"Yeah—probably in Len's room, while he's away. It's the house with the big apple tree—about five houses down the street."
They had to raise their voices over the moans coming from the room where the young Raider was. Suddenly the incoherent shouts turned to words: "Papa! No, Papa, no!" A thud, as the boy hurled himself against the barred door.
Simultaneously, Zeth realized that the boy was shouting in English and that Eph Norton's field had suddenly gone wild. "No!" he groaned. "Jimmy! Oh, my God. Oh, my God!"
Owen was trying to step in front of the door to stop the flaring Gen fields from irritating the boy inside, and at the same time maneuver Zeth to where he was shielded, too.
Eph Norton took the move as if the boys were trying to bar him from the room, demanding hoarsely, "Who's in there?"
"One of the Raiders," said Zeth. "A young boy—can't be many months past changeover."
"A young boy? Jimmy?"
As if in answer, the boy inside the room cried, "Papa! Please, Papa! Don't lock me in the barn! Let me out!"
Norton was white with shock. "That's my son! Dear God, why?"
Glian Lodge was staring at Zeth and Owen. "A Raider? What can you do with him? He's a raving monster."
Zeth said, "I don't know what we're going to do with him, but we can't just murder him, can we?" The way I was almost murdered. He forced the thought aside.
"I meant to," said Norton. "I locked him in the barn, went for my gun—he broke out! I never saw him again. It wasn't three weeks later I met Owen, and he told me about– I could have sent him—" He broke into sobs.
"Eph, you can't be sure that's Jimmy," said Lodge.
"It's Jimmy. I want to see him."'
"No," Zeth and Owen chorused, Zeth's sympathy for the boy's situation putting him a beat behind. Then Owen continued, "He can't help himself, Mr. Norton. He's been living like a Freehand Raider for months. Now he has an injured lateral and he's hallucinating. It could make him do anything,"
Glian Lodge said, "You don't have to guard the door,
boys. I'll see that Eph doesn't do anything stupid. Come on now—if it is Jimmy, you can't help him now." He looked to Zeth. "Do I understand right that his upset will upset the boy?"
"That's right."
"So the best thing you can do is let me put you back to bed. You were only supposed to walk down the street." As he led the man out, he added, "We'll talk to this Abel Veritt. He seems a good sort—you even forget he's a Sime, y'know?"
The Raider boy—Jimmy Norton, apparently—continued to sob. Grimly, Zeth led the way out through the chapel. There were only a few Gens left now, none seeming critical to Zeth. Despite heavy curtains hung about one bed, Zeth felt the aching and sick headache which identified Hapen Young's transfer burn. Without fosebine, the boy would suffer, but he'd survive.
The insulated hangings around Maddok Bron's bed were turned back so that Marji Carson could sit beside him and still keep an eye on the other patients. Trina Morgan looked tired, but was awake. Bron was sleeping.
A good smell permeated the air, and Zeth looked up to see some women wheeling in a cart with a huge pot. As they began handing out bowls of soup, Maddok Bron came awake. "Good morning, Mr. Bron," Zeth said, though it was almost noon.
Bron forced an unconvincing smile. When he tried to lift his head, a spasm of pain shot through his lower back. Marji said, "Don't move. Let us help you, Mr. Bron."
"Marji? They told me—I didn't believe it. God bless you, child, and forgive me for thinking you a demon."
"You couldn't know," she replied. "Even Mama didn't know. But everything's all right now." She blinked back tears. "You're hungry. That's a sign you're getting better."
Cautiously, Bron asked, "You can read my thoughts?"
"No, only feelings."
"A gift. And you're a healer, too." Zeth felt the man's awe, akin to his own—but while Zeth was perceiving his familiar world in a new way, Bron was encountering a world he had never dreamed possible. "So much to think about—"
"Not today," said Zeth. "You're much better, but you're not well. Eat, and then go back to sleep."
Bron looked from Marji to Zeth and back again. "Children
tending the injured? Are things that bad, then?" He tried to peer out into the main room.
"We're not children; we're channels," Marji said firmly. "Don't worry—Mountain Chapel will manage till you're well. Daddy and some other men are going home today. They'll take care of everything. You concentrate on healing."
As Bron had used up his strength, he allowed Marji and Trina to prop him up with pillows. He didn't flinch when Marji extended handling tentacles to steady the bowl of soup, but ran a hesitant finger over one of her dorsals, saying in a bemused tone, "I don't understand. I must pray and meditate, for there is too much I do not understand."
Zeth had not meant to stay so long in the chapel. As he and Owen hurried out the front, they met a gruesome sight: rows of dead bodies laid out on the cold ground, not even blankets to cover them. Four Simes were digging a trench in the unused portion of the cemetery, while the ranchers and the men of Mountain Chapel loaded onto wagons the bodies of their own dead.
Zeth flinched, and backed against Owen, who could hardly soothe Zeth because he was shivering in horror himself. Zeth did not see his mother's body. Someone had taken it to prepare it, as he saw people taking other bodies off now . . . and one being brought back, wrapped in fine linen cloth. There was no time to make coffins.
Abel Veritt, crossing from his house toward the Sime infirmary, met them. "I didn't think," he said. "I should have warned you."
"Mama?" Zeth asked hesitantly.
"She is in heaven, Zeth. Her earthly remains are being prepared . . . but that is not your job, son. We all have other duties, even before we can hold the memorial service."
Abel's field was comforting. Zeth felt Owen choke back tears as he squared his shoulders and followed the two Simes along the path lined with corpses.
Abel took Zeth and Owen into the Brandon house, now turned into an infirmary for the most seriously wounded Simes.
Jord Veritt looked as bad as Zeth had ever seen him, older than his father, eyes sunk so far into their perpetual dark, circles that his-face appeared a skull. His field felt very different from those of Rimon, Uel, or Marji—a peculiar sense of precarious balance, as if his systems held only a
tenuous grasp on their selyn, and his control might at any moment dissolve into explosive release.
But he was working, Wik at his side, Anni Steers sleeping in the armchair in the corner.
"Jord," said Abel, "you've done enough now. You may be needed elsewhere later, so you must save your strength."
Jord gave a bitter smile. "You mean I'd better not get sick myself. It's all right, Father—I know my limits." He looked at Zeth and Owen. "You're supposed to relieve me?"
"I learned to balance fields last night," said Zeth. "I can do healing mode. Let's hope nothing else is required."
"Show me," said Jord, and Zeth went into healing mode as Rimon had taught him. "Good," said Jord, "but you're projecting for Gens, as if you were in need. For Simes, you have to pretend to be Gen. Like this."
Zeth strove to mesh fields, but the anguished fear that underlay Jord's projection of repletion repelled him. Forcing himself, he managed to imitate the repletion only. Jord said, "That's it, Zeth—keep that up, and you'll have everyone comfortable." Zeth realized that Jord couldn't tell the difference between their fields–night and day to Zeth. If another channel couldn't tell, he decided, then the Simes who were to benefit probably couldn't either.