A huge thanks for those reading, and for the emails requesting not-so-subtly that I get my rear in gear and finish this fic. Think I'll do just that, swallow the fear that's frozen this story and just get on with it. This hasn't been beta'd, so please forgive errors, I'm trying to catch them. Reviews are appreciated, as they tell me what works and what doesn't...thanks again! -Kam

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They hardly stopped, just enough to water the horses but not to soothe their aching bodies. Desperation drove them forward, the vain hope that whatever had happened could be stopped by their mere arrival on the scene. The two day journey lasted just over one, as they rested their horses only twice and were no longer taken in by the scenery. In fact, the barren landscape flashed past, the only sound was the thumping of hooves and the jingle of their load. The occasional snort punctuated the journey, and the sun led the way. It wasn't until they could smell the faint hint of sea air over the smoke that they allowed themselves to stop, perched high on a distant hill, overlooking the harbor. Or what used to be the harbor.

The port town lay in crumbles underneath the acrid smoke of cannon fire. The waters were still choppy with debris and the passing of ships that had hope to lay anchor, but found nowhere to berth. Archie and Horatio spared each other a glance before galloping down the hill, and towards the destruction.

The people at the edge of town were in a panic, little more than a day after the attack. The realization was sinking in fast that there was no where to go, that all of their livelihood had been destroyed, that food was now scarce and one had to fend for one's self in order to survive, or to feed their families. There were still bodies in the street; some were the townspeople, others were the guard and military command that had ventured into the slaughter by way of saving the port. Horatio dismounted and flung himself into the disturbance, pushing towards the bay, knowing that the Clementine would not be there, neither under her name nor the other. But he had to know, he had to make certain. They did say they would wait a day. If they waited, they would have been caught in the crossfire. He hoped to God they were not the cause of all this. One man grabbed his collar and spun him around, his yellow teeth spitting vile insults while the other hand searching his pockets for anything of value. Horatio gritted and managed to push him away, and only then thought to look for Archie, who should be with him . . .but his friend was no where to be seen. "Archie?" Horatio suddenly realized his mistake in launching ahead. He backtracked, his eyes darting from one face to another, his arms and hands shoving others aside as they ran about in mass confusion. "Archie!" There was no answer. Horatio cursed. He would head for the bay, surely. Horatio would find him there.

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Day four. It wasn't possible that he had been stuck in that god forsaken excuse for a port, alone, for four days. The streets were filled with lost souls. Mothers held wailing children, but would let no one near them to assist, for whom could they trust? One of their own had attacked, for all they knew the whole of the kingdom had cast them aside to be taken by the savages. Horatio turned from a woman holding a little girl who cried for her daddy. The woman's face was like stone, carved immobile with shock. Fours days and she still felt desperate. Her expression and the cries of the child told Horatio all he needed to know and he walked away, unable to help, unwilling to admit to himself that he was part of such a dastardly plan. His blame tripled.

The pub was still standing, barely. The front had been saved, but leaned outwards at a disturbing angle. The roof was half gone. It was apparent that, like the people on the streets, the building suffered more from shock than a direct hit. He ducked inside. Glasses were broken, chairs splintered. The place had long since been pillaged. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as the moon poured into the broken window, leaving white blotches of light that pinpointed the debris. He knelt down and picked up the hilt of a sword, not military, but richly designed. The jewel was missing. Further searching revealed a bottle of port that had rolled into the corner. Funny, that. Just the thing to set himself right. He picked it up, straightened, and glanced around the room. "Sorry, ole girl," he said to the building, "looks as though you need this worse than I do, but I do believe I'll help myself." He looked to the stairs that led, or almost led, to the rooms above. He climbed carefully, stepping only on the most secure planks, and found himself in the room he and Archie had shared upon their arrival. He sat in a corner, winced as he popped the cork from the bottle, and took a long drink. His face turned to this shirt as he coughed while the liquid burned its way down. Better. He took another gulp, forcing it down, trying not to make a sound. He did not want to be found. For once, Horatio Hornblower, man of battle and sea, wanted nothing more than to hide.

