At the common sigh of relief, however, Mr. Bron shook his head. "Can you not see that this is not a secular issue, but a high moral one? God is testing us. Listen to me!" he urged as the men began to mutter again. "Each time young Owen has come here, he has brought an invitation to me to visit Fort Freedom, to see for myself Simes who have overcome the kill. Has God become impatient? Is this a test? Are we being asked to show charity to those we wrongly thought of as inhuman?"

A chorus of yeses echoed around the room.

"You may be right," said Mr. Bron, "or this may be the Devil's work drawing us into sympathy with demons, to lead us to our deaths in that sin. Tell me, Zeth Farris, why would Fort Freedom send a child for help? To play upon our sympathies?"

"I wasn't sent," said Zeth. "I came by myself. Now I see why my dad or Mr. Veritt didn't send someone: they knew you'd refuse. Mr. Veritt knows all about the Church of the Purity. He must've known it'd be no use asking you for help!" Frustrated tears stung Zeth's eyelids. He felt hollow. "D'you think they'd refuse to help you?"

"Son," replied Mr. Bron, "surely you know I have no way to answer your question." He turned to the assembled men. "I must pray for guidance. Tomorrow I will gather the elders—''

"You do that," said Mr. Carson. "We're going on ahead. I got a brother and a daughter over there. Last summer I didn't have the courage to help Marji—she's alive only because my wife dared risk her own life. You want miracles? Take a look at Hope. I'm going to go help my daughter, and afterward, I'm going to beg her forgiveness."

"Mr. Carson—Lon. Give me time to consider."

"But the Raiders are attacking now.'" said Zeth, his head spinning as he tried to make these men see him as more than a hysterical child.

Mr. Bron ignored him. "Don't be impetuous, Lon. A few

more people for the Raiders to kill will not help Fort Freedom. I will pray for a sign from God this night. If He indicates that we should help Fort Freedom, we will attack as a concerted force. If He reveals a trick of the Devil . . . then I fear if you go, you cannot return to Mountain Chapel."

Only then did he turn to Zeth. "You look tired, son. You are welcome to stay at my house. Your friend Owen may have arrived by now. I thought he was the one I would find here, not you."

Zeth wanted to see Owen the moment he arrived. "All right. Thank you, sir."

Despite Mr. Bran's lantern and the smooth, well-tended path, Zeth stumbled like a small child clumsy with sleepiness. Although he was "dreadfully tired from the long, hard trip and the letdown after pleading his case, he didn't feel sleepy, but his stumbling gait felt like one of his nightmares.

When he actually fell heavily to his knees, Mr. Bron helped him up, saying, "You're out on your feet, child." Zeth wanted to escape, to crawl away into a hole somewhere, he was so ashamed.

As Mr. Bron helped him up his own porch steps, the front door opened and a woman stood silhouetted against the light. "Maddok? What did they want you for? Oh—a child escaped from the Simes?" The woman closed the door as Mr. Bron led Zeth to the couch, then joined them, saying, "But surely he's too young—"

"I think he's ill, Sessly," said Mr. Bron, and the woman placed a cool hand on Zeth's forehead.

"He's feverish. Poor little boy. Don't worry—we'll take care of you."

"Zeth," said Mr. Bron, "this is my sister. Sessly, this is Zeth Farris." Zeth wouldn't have had to be told the two Gens were brother and sister—it was the same face, as if he were seeing double, but while the high forehead, deep-set eyes, and determined mouth and chin spelled strength in the man, in the woman they formed a face that at best would be called "plain" or "homely."

The woman was almost as tall as the man. Zeth felt small and frightened. He knew they meant to help him, but their proximity grated on his nerves. If they'd just go away—

The woman held out her hand to Zeth in a Gen gesture of friendship. Some people said it went back to the Ancients, but Mr. Veritt said it was more probable that it had developed

as a way of displaying the forearm to show the absence of tentacles. Whatever the motive, Zeth knew he had to touch her—and he had no idea why he desperately wanted to refuse.

When he lifted his hand, a dull pain, like sore muscles, spread from wrist to elbow. He'd been hauling on Star's reins all day,

guiding her through the rough terrain. There were spots of soreness on his hand, too, which might have been blisters if he hadn't

had calluses.

Telling himself to be grateful for being treated like an adult, Zeth shook hands, ignoring the faint twinges of pain and the illogical

sense of revulsion.

"I think I can find pajamas to fit you. A good night's sleep and you'll be fine. Zeth Farris," she added thoughtfully. "You're Owen's

friend. He should have been here by now."

"Perhaps he decided to stay over with the Mortons," Bron suggested. "I think he's seriously interested in Eph Norton's daughter."

Zeth fought down panic. Was Owen planning to stay this side of the border? "Can't you send for him? His pa's at Fort Freedom,

and his sister's hiding with the kids. Owen has the right to know what's going on."

"Of course," said Bron. "In the morning I’ll send someone. If he were coming tonight he'd be here by now. Sessly, you take care

of Zeth. I must go to the chapel and pray for guidance."

"Guidance? Maddok, what is happening?"

He explained briefly. Sessly looked back to Zeth. "Oh, you poor, brave child! No wonder you're exhausted. Come along and get ready

for bed now, and I'll bring you some hot milk."

She showed Zeth the bathroom and the guest room, and gave him some pajamas. It seemed to take every ounce of his strength to change

in the cold bathroom. Chills shook him, followed by a sudden sweat. Nausea hit so fast that he barely managed not to vomit on the floor.

Trembling, gripping the cold stone appliance for support, Zeth felt the ache in his forearms again. He could no longer deny the facts, the

unconscious knowledge that must have been with him for hours.

Fever. Exhaustion. Pain in his forearms. Nausea.

This time you've realty done it, he told himself, fighting tears of weakness. Disobedience has finally brought you into

Gen Territory, into the house of the Spiritual Leader of the Church of the Purity . . . to go into changeover!

Think!

Zeth knelt in the bathroom, panic clutching at his vitals. He had to get to Owen—

No. He thrust the absurd thought aside. He had to get home, to his father. Think, he told himself more calmly, reminding himself that fear was the greatest enemy of the changeover victim.

I'm still hours away from breakout and First Need. Mrs. Carson got Marji to Fort Freedom in a wagon. I can go much faster on a horse.

With that thought firmly in mind, he found the strength to open the window, airing the sour smell out of the little room and clearing his head., If he went out that window now, Sessly Bron would discover in a few minutes that he was gone, and raise the alarm.

He had to pretend nothing was wrong, and go to bed. Then, as soon as he was sure she was asleep, he would sneak out, find Star, and ride for home.

And what if you can't get to your father? the voice of fear demanded.

I'll get there somehow! Get out of Gen Territory first, then worry about reaching Dad.

In the Bron guest room, he was laying his clothes carefully over a chair, ready to get into quickly in the dark, when Sessly Bron came in. Although he knew he could have no sensitivity to fields yet, her presence made him uneasy.