Soren, Mark and Sparrow tried to back him up, and to back the crowd off, but in the end it was only the obvious pain in his shoulder as he was tugged and jostled that was of any real help. The cries and demands finally subsided and Arion watched them, shaken but not unnerved.

"I'm sorry, all of you," he said slowly, but his voice was firm. "I have no desire to destroy the Gadamista," he said, looking at Damita. "I am not a prophet," he continued, looking at Donovan. "I don't have any answers, and I'm not trying to tell anyone what to do.

"The little boy, Ryan, asked Ohashta if he thought it was wrong for us to kill them, and Ohashta said no. I don't know why he said no. He didn't want to talk about it, and I've not been allowed anywhere near a venator since. Maybe it's because of what they are, or maybe it's because we don't know what they are and there is no sin in ignorance. I don't know. I don't have the answers.

"I believe that they have something. They are something other than simple animals. I believe that the Lenisats are human, and I believe that Satan is loose. But I can't tell you what to do." He hesitated, and smiled. "I would suggest that you pray. The answers will be different for each of you, and only the Holy Spirit can give you your own answer."

Damita stepped close, glaring up at him, for she was a little woman. "Look at them, Arion," she said tensely. "See what you've caused? Not a prophet. Then you should have kept your mouth shut. I hope you can live with what you've done." She turned and stalked away.

Quite a few followed her, muttering angrily to each other as they went. Several others, obviously in agreement with Damita, remained, leaning against the walls of the corridor to watch and listen. Others left, not angry, but disappointed.

Everyone was silent as the shifting occurred, and as the crowd settled once again, their eyes returned to Arion, waiting. When he said nothing, Antoine stepped to the front of the group.

"You can't just dump something like this on people, Arion. Not without something to back it up. You said you didn't talk about it before because you weren't sure. Why are you so sure now? What convinced you?"

Arion hesitated, then shook his head. "That's hard to say, Antoine, but keeping quiet wasn't working. Everything was going wrong anyway, and getting worse. And the feeling that I’m right hasn’t gone away. It’s gotten stronger.”

Someone in the back laughed. "In other words," he said loudly as everyone turned to look at him, "you don't have any idea what you're doing. You have no guidance, no mission, nothing. You're not a prophet and you have no message from God. You have my sympathy. Those vampats really did a number on you. The Ealdred shouldn't be throwing you out, he should be sending you to the Medicat!"

Arion sighed heavily and everyone turned to him to see what his response would be, but he said nothing. His silence had a greater effect than anything else, discouraging the entire crowd. They broke up and left, but the entire scenario was repeated again and again. The individuals and the wording varied, but the content remained much the same.

It seemed to Soren that they always went away disappointed in one way or another. Some came looking for answers, which Arion consistently refused to give. Some came looking to gently correct Arion's error and convince him of it, and still others attempted to get a rise out of him, but no one got what they came for.

In the beginning, Soren had felt desperate over the Ealdred's decision, which would place Arion out of his reach, but as they drew closer to Pov, this faded into a glum relief that his own involvement would soon be over.

When the Siblings became visible - Addae and Aruna being so close they first appeared as one - the desperation returned, sharpened by guilt. The Siblings became distinct, and Addae dwindled as they drew closer to Aruna. Soren went to the Ealdred, no longer able to bear his doubts.

He waited for almost half an hour before the Ealdred would see him. "What now?" he asked irritably.

Soren hesitated, biting back his anger. "I would like to request permission to accompany Arion to the surface of Pov, to supervise his arrival," he said formally. "I am concerned that the crowds might be somewhat difficult."

The Ealdred sighed, seeming to lose his edge. "Permission granted," he said, maintaining formality. "Take Mark and Sparrow with you. ...Dismissed."

"Thank you sir."

Soren rewrapped his cloak and leaned back again against the wall of the cabin on the Pier Mignon. Salathiel had a pleasant climate, but the night breeze across the water brought a chill that he wasn't used to.

It had been a hard day, but one that had proven to be well handled. The crowds had been hairy, of much the same attitudes as on board the Hammerstar, but Salathiel was a small village, and so the greater crowds had gone home to other places, unable to find sufficient lodging.

