Flight of the Wounded Falcon

by Trish Mercer

The good thing about a large family, Mahrree decided later that week, is that there’s always something going on to keep the mind occupied.

  The entire family, all of the Hifadhis—of which there was a medium-sized army—and nearly every person in the rectory came together for Hycy and Wes’s wedding. It was wonderful to have everyone together again for a happy event.

  Before Hycy and Wes left that evening for their new home, a half a mile beyond Deck’s grazing lands, the immediate family gathered around the boulder that Relf recently finished but covered with a sheet.

  Peto did the honors of removing the cloth and the family gasped in amazement at the precise carvings on the boulder.

  Perrin Shin

  291-363

  Beloved Son

  Husband

  Father

  Grandfather

  Great-grandfather

  Brother

  Uncle

  Friend

  Puggah

  Son of the Creator

  “It’s marvelous, Relf,” Mahrree breathed. “Truly beautiful!”

  Relf blushed proudly, then gestured to the smaller rock next to the boulder. “Did you see that, too?”

  Mahrree leaned over to see the marker for The Cat and grinned. “Perfect, Relf!”

  “And one more,” he said, lifting another rock that he had just finished. It read:

  In memory of Clark, a decent horse

  Mahrree chuckled at it.

  “These gave us an idea, Muggah,” Relf’s wife Mattilin said. “Tonight might be a good time for it, since everyone’s here. My father gave me these pigments,” she said, reaching behind the boulder and pulling out a bucket. “He loves to paint as a hobby and these paints are weather-proof.” She looked at Relf to continue.

  “Muggah, we thought maybe everyone could put their names on a rock,” Relf explained. “As you can see, we still have quite a pile near the boulder. Then we can place the rocks around the boulder and . . . always be with Puggah.”

  Mahrree already was teary-eyed. “Then it will be perfect.”

  Half an hour later every child, grandchild, great-grandchild—with help—and spouse had painted their names on rocks and placed them around the boulder. Some went on top, others in crevices, and many others underneath in the shadow of the enormous stone.

  The sun was just setting as the last stone, with a toddler footprint next to the name of Jaysie, was placed in a crack next to her father Holling’s and her mother Eraliz’s rocks.

  Jaytsy stepped back and smiled. “It seemed so lonely before, but not anymore.”

  The boulder was now surrounded by rocks roughly the size of kickballs, with different styles of handwriting, and some with small handprints and footprints. Some names were painted carefully, some more artfully, others sloppily, but each distinctly.

  The entire family, forever together.

  “Mahrree,” Lilla said, “you told me once about rock gardens in the world. I can’t imagine any looked as warm as this one!”

  Mahrree put her arm around Mattilin. “Please let your father know I’d like him to come by and see this, so I can thank him personally. It must have taken him a long time to create all that pigment for us.”

  “Not really, Muggah,” Mattilin assured her. “Besides, his uncle was one who went to the world as a scout but didn’t return when he should have. Years later he came home, right past Edge. My father always wanted to thank Colonel Shin somehow for making it possible to restore their family.”

  Only two days after the wedding, Cephas celebrated his eighteenth birthday, and three days after that, on the 10th Day of Harvest, it was Young Pere’s birthday. Mahrree made Grandmother Peto’s cake recipe twice that week for each boy, now officially a man. Soon they would make their announcements about their futures.

  Mahrree already had a pretty good idea what Cephas wanted to do. When the university started up again, he signed up for geography and botany classes. He spent many afternoons in his grandfather’s office reading old files, and Mahrree often joined him to talk about Perrin’s past plans and concerns before Cephas went to spend time with Peto helping him calculate how much wood and supplies would be needed to replace all of the crates in each of the nine emergency storehouses.

  As much as she was pleased with Cephas’s desire to be his Uncle Peto’s assistant, she worried about Young Pere. He signed up for anatomy and herb use classes, but when Mahrree asked him how the first week of university went, he merely said, “Fine, Muggah.” He vanished for hours after his classes only to turn up at dinner time, then sequester himself in his bedroom. The only explanation he gave for his absences was, “I just need to think.”

  It was what he was thinking about that worried Mahrree so much, because he wasn’t sharing any of his thoughts with her.

  ---

  “Now,” Eltana called through the closed door, “open it and walk in here like a proper officer.”

  The door opened, and Young Pere strode in confidently just as Mrs. Yordin had instructed him: chest out, shoulders back, gaze fixed. It was easy. He always walked like that.

  “Good, good,” she said as he circled the room. “Now, the salute. Come to attention and . . . well done. You should—what in the world did you just do?”

  “Added a roguish wink,” he smiled. “You know, to project self-assurance?”

  Eltana tapped her foot and put her hands on her hips. “A roguish wink. In the army. And just what exactly do you think that’s going to get you?”

