But in this case, the lightheadedness inside him was for a different reason. He had just proved something he had suspected; and that was that Henry deeply loved his sons and was already becoming fond of Bleys himself—although he would never admit or show it. Bleys had never seen him hug, or even touch Will or Joshua. The most Bleys had seen any of the boys get from him had been a sparse word of approval; or that touch of a wintry smile which seemed the most Henry could do in showing an expression of pleasure.
But Bleys had also watched the boys, in those moments; and he knew they were not deceived. They read their father as clearly as Bleys was coming to do. They knew the affection was in him; and that the brief smile was the equivalent of exuberant praise from someone of a different nature.
Now Bleys felt he had finally broken through Henry's outer armor to his inner feelings.
It was a beginning. The fourth day after that was a church-day and they all went, Henry, Joshua, Will and Bleys, in the goat cart.
They were among the first few families to get there. Bleys noticed that Gregg stood at the entrance to the church, welcoming those who had come for the service. Bleys found, however, that the other families that were already there, and those that arrived after—for he, Henry and the boys stayed outside until the actual time for the services themselves— greeted Henry and the boys warmly, but were fairly cool to him, even after Henry had introduced him as his nephew.
Finally they all went into the church. Just inside the doorway, in a little anteroom with hooks on which to hang clothes—evidently a sort of cloakroom—Henry stopped Bleys while the boys went on down the center aisle of the church.
"We share the pew with the Howardson family," he explained to Bleys, "and there is room for no one else in it. I'm afraid you'll have to sit further back and by yourself, Bleys."
Bleys was not unhappy to do so. He preferred to be at the back where he could watch but not be watched by the rest of the congregation.
"That's quite all right, Uncle," he said, "anywhere in God's house is all the same, isn't it?"
"Yes," Henry said, looking at him keenly, "you're exactly right, Bleys."
The last few pews were completely vacant. Bleys sat down in the last one to the left of the aisle and watched the other families filing into the church and going to their pews farther up front. Finally, when the last of them seemed to have filed in, a middle-aged man with a gunbelt and empty power-pistol holster around his rather capacious belly came in and sat down beside him, giving Bleys a friendly smile.
"I'm Adrian Wiseman," he said in a whisper, offering his
hand. "I'm church constable. You'll be Bleys Ahrens, Henry MacLean's nephew who's just come to live with him."
"Yes," whispered Bleys back, taking the hand gratefully. "Why are you wearing a gunbelt—and where's the pistol that goes with it?"
"Shh," said Adrian, "service's starting. I'll explain it all to you afterwards."
After the church service, which lasted a little over two hours, Bleys got up and followed Adrian out to the cloakroom in time to see him lift a power pistol off a shelf and put it in the holster at his side. He turned, saw Bleys and took him by the sleeve, pulling him back into the church out of the way of the other church members who were filing out. He sat down, pulling Bleys down to join him in the pew they had both just left.
"The church constable," said Adrian, in a low voice, if no longer in a whisper, "has the duty of protecting the service from outside interruption."
"Who'd interrupt?" asked Bleys, fascinated.
"Members of other churches who don't like ours," explained Adrian. "It can be an actual attack by members of another church. But usually, it's just teen-age youngsters who might want to show off their bravery by disrupting our service. Even trouble like that doesn't happen often. But when it does I need to get to the gun quickly; probably not to use, but as a threat, to drive them off."
"Why don't you wear it all the time then?" asked Bleys, fascinated. "—Oh, I know—it's because you're not supposed to bring a gun into church."
Adrian smiled approvingly at him.
"You're right," he said, "for my purposes, the cloakroom is considered outside the church. At the same time I want to be able to get at the weapon quickly in case I need it."
"And that's why you don't take off the gunbelt itself?" Bleys asked.
"Yes," said Adrian.
At that moment, Henry and the boys came down the aisle and collected Bleys, after a few friendly words between Henry and Adrian. It was not until they were in the goat-cart on the way home, that Bleys had a chance to ask further questions of Henry.
"Uncle?" he said, "how often does one church actually ever attack another? I mean—with all the people in the church doing the attacking."
"Rarely, nowadays," said Henry. His mouth was suddenly a straight line in his face. "I've seen it and I hope none of you ever do. It's a cruel thing to see brothers and sisters in the Lord killing each other over the interpretation of a single line of scripture."
Bleys had not been so chilled by Henry's manner or tone of voice since he had first met him at the spaceport. As soon as possible, in the afternoon of the next day, he asked Joshua why his father was so grim on the subject of wars between churches.
Joshua hesitated.
"If he wants you to know, he'll tell you himself," Joshua said.
Bleys had never had Joshua evade a question of his before. "You know he won't," Bleys said. "He never tells me anything."
Joshua still hesitated. Finally, with an effort he spoke.
"He told me to tell Will when Will was old enough. I guess he'd be agreeable to me telling you. You're family, too." Joshua hesitated again. "Bleys—he's been a Soldier of God!"
