Late in the afternoon, Uel Whelan came in, checked out the ambient, and said, "Zeth, you've been a tremendous help—I think we dare leave this ward without a channel now." They left the house in charge of one of the Sime women.
Zeth was tired again, but by leaning on Owen's field he was able to walk back to the Veritt house, where another conference was in progress. He sat with a glass of tea in his hands while Owen, who hadn't eaten since breakfast, consumed a huge bowl of vegetable stew, but he came out of his
weariness when Wik came in. "Marji wants you to come," he said. "Rimon's awake."
Zeth hurried eagerly to the sickroom, but when he entered his elation vanished. Although Rimon's pain was the first thing to shock Zeth, even worse was the fact that Rimon didn't mind it. Then came an even greater horror: Rimon was in need—and he didn't feel it!
Rimon looked at Zeth casually, without interest. Zeth wasn't even sure he recognized him. "Dad?"
"Zeth. How are you?" It was a polite formality.
"I'm fine," Zeth answered. "Mr. Bron's better—you saved his life. The people from Mountain Chapel—" Rimon wasn't listening. His eyes drifted away from Zeth's, but he wasn't zlinning. "Abel will be here soon," Zeth tried. No response.
Uel put an arm about Zeth's shoulders and led him out. "Your father is still in shock, Zeth. Jord was like that after Willa died. It will take a long time. He can't even grieve– he's too close to need."
"Who's going to—?" Zeth began in panic, hating himself for being glad that Owen was too low-field to provide the transfer Rimon would soon need.
"We'll manage," Uel said firmly. "Zeth, your father's been a fighter all his life. He's the first Sime ever to stop killing. He's not going to .give up now . . . and do you really-think that if he tried, Abel would let him?"
But Zeth could not shake off the feeling that even Abel Veritt could not make his father want to go on. Abel spent hours with Rimon, talking, praying. Each time Zeth walked in on them, however, he would zlin the dark cloud upon Abel's nager. Did Abel fear that Rimon might be reduced to lord's state, living for his duties, a life without hope or joy?
The morning of the funeral service, Jord and Uel together got a transfer into Rimon. "He'll be all right for a couple of weeks," Uel told Zeth. "We forced him, the way we have to force Jord sometimes. But maybe now he'll fight that infection. What he really needs is a good transfer from a Gen."
Owen!
As if reading Zeth's mind, Uel said, "No, not Owen. Zeth, your father actually expressed interest this morning, the first sign of recovery. He said he won't touch Owen—you're not to attempt to do with a substitute until you're fully trained. Even if I didn't agree, which I do, I'd take Rimon's advice about what's best for you, Zeth."
His own fears relieved, Zeth asked, "Then who?"
"Hank, probably. I manage when he gives transfer to Abel. Marji and I are pretty close in our cycles, and she volunteered Trina for me without batting an eye." He shook his head. "She doesn't seem nearly as dependent on her Companion as the rest of us, maybe because she had First Transfer from a channel? There's so much we don't know!"
And I thought Dad had found out everything about channels!
Both Rimon and Maddok Bron developed infections. Bron's kidney infection, though, responded to the herbalist's concoctions combined with fosebine. Slina's man, Risko, brought back only ten Gens from Ardo Pass, but at least he picked up a good supply of fosebine. After that, the chapel cleared quickly . . . arid it was time for the memorial service.
The bodies had been buried days before, before the ground froze. The cold spell that had come in with the raid had now lasted almost a week; people shivered in their warm coats, and started talking about early snow.
What they got was freezing rain, coating the half-unleaved trees with ice and making both walking and riding treacherous. Zeth's dog Patches came in from herding sheep, his feet bleeding from sharp ice trapped in the fur between his toes. Although he was given a rug to lie on by the fire, when Zeth and Owen left for the memorial service, Patches insisted on going along. He left them as they approached the chapel . . . to lie on Kadi's grave.
Zeth stared after his dog. "How could he know? He wasn't even here."
