Brothers of the Heart Free Preview

RCN Media
Mar 31, 2021
41 min read

Here is the first two chapters in Brothers of the Heart (Haven Hold Book 2)

Chapter One I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance Never settle for the path of least resistance Livin' might mean takin' chances, but they're worth takin' Lovin' might be a mistake, but it's worth makin'. ~Lee Anne Womack

Near the top of the grey stone wall that encircled Haven Hold, Jesse Hayes stood on the guard-walk, scowled at the grey, watery landscape. Guard duty again, he thought disgustedly. This year at last, the hold council had decided to allow Jesse serve as a shepherd, and he felt frustrated by the seemingly endless delay in their departure. The spring weather continued too cold and damp to risk taking the new lambs out where they would have little shelter. He glanced over at the relaxed figure of his partner, Hutch Ingram, blurred by the rain as he paced the guard-walk a few yards away. Jesse's frown eased and his face softened into a smile. He was going to miss Hutch. His amiable, easy going partner felt like a big brother to Jesse, even more than his natural brother, Sev. Over twice Jesse's age, Sev spent so much time away, training the shepherds, the brothers barely knew each other. But perhaps over the summer Jesse would have the chance to spend time with Sev and get to know him better. If the plagued rain would ever stop. Hutch came and stood beside the boy, peering off toward the west. Jesse wondered what his partner stared at so intently. He could see nothing out there himself but sheets of rain. Their mutant friend, Daniel, had visited yesterday and was not due again for two days, so Hutch could not be looking for him, and besides, Daniel always came from the north or the east. Over the winter months the mutant had become a frequent and welcome visitor at Haven Hold, and since the naming ceremony, when the assembly accepted him as guardian for Kelda and Davin’s newborn son, Little Daniel, he seemed more at ease within the hold. The mutant took an intense interest in the growth and development of his namesake and often visited the nursery to cuddle and play with the baby. Yesterday though, he had arrived soaked to the skin from checking his snares in the rain and wanted to get home quickly and dry off. Jesse strained his eyes, trying to spot what had caught Hutch's attention. He started to hear some odd sounds and thought he saw vague shadows moving behind the curtain of rain. As he watched, the forms gradually became visible through the mist. Wagons . . . lots of them. Kithtrekkers! Isolated in the wilderness, Haven Hold saw few trade caravans. Nearly two years had passed since the last Kithtrekkers had visited. Caravans brought exciting news of the outside world, the doings of city folk in more civilized regions, stories and songs about faraway places and strange customs. They also brought goods the holders would otherwise never see, cottons and exotic foods from the balmy south, metals unavailable locally and badly needed for the smithing of tools and weapons, medicines that grew only in other climes, lead, gunpowder and cartridges for making ammunition, and salt from the western sea, used in the preserving of foodstuffs. Many of the Kith traders also had entertaining skills as jugglers, acrobats, balladeers, dancers and actors. The holders, eager for diversion not of their own making, packed the performance tent night after night, enjoying the rich variety of entertainment. For the three to six days of the caravan's stay, a holiday atmosphere pervaded the hold, and they temporarily suspended most non-essential work. As the two guards watched, more and more wagons rolled into sight, drawn by heavy draft horses. When the first wagon had almost reached the walls and the end of the train still had not emerged from the mist, Jesse said in a strained voice, choked with excitement, "It's the biggest caravan I've ever seen!" Hutch grinned at his enthusiasm and replied, "Aren't you glad now that you're not up at the Meadows? You'd best go find Aaron and the rest of the council. They'll want to come out and greet the traders." Jesse turned and pounded down the stairs, shouting the news to the men working inside the barn. Hutch shook his head ruefully. Their three years of partnership had done much to curb Jesse's headlong impetuosity, but sometimes in his excitement the boy forgot to act with a modicum of adult dignity. By the time the first wagons came to a halt outside the gates, a small crowd had gathered to welcome them. Aaron Tayler and Tadi Hayes made their way forward as the driver of the lead vehicle climbed stiffly down and turned to greet them, a muscular man, not especially tall but built like a bull, with a grizzled beard and shrewd blue eyes. He reached out amiably to shake hands with the council members. "Greetings. I'm Jericho Smith, caravan master. We have thirty-two wagons and about a hundred and fifty head of stock. If we are welcome, we would very much appreciate being shown where we can set up camp. It's been a long, wet, miserable day." "You are welcome indeed," Aaron replied cordially. "You can set up right here on the flats in front of the gates if you wish. The south pasture remains free for your animals. It would please us greatly if you and your people would join us for supper once you get settled, and if you wish to bed down within the Haven, I'm sure we can accommodate you." Jericho smiled, grateful for the generous offer. "The meal we gladly accept, but the shelter I regret we must decline. These wagons are our homes as well as our livelihoods. We would not want to leave them undefended in this wild, mutant-infested country." "As you wish. If you need any help setting up your camp, I'm sure some of our young men would gladly assist.” He picked one of the grinning boys out of the crowd and said, “Rennie, perhaps you could stay and guide our guests to the great hall when they're ready." Hutch and Jesse watched from the guard-walk as several of the women hurried off to help the head cook, Cochita Sorenson, prepare for the last minute, unexpected dinner crowd. A few of the young people stayed to watch and speculate with anticipation on the contents of the wagons as the Kithtrekkers quickly, expertly formed them into a tight circle. With the wagons in place, the young holders moved forward to help unhitch and feed the draft animals, which the traders then corralled near the walls in a quickly built, temporary enclosure made out of ropes and metal rods. It seemed a flimsy structure, but these animals were well trained and tired from a day’s work. This was all routine to the Kith and they accomplished each task with swift, economic efficiency. They released the trade stock to graze in the south pasture, watched over by a pair of trader guards. When they had cared for all the animals and set a watch on the wagons and the corral, the Kithtrekker traders gathered in a group and headed for the hold. Jesse watched enviously as Rennie led the guests across the courtyard and into the great hall. "Wouldn't you know it!" he groused. "Stuck up here on guard duty at a time like this. I bet they'll be telling all kinds of interesting stories in there." Hutch grinned and put his arm around the boy's shoulders, reminding him, "Oh, well, tomorrow Hedy and Rennie will be stuck up here and you will be free to browse to your heart's content through the fair and listen to all the stories and songs you want." Jesse brightened at the prospect and Hutch turned to stroll away along the wall until he overlooked the temporary corral. In the failing light he could see the shadowy figures of two trekker lookouts, and he called down to them. "Hey! You fellas hungry? Once these slow-birds finish stuffing themselves, they'll be relieving us for dinner. You're welcome to join us. My partner is eager to hear some tall tales from the civilized lands." He caught a flashing gleam of white teeth in the dimness and a quick laugh. "Sounds good to me! I wasn't looking forward to reheated, overcooked stew again." "Well, I'm afraid that might be all that's left after this crowd gets finished, but at least you won't have to reheat it yourself. We'll meet you at the gates as soon as you get relieved.” "We'll be there." Quite some time passed before the traders began to straggle out of the hall, a few at a time. The night guards, Rad Tayler and Skeet Sorenson, finally came to take over the watch, so preoccupied discussing the tales they'd heard over supper that they barely acknowledged Hutch's all clear. Hutch and Jesse stood by the half-open gates, waiting for the caravan guards, and eventually they appeared, five of them, two from the pasture, two from the paddock, and one from the wagons. The first pair looked like twins, tall, almost as blond as Hutch and nearly identical. They introduced themselves as Mik and Bel Haerigan. Their companions gave their names as Kaese Messick, a lean whip of a man, Martel Smith, Jericho's son, and Zach McKenna, a slender, silent youth with a brooding, almost sullen look. Hutch introduced himself and his partner, then the two holders led the way into the great hall. Most of the tables lay empty now, but small scattered groups still sat in conversation. The kitchen crew had cleared off the buffet table, so the young guards made their way to the kitchen, where a flock of women chattered busily while washing up. Cochita caught sight of the young men and bustled forward, calling her helpers over to assist. "We kept it hot for you," the cook said, as the women removed several bowls from the warming oven and placed them on the big kitchen table. Carly plunked down a stack of dishes and utensils. "Help yourselves," she said bluntly, "we're