by Trish Mercer
The last thing Mahrree remembered was Perrin snoring. It was still dark but dawn must’ve been coming soon. The air just had that kind of feel to it. She sighed and wondered how long her husband would continue imitating the noisy forest. She tried rolling him, but never had much success in budging the man that weighed twice as much as her.
It was only because she utterly adored and loved the swoon-worthy man, who was usually the most perfect husband in the world, that she didn’t hit him over the head with the rod of iron she kept by her side of their massive bed in an effort to silence him so she could get some uninterrupted slumber.
Random thoughts went through her mind as she tried to drift back to sleep. Things to clean. Things to cook. Things to tell her husband. Things to tell her mother. Things to tell her children. Things to tell her students . . .
Ugh.
Her students.
Now she definitely wasn’t going to get to sleep. Whenever her collection of twenty rowdy teenagers invaded her mind, she found herself tensing up in frustration. They caused nearly as much damage in her brain as they did in the village.
It wasn’t as if the Shins needed the silver slips she was paid; they always went straight down into the cellar, along with extra slips Perrin earned that they also didn’t spend. Mahrree became the “special cases” teacher when Peto was five and she learned Idumea would never allow parents to be their children’s teachers. At least the commander’s wife could give him leads on which students seemed overly tired in the mornings after nights of thieving, and she could also keep in touch with her children’s education.
Mahrree sighed as she looked up at the ceiling timbers; Perrin’s snoring had developed a goose-like honking quality, which meant silence was about another thirty minutes away, so until then she had nothing else to do but fret about her students. The Instruction Department’s annual exam would be at the end of Planting Season, just a few weeks away. How the boys performed would dictate the rest of their lives, yet she couldn’t get them to fully grasp that.
Those who tested well could apply to a university and train to become just about anything: doctor, law assessor, university professor, Command School officer, or, laughably, an assistant to an Administrator.
Average scores on the exam meant an average job as well, not requiring excessive intelligence but the ability to learn a trade such as blacksmithing, farming, weaving, teaching—although don’t ask Mahrree her opinion of that mid-range designation which was also the same level as a mere performer—or soldiering.
The lowest scores meant one’s job in life would be nothing more invigorating than removing rubbish, digging ditches, or, disturbingly, also becoming a soldier.
That had irked Perrin to no end. The worst students could still join the army? The assumption that rebellious teenagers suddenly turned into obedient young adults when they stepped into a fort baffled both of them.
Perrin and Mahrree pushed their children to perform well enough on the final exams so that they could decide their own futures, as students used to until the Administrators stepped in to make better decisions for everyone.
Frequently Perrin and Mahrree grumbled that soon Idumea would dictate what they should eat for every meal so as to control weight gains and losses, and perhaps even issue clothing to each villager to remove the burden of what to wear each day. By not having to make so many decisions, the people would have more time to earn more gold and silver to pay in ever-increasing taxes to the exceptionally benevolent Administrators . . .
And that was usually when Jaytsy and Peto banged their heads dramatically on the eating room table.
So far neither of them showed an interest in any particular work, nor did Peto want to become an officer. Mahrree was secretly relieved by that, and happily Perrin also wasn’t too eager for his son to join the army. High General Shin, however, had other plans for his only grandson.
At least that morning brought Holy Day again, and Mahrree wouldn’t be facing any of those worries on the Creator’s Day. She needed that one day a week to leave the world alone and focus on The Writings at the weekly Holy Day service that the Shins, and maybe only thirty others, still attended.
It wasn’t because of the rector. Rector Yung was most inspired and capable, and frequently Mahrree wondered if Rector Yung’s wife had been anything like Tabbit Densal—tender, gentle, and oh so kind. When Mahrree looked into the aged rector’s eyes, she saw a loneliness there that panged her heart, so the late Mrs. Yung must have been a remarkable woman in her own right.
Mahrree groggily mused on what the topic for the morning’s discussion might be, because her husband had finally stopped snoring—
She found herself on all fours on the floor, and it was inexplicably swaying. Her head hurt as if she smacked it against the wall. She vaguely recalled hearing something loud behind her fall off a shelf. Or maybe it was the shelf.
She looked up and saw across the bed she was no longer in, trying desperately to understand what was happening.
Perrin was in the same position on the floor staring back at her. “Under the bed!” he yelled and dove. He kicked storage crates out of the way and immediately appeared on Mahrree’s side.
Mahrree couldn’t comprehend what to do, her head still too foggy. But Perrin grabbed her arms and roughly pulled her down and under the sturdy bed frame he’d made before they were married. He wrapped himself around her and held her tight as the house bounced and heaved.
Finally she overcame her confusion and woke up.
Land tremor!
Mahrree’s mind screamed it over and over, but nothing came out of her mouth. It would have been muffled in her husband’s chest, anyway. A loud cracking and tearing noise above them made her flinch, and Perrin clutched her even tighter.
This was nothing like the little tremors that visited Edge each season like a disoriented old aunt; this one would not be easily ignored nor quickly go away. Mahrree curled as small as she could into the protection of her husband’s bulk.
Above them the timbers of the massive bed frame bounced and impossibly sagged, and then the air smelled like dust. Bizarrely, there also seemed to be more light in the room.
The rough swaying slowed until it stopped altogether.
The Shins lay tense and motionless under the bed until Perrin heard a muffled voice. “I can’t breathe!”
“Sorry.”
He released his wife and Mahrree gasped for air. “The children!”
Perrin nodded. “In just a moment. We need to make sure we can get out safely. I suspect we may have that larger window you’ve always wanted. You just stay.”
Mahrree bit her knuckle in worry as he slid cautiously out from his side of the bed, pushing debris that tinkled like broken glass, and peered upwards. He looked over at his wife with his lips pressed tightly together.
“What?” she asked, trying to contain her panic.
“Mahrree,” he began slowly, as if a wonderful idea had just occurred to him, “have you ever considered making this roof, I don’t know . . . taller? I always thought the pitch was a little low for my height. It seems half the work is already done—”
“Oh no.” Mahrree moaned and carefully slid out of her side, pushing away a toppled bookshelf that was now mysteriously covered with leaves. She sat up and looked at their bed.
