Fritz Leiber - Gather, Darkness!

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by Fritz Leiber

Editorial Reviews

From AudioFile

In a postapocalyptic future, the Hierarchy of the Great God controls technology and, with it, the

commoners. Brother Armon Jarles, a young priest, becomes enraged and speaks out against the

church. When he is claimed by the forces of evil, the Hierarchy finds itself in a fight with witches--

and with technology that could match its own. Stefan Rudnicki reads this story, originally serialized

in ASTOUNDING SCIENCE FICTION in 1943, with deep, sinister intonations that hint of menace

and a bit of devilishness. His character voices lean to the unusual, adding to the mood of an

AudioFile, Portland, Maine --This text refers to the Audio Cassette edition.

Book Description

GATHER, DARKNESS! is a science-fiction classic. It tells the story of Armon Jarles, a man on the

edge, living amidst the disputes of two rival powers at large in the world. 360 years after a nuclear

holocaust ravaged mankind, throwing society back into the dark ages, the world is fraught with

chaos and superstition. The new rulers over the masses of humanity are the techno-priests of the

Great God, endowed with scientific knowledge lost to the rest of humanity. Jarles, originally of

peasant... read more

Customer Reviews

Avg. Customer Review:

Wow!!, September 17, 2000

Reviewer:

This is the first book of Leiber's that I have read and I am very impressed. Though the book was

written in the 1950's it is able to transend 40 odd years and still be relevent in todays thinking. The

most interesting twist is how Leiber moved away from science explaining the supernatural to

science using the supernatural to maintain control on an ignorant society of peasents. Another

impressive twist to the book was Leiber's ability to move the focus of the novel from between three

different, yet important characters, without any interuption. I can not wait to read more of his

books. --This text refers to an out of print or unavailable edition of this title.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 1

BROTHER JARLES, priest of the First and Outermost Circle, novice in the Hierarchy,

swallowed hard against his churning anger; bent every effort to make his face a mask—not only to

the commoners, for that was something every member of the Hierarchy was taught to do, but to his

brother priests as well.

Any priest who hated the Hierarchy as he did during these frightening spasms of rage must be

mad.

But priests could not go mad—at least, not without the Hierarchy knowing of it, as it knew of

everything else.

A misfit then? But a priest was fitted to his job with infinite precision and foresight, the very

outlines of his personality measured as if with an atomic probe. A priest could not hate his work.

No, he must be mad. And the Hierarchy must be concealing the fact from him for its own

inscrutable purposes.

Or else—everything to the contrary—he was right.

At the touch of that sickening thought, the Great Square of Megatheopolis seemed to haze and

bloat before his eyes. The commoners became drab blurs; the priests here and there, scarlet ones,

topped with the healthy pink of well-fed faces.

Fighting for composure and vision itself, he forced himself to focus on the yearstone of a

recently built dwelling in the commoners’ section. The inscription read, “139 G. G.”

He sought to maintain calm by a calculation. The year 139 of the Great God would be the year

206 of the Golden Age, except that Golden Age dates were not recognized. It would also be the

year 360 of the Atomic Age. And finally the year 2305 of the Dawn Civilization and—what was

the god called?—Christ.

“Hamser Chohn, Commoner of the Fifth Ward! Stand forward, my son.”

Brother Jarles winced. In moods like this, that reedy voice grated unendurably on him. Why had

he been paired with Brother Chulian! Why, for that matter, must priests never work alone, but

always by twos!

But he knew the reason. It was so they might spy on each other, make detailed reports on each

other. So that the Hierarchy would know of everything.

Fighting every instant to maintain the mask, he turned back. His eyes automatically dodged the

fourth face in the queue of commoners lined up before himself and Brother Chulian.

That fat, blue-eyed, soft-cheeked, shaven priest was consulting the work lists, which were

printed in primitive style for the benefit of the commoners, who did not know —and were not

supposed to know—anything of reading tapes. Really, there was no reason to hate Brother Chulian

especially. Just a rank-and-file priest of the Second Circle. Just a bloated baby.

But you could hate a bloated baby when he exercised over adult commoners the powers of

schoolmaster, minister, and parent.

Only one good thing—this particular job, so distasteful to Jarles, tickled Brother Chulian’s sense

of self-importance so much that he was willing to do it all by himself.

The little fat priest looked up from the work lists at the stalwart young commoner nervously

twisting a shapeless hat in big, horny hands, pausing every second to wipe one of them against a

home-woven smock.

