“He didn’t know?” Sam asked, becoming in that instant wholly confirmed in his opinion that Phaed had been much maligned. Then again, more surely, “He didn’t know!”
“He didn’t know,” Jep confirmed. “But he’s one of them, Sam. He really is.”
Sam did not hear the warning. He sat smiling, vindicated. Jep fingered his collar and wondered if any of them were ever to be free again. Of course, if they lived until the Tchenka rose up, assuming they did rise up, they would probably go free then. If it worked in Voorstod as it worked on Hobbs Land. If the Voorstoders weren’t immune. If the three of them lived that long.
Saturday stayed at his side, sharing his fear, worrying over Sam, who was not afraid. “He’s crazy,” Africa had said. “He may do something crazy.” Fear, Jep and Saturday thought, would have been more sensible than this calm acceptance.
Late on the second day, Mugal Pye came to demand that Saturday write to Commander Karth saying that she would be raped and then tortured to death if the blockade were not immediately raised.
Saturday had been working at controlling her fear since she had entered Voorstod. Since the burial here in Sarby, she had felt more sure of her way, almost as though the new thing growing gave strength to the old thing she carried within her. She had resolved that no matter how much she feared, she would not be moved by threats. “No,” she said to Mugal Pye, in a voice that shook only a little. “No.” Her throat dried, and she could say nothing more.
Sam put his hand upon her shoulder and faced Pye with burning eyes, finding a new justification for his own presence at this confrontation. “If you send such a letter, the army of Ahabar won’t just sit on your borders. They’re being patient now because Maire Manone has asked them to, because she doesn’t want more bloodshed. You do something nasty or outrageous to this child, and the army won’t wait any longer. If you want the army to stay where it is, do what you have agreed to do. Send us out of here, then Maire Manone will return.”
“I spoke to the girl!” thundered Pye.
“But I’m speaking to you,” shouted Sam, just as loudly.
Saturday had found her strength. “Kill me or not, torture me or not, I will write nothing.”
Mugal went away in a fury and did not come back again. There was much hindsight being explored on the matter of Stenta Thilion, and those who had committed the deed were not in good odor among the prophets in Cloud or elsewhere in Voorstod. Mugal had wanted very badly to hurt Saturday just now, as he would have hurt any of his own womenfolk or children who offended him, but he had not dared.
More days passed. On the fourth day, Preu Flandry and two other men showed up with a device to unlock the collar Jep wore. They took it off of Jep, then the two men held Sam while Preu fastened it upon him. The men went away. Sam shouted at Preu, calling him such names as he knew, which were not much to a Voorstoder. Preu was not impressed.
“Yell all you like, Sam Girat.”
“This wasn’t the agreement!”
“We made no agreement except to trade the boy for Maire. Well, he’ll be traded. You’ve no one to blame but yourself for coming along unasked and unwanted. We could have kept the girl, too, but we decided not.” The younger prophets had decided not. The prophets had wanted no excuse for an invasion. “Settle yourself, man, you sound like a fool. Your father wants to see you, and the collar’U keep you where he can find you.”
Sam took a deep breath and told the children to go.
“They must let you go as well!” Jep cried.
“Go,” said Sam, shaking the boy by the shoulders, adding softly, “Jep, my father wants to see me. You heard Flandry say so. Go. My father won’t hurt me. I know that.”
They didn’t know. They only hoped. Still, some hope was better than none. There was no time to say goodbye to Nils or Pirva. Within moments Preu had dragged the two young people into the flier and they were aloft, flying swiftly eastward, then south along the mountains.
Preu said, “The prophets want you out—not the Awateh, but the others, the younger ones. They figure you’re dangerous to have around. If you stay, the Awateh will eventually get hold of you and learn you’re the girl who sang, and then he’ll make an example of you, and no one knows what Ahabar would do if that happened. The prophets tried a few things, sending messages of various sorts to Maire and the Commander. He didn’t answer at all, and she sent them all back, saying no and no and no, she’d come in when you came out, and that was all. She could do nothing about the blockade.”
“She told you the truth,” said Jep. “She did everything she could in keeping it merely a blockade and not an invasion. Why are you keeping Sam?”
“Ah, well, who knows? We did a deed the prophet approved of. Then, when we’d done it, the prophet didn’t approve and he insulted Phaed a bit. So Phaed wants some of his own back, and snatching Sam away under the nose of the prophet, that’s part of it, no doubt. Then, too, Phaed simply wants Sam. Sam’s his son, after all. The prophets aren’t to know we’ve kept him with us, and if you value his life, you’ll be quiet about it.”
“How can we be quiet? The whole Ahabarian army will see he didn’t come back with us.”
“True,” mused Preu. “All too true, but Phaed says he’ll take that chance.”
“I’m not sure Maire will come in, with Sam