The peaked middle section of the roof had given way completely and rested where they had just moments before. Dirt, dried leaves, and a surprised family of squirrels sat there among the timbers and tiles as well.
She looked up, as was her custom each morning to check the color of the sky, but staggered to realize she’d never before seen the color of the sky directly above her bed. For once she was grateful that Perrin overreacted. Always she’d chuckled when the ground began to gently roll, and he dove under a table. But not today.
Mahrree and Perrin managed to get to their feet and stared at each other. They’d been seconds away from being crushed.
“Dear Creator!” Mahrre
e closed her eyes in a brief prayer of gratitude. When she opened them she murmured, “Oh Perrin . . .”
He’d already wrenched off his long bed shirt and was putting on his blue jacket. Even though his uniform was covered in debris, it still remained positioned on the chair by the bed where he kept it every night, only inches away from the fallen roof.
“We’ll secure the children before I go to the fort.” He stopped pulling on his trousers to look at her. “Mahrree, I’m so sorry. I should stay with you but—”
“But your duty is first to the citizens of Edge. I know. I’m used to it.” But she wasn’t. She knew it was a lie, and so did Perrin. Yet there was nothing else that could be done. Every citizen in Edge would be crying for one of his two hundred fifty soldiers to come help them. “You’ve already saved me, Lieutenant Colonel Shin. Go save the rest of the world!” She tried to smile.
He stepped over a splintered timber and kissed her quickly, hurdled something else that was now unrecognizable, and ran down the stairs shouting for Jaytsy and Peto.
Mahrree fumbled quickly to shake out a dusty dress and put it over her bedclothes, not giving time for her mind to catch up to what was happening around her. All she could think was, My babies!
She stepped over and around debris and scattered books, trying not to worry about what might have been destroyed. At the bottom of the stairs she found Jaytsy breathing heavily with panic in her eyes. She seemed as spooked as a filly, but unharmed. Before she could say anything, Mahrree heard Perrin shouting.
“In Peto’s room! Now!”
Mahrree wouldn’t let alarm set in as she and Jaytsy hurried over to Peto’s door to see his wardrobe lying on top of his bed, with no Peto in sight. Perrin was just beginning to lift it and Mahrree rushed to help him. Together they heaved the large oak cabinet to find Peto underneath, wide-eyed.
“I’m awake, Father. Really. I’m not ignoring you this time.”
Mahrree sighed in relief.
“Are you hurt?” Perrin asked.
Peto just stared at him.
“Are you hurt? Peto!”
Peto sat up slowly and saw books, papers, and kickballs scattered around the floor. “Did something happen?”
In answer, the ground began to roll again. Jaytsy screamed and ran to her father, and something in Mahrree’s mind clicked. She grabbed her son and dragged him toward the front door as the house bounced and swayed. Perrin followed closely behind, half carrying a sobbing Jaytsy.
In their front garden the family collapsed into a heap with Jaytsy and Peto curled up between Perrin and Mahrree. Strange ear-numbing noises, like the ground cracking its giant knuckles, echoed up and down the road. A rumbling like thunder that didn’t know when to stop or where to go came toward them, and left them, then came back again.
Shouts and screams arose in the air around them. The Shins saw neighbors making their ways to their front gardens too, falling down stairs and stumbling over bushes. A spooked horse ran past and fell on the undulating cobblestones, whinnying in terror as it tried to right itself again, and bolted down a side road.
For a moment, Mahrree’s rational mind decided this was indeed the most bizarre event she’d ever witnessed. She kept looking around just to assure herself this wasn’t some strange dream, but reality.
But then the rational part of her mind decided it was done for the day, and the desire to become frantic nearly overwhelmed her. Only by looking into her husband’s steady and solid gaze did she find a bit of bravery to borrow.
A flash of orange caught her eye, and she noticed the tall tower near their home. Always the towers, a dozen throughout the village, were manned by two soldiers who kept careful watch over the neighborhoods. But right now the young men were keeping hold of the sides of the tower, trying not to fall over the waist-high walls of the swaying structures.
“Lie down!” Mahrree murmured uselessly in their direction. Already they had sent up the orange banner, the twenty-foot length of cloth waving erratically in the breeze and the jerking of the tower. One of the soldiers was valiantly trying to signal for help with the horn, but his repeating pattern of two short bursts was interrupted by jolts and shivers from the ground. It sounded more like he had a bad case of the hiccups.
“Oh, for crying out loud!” Perrin said loudly as he noticed his soldiers’ vain attempts. “Wait out the tremor, then let everyone know what we already know: we have an emergency! First thing I’ll retrain—”
He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because a sudden lurch sent him almost flopping on top of his children. As he braced himself, a house down the road shivered and partially collapsed.
This isn’t Edge, Mahrree thought to herself. This isn’t . . .
Words from a book poured into her mind.
Before the Last Day will be a land tremor more powerful than any ever experienced. It will awaken the largest mountain and change all that we know in the world.
The words of the Great Guide Hierum bounced around in her head as violently as the ground. She twisted to try to see Mt. Deceit, the largest mountain in the world, but her view was obscured by a neighbor’s tree.
No, she didn’t think this was the Last Day just yet.
But then again, if the land keeps trembling—
It abruptly stopped, the ground’s final movement an upward lift that brought down another house nearby; its crumbling sounded like a clay pot being thrown onto a stone floor. After that, there was no noise, no movement, nothing.
The Shin family held their collective breath for several moments, Perrin and Mahrree staring at each other as they hovered protectively over their children.
Jaytsy started to wail. “I didn’t mean it! I didn’t mean it! I didn’t want this to happen!”
Perrin blinked and looked down at his daughter who threw her arms around his waist. “What?”
“I wanted people to wake up, but . . . but . . . not like this!”
Peto sat up and stared at his sister, then looked questioningly at his mother.
Motherhood has a strange way of putting everything suddenly into perspective. It took Mahrree only a fraction of a second to make sense of the world again.
