Winged Raiders of the Desert (9 page)

A smaller guard suddenly appeared beside him, holding a wicked-looking spear. “It looks like we've got thieves, come to rob us, eh?”

Swiftwind showed then why he was fit to be a chief's son. Without warning he threw himself against the two, dispatching one of them with one blow of the sword that leaped into his hand. The other cried out, “Help! Help!” but he, too, went down bleeding.

“Lets get out of here! Come on!” Swiftwind shouted.

Josh and the others drew their weapons, seeing there would be a fierce fight, for the enemy had obviously been alerted.

Sarah fell behind, and the others were almost out of the cave when Swiftwind noticed her. “Get out of here!” he said to the others. He was holding the crown in his left hand and his sword in his right. “I'll take care of Sarah.”

Josh and the others had their hands full with attacking warriors, but he knew that Swiftwind was the strongest and the best hope for rescuing Sarah. “Come on!” he cried and led them outside.

They saw other figures gathering, many of them, and it was Dave who said, “We've got to get out of here, Josh.”

“We can't leave Sarah.”

“She's all right. Swiftwind'll bring her,” Abigail said. “Let's
go!
”

Josh allowed himself to be stampeded into action. Actually he had no choice, for enemy figures were appearing everywhere. He leaped into the air saying, “Come on, we'll go get help.”

The others followed. When they were airborne, high above the camp, they were met by Jalor, who came up crying, “Where's Swiftwind?”

“Down below. I think he's been captured.”

Jalor shook his head. “That's too bad. We'll have to go back and convince the chief to bring a raiding party. We'll get him back.”

As the Sleepers flew back in the gathering light of dawn, Josh's heart was filled with heaviness. “Sarah,” he mourned, “why couldn't it have been me and not you?” He knew fear, for he had heard tales of the cruelty of the Shadow Wings. “I wish I'd never listened to Swiftwind,” he said, “but we'll come back and get them both.” He had one fleeting thought as they sailed quickly back toward the camp of the Winged Raiders:
I wish Goél were here. I don't see how we're going to get them back unless he comes.

A
s soon as the Sleepers and Jalor landed, Josh said, “We've got to tell the chief what happened.”

Dave shook his head in despair. “He's not going to like it,” he muttered. “Looking back on it, I see how we jumped into this thing too quickly.”

“But it's too late to argue about that,” Wash said. “Quick! We've got to do something to help Sarah.”

“That's right,” Josh said. “Let's go find the chief.”

He led the group, and they discovered that White Storm was having a meeting with Sure Flight. Darkwind was there too, and there was an evil light in his eyes. “Well,” he sneered, “have you come to join the council?”

Josh ignored his comment and said quickly, “Chief White Storm, I have bad news.”

White Storm looked up at once. He saw the disturbed look in the face of the young man, and his gaze swept the others. “What is it?” he demanded.

Josh swallowed hard and began to tell the story. He noticed that Jalor was lurking over to one side rather than standing with the Sleepers. Josh sketched the story out and said, “And everything went well until we got in the cave. Your son got the crown, and then we were jumped by the enemy.”

At once White Storm's face grew angry. “Where is my son?”

Josh's voice wavered as he said, “Well, to tell the truth, we think he was captured—along with Sarah.”

“Captured?”

White Storm stood to his feet, his dark eyes filled with anger. His hand went to the sword in his belt, but Sure Flight said, “Wait, let us hear it all.” His gaze went over to Jalor, and he said, “What part have you played in this, Jalor?”

Jalor stepped forward and nodded. “I have evil tidings. Your son is taken prisoner, Chief,” but he turned and waved his hand at the Sleepers, “and these are the ones who have done it.”

Josh stared at Jalor in amazement. “What are you talking about? You're the one who led us there.”

“I'm afraid he has concocted this tale, Chief,” Jalor said smoothly, “to cover his own guilt. Your son came to me and told me the seven prisoners had convinced him to go on a raid to capture the crown. Of course,” he added, “as soon as I heard it, I was against it. But Swiftwind is a stubborn young man.”

“What happened?” White Storm demanded.

“Well, I did all I could to keep them from going. Even when we got there, I offered to go down and get the crown myself—but these are clever people, these servants of God. They talked Swiftwind into going himself. I could do nothing to prevent him.”

“Well, what happened then?” Sure Flight asked. He was watching the Sleepers' faces carefully, probably looking for signs of guilt.

“It was a trap,” Jalor said, his voice turning hard. He pointed at Josh. “They deliberately planned this. They are in league with the Shadow Wings.”