Arion and Sparrow were now at the bow, talking softly. Mark stood to Soren's right, at the rail, but neither of them had anything to say. What could be said? The shuttle would return for them late tomorrow afternoon, and Arion would be on his own.

The thought, the fact, defeated him. Soren felt as helpless now as the day Arion had been captured. Even now he had not escaped. His anger billowed and filled him. Arion might have lost his desire to fight, but his own had doubled. Unable to do anything with it, he sighed and let the anger subside into the background, not wanting to be caught in the midst of it.

Even Arion, however, had grown weary of the crowds, of their inevitable disappointment, their sullen backward glances as they walked away. It wasn't that no one believed him - some did, some didn't - but even those who did weren't happy with his replies, and no one at all knew quite what to make of him.

Arion and Sparrow came around the corner and headed inside, Sparrow gesturing for them to come too. The table was small, but big enough for the four of them. Later tonight, they would find sleeping arrangements far less adequate. The cabin slept two with comfort, three if necessary. Four simply was not practical. They had their meal together, Arion, Sparrow, and Mark all gamely trying for casual conversation.

Soren listened without joining in, irritated by it.

"It won't really won't be so bad though, with the gremlin," Arion was saying. "She's got a good feel to her."

"You should be able to feel secure out here, too," said Mark, filling the silence that threatened to follow. He sounded infinitely more relaxed than Soren felt. "The venators won't bother with you, out on the water." Soren looked up at him, startled by the observation. It was true, but Salathiel was a small town primarily because it was plagued by frequent attacks.

Arion sighed heavily then and looked directly at Soren. "I'll be fine," he said firmly.

Soren nodded, unable to speak. He couldn't agree, wouldn't disagree, and they both knew it. He looked at Sparrow, who gazed back at him with cold, gray eyes. Not an uncommon occurrence anymore, and he looked at Mark, but instead of the support he hadn't even realized he was looking for, he found apologetic disapproval. Cornered, he looked back at Arion again. "It stinks," he growled.

Arion nodded. "I know," he agreed, seeming to relax. He sighed. "Soren, don't hate so much. It'll poison you. I'm scared to death, but I'll get by. I didn't want to get it like this, but this is really what I've wanted for a long time. I'll be fine."

Soren smiled bitterly. Sparrow was angry with him for not making it easier for Arion, and Mark agreed. He leaned back and looked at Arion squarely. "It's not something I can turn on and off at will," he said quietly. "These two can be as mad at me as they want, but I'm no liar and I don't want to lie down. If that makes life difficult for you, I'm sorry. I guess we just aren't very good for each other anymore." He rose abruptly and walked outside, waiting tensely for someone to follow and give him hell.

When no one came, he began giving it to himself. He wasn't one to take much though, even from himself, and he decided grimly that his parting statement was true. He had felt it for a long time, but hadn't wanted to admit it.

On leaving quarantine he had said they would build a bridge to span the gap that separated them. They hadn't made it, and now it was too late. He wasn't jealous of Sparrow, as Mark had once suggested. Friends could be shared. Instead he was deeply and bitterly hurt that the friend he had rescued had somehow died in transit.

No, not dead. If he were dead, he would be allowed to weep.

The rest of the night passed horribly, no one having much to say, yet no one heading for bed. Whether it was due to being their last night together, or to the lack of space to sleep, they sat up, staring at the water, wishing things were different. In the end, no one used the bed inside, or even the pull-down, everyone simply falling asleep in his own chair.

Arion was already up when Soren woke, though Sparrow and Mark were both still asleep. Soren rose stiffly and walked to the rail where Arion stood, staring out across the water.

Salathiel had a beautiful cove, naturally carved within rocky cliffs dotted with scrub and sea heather. The land reached out with a long arm on one side, cradling the cove to its bosom, shielding it from the sea. The sun was rising, pale new light now striking the top edge of the cliff-arm, spattering the morning clouds with silver and warmth.

"I buried you last night," Soren said, his voice low since the others were still asleep. "This is a good resting place. It's worthy of you."

Arion sighed.

"When I come by this way again," he continued, "I'd like to meet the man who owns this gremlin. I hear he's quite infamous."

Arion chuckled then. "A regular renegade."

"How do you suppose he does it?" he asked, softer than before. "Juggling both sides the way he does."