busy." Cochita scolded her for being rude and she looked startled. She had not intended rudeness, she had simply said what she meant. "This looks wonderful," Mik said, scooping potatoes onto his plate. "There's nothing like a friendly welcome and a hot meal after a day of slogging in the rain." The others chorused a heartfelt affirmation. What with the short notice, Cochita had no time to make anything fancy, but the food was good and plentiful and much appreciated by the hungry guards. For the first few minutes they ate in silence, but once they had taken the sharpest edge off their appetites, Hutch asked casually, "So what's the news from the capitol? Is the governor stomping the masses as usual?" The traders grinned and shook their heads ruefully. "That he is," Mik said. "He raised taxes again this year. It's getting so a man can hardly make a decent living in the cities. If he earns four credits a day, the government takes two." "And now," added Kaese, "they've started an annual trade fair in the capitol -- three weeks after harvest when folk can come from all over to buy, sell and trade their goods directly, without dealing through Kithtrekkers like us. What people don't seem to realize is that the government takes a bigger cut of their profits than we ever have. It's really eating into our business in those parts." "Yeah, the damned government has to stick their noses into everything and make life as difficult as possible for the ordinary man," Bel grumbled. Jesse listened wide-eyed, glad they had no need to worry about such things at Haven Hold. "Yes, and if it's not the government, it's the damned raiders we have to worry about," Kaese added morosely. "Do you get attacked often?" Hutch asked with concern. "A year never goes by when we're not attacked and a few of us killed or injured. And in truth, we're safer than most caravans because we're bigger. Remember Hadly Ranning and his caravan?" "Sure, they've been coming every year for as long as I can recall. We missed them last year when they never turned up." "They got attacked coming through West Pass last fall. Wiped out." "Wiped out!" Hutch cried in horror. He had friends amongst those people. "Every last one. This stupid policy of slavery is beginning to backfire. In the past year five uprisings have taken place in different parts of the country . . . one in this very territory. Two hundred slaves at the Sardiz iron mines revolted. They massacred fifty guards and escaped into the hills. Most have probably turned to raiding by now." Even with Haven Hold's isolation, Hutch had heard of the Sardiz iron mines. They had a reputation for brutal treatment of slaves. Getting sold to the mines was as good as a death sentence. The holder felt more empathy for the slaves than he did for the dead guards, despite the shocking news about Ranning's caravan. But he could not express such sympathies to these traders, who obviously had little fondness for mutants of any description. "I think the government should organize local militia groups to go into the hills and wipe the damned mutants out of existence," Bel growled. Hutch felt chilled by the cold-bloodedness of the suggestion. He sent Jesse a warning look to keep him quiet. They finished their meal and the ladies cleared away the remains while the young men continued to converse. Mik and Kaese did most of the talking for the traders, with Martel and Bel saying little and Zach remaining silent throughout. Despite his silence, or perhaps because of it, Hutch felt intrigued by the dark, moody youth. Some elusive quality about him reminded the holder of Daniel, though he could not quite put his finger on it. The resemblance was certainly not physical, beyond the fact they both had dark hair. The similarity lay not in their attitudes either, for Daniel, even at his most distrustful, never seemed sullen. Hutch finally shrugged it off without ever realizing that sense of familiarity came from his instinctive talent for recognizing strays. Later, after seeing the traders home and barring the gates, Hutch began strolling back across the courtyard, when he heard Aaron's voice calling him from over near the barns. He paused, waiting for the council leader to catch up. Aaron smiled, the excitement of a trade fair infecting even him. "I've just been looking over the livestock with Hal and Cam, seeing what we have to trade. It's a good thing this weather delayed the shepherds.” Hutch eyed the council leader curiously. Aaron surely had not waylaid him to tell him this. "These trekkers have had considerable troubles with raiders. They seem to have a rather strong dislike of mutants. Perhaps you should warn Daniel to stay away as long as the caravan remains here." Hutch smiled, pleased by Aaron's concern for his friend. "Daniel won’t likely come with the caravan here anyway. He's too wary of people. I plan to take his bread to him.” Aaron nodded doubtfully but realized Hutch would do whatever he deemed necessary to protect his friend. * * * The holders wakened early as usual the next morning, but found the traders up and about before them, busily setting up their tents and booths in the pre-dawn chill. The sky had cleared overnight and it looked like an excellent day for trading. The holders felt eager to see what the caravan had to offer, but little individual trading could take place until the council finished dealing with the caravan committee. Few of the Haveners had any personal belongings to trade. Almost everything was communally owned. One or two individuals had marketable skills, such as Denys Sorenson, who carved beautiful figures out of ordinary firewood, or Sev, who made his potent brandy out of little more than a few wild berries and a bit of honey. But the primary craft of the Haven, for which they had some repute, was weaving, and while the skilled work got done by a handful of men and women, the materials and the labor of preparing them belonged to all. Since most holds operated communally, the traders had worked out a method of barter that seemed to satisfy almost everyone. The ruling body of the community presented the goods they had to trade, and after a bit of haggling they settled on a certain number of credit tokens in return. These small coins minted by the Kithtrekkers from cheap metals had little real value but represented the value of the goods exchanged. The hold council would then bargain for supplies necessary to the running of the hold. After that, they divided remaining tokens according to the individual customs of each community. In the Haven it went three ways, one third going to the household to buy medicines, foodstuffs and crafting materials, one third to the farm to buy livestock and tools, and one third was divided amongst the assembly, so each member might enjoy the entertainment and make some small purchases for themselves. Through the first part of the morning the different divisions of the community busily prepared their goods. Hal Sorenson, Tadi Hayes and Aaron culled the flocks and herds for trade animals. Neely and a clutch of weavers went through every bolt of cloth they had made since the last trade fair, choosing and discarding. In the kitchen and pantries, Cochita ransacked the dwindling food supplies for items that might be considered exotic treats in other territories, and Margit, the hold’s healer, hunted through her supply of herbs and roots for medicines that might be hard to come by elsewhere. Fortunately, the mutant, Daniel, had kept her abundantly supplied with bitterberry leaves throughout the winter, since the plant was an evergreen. Those healing leaves had brought Daniel and the holders together. In the Haven, they had never seen the bitterberry plants that grew at higher elevations atop the wall of the plateau that surrounded Haven Hold Valley, in dangerous territory inhabited by vicious raiders. Over the winter, the healer had filled a multitude of ceramic jars and vials with her healing bitterberry ointment, aware it would become a valuable trade item and much sought after once its marvelous virtues became known. By midmorning the holders had their goods assembled for the traders and the bargaining began. Jesse felt little interest in watching the negotiations, so he dragged Hutch away to wander through the fair, talking to people and examining their wares. The older boy still had a few trade tokens from the last caravan, and all traders of good repute honored the Kithtrekker coins. Hutch bought a pair of small, savory egg pies for Jesse and himself and they paused to eat them beside a bright, colorful tent, examining its gaudy facade curiously. A woman in her thirties opened the door flap and emerged. She looked a perfect match for her tent. Her bright, multicolored dress looked beautiful but odd, as if sewn together from pieces of other clothing, like a crazy quilt. She had a wealth of thick, curly black hair tied back with a red scarf. She saw the young men watching and gave them a seductive smile. "What do you sell?" Jesse asked bluntly. Hutch reddened and almost groaned out loud at the boy's naive tactlessness. But the woman answered without shame or offense. "I tell fortunes. Would you like me to tell yours?" "Uh . . . no thanks," Hutch answered quickly, urging the fascinated Jesse to move on. "I will do it for free this time, since we are not really open for business yet," she offered, raising her tent flap invitingly. Hutch eyed the dark opening suspiciously. He shook his head again and said, "No thanks." "Aw, come on, Hutch! She says it’s free," Jesse protested. The woman dropped the flap, smiling as if amused, and waved to a group of small tables and benches set up a few feet away for those customers wanting to sample the cooked foods offered in the next booth. "Perhaps