Believers' World

By Robert A.W. Lowndes

Everything about the worlds of Ein, three habitable planets in this strange hyperspace, gave the appearance of magic; yet beneath this Arabian Nights culture was a technology far in advance of Earth. And when Laird Dondyke, fugitive, arrived on Speewry, he found himself caught up in an intricate webwork of intrigue, whose purpose was
to funnel vital scientific information back to Earth.

But that was only the smallest part of it, for while the theocratic culture on all three planets was the same, each maintained that it, and it alone, was the world of the true prophet of Ein, and the other two worlds were creations of evil. And each of the planets actually possessed the means to destroy the other two worlds completely —when Ein willed!

Dondyke found himself caught up in this maze when he saw a vision and a ghost within a few minutes of each other on the streets of Einwill, capital of Speewry. The vision was a golden-haired girl and the ghost a red-haired youth the image of Dondyke's brother, Bruce—the brother for whose untimely death Laird Dondyke felt guilt-ridden. He would have to help Tom Corey in whatever way he could, wherever this led him.

He was an Unbeliever, as were many Earthmen who had come here to settle on these worlds, but some had become converts to the fantastic religion that permeated every atom of this culture, and Dondyke learned that faith raised an impenetrable barrier between him and Alanna. But when he accepted conversion, he discovered that his troubles had
only begun.

Here is an ironic tale of adventure and romance in a strange world of super-science, where everything came down to a matter of faith. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thunderchild Publishing
• Release date: Feb 27, 2024
• ISBN: 9781667699455

Book preview

Table of Contents

BELIEVERS’ WORLD, by Robert A.W. Lowndes

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

DEDICATION

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BELIEVERS’ WORLD,

by Robert A.W. Lowndes

COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

Copyright © 1961 by Robert A.W. Lowndes (renewed 1989)

Published by arrangement with the Lowndes estate

All rights reserved.

Edited by Dan Thompson

A Thunderchild eBook

Published by Thunderchild Publishing

First Edition: June 1961

First Thunderchild eBook Edition: July 2013

Cover design by Dan Thompson.

DEDICATION

To Martin Greenberg

for understanding criticism.

CHAPTER ONE

Laird Dondyke saw a vision and a ghost within the same five minutes that morning on an impossible world. He walked along the sidewalks of a city named Einwill, on a planet called Speewry, feeling as if he were in a magic spell as the golden light of the sun known as Ein beat down upon him. His eyes sought out symbols on the clothing of the men and women who passed him—symbols on a robe or tunic which proclaimed that here was a True Believer. As an Unbeliever, Dondyke would be expected to step aside politely.

It was a living costume-drama, he thought, as he looked at the variety of colorful, decorated robes and heavy tunics on the passers-by, both male and female. His own apparel was no less colorful: forest green around the edges of his robe, lighter green within, all a background for the pattern of spirals in orange, and snowflakes in black, that was the property of his clothing and no one else’s. No ordinary citizen wore white, even for decoration; that was reserved for officials, and the more white showing, the less decoration, the higher the rank of the official. The complication was that white did not look white outdoors; this sun, Ein, made everything that would have looked white on Earth outdoors seem golden yellow. Dondyke wondered if an excess of sodium in Ein’s photosphere might be the explanation.

The paving beneath his feet was firm as stone, but had something of the resilience of rubber. It seemed to be set in various polygonal blocks, the black spaces between them forming intricate arabesques. There was no curb between sidewalk and street, just a sharp division in color; the red of the sidewalk gave way to deep purple and the black interstices became yellow. And the street proper lacked the resilient texture of the sidewalk.

Those who traveled along the streets, which never seemed to be crowded, rode bicycles at leisurely speeds; and various-sized carriages were drawn by bicycles in tandem, propelled by the leg-muscles of public and private servants. Dondyke stepped to one side to let a bearded Believer pass, wondering how he could obtain the information he needed. An Unbeliever might not address a Believer unless spoken to first. Oh well, the bazaars were about half a mile ahead, and he had been directed to the pipe-seller there. Doubtless no one would be ignored by the merchants in the bazaars.

He was passing a park area which extended on either side of the street; here were trees and shrubs and various-shaped plots of flowers both familiar and unfamiliar in shape and color. He saw foliage which reminded him of terrestrial trees, but most was strange and exotic: leaves that suggested feathers, or strings of beads; fine tendrils like hair, some long and flowing, some curly; branches which seemed to be covered with fur or sheathed with what seemed to be rubber, mottled like artificial snakes; tall, thin trees without leaves, but covered with toadstool-like flowers. Red, pink, orange, chartreuse in all tones and textures; and scents that ranged from musk to ripe fruit, all assailed Dondyke’s senses.