"He cheats. One in each hand," he said, demonstrating. It turned into a shrug and he leaned against the rail again. "It's the third side that throws him."

"Third side?"

He nodded. "The lies. They're saying things that aren't true."

Soren chuckled. "Some of them are saying that about you, you know."

Arion gave him a good natured, dirty look. "They'd better be careful. It isn't nice to talk ill of the dead."

He smiled and looked back out at the sunrise. "You sure picked a pretty place."

"I like it, and I think I'll keep it, but I didn't pick it. Pier Mignon did."

Soren looked at him, curious. "How did she do that?"

He grinned. "By being here."

The crowds were thinner that day, but they still needed encouragement not to paw his injured shoulder. They were in the village quad now, (though Salathiel's "quad" was circular), and Arion answered questions as best he could.

Occasionally they would direct one at Soren. "What about you?" asked an old woman suspiciously. "You're Cedrychad, like he was. Do you agree with him?"

Soren sighed and looked at Arion, then back at the woman. Slowly he shook his head. "No. I don't."

"What about the rest of them? Do any of the others believe?"

"Some."

"I believe," said Sparrow, stepping closer. "I'm not a Cedrychad, I'm of the Fadeydushka. I believe all of it."

"Why?"

"Because of things I've seen. Because of things I've heard. Because of things I wasn't meant to see or hear. But I do believe."

"And how do you do your job if you believe him?" she asked, more suspicious than ever.

He smiled slightly. "Very carefully."

She scowled at him, then turned it on Arion. "You will rob us of our protection!" she said loudly, vehemently. "Why? Why are you doing this to us?"

Arion stared back at her without an answer. Just then Vic ran up, followed by a group of children. "Soren! Sparrow, and Mark," he said, slowing to a halt before them. "You have to come now. We have to leave."

"Now? Already?" asked Soren.

He nodded once. "We have to leave. Communications picked up something about Sherythe, and we're closest. We have to go right now."

"Go Soren," said Arion quietly when he looked at the angry old woman.

He nodded and sighed, knowing that not only did he have no choice, but she wouldn't be at all mollified if he stayed anyway. "I'll see you later. First chance I get."

Arion smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, left-handed. "Fly with God."

They ran with Vic back to the shuttle, once again followed by the children. It wasn't necessary to warn them back for take-off; they already knew. Their cheers couldn't be heard, but their expressions and waving were an impressive comfort to Soren. "Any idea how serious it is?" he asked Vic, turning to business.

"No. Serious enough to hurry though."

Soren nodded, understanding. If they were early enough, they could run the attack off before it began. If they were late, it could get messy, or they could get away completely.

It turned out to be a long wait, as nerves went, but when the action came, it came fast and furious. The venators had had low success of late, and were now pushing harder. They seemed to realize they'd been anticipated, and responded with a double attack, striking two different villages at once.

They were on opposite sides of the planet, forcing the Gadamista to fight at least one fight without the immediate back-up of the Hammerstar. This also, however, forced the venators to do the same. Optimally, the same village would receive the back up from both sides, leaving neither village disadvantaged to the venators. It did, however, increase the risk of all out battle between the two great ships, something both sides preferred to avoid. It simply wasn't worth the cost.

Soren's unit was sent to the near side, but they didn't know until well into the battle that the mother ship had done the same. With a push this hard, that probably meant they would send more fighters before they gave up. On this day, Soren mentally beckoned them on. On this day, he would make them pay for what they had done.

In the end, the near village won out, the carrier lifting off and departing without a cargo, but the far village lost heavily. The carrier landed quickly, conserving its fuel, but the fighters spent their own recklessly, driving the Starphires back with a fury. Four were shot down, and the remaining Cedrychads simply weren't enough.

The carrier lifted and headed for home - not the mother ship, but the home planet - followed by their escort. It was an old ploy, but an effective one. They would allow themselves to run out of fuel and wait for the mother ship to pick them up on her way in. Defeated and dejected, the starphires returned to the Hammerstar.

The following day, the Arlemagen headed slowly towards Hlafden, making a wide circle. The Rikshastika did not like to face a Hammerstar, but if they knew her location, they would be willing indeed to send two or three mother ships against her at once.

