Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge)

by Mercer, Trish

  “My father suggested the same thing. For what other reason would they need so many assessors? Except to give one’s friends an easy income, which is probably half the reason. If we thought the kings were overzealous, just wait until we see what the Administrators come up with next. Now that they’re well entrenched and the world has embraced them, they’ll push that acceptance to the very limits. Although it takes them weeks of discussions and committees to enact something new, I suspect they won’t let the process keep this government from bloating like a dead cow.”

  “Lovely image for me to dream about, Perrin. Thank you.”

  “Well, it’s true. The larger the government gets, the more stench-filled and abhorrent it becomes.”

  “And then it all rots,” she shuddered. “I suppose it is an apt analogy.”

  “That’s not the only thing bloating,” he warned. “My father also mentioned something that you might be interested in: the Administrator of Education has now established four levels of hierarchy to ‘oversee’ instruction. To adequately supervise the seventeen villages, they need about sixty more overseers.”

  “And exactly what are they doing?” Mahrree asked, mystified. “Mr. Hegek seems to be working non-stop, but I never see those piles of papers move on his desk. I still can’t figure out what takes up all of his time!” she murmured. “Just let the teachers teach. I still don’t get it—why should anyone else besides parents be in charge of the children?”

  “You know why. You figured it out earlier this year. Parents feel stupid because their government tells them they are, so they’re humbly—and even willingly—allowing someone else to guide their children’s teaching. But there’s another reason,” Perrin hesitated, as if worried the little man in red might still be in earshot. “This way the Administrators get to pick and choose what the growing generation learns, and anything that’s not supporting the Administrators simply isn’t covered. In one generation, the entire population should be as loyal to the Administrators as they are—or were—to their parents’ beliefs. Whatever they say, the people will believe.”

  “Let’s hope there are still a few rebellious ‘teenaged’ souls out there. Besides us, I mean.” Mahrree sucked in her breath as a memory from long ago came to her, bearing the mark of coming from her father. “Perrin, did you ever know that King Querul and the three Queruls after him for eighty years kept . . . servants?”

  Perrin tensed up next to her. “Yes, I know. The question is, how did you know about that? That’s hardly common knowledge, even forty years ago!”

  “My father told me,” Mahrree confessed. “He had an older friend over in Winds, another teacher, who helped to settle the servants in their own homes after they were freed. He told my father about it years later, how he had to teach them how to read and write and even shop.”

  “Amazing!” he breathed. “I really wished I knew Cephas. How many other secrets of the world did he know about?”

  “I think that was the only one,” Mahrree said. “How many more are there?”

  “Uh,” Perrin hesitated, “that’s probably it,” he said, not sounding completely honest. “Those thirty-three people—they weren’t Querul’s servants, Mahrree. They were slaves,” he said bitterly. “They and their children and their children’s children. They knew nothing but what Querul and his descendents told them. They were never paid or educated.”

  “They had been with the kings for years,” Mahrree remembered, “and believed everything he told them. He was their only source of knowledge about anything.”

  “Querul the First brought them to his mansion and compound during the Great War. He kept them sequestered for their safety, and they never left, for decades,” Perrin whispered. “He told them all kinds of terrible things were happening out in the world. Battles, bloodshed, men killed, and their women and children abused in atrocious ways . . . But in the compound they were safe. What they didn’t realize was that they were actually trapped. The war ended, but no one told them. Querul and his sons and family had grown so accustomed to those seven people doing all their labor that they simply kept them and told them the world was an awful place to be. The so-called servants had no idea that everyone else had more freedom than they did,” he sighed.

  “Querul the Second and the Third simply kept them,” he continued. “After all, the seven servants were marrying and making more loyal, terrified servants. The kings told them all kinds of horror stories about the world outside the compound of the mansion, and that if ever they left, they’d be destroyed by the ravaging people of the world. They truly believed the kings had ‘chosen’ them out of the world to give them such a protected existence. And to earn that honor? All they had to do was work day and night cleaning, building, repairing, cooking—everything.”

  Mahrree was nearly breathless. She had never heard so many details. “How do you know all of this?”

  “My grandfather Pere was the one who liberated them when he was first made High General, about forty years ago.”

  “Really?” Mahrree felt a surge of pride for her children’s ancestor.

  “Once he discovered what was going on in the mansion, he wanted to put a peaceful end to it. Eighty-one years they had lived like that. More than three generations of servants had never left the compound, never had contact with anyone else on the outside, and never knew what was really going on the world. My grandfather told Querul the Fourth that he’d heard some of his ‘servants’ were actually related to Guarders who had recently been contacted by the outside, and now the servants were waiting for the right moment to massacre his family. Fortunately the Fourth was a gullible, suspicious man and he released all of the servants the next day. His first instinct was to kill them all, but my grandfather had told them that if they were released instead, Querul and his family would be safe from future attacks. My grandfather sent them far away from Idumea where they could get a new start. He appointed some teachers and helpers for them in Winds—I suppose your father’s friend was one of them—and Winds was a very peaceful place. A few years ago I tried to find out what happened to them, but couldn’t find any records. Probably changed their names and moved elsewhere.”