  “Um,” he faltered, surprised she didn’t think it was charming.

  “Yes, that’s what I thought,” she snapped. “I’ll tell you what it’ll get you—one of three possibilities. First, a smack across the face from your commanding officer. Two, beat up by your commanding officer. Or three, taken behind the barn by other soldiers for activities you really don’t want to know about. There are no women in the army, but they make do.”

  He narrowed his eyes, confused.

  Eltana shook her head sadly. “You really are so naïve, aren’t you?” To the wall she murmured, “I don’t think he’s going to be ready. How can he know the ways of the world? Slagging idiot—”

  “Mrs. Yordin,” he interrupted her foray into muttering to herself, as she frequently did. “I’m sorry, but isn’t this why we’re having these lessons each day? To teach me what’s appropriate and what isn’t in the world?”

  She eyed him. “Do you know what slag is?”

  Surprised at her change in topic, he said, “It’s what’s left over after smelting iron—”

  “It’s the most derisive term in the world!” she hissed. “You haven’t done your homework, have you? Yesterday I gave you a list of terms and phrases, and you should have recoiled to hear an ‘esteemed woman’ such as myself using such language as slagging! Back in your grandmother’s day, women pretended they didn’t know what the term meant, and if any woman called someone a ‘slagging son of a sow,’ it was grotesque indeed! Nowadays, though, it’s no big deal. Everyone under forty curses like a soldier, and everyone older than forty does so under their breath. Do you even know what a son of a sow is?”

  He hesitated. “Well, a sow is a pig, so her son—”

  “Is the most repugnant and vile creature in the world!” she barked. “And should anyone call you that, you best be prepared!”

  “Prepared . . . how?”

  “To be appropriately stunned, to offer an apology if necessary, or to throw a punch if called for. And to not wink roguishly!”

  “Sorry, that time was an involuntary eye twitch—”

  “Study, Lieutenant Shin!”

  “I am,” he insisted. “I’m not only taking your lessons, but I’ve got four courses at the university. Boskos coerced me into taking anatomy, and there are a lot more body parts than head, arms, legs, and gooey bits on the inside.”

  She stared at him for a full fifteen seconds before saying, “You think that was funny, don’t you. You think you’re clever.”


  He sighed. “Well . . . yes?”

  She threw her hands up in the air.

  “Look, look,” he said genially, catching her gently by the shoulder and smiling in that way his grandfather always did.

  It nearly worked on her.

  “I was just trying to get you to smile. I am learning a lot, and I will be ready in two moons when the next scouting party goes down to Sands. I’ve seen the list my father has of what the scouts learn before they head into the world, and we’re covering all of it, I assure you. In fact, I think you’re a better teacher than Woodson, because you’ve lived for the past fifty years—”

  “Sixty-seven,” she interrupted, slightly flattered that he made her so much younger.

  “Well, you’ve been in the world, and you really know the army. Trust me, Mrs. Yordin. I can do this. You’ll be very impressed, I’ll get all the studying done, and I’ll even come up with a viable story to allow the scouts to let me go with them, without Uncle Shem’s knowledge.” He gripped both of her shoulders. “It’ll be amazing for all of us, I promise you.”

  She stared deep into his dark eyes and said, “You’re so full of yourself, aren’t you? So cock-eyed sure you can handle anything thrown your way?”

  “Yes, I am,” and that time, he meant the roguish wink.

  “Oh, Perrin,” she sighed, part in hopelessness, part in pleasure. “Sometimes I’m not sure what to think about you.”

  “You think,” he said in a manner which bordered on being coy, “that you’re going to give me the list of officers you knew, with their descriptions, and what I should say to them. I’ll study it, I promise.”

  Again Mrs. Yordin rolled her eyes. “You really think the world’s going to roll over for you like a submissive dog.”

  “Why shouldn’t it? I’m Perrin Shin’s grandson.”

  “The world’s not so simple, Young Perrin,” she sighed. “You told me once that Salem is dull. And you’re right—it is. Delightfully dull. After such a life in the world, I’m more than happy to be bored here. But while you think Salem is a 1 and the world is a 10, it’s actually a 78. You’re wildly underestimating the world, and while you study and walk and salute, I have grave doubts that you’ll be able to pull this off.”

  Then she said the words which wiped the smirk right off his face.

  “Maybe Sergeant Major Zenos is right: you shouldn’t go into the world.”

  Young Pere released her shoulders and took a deep, angry breath. That’s what they all always said—he couldn’t do it, he wasn’t ready, he shouldn’t do it.

  And now Eltana Yordin was saying it, too.

  It was enough.