There had been a land tremor, an enormous one. There was great damage, which likely meant cleaning up for weeks, if not moons. People were injured and perhaps even dead, which meant they would have to find bandages and shovels. Breakfast would be difficult to make today, as would be midday meal and dinner.
And her daughter, in the manner of all teenagers who think the world actually listens to and takes its cues from the sophistication of minds that are centered around haircuts, dress lengths, and clipped intellect, believed the land tremor was caused by her.
“You did not cause this, Jaytsy Shin! My goodness,” Mahrree said. “And you think your friends are self-centered.”
Perrin gave his family a cautious smile, the corner of his eye catching sight of the banner nearby which was now slumped against its pole. Even the constant breeze from the mountains had unexpectedly stilled, but the bright orange was still obvious, pleading for help.
“No one’s hurt, right?” he said.
Peto and Mahrree nodded at him, while Jaytsy sniffed into his stomach.
He gently pried her loose and lifted up her chin to look into her dark brown eyes. “Then I have to go, but you’ll be fine. Just listen to your mother. And all of you, stay out of the house!”
Mahrree had never seen his eyes so sad, not even at the Densals’ burial. If there was one time she didn’t want him to leave her, it was now. But there were others far more distressed than her. They were outside and safe, and most of their house was still standing, or so she assumed.
She swallowed hard and nodded at her husband. “You be careful, Perrin, and don’t do anything overly brave or stupid.”
“Mother says those are usually the same things,” Peto said to demonstrate that his ability to turn anything into a joke wasn’t crushed by the wardrobe.
“Take care of each other,” he said, kissing Jaytsy on the forehead, then kissed Mahrree on the lips. As he leaned toward Peto, his son fell backward.
“No, Father! I’m fine! You don’t need to do that.”
Perrin smiled broader. “Yes, you’re definitely all right.” He lunged and planted a kiss on his mortified son’s forehead. “Help your mother, both of you. It’s going to be a long day.” He got to his feet and broke into a run toward the fort, sprinting faster than he ever did in the Strongest Soldier Race.
“Colonel Shin!” cried a neighbor. “Wait!”
But Perrin was already out of earshot.
Mahrree nearly cried out the same thing, but knew it was no use. Duty to the world, first. She was the brave wife of the lieutenant colonel, after all. She was the wife of the Commander of Edge, the daughter-in-law of the High General of Idumea, and occasionally she felt nearly as courageous as those men.
At least she feigned it well, or so she hoped. Deep down she knew she was a coward, and learned that when she ventured into the forests years ago to find the truth. She found a Guarder, then also found she was too terrified to do anything about it. She tried over the years to forget that humiliating night, but there were moments like this—when she knew she had to be brave—that the image of herself balled up in a crying mess at the edge of the forest overwhelmed her senses.
Well, on a day like today she simply had to overwhelm them back. There was no room for her fear of inadequacy.
Mahrree took a deep breath, got to her feet, and looked objectively at her house. Everything seemed relatively fine, except now it was only a one and a half story house.
Two feelings began to rise within her, fighting to get attention. The first was panic.
Look what happened to my house! it screamed. I could have been crushed! Look at our neighbors’ homes! Something’s burning, can you smell it? Did you hear that crashing noise? Someone’s house just collapsed! Is that a new steam vent in the middle of the road? What will we eat? Can I even go back into my house? Someone help me!
Another feeling rose up just as powerfully.
You are not dead, it said calmly. Your children are fine. Get them changed out of their bedclothes quickly and get moving. The rains stopped last week so your work will be easier. Your mother could probably use that steam vent for cooking if the temperature’s correct. Your larder is right by the back door, so you have food. Get breakfast and get going. There’s plenty of work to do. You had no other pressing plans for the day, anyway. The world’s not out to get you right now.
The words in her head sounded remarkably like something her father would say. She still could count on him at times like this, as if he’d never moved on to Paradise.
“Right!” Mahrree announced to her house. She put her hands on her hips and turned to her children who still sat terrified on the ground. Several neighbors were rushing to her rocky front garden.
“Jaytsy, Peto. Get changed, do NOT go upstairs, grab the bread from the larder, and bring me lots of parchment and charcoal. Now!”
The teens startled at her command, then scrambled to their feet and cautiously approached the house.
“Move quickly—we don’t know how long it’ll remain stable,” Mahrree called after them.
Jaytsy looked back. “But Father said not to—” She stopped when she saw the determined look on her mother’s face.
“You’ll be fine,” said Mahrree. Didn’t her father tell her that they should change and get breakfast? Since there was no lying in Paradise, she knew her house was stable. At least the main floor. “There’s no danger right now,” she assured her daughter. “But let’s hurry, just the same.”
Jaytsy rushed in after her brother. Mahrree heard a noise behind her and turned around.
“Mrs. Shin! Where’s the lieutenant colonel?” Mr. Hersh asked as he opened the front gate.
Mahrree looked into the face of her next-door neighbor, who seemed more like a distressed porcupine than a fifty-year-old weaver. “He’s gone to the fort. He’ll start organizing and get us help when he can.”
“How could he go?” cried Mrs. Pail, who lived down the road and was still shaking even though the ground had stopped. “What will we do without the soldiers?”
“They’re coming, but we can take care of ourselves,” Mahrree assured them. “We don’t need the soldiers right now.”
Several more neighbors were now clustering around her yard like lost toddlers in the market place. Big eyes, trembling chins, and not a clue in the world as to how to help themselves.
Mahrree decided to save her internal commentary about the progressiveness of Nicko Mal’s “Trust the army and Administrators to take care of everything for you” measures for another time, when she could mentally rant undisturbed. The measures were working exceptionally well. No one could think for themselves.
No one could think at all.
“So what do we do?” pleaded another neighbor, panic growing in his voice.
If it weren’t for her suppressed rage with the Administrators, Mahrree wouldn’t have had any strength left herself. Obviously those twenty-three ridiculously stuffed frilly white shirts and red coat tails were good for something: making her furious that not even the men of the world dared make a move without governmental approval. If they lived closer to Idumea, they likely would have been drafting requests to Chairman Mal in triplicate at this very moment, asking for permission to relieve themselves by their trees.
