by Trish Mercer
Shem had been too young to remember when his mother passed, but he couldn’t even imagine the pain Perrin must be feeling now. After taking out all those Guarders on the road, ones that he had missed had killed his parents.
What if Perrin hadn’t left Idumea for Edge when he did, Shem wondered as the line of trees ahead ended and the road straightened out with no shadows on it. The sun hanging above the horizon illuminated the figure of a distant horse rider, and Shem was gaining. The rider passed another wagon.
What if he and Karna delayed sending Hili? They’d thought about waiting. Maybe Perrin could have still been at his parents when the Guarders came. Maybe he could have stopped it . . .
Shem shook his head and readjusted his stance on the now-foaming horse.
No use thinking like that. Whatever the Creator wills, will happen. It must have been their time to go. Maybe it had been General Shin’s time to go three weeks ago, but the Creator gave him time to say goodbye, and to be with his wife when it happened. Perhaps Relf had unfinished business he was allowed to attend to. Who else could have released the stores and saved Edge?
Perrin had told him it was the best visit he’d ever had with his parents. Perhaps it was a tender mercy to let Relf and Joriana see their son and his family, and then watch them leave in such a good way. If the family had been there when the Guarders came, today may have been even more tragic—
No, Shem reminded himself as he closed in on Perrin. There’s no tragedy in death. Death isn’t the end; it’s only a change. The only tragedy is in not living the Plan, in failing the Test.
The Shins’ final act was one of pure generosity, without a care for what happened to them. What better way to finish the Test?
I have to tell him that, Shem thought as he saw the red flag in the distance signaling the messenger station. I have to remind him. He already knows; his heart just can’t connect with his mind right now.
The sun was setting and the last of the light hit the messenger station that sat a little off the road. Shem picked out some movement at the small distant building and hoped they would delay Perrin. As he got closer he saw more urgent action and realized someone was rushing a horse out of the stable.
“No!” Shem groaned. He was just a hundred paces away when he recognized the distinctly large figure of Perrin mount the horse and take off again.
“PERRIN!” Shem cried.
He thought he saw his friend look back, then continue at a fast pace.
Shem was at the messenger station now and slid off his tired horse. He grabbed the two packs and rushed into the office.
“I need a horse, now! I need to catch up to the colonel!”
The small, older man standing behind the counter greeted Shem with a mixture of fury and terror. “And you’re far too heavy as well! Weight limit is 120 pounds. You must be over 200! That wild colonel is even bigger and will kill that horse. No!”
Shem stepped up quickly and leaned over the counter. “I need to stop that wild colonel, and I need a horse, now.” It was a fairly good attempt at intimidation, which was not one of Shem’s strengths, but far better than he’d ever done before.
The older man shifted his stance before saying, “No. Not for anyone but the Administrators’ messengers.”
“What if I told you that wild colonel is most likely after the Administrators? If he reaches them, it’ll be your fault. Give me a horse!”
The supervisor didn’t get his position by being pushed around by large soldiers. “I have my orders.” It was hard to argue with that.
Shem took a deep breath, knowing he was losing valuable time. “How’d the colonel get a horse?”
Without meaning to, the man’s eyes darted to the side. That’s when Shem saw the two men lying on the floor. One kept his head back and held his nose which was bleeding profusely, and the other was unconscious. Definitely Perrin’s handiwork.
A third man rushed in, greeted Shem with a yelp of terror, and crouched by the bleeding man to hand him a wet cloth.
Desperate, Shem turned again to the supervisor.
“No.”
Realizing that some situations can’t be worked out any other way, Shem said, “This really isn’t in my nature, and I’m very sorry about this, but—”
The force of Shem’s fist hitting the small man sent him backward into a wall. Shem didn’t wait to see him fall but sprinted toward the stable.
The man with the wet cloth—the only one who was still healthy and capable, and wanted to stay that way—cried out, “Give him a horse!”
