The pillars of creation

He was nodding as he shivered and rubbed his hands before the fire, the sense of what she said finally overcoming his urgency to be gone. She wondered how he managed to do all he had done with a fever and after having taken herbs. Fear, she guessed. Stark-raving fear. That, she understood.

Her whole body ached. Not only had she been banged around, but she saw now that her shoulder was bleeding. The cut wasn't bad, but it throbbed. The sustained level of terror had left her drained and exhausted.

She wanted only to lie down and cry, but her mother had told her to get away. Only her mother's words motivated her now. Without those last commands, Jennsen would be unable to function. Now she simply did what her mother had told her to do.

Betty was beside herself. The distraught goat tried to climb the pen to get to Jennsen. As Sebastian hovered over the fire, Jennsen tied a rope around Betty's neck. The goat was as thankful to be going as a goat could be.

They would give Betty a chance to return the favor. When they had gotten away and found at least simple shelter, they would not be able to build a fire on such a wet night. If they could find a dry hole, a spot under a rock ledge, or beneath fallen trees, they would hunker down beside the goat. Betty would keep them both warm so they wouldn't freeze to death.

Jennsen understood the plaintive calls Betty made toward the house. The goat's ears were at attention. Betty was worried for the woman who wasn't going. Jennsen collected all the carrots and acorns off the shelf, stuffing them in pockets and packs.

When Sebastian was as dry as he was going to allow himself to get, they donned their wool cloaks and topped them with the sheepskin. With Jennsen leading Betty by the rope, they started out into the drenching darkness. Sebastian headed for the trail down from the front-the way he had come in.

Jennsen seized his arm, stopping him. "They might be waiting down there.»

"But we have to get out of here."

"I have a better way. We made an escape route."

He gazed at her a moment through the fall of icy rain separating them, then, without further protest, followed her into the unknown.

CHAPTER 7

Oba Schalk snatched the chicken by the neck and lifted it from the nest box. The chicken's head looked tiny above his meaty fist. With his other hand, he fished a warm brown egg from the bottom of the depression in the straw. He gently placed the egg in the basket with the others.

Oba didn't set the chicken back down.

He grinned as he lifted it closer to his face, watching its head twist from side to side, its beak open and close, open and close. He put his own lips close, so the beak was touching his lips, then, with all his might, he blew in the chicken's open mouth.

The chicken squawked and flapped, madly trying to escape the viselike fist. A deep laugh rolled up from Oba's throat.

" Oba! Oba, where are you!"

When he heard his mother hollering for him, Oba plopped the chicken back on its nest. His mother's voice had come from the nearby barn. Squawking its terror, the chicken fled the henhouse. Oba followed it out of the coop and then trotted toward the door to the barn.

The week before, they had had a rare winter downpour. By the following day, the standing water had frozen and the rain had turned to snow. Windswept snow now hid the ice, making for treacherous footing. Despite his size, Oba negotiated the icy conditions without much difficulty. Oba prided himself on being light on his feet.

It was important for a person not to let their body or mind become and dull. Oba believed it was important to learn new things. He believed it was important to grow. He thought it was important for a to use what they had learned. That was how people grew.

The barn and house were one small structure made of wattle and woven branches covered with a mixture of clay, straw, and dung. the house and barn were separated by a stone wall. After he'd built house, Oba had made the wall inside by stacking flat gray rocks from dw field. He had learned the technique from observing a neighbor stack mocks at the side of his field. The wall was a luxury most homes didn't bave.

Hearing his mother yell his name again, he tried to think of what he could have done wrong. As he perused his mental list of the chores she's did him to do, he couldn't recall one in the barn that he'd failed to do. Oba wasn't forgetful, and besides, they were chores he did often. There shouldn't be anything in the barn to have set her off.

True as all that was, none of it shielded him from incurring his mother's ire. She could think of things that needed doing that had never before needed doing.

"Oba! Oba! How many times do I need to call for you!"

In his mind's eye, he could see her mean little mouth all pinched up as she said his name, expecting him to appear the instant she screeched for him. The woman had a voice that could unwind a good rope.