All at once an unexpected commotion broke out. It started with the muffled call of a girl emerging from somewhere out of sight. 

"What shall we do with these? There's no room for them in the small crate." Before the adults could react, a yelping and skittering announced the playful arrival of the family dog, pushing his way into the room at the sound of a familiar voice. A few seconds later, a trap door was pushed up from below and the owner of the voice was revealed. The new arrival was the blacksmith's daughter. She emerged, climbing into the light of the room and carrying a small pile of books. 

"Hannah, what have we told you!" her father admonished her as the girl stared with wide eyes, shocked to see her uncle and a strange Rider in the house. Books toppled from her hands and scattered over the floor. Klane looked on in astonishment.

The happily barking dog was the only one to break the silence as Klane caught anxious glances passing between the others. They might be wondering if he even recognised a book. He crouched down to pick one of the smaller volumes from the floor, almost a pamphlet, and from the way he opened it, it was clear he knew exactly what it was. Then everyone seemed to speak at once. 

"It's not what you think.. We know the Vow of Earth."

"They aren't history books. We'd never have history books..."

"You have to understand..." 

Klane held up his hand for silence and answered mildly. "You know that I am an unusual Rider from distant lands. I am more unusual than you think. I've seen plenty of books before... I can read." 

Once again there was a staccato moment of shock and surprise. "Then you must realise that this is not an ideal time for anyone to see them," the blacksmith said at last. "You seem like an understanding sort, but it is forbidden to keep written words, no matter the subject. Certainly we know History cannot be allowed to return! There is no history here. These are craft books. But others would not be so understanding. A Great Burning is not a good place for books or for anyone seen to own them!" 

Now Clara spoke up. "I think we can trust this man. He helped Ethan and he can read. We need to tell him everything..."

“Let’s show him,” Gillan said and with Klane following, the blacksmith and his wife descended a sturdy ladder to reach a small cellar. Sensing their anxiety Klane wondered briefly if it was wise to trust his hosts. Perhaps they thought he’d seen too much and they were leading him into a trap? He checked unconsciously for the presence of the alien weapon that had given him his name but his better instincts told him they did not intend to play him false and he was intrigued to know what this was all about. Loops of rope hung from iron pegs on the walls. Two sacks of flour occupied one corner with an open barrel of assorted nails in the opposite corner. Pulling back a crude rug, Clara exposed a second concealed trap door, this time opening onto a ramp which led to a narrow passageway between two rough walls. They reached a spiral stair case running round a continuation of the chimney breast but below ground. Here the bricks were dusty and noticeably warm to the touch. Klane realised that two fires could share the same vent and that one lit beneath the flue used by the forge would draw no attention from a casual observer, who might reasonably assume that any smoke rising from the chimney came from the publicly visible fire where the blacksmith worked. After two circuits, the stair case gave out onto a balcony that ran round the perimeter of a much larger cellar space, lit from below by three yellow lamps on an ash black table. The walls were lined with wooden shelves and rows and rows of books. To his astonishment Klane found himself in a secret underground library! Down at floor level, there was evidence of some hasty packing. Klane quickly appreciated that Gillan and Clara’s son and daughter had been hard at work clearing the shelves but it was a big job and one that had scarcely been started. 

He had little time to think about that before Clara said, “This is Zander,” and he was introduced to a woman wearing some strange kind of contraption over her eyes (which he later learnt was called “glasses” and helped her to read). Zander immediately confronted them all. 

“Who is this? Is he a member of the Order? What’s he doing down here? Haven’t I warned you?” 

