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what little strength they had left.
    A gust of wind whipped across the walls, peppering Rachel’s face with coarse grains of sand. No one moaned, no one moved. A deadly hush had fallen over the square, as though every prisoner held his breath. When would He come? When?
    She let her thoughts drift blissfully to Shadrach and the pleasant days of their youth. They’d met in a secret history course taught by the Gamant Underground. Nonapproved classes were condemned by the Magistrates. Teachers and students sentenced to death. From their first argument over the role of revolution in everyday life, he’d drawn her to him like a moth to flame. His sharp mind and gentle touch were balms on her soul. She’d loved that tall man with the sparse beard and amused eyes.
    Her thoughts jumped to three days ago in the temple. Her last image of him was standing at the altar, conducting the Sighet celebration. His bronze hair glinted in the light filtering through the shattered walls. There’d been no amusement in his eyes that day. Worry shadowed his face like a deadly shroud.
    She shook her head violently, refusing to see the next few moments of the memory.
    From outside the high walls came the monotonous churning of cart wheels on stone and the jingle of a harness.
    “Do you think they know we’re here?”
    She turned weakly to look at the old man. He’d told her his name several times, but still she had to struggle to remember. Talo? Yes, Talo. A big, rawboned man, hairy chested and hard-bitten, his stubble of white beard was reddened with dust. He looked at her through bloodshot sleepless eyes. Beside him, his niece—Myra was her name—stood numbly. Rachel hadn’t heard her murmur a single word in two days. All her hope seemed to have died.
    “The people outside, I mean,” he clarified.
    “Of course, they know.”
    He rubbed a grimy hand over his face. “I can’t believe I’m awake. How can our own people allow us to be tortured this way?” He pinched his cheek so hard a white splotch appeared beneath the sunburn. “This must be a terrible nightmare.”
    “So long as they can turn their heads and no one bothers them, they don’t care.”
    “For three years we’ve been fighting to keep the old ways, the ways of kindness. And now no one cares what happens to us? Those are our relatives out there!”
    As if to reinforce his words, echoes of shod hooves and soft religious singing carried on the wind. Somewhere, a man laughed gaily.
    “Are they?”
    His eyes roamed her face. “How can you ask such a thing? Of course, they are. Horeb is a Gamant planet. We’re all brothers and sisters.”
    “The world has changed since the coming of the Mashiah. The word ‘family’ now only applies to those who follow him.”
    “Being here is evidence of that, but—”
    “Today, Talo, even cousins turn their heads.”
    He fumbled with the tattered hem of his gray sleeve. A stone dove called from somewhere in the burned section of the city. In her mind, Rachel pictured the pearl-colored creature perched precariously on the jagged walls of a ruined building, wind blowing its feathers the wrong way. The bird called again and its lilting mourning cry penetrated clear to her soul.
    “Yes, it’s the Mashiah,” Talo agreed. “He ruins their minds. He has some kind of magic that—”
    “He’s not a magician. People flock to him because he promises salvation through a new god. Few believe in the old God anymore. He’s abandoned us too many times.”
    “That makes me sad. The only thing we have left is Epagael.”
    “You still believe? After this?”
    “Of course. Don’t you see? God has to know if we have the faith to conquer the spark of Aktariel within us. It’s a test. We’ve no right to hate God. Like a father punishing his child, every instant of pain has a reason, to teach us something. It’s a sign of love. It hurts God as much as it does us.”
    “God is dead!” she spat bitterly. “The God of love, of Avram,