“He's lying,” Josh said, his face turning pale. “Why, he led us right to that place and gave us a map!”

“Yeah,
he's
the one that's in with the Shadow Wings!” Reb shouted.

Jalor spread his hands before the chief. “That's always the way with the guilty. They try to put the blame
on someone else, but the truth is that they betrayed your son. I heard that one—” he pointed to Josh “—give the orders to take your son. I also found this note.”

He extended a paper and handed it to the chief. The chief looked at it and then glared at Josh. “This proves that you've been dealing with the Shadow Wings,” he said.

“Why it's a lie, a forgery! I never had anything to do with writing a note!” Josh cried out.

But the chief was utterly convinced. “Guards! Guards!”

The guards suddenly swarmed around, and Chief White Storm said, “Put these six in prison. See that they're well guarded.” He ignored the protests of the Sleepers, and, as soon as they had been carried away by the guards, he turned to Sure Flight. “We must get my son back.”

“It means war, Sire!”

“I know, but I must have my son.”

Darkwind and Jalor were standing close by. Jalor said, “I hope you will count me among your warriors, Chief White Storm. From what I saw, it would be a good time to raid the Shadow Wings. I think they can be beaten.”

Darkwind nodded. “Yes, let me alert the warriors, Chief. Let us go at once!” He halted, then nodded toward the Seven Sleepers who were disappearing into a cave that was used for a prison. “As for them, they are worthy of death.”

In his anger, White Storm agreed, but Sure Flight said, “Let us not be too hasty, Chief. It is easy to take a life, but who could give it back?” An argument ensued in which Sure Flight stood against both Jalor and Darkwind, but in the end he lost.

“They will die,” White Storm said, “in the morning. Go and tell them so.”

Sure Flight made his way to the prison. He looked around at the young people and said sorrowfully, “I am the
bearer of ill tidings. Chief White Storm has given you all the sentence of death.”

A silence fell across the cell, and Jake said, “I felt bad about this all the time. Now it looks like I was right. I wish I weren't though.” He glanced about at the Sleepers and went over and sat down, staring morosely on the floor.

Josh had been so worried about Sarah that he had not had a chance to think about their own plight. But now he did. “Do what you can for us, Sure Flight,” he said.

“Alas, that will not be much,” Sure Flight protested. “Our chief is a man of strong, iron will. There will be war now, and I'm afraid you will be the casualties of it. I'm sorry it has come to this. I'll do my best, but I offer no hope.”

* * *

The silence seemed to be pressing in on Jake. He had moved to one end of the cell, not wanting to talk to any of the others. They indeed had drawn their cloaks about them and were all asleep. It was very late. They had all been exhausted by the raid, and now Jake alone sat with his head in his hands. The Sleepers had faced death before, and now it had come again. They had been in more than one prison, and yet this time somehow it all seemed so useless.

“If we'd only waited for Goél to send us,” Jake whispered.

He felt a heaviness such as he'd never known, and, despite himself, tears began to gather in his eyes. To leave life was hard. He thought about never seeing the birds, the sunshine, the trees, never seeing the good things of Nuworld again.

“Are you in despair, my son?”

The question was whispered, but Jake jerked as if he had touched a live wire. His head came up, and he saw—
Goél! He called out his name and rose at once. “Goél!” he whispered. “Why have you left us all alone?”

“I've never really been away from you, Jake. Haven't you learned that yet?”

Goél's large, direct eyes caught the torch flame and seemed to burn into Jake's soul. “I wanted to test you, my son,” he said. “I've tested you often by giving direct orders. Now I wanted to see if you were willing to walk in darkness without me.”

Jake did not understand. “It would be so much better,” he said, “if you would just tell us what to do.”

“All of my people must learn to walk in the darkness when I seem not present.”

The voice of Goél seemed to echo deep in Jake's soul, and he spoke for a long time about faith and trust and belief. Finally he put His hand on Jake's shoulder. “You have been filled with doubt, but now, Jake, you must have much faith. Long ago I told you that you would have to walk in darkness when there was no light. That time has come.”

Jake looked up into Goél's face. Suddenly he was filled with a greater love for his leader than he had ever known. He swallowed and nodded. “I'll do the best I can. I can't say I'm happy, but I'll do it.”

“I would rather see you obedient than happy.” Goél smiled. “I will leave you now.” He looked toward the others, who were still sleeping, and said, “I will not speak to them at this time. You must be the voice of Goél to them. Encourage them; tell them there is hope.”

