Free Phoenix Without Ashes by Harlan Ellison, Edward Bryant Page B

backed away from the ax. He gestured at the cassette gripped in Aram’s free hand. “Won’t you believe me? That is the voice of the Creator. I watched Micah, listened to him as he created it.”
    “My last warning, boy,” said Aram. “Perhaps thou fearest me not, but others will be coming soon if thou, as thy say, have attacked the Elders. Thou art a heretic and an idolater. They will confine thee or worse.”
    “The hills...” said Rachel, her voice strained. “Hide there.”
    “I’ll be back for you,” said Devon. “We can’t live like this; we have to fight them.” Hopelessly, he started to turn toward the edge of the porch.
    Rachel tried to pull away from her mother’s restraining hand. “Devon, I love you—”
    Aram slammed the door.
     
    Old William the metalsmith had long since departed for home and his evening meal. The moon was clearly framed in the eastern sky as Garth cleaned up the remnants of his day’s labors. He turned as the door to the smithy flew open.
    “What do you want?” Garth’s voice was as flat and hard as a tempered blade.
    Young Goodman’s teeth gleamed in a feral smile. “Elder Micah has sent me. The Elders demand your presence and aid.”
    Garth turned to arrange tools in the rack above the bench. “For what reason?”
    “Your friend,” said Goodman. He underscored the second word with irony. “Curious Devon.”
    “What are you talking about?”
    Goodman said with satisfaction, “Devon has proved himself demon-possessed. He has defied the Elders and stolen a holy relic from the Place of Worship. He has also attacked and injured two Elders.”
    Garth realized his mouth was open and consciously shut it. “I cannot believe that.”
    Goodman extended his animal smile. “You may believe that Elder Micah has called together a group of men to seek Devon out and restrain him.”
    “My work is not yet finished.” He turned away and resumed placing the tongs and hammers.
    “It is a direct order of the Council.”
    Without looking at him, Garth said heavily. “Then it is my duty to obey.”
    “Then make haste,” said Goodman. “Micah believes Devon is making for the hills. Once there, he’ll be difficult and dangerous to root out.”
    “As dangerous as a mountain cat?”
    Goodman’s face went pale. Anger constricted his words. “If you ever—” He did not complete the threat.
    “I might.” Garth shoved contemptuously past him and out into the night.
     

ELEVEN
     
    The six-sided moon shed a cold glow from the east as Devon fled toward the hills. The underbrush tore painful cat-scratches in his flesh as he climbed across gullies. Territory that was familiar during the day, now, by night, became an alien landscape. Devon took a shortcut through a narrow peninsula of woods. In the sudden darkness, a night bird screamed and he began to run. A tangle of fallen limbs caught him just below the knees. Devon pitched headlong into the strewn dead leaves.
    He lay stationary for a few minutes, letting the panic subside and catching his breath. The leaves crackled with the rhythm of his expanding and contracting ribcage. He twisted his head so that his nose was no longer buried in their bitter scent. The knotted pain below his ribs began to subside.
    When he heard the distant sounds of the mob, he knew it was time to continue. Devon got to his feet and went forward, feeling his way between the trees. Behind him, the moon showed itself only intermittently through the forks and branches of the interlocking crowns. To his right, an owl hooted, the sound still louder than the shouts of Devon’s pursuers.
    Devon burst free of the sheltering trees and found himself on the verge of a broad meadow. Then he saw the telltale flicker of torches on the far side; they were between the hills and him. While he had rested in the woods, a portion of the mob had evidently raced ahead in a pincers movement to cut him off from the hills.
    He turned back, but the rest of the torches were still