you would prefer a reading in the open, under the revealing light of the sun?" One look at Jesse's pleading face and Hutch gave in. The three of them had barely settled themselves at a table when a tiny woman appeared from the food tent with a pot of tea and three small cups. Hutch reached for his scanty tokens, but the tiny woman shook her head, saying, "For Elyan's customers, no charge." She disappeared back into her tent. Elyan poured and they sipped the hot drink, strangely but pleasantly spicy. The Kithtrekker woman studied them speculatively. "The young one first, I think. What is your name?" "Jesse," the boy answered quickly. She smiled at his eager innocence. "Give me your hands," she said gently. She cradled his hands in her own, palms up, examining them minutely. "You have a courageous heart." She paused, releasing his left hand to trace a line on his right palm. "You have risked death for someone you love." Again she hesitated, then continued softly, "You will risk it again. Before a year has passed you will get a chance for the great adventure of which you dream, the chance to prove your courage." She stared a while longer at his hand before releasing it, saying, "That is all." Jesse felt a little disappointed by the briefness of the prediction but flattered by the talk of courage and adventure. He moved aside so she could take Hutch's hands, watching for a moment as she studied them. Then Jesse noticed the dark, curly-haired youth from last night crouched against the wheel of Elyan's wagon, making quick, vigorous strokes with charcoal on a piece of parchment. Jesse wandered over to see what he was doing. The Kithtrekker woman examined Hutch's hands as carefully as she had Jesse's. "You have a very special talent," she murmured. Hutch snorted in amused self-deprecation and she looked up at him sharply. "Do not underestimate the value of your gifts. You have the power within you to bring peace and happiness to several very sad and lonely people. But you also have the power to destroy them." She looked down at his hands again. "Three of those you hold dear will face grave danger, each at different times, and you will fear greatly for them. Only your heart can show you how to help them. Also, there is another . . . you will meet him soon . . . one who needs your tolerance. Remember, situations and people are not always what they seem." Hutch watched her as she studied his hands seriously. That she believed every word seemed obvious, but he wondered how much credence he should give it . . . all this talk of his special talent, when he reckoned himself about as talented as a mud puddle. At last she released him and sat back with a sigh. She gazed intently into his eyes and said, "The lives and dreams of others rest in your hands. Be gentle. Dreams are easily shattered and difficult to mend. Trust your heart." Without another word, she rose and entered her tent, pulling the flap shut behind her. Hutch stared after her, bemused. Jesse trotted over and thrust something into his hands. "Hutch, look at this." The blond holder frowned absently at the piece of parchment, then his gaze sharpened as he realized what it was, a perfect likeness of his own face, rendered in just a few economical strokes. In the picture he wore an expression of gentle amusement, just as he had while listening to Elyan's prediction for Jesse. "Where did you get this?" The boy just pointed to where Zach still crouched against the wagon, scribbling away, half a dozen sketches scattered at his feet. Hutch strode over to stand behind him, watching him work. The outlander seemed not to mind. In fact he seemed oblivious. He quickly sketched the fortune teller's tent, the way the light fell across the wind-rippled cloth and spilled out over the ground, creating a shadow like a bird of prey about to take flight. He finished in a few strokes and sprayed it with a clear liquid from a small atomizer. Zach glanced up, noticing the holder for the first time. With a guilty start, he scrambled his sketches together and thrust them into a binder. He snatched the one from Hutch's hand, starting to shove it carelessly in amongst the others. "Wait, I . . . I'd like to buy that one," Hutch protested weakly, sure it was worth far more than he could afford. Zach looked at him as if he was crazy. "I don't sell them. Why would you want it anyway? It's just a bunch worthless of scribbling." "Worthless! How can you say that? You have an incredible talent there!" The young man looked away, plainly convinced Hutch was only flattering him. "I have a friend I would really like to give that picture to," Hutch said slowly. "I've only got..." He pulled out his credit disks. "...Three tokens. But I can get more this afternoon." Zach crouched silently, head down, fingering the edge of the binder as though hoping Hutch might go away if ignored. He slowly drew out the sketch and examined it. He really had created an excellent likeness. He had captured that big brother quality that seemed innately Hutch. He thrust the picture at the holder, saying, "You can have it. No charge." But as Hutch reached out incredulously, the outlander looked up and added, "On one condition." Hutch waited. "You'll sit for another?" Zach finished wistfully. Hutch grinned, delighted with the bargain. "Done!" For the next two hours they strolled about the fair grounds and camp together, Hutch doing most of the talking and Zach doing sketch after sketch. Rarely did the outlander find such a willing model, and never one so natural and unselfconscious. Jesse had long since gotten distracted by more interesting sights and wandered off on his own. Hutch and Zach eventually ended up sitting atop the knoll where the holder first met Daniel. The outlander began drawing the trader camp spread out below, with the walls of the hold behind. He seemed to go into a kind of trance of concentration while he worked, making it harder than ever to get a word out of him. "Do you mind if I look at your drawings?" Zach grunted absently, waving a hand at the binder in invitation, and went on with his drawing. Hutch began to leaf through the sketches with great interest, unaware how unusual it was for Zach to allow anyone to see them. The drawings appeared in no particular order, pictures of the caravan and the traders next to ones of beggars on city streets and others of a farm. Hutch recognized a sketch of Elyan and another of Jericho. The next drawing depicted a street urchin about Jesse's age or a bit younger, dressed in rags, with an expression that showed a sad mixture of childish vulnerability and hardened cynicism. The following sketch portrayed a younger child, also a girl, feeding a flock of chickens and laughing as sparrows flew down and boldly stole some of the seed. A series of facial portraits came next, each one making Hutch feel he almost knew these people. Zach finished his latest sketch and turned to study Hutch's face hungrily, watching for his reactions. The holder came across an arresting face that reminded him strongly of Aaron at his most intimidating. But this man showed none of the underlying compassion that softened the council leader's sternness. "Who is this?" Hutch asked curiously. Zach's face darkened and he turned away, answering grimly, "My father." Surprised by the reaction, the holder quickly passed on to the next page, asking no further questions. Toward the bottom of the pile he found a group of three sketches that made his jaw drop in horror. Crude and passionately rendered, each showed several dark figures silhouetted against a burning farmhouse, dancing in demonic ecstasy over the tortured and mutilated bodies of a man, a woman and two young girls. The three drawings looked almost identical, each with a splattered stain of red across it. "Zach! What is this!" The outlander turned sharply in response to Hutch’s dismay. When he saw what the holder was looking at, he quickly snatched up the binder and shoved the three drawings to the back, saying, "Those aren't supposed to be in here." His hands shook as he tied the binder closed. Hutch watched with concern and sympathy. The drawings obviously meant something very personal and painful to the outlander. "Your family, Zach?" The young man froze, then slowly nodded. "After the raiders killed them," he said softly, "I joined a group of mutant hunters, hot to get revenge and stop the bastards from doing the same to others. My father probably would have considered it the only right thing I've ever done in my life. It took me about two weeks to realize the mutant hunters didn't give a damn about stopping raiders. They just wanted to capture as many slaves as possible and sell them as high as they could." "So you quit?" "No. They told me to burn off. I wanted to kill raiders and they wanted to sell slaves . . . a conflict of interests." "Do you still hunt mutants?" Hutch asked uneasily. Slavers occasionally followed or travelled with the caravans, knowing the rich cargo drew raiders like flies to honey. But Zach shook his head. "No, I'm not much of a tracker or a hunter. I was just an extra gun to the slavers. I signed on with the caravan as a guard and roustabout. But if I do happen to see any mutants, I'll sure enough blow them back to hell where they belong." "Not all mutants are raiders, you know," Hutch reminded him worriedly. Zach gave him a strange look. "Maybe not, but I've never met one I would turn my back on." He rose. "I'd best get back to work and earn my pay. Thanks for posing." He turned abruptly and headed down the hill. "You're welcome," Hutch called to his retreating back. "And thanks for the drawing." The outlander waved briefly without looking back. Hutch wondered how this moody young man could ever have reminded him of Daniel.