Children laughed, screamed, shouted, ran, and infested the trees—those that would bear them, or offer hand-holds for climbing. There seemed to be but few birds; perhaps the absence of the variety of insect life common to Earth accounted for this. Praised by Ein, ran the saying here, who sendeth not the creeping and crawling vermin to infest us, nor the loathsome flies to infect us. Believers nodded their heads at phrases like this—probably without knowing what vermin or flies might be, Dondyke thought—sure that these things were something unpleasant which God graciously spared them. Dondyke looked up the street and saw the vision.

An open, two-seat carriage was approaching slowly, drawn by a six-pedal tandem, but it was the woman who sat within it who drew the Earthman’s eyes. The gold of her tunic, which was not designed to conceal her figure, matched the flowing gold of her hair; the red designs on her clothing matched the red of her lips. Lord, he thought, an houri right out of the Arabian Nights. Only she was most likely the daughter of some prosperous merchant whose business covered all three planets in this system: Speewry, Ghrekh, and Pittam.

He knew he shouldn’t stare or follow her with his eyes; this could result in a challenge to a duel from any Believer. The unbelieving were not persecuted officially, but it was always open season on them and on Deceivers, so far as the private citizen was concerned. Just what deceivers might be, Dondyke wasn’t sure; they seemed to be some sort of heretics. And although he wasn’t one to run from a fight, Laird Dondyke was willing to undergo a reasonable amount of conformity to avoid unnecessary trouble.

Beware, Unbeliever! came the shout of a young boy, and Dondyke looked around to see a band of men robed in black emerging from the park. This was astonishing; the decorations on their robes were not alike, but the common black background made the group look as much like men in uniform as Dondyke had yet seen on this world. He stepped to one side, ready for action.

But they weren’t after him; they passed him without a glance and ran out into the street, in front of the carriage, brandishing knives and shouting insults. Dondyke heard the phrase, foul Deceivers of Ghrekh! and saw that everyone around had stopped and was watching. He noticed a scar-faced man elbowing his way through the onlookers.

What the rules might be for Unbelievers in such a situation, Laird Dondyke neither knew nor cared. It was just as he was starting to run toward the assassins that he saw the ghost. A red-haired young man in a blue robe, decorated with orange spiderwebs, burst through the crowd and darted by the Earthman. Dondyke caught a glimpse of the redhead’s face and reeled, his heart pounding suddenly. Bruce!

But it couldn’t be; Bruce was dead, dead—his brother was dead these fifteen years. Dondyke shuddered as he seemed to see redheaded Bruce Dondyke lying on a bed, choking with pneumonia, while a black-clad minister prayed both for the sufferer and his elder brother who was responsible for the lad’s condition.

Laird Dondyke came back to himself with a snap and ran after the redhead. Now the maledictions from the black-clad men, and no less insulting responses from the slandered, had ceased; the drivers of the carriage had climbed down from their seats and likewise drawn knives. Dondyke wondered about the delay, but he’d learned that virtually everything on these worlds required ritual preliminaries, and assassination was obviously a ceremony here. The redhead had drawn a knife, too—the undecorated knives that Unbelievers were permitted to carry, as differentiated from the superb, ornamented weapons that were the Believers’ tools of vengeance. Dondyke lost no time in obtaining his own weapon.

He assumed that the redhead would attack at once, but the young man came to a stop beside the carriage and called out to the old man sitting beside the vision, Does Ein call the unbelieving?

The old man smiled, and Dondyke thought his demeanor worthy of the vision beside him, even if he hadn’t drawn a weapon. Perhaps the attack was to be on the servants only, or perhaps custom decreed their disposal first. As Ein wills, so be it, the merchant replied, and added, Thou and thy companion also.

The redhead turned, seeing Dondyke for the first time, and grinned; then he sprang toward the nearest black-robe. That was the signal. An instant later, each defender was paired off with an attacker and though the odds were eight to five, the three extra assassins stood back. Dondyke had no time to ponder this, for the first move of his opponent showed that the fanatic was no novice with a knife. Thrust, parry, lock—then the wrestling arts to throw an opponent off balance. Over his shoulder, Dondyke saw that one of the servants was down.