The benches were back in the chapel except for a space left for the pallets of those too weak to sit up through the service. Lamps shone on the memorial to the martyrs to the cause of Sime~Gen unity. The last name was still Teri Lay ton, killed in the raid in which Owen lost his arm. Although the stone slab was large, Zeth wondered if it would be possible to get all the new names onto it ... and if they did,, how long it would be before they'd require another monument, and men another, and another—
He pulled his mind away from the thought, zlinning the people in the chapel. The Simes from town were off in one corner toward the back, insulated from the rest of the congregation by high-field Simes interspersed with Gens who could handle them if necessary. Otherwise, the people of Fort Freedom took their usual positions.
Their usual positions. Although Zeth knew why people never took the same place twice in the chapel, this was the first time he could perceive the fields that dictated the arrangements.
Today, those fields were somber. With all the work to provide shelter for survivors, to care for the injured, to prevent an accidental kill, there had been no time for grieving.
Rimon Farris was still in the insulated room at the back of the chapel. His burns had developed such an infection the channels had decided not to move him, but if two doors were left open, he could hear everything. If he cares, thought Zeth.
The severely wounded were the last to be brought in. Maddok Bron was among them—he was laid on the floor, near where Zeth and Owen were sitting. Only Gens were now left recuperating; the Simes had either died or recovered. Slina, well past turnover, jarred the ambient as she sat down behind Zeth and Owen. She had taken over care of the sick Gens as soon as they could forgo a channel's supervision. Certainly their local Gendealer knew how to care for Gens, but Zeth wondered what the people from Mountain Chapel would have thought had they known the occupation of their rough-spoken nurse.
Del Erick slid onto the bench beside Slina, reaching out to squeeze Owen's shoulder to tell him he was there.
Change was the subject of Abel Veritt's eulogy. He skipped over the details of the long struggle against the kill lest questions be raised in the minds of their out-Territory guests, and spoke of the breaking up of families when Gen children had to be sent across the border.
"We prayed for their safety," he said. "We never dared hope to meet them again in this world—but God has more than answered our prayers. Our children have come home– and brought us new friends, who risked their lives to save ours. Since the day He sent Rimon and Kadi Farris to Fort Freedom, God has given us cause after cause to rejoice."
He paused, looking out over the assembly. "Today we gather in mourning for those who died defending our way of life. It is right to grieve—and to question. Only by questioning can we receive answers. Why should we lose so many we love? We must be willing to die for what we believe in. Of those willing—some will die.
"All of us have lost a friend or relative—and everyone, even those who never knew her, has lost Kadi Farris. Kadi
taught Rimon how to live without killing. She was the first . . , because she was willing to lay down her life to save Rimon's. God did not claim her sacrifice at that time.
"And Rimon—how often has he risked his life for you? To save my life he gave up his own selyn—and did not die. And—for the first time—I did not kill. Surely no one who remembers that day can doubt that God is guiding us. Why He brought the Raiders here—"
Zeth, who had so often heard Abel Veritt turn terrible events into occasions for rejoicing, noticed the reaction of the out-Territory Gens. Their sorrow was tinged with curiosity, perhaps a bit of resentment. Except for Maddok Bron. Bron listened intently, his field falling into synchronization with those Simes closest to him, the way a Companion's
did. He didn't resist emotionally, like most of the other Gens.
A painful, harsh sorrow swept through the ambient nager, and Zeth surfaced long enough to hear Abel calling those who had died martyrs, encouraging the cleansing grief that would allow people to accept and go on. Beside Zeth, Owen dissolved into wracking sobs. Del leaned forward and put his arms around his son. Zeth saw Jana, sitting on the raised benches of the children's choir, trying to keep composure. But soon tears were coursing down her cheeks.
Zeth let himself become hyperconscious again, lost in a world of nageric patterns. The Gens joined in the outpouring of emotion. Slina, need preventing her from full response, sat gloomily awash in other people's grief. Her little girl broke away from the family she'd been left with and climbed onto Slina's lap. Her mother held her tightly, as if someone might try to take her away. Abel Veritt's orchestration of the service was long-practiced, but far from cynical. When the grief had been vented, he went back to the subject of change. "Change for the better," he insisted. "There is never progress without loss in this world—but we have not lost those we love. Surely they wait for us, even now. Their task in this life is finished; God has further progress to ask of us."