It was apparent that if Pellew had received his message, something had detained him. Or maybe the message never got through. There was no way to tell, and he couldn't be certain to trust the courier. The truth of it was, now there would be no message. Certainly word had gone out about the attack, but as far as that went. . .and then there was Archie. . . he couldn't think on that. He brought the bottle to his lips. No. There was no way he could be. . .yet he had not seen his friend since the mob tore through on the way to the ships, dividing them. He only knew that Lindiwe was freed, and part of him hoped that Archie was with the young man. But part of him was scared of that exact same thing, for what if Lindiwe wasn't what he appeared? What if Archie was roasting in a pit for some cannibals? Or if he'd been shot, or captured by a tribe . . . there were too many variables. Too many "ifs". He reached into his pocket and fingered the few stones that were there, the stones he had placed within that night when he and Archie had talked. "I can not bear the thought of serving without you by my side," Archie had said to him. Oh, my friend, nor can I.

"Horatio, you great fool," he muttered to himself, "when did you become such a pessimist?"

And then there was the man that had been watching him for the past two days, a face that he recognized, but for the life of him he had no idea where. He reached his mind back several years, but still could not put a name to the features that had plagued his dreams the previous night. He did not like the way the man's eyes sought his, the way he would disappear if Horatio tried to approach. There was recognition on the stranger's part, and a threat by way of his hand on the hilt of his own sword. He never advanced, but every time Horatio saw him he would physically appear a bit closer, and closer still. What had started as observation from across the street had turned into a near encounter by the shoreline, where the stranger was a mere few feet away, close enough for Horatio to see the glint in the man's eyes before he disappeared in the crowd of people that were checking the damages. It was unnerving to say the least, and if the encounters played out as they had been, his next one would literally be face to face, and sword to sword. That was all to the good, but that Horatio had no sword, nor could he come across one. The closest had been the hilt he'd found below. All weapons that had not been confiscated by the military personnel who fought to regain control, were carefully hid away or concealed. And in this melee, there were precious few soldiers that were able to keep any kind of control; most had been killed during the attack, and any kind of reinforcements were slow in coming. But he knew news of the attack was spreading, because there were already two new ships in the harbor, but as of dusk they had yet to try to approach land, having thrown their anchors in the bay. And now it was dark, nearing midnight, and Horatio was trying his hardest to drink a solution into his head, since logic was doing nothing for him.

It took a moment before he realized he was hearing footfalls on the stairs. His head snapped around and his bottle shattered. The foot steps paused. Cursing himself under his breath, he made his way quickly across the floor, to the door that stood open. Blinking rapidly cleared his vision, while adrenaline took care of the sluggishness of drink. He crouched low, just beside the doorframe, and waited. No one knew he was here. No one cared, except for one man. Maybe tonight would end it all.

The figure hesitated just within the doorway, the shadow lengthening in the odd light. The hair was disheveled and stood wild about his head. Horatio held his breath. Dammit, it was him, what the devil did he want? His teeth ground together and his jaw clenched tight. He exhaled as softly as possible as he steeled himself for the jump. Just one more step inside. . .

Horatio sprang with all the power of a tiger and landed full on the man. He heard a cry of surprise from beneath him right as the room darkened, the clouds covering the moon. A powerful lurch sent him flying, and he landed hard on his back. The shadow kicked him solidly in the ribs then knelt over him. Horatio reached up for the face, that scarred face he so hated, and dug his thumbs into his eyes. The cry of pain pleased him, and he grinned maniacally as he forced the man off, rolled, and stood. The man was barely more than a shadow now, an outline in the dark. Horatio caught his breath. "Have it out then!" he yelled. "That's what you've been wanting, is it not? Well, here I am!" He waited, then said, "If you will not speak, so help me I'll beat it from you!" He saw the man straighten from his doubled position, then take a step towards him. Horatio lunged, driving him back against the wall and onto the floor. They rolled, and in desperation Horatio found himself topmost. A strike to the jaw pulled a cry, but it wasn't the cry he had expected.

"I said enough, for God's sake!"

"It is not enough!" Horatio interrupted. "I've watched you as you've watched me, now what do you want with me? Tell me!"

"What? Do you not see me, man?"

Horatio allowed a moment's hesitation. His vision wavered, the adrenaline was ebbing, and he suddenly wanted to fall over. But, it wasn't just that . . . something was . . . .

"Horatio, for God's sake calm yourself and look at me!"

Horatio shook his head and slowly stood. The clouds cleared slightly, revealing a shadow again, and he grabbed it and jerked it over to the window. His eyes widened and his breath caught at the face that looked back at him, bleeding and a bit worse for wear, but nevertheless . . . "No," he voiced his denial, shaking his head, "no." Then he pulled the man to him, unable to believe the evidence of his own eyes.

