“It means war, Sire!”
“I know, but I must have my son.”
Darkwind and Jalor were standing close by. Jalor said, “I hope you will count me among your warriors, Chief White Storm. From what I saw, it would be a good time to raid the Shadow Wings. I think they can be beaten.”
Darkwind nodded. “Yes, let me alert the warriors, Chief. Let us go at once!” He halted, then nodded toward the Seven Sleepers who were disappearing into a cave that was used for a prison. “As for them, they are worthy of death.”
In his anger, White Storm agreed, but Sure Flight said, “Let us not be too hasty, Chief. It is easy to take a life, but who could give it back?” An argument ensued in which Sure Flight stood against both Jalor and Darkwind, but in the end he lost.
“They will die,” White Storm said, “in the morning. Go and tell them so.”
Sure Flight made his way to the prison. He looked around at the young people and said sorrowfully, “I am the bearer of ill tidings. Chief White Storm has given you all the sentence of death.”
A silence fell across the cell, and Jake said, “I felt bad about this all the time. Now it looks like I was right. I wish I weren't though.” He glanced about at the Sleepers and went over and sat down, staring morosely on the floor.
Josh had been so worried about Sarah that he had not had a chance to think about their own plight. But now he did. “Do what you can for us, Sure Flight,” he said.
“Alas, that will not be much,” Sure Flight protested. “Our chief is a man of strong, iron will. There will be war now, and I'm afraid you will be the casualties of it. I'm sorry it has come to this. I'll do my best, but I offer no hope.”
* * *
The silence seemed to be pressing in on Jake. He had moved to one end of the cell, not wanting to talk to any of the others. They indeed had drawn their cloaks about them and were all asleep. It was very late. They had all been exhausted by the raid, and now Jake alone sat with his head in his hands. The Sleepers had faced death before, and now it had come again. They had been in more than one prison, and yet this time somehow it all seemed so useless.
“If we'd only waited for Goél to send us,” Jake whispered.
He felt a heaviness such as he'd never known, and, despite himself, tears began to gather in his eyes. To leave life was hard. He thought about never seeing the birds, the sunshine, the trees, never seeing the good things of Nuworld again.
“Are you in despair, my son?”
The question was whispered, but Jake jerked as if he had touched a live wire. His head came up, and he saw—Goél! He called out his name and rose at once. “Goél!” he whispered. “Why have you left us all alone?”
“I've never really been away from you, Jake. Haven't you learned that yet?”
Goél's large, direct eyes caught the torch flame and seemed to burn into Jake's soul. “I wanted to test you, my son,” he said. “I've tested you often by giving direct orders. Now I wanted to see if you were willing to walk in darkness without me.”
Jake did not understand. “It would be so much better,” he said, “if you would just tell us what to do.”
“All of my people must learn to walk in the darkness when I seem not present.”
The voice of Goél seemed to echo deep in Jake's soul, and he spoke for a long time about faith and trust and belief. Finally he put His hand on Jake's shoulder. “You have been filled with doubt, but now, Jake, you must have much faith. Long ago I told you that you would have to walk in darkness when there was no light. That time has come.”
Jake looked up into Goél's face. Suddenly he was filled with a greater love for his leader than he had ever known. He swallowed and nodded. “I'll do the best I can. I can't say I'm happy, but I'll do it.”
“I would rather see you obedient than happy.” Goél smiled. “I will leave you now.” He looked toward the others, who were still sleeping, and said, “I will not speak to them at this time. You must be the voice of Goél to them. Encourage them; tell them there is hope.”
Goél spoke briefly, then Jake seemed to grow very sleepy. He sat down again on the floor, his eyes closed, listening as Goél spoke gently. He seemed to drop off to sleep—then he came awake with a sudden jerk.
“Goél,” he whispered. But when he looked around the cell he saw only his five companions. He knew then that, as it had happened to others of the Sleepers, he had had a visit from Goél and knew that he must be strong for the rest, who had not had a visit.