Hlafden was the next likely target, and no mention was made of Pov. Soren found himself guiltily grateful that he did not have to deal with Arion now. It was hard enough to deal with his own emotions, while the frustration he had felt towards Sparrow dwindled.

The strength Sparrow had always shown remained, but attitudes against him increased openly. He claimed to take solace in the ones who came to him still, troubled and believing, though Soren saw no evidence of them. He found himself the recipient of various forms of sympathy and occasionally an expression of admiration for his tolerance, none of which provided him with any consolation.

He and Mark grew very close as the days passed, but Sparrow seemed to grow more distant. He clearly welcomed their company, but they came together now only if they sought him out. He never came to them. And then he was gone.

Soren listened to the news with a hollow numbness that defied emotion. He had been waiting for it to happen, but hadn’t been prepared for the actuality. Worst of all, he hadn’t even been shot down by the venats – it had been friendly fire that brought him down.

There was some discrepancy between stories on where the venats had been, but that at least was normal. One thing they all agreed on, the pilot had been trying to shoot for him, and instead had hit his Valerian. Like any other downed pilot, Sparrow had been taken immediately. Shaken, the crew had fought poorly after that, and though the carrier collected less than a full load, it still escaped.

Condolences were offered, the usual ceremonies were performed. And life went on. Duties filled his time and attention, keeping him busy. If anything, his efficiency increased and Soren attributed it to a lack of distractions. At least, until Mark asked him if he was all right. “Yeah,” he answered readily, startled. “Why?”

Mark smiled vaguely, watching him. “You’ve just been rather distant lately. Preoccupied.”

“I have?” Soren asked, concerned now that he had missed signs of Mark’s pain and loss, being callous. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be. You want to talk?”

Mark’s smile widened, his eyes never leaving him. “Actually, I thought you might.”

Soren shook his head. “I’m fine, Mark, thanks. People die all the time. He wouldn’t want us to grind to a halt.”

“Agreed,” said Mark slowly, hesitant. “I just thought maybe since…” He trailed off.

Soren felt a prickle down his spine, his expression hardening. He gave a slight shake of his head, refusing the opening. “People die all the time,” he repeated firmly. “There’s nothing we can do about it except keep going.”

A week later, a victory celebration in Sheltina was going full force but Soren had opted to visit Salathiel on the other side of the mountain. He sat with Arion in the sand near the pier, separating themselves from the excessive heat of a bonfire. Soren basked in its heat with his eyes closed.

Arion sat to his left, tinkering with the mythra while Kateesia echoed a tentative counterpoint on her ocarina to Arion's left. Soren opened his eyes and watched her with a sleepy fascination, her deep dark skin and woolen black hair all but swallowed in the night shadows, her black eyes twinkling with reflected firelight as they followed Arion's fingers, trying to anticipate his next notes.

With mischievous glee Arion varied the tune, challenging her to keep up, yet restricted, too, by the sense of the music. Like a will-o-the-wisp chase in a realm of melody, their ethereal souls frolicked, embodied only in the sounds of mythra and ocarina.

Idly he wondered if Arion realized what a crush she had on him, or how uncomfortable that made Rita.

Rita sat across from Arion, to Soren's right. She was a beautiful girl, like sweet young Payal who had unmuzzled the venator in Navarro, on Tellus. Rita was older and wilder than Payal, dressed in druid's browns and greens against the cool evening weather of Salathiel, whereas Payal had worn the colorful, airy silks of her warmer climate in Navarro.

Kateesia also wore color - vibrant green, red and orange, making Rita's earthen browns even more invisible, shadowed by night and her deep green night cloak, though she'd thrown that back over her shoulders in favor of the fire's warmth.

Kateesia's ocarina faltered and fell silent. "Uncle!" she cried, laughing. "I need to breathe!"

Arion stopped and smiled at her. "Do I have an unfair advantage?"

"Yes. So surrender it, and sing for us."

Arion smiled again, smaller this time, looking briefly at Soren. "All right." He looked down at the mythra, plucking experimentally, then began.

He fell silent, the last vibrations of the mythra fading into the night.

"Ah, you must be Arion Dorios," said a voice behind them. He turned and saw a tall young man with dark eyes and black hair, his skin a deep bronze color, like Rita.