Brothers of the Heart (eBook)

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Chapter Two

When he was a man, my father would stand,

I never saw him run,

There wasn't anyone could make the man bend;

And the strength of his will was a tool of his trade

And he did his work well.

~Gordon Lightfoot

Hutch returned tothe hold and carefully deposited the portrait in a safe place before heading to the kitchen to check if anyone needed help. The kitchen remained the hub of the household and was rarely found empty. Any messages or requests for assistance would be left there. He found Cochita bustling about, just finishing preparations for a cold supper before heading out to enjoy the festival atmosphere of the trade fair.

"Has anyone requested a strong back and a pair of willing hands?"

"Aaron asked a while ago, but he got Rad and Joshua to help him. Most everyone is over at the fair anyway. If you need something to do, I could use an escort."

"It would be a pleasure and an honor, mistress," Hutch drawled, thrusting out his elbow for her in a humorously exaggerated manner. She whipped off her apron and patted her hair.

"Do I look alright?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with excitement.

"A vision of loveliness, my dear. No one would guess you’re a grandma!"

She laughed and slapped at him playfully. "You’re just full of feathers and nonsense, Hutch Ingram! Oh, I almost forgot!” She went to the bowl of tokens on the table and took out a handful for each of them, then slipped her arm through Hutch's and off they went.

The overdue spring sun had burned away the few remaining clouds, leaving the day deliciously warm and summery. Nearly the entire population of the hold crowded onto the fairgrounds. As Hutch followed Cochita from booth to booth, he spotted Neely enthusiastically haggling over a bolt of lustrous white fabric printed with large red flowers. Printed fabric remained a rarity to the holders since they possessed neither the equipment nor the knowledge to produce it themselves. A little further on he saw Margit deep in conversation with a white haired woman outside the stall that sold herbs and medicines. The next booth attracted Hutch's interest and he drifted from Cochita's side to have a closer look. The stall held a surprising assortment of goods, ranging from scented soaps and candles to perfumes and oil lamps. The latter caught Hutch's eye, and after a bit of dickering, he purchased a small spirit lamp the size of his cupped palm, a crock of scented oil and a plentiful supply of wicks. When he turned, Cochita had disappeared, so he wandered off alone, unconcerned. The range of merchandise seemed awe inspiring. He saw booths selling jewelry and metalwork, and others with embroideries and fine lace. One stall sold every kind of weapon imaginable, from tiny throwing knives no longer than Hutch's middle finger, to rifles with a bore that looked like they could blow a man in half. Another held furs and leathers and offered the services of a bootmaker. In the next stall, a sharp eyed woman with a hawkish demeanor sold fabric goods, everything from raw fibers to already woven materials. The small tent adjoining dealt in dyes, dying materials and mordants. Several stalls offered food, a variety of the familiar and the exotic. Hutch bought a small packet of dried, honeyed fruits and strolled along munching on them, his other purchases tucked under his elbow. He breathed deeply, taking in the mingled scents of spicy cooking, exotic perfumes, herbs, leathers and livestock. The atmosphere of the trade fair seemed so far removed from the day to day life of the hold that it felt almost other-worldly. Hutch found himself wishing he could share it with Daniel.

