The Forest at the Edge of the World

by Mercer, Trish

  Mahrree chuckled nervously. “It hadn’t been looking well for a while. Nice addition to my back garden.” She wondered how he knew about the end of the mass. Only her students, who begged her to get rid of it after the fourth debate, and Captain Shin knew it was gone.

  The crowd laughed and Rector Densal nodded his sympathies. He turned back to address the amphitheater.

  “For tonight, I’ve asked our good teacher’s students for suggestions of what they should debate.”

  Mahrree cringed. Rector Densal had been talking to her students. That, at least, would explain his knowledge of the loss of the blob. Her stomach churned as she imagined what her students might have suggested as topics.

  “Some of those debate ideas are here in this basket,” he held it up high. “I will now ask Captain Shin to draw the first debate suggestion.”

  Mahrree searched the crowd as Captain Shin reached over to draw first. Her eyes finally settled on her teenaged students, all eight of them sitting together in a row. Grins and giggles burst across the girls’ faces, and Mahrree grew hot with worry.

  This could be a very, very long evening.

  Captain Shin unfolded the small paper and his eyebrows rose. Mahrree began to panic.

  He cleared his throat and began, “Please prove that dogs are better than cats.”

  Mahrree relaxed and rubbed her hands. “I’ll take cats!” she proclaimed with a grin and strode to her side of the platform to plan a strategy.

  “I guess I’m dogs,” the captain said to the audience.

  A little boy named Poe in Mahrree’s morning class clapped his hands. It must have been his suggestion.

  The debate was won by Mahrree since she was convinced of the superiority of cats. Their independence, self-cleaning, and mousing abilities hedged out dogs’ abilities to guard the house, be a companion, and come in a variety of sizes and colors. What tipped the argument her way was that the shedding and shredding of cats was slightly less annoying than the drooling, barking, and, worst of all, inappropriate sniffing of dogs.

  Mahrree pulled out the next topic. “Resolve who is better: boys or girls.”

  As the audience “oohed” in eagerness, the captain bravely stepped up and said, “I’ll start that one.”

  Mahrree’s curiosity was piqued. “I await this opening line with GREAT anticipation.”

  He nodded at her, turned to the crowd and said, “To the young man or woman who suggested that topic I say, there is no woman without a man, and no man without a woman. Therefore, neither can be better than the other. They are, however, different, and each difference is necessary and complementary.” Then he stepped back.

  “Ah, come now, sir!” Teeria called out, disappointed her suggestion didn’t elicit more of a response from the captain. “You can do better than that!”

  The crowd teasingly repeated her complaint.

  “Come now!”

  “More!”

  Mahrree stared at the captain. She didn’t expect his response. Actually, she didn’t know what to expect. But how could she take on what he said or even debate it?

  He looked to her, waiting for her retort.

  She smiled at him. Not a baiting, teasing, or chiding smile, but a genuine look of appreciation. He returned it.

  She probably could find herself calling him Perrin, if the situation was right.

  The crowd was calling her name, so she turned to the villagers. “All I want to say is, first there is no man without the woman. I rather prefer that order of words.” Then she too stepped back.

  The captain winked at her. Mahrree hoped she wasn’t changing colors.

  The rector stood up, much to the good-natured whistles of protest from the audience. “Next topic is for the captain to select,” he called.

  The captain pulled out the slip of paper, read it, then looked around. “All right, who put this in here?”

  Mahrree held her breath. Not the girls, not the girls, she silently begged.

  “It states,” he announced, “Debate the merits of the Jor house being painted that sickly shade of blue.”

  Mahrree exhaled and grinned. “Next!”

  “Hey,” someone yelled from the front. “I like that blue. What’s wrong with it?”

  “It looks like the cheese in my cooler when I forgot about it for a season!” someone else shouted.

  “Next, please!” called Captain Shin over the laughter.

  The rector held up the basket again.