"A Soldier of God? You mean he was drafted on one of the levies you have here every so often, for young men to fight off-planet, so as to improve Association's interstellar income?"
"No, no," said Joshua, "—though he's been that, too. He ean tell you about that when he wants. He's never really told me. No, a Soldier of God is—well, sometimes, Bleys, when a church gets attacked by some other church, the church that's attacked gets help from members of those fellow churches that're on friendly terms with it. I mean, it's up to the members. Father has fought for other churches than his own."
"Oh, I see," said Bleys. "He made money that way—"
"Money! Of course not!" Joshua was outraged. "Not even a
Fanatic would fight for money alone! No, he fought for the people of the church that was attacked—at first."
"But I don't understand," said Bleys. "You say 'at first.' What did he fight for after that?"
"No, you don't understand, Bleys," said Joshua, patiently. "To fight for God's people is all right. Most of those who offer their help this way, do it for the people of the church they're helping. But . . . sometimes, after a while they come to like, it. The fighting, itself. The fighting, and—God help us—the killing. In the end they just go from church war to church war. Father found one day he . . . well, he didn't trust himself to fight with a pure heart any longer. The militia were finally called in on a war he was part of, and ... but he'll have to tell you that part himself, Bleys. I can't."
Joshua was upset; and Bleys had never seen him upset before.
"Even when we need to shoot some rabbits for the evening stew," Joshua went on in an emotion-filled voice, "he has me do it. You've seen me take the gun and go out and bring the rabbits back, but you've never seen him, have you? That's because he doesn't like touching any kind of weapon, even today. I don't think he's laid hands on the needle gun more than two or three times that I can remember in my life; and then it was only to clean it in some special way or fix it for me."
"It's all right, Josh," Bleys said, hastily. "Never mind. You're right. He'll tell me himself when the time comes."
In the days and weeks and months that followed, Bleys worked to fit himself into the pattern of life that was Henry's, and that of the other members of his-church. Fro
m time to time, understandings would come to him, even without conscious searching. He would suddenly realize that an action, one attitude, or a word by one of the other three had held a meaning he had not suspected before.
These bits of information he saved and fitted together. Little by little, he got to know each of them better. But particularly, he got to know Henry.
The brief fall came, followed by the long winter, a time of cold rains and blustery winds, here in these latitudes. He continued to study apart from those in the little school, that now daily took not only Joshua but Will from the farm. Aside from this one difference, however, he was part of their lives; and was beginning to find a peacefulness and a comfort in the regular patterns of them.
He went to the little church with them, and listened to Gregg preach. He joined with them in their hymns, that were sung, according to the conviction of their sect, without any musical accompaniment, and knelt also and prayed with them.
Struggle as he might, however, none of this brought him any closer to their belief in a God. But he began to feel a solidarity with them, that was like a warmth wrapping them all together in a single large blanket. There was a reassurance in being part of their small community; a stability that he had never felt with his mother and his mother's friends.
All this meant a great deal to Bleys, who had hungered for such stability. When he was with one of the other local people, he seemed to be liked and get along well. But little changes in the person's attitude, as he or she turned from him to give their attention to another member of the congregation, seemed to signal a lessening of this apparent liking for him. He feared that his old problem—that of being recognized as different— was affecting their attitudes, even if only unconsciously. It was as if they could smell his inability to believe in a God and be like them.
This was backed up one day when he was in the bedroom and he heard Will, who had just come in, speaking to Henry. "Father—" Will's voice asked. "Yes, Will," Henry's answered.
"Why don't the other church members like Bleys? He prays more than any of them; and he's always so good to everybody else. Joshua and I like him a lot!"
"Will," said Henry, "every person has a right to their own likes and dislikes. Pay no attention to how others feel toward your cousin. In time they may come to feel like you and Joshua toward him."
Here, the same things happened six days a week, all except the one church-day, and everyone was caught up in them together. The same rhythm of work and living possessed them all; and he was part of them in that. In a strange way, though it could never take the place of the love he had never had from his mother, it dulled the ache of that lack, which had never completely left him before this. But the source of their own comfort eluded him.
Yet, he came to understand how the effects of Henry's belief built a solid structure to the human race and the universe surrounding it. It was all ordered, planned, brought to a singleness and permanence for which Bleys found his inner self yearned. Surely, if there was a way to belief in God, it was through appreciating and understanding this single, orderly universe that centered around him.
He resolved to redouble his prayers and his efforts to find the deity.
If he could not have love, at least he could have this single, orderly universe. All he needed to do was accept the idea of an all-powerful, controlling God.
Meanwhile, his visits with Dahno had become more and more informative and interesting. Gradually, Dahno was introducing him to the life and structure of the city of Ecumeny.
He had begun taking Bleys about the city, showing him the various parts of it, and explaining how they worked, on this religiously-oriented New World. But he avoided any reference to, and stopped any questions about, his own goals in all this. Nor could Bleys find out from him what part he played, in the city and the world.
So it continued; until one weekend, when he talked Henry into letting him take Bleys for a four-day visit to Ecumeny, over Sunday.