"Oh, Christ, not so hard," the young man wheezed.

But Horatio would not released his hold until he felt arms fold around him; even then it was several moments before he carefully pulled away. He held his friend at arm's length, desperate to study the features. "I-I can't believe it! Archie, where the devil have you been?"

"Waiting for the opportune moment to have the soul beat out of me, of course, since the calvary couldn't reach me." The moon finally broke through, resting a white light on their features. Archie was indeed a bit beaten, but not badly, and Horatio knew he looked the same. He saw Archie's eyes wince as he took in the injuries, injuries he had inflicted. "You attacked me!"

"I . . ."

"What on earth for?"

"Archie I swear," he almost laughed in his giddy relief, "I did not know it was you." His smile widened. "By God it's good to see you!"

"And you, finally." Archie grasped Horatio's elbow. "I've been searching the port from corner to corner, then had to retreat for a day . . . good lord, I kicked you in the ribs, are you alright?"

Horatio had doubled over slightly. He managed a smile. "I'm more upset over my spilled drink than sore ribs. A drink I can no longer share," his face fell into a frown, and he surveyed the floor as though to find another bottle, " though the occasion certainly merits one."

Archie pulled him up. "I am perfectly satisfied with having you back." He grinned, his teeth shining in the moonlight. Horatio was mesmerized by them, and realized either he had missed his friend terribly, or he was more drunk than he thought.

"I have to sit," he muttered, and slid to the floor with Archie bracing him. "And while I do so, you're to tell me everything."

"After you tell me who it was you were waiting for. That's no customary way to treat a stranger who may be returning for his things, and much less a friend who in fact was."

Horatio allowed his head to loll back against the wall. He arranged his thoughts, now wondering if incident with the man was all a farce brought on by a grievous mind. "It may be nothing."

"Tell me."

The intensity in Archie's eyes was not to be ignored. "There is a man in a large coat," Horatio said slowly. "He carries a sword. He has been watching me for the past day and a half, and each time I find he is closer to me. I fear he means me harm, and when I caught view of the silhouette on the stair, I thought it him."

Archie's expression melted into concern. "You've no idea who this person is?"

"He looks familiar, but no, I have no idea."

"A recollection, then?"

"Maybe. But I've no idea why anyone would be here, now, that I might have know back when."

"Is this recollection an unpleasant one?"

Horatio shook his head subtly. "It is hardly a recollection at all. More a feeling than anything." He looked at Archie, and clapped a hand on his friend's knee. "Where have you been these past days? Do you realize it has been four days since the attack?"

"Of course."

"You weren't captured or anything?" Horrific memories tried to flood him, images of a broken man in a putrid cell.

"No."

"No natives trying to burn you at the stake?"

Archie gave a small chuckle. "Horatio, what are you going on about?"

Horatio received the humor well. "Worry, my friend, just worry. But do tell me what happened!"

"It's not much of a story, really. Everything broke into chaos, and I couldn't find you anywhere. Lindiwe found me, however, and took me away from the port that night. We stayed on the land, and each day I returned to search for you. Each night he would come for me, and we would stay on the land," he cringed, "slept underneath a tree, and my back certainly feels it."

"Lindiwe! Then I owe him my thanks for keeping you safe."

"And I owe him mine. He saw you earlier today, and came for me. He wasn't certain; he kept saying, 'Umholi', and it wasn't until I did this," he waved his hands around his head, "that he smiled and nodded."

"What is this?" Horatio mimicked Archie's movement.

"Wild hair."

"My name means 'wild hair'?"

"No, I've no idea what it means . . . anyway, I had hoped you frequented our old quarters here, so I thought I would come and wait."

"And receive a rather nasty greeting."

"An unexpected one, yes." Archie chuckled.

"Where is Lindiwe now?"

"At the edge of the road. I told him I would return with you, and that we would plan what to do next." His blue eyes were suddenly hopeful. "You do have a plan, right, Horatio?"

What was he to say to that? Horatio bit his lip and looked down. Archie saw this, said,"oh, I see," rather dejectedly, and looked away.

"Archie, my plan was to find you. Now that I have, I can think clearly as to our next move. I think we should ask Lindiwe the way to Charlotte. He can at least sketch out a map, since I doubt he would be willing to lead us."

"I believe he would lead us if we allowed him his freedom."

"Freedom? You mean to return to his village?"

Archie shook his head sadly. "His village is gone. It seems he traveled a quarter of the continent to get here, and all on foot. They were a group of fifteen, and he and an old man were the only two who survived the journey."