Goél spoke briefly, then Jake seemed to grow very sleepy. He sat down again on the floor, his eyes closed, listening as Goél spoke gently. He seemed to drop off to sleep—then he came awake with a sudden jerk.

“Goél,” he whispered. But when he looked around the cell he saw only his five companions. He knew then
that, as it had happened to others of the Sleepers, he had had a visit from Goél and knew that he must be strong for the rest, who had not had a visit.

“I don't know what's going to happen,” he whispered. “But I'll do the best I can, Goél.”

S
arah groaned as she straightened her shoulders. She was hungry, for they had been fed only a few vile scraps of food. They had been beaten, both she and Swiftwind, the night before, and she shuddered to think of how awful it had been. Her lips were dry, and she went over and picked up the single pot of tepid, stale-tasting water and drank a few swallows. She shuddered again and made a face, then went back and sat down on the filthy blanket that served her for a bed.

“You can't sleep, can you?” Swiftwind had been lying across the room and now struggled to a sitting position. His face was bloody, for he had fought hard against the jailers who had administered the beating. They had treated him cruelly, but he had not uttered a single word as they had held him down and beaten him terribly.

A faint ray of light trickled through a single small window, no more than two or three inches wide and a foot high. It lit the miserable cell casting a feeble glow on the pair.

Sarah said, “Let me wash your back.” He protested, but she poured water into the single basin and made a rag out of the shirttail of the garment she wore. “Lie down,” she said quietly. “These cuts are deep. They might get infected. I wish I had some disinfectant.”

“Disin—what?” Swiftwind muttered.

As soon as Sarah touched his back, she knew he had fever. The cuts made by the guards' whips were ugly, and she washed them carefully, wishing she had something to
make bandages out of. “You'll have to sleep on your stomach, I think, for a while,” she said quietly.

Swiftwind sat up and stared at her. “A warrior doesn't cry,” he said grimly.

Sarah sat down and looked at him, “Well, girls do,” she said. “I already have.” As desperate as her situation was, she managed a smile. “You ought to try it sometime.”

He stared at her, his face flushed. “Try crying? Not if they kill me!”

“I didn't think you would,” Sarah said. “Boys don't cry. They keep everything all bottled up inside of them. That's where we girls have it over you.” She thought it well to keep talking, for they were both thinking of the next visit of their cruel captors. “When we girls have trouble, we can go off somewhere and have a good cry. Then we feel better.”

Swiftwind looked at her curiously. “Well,” he admitted finally, “I might try it, if I thought it would help, but you can't let your enemies see you are hurting.”

“I know that's the way with you men,” Sarah said. She moved her arms carefully. Their captors had been much less vicious with her. Still she ached from the blows that she had taken. She sat silently for a while and then said, “What do you think will happen?”

“Happen? They'll kill us, that's what'll happen.”

Sarah was shocked at the bluntness of his words. “Why would they do that?”

“Because we're their enemies.
I
am anyway.” He looked over at her and said grimly, “They'll probably make a slave out of you.” He shook his head, adding, “But it won't be like it was back with my people. These are hard enemies. They treat each other badly, much more slaves.”

Sarah sat in the semidarkness thinking about Josh and the others. “Josh will be coming to get me,” she said. “And your father, he'll come for you, won't he?”

“That's probably just what the Shadow Wings want.”

“What do you mean?”

“We had a war once. It nearly wiped out both tribes. Since then the Shadow Wings have been looking for a way to get their revenge. This time it looks like they've got it.” Despair filled his eyes. “My father will come, but the Shadow Wings have a strong defensive position here. They can hide in the rocks and shoot as my people come in. We've talked about it many times, but always we knew it was too hard. I hope they don't come—but I know my father. He'll come to save me.”

Sarah sat quietly, thinking for a moment. She had been in cells before. As soon as they got to Nuworld, she and the others had been held by the Sanhedrin and expected to be executed. She began to speak now of those times, relating how when the darkness was worst and there was no hope, somehow Goél had delivered them. She spoke warmly and passionately and finally reached out and touched Swiftwind's shoulder. “We must never give in to despair. There was a very great man once back in my world. His name was Winston Churchill, and, when it looked as though his country was going to be annihilated, he said over and over, ‘Never give in, never give in, never, never, never, never.'”

Swiftwind stared at her. “I like that! He sounds like he would have made a good Winged Raider.”

Sarah giggled. “No, he was too fat for that, but he was a great man.”

