"When I next approach the crisis, I will not have you near me!" said Abel. He faced Bron squarely across the table. "I commend your good intentions, but your theory is devastating to the salvation of all our Simes. In need, a Sime does have
the sensation that he is not in control of his own actions. I doubt you can imagine how tempting it would be to surrender all responsibility to the Gens."
"That is where it should be," Bron protested. "Why won't you let me help you?"
"Because no man can be responsible for another's salvation! Of all people, the man who has accepted the religious leadership of a community must know that. Maddok, I have sworn an oath, I shall not die a killer. That vow is between God and me—and I am responsible for keeping it. When I have achieved it, you will bear witness—but until that time, you will not interfere!"
Not since the day of Owen's mutilation had Zeth seen Abel so angry. He could zlin smoldering fury battling with comprehension of Maddok's total sincerity.
Abel got up and stalked out. Zeth started to follow, worried. Owen put his hand on his arm. "Let him go, Zeth. He'll go to the chapel to pray–and he'll find an answer that satisfies him."
Indeed, the next morning Abel was his usual controlled self—and the dark cloud was gone from his nager. But Zeth was too deep into need by now to give much thought to anyone else. Zlinning was no longer a novelty; it had become a necessity, as if he dared not use any other senses, lest he lose contact with the selyn fields that promised him life.
Zeth expected to have his second transfer in the chapel, with the people of Fort Freedom to witness. He was not comfortable with the thought, but the ritual was traditional for each new Sime. On his transfer day, though, Uel told him, "Abel thinks it would be better to postpone the witnessing, Zeth. People are too busy," But Zeth zlinned clearly that that was not the whole truth. Abel, who was not a channel, feared something might go wrong . . . and the channels concurred?
He could not hold his mind on the question. Some time later, Owen dragged him momentarily duoconscious as lord was saying, "Take him along and give him transfer, Owen. Be patient—treat it like First Transfer and you'll both be fine."
By this time, Zeth craved privacy and Owen. They went to the Veritt house, into the insulated room where Abel had coached Marji Carson through changeover. Zeth sat down on the couch, and rested in the warm promise of his Companion's field.
There was no hurry. Need was again a peculiar pleasure now that Owen's attention was fixed on Zeth alone, his "need to give" soothing away all Zeth's nervous jangles.
As he zlinned Owen, he found it happening again: the field pattern of Owen's left arm was there, just as if it had never been cut off. Spurred by a weak echo of his nightmare terror, Zeth forced himself duoconscious—and found his eyes and his Sime senses in disagreement. "Your arm," he whispered.
Owen shrugged. "I still feel it sometimes. Now. It never went away, like your dad said it would. I forgot—you zlinned it last time, didn't you? You kept reaching—well, don't worry." He took off his shirt. "There. You can find your grip whenever you're ready."
It had become habit now to find the rich nerves at the back of Owen's neck. It was as good as Zeth remembered—maybe better. When it was over, he lay back, breathing deeply, letting his body reaccustom itself to full life—
And the world came crashing down.
Mama! Dad! It was real for the first time—raw, and new. Strangled sobs rose in his throat—he could not force a scream past his tears. In one moment of irresponsible curiosity, he had led his friends into the midst of a battle, creating the legend of the wer-Gen, which led to his mother's death. His father would never recover.
In nameless, shuddering fury, he grabbed blindly, his fingers closing on the marble candle holder on the table beside the couch, the lit candle falling to the floor. He felt Owen's alarmed dive to catch it only as a vague movement at the edge of awareness. Something inside him adjusted in a new way. He threw the star-shaped chunk of marble at the nearest wall, fully expecting it to clatter to the floor. Instead, it crashed through the wall and landed with a crack and a clatter in the adjacent bathroom.
At the shock of the noise in the empty house, he found himself staring at the hole in the wall by the light of the candle Owen held. His rage had evaporated.
"Margid's going to be upset," said Owen in a thin attempt at lightness. "You know the rule–no augmenting within the gates."
"Is that what—yes, I did!"
Owen groaned. "Nobody's had time to teach you that!"
"It's not important," said Zeth dully.
"Zeth—what's wrong?"