"Old man?"

"He was held for purchase as Lindiwe was. He died in the attack. Lindiwe nearly died as well, but luck had it that a mortar knocked down the wall he was chained to. He still wears one chain on his wrist, we've had to tuck it within his shirt sleeve. Wrapped it around his arm and fastened the end with a wire."

"I see, wait, how do you know all this about him?"

"It is amazing what facts you discover while under a tree with a stranger, fearing for your life."

A wry grin passed over Horatio's face. "And he is waiting for us?"

"Yes, in hiding, as we speak."

"Then we should go to him." Horatio rose and reached his hand down for Archie.

"Gladly. Our own kind are not pleased seeing these natives walk freely, I've witnessed two nearly stoned to death already."

They cautiously descended and walked to the back of the street. Archie whistled low, and Lindiwe rose from his hiding place behind some stock barrels. His dark skin blended into the night, making his white shirt stand alone and glow. He regarded Horatio carefully, and held out his hand.

Horatio sincerely accepted. "Thank you, Lindiwe, for coming back. And for taking care of Archie. . .of Indaba."

"Umholi." Lindiwe smiled. "You are welcome."

The accent was fluid, and the words understandable. Horatio's eyes widened, and Archie shrugged. "We didn't sleep much."

"I see. That explains how you managed to hold a conversation."

"Come." Lindiwe pulled at Archie's sleeve and beckoned to Horatio. "Come."

And they followed him as the moon vanished again behind the clouds.

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Horatio knew Lindiwe was watching him. He knew it even before he turned to stare into the dark eyes that glittered in the warm night. The young man was crouched, slumped, and watching him with an intense curiosity. Horatio blinked, then raised himself on his elbow. Lindiwe's eyes followed the motion, but he did not budge. Archie was nearby, stretched out on his stomach on top of his shirt, and he shifted and settled his head into the crook of his arm before drifting back to sleep, his face hidden by his loose mane of hair. Horatio pushed himself up and picked up his own shirt, shaking it out before pulling it over his head. And Lindiwe watched.

He had no idea why the African had taken such an interest in him. It made him uncomfortable, as though he were being carefully observed by a large blackbird, waiting for the opportune moment to pick at his bones. The eyes that stared were unreadable enough in the light of day, never mind the darkness of night. The moon was low on the horizon, the sun would rise soon. And they would head as far north as possible in a day's time.

Horatio arched his back, pulling his long arms behind him to release the joints. His shoulders shrugged and rotated, he sighed and bent over to touch his toes, stretching his back. Sleeping on the ground was something to get used to, that was certain. He had no idea whether Lindiwe had slept. Those eyes of his betrayed no fatigue. The moon was beckoning to him, unusually large on the horizon, just ready to dip and hide from the pending sun. A motion at his side caused him to turn slightly, and he saw Lindiwe at his elbow.

The man seemed to have grown in the day they had been together, or maybe it was that previous times Horatio had seen him, he had been slumped. He was nearly Horatio's height, close enough to look right into his eyes with no effort. But his eyes did not seek Horatio's, they stared at the large grey globe settling heavily in the distance. And to Horatio's shock, he spoke, slowly, deeply and quite eloquently.

"My people say the moon grants the wishes of those who are worthy. We sing the prayers, we pass the indibie, we watch as it sinks to carry our wishes to the ancestors. Yet every time the moon rises, there are no answers to our prayers. It only casts a fair light on our destruction." He hesitated, whether in sorrow or respect Horatio wasn't certain, then continued. "My mother once said not to put much faith in the moon. It is too far away to answer our prayers." Lindiwe sought Horatio's gaze. "Perhaps I am not worthy. Yet you are here, with your friend. And now that we are freed, I wish to express my thanks properly."

Horatio found his tongue. "I-I think it fair that I tell you, I was against freeing you at first. You need not thank me. Arch – Indaba there," Horatio gestured to the sleeping man, "he was responsible. If it were up to me, you may very well be dead."

"You are here now, and we are both alive." His eyes widened and sparked as he said the last word, and he smiled.

Horatio was still confused. "I have to ask, how is it you speak our language so well? And why the deception?"

"I speak your language, yes. I have seen the white men many times, enough to know that they are not all as they seem. I helped a trader once. He took me on ship for several months, where I had to learn the language to carry out my orders, but I grew tired of the waves." Each word was carefully pronounced and accented.

