by Trish Mercer
“Young Pere, why are you telling me this?”
“I thought you’d want to know.”
Boskos and Lek glanced at each other before Boskos said, “But Young Pere, we already know this story.”
“What?!”
It was dark and no one was around them, but still they kept their voices low as they stood in the trees. The three of them had gone out in search of more firewood, but Young Pere had dragged his cousins over for a private meeting.
“Our family names have been slandered for years in the world,” Young Pere exclaimed, “And you knew about it?”
“Well, of course,” Lek told him in his mild manner. “They’ll tell you, too, once you become an adult and get married. They don’t want you to hear about it from anyone coming from the world.” He fidgeted, clearly uncomfortable. “It’s not like it’s a story I think often about, you know. My papa and your Muggah?” He frowned and shuddered.
“Besides,” Boskos said, “we don’t care what the world thinks.”
“Really? How can you say that?” Young Pere almost forgot to keep his voice down. “Doesn’t it bother you that the world thinks your father is the worst traitor who ever lived?”
“No, because I know in a way it’s true,” Lek said simply. “And he was right to do what he did.”
Young Pere groaned. “I’m not talking about his getting people out for all those years, I’m talking about the other reason he was a traitor.”
Boskos rubbed his cheeks. “Look, I hated that story when I first heard it a few years ago from Papa and Mama, and I never wanted to hear about it again.”
“I agree,” Lek said. “It made me feel sick to my stomach just considering something that never happened.”
“That’s why we need to fix it!” Young Pere said. “We have to kill that story so it never hurts anyone ever again! Haven’t you ever wondered why the army refugees have such a hard time with Shem Zenos and Mahrree Shin? Shouldn’t that be fixed?”
“It is fixed, Young Pere,” Lek said. “After a few weeks, I don’t see any problems with anyone who’s come.”
“That’s what they say, but that’s not what they feel,” Young Pere insisted. “Mrs. Yordin told me there are a few from the world who she’s already met who still don’t fully trust your father or my grandmother. They’re just faking it.”
Boskos threw up his hands. “That’s what, maybe a dozen people? So what? We know what kind of people they really are, and so does the Creator. He’ll make everything right in the end. It’s not our place to worry about it.”
Lek eyed his cousin. “What do you think you could do to fix it, Young Pere?”
He looked askance as he said, “Not sure yet. But I’m working on it.”
Lek and Boskos exchanged glances.
“Young Pere, nothing needs to be done,” Lek told him. “We’re happy here, our parents and grandparents are happy—”
“Are you sure?” Young Pere stopped him. “How does Aunt Calla feel about all of this?”
Boskos and Lek looked at each other again.
“She knows,” Boskos said. “She helped tell me the story, and she didn’t seem to care. Mama and Aunt Mahrree have been the best of friends for as long as I can remember.”
“We don’t need to discuss this anymore, Young Pere,” Lek declared. “Nothing good can come from talking about an old lie.”
“So you don’t think I should tell the others tonight?” Young Pere asked.
“No!” both brothers said loudly.
The three of them looked around to see if anyone might have heard.
The rest of the family was sitting around the campfire singing one of Lilla’s songs about a lovelorn porcupine.
“Young Pere, all of the older grandchildren already know,” Lek said. “The younger ones will be burdened with these horrible images as they mature, too. Obviously our parents and grandparents think this is the best way to reveal to us things that never even happened, and I feel bad for them that the world makes them have to do this. It just reinforces for me how small and petty the world is, that it’ll make up stories just to feel better about themselves. They’re like children. Deplorable, snotty children.”
Boskos smiled at that evaluation. “I agree. This isn’t your place, Young Pere. Mrs. Yordin shouldn’t have said so much to you. Realize, she’s a bit unstable—”
Young Pere rolled his eyes dramatically.
Lek sighed. “The poor woman. She must’ve seen a lot of horrible things in the world. Of course she’d believe those stories.” He glanced over at Boskos. “You’ve helped Dr. Toon with some of those soldiers who have come from the world, with some of their diseases. So . . . do people really act like that in the world? Doing . . . stuff . . . without marriage?”
Young Pere almost smirked at his cousin’s obvious discomfort. Lek was such a gentle, quiet man who couldn’t imagine anyone doing anything remotely out of bounds. Maybe that’s why Young Pere could never connect with him.