“I don't know what's going to happen,” he whispered. “But I'll do the best I can, Goél.”
13
Sarah Shows a Better Way
Sarah groaned as she straightened her shoulders. She was hungry, for they had been fed only a few vile scraps of food. They had been beaten, both she and Swiftwind, the night before, and she shuddered to think of how awful it had been. Her lips were dry, and she went over and picked up the single pot of tepid, stale-tasting water and drank a few swallows. She shuddered again and made a face, then went back and sat down on the filthy blanket that served her for a bed.
“You can't sleep, can you?” Swiftwind had been lying across the room and now struggled to a sitting position. His face was bloody, for he had fought hard against the jailers who had administered the beating. They had treated him cruelly, but he had not uttered a single word as they had held him down and beaten him terribly.
A faint ray of light trickled through a single small window, no more than two or three inches wide and a foot high. It lit the miserable cell casting a feeble glow on the pair.
Sarah said, “Let me wash your back.” He protested, but she poured water into the single basin and made a rag out of the shirttail of the garment she wore. “Lie down,” she said quietly. “These cuts are deep. They might get infected. I wish I had some disinfectant.”
“Disin—what?” Swiftwind muttered.
As soon as Sarah touched his back, she knew he had fever. The cuts made by the guards' whips were ugly, and she washed them carefully, wishing she had something to make bandages out of. “You'll have to sleep on your stomach, I think, for a while,” she said quietly.
Swiftwind sat up and stared at her. “A warrior doesn't cry,” he said grimly.
Sarah sat down and looked at him, “Well, girls do,” she said. “I already have.” As desperate as her situation was, she managed a smile. “You ought to try it sometime.”
He stared at her, his face flushed. “Try crying? Not if they kill me!”
“I didn't think you would,” Sarah said. “Boys don't cry. They keep everything all bottled up inside of them. That's where we girls have it over you.” She thought it well to keep talking, for they were both thinking of the next visit of their cruel captors. “When we girls have trouble, we can go off somewhere and have a good cry. Then we feel better.”
Swiftwind looked at her curiously. “Well,” he admitted finally, “I might try it, if I thought it would help, but you can't let your enemies see you are hurting.”
“I know that's the way with you men,” Sarah said. She moved her arms carefully. Their captors had been much less vicious with her. Still she ached from the blows that she had taken. She sat silently for a while and then said, “What do you think will happen?”
“Happen? They'll kill us, that's what'll happen.”
Sarah was shocked at the bluntness of his words. “Why would they do that?”
“Because we're their enemies. I am anyway.” He looked over at her and said grimly, “They'll probably make a slave out of you.” He shook his head, adding, “But it won't be like it was back with my people. These are hard enemies. They treat each other badly, much more slaves.”
Sarah sat in the semidarkness thinking about Josh and the others. “Josh will be coming to get me,” she said. “And your father, he'll come for you, won't he?”
“That's probably just what the Shadow Wings want.”
“What do you mean?”
“We had a war once. It nearly wiped ou
t both tribes. Since then the Shadow Wings have been looking for a way to get their revenge. This time it looks like they've got it.” Despair filled his eyes. “My father will come, but the Shadow Wings have a strong defensive position here. They can hide in the rocks and shoot as my people come in. We've talked about it many times, but always we knew it was too hard. I hope they don't come—but I know my father. He'll come to save me.”
Sarah sat quietly, thinking for a moment. She had been in cells before. As soon as they got to Nuworld, she and the others had been held by the Sanhedrin and expected to be executed. She began to speak now of those times, relating how when the darkness was worst and there was no hope, somehow Goél had delivered them. She spoke warmly and passionately and finally reached out and touched Swiftwind's shoulder. “We must never give in to despair. There was a very great man once back in my world. His name was Winston Churchill, and, when it looked as though his country was going to be annihilated, he said over and over, ‘Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never.’”