Horatio could not picture tiring of the sea. "Well, that explains it. But why not talk to us before now?" He gave a wry smile. "Poor Archie, he looked so proud. He thought he was successful in teaching you, he will be disappointed. . ."

"In truth, he was delighted to hear me speak."

"He knows?"

"He does."

"I see. So instead you felt the need to hide it from me." A sudden hurt surprised him, showing that he had more faith in this man than he had realized.

"I hid it from the people of the port. I have seen what happens to those that appear educated or intelligent. It is better to play like a monkey. It is an advantage if you hold something back from your enemy, to be used later."

Horatio was fascinated by the man's rolling rhythm. His slow, careful speech gave a beautiful, poetic twist to words normally considered stocky and superfluous. His musical tone commanded attention. "I understand. And this is the first time you've been with me, away from the port, so it is safe to speak." The moon was now a half disk over the hill. "How long did you say you sailed?"

"One long season. I returned to my village with supplies from the trade, new hides and beads and dried meats for the drought season, when the animals flee the land in search of water. My village would have been well supplied until the next harvest."

Horatio thought back to what Archie had told him, that his village had been destroyed. The look on Lindiwe's face forbade any discussion on the topic. "And what did you trade in exchange?"

"He wanted ivory. I supplied him well."

Horatio gave a small nod. He didn't voice the thought that entered his mind, regarding the slave trade, but he wondered how the African managed to escape shackles the first time around. Lindiwe noticed, and tightened his lips. Together they watched the moon disappear, and the earth darken. Horatio did not know what else to say. "You learned well."

Lindiwe had the grace to appear amused. "Does it surprise you to know I am capable of learning? That I am not a savage, or a beast?" His chin raised as Horatio's eyes lowered. "I wanted to know what was being said about me, so that I might survive. At the time, I was not convinced I would return to my home. And when I did, I was there but a year before they came."

"Then you know the purpose of your capture?"

"But of course. Even those that do not know the language, know when they are being marched into the mouth of hell." The bright eyes pinned Horatio's until the latter's face flamed in guilt. Lindiwe watched him, then gave a measured nod of approval. "You will learn, one day. You will see what it is to lose everything you hold dear. But for now, we must hold on to this day. Look up there." His long, brown arm reached out, and a bony finger pointed out the hill in the distance. "The sun will crest. And we will move on. That is your future, there. That is where we head next. Behind us is a town full of fear. It is plagued with those who will take, and never give in return. It is death." He shook his head. "No, there is no point in looking back. Only forward." And he started to walk, leaving his shirt behind on the ground.

Horatio watched him. He felt a deep respect swelling in his breast, awed that such a man could go through so much, yet blaze a trail towards the sun. And he realized in that moment just what connected Lindiwe and Archie, and why Archie had been so reluctant to allow misfortune to fall on his new friend. They were two of a kind, two survivors, and they recognized the trait within each other. He hesitated, then walked back to Archie. He looked down at his friend, reluctant to wake him, but Lindiwe was already in the distance, and not looking back. He snatched up the dark man's shirt and shook his friend by the shoulder. "Archie! Wake up, we're going."

"Mm."

"Archie, come on now!"

Archie rolled onto his back, taking a slow, deep breath, then allowed his eyes to open. He angled his head and studied his friend. "Horatio? What. . .it's still dark, what's wrong?"

"What's wrong, is your friend Lindiwe is leaving us, and we will be hopelessly lost if you don't rise immediately." He took Archie's arm and helped him to his feet, then bent down and shook out his shirt. He brushed off what dirt he could, and thrust it at Archie. "Put this on, and hurry!"

"He'll not leave us, Horatio," Archie muttered as he accepted the shirt. "Calm yourself."

"After our conversation, I have my doubts. He is far more intelligent than I gave him credit for."

Archie yawned and looked past Horatio to the man walking from them. He forced himself to talk, to wake himself. "He holds no argument with you. If he did, you would not be here." He thrust his arms into the sleeves and pulled the shirt over his head. He tugged it down. "Besides, I think you'll find him a rather forgiving man. He has a large soul, even with the events that have transpired."

"I wonder why he should be so forgiving? Do they not seek revenge like everyone else? All the talk of the various tribes fighting each other, and us. . ."

"I think they have their revenge, with the destruction of the port. But to answer your question, he is forgiving because he has faith, Horatio. Something you could use a little of." Archie grimaced as he tucked in his shirt.

