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CHAPTER 7

      WHEN WARE awoke, the chill night was gone, and the air was bright and vaporous. It promised to be one of those gilded winter days that reminds us summer will indeed return — that winter and sadness are but temporary aberrations in a benevolent world.

      Ah, and they were going to be out in that world, too, weren't they.

      As they breakfasted on the last of the bread, Steel said thoughtfully, "We can't leave until well after dark. The soldiers will keep searching the area for several days, and when they do move on, they'll leave some guards behind. But they may not guess we've gone south, and that should give us some time."

      Hearth nodded. "We'll need to keep very quiet. If they're out in the forest today, they could hear our voices."

      "Since we're out of food," Ware said. "Let's go upriver and fish. It's quiet work — and we can eat what we catch."

      Hearth elected to stay at the cave, but the others agreed, so Ware shared out the hooks and string he had in his pocket, and led the way upriver. He found each of them a sunny spot overlooking a deep pool. For himself, he chose a shrubby backwater full of snags. He'd been there before, and he knew that if he was careful where he dropped his line, he was sure of catching something.

      Fishing is indeed quiet work, and as Ware sat patiently watching the light on the water and listening to the river's voice, he had time to think about the sudden change that had overtaken his life.

      He thought of going to Kingsport, that shining city set among fields of flowers. He thought of the light in Steel's face when she talked of King Hawk. Of course, it would be a dangerous journey, and remembering his Uncle Baker's death, he recognized that their adventures might end abruptly — at the point of a soldier's knife. But even so, the prospect was exciting.

      And sitting in the sun, looking across the moving river, he felt that he'd always known this trip would come to pass. As if all his life he'd been traveling in unfamiliar territory, and now at last he'd come upon a landmark that pointed toward a known land.

      Above him, a bird called out, "Ah-three-three-eh-eh-ih." And after a pause, a distant bird-voice answered. Ware closed his eyes, and behind the shut lids he saw a vision of himself and Steel, running together through a dappled forest, like two boys hunting.

      Then his line moved. He opened his eyes and returned his attention to fishing.

      During the morning, Ware accumulated several fish. But as the day wore on, there were no more tugs on his line. Finally, he pulled in his cord, picked up his catch, and hiked back to where he'd left Steel.

      She was lying on her back staring at the sky when Ware found her. "Had a good day?" he asked.

      "Yes, a day of sweet peace."

      He sat down beside her. "You know . . ." he said diffidently, "I haven't thanked you for what you did when the soldiers came yesterday. If you hadn't fought that man, he'd probably have killed me the same way he killed Uncle Baker. We couldn't have gotten away without your help."

      She turned toward him, fixing him with a clear, pure gaze. "But you saved my life, too. I'd already given myself to death, that night in the snow. I'd done all I could — and done well, I thought — but I was ready for it to end."

      A faint rose color came up in her face. "When I woke in your Aunt's house I thought I'd come through it all into a — another place. And when I realized I was alive, I felt," she hesitated, "Angry. Yet now . . . this one day of quiet happiness has made me glad to live again."

      She broke off abruptly and got to her feet. "We'd better be going. It'll be dark soon."

      She led the way down the river to where Hasty was waiting, and they returned to the cave. Hearth was waiting for them, and amazingly — laying out a hearty supper.

      "Where did this come from," Hasty demanded, delighted.

      "From your mother's kitchen," she answered with a smile.

      "You went back to the village?" Ware cried.

      "Yes. I wanted to see what was going on," his aunt said calmly. "You were right, Steel. The soldiers have turned two families out of their homes, and moved themselves in. Apparently to stay."

      "You put us all in danger," Steel said, frowning. "They might have seen you."

      "They did see me, several of them," Hearth nodded. "And not one of them gave me a second look; all old woman are alike in their eyes. But even if it had been dangerous — Weaver needed to know her boy was safe."

      She turned to Hasty. "Your mother sends you her love, my dear. And she'll be waiting with more supplies for us when we go through the village tonight."

      "Through the village!" Steel cried, horrified. "The Tyrant will serve us all with your brother's fate! Will you walk us into his jaws for the sake of our stomachs?"

      Hearth shook her head. "We won't get far without food."

      And argue as Steel would, after a hearty supper of Ware's fish and Mother Weaver's supplies, they headed through the dusky night toward the village.

      When they reached the spot where their house had stood, the sight of it took Ware like a blow to the chest. Nothing was left but charred wood and the smell of smoke. The apple tree was a shriveled skeleton. Even the huge red-brick chimney was tumbled, no brick upon another.

      "Aunt Hearth . . ."

      "I should have warned you," she said gently. "Steel was right when she said they'd burn the house."

      Then Mother Weaver appeared out of the darkness carrying a huge basket of food. She enveloped Hasty in her ample arms, and much hugging and whispering ensued. But Ware continued to stare at the blackened ruins. The whole of his remembered life had taken place within those walls. How could it have vanished so quickly?

      Presently Hearth said, "Weaver, did you bring the shovel? Ware and I have work to do before we go." Then she led them through the rubble to the broken hearth, and at her direction, Ware pried up the scorched bricks and dug into earth that was still warm from the fire. When he had gone down two hand's length — amazing! — there was a leather sack, heavy with coins. It had lain there all his life, and he'd never known of its existence.

      "It was our patrimony — your Uncle Baker's inheritance and the money Dad had put aside for my dowry. Lucky I had some left after coming here. Did you think we could travel without money, children?"

      And with this new-found wealth, they said a warm goodbye to Mother Weaver and headed out into the dark forest.

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