Brightly Burning

able to grasp the concept as a great conflagration devouring everything it encounters.:

:And given what Charts had to say tonight, that makes perfect sense. You're a senior Herald. If there's a war, you are going to be in the middle of it,: Satiran observed with gloom.

:His vision could have been triggered just because I was thinking about a war with Karse.: Now that his mind had started down this road, it seemed more and more plausible and explanation. :lf he happens to be sensitive to me, just from so much contact with me—I'm the nearest thing he's got to his father right now. The timing is right, he went into this just about when Charts was talking to us.:

:Karse—the Sun-priests—yes, flame images would certainly be appropriate.: He felt Satiran suddenly shudder. :They burn their prisoners, you know. Especially Heralds.:

The same thought had occurred to him. He faced it resolutely. :Forewarned—visions of the future can be changed. That's why Foresight is one of our most valuable Gifts. We're warned now, Satiran; we can take steps to prevent getting ourselves into trouble.:

:We can try,: Satiran replied. There was a long pause. :Yes. You're right. And it's a good thing I'm having Hayka speak with Jolene tonight and give Jolene all the details. It will be easier to keep you out of trouble if all of us know what's been Seen. Unlike certain times in the past when no one knew but you.

'Hey!' he exclaimed aloud, but Satiran was right this time. :All right. Spread the word, then. After all, if that interpretation is right, I won't be the only Herald in danger.:

:No,: Satiran agreed grimly. :You won't.:

Pol left it at that.

SEVEN

ON the fourth day of Lan's self-imposed exile from the dining hall, Owyn stayed behind when the others left. The younger boy lingered beside his desk, gazing at Lan with an intensely speculative expression.

'You're avoiding them, aren't you?' he said, suddenly. 'You're hiding out from them up here.' There didn't seem to be any condemnation in his tone, but Lan couldn't be absolutely sure. After all, Tyron could be using the boy as a tool to find out what Lan was up to.

Lan waited for a moment before answering, using the time it took to unwrap his packet of bread and butter before answering. 'I suppose you think I'm a coward,' he replied bitterly, with a shrug. 'If it's cowardly to avoid getting punished for no reason by people who are big and mean, then I suppose I'm a coward. And, you know, I don't care who says I am.' So much for Tyron. He can call me all the names he wants.

'Why do they let you stay away from lunch?' Owyn asked curiously, giving no sign that this was what Tyron had sent him to find out.

'Which 'they' do you mean?' Lan answered with a question of his own. 'If you mean the teachers, no one has said anything to me, and I don't suppose they will. For all they know, I just take a little extra time to go down and hurry through the meal so I can come back up and study. If you mean— them—you don't suppose I was going to ask permission of them, do you?' A certain apprehension tightened his belly for a moment. 'Have they figured out what I'm doing? Have they said anything about me?'

'Not yet,' Owyn told him, and the knot in his gut relaxed. The younger boy fidgeted a little. 'I was going to ask if you minded if I stayed, too. I brought apples....'

As Owyn stared at him, hope naked in his eyes, Lan found his lips stretching into a rare smile. 'Mind? Why should I mind, and why would it matter if I did? I don't exactly own this room, you know. You have as much right here as I do. But I wouldn't mind trading some of my bread for one of your apples.'

Owyn sat back down with a thud, and dug in his book bag, coming up with a really fine, red fruit, which he handed to Lan in exchange for a slice of buttered bread. 'How did you think of staying up here?' he asked around a mouthful, gazing at Lan as if he was some sort of wizard for coming up with so cunning a solution.

Owyn's admiration made him feel smug and embarrassed, at the same time. Lan did his best to try to look modest. 'It was obvious, once you get past the idea that you have to eat something besides bread for lunch,' he replied, with a touch of humor.

Owyn gazed at him with something approaching hero worship, and swallowed. 'Half the time, when I know they're going to have at me, I can't eat anything anyway,' he confessed. 'I even get sick, sometimes. They've never flogged me, but I keep thinking they're going to. And—' his expression turned fierce and angry, giving the impression of a puppy in a rage, '—I hate it when they do something that makes people laugh at me!'

'I think that was why I was having those fits and headaches,' Lan admitted, 'but no one at home believes me about them, and what they are doing to us. My mother pretty much called me a liar and a whiner when I told her what was going on.'

Owyn nodded sadly, and Lan felt a crumb of comfort in discovering he was not alone in being ignored by his parents. 'I know, I tried, too. And you should see Tyron when he's where any of our parents will see him! It's sickening! He pets little ones and talks to them like he was their best friend, he brings them little toys or sweets.' His mouth turned down in a bitter grimace, and his eyes grew bright. 'My parents think I'm just trying to get him in trouble because he's supposed to be in charge of discipline, and that I'm jealous of him just because all the parents and teachers think he's so great—' He had to stop for a moment, as his emotions overcame him. He sniffed angrily and wiped his eyes with the back of his cuff. 'All I want is for them to leave us alone!'