"You!" shouted Men Darnak into Sandon's face, above the noise of the wind, through the sluicing rain. "You will be cast off too! The Prophet knows your sins, like he knows the sins of all of us." He pushed his face forward, looming white in the darkness, strings of soaking ice-colored hair hanging around his cheeks. "You will be judged just as I have been judged. The Prophet will strike you down!"
Sandon tried to ignore him. They had to get back to the lodge before the ground lost solidity beneath them. He didn't believe they'd seen the last of it yet.
"Kovaar," he yelled. "Help me get him back."
The Priest nodded.
"But first we have to try and cover him." Sandon, still trying to maintain a grip on Men Darnak's shoulder, struggled out of the raincoat, releasing his grip once just to change hands. The Priest helped him pull the coat over Men Darnak's head. This presented them with a new problem, for the material was slippery with the rain, and it made keeping a grip on the Principal's shoulders all the more difficult. Holding as tightly as he could, Sandon tried to steer Men Darnak in the direction of the lodge. Kovaar appeared to understand his intention and moved to help.
"I am cold," said the Principal. "Aren't you cold, Priest?" Still his head swung slowly from side to side. "We can't have you getting cold, now can we?" The old man's feet shuffled through the mud. He laughed, and then his face became serious again. "The Prophet knows you have enough to suffer with. We need to get you warm. Where are we going? What are you doing out here? This is no sort of night to be out."
Sandon frowned. The old man had no concern for himself at all apparently. All he seemed worried about was the priest's well being. There were echoes there of the man who had once been, the patriarch of their entire world. Men Darnak cared about others, not himself. Sandon grimaced. He couldn't afford to think about that now. The sooner they got the old man out of the rain and wind the better. Then, at least, Sandon might be able to talk to him and get some sense. He tried to pierce the gloom to make sure they were heading in the right direction, yet still maintaining his grip on the old man's arm. Any explanation could wait, at least until they were inside the lodge.
Struggling against the wind and rain, wary that at any moment, the ground might start to shift beneath them, they finally made it back to the lodge, sodden and dripping mud as they stepped through the doorway.
"What is this, Kovaar?" hissed Sandon. "How could you let this happen?"
The priest waved his hand, forestalling discussion as they maneuvered Men Darnak to a chair and stripped off the raincoat. The old man sat huddled, naked and shivering, his pale flesh with a slightly blue-white tinge to it. Deep scratches marked his skin in places where the inhospitable ground had done its work. Fran leapt up from his place to join them, a horrified look on his face.
"Witness Kovaar, what can I do?" said the boy.
"You attend to the fire," said Sandon. "Here, Kovaar, help me shift him closer."
They struggled and managed to scrape the chair over to the fire. Sandon motioned to one of the other men. "Get some towels. Now, man! What are you waiting for?"
The man scurried across the room to do as he was bid. And yet, Witness Kovaar had still not said anything since they'd emerged from the storm.
As the men worked on getting Men Darnak dry and warm -- someone had found some clean robes -- Sandon turned to the priest with narrowed eye and set jaw.
"What's happening, Kovaar?"
The priest looked at him impassively. "The world turns as the Prophet wills."
"Do you not see the state he's in?" hissed Sandon.
"There is a cycle within the world and outside of it. The Prophet's will dictates our place in that cycle. The Church of the Prophet has waited a long time." The priest's voice was low and quiet.
"You're not making sense." Sandon glanced at the Principal. A touch of color was coming back to the old man's features. Sandon grunted his satisfaction. He turned back to the priest. He could not have this conversation here. He gripped Kovaar by the arm and drew him to one side, out of earshot of the others.
"I don't know what game you're playing, Kovaar, but the Principal's condition is not anything I would expect from a man like him. I warn you, if I think you have any part in the way he is, you'll pay for it."
