Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge)

by Mercer, Trish

  Mr. Metz smiled gently. “I know exactly how you feel. But considering they were married for sixty-three years, I actually would’ve been disappointed in old Hogal if he didn’t come get her. There she sat, on the sofa, her friends on either side to help her plan the burial. They said they had a distinct feeling that Hogal came into the room. Tabbit looked up at nothing, smiled, closed her eyes, and was simply gone.”

  Mahrree kept shaking her head, trying to keep her sniffling under control. “It was only on rare occasions that they were ever apart in life. Why should death be any different? But how can I feel such sorrow and such joy at the same time?”

  Mr. Metz gave her a quick hug. “Personally, I’m a bit jealous of them. Think of everything they’re experiencing now, without us! Oh, the questions Hogal could answer for me now,” he grinned.

  But then his grin faded.

  “What about the Major?”

  “He’s trying to get some sleep right now,” Mahrree wiped her tears. “I’ll break it to him, somehow, when he wakes.”

  “Would you like me to stay and help?”

  “I appreciate the offer, but I really don’t know what his state of mind will be when he comes down those stairs. I don’t know if I want to subject you to that.”

  Mr. Metz squeezed her shoulder. “If you change your mind, send one of those soldiers guarding your house to come get me. I’ll be at the Densals the rest of the evening helping with the arrangements.”

  By the time Perrin slowly came down the stairs later that evening, Mahrree knew both Hogal and Tabbit were fine and exactly where they needed to be. Each time she sobbed that afternoon, she found herself laughing a moment later. Mahrree didn’t weep for the Densals; they were far too happy where they were. She could feel their joy so immensely it was almost unfair.

  She had cried for herself, her husband, and her children whose memories of the Densals would be only hazy fragments.

  But she didn’t know how to break the news to Perrin. He didn’t look at her or the children while he ate his first food in over twenty-four hours. He eventually gave Peto a little smile when he climbed on his lap. Peto grabbed his father’s face and gave him a slobbery kiss on the lips. That drew a soft chuckle from Perrin as he wiped his mouth on his sleeve.

  Mahrree practiced in her head a variety of ways to tell him about Tabbit. But his spirits seemed so weak she couldn’t imagine crushing him already. She watched him play half-heartedly with his son for another moment. As Peto scrambled to get back down she knew it was time to deliver the blow, and prayed the right words would come out.

  “Perrin, Mr. Metz came by earlier when you were sleeping—”

  “I know,” he said flatly. “Tabbit’s gone too. I overheard.” Perrin forced a small smile. “Actually, I feel much better about that. I couldn’t get out of my head the thought of Auntie Tabbit living alone. Especially after what happened. But how could I be there all the time to protect her?”

  He brushed a crumb off his plate on to the table and watched it.

  Mahrree just watched him.

  “And I couldn’t imagine moving her to my mother’s in Idumea. The trip is so long for such an old woman. She seemed frailer this past year, too. Then I thought, maybe she could come live with us.” He scoffed at the idea. “But I worried that this house would be too noisy for her. We could have used the last piece of garden for her addition.” He smiled briefly.

  She nodded and sniffled.

  He nudged the crumb to the center of the table.

  “Then I figured, I could post guards at her doors, pay for it ourselves, but she’d feel like she had to feed them all the time.” He chuckled softly. “Then I pictured the soldiers getting too fat and not strong enough to fight off anyone else, or too preoccupied looking at her paintings of trees. She always liked trees.”

  He studied the crumb, flicked it with his finger, then crushed it into powder with his thumb.

  “Every option I thought of didn’t sit well. I didn’t know what to do for her. Now I know why. The Creator already had it all figured out. I was trying to fix everything, and I don’t think I ever asked for His guidance. He already worked out her plan.”

  He finally looked up at his wife. “And I couldn’t have imagined a better solution for them. A perfect end.”