“According to Mrs. Yordin,” Young Pere said, “apparently they do. A lot. There aren’t even marriage laws anymore, remember?”
Boskos sighed. “That’s true, and it’s a big problem. These former soldiers have ailments we don’t have in Salem. Dr. Toon is pretty sure the infections come from . . .” He hesitated, trying to find an appropriate way to put it so as to not shock his older brother. He finally came up with, “Multiple random matings.”
Lek and Young Pere stared for a moment before the light dawned.
“Seriously?!” Lek whispered, aghast. “But . . . why?”
Boskos shrugged. “Dr. Toon doesn’t ask too many questions about that, but we’ve talked about it in our class and we came up with some theories. It seems people in the world don’t see intimacy the way we do. It’s an animalistic instinct they think has to be acted upon.”
Lek sat back in disgust. “Like the cattle? Standing out in the field then feeling the need to—”
“Seems so. They’re trying to satisfy urges. Or they’re bored, and it’s casual entertainment. They don’t see intimacy as more than that.”
Lek’s gentle demeanor dropped. “That’s not even intimacy, Bos! Intimacy is when you join your soul and heart and all that you are with the one person you have chosen to love! When the two of you combine your fears and hopes and bodies and thoughts and lives—”
His brother and cousin stared at him as he gestured wildly. No one would’ve suspected that Lek Zenos had a passionate side.
Except for maybe Salema.
“You . . . you . . . you share your vulnerabilities with each other! You trust each other to keep that vulnerability safe. You—”
“Lek, calm down,” Boskos whispered, taken aback to see such a display from Lek. “I know that as well as you do. There may be very few people in the world who know what I feel when I look at Noria, or when you look at Salema.” Boskos watched his agitated brother. “This is going to be a long week for you, isn’t it? Away from her?”
“These weeks always are, Bos,” Lek sighed and shook out his shoulders. “So, the people in the world with their random—” He chose not to finish the phrase. “What do they get out of it?”
“Not what they’re looking for,” Boskos said. “That’s part of the problem with those from the world. There’s great heaviness and sorrow in many of them that they refuse to confront. Dr. Toon thinks that by so many . . . encounters they hurt more than simply their bodies. They feel something is missing in their lives, an emptiness. They try to fill that with another body they don’t love and don’t commit to. But that fills them only for a moment, and then the emptiness is even greater. Then they think, ‘Maybe I did it wrong. Maybe I need to try someone else.’ So they do it again, gratify the urge and emptiness for a few minutes, then fall even deeper into darkness. No matter how many times they do it wrong, it’ll never feel right. The few women Dr. Toon has worked with suffer from depression and even self-loathing. But the men manifest anger and cynicism that’s unheard of in Salem. Th
ere’s little he can do medically for that.”
“So what does he do for them?” Lek asked.
“He says that it’s an illness of the soul, not the body. Some he recommends to talk to their rector,” Boskos said. “But for the most troubled men, he tells them there’s only one man in Salem who can help them find their way to the Creator to be healed.”
“Papa?” Lek guessed.
Boskos nodded.
“I’m beginning to see something, Young Pere,” Lek said. “I suspect that the men who still distrust Shem Zenos are the same ones who Dr. Toon sends to him. It can’t be easy to confess all that’s causing darkness in your life. It’s easier to think the man who could help you isn’t capable of doing it, that’s he’s just as loathsome as you are.”
Young Pere was unconvinced, of a great many things. “Maybe.” He had to try one more time. “Just consider this—remember when they were talking about Thorne? The soldier your father could have killed? He’s one of them behind the story! Puggah told me just this afternoon that he should have let Thorne die instead of saving him, and now we know your father could have done the same thing. He’s in charge of the northern half of the world, now, but there’s something that—”
“Should not worry us,” Lek finished.
“But it was because of him they had to come to Salem!”
“For which I am very grateful!” Lek’s rarely-seen passion flared again. “None of us would be here if they hadn’t. If my father ever feels the need to bring General Thorne here, I’ll be sure to thank him for chasing the Shins and Briters out so Salema would be raised here and could become my wife.”
