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Chapter Three

 

It was three days later, again in the early morning, when Chugren returned to the village square. Dahano, waiting in his doorway, saw the surprise on the faces of the villagers waiting to go out to the fields. None of the Masters had ever come this often. As Chugren beckoned to him and Dahano moved forward, none of the villagers made a sound.

They might not know what was happening, Dahano thought, but they could feel it. Freedom had an excitement that needed no words to make itself known.

He stopped in front of Chugren and bowed. "I hear, Chugren," he said, a faint smile just touching the corners of his mouth too lightly for anyone but Chugren to see.

"Good," Chugren answered harshly. Only Dahano saw the twitch of his eyelids. "Now—it's almost time for the next planting. And this time you're going to do it right. You're wearing out the land, planting the same fields year after year. Furthermore, I want to see who the lazy and stupid ones among you are. I want every family in this village to take a plot of ground. I don't care where—take your pick—as long as it's fresh ground. The plot has to be large enough to support that family, and every family will be responsible for its work. It's not necessary to follow the old working hours, so long as the work's done. Nobody will work anyone else's plot. If a person dies, his plot goes to his oldest son. Is that clear?"

Dahano bowed deeply. "I hear, Chugren. It will be done."

"Good. See to it."

"I hear."

"If the plot is too far away from the person's house, I will give him a new house so he doesn't waste his time walking back and forth. I'll have no dawdling from you people. Is that clear?"

"I hear, Chugren." Dahano bowed again. "Thank you," he whispered without moving his lips. Chugren grunted, winked again, and went away. Dahano turned back toward his hut, careful not to show his joy.

They were free of the fields. In every village this morning, the Masters had come and given their particular village this freedom, and the days of getting up to go to work at the Masters' commands were over.

There was a puzzled murmur coming from the crowd of villagers. One or two persons stepped forward.

"Headman—what did he mean? Aren't we to go out this morning?"

"You heard what he said, Loron," Dahano answered quietly. "We're to pick out plots of our own, and he'll give us houses to go with them."

"But, Headman—the Masters have never done this before!" The villagers were clustering around Dahano now, the bewildered ones asking him to explain, the thoughtful ones exchanging glances that were slowly coming alight.

It was one of those—Carsi, who'd never bent his head as low as some of the others—who shouted impatiently: "Who cares what or why! We're through with herding together in these stables. We're through with plowing Chugren's fields, and you can stay here and talk but I'm going to find my land!"

Dahano stepped into his hut with a lighter heart than he ever remembered, while outside the villagers were hurrying toward their huts, a great many of them to pack up their bundles and set out at once. Then he heard Gulegath stop in the doorway and throw his bitterness in before him.

"I think it's a trick!"

Dahano shrugged and let it pass. In a few weeks, the youngster would see.

"I suppose you think it's all wonderful," Gulegath pressed on. "You forget all of his past history. You discard every fact but the last. You don't stop to see where the poison lies. You bite into the fruit you think he's handed you, and you say how good it tastes."

"Do you see what his trick is, Gulegath?" Dahano asked patiently.

"If there's no trick," Gulegath answered, "then there's only one other explanation—he's afraid of us. Nothing else fits the evidence as I see it. He sees that his days are almost over, for some mysterious reason, and he's trying to buy his life. Somehow, that seems ridiculous to me."

"Perhaps," Dahano answered shortly. He didn't like Gulegath's gnawing at him like this. "But in the meantime, will you please go out and see where the new plots are, so I'll know where my village is?"

Grow older soon, Gulegath, Dahano thought. How much can my patience stand? How much longer will I have to watch you this closely? Grow wiser, or even these Masters might not let you.

He thought of telling Gulegath all of the truth. It might help. But he decided against it. If he told him, the youngster would surely react in some unsettling manner.

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Framed