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"Exactly," said Bron. "God was with you, Owen—but you're not going to claim that if you had not been there, Zeth could have kept himself from killing?''
"Perhaps he could have," Abel put in. "Maddok, I witnessed Uel Whelan's changeover. We didn't know about cha
"Yes," Bron agreed. "Your Companions. If every Gen were a Companion, the cha
"There are too many," said Owen, "who can't learn to give transfer."
Bron answered, "That is why God called me to Fort Freedom, made me stay to be healed, to see what you have done here—and what I must do for you."
"Pride, Maddok," Abel said softly.
"I am but a vessel for God's will," Bron replied. "All the time I've been here, all I've heard is 'since Rimon came,' but you have said yourself that it was Kadi Farris who kept him from killing. A Gen started you on the road away from the kill. Gens keep your cha
"The situation is equitable," Abel replied. "The Companions care for the cha
"True, but you are overlooking the one fact that will explain your failure to disjunct."
Abel was pale, his nager tight against the guilt he refused
to let cloud his judgment. "Tell us this truth you think you have discovered."
"Abel, you are a good man, strong in faith. I can no longer believe that you are a demon because you're Sime. But every month you enter a state during which a demon may possess you—and will, if there is no one to prevent it. Once a Sime has been possessed, the weakness is there forever."
"It can be overcome," said Abel. "Rimon disjuncted. Dozens of others have done it—Simes who no longer feel the desire to kill—to kill, as opposed to the need for selyn, Maddok. I don't know if it's possible to explain to a Gen—"
"If he ever once gives transfer," said Owen, "he'll understand. Perhaps the compulsion is not so strong in a Gen, but the desire is."
"You add to my evidence, Owen," said Bron. "If it were not natural for Gens to provide transfer for Simes, those who do so would not feel it to be the privilege your Companions speak of. I pray that God grant me that privilege."
"Your prayers will be easily granted," said Abel. "I zlin the mark of the Companion in your field, Maddok. Zeth?"
"Yes," said Zeth, "but don't encourage him yet. Maddok, most of your selyn production is going to heal your wound. You're not back to full capacity, because your field is still increasing– Oh!" Zeth suddenly realized that he was observing something he had only heard about before.
But Maddok Bron had been studying. "My field is increasing through proximity to Simes who have need of my selyn. That is also God's will. Abel, Gens are not granted this capacity so they can selfishly refuse to use it. You ca
"Maddok, if you preach any such thing to your congregation, you will be as much a killer as any Freehand Raider," Abel said firmly. "Do you want to be responsible for a parent's being killed by his own child, trying to prove he is in a state of grace?"
"It is the test," Bron answered with equal conviction. "No one should be required to attempt it. Doubt is a good reason not to. But I have no doubts. I shall prove the truth of my discovery when I free you of possession."
"When I next approach the crisis, I will not have you near me!" said Abel. He faced Bron squarely across the table. "I commend your good intentions, but your theory is devastating to the salvation of all our Simes. In need, a Sime does have
the sensation that he is not in control of his own actions. I doubt you can imagine how tempting it would be to surrender all responsibility to the Gens."
"That is where it should be," Bron protested. "Why won't you let me help you?"
"Because no man can be responsible for another's salvation! Of all people, the man who has accepted the religious leadership of a community must know that. Maddok, I have sworn an oath, I shall not die a killer. That vow is between God and me—and I am responsible for keeping it. When I have achieved it, you will bear witness—but until that time, you will not interfere!"
Not since the day of Owen's mutilation had Zeth seen Abel so angry. He could zlin smoldering fury battling with comprehension of Maddok's total sincerity.
Abel got up and stalked out. Zeth started to follow, worried. Owen put his hand on his arm. "Let him go, Zeth. He'll go to the chapel to pray–and he'll find an answer that satisfies him."
Indeed, the next morning Abel was his usual controlled self—and the dark cloud was gone from his nager. But Zeth was too deep into need by now to give much thought to anyone else. Zli
Zeth expected to have his second transfer in the chapel, with the people of Fort Freedom to witness. He was not comfortable with the thought, but the ritual was traditional for each new Sime. On his transfer day, though, Uel told him, "Abel thinks it would be better to postpone the witnessing, Zeth. People are too busy," But Zeth zli
He could not hold his mind on the question. Some time later, Owen dragged him momentarily duoconscious as lord was saying, "Take him along and give him transfer, Owen. Be patient—treat it like First Transfer and you'll both be fine."
By this time, Zeth craved privacy and Owen. They went to the Veritt house, into the insulated room where Abel had coached Marji Carson through changeover. Zeth sat down on the couch, and rested in the warm promise of his Companion's field.
There was no hurry. Need was again a peculiar pleasure now that Owen's attention was fixed on Zeth alone, his "need to give" soothing away all Zeth's nervous jangles.
As he zli
Owen shrugged. "I still feel it sometimes. Now. It never went away, like your dad said it would. I forgot—you zli
It had become habit now to find the rich nerves at the back of Owen's neck. It was as good as Zeth remembered—maybe better. When it was over, he lay back, breathing deeply, letting his body reaccustom itself to full life—
And the world came crashing down.
Mama! Dad! It was real for the first time—raw, and new. Strangled sobs rose in his throat—he could not force a scream past his tears. In one moment of irresponsible curiosity, he had led his friends into the midst of a battle, creating the legend of the wer-Gen, which led to his mother's death. His father would never recover.
In nameless, shuddering fury, he grabbed blindly, his fingers closing on the marble candle holder on the table beside the couch, the lit candle falling to the floor. He felt Owen's alarmed dive to catch it only as a vague movement at the edge of awareness. Something inside him adjusted in a new way. He threw the star-shaped chunk of marble at the nearest wall, fully expecting it to clatter to the floor. Instead, it crashed through the wall and landed with a crack and a clatter in the adjacent bathroom.