"Mama!" he spat, annoyed at the Gen's denseness. "Mama's dead!" It turned into a sob that caught in his throat. "Owen, she's gone, and Dad is dying, and Abel—!" The rest dissolved into hysterical gasps. His once-secure home was in ruins. The Old Fort, with its volatile mixture of Simes and Gens, was in grave danger of not surviving the winter. But most of all, never again would his mother hold or comfort him, and he understood the emptiness in Rimon's field where Kadi had been. A major part of Rimon Farris had died with Kadi—and what was left would not survive for long.
Owen held Zeth, just as Del Erick had held Owen in the chapel the day of the memorial service. Owen said through his own tears, "I loved Kadi too, Zeth. We're all going to miss her—your father most of all. But we'll pull Rimon through. Jord survived after Willa died—"
"No!" Zeth shook his head vehemently. "You can't zlin him. Owen. It's as if he's dead already. And Abel—Abel's going to disjunct if it kills him—and it will!"
"Come on, Zeth—don't imagine things. Cry for Kadi. Grieve for what's real, not what might be."
On top of all the other agonized knowledge came the realization that Owen, the closest person to him in his life now, would never be able to understand all the things that were real to his Sime senses. Perhaps that was the worst knowledge of all.
Eventually, Zeth calmed down enough to be thankful that he had not been demonstrating transfer in the chapel when his grief overwhelmed him. And when the Veritts came in, he was able to apologize for breaking the marble candle holder, the wall, and the lip of the bathtub. But he couldn't shake off depression and foreboding. Only when he was busy learning to channel could he temporarily forget—but then he would zlin new deterioration in his father or feel in Abel the certainty that bespoke the final make-or-break fulfillment of his vow, and it would all come back. The sudden shock of his mother's death, as painful as it was, was easier to live with than the long, agonizing deterioration his father was undergoing. He could not yet grieve for him, but every time he saw him he felt more certain that was the only appropriate response.
He threw himself into learning the duties of a channel, Owen learning with him. Drawing selyn from Gens was easy—what he found hard was giving transfer. He mastered controlling selyn flow, but Jord and Del insisted that selyn
was not enough to satisfy a Sime in need—he had to give emotional satisfaction. He tried to reproduce the intense pleasure of his transfers with Owen, until Uel said, "All right, Zeth—you're as good as I was in my first months of channeling. We'll schedule the young people for you." Unspoken, Zeth realized, was those who have never killed.
Eventually, Zeth would have to witness a kill. But there was an unspoken agreement throughout Fort Freedom that harsh winter that every Sime would refrain from the kill as long as possible. The proximity of Slina's pen Gens had made them, if not people, at least too much like pets to make slaughtering them easy. The snow and freezing rain made rebuilding the pens slow; even Slina's new Gens were kept in the Old Fort, where everyone encountered them daily.
Only a handful of the town Simes were still with them. The spoken agreement was that any one of them could have a kill if he felt he could not stand channel's transfer again. But, for the time being, the unspoken agreement prevailed.
Despite the bad weather, there was considerable travel across the border. The out-Territory Gens accepted the precautio
ns prescribed by the channels and their Sime relatives, and people began talking of this year's turning as a world's turning, toward a whole new way of life.
Glian Lodge came to trade for horses with Del Erick. The two men spent hours haggling—and in a short while became fast friends. Owen was delighted, and began dropping hints that if Eph Norton planned to come to visit his son, he might consider bringing his daughter Sue along.
Maddok Bron hoped to get home in time for Mountain Chapel's own year's turning ceremony, but he overtired himself, and his kidney infection flared up again. His sister stayed with him, soon becoming as much at home among Simes as he was. Sessly Bron was a Gen version of Margid Veritt– quiet, supportive, and often unnoticed until she wasn't around when you expected her.
Zeth's sensitivity passed Uel's, having left both Jord and Marji behind in his first month, but he was still the youngest, least experienced channel. How can I become the best channel I can be without Dad to teach me?
One cold, clear morning, Zeth's forebodings were realized. He and Owen were trying to help Marji and Jord convince Rimon to eat. Jord, on the edge of need, was supervising the
two younger channels, while Zeth struggled against his personal depression.
