‘If anyone does see you, stop him getting away with the news, at all costs. But don’t shoot. There’s an order going out not to use guns except when necessary, and as signals – all gunshots to be investigated.’
‘That’s all right. We haven’t a gun,’ I told him.
‘ So much the better. You can’t be tempted to use one – but they think you have.’
I had deliberately decided against taking a gun, partly on account of the noise, but mostly because they are slow to reload, heavy to carry, and useless if you run out of powder. Arrows haven’t the range, but they are silent, and you can get a dozen and more of them off while a man is recharging a gun.
Mark came in:
‘ I heard that. I’ll have a north-west rumour ready for when it’s needed.’
‘Good. But don’t loose it till I tell you. Rosalind’s asleep now, I suppose? Tell her to get into touch with me when she wakes, will you?’
I said I would, and everybody laid off projecting for a while. I went on keeping my watch for another couple of hours, and then woke Rosalind for her turn. Petra did not stir. I lay down beside her, and was asleep in a minute or two.
Perhaps I was sleeping lightly, or it may have been just coincidence that I woke up to catch an anguished thought from Rosalind.
‘I’ve killed him, Michael. He’s quite dead . . .’ Then she slid off into a panicky, chaotic thought-shape.
Michael came in, steady and reassuring.
‘Don’t be scared, Rosalind. You had to do it. This is a war, between our kind and theirs. We didn’t start it – we’ve just as much right to exist as they have. You mustn’t be frightened, Rosalind, dear: you had to do it.’
‘What’s happened?’ I asked, sitting up.
They ignored me, or were too much occupied to notice.
I looked round the glade. Petra lay, asleep still, beside me; the great-horses were cropping the grass, undisturbed. Michael came in again:
‘Hide him Rosalind. Try to find a hollow, and pile leaves over him.’
A pause. Then Rosalind, her panic conquered now, but with deep distress, agreeing.
I got up, picked up my bow, and walked across the glade in the direction I knew she must be. When I reached the edge of the trees it occurred to me that I was leaving Petra unprotected, so I went no farther.
Presently Rosalind appeared among the bushes. She was walking slowly, cleaning an arrow on a handful of leaves as she came.
‘What happened?’ I repeated.
But she seemed to have lost control over her thought-shapes again, they were muddled and distorted by her emotions. When she got nearer she used words instead:
‘ It was a man. He had found the trail of the horses. I saw him following them. Michael said . . . Oh, I didn’t want to do it, David, but what else could I do . . . ?’
Her eyes were full of tears. I put my arms round her, and let her cry on my shoulder. There was little I could do to comfort her. Nothing, but assure her, as Michael had, that what she had done had been absolutely necessary.
After a little time we walked slowly back. She sat down beside the still-sleeping Petra. It occurred to me to ask:
‘What about his horse, Rosalind? Did that get away?’
She shook her head.
‘ I don’t know. I suppose he must have had one, but he was following our tracks on foot when I saw him.’
I thought it better to retrace our course and find out whether he had left a horse tethered anywhere along it. I went back half a mile, but found no horse, nor was there any trace of recent hoof-marks other than those of the great-horses. When I got back, Petra was awake and chattering to Rosalind.
The day wore on. Nothing more came to us from Michael or the rest. In spite of what had happened it seemed better to stay where we were than to move by daylight with the risk of being seen. So we waited.
Then, in the afternoon, something did come, suddenly.
It was not a thought-shape; it had no real form; it was sheer distress, like a cry of agony. Petra gasped, and threw herself whimpering into Rosalind’s arms. The impact was so sharp that it hurt. Rosalind and I stared at one another, wide-eyed. My hands shook. Yet the shock was so formless that we could not tell which of the others it came from.
Then there was a jumble of pain and shame, overridden with hopeless desolation, and, among it, characteristic glimpses of forms that we knew without doubt were Katherine’s. Rosalind put her hand on mine and held it tightly. We endured, while the sharpness dimmed, and the pressure ebbed away.
Presently came Sally, brokenly, in waves of love and sympathy to Katherine, then, in anguish, to the rest of us.
‘ They’ve broken Katherine. They’ve broken her. . . Oh, Katherine, dear . . . you mustn’t blame her, any of you. Please, please don’t blame her. They’re torturing her. It might have been any of us. She’s all clouded now. She can’t hear us . . . Oh, Katherine, darling . . .’ Her thoughts dissolved into shapeless distress.
Then there was Michael, unsteadily at first, but hardening into as rigid a form as I had ever received:
‘It is war. Some day I’ll kill them for what they’ve done to Katherine.’
After that there was nothing for an hour or more. We did our rather unconvincing best to soothe and reassure Petra. She understood little of what had passed between us, but she had caught the intensity and that had been enough to frighten her.
Then there was Sally again; dully, miserably, forcing herself to it:
‘Katherine has admitted it; confessed. I have confirmed it. They would have forced me to it, too, in the end. I -‘ she hesitated, wavering. ‘ I couldn’t face it. Not the hot irons; not for nothing, when she had told them. I couldn’t. . . Forgive me, all of you . . . forgive us both . . .’ She broke off again.
Michael came in unsteadily, anxiously, too.
‘ Sally, dear, of course we’re not blaming you – either of you. We understand. But we must know what you’ve told them. How much do they know?’
‘About thought-shapes – and David and Rosalind. They were nearly sure about them, but they wanted it confirmed.’
‘Petra, too?’
‘ Yes … Oh, oh, oh . ..!’ There was an unshaped surge of remorse. ‘ We had to – poor little Petra – but they knew, really. It was the only reason that David and Rosalind would have taken her with them. No lie would cover it.’
‘Anyone else?’
‘No. We’ve told them that there isn’t anyone else. I think they believe it. They are still asking questions. Trying to understand more about it. They want to know how we make thought-shapes, and what the range is. I’m telling them lies. Not more than five miles, I’m saying, and pretending it’s not at all easy to understand thought-shapes even that far away. . . . Katherine’s barely conscious. She can’t send to you. But they keep on asking us both questions, on and on. … If you could see what they’ve done to her. . . . Oh, Katherine, darling. .. . Her feet, Michael – oh, her poor, poor feet. . . .’
Sally’s patterns clouded in anguish, and then faded away.
Nobody else came in. I think we were all too deeply hurt and shocked. Words have to be chosen, and then interpreted; but thought-shapes you feel, inside you. . . .
The sun was low and we were beginning to pack up when Michael made contact again.
‘Listen to me,’ he told us. ‘They’re taking this very seriously indeed. They’re badly alarmed over us. Usually if a Deviation gets clear of a district they let him go. Nobody can settle anywhere without proofs of identity, or a very thorough examination by the local inspector, so he’s pretty well bound to end up in the Fringes, anyway. But what’s got them so agitated about us is that nothing shows. We’ve been living among them for nearly twenty years and they didn’t suspect it. We could pass for normal anywhere. So a proclamation has been posted describing the three of you and officially classifying you as deviants. That means that you are non-human and therefore not entitled to any of the rights or protections of human society. Anyone who assists you in any way is committing a criminal act; and anyone concealing knowledge of your whereabouts is also liable to punishment.
‘ In effect, it makes you outlaws. Anyone may shoot you on sight without penalty. There is a small reward if your deaths are reported and confirmed; but there is a very much larger reward for you if you are taken alive.’