  Mahrree took out the next slip and shook her head. “People, come now. ‘Debate the merits of Mr. Arky being allowed to eat his dinner in any room of the house.’ Is this really from the children?”

  The captain took the paper. “I think we can handle this one.”

  Mahrree shook her head and said in a loud stage whisper, “You obviously haven’t met Mrs. Arky yet.”

  “Let it be heard!” called a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mr. Arky, followed by howls of laughter from his neighbors.

  The debaters looked at each other with small smiles and together called, “Next!”

  Something in that moment made Mahrree’s chest burn again. She didn’t have time to think about it because Captain Shin was pulling out another topic.

  They spent the next fifteen minutes discussing the qualities of stone versus wood in home construction. He defended stone and easily took that round, describing some of the ruins Terryp found in the deserted areas to the west that survived untold ages.

  He won over the children, however, with a ridiculous explanation involving three talking and industrious sheep, and a wolf with an unusual lung capacity. Clearly, building with straw was the worst option of all.

  Much to her chagrin, Mahrree found herself completely absorbed by his outlandish story—complete with surprisingly high-pitched voices for the sheep, and an even deeper-than-normal-for-him voice for the wolf as he threatened to “sneeze their houses down.”

  But even her chagrin faded rapidly as she watched him in action, his booming wolf roar drawing squeals of terrified delight from the younger children, and laughter from their parents.

  She was falling for him.

  While the audience murmured amused doubt about the authenticity of the captain’s story, Mahrree pulled out the next slip. “Which is better, living in Idumea or living in Edge?” She burst into a grin. “I’ll take Edge!”

  To her surprise, Captain Shin sighed heavily before saying, “I’ll take Idumea. If I must.”

  Mahrree spent the next ten minutes detailing every quality and attribute of Edge as the greatest next-to-smallest village in the world. Only Moorland was more sparsely populated since it sat at the base of the largest mountain, Mt. Deceit, and no one in the world appreciated mountains. She carefully avoided saying anything antagonistic about Idumea or the Administrators as she gushed about Edge’s people, entertainments, music, food, rivers, schools, shops, services, houses, farms, orchards, and ranches. If she had time she would have gone on about each family she knew, but she could see the captain was waiting his turn.

  At last she turned to him and said, “Now it’s your time to dazzle us with tales about Idumea.”

  Instead he slowly shook his head. “Am I really supposed to follow your moving tribute of Edge with my feelings about Idumea? No, Miss Peto. You see, in Command School we took courses on diplomacy—”

  “Is that something like Officers’ Charm School?” she interrupted. She wondered if teasing was considered flirting.

  The audience laughed and the sudden rise of emotion came over the captain’s face again, just as in the last debate, as he fought back a laugh.

  “Something like that.”

  “And how often did you have to retake the course until you passed?” she asked sweetly.

  He waited until the laughter died down before he answered.

  “Just know that I passed.”

  He had to wait another moment for the audience to quiet again before he could continue.

  “And in those class
es we learned that sometimes no response is the best response of all. Look, Miss Mahrree,” he said in a loud stage whisper he fully intended the villagers to hear, “I’m trying to earn some credibility in Edge. It wouldn’t do me any good to regale you with reasons why Idumea may be considered superior. Let’s just say that I look forward to experiencing all the qualities of Edge for myself. I’ve already enjoyed many.”

  The villagers laughed and applauded his non-argument, and Mahrree folded her arms smugly at her easiest victory over him yet.

  “I see you’ve been rereading your notes from your tactfulness courses as well. Then let’s see how you deal with the next topic, shall we?”

  He nodded. “I promise, you’ll not defeat me so easily in the next round. Our score tonight currently stands at two for you, one for me, not counting the topics we’ve rejected. I’m not the kind of man who walks away when he’s behind.”

  Flashing a grin that made Mahrree feel unusually weak, he pulled out the next slip. He studied the scrap long enough for everyone to grow quiet with anticipation.

