MICHAEL estimated that they were only about two days’ jour­ney from Waknuk: they were now leaving the Wild Country and returning to more civilised country: the country he was familiar with. He still marvelled at their good fortune in not meeting a single person, all the way from the Fringes, but their luck did not hold out. Towards the afternoon of the first day, they began to meet people. People walking, people on horseback, people driving carts like theirs. ‘Normal’ people going about their business. None of them took any notice of Michael and Sophie: they looked just like any farming couple. He noticed that most of the people were women. Then of course he realised. Almost all the menfolk of Waknuk and surround­ing districts had been called away to the raiding party. Most of them would be dead. Did these people know that, yet?

Towards the end of the second day, things changed. They saw a ragged, unkempt man carrying a gun, walking towards them. As soon as he saw them, he raised his gun, aimed straight at them, and fired. But their horse took fright at the sudden movement and reared up. The bullet, evidently meant for Michael, struck the horse in the foreleg. It sank down again, then crumpled onto the ground, clearly in agony, almost upsetting the cart. The man was busy trying to reload his gun, but Sophie was too quick for him. Before Michael could even reach for his bow, she had planted an arrow in his chest.

Michael got down and approached the fallen man. He was clearly quite dead, the arrow having pierced his heart. Then Michael turned his attention to the horse which had saved his life. It was in a pitiful state: its foreleg clearly shattered by the bullet. Michael knew at once what he had to do. Picking up the gun and reloading it, he went to the horse and pointed the gun at its head. Sophie looked away…

“What do you think he wanted?” asked Sophie, as they unloaded the cart, unharnessed it, and pushed it into the woods, trying to hide it as best they could. “Do you think he knew…?”

“No, unlikely,” said Michael. “I think he just wanted the horse—and cart.”

They had to hide what was left of their provisions, and shoulder what they needed for the rest of the journey—on foot. They also tried to hide the man’s body. The cart was too heavy for them to drag further on the path. And they could do nothing about the dead horse. Michael guessed that they were only a few miles from Waknuk He had contacted Rachel again, told her they would soon be with her. Rachel was in good spirits.

Next morning, Michael’s plan was to visit Rachel’s farm first, and find out how things stood there—find out more, that is, than Rachel was prepared to tell him. Afterwards he would quickly make it to his own home. His parents would be anxious about him, especially if they had heard rumours about the ‘spiders’. His father, especially, who had been too old to join the raiding party—thankfully. And he needed to find out for sure what had become of Sally and Katherine, who had been captured and tortured—and Mark, who had simply disappeared. He feared the worst.

Steering well clear of Waknuk itself, they tramped through the familiar country towards Rachel’s farm, which was just to the west. As they approached, they heard the dogs barking and running out to greet them, closely followed by Rachel herself, who flung herself into Michael’s arms. They clung tightly to each other for a long time, while Sophie watched them with a smile on her face…

In the farmhouse, they were introduced to Rachel’s mother, and Michael sized up the situation. Rachel’s father, whom Michael had never met, had not joined in the raiding party: he was very ill in bed: he had never recovered, it seemed, from the shock of losing his elder daughter Anne, who had committed suicide a year or two earlier. But many of the farm-hands had indeed joined the party. Stories about the ‘giant spiders’ were rife, and everyone around was very nervous. Rachel and her mother were left to manage what was left of the farm almost on their own, besides having to care for Rachel’s sick father. Not surprisingly, most of their crops were unharvested, although it was now late summer. Many of their livestock had died.

It was clear that Rachel’s mother welcomed Michael and Sophie, and desperately wanted them to stay to help out with the farm—Michael especially. It was equally clear to Michael that he must carry out his original plan to carry Rachel away with him—to wherever? How could he explain these things to Rachel’s mother?

He had no need. Rachel’s mother looked at him curiously for a few minutes. Then she said, “you’re one of them, aren’t you?”

Michael made no reply.

“One of them, I mean—like Rachel here—like David, and Rosalind, and Petra…”

“You know?” Michael stammered at last.

“I’ve known for some time. I think I could almost read Rachel’s mind, myself. But I’m not one of you, mind. I could just sense that she was getting news from you, all the time you weren’t here.”

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“Does Rachel’s father know?”

