What is the future of religion? For centuries -- probably for far longer, perhaps for as long as the existence of the human record -- answers to this question have tended to fall into one of two camps: either it will always be with us, a part of our humanity, or else we'll outgrow it.

Katharine Kerr's Snare doesn't really propose either answer, but it does illustrate some of the dangers of which any thinking person, religious or not, ought to be aware: the misuses to which this incredibly powerful human impulse can be put. It's also a bang-up adventure story, a science fiction tale of a future human society on a distant, isolated planet, told on a grand scale. This planet is, in fact, so isolated that its inhabitants see only a few objects in their night skies: a cluster of distant stars, and a couple of closer, fast-moving points. Naturally, these things become vitally important to the shamanic practices of one of the three human populations, a consciously primitive group somewhat reminiscent of the nomadic Celts. They are also observed with interest by the two other groups, one a society founded on Islamic fundamentalist principles, the other a set of provinces called the Cantons which are very western European in their society and religion. (French speakers will notice that the native language of the Cantons looks familiar, for that matter.)

Naturally there is some conflict between these three, mostly mitigated by geography, but there is also a fourth party involved: an indigenous species known to the human populations as the ChaMeech. At first an intrusive and hostile presence, the ChaMeech come to play a key role in the story. Most of that isn't evident at the outset, however, as Kerr introduces her principal characters: Idres Warkannan, an officer in the Khanate of Kazrajistan; Ammadin, a Spirit Rider of the Tribes; Zayn Hassan, a disgraced cavalry officer; and more. The story begins with two apparently disparate plot threads: Warkannan goes on vacation to conceal his plotting against the corrupt Great Khan, Gemet, while Zayn, thrown out of the Kazrak cavalry in disgrace, is picked up by Ammadin to serve as a manservant. As it turns out, Zayn's actions and movements are as deceptive as Warkannan's; like Warkannan, he's on a mission, and it concerns a vanished relative of Gemet's named Jezro, whom the rebels hope to enthrone in his place.

These situations give the story its beginning, and drive its shape -- before long, it becomes a quest, and quite explicitly so; Zayn is even given an official quest token by Ammadin, to put on his horse's bridle. The quest, however, has some unexpected twists and turns, brought about by a number of factors ranging from the mysterious and evidently violent ChaMeech to the forgotten origins of humanity's presence on this planet -- so thoroughly forgotten that most of them believe they blew over from the next continent, not the next galaxy. There are, of course, bits of evidence scattered about to illustrate that this is not the case, but it takes Ammadin's intelligence and Zayn's sheer bloody-mindedness to get it all figured out.

They are brought into opposition by their own apparently conflicting goals, by Warkannan's search for Jezro (and, once he finds him, Jezro's almost Hamlet-like reluctance to take action), by the entertainingly despicable self-styled sorcerer Soutan, by accidents and interpersonal squabbles, and by the planet itself, not to mention its original inhabitants. Add in a vision quest and a romance or two, and you have a story that, if not exactly earthshatteringly innovative, rolls along at a page-turning clip and asks a few serious questions along the way. Questions such as: What is the nature and purpose of religion? If a religion is deliberately created rather than derived, does that make it invalid? Are not all religions created to some degree, and if not, isn't it at the very least in their nature to change over time, in order to serve the needs of their believers? For the most part, Kerr lets her readers draw their own conclusions, while making the important point that every human invention, technological, cultural, or social, is subject to misuse.

The major strength of Snare is its characters, who are absolutely convincing. Horse-riding nomads have been a staple of the genre at least since Tolkien's Rohirrim galloped into Lord of the Rings. But Kerr's Ammadin, with her keen intelligence and inquisitive nature, isn't about to be a stickler for tradition, and if Zayn's increasingly conflicted loyalties through the story become a bit much in the pathos department, by then the reader sympathizes with him enough that Kerr can get away with it (and also be entertained by the view which Loy, a major character from the Cantons introduced late in the narrative, has of him). Warkannan's stiff upper lip would be the pride of any country's military, and he balances his lack of understanding of most of what takes place around him with a basic decency and pragmatism that gets the job done more than once. The sorcerer Soutan, in contrast, starts off as one of those characters one hopes will turn out to be a curmudgeon, rather than an evil bastard, while wondering when his companions will discover the opposite; the only weakness here from a storytelling perspective is that when the nature of his sorcery is revealed, it makes him seem less, rather than more, of a threat.

And then, there are the ChaMeech. There's always that nagging question when creating aliens: How to make them suitably alien, without making them incomprehensible? How to make them interesting and engaging, without making them essentially human? Kerr largely succeeds in finding that narrow middle ground, chiefly through the character of Water Woman, who is aware of the tensions and conflicting goals among the humans, and how they might serve her decidedly non-human purposes. Her views of the human characters provide the reader with a window into an alien culture. Her interactions with Ammadin, at first peripheral to the larger story, come to drive its final half, as the Spirit Rider sees in the ChaMeech a way to answer her own nagging questions about the people she is supposed to lead and the faith of which she is meant to be priestess. To elaborate on this further would be to risk revealing too much to readers who may wish to discover the secrets of this world Kerr has constructed for themselves, but suffice it to say that even if you figure it out in advance of the characters -- the author drops enough hints to allow you to do so -- you'll enjoy reading about their efforts to come to terms with their situation and their world.

Snare does have its drawbacks. Chief among these are what might be called the When Smart People Do Stupid Things Syndrome. Making mistakes is, of course, one of the main attributes of a believable character, and for the most part, the mistakes Kerr's characters make are believable. At times, though, they suit the needs of her story just a little too well; the characters often refuse to tell one another things, or to notice important details, until the precise moment that such information will do either the most damage or the least good. There are a few too many convenient coincidences in the novel's final third, though by then the story's pace has accelerated to the point that this isn't as noticeable as it would be earlier in the story. And there's always that question, in stories where humanity has become its own cargo cult, of how ancient technologies manage to keep working for so long. To her credit, Kerr comes up with a pretty good way of answering this one, without derailing her story with explanations. This is simply one of those attributes that every author writing this kind of story must deal with one way or another.

The story's finale, while satisfying, does leave the door open for a sequel, perhaps an entire series. In a way, the most interesting tales of the people and the planet Snare have yet to be told. They've completed their quest, found their answers, and learned the truth. One wonders, reflecting on the situation at the end of the novel, what they're going to do now.

Genevieve Williams is a carbon-based lifeform residing in the Pacific Northwest region of the continental United States. Writer, editor, and library science grad student extraordinaire, she's also a Clarion West 2002 graduate with a compulsive passion for the written word. Her previous publications in Strange Horizons can be found in our Archive. To contact her, email rimrun@drizzle.com.