“Slow down Zands," Gillan said. “We’ve got a big problem. Ethan’s been hurt. We’ve got to change our plans!” As quickly as he could, Gillan shared the story of how Klane had rescued Ethan and the beating the Thranish men has taken from the Southern Pralannians. But all the time Klane was conscious of the anxiety his presence was provoking and knew that they must all be acutely aware of how incriminating this library would look to an ordinary Rider. Even after the blacksmith had explained that Klane had no aversion to books, Zander still looked suspicious and he needed to repeat his assertion that he knew how to read and did not fear books or writing. At length she took a deep shaky breath. “I have not encountered anyone who can read unless they are a member of the Order of the Silent Word,” she said. “Now it seems we must trust you. There is little time and I have much to explain. Then perhaps you might aid us.”

“I need to teach you something,” Zandra began. “The Riders think that they are all that is important to the culture of the Earth in these times. It is instilled in them from birth and the Conclave tells them it is so. Their birth right is to wander the plains, to camp where they will, to feed themselves from the land and to enjoy an innocence free of history and free of the evil of the old ways that finally led to the Vow of Earth. When they think about it (which is seldom) they must also acknowledge that they need the settled dwellings to sustain them in the life style they relish. It is only because there are towns like Ironhope that they can shoe their horses, enjoy farmed crops, good baking, cloth for their clothes, ale to drink and honey for their bread. These things which they value in their ‘innocence’ do not come for free from the land or from hunting and gathering alone. It takes work and skill to make them and the time to nurture them in one place. And how are we rewarded? Because of the Vow of Earth and because History must never return, our houses are raised to the ground every second generation and our patient work must start again.” 

Klane was silent, aware of the undercurrent of bitterness in her words despite the mild manner of her speech. 

“How do you think we folk of the towns sustain this culture of Earth when we are so often scattered into new lands? It is not as simple as the Riders so often believe to become a skilled miller, a tailor, a baker, a blacksmith or a farmer.” 

“You have apprentices of course,” Klane muttered, replying with the obvious answer but he was beginning to deduce where this was going. 

“Yes, we have apprentices. And parents try to pass their trades to their sons and daughters. But it is not enough! The ceaseless round of Great Burnings may stop History but it also breaks the flow of the ordinary knowledge we need to make this life worth living. Each Great Burning is a set back for more than just the goods and services the town has provided. It also threatens the continuity of learning that enables the crafts to continue to thrive. That is why the Order of the Silent Word was established. We keep knowledge in books and we teach reading to our members. Then we pass between the towns and help to spread the wisdom of previous generations lest it be lost forever. The skills of the doctor, the skills of the vet, and the skills of all these others are in these books. And Ironhope is our main library.” 

“Do the Conclave know of this?” Klane ventured in the momentary silence. Zandra gave a sharp smile, acknowledging the perspicacity of his question.

“We are almost certain that they do. And we believe it is because they know it to be necessary that they do not openly expose us. Yet they do not acknowledge our work or help us in any save the most subtle ways. No! To the Conclave only the Riders matter. The Order of the Silent Word must remain secret lest the Riders confuse our books with the return of History. But there are some that know of us and help us - some such as Ethan and a few of his tribe who are also our friends. It is to them we called when our need became desperate.” 

It was a lot to take in and Klane had many questions. “You knew this Great Burning must come,” he said, “and as it has happened many times before, surely you must have planned to remove the library. What went wrong?” 

“You’re right,” Zandra answered, “of course we know what a Great Burning means and always before we have dispersed our books and our knowledge safely until it can be gathered for copying and study in a new library. But many unfortunate events have counted against us this time. Coincidences maybe, or maybe something else. Perhaps the Conclave no longer chooses to tolerate us. The leader of our Order died in strange circumstances at just the wrong time. The Southern Pralannians have taken weapons. Our couriers have been intercepted and some killed for the possession of books. Then this Great Burning was decreed by the Conclave in great haste and caught us unprepared. Now we find ourselves only a few days away from fire taking the town and under the close watch of a horde of superstitious Riders who would not understand the purpose of the Order and would as like put us to death if they knew of this library. And somehow we must get the books out. We had a last desperate plan (and not such a good one, I fear). But that plan needed Ethan and his friends to be fit for the games. 

“What are we to do now?”