Sam stood up and stretched, feeling something inside himself loosen and break. His life was not threatened just yet. Sometimes the only thing a hero could do was exist bravely under difficult circumstances. A hero was a hero, even in captivity. At least he could try for a certain style and dignity, a certain polish and shine. Theseus would approve of that. So he’d concentrate on surviving.
He lay down on one of the dirty beds and slept.
Phaed pulled him off the bed when it was barely light. Sam told him of the conversation he had overheard, and Phaed reacted with a sneer.
“Bastards,” he said. “Oh, yes, those bastards. Well, we’ve planned for that!”
He tied Sam’s hands in that painful way again and dragged him out into the street, across the empty square, down an alley, and into an old building that looked as though it had been deserted for years. Sam could probably have escaped; he thought he was almost as heavy as the older man, almost as muscular, but he didn’t try. He had already decided he would bear his captivity and see what happened. He did not respond to Phaed’s muttered comments, but merely came along, silently, unresisting.
When they had reached the derelict building, however, he asked, “Why are we here?”
“Oh, you’re talkin’ now, are you? Well, that’s a relief. I thought there for a time you’d gone mute.”
“No, not mute,” said Sam. “It’s just hard to talk with you because you’re not what I remember.”
“I’m sure Maire remembered me well enough.”
“She talked of you seldom,” said Sam. “I didn’t believe what she said.”
“What did she say?” Phaed was interested.
“She said you were a killer.”
“True,” said Phaed.
“That you killed women and children and other innocent people. That you hunted people down and killed them.”
“Why wouldn’t you believe that? Any good man of the Cause would do the same.”
“I didn’t believe it because I’m not part of your Cause,” Sam said, barely able to get the words out. “No decent man would be part of your Cause, so no decent man would believe it.”
Phaed laughed. “Oh, decent, is it? Like those dogs from Ahabar, hm? Like you farmers? Like you servants who take other men’s money to do other men’s will? Decent!” He hawked and spat, showing what he thought of such decency. “Slave-men. Not even free!”
“Why are we here,” asked Sam, again, gesturing with his chin at the surroundings.
“We’re here, boy, because the Awateh wants blood. You say my friends didn’t find your Mam to give him, not that I’d intended they should.”
“You arranged her escape?”
“Say I foresaw it. I may have dropped a word here and there. The Gharm are easy to manipulate with a word, here and there.”
“Did she get clean away?”
“She’s where I know where she is, boy.”
“Why did the prophet want to kill her?”
“The Awateh’s getting old and frumious. The blood of unbelievers makes him feel young again. Apostates are even better. Ordinarily, we’d go catch a few backsliders from Wander or Skelp and bring them in for the old man’s delectation, but the blockade’s been moved through Skelp and Wander and sits now at the border of Leeward County, so there’s no apostates we can get at. We could always accuse someone of our own, but with us in our current disfavor, that might come back to roost upon our shoulders. So Flandry and Pye think you’d make a nice morsel for the old man, buy them some goodwill, which is otherwise in short supply, but I’m not of a mind to oblige them.”
“Why not?”
“Why not? Well, now, I’m not sure. Could be I’m a bit upset at all the fingers pointed at me over that harpist Gharm. The Awateh and the prophets agreed she should be done, but when it went wrong, they didn’t point fingers at each other. No, they pointed at Preu and Mugal Pye, and even at Epheron, who had little enough to do with it, and at me, boy! So I’m disinclined to give anythin’ of mine to the Awateh. Let him find his fun elsewhere.”
Sam was not so eager to die that he wanted to argue. “You plan to stay here?”
“Pye and Flandry’ve always talked too much, luckily for us. Well, so when they come lookin’ for you, they’ll find the house empty. Likely they’ll think we two have left Sarby. Perhaps they’ll think I’ve taken you to Cloud, so they’ll go whippin’ back there to protect their own interests. Meantime, I’ve got some things stowed about this old place, a mattress or two and a few blankets. A pot to cook a bit in. There’s a stove that works in that room over there, and there’s water runnin’ in there, as well.”
“What was this place?”
“Used to be a maternity home, with midwives and all.”
“Why did they shut it down?”
“There’s one in Panchytown, and that’s close enough. No need for two of ‘em.”
Sam looked down the hall, a long hall, with empty rooms on either side. Fewer babies in Sarbytown. “Phaed, has it never occurred to you that your doctrines don’t work too well.”
Phaed struck him across the face, knocking him down. “Shut you, boy. I may question doctrine and I may question prophets, but you haven’t earned that right. You don’t question your elders, either. You’ll learn.”
“So you intend to keep me here. Forever?”
“Until you learn,” said Phaed. “However long that takes.”
• In the cave in the mountains south of Sarby, a day and a night went by. Maire had slept for much of it. Now she sat in the cave opening, feeling lonelier with each moment that passed, more cut off from life, more separated from her own people. She felt a part of herself was missing, and that part growing deeper and wider with every day.
“It’s dying,” she said to the silent Gharm beside the fire. “Inside me, I can feel it dying.”
“What is dying, Maire Manone?”
“The God inside