Hank and Uel arrived—and at once Uel said, "Jord, I don't want you worn out before your transfer this afternoon. Zeth, take Jord home and see that he lies down."
Knowing perfectly well that he was being sent away because his mood was irritating Rimon as much as lord's need was, Zeth took Jord's arm and guided him out, Owen following. They passed through the back rooms of the chapel, past the open kitchen door. Sessly, helping to prepare gruel for Slina's Gens, looked up as they passed. "Jord?" She came to the door in concern, wiping her hands on her apron.
He raised a hand, warning her back, and said, "I'm all right. Just tired and in need. I'll have transfer this afternoon, and then if you still want to donate—''
"You know I do," she said 'firmly. "Take care of him, Zeth," she said with a smile, and turned back to her work.
They headed for the front door, passing Abel Veritt kneeling at his morning's prayers.
It was a beautiful day, the sky brilliant blue, no clouds for a change. The most recent snow was melting in the sun, turning the pathways to ridged mud. Slina was taking advantage of the clear day to get her Gens into the fresh air—a whole group of them were being exercised on the green, their nager more lively than usual because their morning drug dose would be dispensed in the gruel.
As Zeth, Owen, and Jord came down the front steps, Sessly Bron and Mrs. Young came out the side door of the chapel, bringing a huge pot of gruel surrounded by wooden bowls, on a wheeled cart. The Sime woman helped Sessly lift and push the cart over the threshold—but just as they got it out, a rut caught one of the wheels and a stack of bowls fell off into the mud.
"What a mess!" said Mrs. Young. "You go ahead, Sessly. I'll run back and wash these off." She gathered the bowls up and headed back into the chapel.
Zeth paid no attention, for in the morning light he was noticing the unpainted wood that marked the repairs to the wall and nearby houses. The beautiful day only served to throw the problems of Fort Freedom into high relief.
But as they walked on, a surge of the ambient, off beyond the milling pen Gens, caught Zeth's attention. As the flare of intil heightened, he recognized the field of Bekka Trent, the
out-Territory Sime who was nearing her disjunction crisis. What had Uel said? She was due for transfer tomorrow, and he had put her to work—?
No, Margid Veritt had put Bekka to doing laundry, off on the other side of the Fort, away from the Gens—but here she came, her small form moving determinedly straight toward that mob of pen Gens.
The important thing was to get temptation out of her way. "Risko!" Zeth shouted to Slina's man. "Get those Gens back! High-intil Sime approaching!"
As Risko and the others herded the Gens out of Bekka's way, they cleared a direct path between the oncoming Sime and Sessly Bron. lord gasped, "Sessly!" and started toward her under augmentation. Zeth caught up easily, leaving Owen behind.
Sessly's field registered only surprise and curiosity, not shock or fear. She and her cart were between Bekka and the chapel. Bekka pulled up short, dark eyes staring from Sessly to the chapel. Then her eyes drifted out of focus as she zlinned the Gen before her.
Zeth came to a stop, catching Jord back. lord whispered, "Oh, God, no!" but held steady. They had to keep Sessly from becoming frightened. The two channels cautiously walked the last few paces. Just as Owen came up behind them, Wik came pounding to a breathless halt behind Bekka.
Forcing his voice to be utterly calm, Zeth said, "Sessly, go in and get Uel Whelan."
She started to obey, but the moment she let go of the cart handle, Bekka began stalking her. "Stop, Sessly," Zeth said. "Stand still. I'll take care of it."
How?! was the only thing in his mind, but he forced himself to think. Uel and Marji were in Rimon's heavily insulated room; they'd have no idea what was going on. Jord was in need and flaring fear; he was in no shape to handle a disjunction crisis. And if Bekka was fixed on Sessly, that was exactly what Zeth had before him.
He had to make Bekka choose him over Sessly. Healing mode, then project like a Gen—high field, the need to give. Bekka wavered, and became duoconscious so she could look at him, her small heart-shaped face tense with indecision. "Come on—I'll give you transfer, Bekka. It's what you really want. You were looking for Abel, weren't you? To pray with you? It's .what you've been praying for. Never to
kill again. No more pain—no more guilt. Come to me, Bekka."