“My son,” he piped benignly, “you are to work for the next three months in the mines. That will

reduce your contribution to the Hierarchy to a mere half of your private earnings. You will report

here to the appropriate deacon at dawn tomorrow. Hamser Dom!”

The young commoner gulped, nodded twice, and quickly stepped aside.

Jarles’ anger flared anew. The mines! Worse than the fields, or even the roads! Surely the man

must know. And yet, when he had heard, he had looked grateful—that same fawning look the old

books were always attributing to a faithful domestic animal of the genus Canis, now extinct.

Jarles wrenched his gaze away, again skipping the same face, now third in line. It was that of a

woman.

The sinking sun sent rich shadows across the Great Square. The crowd was thinning. Only the

tailends of a few wards were still waiting to hear what the work lists held in store. Here and there

smocked or bloused commoners—the men in clumsy leggings, the women in heavy skirts—were

gathering up the leftovers of homemade goods they had brought to barter or sell, loading them onto

their own backs or those of small, burly mules, then trailing off into the narrow, cobbled streets of

the commoners’ section. Some wore broad-brimmed hats of a coarse felt. Others had already

pulled up their hoods, although the chill of evening had not yet arrived.

Looking toward the commoners’ section of Megatheopolis, Jarles was reminded of pictures he

had seen of the cities of the Black Ages, or Middle Ages—or whatever that period of the Dawn

Civilization had been called. Except that the houses here were mostly one-story and windowless,

and everything was very neat and clean. Although he was only a priest of the First Circle, he knew

that the resemblance was no coincidence. The Hierarchy did not tolerate coincidence. It had a

reason for everything.

An old crone in ragged garments and a peaked hat hobbled past. The other commoners drew

away from her. A small boy yelled, “Mother Jujy! Witch! Witch!” shied a stone at her and raced

off. But Jarles smiled at her faintly. And she smiled back—an unpleasant grimacing of wrinkled

lips over toothless gums during which her hooked nose and jutting chin seemed about to meet.

Then she was on her way again, feeling with her cane for secure places between the cobbles.

In the other direction, Megatheopolis was magically different. For there rose the gleaming

buildings of the Sanctuary, topped by the incredible structure of the Cathedral, which fronted the

Great Square.

Jarles looked up at the Great God, and for a moment felt fingering through his anger a touch of

the same pious fear that vast idol had awakened in him when he was only a commoner’s child—

long before he had passed the tests and begun to learn the secrets of the priests. Could the Great

God see his blasphemous rage, with those huge, searching, slightly frowning eyes? But such a

superstitious fancy was unworthy even of a novice in the Hierarchy.

Without the Great God, the Cathedral was still a mighty structure of soaring columns and

peaked windows tall as pine trees. But where one might expect a steeple or a pair of towers, began

the figure of the Great God—the upper half of a gigantic human form, terrible in its dignity and

serenity. It did not clash with the structure below. The heavy folds of its drapery became the

columns of the Cathedral, and it was built of the same gray plastic.

It dominated all Megatheopolis, like some unbelievable centaur. There was hardly an alley from

which one could not glimpse the stern yet benignant face with the glowing nimbus of blue light.

One felt that the Great God was minutely studying every pygmy creature that crossed the Great

Square, as if he could at any moment reach down and pick one up for a closer scrutiny.

As if? Every commoner knew there was no “as if” about it!

But that massive figure did not rouse in Jarles one atom of pride at the glory and grandeur of the

Hierarchy and his great good fortune in having been chosen to become part of it. Instead, his anger

thickened and tightened, becoming an intolerable shell about his emotions—as red and oppressive

as the scarlet robe he wore.

“Sharlson Naurya!”

Jarles flinched at the name chirruped by Brother Chulian. But now the moment had arrived; he

realized he would have to look at her. Not to, would be cowardly. Every novice priest experienced

great difficulties before he finally succeeded in breaking all emotional ties that linked him to the

commoners—to family and friends, and more than friends. Face the fact: Naurya could never mean

anything to him.

Nor he to her, he realized with something of a shock as he quickly slewed his head around so

that he was looking up into her face. For she did not seem to recognize him or take note of him,

although, save for his robe and shaven pate, he was the same as ever. She stood there quietly,

showing none of the cringing nervousness of the men. Her hands, calloused by the loom, were

folded at her waist. Her face, paler for the masses of dark hair, was without emotion—or else a

better mask than his own.