But telling people what to do had always been one of Mahrree Peto Shin’s gifts. “We calm down and start surveying the damage, Mr. Mang!” She had practiced that official tone for years on her children, the same one Perrin used on her when they were first married and he tried to pull rank. Mahrree’s version had come out quite well, and Mr. Mang was visibly surprised.
“Now,” Mahrree continued, and paused when she saw Peto come out of the house with a stack of paper and sharpened charcoal. He handed them to his mother.
“We’ll begin right here,” she said in her best Mrs. Lieutenant Colonel voice, writing on the first page. “We need to go house to house looking for anyone injured or not responding to our calls. If anyone’s missing, we’ll begin a search, but don’t enter the houses immediately. We don’t know how stable they are, so we’ll need to record the level of damage to each house, evaluate if there are safe ways into them, and also check the surrounding land for new fissures or steam vents. If you must enter a house to help someone, first push on the standing walls to see if they’ll hold, then move in and out quickly. If the walls don’t hold or they look shaky, obviously don’t go in! That’s when we’ll get the soldiers to help.”
The neighbors gaped at her, some in surprise, some in doubt, and some in fear. But then again, she was married to the Commander of Edge, the authority of the village, which perhaps meant she also had some authority . . .
“If you find any wounded,” she continued loudly, which she had discovered was a good cover for fear, “lay them in the front gardens, so we can tend to them safely until the doctors can be found. We also need to keep watch for looters, so for every three or four houses someone should stay outside to watch for trouble. Patrol the area as the soldiers do, checking front and back gardens for movement. Anyone who can be spared will come with us to complete our survey of the neighborhoods. If we break up into several small groups, we can cover much more territory. Record all damage and injuries on these pages,” she held them out to stunned villagers who automatically took whatever was shoved into their hands, “and once the soldiers arrive, give them the lists so they can see the most pressing needs.”
The ideas flowed effortlessly into her mind, which she knew meant she was inspired by the Creator. She was never that direct on her own.
Mr. Mang puffed up his chest, apparently unsure if followi
ng the orders of a woman was the right thing to do. “I’m going to the fort to get help, now!”
Mahrree stepped up to him and wished she had a box to stand on to look him straight in the eye. Instead, she practiced her newest How to Intimidate Like Perrin strategy.
After she’d mastered an imitation of his command voice, he’d started a new trick: raising one eyebrow at his wife in challenge as if to say, Oh really? Mahrree had practiced trying to do that for hours as she stared into the small mirror in her bedroom. She’d hold down one eyebrow to get the other to rise upwards. At most she could manage a scowling look that gave the appearance of trying to launch an errant bedbug from her eyebrow.
But it was the best she could do, and she pulled it out of her meager arsenal now.
“Mr. Mang, do you smell smoke?” Her eyebrows moved in some sort of way. “Because I do. It’s coming from the center of the village. If you turn around you’ll see a plume rising and growing larger. That’s a fire, and it’s spreading. The village green tower probably has its yellow banner up, if it isn’t already burned to the ground. And I see orange banners calling for help at every tower. That fire will come to our neighborhood if every last soldier isn’t put to work on it. It would cause more destruction than this land tremor. Mr. Mang, do you really want to pull the soldiers away from that fire?”
Living almost sixteen years with an officer had rubbed off on her. If only women were allowed to be in the army, Mahrree was confident she could’ve made general by now.
Mr. Mang stared at Mahrree and her wiggling face, then glanced at the neighbors surrounding him.
None of them suggested an answer, but waited for his response. Who else was there to take orders from?
He released a deep breath before he said, “Mrs. Shin, where do you want me to begin?”
Oh yes. General indeed. That’s why women weren’t allowed to vote, run for magistrate, or be in the army, she’d concluded long ago. Women like her, who could suck down their private fears and put on public bravery, could take over the world. She wished she’d thought to take Perrin’s long knife out of the table in the eating room drawer. It would have looked impressive with its handle poking out of the top of her skirt.
But then again, in sixteen years she’d never dared touch it because she was all talk and no substance. Fortunately, only she knew that.
For the next several hours Mahrree, Jaytsy, and Peto, along with several other villagers, plodded from house to house recording who was there, who was injured, and what kind of damage had been sustained. Together they moved the injured to the safety of their front gardens, where neighbors attended to them until a village doctor could be located.
Mahrree acquired more volunteers as they progressed—people frantic to do something, and even more frantic for someone to tell them what that something was—and by midday meal time a large section of the north of Edge had been evaluated, rescued, and secured.
But Mahrree didn’t feel triumphant; only stunned. Hour after hour the enormity of this new reality sank in, weighing her down as if a boulder had been strapped to her back. She and her children walked carefully around each house, inspected each garden and road, and made crude maps on the paper. The number of new steam vents and cracks were startling. It seemed no road was void of new topography.
A few times Mahrree looked in the direction of the forest and wondered what was happening there. If it was inhospitable before, the forest might be impenetrable now. She saw new steam vents and smoke rising from areas that had been previously inactive. That could mean a variety of things: whoever might still be lurking there may now be dead, or moved on elsewhere, or were forced into the village to take refuge . . .
Once, Mahrree ventured a look at Mt. Deceit, the tallest peak down the range of jagged mountains that served as the northern border to the world. It was still intact, which she assumed meant it hadn’t yet “awakened” as the prophecy said, but from its snow-covered top rose a steady stream of steam or smoke, she couldn’t discern which. There were very few trees up there, so it couldn’t be another fire like the one that burned parts of the forest decades ago.
After a few seconds of watching it and fretting uselessly about what it could mean, she gulped and turned back to her task of mapping a new gap in the ground that was the width of her hand and several paces long.
As they worked that morning, Mahrree wondered if what Jaytsy had hoped for yesterday might not have come to pass, if maybe the rest of the world might be jarred back to some sense of thought again.