Young Pere sat back against a tree. “You just don’t get it.”
“I don’t,” Lek agreed.
“Neither do I,” said Boskos. “Look, Young Pere, I’m not sure why this bothers you so much. Why don’t you talk to our papa about it?”
Young Pere scoffed at that.
“Young Pere,” Lek said gently, “What do you want from us?”
“Nothing,” he said in frustration. “Nothing at all. We best get back before Fennic or Toli wake up.”
---
Perrin, seated on a log with his leg elevated near the fire, watched his grandson and nephews return from the trees, each with additional logs. The song had mercifully ended and now a few boys were trying to decide which to sing next.
The three young men, seemingly without wanting to, glanced at Perrin, then their eyes rested on Shem for a moment. Something flickered across their faces as they looked away and put their wood on the pile.
Shem hadn’t noticed them because he was talking with Deck. But their glances put Perrin to wondering.
Lek and Boskos checked on their two sleeping sons, and Perrin watched as Young Pere took a spot behind Hogal to whisper something in his younger brother’s ear. A mischievous look grew on his face, and Perrin decided to keep an eye on whatever was developing.
He glanced at the rest of the young men and boys around the fire. Sam, Con, and Wes were in a quiet discussion which Lek joined.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed all four of them glance over at him. Perrin hid his smirk, because he still needed to have his, “So, you’re marrying my granddaughter,” talk with Wes. He’d planned to do it on the last day, but maybe tomorrow, while he hobbled along, might be better.
Five-year-old Briter Zenos got up and walked dejectedly over to Perrin, kicking up dust as he went. He stood in front of his Puggah and moped.
“You look like a man with a problem, Briter,” Perrin said.
“I do.”
“And so you’ve come to me?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Why?”
“So you’ll fix it.”
Perrin smiled. “Briter, do you know anything about the chain of command?”
“No.”
“Well, Briter, it goes like this: when you have a problem, you go to the person right above you. That would be your papa. Did you talk to him yet?”
Briter shook his head. “He can’t fix it.”
“Ah. You’re sure? Well, then you go to the next in the chain of command. You have two grandfathers here. Did you try Grandpa Deck?’
Briter shook his head again. “No good.”
Deck looked over at his grandson. “No good?”
“Not with this, Grandpa Deck,” he said sadly.
Deck shrugged.
Now everyone around the fire had stopped talking and were watching the exchange between Briter and Puggah.
“So if Grandpa Deck can’t help you, what about Grandpa Shem?” Perrin suggested. “He’s in charge of all of Salem. If he can’t help you—”
Briter was already shaking his head at his Grandpa Shem. Shem gave him a disappointed, pouty face back.
“Only you, Puggah,” Briter said with big eyes.
Perrin smiled. “Well, I’m flattered, Briter. But if you need help finding ‘the tree’ in the dark, that’s where you ask your papa—”
Briter shook his head. “I just use any tree.”
Several of the older boys grimaced and looked around for whatever tree may have been most convenient, hoping they weren’t leaning against it.
Perrin chuckled. “So Briter, I’m now very curious as to what it is that only I can help you with.”
Briter stepped carefully over Perrin’s injured leg and leaned against the knee of his good leg. He sighed loudly, as if ready to pour out his heart.
“It’s this: Cephas won’t let me steal his hotness.”
Perrin blinked. “Say that again?”
“Cephas won’t let me steal his hotness!”
Perrin scratched his head, a confused smile on his face. To Cephas across the fire, he said, “Care to interpret?”
“He wants to sleep with me, Puggah,” Cephas explained. “He thinks it’ll be cold tonight, so he wants to sleep with someone who will keep him warm.”
“Ah,” Perrin said, starting to chuckle. “‘Steal hotness?’” To his great-grandson he said, “And why won’t your Uncle Cephas let you steal his hotness?”
“Kicky legs,” Briter moped.
Perrin raised an amused eyebrow in question to his grandson.
“He kicks all the time,” Cephas said. “I slept with him last year and got bruised.”
Perrin grinned in understanding and turned back to his great-grandson. “Muggah has kicky legs, too. But she thinks it’s me, not her. And so you want me to . . . do what?”
Briter stood tall, put his hands on his waist and puffed up his chest. “Order him, General!”