Another messenger ran out from the stable with a horse, making as if he was about to mount it, probably to send a warning or request assistance, but Shem snatched the reins, nodded a polite thanks, and took off on the animal.
Perrin was now only a blob in the darkening distance.
If Shem were a swearing man, he would have cursed. Instead he pressed his lips together and leaned over the horse in a vain attempt to make his load lighter. There’d likely be no one following them. The messenger services typically had only two horses saddled at a time, one to go in either direction. It would take them time to get a third horse ready to send in pursuit as a warning. By then, somewhere Shem should have caught up to Perrin.
But that didn’t happen at the next station. He was even closer this time as Perrin abandoned his horse for a new one, and he was sure the colonel saw him in pursuit. But when Shem barged through the messenger station, the supervisor and riders were panicked. Another man was prone on the ground, motionless.
“Sir, we’ve been informed that you’re to remain here,” the supervisor attempted in a shaky voice. “You have a serious illness and a representative from the fort will be here shortly to see to—”
Shem had no time for this. He went directly to the stables and took the next saddled horse, ignoring the cries of protest.
Clever warning, Perrin, Shem thought. But worrisome. You’re thinking. You’re planning. You’re trying to throw others off. But you’ve lost all sense of rationality. What else are you planning, my brother?
Shem was closing in on Perrin about a mile before the third messenger station. He was nearly on top of him, yelling his name, when Shem’s horse began to go lame. Perrin was well on his way with a new horse leaving Shem to face another crew of shocked, wounded, and unconscious messengers. But he wasn’t going to bother with them. He ran straight for the stables.
“Horse! NOW!”
A farrier shook his head vigorously. “Don’t have one saddled.”
Shem spun around, found a horse that looked rested enough, and grabbed its reins. Riding bareback was his only choice. Good thing he did that a lot on his father’s ranch when he was growing up.
Once again Shem was in pursuit, but this time he was sure he’d catch up to Perrin. A few miles along the darkening road Shem saw him clearly, and his horse was struggling. It was smaller than the others had been and clearly unsuitable for Perrin’s weight.
They were nearing the station at Midplain when Shem finally pulled up even with Perrin, who looked bitterly askance at him.
“I’m going with you!” Shem shouted at him. “Let me help!”
Perrin tried to spur his horse on faster, but it was flagging. The station came into view and Perrin rode straight for the stables. His horse stumbled outside the open doors, but Perrin slid off the lamed animal and plowed into the stables, with Shem close behind.
“Stop!” Shem shouted at the colonel, but it was Shem who stopped suddenly, just inside the barn, when he found himself facing Perrin.
Or rather, facing Perrin’s sword, which was raised and hovered just inches away from Shem’s chest.
“Go home,” Perrin commanded. It was the look in his eyes that caught Shem’s breath. He’d never seen such fierce resolve, such murderous intent.
Shem couldn’t let anyone else in the world try to deal with him, so he shook his head. “No, I’m going with you. Whatever you’re planning.”
He was aware that t
wo young stable hands stood to the right of him, frozen in place with pitchforks full of straw. They slowly looked at each other. With his hand, Shem made little waving motions to get them to leave, but the boys merely turned to stare at Perrin’s sword.
A messenger in bright red ran into the stable. “What’s going on in—” was as much as he could say before he stopped right next to Shem. He found himself also staring at the tip of Perrin’s sword, which now bobbed between the two men.
The only sound was of two pitchforks dropping and boys scrambling out the door.
“Just leave,” Shem whispered to the little man who began to tremble.
“But, but,” he whispered back, “no one’s supposed to—”
“GO!” Perrin bellowed.
The little man jumped nearly as tall as Shem and ran out, slamming the wooden doors behind him.
“I meant that ‘go’ for you as well, Zenos!” Perrin snarled.
Shem firmed his stance. “I’m not leaving you. What’re you planning to do?”
“Get justice!”
Shem tried to keep his voice steady. “You don’t want justice, you want revenge. Neither will bring them back, Perrin.”