  He gave Mahrree a quick glance before saying, a little coldly, to Rector Densal, “Any other requests?”

  The rector shook his head as he peered into the basket. “I can’t seem to find any more, Captain. I’m afraid that’s the last one.”

  “Next!” he called.

  “Oh, come now,” Mahrree said, snatching the small paper out of his hands. “So sure you’re going to lose again? You already know there’s no more.”

  “Mahrree, trust me,” he said. “Just don’t pursue it—”

  She looked at him suspiciously, secretly thrilled with the way he said her first name. The night was going so well she didn’t want it to end yet. She flourished the paper and read in a booming voice, “Debate the merits of Perrin and Mahrree continuing the debates—”

  The audience cheered.

  “—forever as husband . . .” Mahrree’s voice faltered and she felt a wave of regret and nausea wash over her. The laughter was already beginning.

  At that moment Mahrree found herself in the same battle she’d be in countless times before—her brain trying to force her mouth to stop moving. But the message wasn’t getting through quickly enough. Before she could stop herself, she was choking out the last words written on the paper.

  “. . . and wife.”

  The crowd leaped to their feet with deafening applause and shouts.

  Mahrree was too mortified to look up. Worse than mortified, if there were such a condition. What must Perrin—Captain Shin think? That she put someone up to this? Why else would she insist on him reading it?

  She let the note drop out of her hand, glanced up quickly with a forced smile, waved, then turned and hurried towards the back of the platform and rushed down the stairs.

  Several calls of, “No! Come back!” followed her, but there was no way she could allow anyone to see the condition of her face. Besides, what more could she say?

  In the background she could hear the rector’s words faintly in the din. “And I suppose with that we conclude tonight’s debates.”

  Mahrree went straight to her usual bench under her favorite tree and hoped no one would join her. She sat down hard and stared at the ground, breathing deeply and trying to understand why the phrase “husband and wife” had both startled and thrilled her.

  “I am so sorry, really,” she heard Captain Shin’s voice above her head.

  She moaned softly. He was the last person she wanted to see. She shifted her gaze slightly and saw his boots in front of her.

  “He had no right to do that to us.”

  “It’s all right,” Mahrree whispered. “I don’t think Rector Densal knew what that paper said.”

  “Well, yes I do believe he did,” he said, a bit sharply. “I know his handwriting and I’m very sure he composed it.” He held the note in front of her down-turned eyes.

  She looked at it closely in the dim light. The writing was a little shaky and not that of a teenage girl. None of the i’s were dotted with flowers.

  Surprised, Mahrree looked up at the captain. “Why? Why would he do that?”

  She had expected him to be angry, but his face was soft and sympathetic. “Because he told me yesterday over dinner that he’s an old man who’s worried he’ll never see you complete. He said he promised your father years ago that he would help you, and I guess this is his way. His help is . . . well, not exactly helpful,” he said as if he had a lot of experience with that.

  “Indeed that was entertainment!” interrupted Tabbit Densal, coming up to the two of them. When she saw the look of distress on Mahrree’s face she turned to Captain Shin. “Please don’t be too angry with Hogal,” she begged, then looked at Mahrree apologetically. “He really thought you would debate it.”

  Mahrree exhaled, stood up, and said, “How?! Anyway, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself, Mrs. Densal. But I’m afraid that will be the end of the debates for a while. I’m falling behind on my students’ work and must spend more time at home.”

  “Come, come!” said Mr. Metz, joining them. “I haven’t had so much fun in years! How often do we all get to watch the progress of a courtship?”

  Mahrree closed her eyes in agony.

  “Sir, you presume too much and have gone too far!” the captain said sternly. “I’m afraid I may have been neglecting some of my duties as well. Our debates must end now.”

  Mahrree’s heart dropped to the level of her knees. She felt a gentle hand on her shoulder.

