Lawrence Watt-Evans - Shining Steel

“The elders bought it, of course-and if they'd had any brains they'd have bought more weapons with it, and shot all of you, instead of just a few!"

“A few?” Habakkuk stared at her, quietly enraged. “Thirty-one of our men and twenty-six horses were killed by that infernal weapon, and more were wounded."

“They deserved it, attacking a neutral village!"

“There are no neutrals, only the People of the True Word and the heretics.” He was in control of himself again. “Where did they buy it? Were there other weapons for sale?"

“They bought it in Little St. Peter, I heard."

“Where is that?"

Miriam stared at him in surprise. “Don't you know?"

“Just tell me where it is."

“I don't know; I'm just a village woman, I don't travel. Somewhere east of here, I guess."

Habakkuk glanced at John; he nodded slightly. “All right,” Habakkuk continued. “They bought the machine gun in Little St. Peter. Where did the people in Little St. Peter get it? Did anyone say? Did they find an ancient cache, or was someone hoarding this one gun?"

“They bought it from the People of Heaven, of course; it's not ancient."

“Oh?"

“Heck, no! You think we'd trust our lives to some rusty antique? That machine-gun was brand-new!"

“And your village elders bought this brand-new machine-gun from the folks in Little St. Peter, and they bought it from the People of Heaven?"

“That's what I heard."

“So where did the People of Heaven come by it, then?"

“They built it, I'd reckon-and they've built plenty more, I'm sure, and when you go up against them you'll get your heads shot off, just the way you deserve!"

Habakkuk glanced at John, then at the display of knives, then back at the woman. “You think they built it?"

“Somebody must have, and from what I've heard, the People of Heaven are the ones to do it."

Habakkuk leaned back on his chair. “And just what have you heard?"

The woman was suddenly quiet. “Not much."

“How much?"

“Really, not much; just that the People of Heaven are running a protectorate, with maybe twenty or thirty villages signed up in some kind of a pact without any conversions or tithes that I've heard of, and that they've got the guns and other stuff to make it work."

“Where'd you hear this?"

Defensive, Miriam said, “Well, the elders were thinking about joining, maybe; I heard my daddy talking, that's all."

“Your daddy was one of the elders?"

“Until one of your men cut his throat, he was."

“He wanted to join this protectorate?"

“I didn't say that; he voted against it. The others were all for it, said look how well Little St. Peter's doing, but Daddy thought we were just fine the way we were, and he didn't trust the People of Heaven. He thought we could get along fine as we always had, didn't think anyone would ever bother us.” Her voice broke. “I guess he was wrong.” She snuffled, all her earlier defiant appearance gone.

Habakkuk looked at John again.

He, in turn, looked at the girl. She was about twenty, he judged, of medium height and pleasantly plump, with soft brown hair that was currently dirty and tangled; a large bruise covered one cheek. She had apparently not escaped the soldiers’ attentions, but all in all did not seem to have suffered excessively. “Is that all you know about the People of Heaven?” John asked.

“That's all."

“How long have they been running this protectorate thing?"

“I don't know; a year or two, I guess."

“You ever hear about them, Hab?"

“Not that I recollect,” Habakkuk replied.

John had in fact heard of them vaguely; one of the Elders had said something when preparing this expedition, though did not remember exactly who it had been. The People of Heaven had recently appeared on the scene in the southeastern hills, down toward Judah; nobody seemed to know their heritage exactly, so the Elders of the True Word and Flesh assumed they were a new group, gathered by a new false prophet who had somehow won adherents to his particular brand of heresy without any claim to birthright ministry. Such false prophets had arisen from time to time in the history of Godsworld; usually their cults fell apart as soon as the leader died.

The People of the True Word and Flesh had no quarrel with the People of Heaven, so far as John knew-other than the fact that, like all groups except his own, the People of Heaven were heretics, fallen from the True Path-but for his own part he disliked protectorates. The idea of villages and towns banding together as a mere business arrangement, without sharing one faith and without proving their value in battle, seemed wrong, somehow. A nation was meant to be a single people, united in their beliefs, and who had tested the strength of those beliefs against their enemies. God promised the final victory to the righteous-but how could the righteous triumph if their enemies banded together against them? And a league or protectorate could not possibly all be righteous, if its people were not in accord with one another.

Of course, most protectorates and alliances fell apart quickly enough; the stronger ally would absorb the weaker, or the client states would betray the protector or rebel against him. John saw the workings of God in such events. The mighty shall be cast down, he thought, so that the People of the True Word and Flesh may triumph.

He fully expected that his people would in time unite all of Godsworld in a single faith, as it had been when first men came there from Earth. The People of the True Word and Flesh were strong, because they had the true faith-and they knew theirs to be the true faith because it made them strong. Theirs would be the kingdom and the glory, John knew.

If the People of Heaven were really making machine-guns, however, the day of that kingdom's coming might be long delayed, indeed.

How could they be making machine-guns? Quite aside from the lost knowledge involved, and the unheard-of machining skills, where were they getting the powder? Had the legendary mother lode of sulphur finally been found?

Or was it the brimstone of Hell itself they used? Perhaps the People of Heaven were the armies of Satan, come to subvert Godsworld as they did Earth, so long ago. John had heard a heretic explain once that the reason Godsworld had no sulphur to make gunpowder was that sulphur was a product of Hell, and Godsworld was too close to Heaven for such things. Certainly Earth had been closer to Hell, and sulphur was said to be cheap and plentiful there.

But then, many things were said to be plentiful back on Earth-sulphur and iron and plastic, and varieties of plants and animals. The stories told of a black stone that could be burned like nearwood, called coal, and black oil that came from the ground; Godsworld had nothing like that. Undoubtedly Godsworld had its share of things Earth had not.

None of that concerned him at present, however. The machine-gun did.

“We'll want to send someone to Little St. Peter to see if she's telling the truth,” he said.

Habakkuk frowned. “We don't have many men to spare for that,” he replied.

“If they're really building machine-guns over there, we'd better find out about it as soon as possible."

“True enough,” Habakkuk admitted grudgingly.

John looked at Miriam with interest; she stared back defiantly. “Why did you tell us all this?” he asked.

“Because I want you to go and see for yourselves-and get your heads blown off by the People of Heaven."

“You're sure that's what'll happen?"

“No, I'm not sure-I'm just hoping."

“We'll send someone,” John said with clear finality. “Call the next prisoner and get someone to take this woman to my quarters; I want to keep her close at hand."