In a strange clarity of consciousness, Zeth was aware not only of Bekka before him, and Sessly, Jord, Owen, and Wik nearby, but also of other people watching, fascinated. Abel and Uel came out of the chapel, with Mrs. Young and her son Hapen. Uel zlinned the situation, but the more experienced channel dared not interrupt the rapport Zeth was creating. On the other side of the green Slina stood, joined by other Simes who had never seen disjunction before.
Zeth started around the wheeled cart, not toward Sessly, but around the other end. If he could keep Bekka's attention, Jord could snatch Sessly out of the way—
As if she read his intention, Bekka turned toward Sessly once more. How could Zeth make his field more appealing? He was radiating the desire to serve her—but what the junct Sime craved was not generosity, but fear. Fear was easy enough—all he had to do was stop fighting it. At once Bekka turned, stalking a pace or two toward him. Again she stopped, deliberately resisting. She doesn't want to respond to fear. He smiled at her. "It's all right. You've won, Bekka. You don't want to kill a Gen—you just need selyn. Come here—I'll give it to you."
Bekka's resistance crumbled. She flung herself on Zeth, pressing her lips desperately to his even before their laterals were properly entwined. He let her draw, feeling her fight for something he wasn't giving, unsatisfied even though selyn flowed into her nerves without resistance—it was resistance she craved. That he could provide, and in a few moments more, Bekka Trent was sobbing in relief. He held her, saying, "You did it, Bekka. It's all over now—you'll never go through that again."
People started to move. Wik came up to Zeth and Bekka, saying, ''She ran away from me, Zeth. I'm sorry."
"It turned out all right," said Zeth as Owen joined them. He looked toward Sessly, just as Jord, unshielded by any Companion, started toward her.
In the relief after the crisis, Sessly let go the steely hold she had had on her emotions, and her fear flared. Jord, in need, fought down his response—it took all that was left of his fragile strength, and he collapsed at her feet.
"Jord!" she gasped, dropping to her knees beside him. "What happened?" as Uel and Abel dashed to the fallen
channel. Zeth thrust Bekka into Wik's arms and hurried to lord.
It was the first time Zeth had seen one of Jord's voiding attacks—particularly dangerous when he was in hard need. Uel meshed fields with lord, an
d almost savagely forced him to consciousness so they dared move him. Zeth pulled Sessly Bron away, saying, "You can't help him now, Sessly. Your sympathy could cause him to fix on you."
Mrs. Young came up to them, saying, "Come on, Sessly. Help us with the Gens. Let the channels do their work."
In the back of the chapel, they laid lord down and Uel bent over him. "Get Hank," he said. There was a moment of uncertainty; then Uel said, "Zeth, you'll have to help me," and Abel turned and went for Uel's Companion.
Hank came quickly; alone. Then Zeth was zlinning the way Uel took a grip on Jord's fields and forcefully restrained the leakage of selyn. Jord's secondary system, much higher than his primary system today, had begun the voiding, but by the time they got him into the insulated room, selyn had begun to leak from his primary. No one knew if it was possible, without an actual injury, for a Sime to void to death—but Zeth recalled that the only reason they had never found out in Jord's case was Rimon Farris.
At the surge of apprehension from Zeth, Uel nodded gravely. "Pray you have Rimon's sheer strength, Zeth. Do what I was doing, and see if you can stop the voiding."
Jord's fields were fragmenting, both from the voiding and from the rough treatment Uel had had to use. Zeth swallowed the lump in his throat as Owen placed his hand on Zeth's shoulder, providing secure confidence. He tried to influence Jord's fields, but Jord's resistance took the form of fragmenting further, his fields a tenuous cloud.
Zeth stopped his attempt at pressure. Spreading his laterals above the prone form, he extended his show-field to surround Jord's. After a moment, Jord's field relaxed and began drifting toward normal. Through all of this, Jord was semiconscious, not exactly in pain, but settling deeper and deeper into the agony of hard need. As Zeth managed the fields for him, Jord came down to duoconsciousness. "Sessly?"
"She's fine," said Zeth. "Rest, Jord. Nobody got hurt. And Bekka's through disjunction."
"Thank God," Jord managed, and relief pervaded his nager, speeding his progress in the direction of normalcy.
Channel's Destiny s-5 Page 17