  Doing his best to still be respectful, the words slid out dangerously between his clenched teeth. “I can do it. I can go into the world and snatch it away from Thorne. The plan will work. I will ‘transfer’ into Sands as a new lieutenant, I will gain their confidence, then I will pull your contacts in. We’ll gather enough men and we will go meet General Thorne on some pretext, then I will reveal my true identity and I will use my own blade to cut him down—”

  Admirably, she held his hard gaze and interrupted with, “We didn’t discuss you using a blade. You’re too inexperienced—”

  “—I will cut him down with my own blade, Eltana Yordin,” Young Pere seethed, feeling unexpected rage channel into every blood vessel and organ he’d memorized so far and even the ones he wasn’t sure of, filling him with power he’d never before felt. It was hot and fierce and fantastic. “I will do it, mark my words. And I’ll return within six moons victorious and with the northern army ready to follow to take over the southern.”

  Mrs. Yordin’s expression had changed during the course of his little speech, and now she fairly glowed with anticipation. “Ah, now there’s my Perrin Shin! Keep that. The anger you feel right now, the rage you want to express—hold on to that. Keep it stretched tight. Then you will succeed. Now, salute. Yes! Much better. The fire in your eyes will get you much further than any silly wink. And yes,” she said, pulling out a folded paper from a hidden pocket, “I do have names for you . . .”

  ---

  Two weeks later, Mahrree was skimming the first set of essays her students had turned in when she was surprised to hear a knock on her gathering room door.

  It was Young Pere. “Muggah, do you have a few minutes to talk?”

  “I have hours if you want them! Come in, please.” She gave him a hug which he only half-heartedly returned. “Take Perrin’s chair.”

  He hesitated before he decided to sit down. Mahrree sat across from him, eager that he finally wanted to talk as they always had.

  She suspected that when Perrin was young, he was as clever and mischievous as his grandson, and occasionally Mahrree had imagined she was actually dealing with the teenage incarnation of her husband: slightly rebellious, and certainly imaginative.

  But tonight, something was different about Young Pere. The usual glimmer in his eye and his saucy grin were missing. Instead, there was something darker and heavier, trying to stretch him too tight. It put her on guard.

  “I wanted to talk to you about my first career,” he got right to the point. “I want to be a scout in the world.”

  “Well,” she tried not to sound as surprised as she was. “So how long have you been thinking about this?”

  “Since last year,” he told her, and leaned back in the chair, supporting his head with two fingers as Perrin frequently did. It was a confident, even arrogant pose.

  She rarely liked it when Perrin sat that way.

  “I see,” she said, frantically trying to think of stalling tactics. If only Perrin were here to whisper in her ear. She definitely needed him right then. “You realize becoming a scout takes a great deal of training—three weeks in Woodson’s class just to become an accompanying scout who never opens his mouth in the world. Then after a year of that, you can go on for further training to be a full retrieval scout, which is another year of education. But the biggest obstacle is getting approval from Guide Zenos.” She raised her eyebrows in a He’d never agree and you know it manner.

  “And also the approval of the family,” Young Pere said, and nodded to her. “That’s why I’ve come to you first.”

  “So you’re asking my permission to be a scout in the world?”

  “I’m asking for your blessing.”

  “You need the guide’s permission to go.”

  “He’ll give it if you agree to let me go.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “Who would deny the wishes of the great Mahrree Shin?” His sarcasm was only thinly veiled.

  Mahrree bristled. So that’s how he was playing this. “You’re using me now? You’ve manipulated my words enough times, now you think you can manipulate me to get what you want? Why? Why do you want to go into the world—the same world which chased us away?”

  “To right some wrongs,” he said and tilted his head.

  Something definitely had changed in him. Until she could figure out what, she decided to play along.

  “To right wrongs,” she repeated tonelessly. “We don’t care about what the world thinks of us, Young Pere. You know that. When have I ever expressed a desire for any of my grandchildren to right those wrongs?”

  “I wouldn’t be doing it just for you,” he scoffed lightly, as if her presumption were inappropriate.

  Suddenly Mahrree understood. “Eltana Yordin! Have you been talking to her?” Her hand balled into an angry fist, but she did her best to keep her voice calm.

  “I have,” he said curtly.

  It took all of Mahrree’s strength to not fly off the chair in rage. She massaged her hands instead.

  “It’s a little unusual for an eighteen-year-old to spend his free time with an older woman. Mrs. Yordin is not well, Young Pere.”

  “She looks healthy enough to me.”

  “And so now you’re an expert in the health of women in their sixties? Just how long have you been taking medical classe
s anyway?”

  Young Pere leaned forward, his dark eyes strangely cold as he fixed them on her, and Mahrree suddenly wished he wasn’t sitting in Perrin’s chair. He was nothing like his grandfather now, so unreadable.