He spotted Jesse over by the livestock, watching while Zach put a magnificent sorrel stallion through his paces at the end of a lunge line. The boy glanced up at his partner, then back at the horse.

"Isn't he something?"

"That he is!"

"Aaron says we're going to get him to service Sarantha."

A crowd gathered to watch the handsome animal, and Hutch could see the stallion's growing nervousness as the audience increased. Zach didn't seem to notice until the horse suddenly shied and began to dance with fright. Hutch thrust his packages into his partner's arms, saying, "Take these home for me, will you, Jess?"

Without waiting for a reply, he pushed his way through the crowd. Zach had gone hand over hand up the line toward the horse's head, but the animal saw him coming and began to rear in fright, lashing out with his forefeet, narrowly missing the outlander's head. As the horse came down, Zach tried to grab him by the halter, but the animal jerked his head away and reared again, out of control. Hutch moved in on the stallion's other side, and as the animal came down, caught the halter and hauled his head down firmly, speaking in low, soothing tones, stroking the beast's sweaty neck. The stallion quieted instantly. Hutch glanced across the horse's neck at the outlander.

"You alright, Zach?"

The young man appeared shaken and shamed, but he nodded and said, "Fine. Let's get him out of here."

Together they led the jittery horse away to a quiet spot and picketed him. In silence they rubbed him down, one on either side, until he stopped fidgeting and trembling and began to calmly crop the grass.

"Thanks, Hutch. If anything happened to this horse I would be in deep trouble. This animal is Jericho's pride and joy."

"No worries. You could have handled it. You just need to be a little more sure of yourself. Let him know you're not afraid so he knows he can trust you to protect him."

"I guess I'm just not good with animals. Or much of anything else," Zach said ruefully. "I grew up on a farm. My father must have wondered what he ever did to deserve such a misfit for a son."

"Different people have different talents, Zach," Hutch said seriously, disturbed by the self-contempt he heard in the outlander's voice. "What you do with a piece of parchment and a bit of charcoal is nothing short of miraculous. I would consider it a gift just to be able to see that way, let alone put it on paper."

Zach smiled shyly, the first smile Hutch had seen on his face. "You're the only one who's ever seen them."

Hutch felt astounded. "But why? Your sketches are beautiful! You should share them. I bet you could make a living doing people's portraits."

The smile died and Zach's gaze dropped. "It's just a bunch of useless scribbling," he muttered. "I used to hoard every scrap of paper I could get my hands on, and bits of charcoal from the fireplace. I would find a quiet spot and draw for hours, then hide the pictures under my mattress." He leaned against the horse, staring at his hands unhappily as they shredded a piece of straw. "My father caught me at it one time. He thrashed me until I could hardly stand, then he forced me to tell where I'd hidden the others. He made me burn them all. A sinful waste of time he called it. After that I was more careful, but I could never stop. It's like there's something inside me that has to get out."

Hutch shook his head seriously. "He was wrong, your father," he said earnestly. "It would be a sinful waste of your talent if you didn't use it."

Zach searched Hutch's face and saw that he sincerely meant it. The outlander smiled crookedly. "Thanks," he said softly. "I guess you're as good with people as you are with animals."

Hutch grinned in return. "Maybe that's what my special talent is. Elyan said I have one, but I've seen rocks with more talent.”

Zach came out from behind the horse and gave Hutch a friendly slap on the shoulder. "If you listen to Elyan, everyone's got a special talent. Come on, I think I owe you a beer."

* * *

The next day was bread day. Early last spring, Daniel had saved the lives of Jesse and his sister Neely when they were attacked by a monstrous beastman. About a month later, the mutant had warily approached the hold and made a trade deal with them – medicinal bitterberry leaves in exchange for a loaf of bread every three days. But with the caravan parked outside the hold gates, Hutch knew his mutant friend would remain at a distance. In most of the seven territories, mutants were considered less than human, fit only for slavery. Daniel had worn chains and felt the lash more than once in his life. It made him wary and suspicious of strangers.

As soon as the loaves came out of the ovens, Hutch packed up the small gifts he had bought for Daniel and headed for the hidden valley. He felt certain the mutant remained too gun-shy to come near the traders, but the fear that something might go wrong had lingered in the back of his mind all yesterday. The trekkers’ obvious hatred of mutants made him nervous and he wanted to ensure that his friend stayed safe. When he entered the side canyon, he walked right past the entrance to the hidden valley where Daniel made his home and had to backtrack to find the mouth of the tunnel, well hidden by a line of bushes. Hutch had only used it once before, when Daniel led them through from the other side carrying Kelda Sorenson on a stretcher after a terrifying encounter with Rogan’s Raiders. As Hutch emerged from the hidden tunnel into Daniel’s pocket valley, his eyes went immediately to the lean-to that sheltered the entrance to Daniel's home. A small, shadowy figure darted away from it, headed for the trees. Hutch recognized that figure instantly, recalling in a flash the slavers this creature had killed and horribly mutilated. A jolt of horror shot through him. Daniel! That monster had come from Daniel's home! Hutch bolted across the clearing, cutting the intruder off from the trail to the rim, bringing his rifle to bear. The small man stopped dead, glaring at the holder with evil intensity. Throbbing pulses of malevolence pounded at Hutch like a heartbeat.

Darius faced Hutch's rifle with his shoulders hunched and his hands raised, teeth bared in an attempted smile. He felt too scared to cover his repellent gaze, the only real defense he had, and to Hutch his attempts to make himself look less threatening only served to make him appear more predatory. The holder broke into a cold sweat and his finger tensed on the trigger.

Inside the cave, Daniel was busy cleaning the cold ashes from the fireplace when Darius' telepathic cry for help knifed through his head. He dropped the leather bucket full of ashes, snatched his knife from its sheath and lunged for the entrance, crashing into the lean-to in his haste. He found Hutch with a rifle aimed at Darius, finger tightening on the trigger.