"Yes," he agreed, half rising and shaking his hand. "Join us."

"This is my brother, Lal," said Rita as Arion sank back and the young man sat down. "And this is Soren."

"How do you do?" said Soren, shaking his hand.

"I do well," he replied with a warm smile. "Kateesia," he smiled, greeting her as well. "But I'm afraid I've a quarrel with you, friend," he finished solemnly, speaking to Arion.

He nodded. It was no surprise. "Talk to me."

Lal paused, dark angers swimming behind black eyes. Soren recognized quickly that his formal language was a careful barrier against strong emotions. Arion sensed it as well, waiting silently. "Have you lost no one to the venats Cedrychad?" he asked slowly, his voice soft and deep.

"I was Cedrychad, but not now. To your question, yes. Friends lost in battle, friends lost in carriers, and my mother when I was four. Just over a week ago we lost a very dear friend,” he added, glancing at Soren.

"Then I cannot grant you even that excuse. You disgrace them all Cedrychad. And I will call you Cedrychad. Your contract remains though they threw you out. They are forced to honor your contract, paying you though you do nothing, and you can't run away from your vow. You are a Cedrychad. You will always be a Cedrychad. Just as our respect remains with those who retire, so your shame will stick to you. You have broken your vow." He spoke quietly, stating his position with no vocal hint of animosity.

"I am not paid,” Arion corrected him mildly, “because I was thrown out, not disabled. But explain. How have I broken my vow?"

"By being a traitor. By turning against your own people," he said, his voice beginning to drag. "That you no longer fight to defend us is easily accepted, but you attack us with your lies. You accuse us of murder. You dishearten those who would still defend us, robbing us of our protection.

"Look to your fallen comrade,” he went on, softly urgent. “Forgive my bluntness, Soren," he said aside, then, to Arion again, "Because of your words. People are dying because of you. Tell me still that you haven't broken your vow."

"You're not being fair!" Rita protested.

Lal's head turned, snake-like. "Would you have me debate it with him as you suggested, or shall you and I have at it again?" She relented, sinking into herself, sulking. "Well?" he prompted, returning his attention to Arion. "Have you nothing to say?"

"I accuse no one of murder," he said firmly.

"Not in words, but they stand accused anyway," he answered bitterly. "The Gadamista has won most of its battles lately, but their casualties are unusually high."

He sighed slowly and heavily, weary. "You would have me answer for other men's decisions."

"Yes. You accused their faith and poisoned them with indecision. They died because of you. This very moment your own friend is in the hands of the venators, and others are saying he had it coming. That you should never have been rescued. Divisions come, but woe to the man through whom they come."

At this Soren opened his mouth, but he closed it again, silent. As Lal had so pointedly told Rita, this was between him and Arion.

"Then I am guilty," he answered softly, staring into the fire.

Lal waited, but Arion said nothing more. "That's it?" he demanded. "That's all you have to say?"

Arion turned to look at him, his pain deeply etched in his eyes. "What restitution would you have me offer?"

Lal's anger faltered. "If you recognize your fault," he said quietly, "put an end to this madness."

"I wish I could, but I have told no lies. What I have said, I believe to be true. What else then could I say? When I saw Ohashta, I saw a soul in need of my help. If I broke my vow, I did so by keeping it."

"Venats with souls!" he retorted softly, contemptuous. "It's impossible."

"Why?"

"Because they hunt us. Souls don't treat each other that way."

"Men on earth once hunted whales," he said, staring into the fire again. "They put elephants into slavery, dolphins on display, and murdered wolverines for their fur."

He gave a snort of disgust. "Clever, but they didn't know. You fly in the face of the elders. Who are you to contradict them?"

"No one. I have never claimed to be anyone. I am not a prophet." He gave a soft, sad laugh, shaking his head. "I'm not even a helpful servant. God gave me a message, but when I was told to keep quiet I did. So God saw fit to expose it anyway, through Ryan.

"I have never told anyone they should do as I do,” he went on. “I have simply done, and people have asked me why, and I have answered honestly. I won't deny that I am comforted to see people agreeing with me, because I have to believe that I am right. But I do not, I do not condemn anyone for disagreeing with me. Each man's faith is his own."

"Then leave us alone," he almost growled.