Zeth lost track of Abel's speech again as he read the astonishing change in the ambient. By the time the choir sang out again, an emotional healing had taken place in that chapel as effective as the physical healing done by the channels. What would Fort Freedom ever do without Abel Veritt?
When they stood to leave, Owen whispered, "Zeth—are you all right?"
"Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"
Del also studied him with an air of concern. "Zeth—don't deny your grief over your mother's death. It's not a time to put on a brave front, son."
"I'm not," said Zeth, quite astonished. Then they were moving out of the chapel, conversation becoming difficult as they worked their way through the crowd.
At the back, off to one side, stood the Raider boy, Jimmy Norton, his face streaked with tears. On either side of him stood tough Simes from town, but the boy didn't look in any shape to make trouble. Even a few months of the harsh Raider's existence had taken their toll. He was emaciated, his hair stringy, although he was well scrubbed and dressed in clean clothes. Zeth had overheard the women discussing how to rid him of lice.
As Zeth passed, Owen moved automatically to Zeth's left, as if to protect him—and the boy saw the stump of Owen's missing arm. A scream of utter terror broke from him.
"The one-armed Gen! The wer-Gen! Don't let him kill me!"
Chapter 9
It was a wonder that the Raider boy's panic didn't cause a riot. Still radiating terror, he was hustled away from the vulnerable Simes. Wik broke out of the crowd, using his field to calm the boy.
Owen stood frozen until Zeth started after the boy in avid curiosity—then he ran after Zeth. Eph Norton headed toward his son, cut off by Abel Veritt and Del Erick.
The explanations came in the Veritt kitchen. Jimmy Norton was seated, Wik on one side and Hank Steers on the other keeping him steady enough to face Owen and explain, over half an hour's patient coaxing, why he was so terrified. Eph Norton listened, grim-faced, as his son told what he'd learned in his three months as a Freehand Raider.
"Everybody knows—even in the cities—that in Fort Freedom they live on Sime-kills instead of Gens," Jimmy blurted at last.
"How could they 'know' such a thing?" asked Abel.
"The town here used to be a good raiding stopover. Now everyone who comes to raid disappears!"
Under Abel's gentle prodding, Jimmy described the burgeoning reputation of Fort Freedom. "Yeah, we heard the way you give selyn to Simes—it ruins the"—he eyed his father—"appetite for the kill," he finished in Simelan, his nager sick with conflict.
Owen said, "It wasn't a channel who frightened you."
"Fort Freedom's Gens can't be killed. Everybody knows the Giant Killer Gen came from here. Your Gens can kill! Just a flick of their monstrous fields and—" He broke off, choking.
"Is that why," asked Abel, "the New Farris Homestead
was attacked last spring? Because people are afraid our Gens can kill—supernaturally?"
"Well—it certainly isn't natural!" Jimmy's eyes fastened on Owen's missing arm.
The silent tension stretched until suddenly Abel lunged with the swiftness of a killstrike, tentacles out, grabbing at Owen's bare neck. With a faint flicker of adjustment, Owen turned to Abel, holding the same warm compassion he gave Zeth.
Zeth came to his feet, every fiber resonating to Owen's betrayal. Before the feeling could take hold, Abel relinquished. He had never tried for lateral contact.
Only then did Zeth become aware of Jimmy Norton. The boy was also on his feet, the two Gens beside him still seated, holding him by their focused attention. Zeth understood. It was one of Abel's demonstrations, much more eloquent than words. Our Gens do not kill—nor do we.
Just then Marji Carson and Jord Veritt appeared, supporting Maddok Bron between them. Bron said, "Will one of you get me a chair, please? Eph—even though you and your son never joined our church, I want to help."
"Jord," said Abel, "bring in the big armchair for Mr. Bron. His counsel will be welcome."
Bron was settled and brought up to date. While they talked, Zeth watched Jimmy scanning the room. He looked from Abel to Jord, Wik, Hank, Uel, Eph, and then Zeth and Owen. His eyes skittered over Owen, but hungrily devoured everyone else with a sharp edge of hope.