"Hutch, no!"

The holder heard his anguished cry and tore his gaze from his deadly adversary long enough to assure himself that his friend remained unharmed.

"Daniel, thank God you're alright!"

"Don't shoot him, Hutch! Please, don't shoot him."

The holder stared at Daniel in consternation, but his trigger finger relaxed a little. Daniel sheathed his knife and strode toward them, edging slowly between his two friends, his empty hands raised. Hutch lowered the rifle.

"He's not what he appears to be, Hutch. He's my friend."

Daniel felt desperately afraid such an admission might mean the end of his friendship with Hutch, the end of trust between them, but he was not about to watch Darius die to preserve that trust. He felt the telepath come up behind him and lean against him, shaking, and he reached back to touch the little man reassuringly.

"You told Aaron he was not your friend."

"I didn’t really know him then. He came to visit me about a week later. Near scared the living flame out of me. Then he came again in midwinter." Daniel hesitated, then asked anxiously, "Do you still trust me?"

Hutch looked startled. "Of course I trust you. It's him I don't trust."

"He's not a monster, Hutch. He's really sort of special. His name is Darius Dreamweaver."

"But what about the way he killed the slavers?"

"The slavers got what they deserved. He's a telepath, Hutch, a psi mutant. He was in mental contact with Alanna while they were . . . abusing her. I suspect he's the only thing that kept her sane. Will you give him a chance?"

The holder studied the appeal in his friend's eyes and slowly nodded. "Alright, Daniel. You trust him. And I trust you. I'll give him a chance."

Daniel relaxed and smiled with relief. "Come on inside then. I'll make some tea and the two of you can get acquainted."

They turned together and headed toward the cave, but after a few paces, Daniel realized the telepath was not with them. He turned back and Hutch stopped and looked back too. The little man stood where they had left him, shoulders hunched and head down.

"Darius?"

"Hush you friend. Holder hate I."

Hutch regarded the telepath in uneasy surprise. "I don't hate you," he said, "I'm just a little scared of you."

"He's willing to give you a chance, Darius, but you have to give him a chance too."

Darius gazed at Daniel stonily, and even the peripheral menace of that gaze shook Hutch. But the little man's eyes dropped again almost immediately. Daniel caught the holder by the arm and drew him toward the cave.

"It's alright," he said, "he'll come when he feels ready."

Hutch made himself at home on a cushion of hides while Daniel cleaned up the spilled ashes and started a small fire in the cold hearth, putting on water for tea.

"It's a defense you know, that look of his," Daniel told Hutch as he worked. "He has almost no control over it. The more scared he feels, the more threatening he appears. It's a kind of camouflage, like protective coloration."

"Are you saying he's harmless?"

"No, he's not exactly harmless. He can fight like a wolverine if he's cornered. But he's not the vicious killer you think he is."

Hutch watched as Darius crept in silently, hands shading his eyes, and went to crouch in the corner by his bed. For the first time Hutch noticed the second bed and his eyes widened in shock. "He lives here with you?"

"Yes. He came during the winter storms, in trouble, with nowhere else to go. He would have died if I refused him shelter. Then after a while I didn't want to."

Hutch felt stunned. Daniel, who trusted almost no one, trusted this evil looking little gargoyle enough to share quarters with him. It seemed almost beyond belief. There had to be more to Darius than met the eye.

"Can he hear my thoughts?" Hutch asked with uneasy curiosity. Daniel shrugged.

"Why don't you ask him?"

The holder regarded Darius uncertainly. "How about it, Darius? Can you hear my thoughts?"

"Color," the little man grated, continuing to shield his eyes. "Some word."

Hutch turned to Daniel in puzzlement. "Color?"

"Near as I can make out," Daniel explained, "we all project some of our surface thoughts. Those he can pick up from anyone close enough. Mostly he just sees emotions. He sees them as colors surrounding us like a kind of halo. To understand deeper thoughts, he has to establish a deeper link. A blast of anger or hatred directed at him through such a link could kill him. As far as I know, the only people he's established that kind of rapport with are myself and Alanna."

Daniel poured the tea, made with sage and chamomile to soothe their nerves after the recent, tense confrontation. He carried the first cup over to Darius. The little man took it with one hand, continuing to hide his eyes with the other. Daniel felt concerned by the mental silence from the telepath since his panicked cry for help.

"Are you alright, Darius?"

The little man answered hesitantly. "Hush you friend. Want to kill I. No hurt you friend." At the same time Daniel received a mental wash of blue-grey shame and despair. He replied with a sense of reassurance and love, but the telepath's fears remained unrelieved. Daniel poured two more cups of tea and took one to Hutch, seating himself near the holder.

"Darius thinks you will try to convince me that he's not worthy of my friendship." Daniel gazed into Hutch's startled grey eyes seriously. "He thinks he's unworthy. He is convinced that if you force me to choose between you, I'll choose you."

Hutch felt appalled. "I would never ask such a thing of you!"

He sipped his tea, thinking as he studied the shadowy, hunched figure in the corner. His natural empathy for those outcast and unwanted began to overcome his fear of this repellant little man. If, as Daniel said, the telepath had no control over his strange and terrifying defenses, the small man must have few friends.

"Darius," Hutch said gently, "Daniel would not care for you if you were unworthy. The very fact that you are his friend makes you worthy of his friendship. And if I tried to use my friendship with him to destroy yours, I would be the one worthy of rejection. I would never do such a thing."

The telepath peeked at Hutch from beneath his hand. Daniel felt a wistful questioning and said with a grin, "You'll have to ask him that yourself."

Hutch looked from Daniel to Darius, confused by the silent part of the exchange. The telepath lowered his hand and turned the full force of his gaze on the holder. Hutch swallowed hard and braced himself to meet that baleful glare.

"You friend Dan-yel. Dan-yel friend I. Be you friend I, Hush? Be friend all?"

Despite the total lack of vocal or facial expression, Hutch sensed the hopeful longing in the question. He turned to Daniel and saw a similar hope reflected in those leaf-green eyes.

"Yes, I think so," he answered slowly. "We can all be friends."

He by no means felt convinced that Darius presented no threat, but he trusted Daniel. For Daniel's sake he would try to accept this strange little man and call him friend. The telepath continued to stare at Hutch until Daniel noticed the holder's growing uneasiness.

"Darius," Daniel said softly, showing the little man the holder's discomfort. Darius dropped his gaze instantly, radiating apology and humble admiration.

(Nice color. Holder nice man.) he thought to Daniel. The mutant grinned at Hutch.