  ---

  That night Barker looked out at the alley and waited. It was time, but there was no man. The dog whimpered quietly, and even got up and went to the fence, looking up and down. He sniffed the air, the fence, the ground, but there was no bacon anywhere. There wasn’t any last night or the night before, either. Probably none earlier than that too, but his memory got fuzzy after that.

  Barker sat down and whined at the alley.

  Nothing came.

  After about an hour, Barker turned around and walked disappointedly back to his doghouse, laid down, and fell asleep.

  ---

  The next morning Perrin gripped the handle of a shovel, waiting for Mr. Metz to finish the service. He felt split in two. One half of him was disturbingly fine with what had happened. Almost in spite of himself, he felt comfort, late last night.

  He’d left bed again to check for the third time on his sleeping children, making sure one more time that the bars in their windows were secure. Then he went to the front door to latch the lock again, and that’s when they arrived.

  It was unmistakable, as if the air on either side of him thickened with warmth and joy.

  Hogal was on his right, Tabbit on his left. In life, they were small and stooped, but it seemed in Paradise they both stood a bit taller.

  Tears filled Perrin’s eyes, and his hand dropped helplessly from the lock. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered to them. “I failed you—”

  The response was also unmistakable.

  Oh, you did not, my boy! And you know that. We’re happy, my boy. Perfect and together and happy.

  Please, Perrin, don’t worry about us. We couldn’t be prouder of you!

  The last response was from Tabbit. For some reason at that moment he also smelled berry pie, and he almost smiled.

  He let the tears dribble down his cheeks. “How do I go on without you?”

  Now, my boy—who says you’ll be without us?

  He stood there, with his chin trembling and shoulders shaking, feeling the two thicknesses envelop him in warmth. He didn’t cry for them, but for himself. The Densals were exactly where they needed to be.

  After a sweet and gentle minute, they faded away.

  Reluctantly Perrin trudged back to bed, where his wife held him tight and stroked his hair and didn’t say a word as he quietly wept.

  But then there was the other half of him . . .

  The other half that awoke early this morning.

  The other half didn’t feel it deserved to be comforted. Instead it felt raw rage. Perrin once saw a caged bear and now he knew exactly how infuriated it felt. He wanted to roar at the trees, claw them all down, then tear into the flesh of whatever he found alive—

  But he was caged. And instead of claws, all he had was a skimpy shovel and an open grave.

  He wasn’t listening to the supposedly comforting words Mr. Metz offered to the hundreds of villagers surrounding them. Perrin was lost in his own head. At times like this he wondered if the reason his build was so large was because he was actually two men shoved into one body. So often he felt divided, as if his heart and head couldn’t agree.

  One part of him tried to follow The Writings and was even occasionally jealous of Hogal’s position. His life was all about knowing the Creator and helping others to find Him. He’d done that for Perrin, too, and Perrin wondered if the only way he could keep on that path was to devote his entire life to studying it as much as Hogal had.

  But he couldn’t, because of his other part—the part that was a soldier, almost since the day he was born. This was the part that defended people and governments from those who would destroy. This was the part that knew the ideas of the world, clearly and intimatel
y, and could argue anything around The Writings, just as he did when he first arrived in Edge.

  And that’s what most concerned him. He couldn’t reconcile the two parts. Usually they resided in different sections of his heart and head, and didn’t come in conflict.

  But then there were days like this where both sides glared at each other, and fought like starving dogs, and he couldn’t kill either of them. No matter how fiercely they contended, both sides still remained, slinking back to their corners and eyeing each other, waiting for the next moment when his heart and head would ferociously disagree.

  The hardest part of it was, it was the soldier he wanted to destroy, but soldiering was his best skill. Yes, there were other things he could do. He truly enjoyed building the additions to the house for his children, and he could see himself becoming a builder—

  But that wasn’t what he was.