  “I want to go to the world, Muggah. I know Uncle Shem doesn’t want me to—”

  “And one of many reasons why is that you look far too much like your grandfather!”

  He shrugged that off. “The only people who would remember what he looked like at my age are either already here in Salem, or dead, like him.”

  Mahrree recoiled, first in fury, then in understanding. Young Pere was deep in grieving, and this ridiculous idea was his way of coping.

  “But if I want to explore the world,” he continued, “then let me. If I make mistakes, so be it. We’re expected to make mistakes, right? The Creator allows for repentance, so I’ll just fix the mistakes as I make them. I’ve been injured before. Bones mend, cuts heal—”

  “Infections kill,” Mahrree interrupted just as coldly. “And the world is full of infections.”

  “They kill only the old and weak,” he said, glaring. “I’m neither. I will succeed, Grandmother.”

  Mahrree raised an eyebrow, or at least attempted to, at his suddenly formal name for her.

  “I thought no one in this family was more open-minded than you,” he continued nonchalantly, and it occurred to Mahrree he’d been practicing this. “More willing to see possibilities others missed. More understanding about the need to break one’s confines and see what else there is. More willing to go against what everyone was telling her, and discover the truth for herself.”

  Mahrree sat back. “Calla’s book. You finished it, didn’t you? Read about my anger with the Administrators. Young Pere—”

  “You can drop the Young,” he said. “I’m the only Perrin around now.”

  “That’s not true!” Mahrree whispered severely. “He’s still here! You just refuse to listen to him, just like you won’t listen to me. My situation in the world was different. The Administrators were selfish men trying to hold us back from exploring, trying to keep us from learning, from worshipping, from becoming what we really could become—”

  “Just like you’re doing to me,” he cut her off. “Like all of you are.”

  “You can explore the entire planet, Young Pere!” She pointed an angry finger at him before he said anything else about being the only Perrin again. “You’ve already seen more than anyone in the world has seen! Salem holds nothing back. We’re trying to protect you, not limit you. It’s like fire, Young Pere. Do you know how many times you touched the hot coals before you finally believed they would be hot every single time? I do! I bandaged you up, six times, Young Pere. And you were probably ten years old the last time you did it. And it still hurt, right?”

  Young Pere only stared at her with a look that made her genuinely nervous. He wasn’t rolling his eyes or sighing dramatically as he normally did when they bickered. Tonight, his glare was calculated. He was prepared.

  And this was not a typical, good-natured argument.

  She had to try something different. Leaning forward to match his pose, she tried to soften her expression. “My sweet boy, what do you hope to find in that world that you can’t find anywhere else?”

  “Justice,” he said shortly. “Redemption for our family name. For Mrs. Yordin. For you. For Uncle Shem.”

  Mahrree’s stomach twisted when he said, “Uncle Shem.” He knew it all. Everything, already.

  Calla had left parts of the ‘official story’ out of her book. Young Pere must have heard the more gripping details of how Mahrree and Shem supposedly had an affair from Eltana, whose take on it would’ve been very worldly indeed. That was precisely what she had hoped to avoid by telling her grandchildren the story herself, when she deemed them mature enough to hear it.

  Oh, that Eltana!

  “Redemption? Very noble, Young Pere,” she said as calmly as possible. “So why doesn’t it sound like the entire truth?”

  He raised one eyebrow successfully, menacingly. “Muggah, remember when we were young, and we played ‘Good Men, Bad Men?’”

  “I seem to remember you always being the Bad Man.”

  Young Pere finally rolled his eyes. “That’s because no one else was creative enough to come up with a truly interesting plan!”

  “Truly devious, you mean. Cephas was always one of the Good Men, asking me what he should do to rein you in.”

  His hard eyes met hers. “Maybe it was because I took so much after you and my grandfather. I remember overhearing you once saying that I had a good measure of your mischief.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a compliment, Young Pere!”

  “You were smiling at the time!”

  “Learn to recognize a smirk when you see one!”

  Young Pere sighed loudly. “The point is, Muggah, that in the world, the bad men have won—”

  “Only temporarily,” Mahrree interrupted. “But the game isn’t over yet. The end of the story hasn’t come—”

  “They’ve BEEN succeeding for more than TWENTY-FIVE YEARS!” he roared.

  Mahrree was impressed with herself that she showed no more emotion other than raising her eyebrows at his outburst. “I don’t care,” she told him. “And neither should you. But you think someone should stop them?”

  He didn’t answer her.

  Mahrree had a thought. “Young Pere, what would your grandfather say about your desire to go to the world?”

  His eyes narrowed even more. “He’d be fine with it. In fact, I mentioned it to him. He’d admire my bravery, my determination—”

  “Now you’re lying. That’s not what he said to you, is it?”

  “I never told him I wanted to be a scout,” he said cagily.

