“Chastised,” corrected Elder Jepson.
“She said hit,” Vengeance insisted. “Said it ’uz better bein’ dead because he couldn’t do nothin’ to her dead. Said she’d rather die than have Papa do his duty on her again.”
This time Resolution Brome knocked his son to the floor.
Cappy, meantime, was harboring a deep and abiding suspicion that when he had used the shovel on the devil… on the holy woman, he had done something very, very wrong, something wronger than Papa would ever admit to. He looked up and caught the swollen eye of his half brother, Vengeance Brome, finding in that glance a gleam of something hard and implacable. Vengeance, Cappy realized, hated Papa.
It was a revelation which Cappy was to ruminate over for some time, a revelation which would eventually be shared with others before spreading like a cancer through the Holyland. It gave them all someone on whom to blame the ultimate Armageddon.
THE NEXT TIME Stavia woke, the vague grayness in which she was submerged included movement, a bumpy rocking. Someone was doing something to her head.
“It’s all right,” said Joshua. “I’m cleaning this cut on your head, sweetheart. Be still. I’m sorry if it hurts.”
“Doesn’t hurt,” she tried to say, through swollen lips.
“Luckily,” he went on in a soothing voice, “your head is already shaved. That means I didn’t have to shave it. You’ve got a nasty gash here.”
“Hit me,” she explained. “When I got away from there, one of them hit me with something.” None of the consonants sounded right. Evidently she couldn’t quite move her lips.
“Ah,” he said. “Well, that explains it.”
“Where’s Chernon?” she asked. It seemed important to know that he was not here.
“Mumble?” asked someone.
“She wants to know where Chernon is.”
“The last time I saw him, he was running for his life with about six Holylanders after him.” A stranger’s voice. “… angel coming to rescue her.”
“Angel?” she asked, fading into darkness once more.
“Angel,” affirmed Joshua. “We left angel feathers in that room you were in, just to prove it.”
There was nothing after that for a long time, then a cessation of movement, firelight, someone spooning something warm into her mouth. Four or five shadows, people moving.
“They’ll find us,” she said, clearly.
Corrig leaned over her, smoothing her forehead. “No chance, love. They aren’t even looking. They’re all huddled in their houses hoping the devils don’t come back and finish them off.”
“Devils?”
He started to explain, but she was gone again.
When the light came back, she asked, “Angel… feathers?”
“Septemius gave us a whole bunch of his stagy stuff….”
“Why did you do that?” she wondered.
Several voices, including Septemius’, offered explanation: “… credulous and superstitious….” “… inbred to the point they’ll only last a few more generations…”“… spread confusion and general dismay….”
She didn’t hear the rest.
SHE KEPT FADING AWAY. It was only slowly, over a long period of time, that she began to understand and remember anything that they told her. There was something about her eyes being different sizes that Joshua was worried about. She was in Septemius’ wagon. They were almost back at Marthatown. She was in the wagon, alive, because Joshua and Corrig had sensed her capture, felt it when Chernon had hurt her. Over all those miles, they had simply known. They had known when Cappy hit her, too, which had brought them running. In her delirium, this did not seem impossible. It did not even seem unlikely. They had known, that was all, and like the good servitors they were, they had come to get her.
Septemius was there, and nobody was trying to keep secrets from Septemius because he already knew about it. Whatever it was that Joshua and Corrig could do, Kostia and Tonia could do as well. It was a secret, but some people knew about it.
So much Stavia understood. Knowing certain things about Joshua that she did, it didn’t take much understanding. The only thing that really surprised her was that Corrig was part of it.
From the time Chernon had cut her, it had taken almost forty days to track her down. According to Corrig, that part had been simple though time consuming. They could feel where she was, but not how far. And, at first, she had not stayed in one place. From some directions, they could not feel her at all. The new men had been invaluable, as they seemed to have a unique sense of distance that the others lacked. It had taken longer than they liked, but they had located her at last, luckily only a day after she had been struck down by Cappy.
On their way, in Septemius’s wagon, driving relays of donkeys all day and all night, they had discussed what they would do, and how, thoroughly betraying themselves to the old man in the process and completely destroying any illusions he might have had about the nature of servitors. In the end, it was Septemius who suggested that they raid the Holyland in the guise of devils, leaving ambiguous evidence of the supernatural behind them wherever possible.
“They’re superstitious,” he had said. “I remember that. They’re self-righteous and superstitious and fearful and vengeful as all get out. If you just go in and get her, they’re likely to think in terms of retaliation, and that will put your sheep-camp women at risk. If devils and angels and whatnot go in and get her, the Holylanders won’t know what to think or who to retaliate against. A good demonic raid could keep them confused for several generations!”
Joshua found this sensible. He thought it was particularly sensible after Septemius told him about Chernon.
“That boy didn’t think this up by himself,” Joshua said.
“That’s what my nieces and I decided,” Septemius agreed. “I thought he’d been put up to it, and they agreed. Not that it wasn’t his own nature to go along. He’s a smooth-talking little weasel, too. Both of the girls commented on that.”
“Then just in case he’s been up to smooth talk down there among the barbarians, we’d best do what we can