  To his core, he was a soldier—a destroyer. He’d killed well over a dozen men already, and he wasn’t even yet thirty-two. The problem was, he was so good at it. Even as a boy when his father gave him his first long knife, the handle felt so comfortable in his palm. He knew precisely what to do with it. Holding a sword was a natural extension. Slicing, stabbing, thrusting—it was all second nature. He practiced only because he loved the feel of the power of the blade, not because he feared becoming rusty. Fighting was easier than breathing.

  And so while last night he felt the warmth and comfort of his great aunt and uncle in his heart, this morning his head had taken over. He was harder, rougher, and meaner. If they truly knew him, they wouldn’t have come last night. At his core, he wasn’t a builder of souls or houses, but a defender—

  No, not even a defender today.

  A destroyer.

  He feared that was the most he’d ever be, but he had to stretch himself beyond destruction. Two more men had died two nights ago, by his hand. Two more Guarders. No one else was that deadly, and it was draining his soul.

  He had to shift from destroyer to defender. He had to be better. He had to prevent. He had to protect everyone—not only his family, but his neighbors, their children, his soldiers, his favorite corporal who still lay weak and unable to move properly.

  Mr. Metz was now on his knees, asking the Creator to keep safe the grave until the Last Day.

  But Perrin didn’t hear the words. He gripped the shovel tighter and out of the corner of his eye noticed his children, held by his wife and mother-in-law, looking at him. They’d been remarkably quiet this early morning, as if they felt the gravity of the day. Jaytsy leaned for him, but Perrin didn’t respond to her.

  Destroyers don’t hold children. Not until they become defenders again. The rage was hot and angry in his head, and now also in his heart. For once they worked together, and it was savage and wrong. He was only an animal right now, and he had to work the animal out.

  Mr. Metz finished the prayer, struggled to his feet, and nodded to the workers with shovels, but none of them dared move.

  Perrin knew why. He had a way of taking up too much space, of making others feel there wasn’t enough room next to him, even if they were twenty paces away.

  He marched over to the pile of dirt and plunged the shovel’s blade into it with a violent thunk.

  He was supposed to keep them safe, he thought bitterly as he twisted his body to drop the shovel full of dirt on the large wooden box. It hit with a dull splud.

  That was part of the reason why he came to Edge—to watch over them. Thunk.

  They were so old, so frail. This was personal. Splud.

  It was his responsibility. His fault. Thunk.

  Perrin shut out everything else but the dirt, the shovel, and the wide box in the hole five feet below him. Early this morning the burial grounds diggers started two holes. He insisted on one. They would go together. They were always together.

  And this was the only way he could keep them safe. Splud.

  It was an overly wide coffin designed for an overly large body. Together their small remains would huddle until the Last Day. Thunk.

  It didn’t matter what Mahrree thought. He could feel her staring at his back. He was taking away the burial diggers’ jobs, she whispered to him earlier as he had grabbed a shovel. Splud.

  The crowd of hundreds was also stunned silent to see the major step up to the hole. Thunk.

  Family and friends were supposed to watch and pray. Not shovel dirt. Splud.

  It didn’t matter to Perrin what they thought. What Mahrree thought. He knew the truth. This was personal. Thunk.

  It’s not about power. It’s about protection. He did fail them. Hogal and Tabbit Densal, dead. Because he failed to secure Edge. Splud.

  He began to sweat in his woolen jacket. He didn’t care. Someone came after his family. Thunk.

  How did they know? How did they find them? He had to secure them. Was this was the only way, under piles of dirt and rock? At least they were safe until the Last Day. Splud.

  Only he could do this. No one else. Others held shovels, but they had no idea how to use them properly. Thunk.

  No one else in Edge could secure the village. He didn’t want power. He only wanted to protect. It was all on his shoulders. All his responsibility. Every last one of them. Splud.

  Only him. Only him. Only he could do this. No more destruction. Thunk.

  He wouldn’t lose any more. No one else in Edge would die because of him. He alone had to save Edge. Only him. Only him. Splud.

  ---

  Mahrree had always suspected her husband was actually two men shoved into the same body, but as she watched him furiously shovel earth over the large coffin, she changed her evaluation.