  Mahrree hadn’t seen such dancing around the truth since Edge. Her former students were very sure-footed, and she learned to recognize the moves from them. That was the reason why Woodson and Shem tested their scout hopefuls against her in ‘lying sessions.’ Only after they could be perfectly dishonest in front of Mahrree did they get to graduate to the world.

  Young Pere was failing at every level.

  “You may not have said a scout specifically, but I know what his answer would be. No!”

  Young Pere was unmoved. “He would’ve said no because he was afraid. He’d grown soft. Yes, I did finish Aunt Calla’s book. The colonel I read about would’ve terrified him. The colonel was brave enough to take a stand, to grab his sword, to do what needed to be done.”

  Now Mahrree rolled her eyes. “You think that’s bravery? Grabbing a sword with the intent to do harm? That’s a very narrow definition, Young Pere. Bravery is much more than that. It’s knowing when to fight, but also when to step away from a conflict. It can be much more frightening to put down the weapon and let the world do what it wants with you and your memory.”

  “That’s not bravery,” he said unemotionally. “That’s cowardice.”

  Mahrree struggled to control her rage. “Are you suggesting,” she seethed, “that your grandfather was a coward?”

  “I don’t know what he was, Grandmother. The man I knew certainly wasn’t the man in the book.”

  Mahrree slammed her fist on the armrest. “He was greater than the man in the book! He gave up all that he knew, all that the world wanted him to become, to live a life he knew nothing about! He set off not knowing where he’d end up, but he did so because the Creator told him to. That’s bravery, Young Pere! Following the will of the Creator and having no idea where it will lead you? Acting on faith is greater than any act of bravery.”

  “Sure, Muggah.”

  “Don’t give me that Sure, Muggah! You think he should’ve done Mrs. Yordin’s bidding, don’t you? That he should’ve marched back into that filthy and disgusting world just to get his honor back—”

  “To get EVERYTHING back, Muggah!” Young Pere shouted. “Get our family what we deserve!”

  “There’s nothing in
the world that this family deserves! You think it’s better somehow, don’t you? What the world has to offer is more than what Salem offers?”

  “Salem offers death, Muggah,” Young Pere answered darkly. “My grandfather died a meaningless death for Salem. Marking those stupid paths every year, filling those absurd caves every Harvest, and sitting at his desk waiting for something great to happen that never happened. There was no point in him going on if this was all that he had.”

  “If this was all he had?!” Mahrree nearly flew off the chair. “He had everything, Young Pere! He wanted children! Grandchildren! He built his office so that he had a view from his desk to watch all of you running by! Do you know how often I found him in there with a sleeping infant in one arm while he worked? This was his dream. Not to be a high general or a king, but to sit at a large table eating a meal with a dozen children tossing rolls at each other. Nothing made him happier. That’s what he’s doing now. He’s not sitting on some cloud strumming a tuneless harp pretending to sing. He’s still with this family, still talking to them, preserving them, improving their aim when they throw those hard little biscuits your aunt Jaytsy makes. Death isn’t the end, Young Pere. As much as some people fear it is, and as much as other people hope it is, it isn’t. You’ve been taught that, I know you have. I taught you! Death’s just the next step in our progression.”

  His eyes didn’t glaze over this time. Stone can’t glaze over. “I haven’t heard him.”

  “Because you won’t listen! You’re past feeling, Young Pere. You won’t hear him, or me, or the Creator. Have you prayed about this decision?”

  “I get no answers,” he shrugged. “No answer means I get to make my own choice.”

  Mahrree rubbed her forehead. “If you’re not going to listen to Him, He has to reach you through other means. The Creator is trying to reach you through me! Remember what your grandfather said, the day he died? It’s more important to know when the Creator is telling you ‘No.’”

  “All I hear is what you want, Grandmother,” he said coolly. “You don’t want me to go. If I do, then I’ll be beyond your control—”

  “My control?” Mahrree scoffed. “Have you ever been under anyone’s control? Young Pere, I love you! Why would I spend so much effort on you if I didn’t? Why won’t you believe me about the world? That we don’t care about what it says? Why is this so important to you? I want to understand, I really do. Please, help me understand what’s going on in your mind.”

  Young Pere regarded her as he might a musty old book: outdated and unfit. “It’s gotten to you, too. I thought you might still be different, but you’re not. Salem’s made you weak, and the dullness of this place has made you complacent. You’re afraid of the world. You, who defied it, sent letters to it in protest, stood before five thousand people ready to proclaim everything was a lie? You’re now scared, too. Well, Grandmother, I’m not afraid. You ran away from certain death. I’m not afraid to confront it.”