“I don’t think he does. He’s very poorly: we don’t expect him to live through the winter, and frankly it’ll be a relief when he goes.”

“So—you know that Rachel and I need to get away.”

“Yes—I suspected as much. I wish it were otherwise, but I agree, you are still in danger here. Don’t worry about me: I’m not about to tell anyone! They tell me old Strorm is dead: is that true?”

“Yes, it is.” Joseph Strorm had been shot by his elder brother Gordon, at the height of the battle in the Fringes.

“I knew he had disappeared along with many of the other men. With him gone, the community is falling apart. No-one seems to be doing much about Deviations at the moment. But it’s still dangerous here.”

“David, Rosalind and Petra are still alive,” said Michael. “I can’t tell you more than that, but they’re safe.”

No-one spoke for a long time. Rachel’s mother set about placing a modest lunch before them: bacon and a few eggs, tomatoes and bread and butter. And a small pot of beer—the first they had tasted for weeks. All the time, Rachel’s mother surveyed the newcomers intently without speaking.

Finally she looked at Sophie. “I don’t quite see where you fit in to all this. I’m right in guessing, you’re not one of them, am I?”

“No, I’m not,” agreed Sophie. “Though I am now picking up some of their thoughts. My mother was the same: she could send David some of her thoughts, Mrs… er, Mrs?” and Sophie choked back a tear.

“Oh, call me Amelia, please! So—where do you come from?”

Instead of replying, Sophie pulled off one of her moccasins. Amelia gave Sophie’s foot a very brief glance, and then nodded as Sophie replaced her moccasin.

“I guessed as much. As soon as I heard your name was Sophie, I remembered. What a hue and cry that was! How long ago was it? Seven years? Eight? The Wender family and their six-toed daughter. They vanished from here, but they were caught. And poor young David bore the brunt of it. His poor back! His sister Mary told me how he had suffered.”

“Sophie suffered worse than he did,” Michael remarked, simply—but rather hastily. He glanced at Sophie as he said this, but she showed no reaction. “…and your family, of course…”

Amelia choked back a sob. But quickly recovered, and said, “Of course. I’m glad you’re here now, Sophie. You’re welcome here, any time. Though we have little to offer.”

Michael was reminded of something. “Mrs—er, Amelia, I really have to get across to my parents. They’ll be worried sick.”

“Don’t worry about them. They’re all right. As soon as I learnt you were here, I sent old Benjamin—he’s just about our only remaining farm hand—across to their house to bring them the news. He’s taking a message that you’ll call on them tomorrow. So relax. But, Michael,” and Amelia lifted a warning finger, “don’t tell them as much as you’ve told me. I know your parents, I know they’re decent folk—but I’m not sure you should be spreading it around too freely. Not even with old Strorm gone. The Inspector is still around…”

They spent the rest of the day organising sleeping arrangements. Sophie was to share Rachel’s bedroom, while Michael was to sleep in Anne’s old bedroom. He felt a bit uncomfortable about this, remembering how Anne had almost betrayed them and then met her tragic death—but there was no alternative.

Michael was so worn out, now, that he fell straight onto his bed and fell sound asleep. When he woke up, it was dark, and Rachel was standing by his bed wearing a nightgown.

“No words,” she said briefly in thought-shapes. She sat down on the end of the bed and was silent for a few minutes. Michael knew something was about to come out. He lay there, waiting.

“Michael, I know all about it. About you and Sophie—in the farmhouse…”

Michael could not even reply in thought-shapes. He was struck dumb.

“You silly boy!” she continued. “Did you really imagine you could keep an emotional experience like that to yourself? I knew even before Sophie told me…”

“She told you?”

“Of course she told me. She told me everything. The wash-tub, and all. Something about wanting you to ‘experience’ her ‘becoming a woman’. What she meant by that, I wasn’t sure. But Michael, I’m pleased. Really I am. Not a bit angry. Oh Michael!—I so much wanted you, but I didn’t want us both to be virgins when we finally came together. It’s so much better this way. I love you and I know you love me—really.”

“Oh, Rachel! Of course I do!”

“But not yet, Michael. I want us to be really ready. I want us to get married. In a church. Not here. In Kentak, perhaps…”

She lay down next to him, but kept her nightdress on. He kissed her briefly but passionately, and she kissed him back; but then she rolled over and they both fell asleep.