"Faith in what? He is a heathen, he doesn't believe in God."

"But he believes in something. Now, I have no clue what that something might be, but isn't it the mere practice of believing that matters?" He stopped Horatio's retort with an upturned hand. "Oh, I know, I could see preaching the gospel of Jesus to him, but honestly, what good would it do? And you have to admit," he smiled wryly, "after what's happened to these people, I think they have a better chance at the gates of heaven than we do, regardless. Lord knows they deserve the opportunity."

Horatio straightened from gathering his bag. "His heart does appear to be in the right place."

"That is all I can ask of any man, personally." Archie handed Horatio an empty water bag to stuff into his pack. "Give him time. He doesn't have to help us, you know, he could have left us to rot. Yet he's still here." He stifled a yawn.

And so are we. "That's true enough." Horatio gathered the remainder of the supplies they had been able to muster and started off, staring thoughtfully at his shoes. Realizing he wasn't being followed, he turned back to see Archie frozen, staring ahead. The first rays of morning light colored his hair honey-gold. His eyes suddenly brightened in the glare. Horatio looked to where the sun was rising, and saw Lindiwe cresting the hill, with the huge sun as an amber backdrop. His black body was a perfect shadow, and he raised his arms and greeted the coming day. The sun brightened and shimmered in response. Such was the intensity of the spectacle that both Horatio and Archie stared in silence until Lindiwe started his descent, vanishing behind the mound.

Archie smiled at Horatio as he walked past. "And here I always thought Christ was a white man." His grin widened, and he started off. Horatio breathed in and exhaled heavily, saying a silent prayer to God for his friend's blasphemy, just in case, and followed.

The journey continued. Sometimes they talked, mostly they preferred to walk in an almost meditative silence. Archie mused, watching his friends. He had taken to hanging back when they conversed, and he could sense another talk coming, because he recognized the expression on Horatio's face. He was deep in thought. His prominent brow was furrowed, his eyes dark. He would absently stroke the stubble on his chin, and Archie knew his pondering had nothing to do with hygiene. Lindiwe walked on as was his nature, his head held high and alert, his steps even and steady. He never looked back to see if they were following him; he either sensed their presence, or knew they would not leave him. And if they did, Lindiwe would probably carry on without a second thought. But Horatio, there . . . he was looking up. His brow was smooth. He had thought of a question, and was about to ask . . . he quickened his step to fall in line with the African's.

"Lindiwe, tell me a little about your faith."

"Faith?" the deep voice rumbled back. "What is this 'faith'?"

Horatio never could keep his hands still while conversing. One did manage to stay firm behind his back, but the other circled the air, or clenched into a fist, always complimenting his explanation. "Faith is when you believe something with the whole of your heart. It is what you turn to when everything in your life is against you. It is the saving grace of men. What did you turn to, what thought did you hold, when you were captured by the traders?"

Lindiwe was silent for a time, and Horatio looked for a moment like he considered backing away. But he caught a voice so low, that he had to strain to hear it. Archie listened as well. "I have faith in one thing. That one day, the prophecy will come true."

"What prophecy is that?"

Lindiwe fixed his gaze on the path before him. "There is a story," he said, "of a man born to save Africa. This man will unite the tribes as one, and together they will wipe out the offending whites, and return the country to us. This king will rule on bloodshed. But we will be unified, and we will be free."

"And this man, does he have a name?"

"He will." Lindiwe turned and glanced at them over his shoulder. "And I will find him."

"And that is your faith. Your goal."

"It is."

"I can think of worse, " Archie muttered, and gave Horatio a look that bordered on pleasure.

Horatio shifted his bundle. "But how will you know when you find him?"

"I will know. He will set such fear into the heart of the whites that they will no longer entrap us. We will no longer be enslaved."

"Moses," Archie said quietly, "freeing the people from Egypt."

Lindiwe turned to him with wonderment in his eyes. "This has been done before?" he asked slowly.

"Oh, yes."

"And it was successful?"

"It was."

A controlled nod. "Then it shall be again. This Moses, do you know him?"

"No," Horatio said, slightly amused despite himself, "he died a very, very long time ago."

Again, Lindiwe nodded firmly. "Then he will send someone to free us. And when he comes, I will know him. I will follow him, for he will be a great leader of men. He will change the course of this nation." Lindiwe walked on, his words hanging in the thick air like a prophecy waiting for a place to happen. And neither Horatio nor Archie doubted it in the least.