  “Oh, please!” She knew her eye rolling was dramatic, but for some speeches there’s just no other way to demonstrate one’s disbelief. “You just don’t get it, do you? Young Pere, you talk as if death is something to be afraid of. But there’s something more frightening: not living up to The Test! Failing to do the Creator’s will. It was His will we left Edge. And why are you now talking about confronting death? You’re not making any sense. You want to be a scout to get justice—which is not the point of being a scout!—but you also want to die to do so?”

  Young Pere blew out in exasperation. “It’s you who doesn’t get it, Muggah! I’m not planning to die, but I’m not afraid of it if it comes. I’m not afraid of anything. I just want to . . . oh, never mind!”

  “No, say it. Articulate exactly what you intend to do in the world. You know, scouts are supposed to help rescue people out of the world, not try to undermine the entire thing. Salem’s lost a number of scouts over the years because they didn’t go down with the right frame of mind.”

  Young Pere stared off at a corner, his broad shoulders twitching. Clearly, he wasn’t in the right frame of mind, either.

  “You want to go for all the wrong reasons,” Mahrree told him. “You’re running on pure emotion. Raw, selfish, angry emotion—”

  “I’m not selfish!” he snapped.

  “Well then raw and angry, which is still a volatile combination. But you are selfish, because no one, aside for maybe Eltana, wants you to do this. Therefore, you’re doing this for yourself. Selfishness is at the bottom of every stupid act, of every criminal deed. Selfishness is not Salem’s way—”

  “Then maybe I don’t belong in Salem!” he shouted at the wall.

  “Where’s the logic behind that?” Mahrree shouted back. “And look at me when I’m yelling at you! Where’s your thinking? Give me one good, solid, logical reason why you should become a scout, and . . .” She knew it was the only way to appease him, “I’ll consider helping you get the permission you need.”

  Young Pere finally shifted his gaze to her. “Seriously?”

  Mahrree sighed. “Yes. But it has to be a good reason.”

  “How about, you love me enough to let me go?”

  Mahrree stared at him before saying, slowly, “If I love you enough, I will allow you to do something that I believe is potentially damaging to your soul?”

  “Yes.”

  “Young Pere, you were more logical when you were eight! What kind of nonsense is that? If you love me enough. I love you enough! I love you so much that I’ll refuse to let you do such a thing without a better reason, even if you throw a fit and declare you’ll never speak to me again! That’s how much I love you, you ridiculous boy.”

  She gave him a mischievous smile to try to lighten the mood.

  But he sat with the weight of the world on him.

  “Now, try again,” she said, as cheerfully as she could. Never before had an argument between them generated such hostility. It was swirling around the room like a tornado. There had been times Perrin had barged in on them, glaring at them both, when he thought they’d gone too far in their arguments.

  Oh, if only he’d barge in right now!

  “Give me a truly logical reason, my sweet boy. No more emotional arguments.”

  Young Pere looked off again into a distant corner.

  “Would you like some time to think about it?” she prodded. “To formulate a good reason for letting you go into the world in your present state of mind?”

  He turned back to her. “Justice isn’t a good enough reason?”

  “It’s not the job of a scout to try to exact justice. It’s no one’s job but the Creator’s. Scouts rescue those who want to leave; they don’t interfere in the workings of the world. Try again.”

  Young Pere sighed. “What’s wrong with doing something just because I feel like it? Doesn’t the Creator reveal Himself through our emotions as well?”

  “He does, but you can also easily misinterpret your own desires as His influence.”

  “But what if I’m not? Muggah, I have a very hard time believing you never did anything based solely on emotions. I’m sure there were times you acted just because you felt like it, without logically analyzing it.”

  Mahrree’s mouth twitched. “Yes, I have,” she admitted. “And there were times I made foolish mistakes because of my impulsiveness, and I said and did things that I wished I hadn’t. Mistakes aren’t always easy to fix, Young Pere. True, wounds heal, but they often leave scars. Your grandfather had many scars left by the world. Some wounds cripple, some take a lifetime to recover from, and some will claim your life. So why run that risk, Young Pere? Why not ask the Creator instead to have these irrational desires taken away?”

  Young Pere stared at the corner again.

  Mahrree felt she had little time left with him. He was growing used to avoiding her and her words. Her opinions were becoming irrelevant.

  “Young Pere, please . . . I realize this is important to you. I know Woodson’s scouting course
begins in just over a week, so that gives us both some time to think about this, and pray about this,” she added when she saw him ready to launch into another debate. “Let’s both ask the Creator to help you make the correct decision, then let’s talk again in three days, compare our answers, and work from there. I promise you that if I feel the prompting that you should go, I will help convince your parents and Shem to let you.”

  “So you promise you’ll help me?” For the first time his eyes softened and he was the same young man who, Mahrree would admit only to herself, was her favorite grandchild.

