Soul of the Fire

Master Spink's boots stopped in front of Fitch. "Is that what you are thinking, Fitch? Is that what you are thinking in your fine uniform? Are' you thinking you are better than the Haken overlords? That the Hakens have learned to be better?"

"No, sir," Fitch said. "We are no better, sir."

Master Spink grunted and then moved on. "Do any of you think the Hakens nowadays are outgrowing their hateful ways? Do you think you are better people than in the past?"

Fitch stole a glance to each side. About half the people tentatively raised their hands.

Master Spink exploded in rage. "So! You think Hakens are nowadays better? You arrogant people think you are better?"

The hands all quickly dropped back into laps.

"You are no better! Your hateful ways continue to this day!"

His boots started their slow thump, thump, thump as he walked among the silent assembly.

"You are no better," he repeated, but this time in a quiet voice. "You are the same."

Fitch didn't recall the man's voice ever sounding so defeated. He sounded as if he was about to cry himself.

"Claudine Winthrop was a most respected and renowned woman. While she was alive, she worked for all people, Hakens as well as Anders. One of her last works was to help change outdated laws so starving people, mostly Hakens, were able to find work.

"Before she died, she came to know that you are no different than those Haken overlords, that you are the same."

His boots thumped on across the room.

"Claudine Winthrop shared something with those women of long ago-those women I've taught you about today. She 'shared the same fate."

Fitch was frowning to himself. He knew Claudine didn't share the same fate. She died quick.

"Just like those women, Claudine Winthrop was raped by a gang of Hakens."

Fitch looked up, his frown growing. As soon as he realized he was frowning, he changed the expression on his face. Fortunately, Master Spink was on the other side of the room, looking into the eyes of Haken boys over there, and didn't see Fitch's startled reaction.

"We can only guess how many hours poor Claudine Winthrop had to endure the laughing, taunting, jeering men who raped her. We can only guess at the number of cruel heartless Hakens who put her through such an ordeal out there, in that field but, by the way the wheat was trampled, the authorities say it must have been between thirty and forty men."

The class gasped in horror. Fitch gasped, too. There hadn't been half that number. He wanted to stand up and say it was wrong, that they didn't do such vile things to Claudine, and that she'd deserved killing for wanting to harm the Minister and future Sovereign and that it was his duty. Fitch wanted to say they'd done a good thing for.the Minister and for Anderith. Instead, he hung his head.

"But it wasn't thirty to forty men," Master Spink said. He pointed his finger out at the room, sweeping it slowly from one side to the other. "It was all of you. All you Hakens raped and murdered her. Because of the hate you still harbor in your hearts, you all took part in that rape and murder."

He turned his back to the room. "Now, get out of here. I've had all I can stand of your hate-filled Haken eyes for one day. I can endure your crimes no longer. Go. Go, until next assembly and think on how you might be better people."

Fitch bolted for the door. He didn't want to miss her. He didn't want her to get out into the street. He lost track of her in the shuffle of others hurrying to get out, but he did manage to squeeze to near the head of the line.

Once out in the cool night air, Fitch moved off to the side. He checked those who'd left before him and rushed out to the street, but he didn't see her. He waited in the shadows and watched the rest of the' people coming out.

When he saw her, he called her name in a loud whisper.

Beata halted and looked over. She peered into the shadows trying to tell who it was calling her name. People pushed past to get down the path, so she stepped off it, closer to him.

She no longer wore the dusky blue dress he liked so well, the dress she had worn that day she went up to meet the Minister. She now had a wheat-colored dress with a dark brown bodice above the long flare of skirt.

"Beata, I have to talk to you."

"Fitch?" She put her hands on her hips. "Fitch, is that you?"

"Yes," he whispered.

She turned to leave. He snatched her wrist and yanked her into the shadows. The last of the people hurried off down the path, eager to go home and not interested in two young people meeting after assembly. Beata tried to wrench her arm free, but he kept a grip on it as he dragged her farther into the black shadows of the trees and bushes to the side of the assembly hall.

"Let go! Let go, Fitch, or I'll scream."

"I have to talk to you," he whispered urgently. "Come along!"

She instead fought him. He dragged and pulled until he at last reached a place deeper in the brush where they wouldn't be seen. If they were quiet, no one would hear them, either. Moonlight fell across them in the gap of brush and trees.