But why would a mere land tremor change anything, she cynically thought. Witness this morning: no one even tried to think of what to do for themselves, but clustered around anyone they assumed had some authority. And trusting whomever they thought had power was far more dangerous than acting for themselves.
But no one in Edge or anywhere else would ever believe that, because no one believed anything anymore. They just existed, waiting for the next entertainment or the next line of goods to come from Idumea. Edge, along with the world, had grown willfully stupid.
And as she moved from house to house, she saw further evidence of that. People sat on their front gardens weeping and not working. Others rushed into their creaking houses to retrieve useless trinkets and clothing that were more valuable to them than their lives.
And everywhere villagers were whining about why the commander of the fort hadn’t yet come by to personally rescue them.
To each complainer Mahrree said, “He’s rescuing someone else right now. You’re not hurt, so get up and help your neighbor who is!”
Horses and wagons from the fort speeding to the center of Edge passed the Shins frequently. Mahrree recognized Major Karna as he led the fire brigades back and forth, and she wished she could stop him and ask what was happening. The smell of fire was undeniable and the family tried not to think about whom it may be affecting or where their husband and father were.
In a small, sinister way that she was ashamed about, Mahrree rather hoped some of the finer shops were burning to the ground. At least those with an extraneous p or e somewhere. Maybe if Edgers did without their luxuries for a few weeks, they’d realize the luxuries never brought them happiness, but only a temporary euphoria of having got something. Then they’d have to get something again for the same feeling . . . Sometimes Edge was more insatiable than Peto at mealtimes.
But, her skeptical mind reminded, this event likely wouldn’t change anything. Big things rarely do. The tremor may stun people for a moment, like an unexpected slap across the face, but once the sting is gone everything sinks back to normal again.
As she progressed through the neighborhoods looking for ways to help, Mahrree experienced a variety of feelings. Horror for the widespread devastation—no house was untouched—then a strange yearning of hope, that maybe, just maybe, this land tremor would wake up everyone.
It seemed to do it a bit for Mr. Hegek. The Shins ran across him near one of the two-story, gray block school houses. He stood in front of it, his hands on his waist, staring up at a cracked window.
Mahrree sidled over to the director of schools. “Evaluating if we can have school tomorrow?”
He jumped a little in surprise and turned to her. “It’s remarkable! Look how well it held up. The only damage I see is that window up there. I must confess, I snuck through it looking for cracks, but didn’t see anything major.”
Mahrree blinked in surprise. “You actually went in?”
“I pushed on the walls first,” he defended himself. “I didn’t just blindly rush in there, you know. I do have a bit of common sense, Mrs. Shin.”
She smiled. “Well, not everyone here does. As for school?”
Mr. Hegek shook his head. “I’m cancelling it for a few weeks,” he told her, and Jaytsy and Peto emitted little cheers. “With this kind of mess, I think everyone needs to focus on cleaning up. The End of Year testing can be put off for a few weeks, I’m sure.”
Mahrree shook her head in wo
nder. “Mr. Hegek, you have more than a bit of common sense. Well done, sir!”
Hegek blushed at her praise. “Besides,” he said more quietly, “I’ve already told two families they can move into the lower classrooms, once the soldiers have deemed them safe. My neighbors lost everything, Mrs. Shin. My wife, son, and I dug them out of a pile of rubble this morning. The Administrators surely can forgive using their school building as a temporary home, don’t you think?”
Mahrree squeezed his arm. “Absolutely. Especially since none of us will tell them, right?”
She decided then that Mr. Hegek was the best thing that morning.
Because shortly after that, the Shins experienced the worst thing. They turned on to a road to see that several soldiers had stopped at a pile of rock and planking. Mahrree froze in her tracks when she realized that what looked like a pile of debris had been a house. No damage they’d come across had been as bad as that, yet.
A soldier jogged over. “Mrs. Shin, I don’t recommend you bring your children here. There are fatalities.”
Mahrree nodded and Peto asked quietly behind her, “Mother, what are ‘fatalities’?” The tone of his voice suggested he knew the meaning, but was hoping for some other definition.
Jaytsy began to weep silently. “I knew that family. They had a little girl, about ten.”
Mahrree tried to keep her voice calm. “Peto, it means the Creator has taken them to Paradise.”
“Oh,” Peto whispered.
“Six hours of working and I thought maybe Edge had been spared something worse. . .” Mahrree murmured. She felt the undeniable urge to sit down and begin weeping like so many she’d passed that morning.
How obtuse of her, she thought, to demand the villagers to get up and get moving, to do something about the devastation around them, to swallow down their terror—
Another soldier approached her, but Mahrree didn’t see him. Her eyes were blurring with the horror that people had died in their homes. Like a landslide, all the destruction of that morning started to pile on top of her.
“Mahrree,” the soldier said and gently placed a hand on her shoulder.
She recognized the voice of her favorite soldier and turned to him. Already Jaytsy was hugging him, and Peto punched his free arm in a nonchalant manner that carried the hope that his customary greeting would somehow make everything else normal as well.
Shem kissed Jaytsy on top of her head and ruffled Peto’s hair. Then he turned to Mahrree with his ever sweet and calm eyes. “Are all of you all right?” He looked each one of them up and down.
“Yes, we’re fine,” she sighed guiltily, her gaze shifting back to the ruined house. “Just seeing what we can do to help.”
“Go home,” he said softly, reading the emotion in her face. “Karna’s got the fire under control, Grandpy’s securing the southern part of Edge, so now we’re moving toward the northern houses to help Rigoff’s groups. Go home and . . . and . . .” He shrugged as ideas failed him.
“I am hungry, Mother,” Peto admitted as if he didn’t want to.
Mahrree sighed as she interpreted Shem’s expression. There was only more devastation ahead. His sky-blue eyes were clouding over with the images he’d seen that he didn’t want his claimed family to witness.
She nodded feebly at him. “Cooking. I need to start cooking, don’t I? You’re supposed to be by to eat. You missed steak last night,” she added absently. “There’s too much to clean right now. But I can cook.”