"He likes your colors."

"My colors? What are they?" the holder asked curiously.

Daniel went silent for a moment, smiling, then he began to translate what Darius showed him. "You're mostly green and a sort of rosy pink. There's a lot of yellow too, like sunshine. Little touches of purple and a few splotches of orange."

"What do the colors mean?"

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"I'm not sure exactly," Daniel hesitated. "Each color seems to mean several things, depending on the shading and circumstances. Green is . . . compassion, sympathy, courage, peacefulness. That rosy color . . . I'm pretty sure that's love, or affection, or friendship. The reds and oranges are pretty confusing. There's so many variations and they're mostly pretty violent. I suspect the orange in your colors is from Darius looking at you." Daniel felt another wave of shamed apology. "It's alright, Darius. We know you can't help it."

Hutch studied the small man. Darius had covered his eyes again and the holder felt a stab of pity for him. What a horrible curse to live under. As he had done so many times for Daniel, Hutch changed the subject to try and ease Darius's discomfort.

"Did you know there's a Kithtrekker caravan at the Haven?"

Daniel smiled. Smiles came more easily to him these days. "We knew. We have heard it, seen it, smelled it, and kept a healthy distance."

"I figured you would," Hutch said, relieved. "It might be a good idea to keep a sharp lookout for slavers and raiders too. These caravans sometimes draw both."

"We'll do that. Thanks for the warning."

"I brought something for you." Hutch began to delve into his pack and handed Daniel his loaf of bread, payment for the medicinal bitterberry leaves the mutant had provided over the past year.

"Thanks, I thought we would have to go without for a while." Daniel wrapped the bread in a piece of thin, oiled leather to keep it from drying out. But Hutch had not finished. He drew something else from his pack and handed it to Daniel, who examined it carefully.

"What is it, Hutch?"

"It's a spirit lamp. Here, I'll show you."

The holder filled the shallow depression with water, then added a thin layer of perfumed oil. He inserted a wick in the float and lit it. As it burned, a light, cheerful scent filled the room like a fresh breeze, lifting their spirits and producing a calming effect, a feeling that all was well.

"If you light it just before you go to sleep, it burns all night and helps to drive away bad dreams."

Daniel had received few gifts in his life. He felt deeply touched by his friend's thoughtfulness and concern. "It's really special, Hutch. Thank you. You needn't worry about my nightmares though. I haven't had one since Darius moved in with me."

Hutch's brows rose in surprise and he turned to regard the telepath, thinking he would be more likely to cause nightmares than prevent them. Daniel understood the holder's incredulous look, and affection for both his friends warmed his eyes.

"He is the Dreamweaver. He guards my sleep."

The telepath sat staring at the small flame of the lamp as if entranced, but he felt their attention on him and he said in his harsh, flat voice, "Pretty. Feel good."

Daniel got a faraway look, thinking about the magical rainbow visions Darius had gifted him with. "We have shared memories," he said with a dreamy smile.

Hutch felt a twinge of jealousy. Daniel had so rarely shared memories with him, he knew little more about his friend's past than when he'd first met the mutant. But the memories Daniel shared with Darius were the ones of Hutch, of Jesse and Neely and a few of his mother, Jaylene, the rare happy memories he treasured. Daniel cleared out a niche and carefully lifted the small lamp to place it there. As he turned back, Hutch handed him a piece of parchment.

"This is for you, too."

Daniel held it up to the light and his eyes widened. "Hutch! It's incredible! It's just like you. Darius, look at this." Daniel crouched and the telepath came and leaned against his shoulder. Darius reached out one finger to almost touch the portrait.

"Blue man," he said. "Hurt inside. Like Dan-yel."

Hutch looked startled. "What do you mean, Darius? I'm not hurt. And I'm certainly not blue. What does blue mean anyway?"

"Blue means unhappy, lonely. I think he’s sensing whoever made the drawing. Who did it anyway? One of the traders?”

Hutch told them about the morning he had spent with Zach and the three horrible, tortured sketches amongst his collection. He also told them of the incident with the stallion and Zach's story about his father. Daniel shook his head.

"This father of his sounds a lot like someone I used to know."

Hutch waited hopefully. Daniel so rarely talked about his past and Hutch felt reluctant to try breaching the wall of reserve that rose whenever the subject came up. As usual, Daniel went no further. He sensed his friend's curiosity, but the past still held too much power to hurt him, his memories too painful to share. Not even with Darius had he shared those bitter remembrances. The little telepath had enough problems of his own. Daniel felt no need to burden either of his friends with the painful roots of his nightmares. He rose and put the portrait of Hutch in the niche, carefully placing it away from the flame. In the soft glow the picture seemed almost alive. He turned back abruptly with a grin and asked hopefully, "Can you stay for supper, Hutch? My snares caught a pair of grouse this morning and we have fresh biscuit root and greens."

"Sounds good. I'd love to. If it's alright with your roommate that is." Darius froze beneath his questioning glance, staring at the floor tensely. Hutch turned to Daniel in puzzlement. "Did I say something wrong?"

Daniel didn't speak for a moment, communicating silently with Darius, then he answered slowly, "He thinks you're mocking him."

"Mocking him! Why?" Hutch asked in dismay.

Daniel studied him hesitantly, not sure if he should shock the holder with the story of Darius' past. But he could see Hutch felt genuinely distressed that Darius would think him cruel enough and petty enough to resort to ridicule.

"He was raised by wolves," Daniel said softly, "after his family abandoned him. I guess in the pack he always held lowest rank, the one who had to bow and scrape to all the others. He figures he's still bottom rank and he doesn't understand why you would treat him with the respect due a superior."

"Raised by wolves!" Hutch repeated in awe and wonder. "I swear to you, Darius, I meant no mockery or disrespect. And I certainly don't rank higher than you here. This is your home . . . I'm just a guest."

Darius looked at him with stony black eyes. The telepath's gaze had lost much of its power now that he no longer feared the holder, and Hutch was growing used to the idea that the threat was mostly illusion. He met that baleful glower without flinching.

"Friend, Hush. You stay."

Dinner tasted delicious, the grouse succulent and tender, the biscuit root crisp and the greens a welcome change after winter months of stored roots and dried vegetables. Afterwards, as they relaxed together in satisfied comfort, Hutch brought up a question that had puzzled him and many others for months.

"Darius, how did you get out of that root cellar last summer?"

Hutch waited through a long silence, realizing the telepath was probably sending to Daniel, using him as a translator. Daniel groaned suddenly and Hutch sat up sharply in concern.

"Ah, Darius!"

