Michael swept his hand out over the crowd. “We in this room are the future. It is your responsibility as councilors of Westland to carry the word throughout the country! Take our message of peace to the good people. They will see the truth in your hearts. Please help me. I want our children and our grandchildren to be the beneficiaries of what we lay down here today. I want us to set a course for peace to carry us into the future, so when the time comes, future generations will benefit and thank us.”

Michael stood with his head bowed and both his fists held tightly to his chest. The sunlight glowed about him. The audience was so moved that they stood in absolute silence. Richard saw men in tears, and women weeping openly. All eyes were on Michael, who stood still as stone.

Richard was stunned. He had never heard his brother speak with such conviction or eloquence. It all seemed to make such sense. After all, here he stood with a woman from across the boundary, from the Midlands, and she was already his friend.

But then, four others had tried to kill him. No, not exactly, he thought—they wanted to kill her—he was just in the way. They had offered to let him go, and it was his decision to stand and fight. He had always been fearful of those from across the boundary, but now he was friends with one, just as Michael said.

He was starting to see his bother in a new light. People had been moved by Michael’s words in a way Richard had never witnessed. Michael was pleading for peace and friendship with other peoples. What could be wrong with that?

Why did he feel so uneasy?

“And now, to the other part,” Michael continued, “to the real suffering around us. While we have worried about the boundaries that have not harmed a single one of us, many of our families, friends, and neighbors have suffered, and died. Tragic and needless deaths, in accidents with fire. Yes, that is what I said. Fire.”

People mumbled in confusion. Michael was starting to lose his bond with the crowd. He seemed to expect it—he looked from face to face, letting the confusion build, and then dramatically he thrust his hand out, his finger pointing.

At Richard.

“There!” he screamed. Everyone turned as one. Hundreds of eyes looked at Richard. “There stands my beloved brother!” Richard tried to shrink. “My beloved brother who shares with me”—he pounded a fist to his chest—“the tragedy of losing our own mother to fire! Fire took our mother from us when we were young, and left us to grow up alone, without her love and care, without her guidance. It was not some imagined enemy from across a boundary that took her, but an enemy of fire! She couldn’t be there to comfort us when we hurt, when we cried in the night. And the thing that wounds the most is that it didn’t have to be.”

Tears, glistening in the sunlight, ran down Michael’s cheeks. “I am sorry, friends, please forgive me.” He wiped the tears with a handkerchief he had handy. “It’s just that only this morning I heard of another fire that took a fine young mother and father, and left their daughter an orphan. It brought my own pain back to me and I couldn’t remain silent.” Everyone was now solidly back with him. Their tears flowed freely. A woman put her arm around Richard’s shoulder as he stood numb. She whispered how sorry she was.

“I wonder how many of you have shared the pain my brother and I live with every day. Please, those of you who have a loved one, or a friend, who has been hurt, or even killed, by fire, please, hold up your hands.” Quite a few hands went up, and there was wailing from some in the crowd.

“There, my friends,” he said hoarsely, spreading his arms wide, “there is the suffering among us. We need look no further than this room.”

Richard tried to swallow the lump in his throat as the memory of that horror came back to him. A man who had imagined their father had cheated him lost his temper and knocked a lamp off the table as Richard and his brother slept in the back bedroom. While the man dragged his father outside, beating him, his mother pulled Richard and his brother from the burning house, then ran back inside to save something, they never knew what, and was burned alive. Her screams brought the man to his senses, and he and their father tried to save her, but couldn’t. Filled with guilt and revulsion at what he had caused, the man ran off crying and yelling that he was sorry.

That, his father had told them a thousand times, was the result of a man losing his temper. Michael shrugged it off—Richard took it to heart. It had instilled in him a dread of his own anger, and whenever it threatened to come out, he choked it off.

Michael was wrong. Fire had not killed their mother—anger had.

Arms hanging limply at his side, head bowed, Michael spoke softly again. “What can we do about the danger to our families from fire?” He shook his head sadly. “I do not know, my friends.

“But, I am forming a commission on the problem, and I urge any concerned citizen to come forward with suggestions. My door always stands open. Together we can do something. Together we will do something.

“And now my friends, please excuse me, and allow me to go comfort my brother, as I am afraid bringing out our personal tragedy was a surprise to him, and I must ask his forgiveness.”

He hopped down off the stand, the crowd parting to let him through. A few hands reached out to touch him as he passed. He ignored them.

Richard stood and glared as his brother strode to him. The crowd moved away. Only Kahlan stayed at his side, her fingers lightly touching his arm. People went back to the food and began talking excitedly among themselves, about themselves, and forgot him. Richard stood tall and choked off his anger.

Smiling, Michael slapped Richard on the shoulder. “Great speech!” he congratulated himself. “What did you think?”

Richard looked down at the patterns on the marble floor. “Why did you bring her death into it? Why did you have to tell everyone about it? Why did you use her like that?”

Michael put an arm around Richard’s shoulder. “I know it hurts, and I am sorry, but it’s for a greater good. Did you see the tears in their eyes? The things I’ve started are going to take us all to a better life, and help Westland grow to prominence. I believe what I said—we have to look to the challenge of the future with excitement, not fear.”

“And what did you mean about the boundaries?”

“Things are changing, Richard. I have to stay ahead of them.” The smile was gone. “That’s all I meant. The boundaries won’t last forever. I don’t think they were ever meant to. We all have to be ready to face up to that.”

Richard changed the subject. “What have you found out about Father’s murder? Have the trackers picked up anything?”

Michael took his arm back. “Grow up, Richard. George was an old fool. He was always picking up things that didn’t belong to him. He probably got caught with something that belonged to the wrong person. A person with a bad temper, and a big knife.”

“That’s not true! And you know it!” Richard hated the way Michael called their father “George”—“he never stole anything in his life!”

“Just because the person you take it from is long dead, that doesn’t mean you have any right to it. Someone else obviously wanted it back.”

“How do you know all this?” Richard demanded. “What have you found out?”

“Nothing! It’s common sense. The house was torn apart! Someone was looking for something. They didn’t find it, George wouldn’t tell them where it was, they killed him. That’s all there is to it. The trackers said there were no tracks. We’ll probably never know who did it.” Michael glared. “You had better learn to live with that fact.”

Richard let out a deep breath. It made sense—someone was looking for something. He shouldn’t be angry with Michael because he couldn’t find out who. Michael had tried. Richard wondered how there could be no tracks.