Neither spoke for a while, and finally Swiftwind got up and began to pace the floor. He was gritting his teeth and slapping his hands together despite the pain. His face was feverish, and he muttered, “I hate these Shadow Wings. I wish they had just one throat and I could get my hands around it and kill them all at once.”

“Don't say that,” Sarah said quickly. “You only hurt yourself when you talk like that, Swiftwind.”

“What are you talking about, ‘hurt yourself'?”

“Hatred always does that to people,” Sarah said simply. “Didn't you know that?”

“Of course I don't know that, and you don't either. You love your friends, and you hate your enemies.”

“No, hatred doesn't just hurt the one it's against,” Sarah protested. “It hurts the one that has it. It's like—it's like—” She could not finish for a moment. It was difficult to put these things into words. She had seen in her life gentleness and goodness and love. But this fierce young warrior had seen none of this. She sat there seeking for words to speak that would touch his heart, knowing that it was hard, and finally began to say quietly, “Have you ever—you know how food goes bad sometimes, Swiftwind?”

“Why, yes, everyone's seen that.”

“It starts with just a little thing. Take an apple, for example. You can take one bad apple that's starting to go rotten and put it into a basketful of other apples. What happens if you leave it there?”

“Why, the whole basket of apples will go rotten,” he answered.

“Exactly, and that's what happens when you hate someone. It's a rotten thing, and it begins to touch other things in your life.”

“What do you mean, ‘touch other things'?” Swiftwind was clearly puzzled and stared at her in bewilderment.

Sarah struggled again to find words. “Hatred in a man or woman or a boy or girl is a rotten thing. It begins to turn you sour, and the longer you let it stay there, the worse it gets. Surely you must have noticed that people who have hatred don't just wind up hating the one person.

They get mean toward everyone, and pretty soon they're just sour and filled with bitterness.”

“I guess I have seen some like that,” he said finally. He pondered on what Sarah had said and finally shook his head, asking, “What would you have a warrior to do? He has to fight sometimes—his enemies.”

“It is hard,” Sarah admitted, “but back in my world we were taught that you had to love your enemies.”

“Love your enemies? Why, that's impossible!”

“No, it's not.” Sarah shook her head. Her hair was dirty and lank, and she brushed it back from her forehead, then folded her hands. “It's a hard thing to do, but in the end it's better for you. I know that's hard, but you don't get sour and mean that way.”

“Well, I could never do that!”

“It would be hard for you because you're strong. There's something about strong people. They just don't want to give in.”

The two talked on for a long time. Finally the jailers came and interrogated them. They did not beat them this time, but the leader, a wiry-looking man of about fifty, stared at Swiftwind. “You might as well give up,” he said. “Your father will be coming. I know Chief White Storm. He'll never leave his son here. We've got every man of our tribe out waiting for him, with our quivers full of arrows. When they come, we'll kill them all.” He laughed loudly, saying, “Those we don't kill, we'll make slaves, as we will you.”

The small, wiry chieftain looked at Sarah. “Who
are
you? You're not one of the people of the desert. You're too fair for that.”

Sarah tried to explain the Seven Sleepers and their mission, but the leader only laughed. “You'll make a good slave,” he said. “I may take you into my own household.”

He came closer to her, held her arm with a steel grip, and forced her head up. She could feel his eyes seeming to eat into her. There was something cruel about his gaze. She wanted to cry out from the pain of his grip, but she did not. “You're a pretty little thing,” he muttered. “Yes, I think I'll take you to be mine.” He tormented her for a while, seeing the pain and fear in her eyes and finally laughed, saying, “We'll have a good time, you and I.”

Then he looked over at Swiftwind. “And you'll be good for digging caves. You'll think you're a mole before this is over.” He laughed again and then left the room.

When the door clanged shut, Swiftwind stared at Sarah. “Well, there it is. Don't you hate him?”

Sarah shivered. “He's a wicked, evil man.”

“Of course he is, and that's why we hate him.”

Sarah wanted to give in, but she finally said swiftly, “No, if I hated him, I'd begin to let my whole spirit get bad. So I just choose not to hate him.”

Swiftwind said in disgust, “I'll never understand that. But I bet after he abuses you, you'll think differently.”

“I hope not. If I do, I'll only be hurting myself.”

The day wore on, and the next day, and more than once Sarah began to wonder. She did feel hatred creeping up in her, and she knew that she could not live with it. She thought of Goél, and just before she went to sleep on her filthy blanket that night, she whispered, “Don't let me hate. Somehow, don't let me hate.”