Something—the way she threw her shoulders back—the air of hidden purpose sunk deep, deep

in her green eyes—thrust through the shell of his anger and prodded his heart.

“My little daughter, Naurya,” Chulian cooed importantly, “I have good news for you. A great

honor is yours. For the next six months you are to serve in the Sanctuary.”

There was no change in her expression, no outward indication of her reaction, but it was a few

seconds before she replied.

“It is too great an honor. I am unworthy. Such holy work is not for the likes of a simple weaver.”

“That is true,” said Chulian judiciously, bobbing his chubby hairless head up and down within

the stiff funnel of his collar. “But the Hierarchy may lift up whom it will, even from the ranks of

the most humble. It has deemed you worthy for the holy work. Rejoice, my daughter. Rejoice.”

Her voice was as quiet and grave as when she first replied. “But I am still unworthy. I know it in

my heart. I cannot do it.”

“Cannot, my daughter?” Abruptly Chulian’s voice became querulously stern. “Do you mean

‘will not’?”

Almost imperceptibly, Naurya nodded. The eyes of the commoners behind her grew wide, and

they stopped their nervous fumblings.

Brother Chulian’s soft little mouth set in an implacable pout. The work lists crackled loudly as

he clenched them in his red-gloved hand.

“You understand what you are doing, daughter? You understand that you are disobeying a

command of the Hierarchy, and of the Great God the Hierarchy serves?”

“I know in my heart that I am unworthy. I cannot.”

But this time the nod was very definite. Again Jarles felt something thrusting at his ribs.

Chulian bounced up from the bench he shared with Jarles. “No commoner may question the

judgments of the Hierarchy, for they are right! I sense more here than simple stubbornness, more

even than sinful obstinacy. There is only one sort of commoner who would fear to enter the

Sanctuary when bidden. I sense—witchcraft,” he announced dramatically, and struck his chest with

the flat of his hand. Instantly his scarlet robe ballooned out tautly, until it stood a handbreadth away

from his body at every point. The effect was frighteningly grotesque, like a scarlet pouter pigeon.

And above his shaven head a violet halo glowed.

The faces of the commoners grew more pale. But Naurya only smiled very faintly, and her green

eyes seemed to bore into Chulian.

“And that, once sensed, is easily discovered!” the swollen little priest continued triumphantly.

He stepped quickly forward. His puffy scarlet glove clutched at her shoulder without seeming

quite to touch it, yet Jarles saw her bite her lips against sudden hurt. Then the scarlet glove flirted

downward, ripping the heavy smock, so that the shoulder was uncovered.

There were three circular marks on the white skin. One burned angry red. The others were

rapidly becoming so.

Jarles thought that Chulian hesitated a moment and stared puzzledly at them, before gathering

himself and shrilling out, “Witchmarks! Proof !”

Unsteadily Jarles got to his feet. His anger made him retch, a nauseating force. He slapped his

own chest, felt the uniform inward pressure of the field at every point of his body, like a bath of

warm wax; saw from the corner of his eye the gleam of his halo. Then he launched his fist at

Chulian’s neck.

The slow-looking blow did not seem to reach its mark, but Chulian tumbled down and rolled

over twice. Even as he rolled, his robe stood out between him and the ground, as if he were inside a

red rubber ball.

Again Jarles slapped his own chest. His robe went limp and his halo vanished. And in that

instant his anger exploded hotly, burning the mask of hypocrisy from his face.

Let them blast him! Let them blind and deafen him with excommunication! Let them drag him

screaming to the crypts below the Sanctuary! The Hierarchy had seen fit to let him go mad without

interfering. Very well, then! They would have a taste of his madness!

He sprang onto the bench and held up his hands for attention.

“Commoners of Megatheopolis!”

That checked the beginnings of a panicky flight. Eyes turned to stare at him stupidly. They had

not yet begun to comprehend what had happened. But when a priest spoke, one listened.

“You have been taught that ignorance is good. I tell you it is evil!

“You have been taught that to think is evil. I tell you it is good!

“You have been told that it is your destiny to toil night and day, until your backs ache to

breaking and your hands blister under the calluses. I tell you it is the destiny of all men to look for

easier ways!

“You have let the priests rule your lives. I tell you that you must rule yourselves!

“You believe that the priests have supernatural powers. I tell you they have no powers you could

not wield yourselves!