Shem squeezed her arm. “Consider that there may be many, many more who need dinner tonight. The lieutenant colonel said your house was in relatively stable condition, at least the larder. Whatever you can do for your neighborhood, Mahrree, you best start figuring out now. And Perrin told me to tell you he’ll be by later to check on you, so you better be where he expects you to be.”
Mahrree smiled at that. He’d sent Shem to find her. He was the only master sergeant messenger in the entire army, a task usually reserved for fast running privates, but he was always so much more than just their messenger.
She remembered the pages clutched in her hands. “Here,” and gave him her surveys. “This may help speed up your work.”
Shem sifted through the pages. “Perrin said you’d know what to do,” he said quietly. “Thank you. Now, go. Jaytsy, Peto—do what your mother says.”
Normally they rolled their eyes whenever their “uncle” sounded like their father, but not today. Peto nodded to him, and Jaytsy squeezed Shem one more time.
Shem patted Mahrree on the arm and turned to jog back to the destroyed house, but Mahrree needed one more thing.
“Shem!” she cried urgently. “My mother! Do you know anything about the Edge of Idumea Estates?”
He turned around and shook his head. “Got hit as hard as everywhere else. I’ll send someone to check on her for you, though, as soon as I can. All right?”
Mahrree nodded. “Thank you, Master Sergeant,” she remembered to call her ‘little brother’ by his formal title in public.
“Now, go home, before the colonel gets angry with us,” he ordered.
Seeing Shem always made her feel better, and hearing him shout commands to the soldiers moving debris gave her a surge of hope. Master Sergeant Zenos was on the job; it would be done right. Already he was handing out her surveys of damage to three smaller groups of soldiers, gesturing for them to start moving north.
“Be careful, Uncle Shem,” Jaytsy called quietly after him, knowing he couldn’t hear her, but still wanting to send the warning.
“Uncle Shem will be fine,” Peto declared, as if his words controlled the world. “He always is.”
Mahrree put an arm around each of her children and headed for home. She felt as if half of the landslide had just been lifted from her shoulders and placed securely on the strong back of Uncle Shem.
He’d be by later tonight, Mahrree was sure, with Hycymum. He’d check on her himself. That’s just what Shem Zenos did for them. Every illness, every injury, every family celebration, every Holy Day, Shem Zenos was there. When Perrin was gone training officers in other forts around the world, then-Sergeant Zenos put himself on guard duty at the Shins every night. He was theirs, even more than if he’d been born into their families. And Mahrree was still going to find him a wife.
As Mahrree, Jaytsy, and Peto slowly walked the several roads back to their house, evaluating the progress and stopping here and there to lend a hand, Mahrree talked to women whose houses weren’t too badly destroyed, those who could still retrieve supplies. By the time she reached her road a dozen women had committed to come by when they could make dinner for those who couldn’t, with whatever they could cobble together.
As they neared home, Mahrree was grateful to see Mrs. Hersh had watched over the Shins’ house as well as hers. The woman held a large stick which she used unnecessarily for walking, for occasionally prodding a rock, and for shaking at things. As Mahrree approached, Mrs. Hersh brandished the stick as if it were a sword, and waved it about with as much determination, but only for a few seconds because the piece of wood was rather heavy for the dumpy woman with very little arm muscle.
“There were a few of them skulking boys around here,” she said with an insulted huff. “But I shook this at them—”
She waved the stick experimentally again, and Mahrree took a cautious step backward in case the weight of the wood got the better of the middle-aged woman.
“—and I told them, ‘We’re not putting up with that kind of nonsense today. So go get a shovel and go be useful!’”
Mahrree clapped her hands. “Well done, Mrs. Hersh! And what did they do?”
Mrs. Hersh let the wood fall back into walking cane position, and behind Mahrree, Peto sighed dramatically in relief. “Why, they left, naturally. Scowled a bit, but slinked away with nothing to pad their pockets with.” She sniffed proudly. “Should sign me up to be a soldier.”
Mahrree patted her son behind her in warning, knowing he was about t
o snigger. But Mahrree saw something in the woman’s eyes that Peto wasn’t mature enough to recognize. Sometime during the morning the cowering thing had found her bravery in the form of a piece of kindling and her ability to do something. Mahrree hadn’t seen so much resolve in her neighbor in all the years they’d lived next to each other.
“Mrs. Hersh, if I could make it up to my bedroom, I’d retrieve for you one of my husband’s blue jackets and let you wear it today. I’ll be starting dinner soon for whoever in the area needs to eat. You’re certainly invited for standing guard all day.”
The woman smiled, waved the stick again, and Jaytsy snorted in worry. “Thank you, Mrs. Shin. I’ll continue patrolling the area until dinner, then.”
Mahrree saluted her as Mrs. Hersh snapped to some semblance of attention, and marched to the other side of her yard. Mahrree hoped Mrs. Hersh didn’t hear the stifled guffaws of her children.
“She’s doing us a service,” she told them as she tried to squelch her own giggle. “Nothing quite as fearsome as a female with a stick. And I’ve never seen her so determined. Good for her!”
Still, Mahrree rather preferred their guard was someone just a bit more threatening. She actually wished their old smelly dog Barker was still alive. They could’ve tied him up to the front door as a guard. It wasn’t as if he would have done anything to potential intruders except slobber on them, even though his drool was intimidating. But he had passed away almost two years ago, lovingly buried by Perrin, Peto, and Shem outside the fort walls, and Mahrree even surprised herself by shedding a few tears that he was gone.
But then again, on a day like today she’d be struggling just to feed her family and neighbors. Feeding an animal that weighed as much as her might not have been a wise use of resources.
Mahrree turned to her house with dread and hope. She’d put off thinking about its condition all morning, but now she had to face what she feared: that her beloved home might dissolve into a pile of rubble. She’d imagined it several times during the day when they saw other houses that appeared stable suddenly collapse, but she never allowed herself to linger on the thought. The home her father and the villagers helped build, and the additions Perrin put up—the thought of losing any of it was too much to bear. But now her mind was filled with the possibility.
“What do we do now?” Peto asked, eyeing his bedroom.
“What we’ve been doing all day,” Mahrree told him. “Try to evaluate if it’s stable. You two, stay back a way."