Briter’s determination and the one eyebrow that shot up was more than Perrin could stand. He threw back his head and laughed.
Briter’s face softened, because surely an order was imminent. He turned triumphantly and glared at his uncle Cephas.
Everyone burst out laughing at his resolute stance. Briter turned back to his Puggah, leaning carefully on Perrin’s good leg and regarded him with proud eyes.
But something burned in Perrin’s heart. It caught him so much by surprise that he almost gasped. He stopped laughing and took Briter’s face in his hands. Something was so familiar about that moment, about that face. And it wasn’t just because every feature of Briter was either a copy of himself or Shem. He barely dared to glance up at the other smiling and chuckling faces around him.
Because he had seen this before. Because he’d lived this moment before—
Then it hit him.
Idumea.
The night he buried his parents. He dreamed.
Just before he felt his parents next to him, he was dreaming about a small child saying something amusing. There were many more people behind him, all familiar somehow . . . would be familiar. Are familiar.
He remembered in the dream that he tried to take control of it, to see if there was a large house behind him like in Mahrree’s dreams.
That was when it all shifted. He had been talking to Hogal Densal that night, the
n he spent time with his parents . . .
And then he had that dream so many more times that year. So often the Guarders had invaded his sleep, and only with the Creator’s help—and the memory of that little face which he now cradled in his large hands—could he force them away. For seasons he had searched for that face in Edge, the one that he remembered only hazily from his dreams, the face that had given him hope to carry on. He never found it, but he remembered it and clung to it.
It was a promise of something different.
And now, after so many years, that face suddenly came sharply into focus. Indeed, the entire dream that buoyed him so often was playing out in front of him. The little boy before him, the cheerful laughter beyond him, the mass of people who were all his—
The familiarity was so overwhelming he could hardly breathe.
Nor could he fight the tears that welled in his eyes. He smiled at that face. Despite his growing out of his baby-ness, Briter’s cheeks were still perfectly squishy.
It was all too much, but Perrin knew he had to say something to the patiently waiting child.
“I have an idea,” Perrin whispered as a tear leaked unnoticed down his cheek. “Go get your pillow and blanket, and come sit with me. I have some hotness to share.”
“Really?”
Perrin nodded and gruffly cleared his throat. Another feeling overwhelmed him and he wished the firelight wasn’t so bright on his face. He couldn’t hide the emotion that came with the knowledge that poured over his soul.
He had made it.
He had made it to where he was supposed to be, to where the Creator wanted him to be. That night so long ago in Idumea he was sure that he was to stay and investigate his parents’ death. He was sure of so many things he only later learned he was completely wrong about.
But that night, long ago, he had listened. He’d been on the wrong path, and the Creator had granted him a glimpse of what his life was supposed to be.
And again, so many times that year, and even a few times later, Perrin recalled that image where he sat with people of all ages that were somehow his. He didn’t realize it then but the dream was like a marking on a tree, assuring him he was on the right path, to keep going to the correct destination.
And tonight, after twenty-nine years, he realized this was his legacy. He’d done the Creator’s will. And he didn’t even have the strength to get up and find a quiet stand of trees to properly thank the Creator.
He wiped his face and watched with blurry vision as Briter gathered his blanket and pillow and rushed back to his side. Perrin grinned as the boy with such familiar features that Mahrree and Calla joked he should have been named “Sherrin” stood eagerly before him.
“I won’t kicky your leg, I promise.”
“That’s all right. I’m sure you’ll do your best.”
“Because it hurts, doesn’t it?”
“A little.”
Briter nodded. “That’s why you’re crying. That’s all right. I cry too when I get hurt.”
Perrin smiled and wiped his eyes again. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Get Grandpa Shem to help us get my bed ready, then we can lay down.”
---
Young Pere watched as his cousin’s son talked with Puggah. But he wasn’t laughing at Briter’s little soldier-man impersonation. He was watching his grandfather. Why he was wiping his eyes was a complete mystery. He glanced over at his father.
Peto watched Perrin with a bemused expression as well, but smiled at Perrin’s unexplained and unusual emotion.
Young Pere sighed.
General Perrin Shin was weak.
---
“Doing all right, Perrin?” Shem asked as he stared at the stars above them.