Arion turned once more and stared at him, mournful yet stubborn. "You came to me with questions and I have been answering them as best I can. I can’t give you the answers you want, I can only tell you what I feel.”

"I came to you because you're ruining my sister!" he said hotly, yet still controlled. "You twist everything around, confusing people. If you refuse sense, then just stay away from her!" He rose abruptly. "Come, Rita. Let's go."

She hesitated, then rose silently and followed him. Soren looked at Arion, but his eyes were on the dying bonfire and beyond. "Still the same old questions, huh?" he asked quietly, aching for him. He could see that Lal's accusations had scored deeply, but he was powerless to help.

Arion nodded slightly, but didn't speak.

"You know," said Kateesia softly, "Jesus wasn't very popular in his time either."

"I'm not Jesus," he growled darkly.

"No. But you are chosen, no matter how much you deny it."

"Oh don't start!" he burst out angrily. "How can I be chosen when all I do is make everything worse?"

Kateesia's back stiffened and she darted a glance at Soren, then rose. "Because Satan's loose," she answered with quiet dignity. "You're right, and he's fighting back." She turned and left without waiting for an answer.

"Quite a following you have," Soren said, "but you seem to be a hard teacher to follow."

Arion sighed heavily, frustrated. "Why do they have to be so.. so..."

"Reverent?" he asked with a slight smile.

"Yes!" he exclaimed, but he was not amused. He lowered his head into his hands, his fingers sliding and twining in his hair. "How can it be right? How can it be right when the people who hate me make more sense than the ones who agree?"

For a moment he was at a loss, unwilling at that moment to point out that he never thought it was right in the first place. "Do you think you've made a mistake?"

Arion was still, but Soren willed himself to wait. "I don't know," he said at last. "I honestly don't know. How can it be right if I don't know? How can it be right when I chickened out until I had no choice? How can it be right when all I do is make things worse?"

Again he hesitated, but the answer came easily, surprising him. "Maybe Kateesia's right."

His hands lowered and he raised his head, looking at Soren. "I thought you didn't agree with me," he said softly.

He grinned, fending off discomfort. "I don't."

Arion's eyes dropped to the fire as he laughed sadly. "Raach used to get so mad, saying we used to be able to accept differences, but not anymore. I wonder what he'd think of us."

"Maybe he'd think he was wrong."

Arion smiled without looking up. "Now that sounds more like you."

"Sorry."

"Don't be," he said seriously. "Sometimes I think you're the only thing keeping me from total insanity. You and Salt. You're the only ones that treat me like a regular person anymore. ...Even Sparrow," he added softly, confiding.

"Even Sparrow?" he echoed, startled.

He nodded slowly, guiltily. "He really.. He really helped a lot, but.. there towards the end – before I got kicked out,” he clarified awkwardly. “It got kind of heavy." He paused, scowling at the sea. "Nothing he said. Never anything he said. I just got to feeling like.. like he was waiting for me to make up my mind and decide to talk. Like he knew I would sooner or later."

He smiled, lopsided, and continued. "Sometimes I could have screamed at his patience." He sighed again, relieving his tension. "I needed him,” he said softly. “So much. And he was there. But you were like ballast in the boat, keeping me from tipping completely over." He looked up and smiled at him. "So angry with me all the time... You don't get it, do you?"

He laughed as he shook his head. "No, I sure don't."

His smile widened. "That's okay. Neither do I. I just know that without one or the other of you two, I'd have gone completely over the edge." He shrugged casually and looked back out to sea. "On the other hand, maybe I did, and you two drove me to it."

Soren laughed. "Oh, so it's all my fault, huh? Okay."

Arion sobered, too quickly. "No," he said solemnly. "Honestly... You and Salt."

"Who's Salt?"

He smiled at the flames. "They have a saying around here, 'as old as Salt'. Nobody knows what his real name is, and if you ask him, he says he can't remember. He's a local legend, or a living landmark, whichever way you want to call it. As far as he's concerned he's just an old fisherman. But he's about as smart as they come."

"Where is he now?" he asked, intrigued, but the signal chime sounded in his ear. He reached up and pressed it, acknowledging.

"Time to go?"

Soren nodded. "I'm afraid so."

"Next time," Arion smiled.