Jaytsy wrung her hands nervously as her eyes darted toward her parents’ bedroom, which was noticeably brighter and airier. One of their blankets flapped in the breeze like a volunteer emergency banner.
That blanket was too scratchy anyway, Mahrree thought dismissively as she inspected her house. A narrow fissure ran parallel to her house but didn’t turn to intersect the large flat stone that served as part of her foundation. She tentatively approached the back of her house, her children tiptoeing behind her.
Cautiously she put her hand on the back porch door handle and tugged. It was tighter than normal and she assumed the house had settled a bit, compacting the frame. She yanked open the door and jumped backward, in case the door was all that held up her house. Jaytsy and Peto, several steps behind her, gasped and held their breath.
They listened for any creaks or groans but heard nothing. Mahrree took a deep breath and stepped into the back porch and to the larder.
As quickly as she could she filled her arms with dried vegetables and beef. She walked it out quickly to the back door and into the waiting arms of her children, then went back to retrieve the ingredients for biscuits.
“What are we going to cook all of this in, Mother?” Jaytsy asked timidly.
“I need to go further in,” Mahrree said, picking up a sack of flour. She wished she had more goods in the cellar, which would have been safer to slip into. But at the beginning of Planting Season, her cellar along with everyone else’s was nearly empty. There were, however, plenty of slips of gold and silver hidden. It now seemed silly to have more than five year’s worth of metal stored when what they really needed was food.
“But Father said not to go back in!” her panicked daughter reminded.
“But I’ve asked the Creator if I can go back in,” Mahrree answered calmly.
“And what did He say?”
Mahrree paused. “Still waiting for an answer,” she admitted as she handed Peto the flour. “But I don’t feel too concerned, so I’m going to test the house. Stay back, both of you.” She stood on the back porch and faced the kitchen door.
Peto glanced at his sister and took two big steps back.
“Mother, this isn’t a good idea,” Jaytsy informed her.
“Thank you, daughter.” Mahrree glanced over her shoulder at Jaytsy. “I’ll remember you said that as I’m crushed by the stone.”
Jaytsy’s mouth fell open in horror.
“I’m joking! Goodness, I’m only joking. Still, step back, Jaytsy.”
Mahrree tried the door that led to her kitchen. It opened freely. Taking that as a good sign, she pushed experimentally on the door frame, then the stone walls around it. “If you’re going to come down, let me know so I have time to get out, all right?”
Several paces behind her in the back garden Jaytsy whimpered and Peto cleared his throat.
The house answered nothing.
Mahrree decided that was the answer she was looking for. “Here I come!” she announced and walked purposefully into her kitchen. Several cast iron pots were already on the ground, waiting. Their heaviness had dinged the wooden floor when they’d fallen out of the cabinets.
“That’s all right,” she told the house consolingly as she ran her finger into the grooves left by the pots. “It just adds character. We like character.”
She picked up the pots and placed them on the work table, then she tugged on a drawer which stuck before opening.
“But you always stick, don’t you.” Mahrree patted the drawer and retrieved several large spoons and a sharp knife. She took a handful of cloths and placed them in the pots, then rushed all of it out to Jaytsy and Peto.
“One more trip is all, I promise,” and she bounded back into the house, ignoring their shocked faces that once again she was going against the orders of their father and the Commander of Edge.
The house was still quiet, and she wanted to risk a look. In the kitchen she gently pushed on the door to the combined eating and gathering room. It stuck a little before giving way.
Mahrree held her breath to listen for any sound to signal it was all about to come down, but she was met with only safe silence.
She crept into the room and looked at the rock walls. Hairline cracks traveled throughout the mortar, but no rocks bulged in unfamiliar ways. She smoothed her hand along one wall, then the next and the next, past the staircase and the door to the study, the door to Jaytsy’s room, the front door, and around to Peto’s room then back to the kitchen door. All felt normal.
With each aftershock that morning, Mahrree had visions of her house collapsing. She’d half expected to come home to a pile of rock and wood, with bits of paper floating around like huge snowflakes.
Satisfied with the walls, she finally allowed herself to look at the piles of books scattered all along the floor. Those would be easy to clean up. Easier than her bedroom, which she decided not to consider. She and Perrin might be spending many nights down here until their roof was replaced.
Her gaze traveled up to the ceiling and the large oak timbers that supported the upper-level bedroom and adjoining attic. She smiled. There was no obvious structural damage, but wasn’t ready to climb upstairs just yet.
“Mother!” Jaytsy called frantically. “Are you still all right?”
“Yes, yes, just checking things here. I’ll be right out.” Mahrree patted the walls of her old house. “Better than blocks, you are, aren’t you? Good old house. If you haven’t come down yet, I’ll bet you won’t
at all. I’ll never abandon you!”
Then, on pure impulse, she gave a quick kiss to the largest stone next to her. Her father had placed that one, she was sure of it.
“Coming, children!”
---
It was a bad idea to irritate the Commander of Edge on a good day, but to annoy him on a terrible day like this one was near to suicide. Perrin could scarcely believe that his efforts to clear out the market place, now that the last of the fires was mere smolders, were interrupted by such an errand. But when he intercepted the message sent to one of his sergeants, he glared at the worried soldiers around him and said in a dreadful tone, “I’ll handle this one. Personally.”
He scowled as he rode up to the arena, erected a year before the incarceration building was expanded—and he always suspected there was a connection there. The arena took up the vast area of the village green where children used to play organizing their own teams, deciding their rules, and negotiating their problems. Now none of the children played unless some adult was paid to direct their every move, and in the evenings they sat with their parents watching adults play bizarre versions of “Tie Up Your Uncle” and blatantly cheat at kickball. That was why Perrin took his family a couple of times a week to the fort to play games with other families like Mr. Hegek and his wife and son, and with soldiers who were also perennially eleven-years-old, like Shem.
As he tied his horse to the hitching post he evaluated the structural integrity of the building. To his disappointment, it seemed quite sturdy. Then again, it was made by Idumean craftsmen to be a smaller replica of the massive arena in the middle of Idumea, which every village now wanted to emulate.