Swiftwind stared at her. “I like that! He sounds like he would have made a good Winged Raider.”
Sarah giggled. “No, he was too fat for that, but he was a great man.”
Neither spoke for a while, and finally Swiftwind got up and began to pace the floor. He was gritting his teeth and slapping his hands together despite the pain. His face was feverish, and he muttered, “I hate these Shadow Wings. I wish they had just one throat and I could get my hands around it and kill them all at once.”
“Don't say that,” Sarah said quickly. “You only hurt yourself when you talk like that, Swiftwind.”
“What are you talking about, ‘hurt yourself’?”
“Hatred always does that to people,” Sarah said simply. “Didn't you know that?”
“Of course I don't know that, and you don't either. You love your friends, and you hate your enemies.”
“No, hatred doesn't just hurt the one it's against,” Sarah protested. “It hurts the one that has it. It's like—it's like—” She could not finish for a moment. It was difficult to put these things into words. She had seen in her life gentleness and goodness and love. But this fierce young warrior had seen none of this. She sat there seeking for words to speak that would touch his heart, knowing that it was hard, and finally began to say quietly, “Have you ever—you know how food goes bad sometimes, Swiftwind?”
“Why, yes, everyone's seen that.”
“It starts with just a little thing. Take an apple, for example. You can take one bad apple that's starting to go rotten and put it into a basketful of other apples. What happens if you leave it there?”
“Why, the whole basket of apples will go rotten,” he answered.
“Exactly, and that's what happens when you hate someone. It's a rotten thing, and it begins to touch other things in your life.”
“What do you mean, ‘touch other things’?” Swiftwind was clearly puzzled and stared at her in bewilderment.
Sarah struggled again to find words. “Hatred in a man or woman or a boy or girl is a rotten thing. It begins to turn you sour, and the longer you let it stay there, the worse it gets. Surely you must have noticed that people who have hatred don't just wind up hating the one person.
They get mean toward everyone, and pretty soon they're just sour and filled with bitterness.”
“I guess I have seen some like that,” he said finally. He pondered on what Sarah had said and finally shook his head, asking, “What would you have a warrior to do? He has to fight sometimes—his enemies.”
“It is hard,” Sarah admitted, “but back in my world we were taught that you had to love your enemies.”
“Love your enemies? Why, that's impossible!”
“No, it's not.” Sarah shook her head. Her hair was dirty and lank, and she brushed it back from her forehead, then folded her hands. “It's a hard thing to do, but in the end it's better for you. I know that's hard, but you don't get sour and mean that way.”
“Well, I could never do that!”
“It would be hard for you because you're strong. There's something about strong people. They just don't want to give in.”
The two talked on for a long time. Finally the jailers came and interrogated them. They did not beat them this time, but the leader, a wiry-looking man of about fifty, stared at Swiftwind. “You might as well give up,” he said. “Your father will be coming. I know Chief White Storm. He'll never leave his son here. We've got every man of our tribe out waiting for him, with our quivers full of arrows. When they come, we'll kill them all.” He laughed loudly, saying, “Those we don't kill, we'll make slaves, as we will you.”
The small, wiry chieftain looked at Sarah. “Who are you? You're not one of the people of the desert. You're too fair for that.”
Sarah tried to explain the Seven Sleepers and their mission, but the leader only laughed. “You'll make a good slave,” he said. “I may take you into my own household.”
He came closer to her, held her arm with a steel grip, and forced her head up. She could feel his eyes seeming to eat into her. There was something cruel about his gaze. She wanted to cry out from the pain of his grip, but she did not. “You're a pretty little thing,” he muttered. “Yes, I think I'll take you to be mine.” He tormented her for a while, seeing the pain and fear in her eyes and finally laughed, saying, “We'll have a good time, you and I.”
Then he looked over at Swiftwind. “And you'll be good for digging caves. You'll think you're a mole before this is over.” He laughed again and then left the room.
