The morning of the funeral service, Jord and Uel together got a transfer into Rimon. "He'll be all right for a couple of weeks," Uel told Zeth. "We forced him, the way we have to force Jord sometimes. But maybe now he'll fight that infection. What he really needs is a good transfer from a Gen."

Owen!

As if reading Zeth's mind, Uel said, "No, not Owen. Zeth, your father actually expressed interest this morning, the first sign of recovery. He said he won't touch Owen—you're not to attempt to do with a substitute until you're fully trained. Even if I didn't agree, which I do, I'd take Rimon's advice about what's best for you, Zeth."

His own fears relieved, Zeth asked, "Then who?"

"Hank, probably. I manage when he gives transfer to Abel. Marji and I are pretty close in our cycles, and she volunteered Trina for me without batting an eye." He shook his head. "She doesn't seem nearly as dependent on her Companion as the rest of us, maybe because she had First Transfer from a channel? There's so much we don't know!"

And I thought Dad had found out everything about channels!

Both Rimon and Maddok Bron developed infections. Bron's kidney infection, though, responded to the herbalist's concoctions combined with fosebine. Slina's man, Risko, brought back only ten Gens from Ardo Pass, but at least he picked up a good supply of fosebine. After that, the chapel cleared quickly . . . arid it was time for the memorial service.

The bodies had been buried days before, before the ground froze. The cold spell that had come in with the raid had now lasted almost a week; people shivered in their warm coats, and started talking about early snow.

What they got was freezing rain, coating the half-unleaved trees with ice and making both walking and riding treacherous. Zeth's dog Patches came in from herding sheep, his feet bleeding from sharp ice trapped in the fur between his toes. Although he was given a rug to lie on by the fire, when Zeth and Owen left for the memorial service, Patches insisted on going along. He left them as they approached the chapel . . . to lie on Kadi's grave.

Zeth stared after his dog. "How could he know? He wasn't even here."

The benches were back in the chapel except for a space left for the pallets of those too weak to sit up through the service. Lamps shone on the memorial to the martyrs to the cause of Sime~Gen unity. The last name was still Teri Lay ton, killed in the raid in which Owen lost his arm. Although the stone slab was large, Zeth wondered if it would be possible to get all the new names onto it ... and if they did,, how long it would be before they'd require another monument, and men another, and another—

He pulled his mind away from the thought, zlinning the people in the chapel. The Simes from town were off in one corner toward the back, insulated from the rest of the congregation by high-field Simes interspersed with Gens who could handle them if necessary. Otherwise, the people of Fort Freedom took their usual positions.

Their usual positions. Although Zeth knew why people never took the same place twice in the chapel, this was the first time he could perceive the fields that dictated the arrangements.

Today, those fields were somber. With all the work to provide shelter for survivors, to care for the injured, to prevent an accidental kill, there had been no time for grieving.

Rimon Farris was still in the insulated room at the back of the chapel. His burns had developed such an infection the channels had decided not to move him, but if two doors were left open, he could hear everything. If he cares, thought Zeth.

The severely wounded were the last to be brought in. Maddok Bron was among them—he was laid on the floor, near where Zeth and Owen were sitting. Only Gens were now left recuperating; the Simes had either died or recovered. Slina, well past turnover, jarred the ambient as she sat down behind Zeth and Owen. She had taken over care of the sick Gens as soon as they could forgo a channel's supervision. Certainly their local Gendealer knew how to care for Gens, but Zeth wondered what the people from Mountain Chapel would have thought had they known the occupation of their rough-spoken nurse.

Del Erick slid onto the bench beside Slina, reaching out to squeeze Owen's shoulder to tell him he was there.

Change was the subject of Abel Veritt's eulogy. He skipped over the details of the long struggle against the kill lest questions be raised in the minds of their out-Territory guests, and spoke of the breaking up of families when Gen children had to be sent across the border.

"We prayed for their safety," he said. "We never dared hope to meet them again in this world—but God has more than answered our prayers. Our children have come home– and brought us new friends, who risked their lives to save ours. Since the day He sent Rimon and Kadi Farris to Fort Freedom, God has given us cause after cause to rejoice."

He paused, looking out over the assembly. "Today we gather in mourning for those who died defending our way of life. It is right to grieve—and to question. Only by questioning can we receive answers. Why should we lose so many we love? We must be willing to die for what we believe in. Of those willing—some will die.

"All of us have lost a friend or relative—and everyone, even those who never knew her, has lost Kadi Farris. Kadi

taught Rimon how to live without killing. She was the first . . , because she was willing to lay down her life to save Rimon's. God did not claim her sacrifice at that time.

"And Rimon—how often has he risked his life for you? To save my life he gave up his own selyn—and did not die. And—for the first time—I did not kill. Surely no one who remembers that day can doubt that God is guiding us. Why He brought the Raiders here—"

Zeth, who had so often heard Abel Veritt turn terrible events into occasions for rejoicing, noticed the reaction of the out-Territory Gens. Their sorrow was tinged with curiosity, perhaps a bit of resentment. Except for Maddok Bron. Bron listened intently, his field falling into synchronization with those Simes closest to him, the way a Companion's did. He didn't resist emotionally, like most of the other Gens.

A painful, harsh sorrow swept through the ambient nager, and Zeth surfaced long enough to hear Abel calling those who had died martyrs, encouraging the cleansing grief that would allow people to accept and go on. Beside Zeth, Owen dissolved into wracking sobs. Del leaned forward and put his arms around his son. Zeth saw Jana, sitting on the raised benches of the children's choir, trying to keep composure. But soon tears were coursing down her cheeks.

Zeth let himself become hyperconscious again, lost in a world of nageric patterns. The Gens joined in the outpouring of emotion. Slina, need preventing her from full response, sat gloomily awash in other people's grief. Her little girl broke away from the family she'd been left with and climbed onto Slina's lap. Her mother held her tightly, as if someone might try to take her away. Abel Veritt's orchestration of the service was long-practiced, but far from cynical. When the grief had been vented, he went back to the subject of change. "Change for the better," he insisted. "There is never progress without loss in this world—but we have not lost those we love. Surely they wait for us, even now. Their task in this life is finished; God has further progress to ask of us."

Zeth lost track of Abel's speech again as he read the astonishing change in the ambient. By the time the choir sang out again, an emotional healing had taken place in that chapel as effective as the physical healing done by the channels. What would Fort Freedom ever do without Abel Veritt?

When they stood to leave, Owen whispered, "Zeth—are you all right?"

"Of course I'm all right. Why wouldn't I be?"