"Of course," Henry frowned, "but the boy will miss church."
"No I won't, Uncle," said Bleys, "will I, Dahno?" Dahno smiled.
"I don't know if your church has a place in Ecumeny," he said to Henry.
"It does," said Henry. "I'll write the address down for you."
He did so on one of his slips of paper; and—interestingly enough—handed it not to Dahno, but to Bleys. Bleys folded it and put it in his shirt pocket.
"Well," said Dahno, "that's taken care of, then. Is there any other reason why Bleys shouldn't go?"
"None," said Henry. He looked directly at Dahno. "You'll take good care of him, of course."
"Of course," answered Dahno.
"You understand me," Henry said, still directly to Dahno, "the boy has lived with us for some time now and in the way of the Lord. You'll not lead him anywhere he shouldn't go?"
"I won't, Uncle," said Dahno warmly, "I promise you."
So, it was settled. But in the hovercar, once Dahno had turned on to the highway, he burst into a sudden bellow of laughter. He turned his head to look at Bleys, momentarily, a broad smile on his face.
"Good old Uncle Henry!" he said, "making sure I won't lead you astray!"
"I wouldn't be led astray, in any case," answered Bleys, levelly, meeting his brother's eyes.
The smile did not leave Dahno's face as he glanced at Bleys again, but it was diminished and the expression of the face around it had altered.
"Don't forget those milk-teeth, Little Brother," he said, gently. "Wait until you've got some real tusks."
Bleys fell silent; and nothing more was said on the ride in until they were almost into the city. Then Bleys spoke again.
"Why did you want me for four days?" Bleys asked.
"Because it's time for you to start school," answered Dahno without looking at him, "a different sort of school, Little Brother. My school. It's a place where you teach yourself; and it's most important in this case that you teach yourself rather than anyone else teaching you—including me."
Bleys' question had come because Dahno was heading the hovercar in toward a different section of Ecumeny than they had gone into before. He tucked Dahno's answer in the back of his mind, to let it ferment and wait for other small items of
information that might begin to translate it into something he could understand more.
Dahno had slowed, now, for they were in the city streets themselves; and the local speed law applied. The section they had entered was dingier than any one Bleys had ever seen in that city—or elsewhere for that matter. It was a section of office buildings, warehouses, and every so often an apartment building reaching as high as five or six stories—which for a city on this world was fairly extravagant.
It was before one of these apartment houses that Dahno finally pulled the hovercar to the curb.
"Out we get," he said, glancing over at Bleys.
CHAPTER 11
Dahno let himself out his side of the hovercar and Bleys opened the door on his side and also got out. As he turned to come around the car to the sidewalk where Dahno already stood, he heard the locks snick on the door of the hovercar.
He followed his older half-brother into the apartment building. There was a small, musty anteroom, long rather than wide and with its two long walls covered with postal boxes. An old man, one of the building attendants that were usually found on this world—but not in places as cheap-looking as this—sat at a desk.
His eyes met Dahno's. He did not say anything nor did Dahno. There was a moment of recognition between them and that was all. Dahno went over to three lift tubes along the wall, and pressed the stubby round cylinder of a key into the slot at the innermost one. Its doors slid open. They stepped in onto a disk; and the doors closed behind them.
The disk lifted them up the cylinder of the lift tube.
Bleys was watching Dahno closely. He was wondering why
they should come to a place like this. Such an apartment building, and the kind of an apartment it would probably have in it, was
not his brother's style at all, on the basis of what he knew of the man so far.
He waited for Dahno to offer some sort of explanation, but his brother said nothing. The lift stopped at the top level of the building, its doors opening on a short hallway with faded carpet and wall decoration, and a single door in the wall before them.
Once more Dahno used a key. He took it from his pocket and Bleys could not tell whether it was the same key that had operated the elevator or not. At a guess, it was. In any case, at the touch of it in the lock socket, the door before them slid back; and they stepped through into a large lounge-style room; with at least a dozen men sitting about it in overstuffed chair-floats, some talking to each other, some reading, a few with partially-filled glasses beside them.
As the door closed and locked behind them, Bleys had a single glimpse of the men there relaxed in their chairs. A moment later, they had all scrambled to their feet.
"Well, good morning, Vice-Chairmen," said Dahno, genially, "Vice-Chairmen-in-training, I should probably say. Sit down, gentlemen, sit down."
They all took their seats again. This time Bleys got a longer and better look at them. They were all large, active-looking men; none younger than the mid-twenties, and none probably older than thirty, all of them exceedingly well-dressed, in a casual style. Their clothes were rich but not flamboyant. At the same time they were not the kind of clothes that Bleys had come to associate with this world and its people. For all their size, not one of them but looked like a stripling, compared to Dahno. Standing, as usual, he dominated the room.
"This is my brother, Bleys," said Dahno, waving a hand at Bleys. "I'd like you all to take a good look at him."
He paused; and the pause gave emphasis to his next words.