  “If it’s the right thing to do, yes,” she said, already praying earnestly that it wasn’t. “I love you more than you can imagine. I’d do anything to keep you safe. Anything, Young Pere. Please? Give us three days?”

  Young Pere pondered that, then slowly nodded.

  Mahrree smiled. She stood up, held out her arms to her grandson, and he stood up reluctantly and accepted her embrace.

  “I love you, Young Pere. Always remember that,” she said into his ribs. “No matter what you do, my sweet boy, I will still always love you.”

  “I know, Muggah. Love you too,” he mumbled. He released her and gave her a fake smile that so resembled Perrin’s Dinner smile that Mahrree was momentarily startled. Then he turned and left.

  She exhaled only once the door shut behind him.

  Well done, Mahrree!

  “And where have you been?!” she whispered harshly. “I could have used you here!”

  You didn’t really need me. But Centia said they needed a horse to play house with, but Morah thought they needed a dog, you see, and Yenali—

  “So what are we going to do about Young Pere?”

  Young Pere’s going to make his own choices.

  “He can’t go down, Perrin. I feel that in every inch of me. It’d be a disaster—the Creator’s already whispering that in my ear!”

  So was I.

  “But he won’t believe me. It’s as if the only thing he can feel is anger right now. I’m going to say something, only once, because I have to: had you not died, Perrin, he wouldn’t be making such foolish decisions in his grief.”

  He didn’t respond as she expected.

  He was going to go down, no matter what, Mahrree. His recklessness and restlessness were going to get him into the world one way or another.

  “So I can’t blame all of this on you.”

  Nope.

  “Worth a shot,” she sighed miserably. “But had you not died, you could have at least helped me with him. And your whispering in my ear is not helping, by the way!”

  Sorry. It’s only because I love you.

  “Then you should’ve taken me with you!”

  You got the message that wasn’t possible yet, right?

  “I got it,” she whimpered, tears building in her eyes. “It’s too much, Perrin. Too hard. I’m losing him—I can feel it. First I lost you, then him?”

  He’s not lost yet, Mahrree. Neither am I.

  ---

  “Well, Perrin?” Mrs. Yordin asked as Young Pere sat down on her sofa in frustration.

  “Went as well as we expected,” he sighed. “She’s a little unstable. She thinks he’s still around, talking to people.”

  “I had that problem at first as well. I thought I heard my Gari everywhere. It’ll fade in time. The more I told myself he’s gone, the more I began to believe it. He stopped haunting my thoughts not too long ago. So what did she say?”

  “She’s given me three days to come up with logical reasons for going, because she thinks I’ll be signing up for Woodson’s training course that starts in a week. She also wants us both to pray about it,” he added with a slight sneer.

  “Her and her logic,” Mrs. Yordin exhaled. “And her praying! Sorry, I know you’ve been raised with the belief that something bigger and older out there wants to help you, but I’ve never seen any evidence. I appreciate that your people don’t care if I don’t believe, but you don’t have to believe, either.”

  He bobbed his head noncommittally. “Sometimes I believe, sometimes I’m not sure.”

  “Well,” she patted him on the knee, “I’ve got something to lift your spirits. I didn’t think I’d get it done so soon, but—” She stood, retrieved a bag she’d hidden behind a cushioned chair, opened it, and lifted out a blue jacket.

  “It was Gari’s first uniform. I couldn’t bear to leave it behind, so I wore it under my clothes when I traveled here. Fortunately the faded blue of it now matches the current blue of the armies, so no one will know the difference. Try it on, Perrin!” she said excitedly as she handed it to Young Pere.

  He grinned, stood up, and slipped the uniform over his tunic. “I didn’t realize the general was as large as me.”

  “He wasn’t. Only in the shoulders. I was able to let out the sleeves and lengthen the coat. I covered the faded hemlines with those narrow yellow bands, also in style right now, quite conveniently. Maybe it’s a sign from your Creator that neither of us are too sure about? Stand up straight. Let me look at you.”

  Young Pere stood at attention, nailing the stance perfectly.

  Mrs. Yordin sighed. “You’re a natural. Ah, Perrin, you take my breath away! Or I should say, Lieutenant.”

  Young Pere looked down at the emblems, patches, and markings. Mrs. Yordin had already removed the one from the Administrators, who were long gone.

  “I thought a name label is supposed to go about here,” he pointed to over his heart.

  “Those weren’t invented yet when Gari was first commissioned. I’m working on stitching a label right now. That’s going to take me a while, though. I’m not that precise a seamstress. All you need to do is choose the name. I still think Briter might be best. There were many Briter families in Sands. If you use a familiar name, you’ll be able to spit it out more naturally.”

  He smiled mischievously at her. “What’s wrong with Shin? I could probably remove my grandfather’s label from his old colonel’s jacket when my grandmother is out.”