It was the first time Shem was faster than Perrin in anything, as if something told him what to do the moment before he was to do it.
Perrin lunged with his sword, but Shem was already stepping to the side. He grabbed Perrin’s hand, wrested the sword away from him, and flung it into an empty stall where it buried itself in the straw.
Infuriated, Perrin started to go for Shem’s sword, but Shem drew it faster and pitched it into the straw as well.
“Idiot!” Perrin yelled and swung at Shem, connecting with his jaw.
Shem hadn’t seen that coming, and had never before felt the full force of Perrin’s rage. They’d wrestled dozens of times and sparred with each other for years, but never to any degree of viciousness. The jaw-numbing blow awakened something in Shem, something primal and raw.
He found himself on all fours in the straw with an unfamiliar anger boiling in him, and the anger said, I didn’t spend hours chasing you down just for a fight, but if that’s what you want, Shin, that’s what you’re going to get!
Perrin was striding past Shem to the stall where he had thrown the swords when Shem pushed up and lunged for Perrin’s middle, knocking some of the air out of him and shoving him against the wall. Shem struggled to his feet to punch him, but Perrin caught him first with a hit to his kidney before Perrin fell to the ground, gasping. He was down only for a moment before he righted himself and charged at Shem, who was holding his side and trying to stand back up.
Shem stepped out of the way at the last moment and kicked Perrin as he tried to turn to catch Shem. Perrin stumbled into a stable, frightening the horse in it, and stood back up, seething.
Shem readied himself. “Come on!” he beckoned. “You’ve got to have more in you than that, Colonel!”
Perrin, his eyes black and impenetrable, stood his full height.
Shem felt a twinge of fear, but he pushed it aside. As Perrin rushed him, Shem stepped forward and planted his fist squarely on his jaw.
Perrin only stumbled backward a bit, shook out his head, and came at Shem again like an agitated bear.
Shem tried to brace himself for the impact, but Perrin was too strong. He plowed into Shem and kept going until the wooden rail of a stall stopped them momentarily, then gave way under their combined weight. Shem groaned as the splintered wood dug into his back, and kept groaning as the full weight of Perrin sandwiched him.
Shem let his rage work for him. Perrin sat up, straddling Shem’s chest, and made a fist. But before he could hit him, Shem swiftly raised his leg and kneed Perrin in the back where he knew he was still sore from the long ride a few days ago.
For the first time, Shem saw something else besides murder in Perrin’s face. He saw a glint of agony as his friend arched and writhed.
Shem used that moment. He brought his elbow down hard on Perrin’s stomach, and as Perrin began to lean, Shem pushed himself out from underneath him, flipping Perrin on to his back. In one smooth movement he snatched Neeks’s knife from his boot, straddled Perrin, and held the knife at his throat.
“No more, Colonel!” Shem told him. He sat heavily on Perrin’s chest, knowing full well what his weight must have been doing to his back.
Perrin winced in pain. “Zenos,” he gasped, “we both know you can’t kill me. You can’t kill anything. Never could.”
Shem shook his head. “Don’t make me surprise you, Colonel. And I don’t need to kill you, just need to give you something to remember me by. Remember your advice?” He pressed the sharp tip of the knife into Perrin’s flesh to prick it.
Perrin didn’t even flinch, but as a trickle of blood began to slide down to his neck, he knew Shem was serious.
“What are you intending to do, Colonel Shin?”
Perrin closed his eyes and his breathing became shallower. “I want to get justice.”
“This isn’t the way, Colonel.”
Perrin’s breathing became more rapid and Shem noticed his shoulders start to quiver. Something around the hard lines of his face began to soften, and Perrin raised an arm to cover his eyes.
Sensing a change in him, Shem slid off his chest, but kept his leg on top of him and the knife next to his throat.
Perrin’s entire body began to shake and Shem finally understood. He scrambled off and tried to lift Perrin to a sitting position, but Perrin had no strength left as he began to sob. Shem sat in the straw next to him, put the knife under his leg just in case, and wrapped both arms around his stricken friend.
