'I want an answer.' Jacowicz's voice came faintly through the soft veil of Elli's presence. Dorland's eyes were on the boy's scarred face. The boy stared back.
*Kra'ith*
It came in an instant. The boy's name was Jonny. He was trying hard not to be concerned about his parents. They were in the group near the river. Jonny knew they had violated one of Lord Tern's strictest rules by going into a forbidden part of the city.
'(Youth/touch) kra'ith*
Elli's presence folded over all of them. Dorland, Paul, Jonny and Elli. Kra'ith—an alien touch reaching out to soothe an array of human feelings: Dorland's guilt over the deaths of Diana and Shari; Paul's doubts and insecurities; Jonny's blasphemous concern for his parents. They were all together—
'What's going on—?' Jacowicz's voice rose, then faded.
*Kra'ith*
'—Jonny, I want you to come up here and . . . JonnyV
For a moment Paul was back in that depressing bar with Dorland behind him on the stage. Paul had felt that he was a failure at everything when he'd sat down at that table, and when he'd left, it was with renewed faith in himself.
Dorland was a kra'ith leader.
Jonny's parents: his mother planted jewel tips around the porch of their little house in Fairhope in an effort to make the squalid place a nicer home for her family; his father worked the fields even when his back felt as if it would break as he reached for the next fluff of cotton. But he went to the fields every day because the deacons kept a record of those who missed, and the fear was great enough to overcome the pain.
The link expanded to cover the other boys waiting behind Jacowicz. Affection, hatred, fear, happiness—all the range of human emotions
washed out from them. Dorland brought Diana and Shari close to him. He projected their warmth and acceptance.
•'(Group/touch)*
204 William Greenleaf
The semarch ceremony initiated the boys into the Sons of God. It was a distorted version of the Tal Tahir ceremony.
The youth are transformed from those who are worshipped to those who worship.
Dorland blinked, and for a moment Elder
Jacowicz's skull-like face cleared in front of him. Jacowicz raised the staff high and brought it slashing down toward Dorland's head—
Dorland felt the shades of music in the background. He imagined his hands inside the robe of his player's garb, fingered the buttons, arranged the music, swept the auditorium with color. The music and the flashing colors combined into a magical salve, swaying in and out of the pain in Jonny's eyes, sweeping over Jacowicz's upturned face. Kra'ith—the strength of the child.
'Jonnyr
The shrill scream pierced through the haze that surrounded Paul. Through Dorland's eyes he saw the staff raised high above Jacowicz's head, and Jacowicz's arm held tight in the grip of Jonny and another boy. The staff fell to the ground. Elder Jacowicz stumbled back, staring . . .
Then Paul felt himself fading. Again came the stretching of identity, and the surroundings changed. Abruptly, he was sitting on a hard stone pedestal with Sabastian beside him.
'Are you all right?' Sabastian asked. His face was strangely pale. 'You've been mumbling and muttering the whole time, jerking around like you were having a bad dream.'
Paul's eyes focused with some effort on the old man. 'I was with Dorland.'
Sabastian didn't question the statement. 'Where is he?'