  She was actually married to a restless bear, disguised as a man.

  And he wasn’t going to be easy to live with.

  ---

  The High General of Idumea had already planned to go to Edge after receiving the urgent message about the raids late in the evening of the 64th Day. But when word came from their son the next afternoon about Joriana’s aunt and uncle, his wife moved up his timetable and they were on the fastest garrison coach available that evening.

  But first, he paid a visit to the Administrative Headquarters.

  “Nicko, let me give him permission!”

  “Relf, no,” the Chairman said casually, as he shifted around some pages on his large desk, bigger than any other in Idumea. He’d made sure of that.

  “Why not?!” High General Shin pounded on the desk.

  Mal’s eyes slowly travelled up to look at the High General, since his fists on the stacks of paper made moving the pages impossible.

  “He’s right, Nicko! For what purpose do we sit on the edges waiting to be hunted? Let him go in and hunt! He’ll sign a waiver, we won’t hold the government or the army liable should he not come back again, and he’ll take with him only volunteers. We can put an end to this nonsense, once and for all!”

  Chairman Mal rubbed his tear duct to remove a speck of dirt. “Relf, Relf,” he droned in a bored manner as he looked at the smudge, “we’ve been through this before. I’ll not give your son permission to enter the forests. The time he dragged that poor lieutenant with him, they were both exceptionally lucky. But it set a very dangerous precedent. Perrin may believe he’s cautious, but what about citizens? Teenagers? Children who might follow in his example? We can’t even assume his luck will hold—”

  “He did it a second time,” the High General interrupted in a quiet voice.

  Mal stopped staring at the invisible speck and immediately shifted his gaze upwards. “I know he did. I saw Neeks’ report—”

  Shin shook his head. “Neeks didn’t know the whole truth. Perrin had a suspicion something was up, and he didn’t go in only a few paces, as Neeks reported. Perrin confided in me that he spent several long, cold nights in the forest waiting and watching until the threat appeared. He killed those eleven Guarders himself, all deep inside the forest. It was dark and snow-covered, and he not only survived but he succeede
d—fantastically.

  “Nicko,” Shin suddenly leaned towards him, bracing himself on the desk to face the Chairman whose set face barely contained his fury, “my boy can conquer that forest! I know it! He can train his soldiers and the commanders of other forts, and within a year the Guarders could be eradicated. Think about, Nicko: under your rule, with your direction, the world would finally become peaceful. How would that look in the history books under your name?”

  “You’re more manipulative and deceptive than Querul the Third,” Mal said steadily.

  The High General arched an eyebrow.

  “Your son purposefully went against General Cush’s admonitions, allowed Neeks to file an inaccurate report, and here you’re pretending he did nothing wrong!”

  “Yes, he violated the first rule again, but there were extenuated circumstances—”

  “There’s NO reason to disobey the rules!” Mal shouted. “Even if he could eliminate the Guarders, what would he do about the bottomless crevices? Hot water? Poisonous gasses? And those are only the hazards we can see from the edges. What might be further in? He might be able to rid the forest of the Guarder danger, but he could never cure the rest of it. And the citizens, believing that the army and government have made everything safer, will wander into those forests and not come back out. That happened before the Great War, High General, and you know it. So how would that look in the history books, eh? Under the rule of Nicko Mal, thousands of citizens died because they erroneously believed the forests in the north were suddenly safe!”

  The High General stood back up, scoffed, and took a breath to tell the Chairman how wrong he was, but Mal kept going.

  “I know what this is really about, Relf. You never cared about those forests until your son moved up there. Now you act as if you’re worried about safety. But the truth is, you see a way for him to distinguish himself. If he conquers that forest, as you naively believe, not only would he be out of danger and his son as well, but who could deny him to become the third High General Shin? Or his son to be the fourth? You want to create your own little rule here, don’t you, Relf? Querul and his descendents, now Shin and his descendents?”