Free Beyond The Tomorrow Mountains by Sylvia Engdahl Page A

origin and who had never craved more knowledge than was useful in the village, would find them disturbingly alien. She did not. She found them holy. In her own way, she too considered them the abode of truth.
    They stood hand in hand, with the sun streaming down between the lustrous towers to the incongruously rough pavement of the courtyard, while he told her all he could about the life in store for her, amazed by the serenity with which she confronted it. Talyra had always thought it proper for the Scholars to have secrets, so the fact that anyone who learned some of those secrets must be kept permanently within the walls was in her view very logical. That among Technicians Inner City work was an honor seemed natural to her; that she herself should be so honored filled her with gladness. Slowly, Noren began to see that he’d underestimated Talyra. She had never been unwilling to accept new ideas. Her convictions were entirely sincere, and the discovery that the exaggerated teachings of the prevalent religion weren’t officially endorsed merely strengthened those convictions. “I’ve said all along that our sacred duty is to the spirit of the Mother Star.” she declared. “If some of what people think about it is mistaken, so what? Do you suppose I’d take my family’s word over a Scholar’s?”
    She was surprised, of course, to learn that Scholars were not born, but appointed; yet this did not shock her either. “How are people chosen?” she asked curiously.
    “That is a deep secret,” Noren replied gravely. “Only the Scholars themselves are allowed to know that.” It was an answer that satisfied her completely.
    All the things he had expected to have trouble in presenting—that Scholars wore robes only for ceremonies and audiences; that one did not kneel to them on other occasions; that Inner City people, whether Scholars or Technicians, commonly ate together, shared leisure time, and even intermarried—proved easy for Talyra to accept. There was just one point that was awkward. “Noren,” she asked hesitantly, “can former heretics marry, too?”
    He was prepared; he’d known well enough that the matter must be discussed. “A heretic must have the permission of the Scholars,” he told her, “but in time, it is often granted.” He drew her toward him, fingering the red necklace she wore, the betrothal gift he had bought in the village with coins hoarded throughout his boyhood. “You know, don’t you, that we’d get married right away if I were free to?”
    “Of course.”
    “There are reasons why I am not free, and I—I don’t know when I will be. There may be a long wait. It may never be possible at all.” Painfully he added, “You are not bound by such restrictions. If someone else were to ask you, you could marry him whenever you wished.”
    “Oh, Noren! As if I would!”
    “It’s likely that you’ll have suitors,” he said frankly. It was all too likely, since because of the way girls were reared in the villages, far fewer women than men became heretics. Although unmarried Technician women who requested Inner City work were frequently brought in, they did not stay unmarried long. He could hardly ask Talyra to wait for him. Yet neither could he pretend that he had left her free, he thought miserably, for obviously she would wait, whether he asked it or not. He’d known that when he’d consented to her admission, and he had also known that she might wait in vain. Perhaps he’d been selfish… but much as he loved her, he could not assume the robe on that basis.
    She regarded him with concern, sensing his anguish. “You couldn’t receive the Scholar Stefred’s blessing, nor can you yet marry—is the penance so harsh, Noren? I thought at first, when you said you’d been pardoned—”
    “There is no penance. The Scholar Stefred has conferred more upon me than you can imagine; underneath he’s as kind as he is wise.”
    “But he told me that even he is not free to do as he