When the door clanged shut, Swiftwind stared at Sarah. “Well, there it is. Don't you hate him?”
Sarah shivered. “He's a wicked, evil man.”
“Of course he is, and that's why we hate him.”
Sarah wanted to give in, but she finally said swiftly, “No, if I hated him, I'd begin to let my whole spirit get bad. So I just choose not to hate him.”
Swiftwind said in disgust, “I'll never understand that. But I bet after he abuses you, you'll think differently.”
“I hope not. If I do, I'll only be hurting myself.”
The day wore on, and the next day, and more than once Sarah began to wonder. She did feel hatred creeping up in her, and she knew that she could not live with it. She thought of Goél, and just before she went to sleep on her filthy blanket that night, she whispered, “Don't let me hate. Somehow, don't let me hate.”
14
Jake Has a Plan
Jake did not disturb the others, but for the rest of the long night he was awake. Always before it had been Josh or Sarah or Dave—one of the others—who had received information from Goél. He remembered suddenly how at their first encounter with the Sanhedrin and the Dark Lord they had been imprisoned. The dungeon had been as dark as this one, and their outlook just as gloomy. It had been Sarah who had announced suddenly that Goél had come to her, and Jake had been one of those, he remembered, who had said, “We didn't see him. You must have been dreaming.”
Now, as Jake looked over the sleeping forms, he wondered if they would have the same reaction when he told them. Doesn't make any difference, he thought, I've got to do what Goél commands. He felt inadequate and wondered why it hadn't been Dave or Josh or Reb who had been entrusted with this thing. But Jake was a stubborn young man and now knew that the plan Goél had revealed to him he would have to share with the others. He hated to be teased or doubted, and he knew that was exactly what he faced.
Finally Dave began to stir, then sat up groaning. In doing so, he bumped against Reb, who moaned and said, “Let me alone!” Then he, too, came awake. Their stirrings roused the others, and Jake watched as one by one they came out of their sleep and began to look around.
Josh blinked and licked his lips. Looking around the cell, he said, “Well, seems like the story of our life, doesn't it? Always in a prison of some kind or other.”
Reb stretched hugely, yawned, and said, “Sure does, and this time it might not wor
k out as well as it has before.” He looked toward the door as if expecting the executioner to come walking in, then turned to look at Jake, who was standing off to one side, his back to the cold wall. “What's wrong with you, Jake?” he asked.
Jake cleared his throat and said, “Well, I think we're all right—in a way.”
“All right!” Wash yelped. “Here we are in a dungeon, going to be executed, and you say we're all right! I don't think your elevator's going all the way up, Jake.”
Jake had to smile at the small black boy. He said quickly, “I had a visit from Goél.”
Instantly every one of the other Sleepers turned and stared at him. It was Reb who demanded, “Well, what did he say, Jake?”
Jake was warmly grateful to Reb for not questioning his statement, and he saw the same assurance in the others' eyes. At least we've learned something, he thought. To trust each other. Aloud he said, “He told me that it was the right thing to do, to come here, and I guess I've got to apologize to you, Josh, and the rest of you for being such a pain in the neck.”
“Did he say why he never told us to come?” Dave demanded.
“Yes, he did,” Jake said. “He said that we had to learn to walk sometimes without direct orders. Somehow that seemed important to him. He called it a walk of faith.” He shrugged his shoulders, adding, “I don't like it, and I know you don't either, but that's what he said.”
Josh came over to stand next to Jake. Excitement was in his face, and he said, “What else did he say, Jake?”
“He said a lot, but the first thing is that we've got to get an audience with the chief before we get killed.”
“Better before than after, I always say.” Reb grunted. “Did he say how to do it?”
“No, but I guess we just ask for it.”
As it turned out, they did not find it difficult. Sure Flight and his daughter, Lareen, came into their cell not thirty minutes later. Lareen ran at once to Jake and said, “Garfield, are you all right?”
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