There were no taunts now, no curses. Dondyke heard a gasp, but could not see who had been hit. He and his antagonist stood foot-to-foot now, like Indian wrestlers. The man shifted balance suddenly, and Dondyke pretended to stumble, still locking the other’s blade with his own, while bringing up his knee where it would do the most harm. An instant later, he had his man.

He looked around quickly and saw that the redhead had been disarmed, and was trying to hold back the wrist holding the knife at his throat as he pinned his opponent’s other hand. The fanatic’s back was to Dondyke, but the Earthman knew he must not stab him thus. He snaked out a foot and sprawled while tripping the black-robe for appearance’s sake. As he arose, he saw that this had been sufficient; the redhead had turned his enemy’s own knife against him in the fall.

The odds were a little better now. Four of the assassins were down, and each defender had but one more opponent to deal with. Either the redhead, or one of the servants, had accounted for two. Another black-robe came forward to meet Dondyke.

This fanatic was like a cat, and Dondyke felt the point of a tool of vengeance twice—a slashing cut and a thrust he didn’t quite parry, swiftly disengaged as the man skipped back. His right arm was limp; he shifted his weapon to his left hand and found that this gave him a slight advantage; but he was losing blood rapidly, and his head was beginning to reel. The duel took on the atmosphere of a dream, and he wasn’t entirely sure how it had happened when he found himself looking at his knife buried to the hilt in his opponent’s side. A strong arm gripped him, and he saw the redhead leading him to the carriage, saw that the fight was over.

As in a dream, he heard a man who called himself Forradel thank the Unbelievers; then the vision came closer to him. He saw two blue eyes in a heart-shaped face and felt something being placed in his left hand. Words seemed to float in the golden light around him… The Unbeliever is welcome in the house of Alanna… He did not know whether he uttered a reply, or merely thought it. The light around him was fading.

CHAPTER TWO

Barbaric as this world seemed to be on the surface, the art of medicine was quite advanced, Dondyke found. A Reconciler, as the physicians were called, gave him blood plasma of a quality comparable to Earth’s best, anointed him with some sort of oil and smeared him with a salve that stimulated tissue regeneration. Then the patient was injected with a sedative, and Dondyke drifted off into sleep amidst the complicated ritual of prayers and litanies that accompanied the treatment. He had a vague awareness of awakening now and then, only to receive more sedatives and intravenous feeding, most of which was given while he slept. Someone said that if Ein so willed, the patient’s wounds should be entirely healed in three days.

He awoke, thinking he was in a cave whose roof somehow filtered golden sunlight through; then he saw windows some twelve feet above him—or, rather, a single window that ran around the arched ceiling where the curve began. It wasn’t exactly a room, but rather a cubicle with partitions which extended some eight or nine feet. He lay on a mattress on the floor, with a light covering over him.

Laird Dondyke turned to see a small area of light in the corner of the room; a girl was seated on some cushions there, reading, bathed in a soft circle of light which seemed to emanate from the wall. He sat up, and the girl looked up an instant later. She closed the book, arose, and came toward him, smiling; he saw that she wore an abbreviated tunic bearing the infinity symbol. Long hose encased her feet and legs tightly, and her arms were likewise covered. The effect was pleasing, and her long black hair reached her waist, but Dondyke had never seen a woman displaying so little flesh before on this planet.

The girl smiled at him and said, Thanks be to Ein. I shall tell Surdi Barlow that you are awake.

Barlow—why, that was the man Dondyke was on his way to meet when he’d been distracted by the vision and the ghost. No not quite, he remembered; he’d been on his way to the bazaar, where he hoped to get directions to Barlow’s house. Why?

It came back to him slowly. Vincent Barlow, horticulturalist and technician, and Unbeliever, was undercover head of some Earth mission here. There was no extradition in these worlds for fugitives like Laird Dondyke, whom Earth authorities were just as happy to see in permanent exile, saving them the bother of trial and rehabilitation. Barlow was also as close to being the Earth consul as was possible here, and would do what he could.

He saw that the girl had walked over to the wall and was standing before it. Why? He could see no doorway there; then, suddenly, an arch-shaped area glowed in the wall and she stepped through it. The glow vanished, and Dondyke could only see the wall again. He climbed out of the bed, feeling only as if he had had a long sleep, and walked over to the spot, looking for some trace of the archway. There was none; he could see only the arabesque