Roland came out of a deep sleep instantly. Fear shot through him, and he sat up, bracing his back against the cell wall. Only a pale light came through the grate of his dungeon door, just enough for the guards to see through. But his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, and shock ran over him when he saw a figure standing in the cell.
He came to his feet in a wild scramble, putting up his hands in a defensive position. “Who are you?” he cried hoarsely. “What do you want?”
“As for your first question”—the man’s voice was calm and somehow soothing—“I am Goél.”
Astonishment and relief washed over Roland. His knees felt weak. He lowered his hands and took a step back. “Goél,” he whispered. “You’re really here.”
Goél came closer, and the faint, flickering light from the torch outside fell on his face. His hood was pushed back, and his face was lean and sculptured. His eyes were deep set, and they gleamed as he said, “As for your second question, I cannot answer that until I have asked you a question, my son.”
“You want to ask me a question?”
“Yes, sooner or later I have to ask this question of everyone. All of the Sleepers have had to answer it.” Goél stood quiet for a moment, and then a smile touched his lips. “In fact, some of the Seven Sleepers were in a dungeon themselves when I asked it. Some of them, also, were facing death.”
“What is the question? Ask it.” Then Roland’s shoulders slumped. “I’m not sure I can answer it, though. I don’t seem to be very quick-witted right now —not with the Hunt of Death hanging over my head.”
“This is a difficult time for you, Roland. I know how hard it has been.”
Roland still wondered if he was dreaming this conversation. He felt as if what was happening was real— and yet not real. His ears seemed to ring, and Goél’s voice seemed to come from far away, clear but distant. He ran a hand through his hair and could only say, “I seem to have been here for years instead of days. I can’t believe—”
“You can’t believe what?”
“I can’t believe how arrogant I was!” Roland heard himself saying. He attempted to smile, but it was a poor attempt. “Being a slave knocks a little of the arrogance out of you.”
“I think most men and women go through something like this at one time or another. Those who do not are but few.”
“I’ve had nothing to do but think since I was put in here, facing death. I’ve thought about my parents. I’ve thought about how I treated them.” He sighed. “What a terrible time I gave them.”
“Your parents love you, Roland. They asked me to do something that would bring out the potential for good they knew was in you.”
“Potential for good! I don’t know how they saw any.” Goél smiled again faintly. “Fathers and mothers have a way of looking beneath the surface.” Silence fell over the cell. Finally Roland lifted his head and asked, “So what is the question, sire?”
“The question is in two parts. First, are you tired of the life you’ve been living—of being the boy you have been? The second part is, are you ready to follow me and become a different person?”
Roland did not answer at once. He was thinking of his past life. At last he said with sadness, “No, I don’t want to be what I have been—ever again. As to the second question, I listened to my parents speak of you for years. I listened, but I didn’t listen—if you know what I mean.” He suddenly knelt before Goél, his head bowed. “If you will have me, I will serve you the best I can for whatever time I have left.”
Roland felt two hands upon his head, and Goél whispered words especially meaningful for him. A warm feeling of joy came over him, and his heart seemed to bubble over.
While he was still on his knees, he heard the voice of Goél say, “Tomorrow you will have a chance to prove your loyalty and your faith. They will come for you, and no man has ever escaped the sad result of the Hunt of Death. But I am giving you my word that I will be beside you, and you need not fear—no matter what happens. All will be well.”
Then the voice faded away, and Roland’s visitor was gone.
Roland felt for the hay and lay down on it in a dreamy state, thinking over and over again of Goél’s words. And then he heard himself saying aloud, “I won’t doubt you, Goél. No matter what happens!”
The next sound that he heard was that of the rumbling voices of guards outside. He always heard them early every morning when the guard changed. Then he remembered. He sat up straight and looked wildly around the dim cell, almost expecting to see Goél. But no one was there.
“It must have been all a dream!” he exclaimed. He stood to his feet and closed his eyes, thinking. He discovered, to his surprise, that he could remember it all. Roland never remembered dreams, but the memory of this one was as clear as if it were happening over again before his eyes.
He heard the guards laughing. One shoved his face up to the grate and said cheerfully, “Last day on earth! Enjoy yourself!” The door opened then, and stale bread and a bowl of stew was set down with a clatter on the stone floor. “Last meal!” the guard jeered.
And then the door clanged shut, leaving Roland Winters alone with only the memory of a dream.