The Sinners of Erspia

He was silent for a while. “Yes,” he said then, “I can see how the idea must have arisen. Our minds are bombarded with thoughts and feelings all the time. So we have the Good Lord, Ormazd, to send us good thoughts, and the Evil One, Ahriman, who tries to overthrow him by sending us bad thoughts. But look up there, Histrina, into the sky. Do you see either Ormazd or Ahriman? I don't."

“They live among the stars."

“Where are they, then?"

“So how do we get our thoughts?"

“They come from inside us. They result from natural urges, just like being hungry or thirsty. That's all there is to it. There aren't any gods in the world. That's it."

He turned on his side, facing away from her, and picked idly at the grass. Histrina was shocked. She had heard of atheism. It was the greatest sin of all.

It was also the Evil One's greatest triumph. When a human being began to believe that there was no such thing as temptation, no such thing as the struggle of the gods, then he offered no resistance to that temptation.

She smiled mischievously to herself. Hugger was caught by Ahriman better than he knew!

Then she found herself drifting off to sleep.

Hugger was shaking her. She opened her eyes with a start.

The sun had risen, and its point-source shone just over the horizon. A warm breeze blew from it, making the bushes wave.

“Come on, we have to get going."

“I'm thirsty."

“So am I."

“We should have brought water,” she complained, struggling to her feet.

“No, we shouldn't. I didn't bring any on purpose. We'd take our time if we had water. Your parents might be looking for us by now.” He sounded annoyed. “We shouldn't have stopped!"

She was shivering; they had both slept naked. She picked at the untidy heap of her clothes and began getting into them. He watched her with interest, then started pulling on his own.

They set off again, in the direction of the sun. The ground was giving up its moisture in the new warmth of day, forming a faint mist just a foot or two deep. It was a familiar sight to them both. Often they had gone to work in the fields at dawn, striding through the transient haze.

On and on they toiled. At midday the heat was uncomfortable, and began to seem fierce, parched as they were. They trailed their mantles behind them. Histrina grew weary and depressed, thinking often of turning back for home, until Hugger nudged her with his elbow.

“Look."

A stream tinkled ahead of them. With a cry of delight Histrina quickened her pace, running ahead to throw herself down and cool her bare arms in the water, scooping it to her eager lips.

Hugger joined her and she heard him gulp greedily. When they had slaked their thirst she took off her sandals and dangled her feet in the running stream.

“Why is this the first water we've found? Does the world have so little of it, except at the village?"

“You don't see a stream unless you're right on top of it. We might have passed plenty."

She looked about them. Apart from the water the scenery was unchanged. “Where are we?"

“By now we must be almost a quarter of the way to the other side of Erspia."

“How far is it to the horde?"

Hugger shrugged. “They say the main camp is directly opposite the village. Right on the other side of the world."

“Oh no! You mean we have to go on like this for another four days?"

“I don't know. The horde moves about sometimes, attacking villages of the faithful. Perhaps we won't find it at all."

He splashed water on his face, wiping himself with the sleeve of his shirt. Histrina was staring across the stream. She pointed. “Over there,” she said softly.

A horseman had appeared on the horizon. Evidently he had sighted them, for he was trotting swiftly onward, a lance held at his side.

Hugger quickly snatched up his own lance. The horseman came so close that he seemed to loom over them, before halting on the other bank.

Histrina stared fascinated at the apparition. The horseman wore a fantastic garb of many colours: a billowing cloak with strange designs on it, beneath that a glittering chemise that seemed to tumble and froth down his torso, and extraordinarily baggy breeks that were tied at the ankles. On his head was perched a wide-brimmed hat whose crown was a mass of coloured feathers.

The horse was clad, too, in a sweeping blanket or skirt that reached to its knees, while feathers sprouted from its neatly braided mane.

The horseman grinned at the pair. So far he had not threatened them with his lance, whose butt he rested against the ground. “What have we here? A pretty couple out walking where mother can't see ‘em, eh?"

“Who are you?” Hugger demanded, gripping his lance nervously.