Perrin leaned against his chest, dampening his jacket. “Shem, Shem . . . they’re taking all I love,” he wept. “If I can’t stop them— They’re taking them by age. The Densals. My parents. Then me. Then there’ll be no one left to protect Mahrree, Jaytsy, and Peto. They’ll be next—I know it.”
Shem held him and rocked. “No, no, Perrin! They’re not. You’re not. We’re watching them, always. We’re protecting. We’re keeping them safe.”
Perrin shook his head and trembled like a child. “They’ll be gone. No matter what I do, Shem, it doesn’t make any difference.”
“Everything you do makes a difference!” Shem tightened his embrace as if that could somehow make Perrin believe him. “And you won’t be alone. Not now, not ever. I’m here. The Creator sent me to you. You’ll always have your brother. You’re protected! I’ll get you through this, I promise. You’ll be all right, Perrin.” Shem was almost frantic now, trying to get him to feel the reality of his words. “All of you will be, I know it. Trust me!”
Tears streaked down Shem’s face, too. He’d never seen another man so distraught, and if what Shem was feeling right now for him was just a fraction of Perrin’s grief, he didn’t know how Perrin was surviving it. Shem prayed fervently for guidance to know what to do and say as he firmly held Perrin’s shuddering body.
---
Outside of the stable the full staff of the messenger station cautiously peered into the windows, wondering when it was safe to open the doors. They’d inserted lengths of wood through the door handles on both exits as barricades. No one could see what happened after the two fighting men had broken through the stall, and all had been quiet for several minutes.
The supervisor looked at his employees and came to a conclusion. “We unbarricade the doors in an hour. If they’re alive, they’ll be calmer—most likely from large losses of blood. If they’re dead, then an hour won’t make any difference. In either case, it’ll be easier to remove them if we wait. Anyone feeling a bit peckish?”
Everyone agreed a bit of cake would be most welcome right now. As the men were settling down to a well-earned snack, a messenger arrived, winded and frantic, to warn them about huge soldiers stealing their horses. But when he heard the soldiers were subdued and contained in the stables, he too pulled up a chair and realized that the urgency of his warning wasn�
�t as urgent as the last piece of cake.
Forty-five minutes later the stable doors burst open, to the shock of the willowy riders who thought the pitchfork handle would hold, likely because it would’ve held them.
Two men walked out, side by side, swords sheathed, and horses’ reins in their hands. The lantern light behind them shadowed them dramatically, making them look even larger than they were, which meant they appeared to be roughly the size of wood sheds. They strode calmly up to the office where the entire staff was now staring out the open door as if seeing two ghosts with horses. A mug crashed to the floor.
“We’ll be taking these two horses. Do you have a problem with that?” the colonel asked through the doorway.
The entire messenger staff gave their answer to the supervisor in the form of uniformly shaking heads.
The supervisor hadn’t reached this level by not knowing how to work the rules. Especially when those requesting the rules to be broken just destroyed half his stables and not only lived to tell about it, but walked out serenely, oblivious to the blood and cuts and bruises and straw that covered them.
The supervisor shook his head erratically, as if unable to decide if nodding or shaking it was more appropriate. So he did both. “No, no, no, no problem. Whatever you gentlemen need.”
The colonel nodded at him, then the two men mounted and rode off into the darkness.
---
Rector Yung looked around the forest and knew he was in trouble.
Actually, he knew long before he slipped unnoticed into the trees at the fresh spring that soon he’d be in trouble. But there was no other choice. A message had to be delivered, and he was the only one left to do it.
That’s what he’d been trying to do for the last hour, but it was maddening how each tree looks exactly like another, especially at night. He couldn’t come any earlier, but not because he didn’t dare; no soldier ever stopped lowly little rectors, or questioned why they were wandering near the forest.
He couldn’t come earlier because he was actually busy. For the first time since he came to Edge a year ago, he was needed all day and all night.