But, of course, there was at least one member left. She herself had saved him. If she survived, she told herself with utmost seriousness, she would have to mention her unforgivable activities to Rasiel Plum.
• “Phaed,” said Sam. He had reached the end of the line of soldiers, of prophets and Faithful. He had seen them all go past, on the horizon or close by. He had not seen Phaed. He did not think it likely that Phaed had slipped by, far to one side or the other. The God who had brought him to this place would not have allowed it.
“Phaed! Phaed Girat!”
An answering call. “Well, and is that you, Sammy?”
He came up out of the darkness of folded ground, like a man cresting a hill on a pleasant afternoon. “What’re you doin’ out here, Sammy. The Awateh expects to find you in your settlement, snug in your bed. A most furious prophet, our Awateh. He desires the doin’ of you, and that little girl, and all your people.” Phaed’s eyes were fixed on the backs of the retreating soldiers, the retreating prophets. He moved as they did, forward.
“He’ll find me,” said Sam, gently. “Or I’ll find him. Shall we walk along behind the army, Dad? Shall we see what there is to see?”
“I didn’t think you had much love for seein’ corpses, Sammy. Not you nor your mam.”
“Mam’s dead, you know.”
“I’d heard something of the sort.”
“Hung on the walls of the citadel.”
“Well, that’s customary.”
“She was with the women. The old man had forgotten her. She would have been safe except for you. I hold you responsible for it, Dad.”
“Hold what you like, boy, but I don’t need to answer to you. A man doesn’t need to answer to his sons. That’s not the way it’s done. It’s the other way around.” The words were angry, but the tone of voice was calm. As though it didn’t matter.
“Did you answer to your dad then?”
“He died.”
“Then you didn’t answer to anybody? Is that it?”
“To the prophet, you fool. I answered to the prophet. And when he needed proof I was faithful, I gave him what he wanted, that’s all. No more than my duty.”
“But you think I should answer to you? When you killed my mam? When you left me for the killing?”
“I didn’t kill her. I only reminded the old man where she was. As for you, I stopped standing between you and the prophet, that’s all.”
“You think fathers shouldn’t stand between their sons and the legends, then.”
“Who said legends?”
“Aren’t the prophets the same as legends, Dad? Aren’t the prophets the same as Gods? Doesn’t a man who speaks for God take the power of God to himself? Doesn’t he become legendary, just for that reason? So a God can hurl lightning and a prophet can hurl curses or men can make laws, but if curse or law can kill as surely as lightning does, what’s the difference?”
“What are you babbling of, boy!”
The horizon bent and wavered. Across the near distance, the Tchenka danced. Mist came up from the ground and clothed Sam in helmet and swordbelt and sandals. Phaed turned and actually looked at him, then frowned, not sure what he was seeing.
“I’m talking about legends, Dad. I’m talking about fathers passing killing on to their sons. Ages ago, Dad, kings sometimes left their sons in faraway nests, like cuckoo eggs, not even telling the woman who they were. Then they’d hide a secret under a stone and tell the mama when the son was big enough to raise the stone he could learn who his father was. It was like saying, ‘Only when his strength rivals my own can he know who I am. I want no weakling. I want none who fears to use the sword. I want no son who is satisfied with kindness. I want only a son obsessed with finding me, who will come again and again to this stone, this stone too heavy for mortal men, to raise it, to look into the darkness beneath it, for only he will care about what I care about. And the fathers were right, of course. Only the sons of legend ever got the stones heaved up. Only they went questing, trying to find meaning in what had none.
“I was like that, Dad.” Sam nodded, knowing it was true.
“I left nothing under a stone for you.”
“Oh, but you did. You left your own self hidden there deep. Maire herself said so, when I was very small. She couldn’t tell me who you were because she didn’t know. She didn’t understand you. But she said you lived deep in the dark, with stones around and over you. I thought that was a mystery.”
“A mystery?”
“I thought so. Of course, there was no more mystery to it than to the life of a mole, which is all dank earth full of worm-ends dug under the great stones. Stones of hate. Stones of rage. A self-buried man, you were, Phaed, that’s all. I kept heaving up, looking for who I was by knowing who you were. It’s what we’ve always done, you know. Told ourselves we were our father’s sons. Thought we couldn’t know who we were unless we knew who you were. Turns out you weren’t anybody much, but your having progied me doesn’t define me, and I am who I will yet be, Dad.”
Phaed growled, deep in his throat, and launched himself at Sam. Sam caught his wrists in his own hands and held him off, without effort. “You don’t have three or four bullyboys to net me and tie me now, Phaed. Only you and me. I’ve raised your stone. I see what’s writhing around in the muck there. Come on, Phaed. Let’s follow the prophets and see what happens.”
Death might happen, or life. Whichever, Sam wanted to see it. He took his father by the arm, feeling the tough muscle there, no flabbiness of