  “Try to have a good night, Miss Peto,” Captain Shin said in a low voice that sent a new wave of goose bumps down her arm. He briefly squeezed her shoulder, then turned and vanished into the dark.

  She excused herself and hurried home, grateful no one else tried to stop her. She didn’t even dare look out her windows that night to see if anyone walked by her house unnaturally often.

  ---

  At the fort the spyglass remained trained on the village, and a new hole appeared in the wall of the office.

  And the cuts on his hand from his last fit of fury had just scabbed over.

  ---

  The small man in dark clothing sat in the privacy of the trees and finished composing the message to be sent with the next delivery. He smiled, imagining how the news would be received.

  Captain Shin was a fool in love, and the entire village knew it. There was quite a bit that could be done with such information. It just might be enough to get the man in the dark a better posting.

  But if it didn’t, that was all right, too. The north was more appealing every day.

  Chapter 10 ~ “Not at all coincidental,

  is it?”

  The next morning at school, Mahrree’s young students bragged how she had decided the cat and dog issue once and for all. She was impressed they carefully avoided discussing any other points of the evening.

  But her teenage class in the afternoon was uncharacteristically silent. During their mid-lesson break, Teeria came shyly up to her.

  “Miss Mahrree, I hope no one ruined anything for you last night. I’ve asked around and no one admits to writing that last debate suggestion. We don’t know who did it.”

  Mahrree squeezed her arm. “Thank you for your efforts. I know none of you wrote that. And I also don’t believe there was anything to be ruined, so no worries there, all right?”

  Teeria looked disappointed, but smiled and nodded before returning to the other girls who anxiously awaited her report.

  After school Mahrree went to the markets and quickly bought enough provisions for several days. To make sure she missed Edgers’ looks of apology, amusement, or pity, she didn’t make eye contact with anyone. She purchased enough food that she could hide in her house until the memory of the last debate was overshadowed by someone else doing something ridiculous or ridicule-worthy.

  Then she made good on her word last night and spent the rest of the day catching up on her students’ work.

  Except that took less than two hours
, because the parents did all of the grading and reviewing.

  So she found herself that evening sitting at her table in her kitchen after dinner wondering what the night’s entertainment would be, before realizing she couldn’t show her face in public for at least a few weeks. Instead she looked around her the bookshelves that lined the dining area and leaked over to the gathering room. She needed to gain more knowledge before the next debate that . . .

  . . . would most likely never happen.

  Brushing aside that discouraging thought, she came up with an idea to keep her mind occupied. She walked to the top shelf and pulled down the copy of The Writings she had since a child, along with a stack of blank pages. She tried to read The Writings at least once a year, but had never done so as intently as her father. Now it was time. Tonight she would take notes of the thoughts that came to her as she studied.

  That should chase away any thoughts of . . . what’s his name.

  Page 1, verse 1:

  We are all family.

  It was always easy to recite the first line.

  Verse 2.

  We have always been a family.

  We have always been progressing.

  We have always been.

  How was it that we have always been?

  A thought came to her: What if you choose to not insist on understanding, but choose instead to just believe? Can you just accept that you had no beginning and have no end, but that you are now in the middle?

  Mahrree wrote that down on her paper. She could understand ‘middle.’

  But I’m an adult, she thought. I should be able to understand all things by now. But then she considered, how much did Hycymum not yet understand? The six-year-olds in her class, how much did they not comprehend beyond the number one hundred?

  Why should she be any different?

  A new thought rushed through her and she wrote it down: I do not know what I do not know that I do not know.

  The next morning when she read that again it still made sense, sort of. She’d spent three hours the night before studying—really studying—The Writings, and had five pages of notes to prove it. In the past she’d breeze through the more mundane descriptions of the first three years their people were in the world. But last night she finally began to see the first five hundred couples that came to the world, highly intelligent and innocent, as real people—her ancestors. She didn’t know which specifically her “first parents” were—no one knew anymore—but they were there, somewhere.