This Star Shall Abide by Sylvia Engdahl Page A

demanding self-dedication, as is the training center for you, and so far my request has been denied.”
    Noren was by this time wholly absorbed by the new and promising discovery he’d made; he had forgotten to watch over his shoulder. “Perhaps the Scholars fear you might learn too much,” he suggested.
    “Too much?”
    “Maybe there are things you could indeed understand, but would make you less content to follow their orders. Would you be here in this inn tonight if you did not believe in the superior wisdom of Scholars?”
    After a slight pause, the man dropped his eyes. “I—I never thought of it that way,” he said, almost with chagrin. “No, I don’t suppose I would.”
    “Nor would I,” declared Noren. “If wisdom and Power and Machines were shared equally among all, as the Prophecy tells us will someday happen, we would both be freer and happier. Why should there be any delay?”
    Abruptly, the Technician stood up. His expression had changed; he seemed stricken by a guilt he had not felt at first. “I spoke in haste,” he said with evident distress. “We must discuss these matters with caution; the Prophecy covers them, and the Scholars are our betters—”
    Noren too got to his feet, swaying unsteadily. He was in no condition to be cautious; his head was spinning with excitement, with prolonged fatigue, and perhaps with too much ale. “But Scholars are not our betters!” he exclaimed, unaware of how his voice had risen. “They’re no better than you are, nor than the rest of us, either! Don’t you see, the Prophecy’s only an excuse; they made it up so that we wouldn’t object to having them keep things from us.”
    There was dead silence. The young Technician looked positively ill, and following his anguished gaze, Noren turned to meet the scandalized stares of nearly a dozen men: those at the other tables, old Arnil the innkeeper, and in the open doorway, a newly-arrived group that included his own two elder brothers.
    *   *   *
    Noren’s head swam dizzily. The room whirled, and for a moment he was sure he would collapse. It did not seem as if this could really have happened. How could he have been so rash as to say words that would condemn him?
    Grimly, he reminded himself that he had always known it must happen someday. “Someday,” however, was vague, and his fear of it could be pushed aside… whereas this was now . The damage was irrevocable; he would be tried tomorrow, and the next day he would reach the City without the effort of driving a trader’s sledge.
    The Technicians moved quietly into the background, for it was not their business to arrest heretics; under the High Law they could neither accuse nor give evidence. They would take charge of him only after his conviction. For the present he stood alone, facing the villagers’ enmity.
    “I knew the boy was worthless,” announced one of his brothers coldly, “but I hadn’t thought him guilty of heresy. It’s a good thing he no longer lives under our roof.”
    The public disavowal did not surprise Noren; few families would stand behind a self-proclaimed heretic, and certainly not his. The morning’s fight with this brother had nothing to do with it. He knew, however, that they were all too pleased by his downfall.
    The dread word heresy, once uttered, spread through the group like fire out of control. There hadn’t been a heresy trial in the village for some time, and the last case had been an old woman, falsely accused of disobeying the High Law by making cook-pots of unpurified clay, who had actually been acquitted. There was no possibility of acquittal when the charge was brought by many witnesses. “I’ll fetch the marshals,” cried one of his brothers’ friends excitedly.
    Several men advanced toward Noren, and one of them spat contemptuously. “So the Scholars are not your betters,” he growled. “You’ll learn differently, boy, when they get you inside that City of theirs.”
    “Why wait for that,”