Perrin laid on his bedroll nearby. Their five-year-old descendant was sprawled between them, fast asleep, with Perrin’s injured leg on the opposite side of his kicky legs grandson, just to be safe. Briter’s left hand was on his Grandpa Shem’s chest, his right hand on his Puggah’s.
“I’ll be doing better when everyone finally settles down and we can get some sleep,” Perrin whispered back.
Shem chuckled softly. “It’s always hard the first night to get everyone down before midnight. Just too much excitement. By the last night they’ll be falling asleep in their dinners.”
“Like Ensio? Sam didn’t even notice for a few minutes.”
The two men laughed softly.
“No, Shem. I’m doing very well.”
“Good. Because I couldn’t help but notice tonight you’ve been a little . . .” Shem paused. It didn’t seem appropriate to use ‘emotional’ with Perrin, but no safer words presented themselves.
“I know,” Perrin said, preventing him from having to finish the sentence. “Shem, does it ever hit you, I mean really hit you, just what we have?”
“It does, Perrin. Often when I least expect it. Out of the sky it smacks me: joy.”
“That’s it exactly,” Perrin whispered. “Look at us—sleeping under the stars with our grandson between us. Would you ever have imagined this in Edge?” his voice trembled. “It’s just too much.”
Shem chuckled softly. “Remember when Mahrree said that? After you came back from Idumea and she saw for the first time her repaired house? Too many miracles.”
“And they kept coming, Shem.”
“Yes, they did,” Shem said, patting his grandson’s hand. He glanced over and saw that Perrin was doing the same thing. Perrin chuckled when he realized they were copying each other.
“It’s been a fantastic life, Shem,” said Perrin as he looked deep into the dark and glittering cosmos. After a moment he said, “I’ve been thinking about the night of that first Guarder attack on Edge, when you were hurt. You don’t remember this, of course, but I had sent out soldiers looking for Mahrree. She had taken off to her mother’s. I was in such a panic, and furious that she didn’t obey my order to stay at home.
“When she finally was found and brought to me, I was so angry with her. But Hogal Densal was there. He made me kiss and hug her, in front of everyone. But I didn’t let him watch me kiss her. I always felt bad about that. Then he said something I couldn’t understand at that time. He said, ‘Now I can die a happy man.’ I wondered, when I was thirty-one, how someone could actually say they were ready to die happily. Shem, I now understand him.”
Shem was silent for a moment. “Are you planning to . . . go somewhere?”
Perrin chuckled. “No, Shem, I’m not. I have plans for the next fifteen years, then I’ll make some more for the next five after that. It’s only that I realized that there comes a time when you can look back on your life and feel a sense of fulfillment that you’ve done all that you were supposed to. That you know the Creator is satisfied with what you’ve accomplished.”
“If there’s anyone He’s satisfied with,” Shem said quietly, “it’s certainly you.”
“I could never have made it without you, you know. You’ve taught me so much. You always were my guide and the best brother a man could have.”
“Stop it, Perrin, or you’ll make me cry.”
“I just wanted to say . . . thanks.”
Shem sniffed. “I told you to stop it.”
“You’re so easy, you know that? The challenge is to make you not cry.”
The men chuckled.
“Hey,” they heard a weary voice. “Some of us are trying to s-l-e-e-p, here.”
Perrin looked over at Deck who was patting Cambo’s three-year-old son. Little Decker lifted his groggy head and dropped it again on his small pillow. He wanted to sleep with Grandpa Deck, but didn’t want to fall asleep and miss it.
“Sorry, Deck,” Perrin whispered. But he didn’t know why he bothered. Across the fire the teenage boys were huddled together sharing stories that made them laugh out loud. A little way beyond them were the young husbands with some of their sons sleeping between them at the covered shelter. They were also in deep discussion, but quietly.
Perrin loved wat
ching them, grateful that none of them were soldiers but were instead farmers, stone cutters, shepherds, ranchers, and builders.
Perrin moved Briter’s hand to the ground and rolled clumsily to his side to better see the young men, and maybe work out what they were talking about.
Wes was sitting with them, wide-eyed. Lek held up his hand and made a violent action like a rough cutting motion.