Perrin retrieved a length of rope from his tackle bag and strode up a corridor to where he heard shouts of disparagement and some ugly laughter. When he reached the rows of bleachers, he paused and glared at the cluster of thirty or so young men. They didn’t notice him because they were too busy mocking a friend who was on all fours in the dirt of the arena, with a bull slowly circling him.
“Come on!” one of the men called out, and Perrin remembered the plump pimply thing was one that washed out of his basic training, fortunately. “You’re supposed to climb that scaffolding, then swing out over the bulls, and land on that spinning thing over there. You’re not supposed to fall off the second rung of the scaffold!”
“I want my silver slips back!” another friend demanded. “Wait, we didn’t pay our silver yet, did we?”
“Because this isn’t entertaining. Release the other bulls!”
Perrin knew his boots were loud—he’d developed a way of thunking his heel when he needed his steps to sound particularly ominous. But even over the overgrown boys’ laughter, which sounded as if it was being helped along by a generous amount of mead—he wasn’t heard approaching until he was nearly on top of them.
“And WHAT do WE have HERE?”
Half of the young men fell off their bleachers in alarm, while the other half grinned and cheered.
“Ah, now we’ll get some action! Commander Shin—where are the entertainers? There’s supposed to be an obstacle course and bulls and molasses and feathers and girls—”
“Girls!” a few more men called loudly and looked around as if expecting them to materialize out of thin air.
“—but there’s just this, this, this nothing! Command something!”
Out of the corner of his eye Perrin noticed their friend under the scaffolding, looking a bit confused and slowly crawling toward a gate hoping the snorting bull wouldn’t notice the movement. Perhaps if the hapless contestant wasn’t belching so loudly, the bull wouldn’t be pawing the ground just now—
Perrin left his jeering friends and trotted down to the arena floor to use his little-known weapon: his ability to terrify steak. With one smooth movement he hopped over the stone and iron wall separating the bleachers from the action, and gestured for the crawler to come over to him.
“And get on your feet, for crying out loud,” he hissed at him. “The bull knows exactly where you are, and that you’re slower than frozen mud. I can see why he wants to trample you.”
Perrin strode past the now loping young man and stopped abruptly with his hands on his waist. He eyed the bull, which had stopped advancing.
“I remember the days when this field was filled with children playing their own games,” he grumbled. “Now adults sit around waiting for idiots to make up new ones.”
The bull snuffed, a tad unsure of itself.
Perrin always had that effect on livestock. He narrowed his squint. At least he had a ready audience in the form of a nervous animal. Mahrree always rolled her eyes whenever he got started, and reminded him that she, too, lived in Edge during the good old days, but didn’t remember them quite as well as he did.
“Used to make up our own entertainment,” he told the bull, which was shifting its eyes away from his. “Our own plays, songs, even had debates. What do you think of that, eh? People discussing things intelligently. And now look what we have here: me, lecturing a future roast.”
The animal took a few wary steps backward.
“And occasionally Idumea would send us broad-chested women who could sing so high the dogs were agitated for days, and skinny men who could make pyramids on top of each other, while juggling knives. Now that was entertainment,” he said with a grunt of satisfaction. “Never did learn how they did that. But now we settle for throwing our own drunks at someone’s cattle. Where’s the talent and skill in that?”
The bull slowly backed away as if embarrassed it had any thoughts of charging, or being involved in anything Perrin deemed unworthy.
“Where are the screaming girls, huh?” he glanced around. “Those loopy-eyed things that chant stupid rhymes to get the crowd excited about whatever’s about to happen here, but just get in the way of the action instead?”
The bull lowered his head and looked almost apologetic.
“It’s all right if you ate them,” Perrin said generously, taking a few more confident steps toward the middle of the arena. “Those girls are as bright as hay, I suppose. You shouldn’t be here either. Instead, you should be on my plate, thick and pink and sizzling.” He grinned as the bull backed all the way to the opposite wall.
Perrin nodded at it and noticed that the young man had scrambled to safety and was now sitting in the middle of his friends, fascinated. Perrin slowly backed up to the gate himself. The bull hugged the other side of the arena, waiting for the massive man to leave.
When Perrin climbed up the wall, it was to hear the cheers of the drunken young men.
“Now that was a show! Do it again. Scare some more bulls.”
“How do you do that? Can they smell you salivating or something?”
“Bullying bulls—is that an army thing? Slag, I shouldn’t have quit basic training.”
But Perrin wasn’t amused. “And just what do you think you’re doing here?” he repeated his earlier question.
The men looked at each other in surprise.
“And which one of you had the gall to send a message to my busy soldiers demanding that ‘The show must go on’?”
The men glanced blankly around, as if they thought that was a good idea, but now, in hindsight, maybe not so much . . . and whose idea was it anyway to insist the soldiers find the arena manager to get the scheduled entertainment on its way?
“There will be nothing interesting to watch here tonight,” Perrin intoned, “or any night, for a very long time.”
“Well what are we supposed to do?” one of men whined, while the others, a bit quicker on the uptake, tried vainly to hush him. But the cold smile on Perrin’s face told them they were too late, and he had a brilliant idea.
“What are you supposed to do?” He held up the rope and smiled grimly. “Five of you are going to take that beautiful piece of meat-on-the-hoof to the butcher’s on the south side of the marketplace. It’ll be easy to find because it’s the only building still standing there. Then, after th
e butcher turns that entertainment into meals for two neighborhoods, you’ll distribute the beef to those who have nothing to eat. The rest of you will follow me to do something more interesting,” he said, almost nastily. “It’s a new entertainment called Moving Rubble! And the loser will become my new best buddy tomorrow, going with me everywhere I go. No, no, no—don’t need to take off running. I have a dozen soldiers at the exits by now, ready to hand each of you a shovel and escort you to the areas of greatest need. Ah, nice to see you all so eager to get to work. And what do we have here, even more people looking for some entertainment? My, my, do I have plans for all of you . . .”
Chapter 3 ~ “My . . . my . . . my sofa!”