Then Hutch noticed the telepath shaking, his eyes tightly shut. What the hell was going on here? The moment ended and Daniel turned haunted eyes to meet the holder's worried gaze. He shook his head slowly.

"They had no idea what they were doing when they put him in with those monsters. The slavers were furious and he was the only available target. They hurt him, Hutch. God! And I told Aaron to let those bastards keep him! The only thing that saved him was the dark. They couldn't see him, but he . . . well, he can't exactly see in the dark, not with his eyes, but he senses colors, kind of a mental vision. He found a piece of slate splintered away from the floor . . . cut his foot on it while he was trying to keep away from them. That's what he used to kill them. He was fighting for his life, Hutch. If they hadn't beaten him to death, they would have burned out his brain with their anger and hatred."

"What about the, uh . . . mutilation?"

"He did that after they were dead, in revenge for Alanna. Darius has a very straightforward sense of justice."

"And the door?"

"Well . . . it's a bit confused, but near as I can make out, he slid the bolt with his mind."

"He can move things with his mind?" Hutch felt awed and appalled by the possibilities of such a talent.

"I've never seen him do it. Apparently it takes a great deal of energy and concentration. He only uses it in emergencies because it leaves him exhausted. He figured he was going to be killed in the morning, so he had nothing to lose."

Hutch contemplated the telepath, still huddled and shaking from the horrible memory, and his sympathy grew. "I'm glad you escaped, Darius. I don't know what the council might have decided to do with you, but I'm glad they didn't get the chance."

Hutch felt a slight flutter in his head, soft as a butterfly kiss, gone almost before he became aware of it. He felt startled but experienced none of the terror Daniel had first felt when he realized what that touch meant. Hutch had grown up secure and sheltered by a loving family and friends. He had never in his life been deliberately hurt or betrayed, so he had none of the built up layers of emotional defense Daniel had been forced to erect over the years just to survive. It was the casual, irresistible breaching of those defenses that had thrown Daniel into a panic when Darius first contacted him mentally.

The touch the holder felt remained brief and did not return, and Hutch soon forgot it. Darius had not been trying to establish real contact. He didn't quite trust the holder enough for that. The telepath had only been searching for assurance of Hutch's sincerity.

When Hutch finally said good-bye and started for home, twilight had already faded into night. If he stayed any longer, someone would surely notice his absence and begin to worry. As he made his way through the darkened forest, he felt a strange uneasiness, as if something followed him, watching. An owl hooted softly a few yards away and he stopped to listen intently, unused to traveling the woods at night. But he heard no sound that seemed threatening or out of place, so he continued on. Then, as he drew near to the river and the end of the trees, he detected a soft rustling in the brush to his left. He tensed, waiting in the shadows, his rifle steady, aimed at the source of the sound. A small shadow detached from the deeper darkness and padded forward a few steps . . . Darius. Hutch could not see the telepath's fixed glare, but he felt the power of that gaze even in the dark. Facing this menacing little gargoyle in Daniel's home was one thing, knowing Daniel and trusting him to control this strange being. To face the little monster out here in the darkness alone was something else again. All Hutch's fears and doubts suddenly seemed saner and more reasonable than the sympathy he had begun to feel back at the cave.

"Why are you following me, Darius?"

"Friend, Hush. Alone you. Dark. Not safe."

Hutch lowered his rifle, sorry for having displayed his distrust, shamed for having doubted Daniel's judgement.

"You came to escort me home?" he asked, grinning a little in surprised amusement.

"You Dan-yel friend. Dan-yel need. Keep safe. You hurt, Dan-yel hurt. Not want Dan-yel hurt."

The telepath's voice seemed softer, less grating out here in the open. His speech had improved a lot over the past months, with Daniel's help. He no longer scrambled sentences unless he became excited or upset. Hutch had understood perfectly. For the first time he realized the friendship between the telepath and the mutant was not so one-sided as he had thought, not just Daniel kind-heartedly sheltering another misfit, more homeless and outcast than himself. Darius loved Daniel. If the telepath possessed no other redeeming qualities, that one alone would be enough to ensure Hutch's tolerance, perhaps even his friendship.

"Dan-yel not need I."

Hutch sensed sadness in that quiet statement. He sank into a crouch, resting his rifle across his knees.

"Darius, maybe Daniel needs to be needed too."

The small man thought silently about his telepathic connection with Alanna, who had lived through hell after she was captured and raped by the slavers last summer. He thought about how good it felt to be able to help her, to make her happy, if only for a few moments. He realized Hutch was right. The telepath padded hesitantly closer, longing to touch that gentle green and rose aura, but afraid of seeing it flare into orange and red because of his nearness. Hutch didn't move. His colors remained steady as Darius slowly reached out and touched him lightly, his pale hair, his cheek, his shoulder, then started to withdraw. The gentleness of the gesture caught Hutch by surprise and he captured the telepath's small hand in his own. Darius stiffened, but the holder's grip remained light and unrestraining.

"Darius, I'm sorry for any unkind thoughts I may have had about you. I'm sorry if I hurt you or scared you." The holder paused and grinned a little. "I think I'm beginning to see why Daniel figures you're special. You really are not what you appear to be, are you?" Darius didn't answer, so Hutch went on. "I suspect your injury or death would hurt Daniel as badly as mine would. I love him too, and I don't want to see him hurt either. If you are ever in trouble and I can help, I will." He squeezed the telepath's hand gently, then released it and rose. Darius looked up at him and Hutch ignored the feeling of discomfort that gaze caused. As he started off again, the telepath padded silently alongside, and the holder realized the small man was determined to see him home safely. He turned south, following the edge of the forest, knowing Darius would feel more comfortable in the protection of the trees. They travelled together in companionable silence until they reached the spot where Hutch had to turn west and move out across open ground to reach the hold. He sank to a crouch again with his rifle across his knees, regarding the small shadow that was Darius. For a moment neither of them spoke as they listened to the sounds of music and laughter coming from the fair grounds.

"You'd best not come any further, Darius. It's not safe for you. I'll be fine."

The telepath reached out again to touch Hutch's hair, like spun silver in the moonlight. "Nice colors," he said.

Hutch smiled. "What are your colors, Darius?"

After a moment of startled silence, Darius answered, "Can't see. Dan-yel say rainbow."

"A rainbow! Did you know that rainbows are a symbol of hope? You take care of yourself, friend. And take care of Daniel for me."

Hutch touched Darius lightly on the shoulder and said good night, then strode away across the open, rolling hills toward the lights of the fair and the hold. Darius watched him go, spinning out a fine mental thread, a lifeline connecting him to Hutch. If the holder was ever hurt or in trouble, Darius would know, just as he did with Daniel and Alanna.