Finally, Owen leaned forward and said, "Jimmy, we've never met before. Why are you afraid of me?"
"You can never be Sime again, can you? They turned you Gen so you could live without your arm—but—can they do that to anyone? Can they do it to me?"
Wik broke into giggles. "That's just silly!"
Zeth let his shock recede amid the laughter. Jimmy's awe reminded him so of how he'd felt when his father had announced Owen's establishment that Zeth said, "It does seem like magic, Jimmy, when the channels save people's lives. But it's not. Nobody can turn a Sime into a Gen—or vice versa."
"But he was in changeover when they cut his arm off!"
"No," said Uel and Jord almost in unison. Then Uel
added, "I was there, Jimmy. The tale has been exaggerated out of fear."
"I think I know how," said Owen. "The people who did it kept saying they wanted us to die in changeover. Someone overheard and misunderstood."
Wik nodded. "Uel's a channel;" he said reassuringly. "He'd know a changeover."
"What's a channel?" asked Jimmy, his nager calming.
As everyone gave his own definition, Zeth pondered a new thought. He had led Owen and Jana into the battle where Owen had lost his arm. So in a way he was responsible for the reputation that had brought the Freehand Raiders down on them.
Maddok Bron was saying, "Jimmy, you must understand. I am here only because these Simes do not kill. Ever."
All this time, Eph Norton had been sitting silently, on the brink of tears. Now he said, "Jimmy—oh, son, please listen to these people!" He turned to Uel. "Can you teach him to be like you? Can you . . . make him my son again?"
Uel looked to Abel, who said cautiously, "We can try. But, Mr. Norton, we cannot do it to him. Only if he wants to stop killing can we help. It's a long, difficult process."
Jimmy was staring at his father. "Papa—you want me as your son?"
"Of course I do! If I'd known this place existed, I'd have brought you here myself."
Zeth understood the rarity of Norton's attitude from Jimmy's tremulous hope, a hope the boy didn't quite dare feel.
"Jimmy—" Norton looked around. "I can't be alone with him?"
"It's not safe," said Uel.
"No, Papa, it's not," said Jimmy. "I can't—trust myself. That's the worst part—you go crazy, and then you wake up and you've lulled someone—"
In answer to Eph Norton's flare of horror, Abel said, "The Freeband Raider pattern. He's never been through a normal need cycle. Mr. Nort
on, we're doing our best to protect all the Gens from out-Territory. You will go home safely if you'll observe one precaution: always take a Sime's word if he tells you nor to trust him."
But as father and son wanted badly to talk, Jord and Wik accompanied them out. As the others rose to leave, Abel said,
"Stay for a moment, please. Maddok, there is something you urgently have to know. Do you feel up to it now?"
"Tell me, Abel," said Bron, settling back into his chair. Zlinning, Zeth decided he could take perhaps ten minutes of sitting up.
Abel steepled his fingers, tentacles retracted. "Maddok, we have not lied to you. However, you do not know the whole truth.
"I gathered as much, from what you said to Mr. Norton." His eyes were fixed on Abel's hands. "God will not hold you responsible for what you did before you knew there was another way. The important thing is that you have stopped killing."
Pain swirled through Abel's nager, but he looked straight into Bron's eyes. "No," he said quietly, "I have not stopped."
The only emotion in Bron's field was disbelief.
Abel went on softly. "I have been trying for nine years to live entirely on channel's transfer . . . but at least once each year—"
"It's a physical problem," Uel interjected. "Mr. Bron, no one who had been Sime for over a year when Rimon discovered how to channel has been able to disjunct—to stop killing."
"Rimon had been killing for four years," Abel said dully. "It should be possible for anyone who really wants to."
"And we'll find out how," said Uel. "Zeth will be as good a channel as his father. Working together—''
Abel managed a weary smile. "You don't understand, Uel—and Zeth never will, either, thank God. Maddok," he continued, shaking off his depression, "you see here a community in transition. All our young Simes—those who changed over after Uel—have never killed. A few, who came to us from across the border, have killed once, and never again. In another generation, Fort Freedom will be in truth a community in which no Sime kills, ever."
Channel's Destiny s-5 Page 15