Perrin’s face contorted as he fought back his laugh. He knew that movement. It was the same one that drew a terrified look from Jaytsy’s would-be admirers at The Dinner in Idumea. The description also had a profound effect on his new grandson-in-law, too, after Salema married him. Lek had an excellent memory.
Wes’s eyes bulged while Sam and Con stifled nervous snickers.
Cambo, Bubba, and Holling Briter; Relf and Barnos Shin; and Boskos Zenos all stared at Lek, open-mouthed.
Lek whispered something else, and the young men turned at the same time to stare at Perrin.
He pretended to be asleep, but watched them through the slits of his eyelids.
“He really said that to you?” Perrin could read Cambo’s lips slowly moving. “He didn’t say anything like that to me before I got married.”
“You weren’t marrying his granddaughter, were you?” Con said quietly. “I was just glad Sam gave me a warning before I was called into the general’s office for our little pre-wedding ‘chat’!”
“No wonder why you didn’t dare talk to him,” Boskos whispered to Lek. “I couldn’t figure that out, why you were suddenly afraid of Uncle Perrin.”
Lek whispered something to Wes that Perrin couldn’t make out.
Sam and Con patted him encouragingly on the back, and Wes sat a little taller, as if he were a timid soldier taking courage before going off to his first battle at dawn.
Maybe he’d go easy on poor Wes, Perrin considered. After all, Wes had already heard the threat of what Perrin would do to him with a long knife if his granddaughter ever came home weeping because her husband mistreated her.
The young married men started to lie down for the night and Perrin slowly rolled to his back.
“Perrin!” Shem whispered harshly.
He winced. If he could see the young men, Shem likely could too.
“So that’s what you said to my son?” Shem whispered, barely able to keep his voice under control. “My timid, tender-hearted boy—you threatened him with the Guarder suicide ritual? How could you do that to those boys?”
Perrin smiled apologetically. “Just making sure they know how much my girls mean to me,” he whispered back.
He glanced over to Shem and saw him shaking his head in disgust. Perrin made a quiet noise in his throat. Shem looked over at him. Perrin gave him a complicated look. Shem smiled reluctantly, nodded, and waggled his eyebrow. Perrin was forgiven.
Loud laughter from across the fire startled them as the teenaged and younger boys roared again at whatever Young Pere had said.
Shem groaned and rolled over on to his belly to face the boys. “Young Pere!” he hissed across the fire. “It’s late. Your grandfather needs to rest. Finish the story in the morning.”
“Uncle Shem, I’m almost done.”
Shem held up his finger in admonishment.
“All right . . . one more minute?” Young Pere asked.
Shem growled quietly.
“I promise.”
Shem rolled on to his back and grunted softly at Perrin.
He looked over at him.
Shem didn’t look back, but instead reached over Briter and put something in Perrin’s hand. Two small, sharp pinecones.
Perrin grinned into the dark. Shem turned to him. Perrin twitched his nose. Shem twitched back the distance. Perrin smirked. Shem smirked back the trajectory. Perrin raised an eyebrow. Shem raised back the direction. Perrin winked. Shem winked back.
None of the boys saw where the pinecone came from, but they all saw it hit Young Pere on top of his head.
“Ow! Who did that?” demanded Young Pere, looking around. He didn’t expect the next pinecone to come over the top of the fire in a high arc either, so he didn’t know it was headed straight for him until he looked up at the right moment for the pinecone to hit him squarely on the forehead.
“Hey!”
Shem rolled over again. “Young Pere!” he said sternly, “Enough of your noise. Get to sleep now. All of you!”
Young Pere glared at him accusingly.
Shem held up his empty hands, then put a finger to his lips and tipped his head at Perrin to indicate that he was asleep.
Young Pere looked over at his father who was sitting on the far side of the fire with his nephew Cephas and sons Nool and Hogal, talking quietly. He clearly wasn’t in a position to throw the pinecones, and Peto nodded a firm good night.
Frustrated, Young Pere went to his bedroll.
Shem rolled and turned back to Perrin, scrunching his mouth: Excellent shots.
Perrin wrinkled his nose: Of course. Excellent directions.
The two men shook in quiet laughter until they fell asleep.
Chapter 11--“Those are the greatest soldiers we’ve ever produced.”