  “No, not yet,” she exclaimed. “We’ve discussed this—it’s too obvious. We need to establish you first under an assumed identity, then spring the trap. No, we’ll stick to something more common.”

  She brushed him down with her hands, removing dust that wasn’t there. Her hand lingered at the shiny silver buttons.

  “I always wondered if I’d have a grandson to wear this. My son never chose to marry. He had plenty of women though, after the marriage laws were dissolved, so who knows? Maybe I am a grandmother. I like to think my grandson would be as impressive and handsome as you, Perrin.”

  Young Pere caught her hand as she tried to unnecessarily polish a button, and she looked up into his face.

  “Thank you for believing in me, Mrs. Yordin. You’ve been a great help these past few weeks. I won’t let you down.”

  Mrs. Yordin’s eyes grew damp. “I should thank you. You’ve given me more hope than I’ve had in years. Your grandmother doesn’t know what a treasure she has in you. With so many grandsons, she certainly can’t pay enough attention to each of you.”

  “That’s why I have you,” he said, and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “May I take this home with me? To keep me focused?”

  “I still need to put on the name label . . . oh, but you do look so grand in it, don’t you! Yes, yes—take it home, but keep it well hidden for now.” She wet her lips, almost nervously. “Young Pere, I have to admit—maybe . . . maybe Mahrree’s got a point. Maybe you should enroll in Woodson’s course—”

  “But that would ruin our timeline completely!” he exclaimed in dismay.

  “When you get down there really doesn’t matter,” she said. “But making sure you’re fully prepared—that’s what’s important. We’ll still sneak you down as we planned, but sometime later, after Woodson’s had time to train you—”

  He took a hard step back. “You don’t think I can do this either, do you?”

  “No, that not what
I meant—”

  “It is!” he exclaimed, noticing that she wouldn’t look him in the eyes. “I . . . I thought you were different!” he whispered harshly so that the two elderly sisters she lived with wouldn’t hear him yelling. “I thought you could see the potential—”

  “Oh, I do!” she exclaimed back, just as angrily, just as softly. “Why would I be tutoring you for so many weeks if I didn’t? But Perrin, I’m trying to put you through three years of officer training in two moons’ time, plus teach you all the details of the world? I’ve overestimated how hard this would be—”

  “Because I’m not smart enough?” he snarled.

  “Oh, you’re smart enough. And very clever. But also over-confident—”

  “I don’t believe this!” he waved wildly and stomped around the room.

  “I’m not saying you’re not doing this, but that we need to do this right. Perrin, I’m not smart enough—I’ve realized that now. You don’t even know the history of the world—”

  He spun and stared at her. “Have you even met my grandmother?”

  “I meant, the version they’re teaching this year. Perrin, it changes every year! If you saunter into a fort with the wrong understanding, you’ll expose yourself. They change the histories frequently, as kind of a code. Only the insiders know what that year’s story is, and if you casually say something wrong, they’ll know you’re an infiltrator. Since Gari died, Thorne certainly would have changed the history at the fort at Sands. He’d have it reflect what he needed the soldiers to believe. I don’t even know what that story is, now! But Woodson might, because your Honri was in Sands for many moons. He’s a clever man, too, and he may have found out the current story—”

  Defeated and deflated, Young Pere collapsed on her sofa. “Uncle Honri won’t be back until the first snows fly. That is, if he decides to come back for Snowing Season. He didn’t last year. And if he does, that’ll postpone our plans for what, another four or five moons? Even more? No! I want to go now!”

  He wrenched off the jacket, but, calmer than he felt, folded it respectfully, smoothing the blue wool with his hand. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I can see so clearly what needs to be done, but then so many people throw nails in my path.”

  “I’m not trying to throw nails,” Mrs. Yordin assured him. “I’m just trying to ensure your success. Do you realize, Perrin, that nowadays men make their own rankings? They don’t necessarily need a superior officer to promote them. Lemuel Thorne certainly didn’t. He deposed of Administrator Genev one day, then the next put away his captain’s jacket and replaced it with a major’s. And not long after that, he suddenly was a general, and no one’s ever questioned it. Do you realize the potential, Perrin Shin? You do all of this right, you can march back into Salem as General Perrin Shin. I want to see that, Perrin. I want that to happen for you. And if you think I’m holding you back now, it’s only because I want to make sure no one in your future ever will.”

  Breathless, he stared at her. No, he didn’t realize Thorne had made himself a general. And yes, he could see the potential.

  “Think about it, Perrin,” Mrs. Yordin said, placing a hand on his arm. “Think about everything you and I could accomplish, when you’re ready.”

  He tucked the jacket into his tunic to smuggle it home. “I already am thinking about it.”

  Chapter 19--“Why am I taking you?”