then Wooshin nullified Filpeo.”

“The Axe.”

“Indeed,” said Aberlott. “Stopped his carriage in the street. Sliced off his head when Filpeo stuck it out the window to see what was going on. The Hannegan’s guard showered your yellow man with bullets but he welcomed them, he bared his throat and chest and belly to them. I saw it.”

When Blacktooth closed his eyes he could see Wooshin’s disapproving narrow eyes. “I would be dead now if it were not for him.”

“Wouldn’t we both? Anyway, you are no longer a cardinal. The papacy has been removed to Hannegan City, which is ruled by Benefez, as regent for several of Filpeo’s sons, who will settle it among themselves, in typically bloody fashion, I imagine, when they come of age. In the meanwhile, a rough peace reigns.”

Aberlott had married Anala, the sister of Jæsis, bringing her and two small children to Valana from New Jerusalem. He offered Blacktooth a place to stay, but the house was small and Blacktooth discovered he had no taste for domestic life. “I have been a monk too long,” he told Aberlott, bidding him farewell and heading out toward the south.

It was a very good year for the buzzards. The younger generation waxed strong, soared high and far on black wings, waiting for the fruitful earth to yield up her bountiful carrion. One night, Blacktooth awakened in a cold sweat and thought that his fever was back. Then he looked north and saw the sky filled with Nunshån, the Night Hag, huge and ugly. He could see stars through her upraised arms. “Who is dying?” he asked aloud; he found out later it was his old friend Chür Ösle Høngan. Brownpony’s plan had been a disaster for the Nomads. After the defeat, the Three Hordes had turned their backs on one another. The Treaty of the Sacred Mare no longer held, and the Plains were littered with bodies thrown down by drought, by famine, and by the motherless ones.

Blacktooth traveled south across the Nady Ann, the Bay Ghost, and at last the Brave. No longer a cardinal, he expected to be turned away at Mother Iridia’s convent of San Pancho Villa of Cockroach Mountain, but she welcomed him almost as an old friend. She had no news, though, of Sister Clare-of-Assisi. She suspected Ædrea was somewhere with her own people.

“Her own people?” Blacktooth protested. “I was at New Jerusalem, and they knew nothing of her.”

“The gleps,” said Mother Iridia. “The spooks. The Valley of the Misborn.”

The Jackrabbit country had always been harsh, but after two dry summers it had become even harsher. The wet years were over. Sand was taking the grass. Hannegan City was prospering, though. The Empire had turned east, and was looking toward the woodlands and the growing commerce up the Red from the Great River.

Blacktooth worked several days in the marketplace as a scribe before he was summoned to a papal audience. The summoner surprised him even more than the summons, for it was Torrildo, wearing a curate’s gown, complete with feather.

“I told His Excellency you were here,” the still handsome young man told Blacktooth. “You should be more careful; you are still under interdiction.”

“I don’t see why. If he took away my cardinalship, why couldn’t he take away my interdiction?”

“It’s Benefez,” Torrildo said. “He thinks you had a hand in killing Filpeo.”

I did, thought Blacktooth.

“He probably thanks you for it,” said Torrildo. “But he doesn’t particularly want you around.”

Sorely Nauwhat was most respectful and even curious to hear of Blacktooth’s adventures. He was especially interested in the situation on the Plains, but he knew more than Blacktooth. The apparition of the Night Hag had been seen all over the High Plains. The Weejus women were not pleased. When the Qæsach dri Vørdar returned from the South, he was called before them and put to death. After the funeral feast his bones were buried in three widely separated locations, decided by each of the three hordes.

“Why is he telling me this?” Blacktooth wondered as the plump, grave Pope rattled on, seemingly unconcerned about the time. He is burying Brownpony’s dreams. Filpeo’s were buried next: the Pope, who had been in the Emperor’s carriage, described in gruesome detail how Wooshin had done his work. Filpeo’s guard were equipped with the first copies of the repeaters, and several misfired. Axe had removed the head of the seventh Hannegan in a single stroke, then laid down his sword and knelt to receive the bullets chasing into his chest like bees into a hive.

Dominus ex deu.

The audience lasted all afternoon, and was exhausting. After the lengthy and bloody assassination, Pope Sorely described the imperial situation in great detail. The repeating weapons were decisive. With them, Texarkana at last controlled the Plains. The old way of life was dying, and those who could not see the end coming could hear it keening in the wind. Even the grass was going. Crescent-shaped hills of sand marched slowly from west to east. The Empire that had secured its western frontiers now looked more and more to the east. New Rome smoldered for years but was never rebuilt….

“My son—”

Blacktooth had fallen asleep. The Pope didn’t seem insulted. When he left the log Papal Palace, Blacktooth was given a small sack of gold coins at the door. Pay for listening, he thought; and then on reflection realized it was travel money. He was to make himself scarce.

That had been his intention all along. Hannegan City, like Valana, was in turmoil. The streets were crowded with horses and men. The army was being decommissioned, new legates were piling out for the west, and the Grasshopper lands to the north were being opened up to the motherless ones and also to those among the Hannegan’s former enemies who wanted to celebrate the new peace by raising cattle and grass.

Leaving was easy. Blacktooth was weary of cities and old friends and enemies. He was weary of mankind, so using the Pope’s money he bought himself an ass, or to be precise, a mule, and headed north along the ragged edge where the forest meets the plains.