“You believe that the priests are chosen to serve the Great God and transmit his commands.

But—if there is a god anywhere—each one of you, in his ignorant heart, knows more of him than

the mightiest archpriest.

“You have been told that the Great God rules the universe—earth and sky. I tell you the Great

God is a fake!”

Like whiplashes, the short, sharp sentences flicked into the corners of the Great Square, turned

all eyes toward him. The words were not understood, except that they were very different from

what the priests ever said. They frightened. They almost hurt. But they tugged irresistibly.

Everywhere—even in the work queues—commoners looked at the nearest priest, and getting no

contradictory order, trotted over toward Jarles.

And Jarles now looked around him in bewilderment. He had expected to be silenced almost at

once. His sole object had been to say as much as he could, or rather to let his anger say whatever it

wanted to in its brief moment of freedom.

But the blow did not fall. No priest made a move toward him, or acted as if anything out of the

ordinary were happening. And his unquenched anger continued to speak for him.

“Commoners of Megatheopolis, what I am going to ask you to do is hard. Harder than work in

the mines, though I won’t ask you to lift a finger. I want you to listen to what I say, to weigh my

words for truth, to make a judgment as to the worth of what I tell you, and then to act on that

judgment. You hardly know what all that means, but you must try to do it, nevertheless! To weigh

my words for truth? That’s to see how they square with what you’ve seen happen in your private

lives—not what you’ve been told. To make a judgment? That’s to decide whether or not you want

something, after you’ve learned what it is. I know the priests have told you all that is wrong. Forget

the priests! Forget I wear the scarlet robe. And listen, listen!”

Now surely the blow must fall! They wouldn’t let him say any more! Involuntarily he looked up

at the form of the Great God. But that serene idol was taking no more notice of what was happening

in the square than a human being might take of a swarming of ants around a bit of sugar.

“You all know the story of the Golden Age,” he was already saying, his voice now richly vibrant

with secrets to unfold. “You hear it every time you go to the Cathedral. How the Great God gave

divine powers to all men, so that they lived as in paradise, without toil or sorrow. How men grew

restless and dissatisfied, wanting still more, and sinned in all manner of ways, and lived in vice and

lechery. How the Great God in mercy restrained his anger, hoping that they would reform. How, in

their evil pride, they finally sought to storm heaven itself and all its stars. Then, as the priests never

weary of telling you, the Great God rose up in his wisdom and wrath, and winnowed out the few

men who had not sinned against him and were still obedient to his holy laws. Them he made into

his Hierarchy and gave them supernatural powers even greater than before. The rest—the sinful

ones—he cast down and ground into the dust, and gave his Hierarchy power over them, so that

those who had not of their own free wills lived virtuously would be made to do so by force! Then

he further decreed that his Hierarchy select from each generation of men the naturally virtuous to

be priests, and reject the rest, to toil in blissful ignorance under the gentle but inflexible guidance of

the priests, who are the Hierarchy.”

He paused, looked searchingly into the staring faces.

“That much, all of you know by heart. But not one of you dreams of the truth behind the story!”

Without anger whipping him on, Jarles might have stopped then and there and walked into the

Sanctuary and down into the crypts, so stupid and uncomprehending were the commoners’

reactions, so obviously did they misinterpret every word. At first they had seemed only shocked

and bewildered, though attentive as always. Then—when he had called upon them to think and

judge—they had looked vaguely apprehensive, as if all this rigmarole were merely the introduction

to some assignment of physical labor, literally harder than work in the mines. The story of the

Golden Age had lulled them. It was something familiar. His last sentence had shattered the lull and

brought them again into that state of stupid, anxious gawking.

But what else could he expect? If he could only manage to plant the seeds of questioning in just

one commoner!

“There was a Golden Age. That much is true. Though as far as I know there was plenty of toil

and sorrow in it. But at least all men had a little freedom and were getting more. The getting of it

meant trouble—lots of it—and at one point the scientists became frightened and ... but you don’t

even know what a scientist is, do you? Any more than you know what a doctor is, or a lawyer, or a

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byFritzLeiberEditorialReviewsFromAudioFileInapostapocalypticfuture,theHierarchyoftheGreatGodcontrolstechnologyand,withit,thecommoners.BrotherArmonJarles,ayoungpriest,becomesenragedandspeaksoutagainstthechurch.Whenheisclaimedbytheforcesofevil,theHierarchyfindsitselfinafightwithwitches--andwithtechno...

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