  Mahrree grinned into the dark. “Now I wished I had known Pere Shin! Very clever, telling Querul a lie to right a wrong.”

  “Hmm, interesting,” Perrin said smugly. “Lies are sometimes necessary—”

  “Oh, not that again!” She snorted in spite of herself. “My father’s friend told him how astonished the servants were to discover they had been fed lies for so many years, that it never occurred to them to question the source of all their information, because why would the kings ever keep them enslaved? They claimed they loved them. They had no comprehension of freedom. It took them more than a year to adapt to the real world,” she recalled.

  Perrin scoffed. “My grandfather Pere suspected that the first Queruls even fathered a few of them, based on some noticeable resemblance. They sired their own slaves. Little surprise that none of that information was ever made public. My grandfather told me about it only once, years ago when I was about twelve, with the firm admonition to never reveal it. He told me only because he thought someday I would be High General, and if so then I should—” he stopped abruptly.

  Mahrree bit her lip. He didn’t want the position, and they never talked about it. It was as if they had each privately decided that not talking about it would make sure it didn’t happen. It certainly wasn’t a logical rationale, but it was comforting.

  Perrin began again, as if he never said the last sentence. “What would the world think of their leader if they knew he purposely enslaved people for his own pleasure? Gives me chills just remembering it,” he whispered. “Mahrree, sometimes I wonder if that’s not what’s going to happen again. But instead of the servants being restricting in their movement and knowledge, it could someday be the entire world—all of us trapped by our own ignorance.”

  “Now you’ve given me chills,” she said shivering under the blankets
. “How will we ever know we’re being controlled and trapped?”

  He breathed out. “That’s the real question, isn’t it?”

  “That’s why we always have to find out the truth!” she pointed out as she snuggled into her husband. The enjoyment of debating her husband increased in relation to her proximity to him. Besides, her nearness frequently made him lose his concentration. “At least, find the truth as often as possible.”

  “Conceded,” he unwillingly agreed, and pulled her tighter to him. “But here’s a follow-up question,” he stated in a debating tone. “Will we recognize the truth when it’s presented to us?”

  She groaned. “Ooh, good point. If no one’s allowed to debate, no one will ever know, will they?” she whispered. “There’s always The Writings. We can always refer back to that.”

  “But will everyone?” Perrin whispered. “Did my father tell you that the Administrator of Culture is writing a new history text for the schools?”

  Mahrree groaned again, but louder.

  “Obviously he didn’t. I took a look at the teacher scripts Idumea sent. For history, the teacher is merely supposed to read the new book to the students. No discussions, no arguments.”

  “Oh, you can’t be serious—”

  “The Administrator of Science will have a new book coming out soon, too,” he told her reluctantly. “And references from The Writings in those books? I wouldn’t bother looking for any. In a generation or two, people might forget all about them. And that’s precisely what the Administrators want: the only authority influencing the world will be theirs. No mystical ‘Creator’ gumming up their plans or confusing their people.”

  Exasperated, Mahrree growled and rolled out of his embrace. “People should be able to think and believe whatever they want to think and believe! Let us find the truth for ourselves. If the Administrators were completely honest and honorable men, we should be able to teach and believe and discuss and even debate anything. But obviously, that’s not the case. Dishonest men perceive threats everywhere!” she spat.

  Perrin cleared his throat and propped himself up on one arm. “Be careful, Mrs. Shin.”

  “Why?” she gestured pointlessly to the ceiling. “They’ll think I’m a threat? Someone will start a file on me? I thought I was going to bed with my husband, not Major Eyes and Ears and Voice. Don’t you remember what you suggested a few minutes ago? The Administrators are out to control the thoughts of the next generation? They might even enslave the world? You might be considered a bigger threat than me!”

  He chuckled. “All right, all right. I won’t report me . . . or you. Now we can both sleep better.” He leaned over to kiss her.

  She didn’t notice. “So the Administrator of Culture is writing a new history book . . . do you realize no one’s teaching the stories of Terryp anymore? I didn’t see any mention of him in the sixty pages of the Full School description, he was the most important historian of the Middle Age! Who else and what else will they eliminate? Guide Hierum was mentioned only once. I’ll be fascinated to read the new and enlightened explanation of how Idumea came to be.”

  Perrin let out a low whistle. “Ah Mahrree, Mahrree, why do you like to get into such discussions so late at night?”

  “Because it’s the only time the house is quiet.”

  He sighed. “Weren’t you going to kiss me a few minutes ago?”

  “Is that all you can think about right now? Our entire future may be changing, and Perrin, what if we don’t notice it?! What if we someday discover we’re . . . on the wrong side?”

  There. It was out.

  He sighed louder. “There’s not going to be any kissing, or even any hope of arguing, until you get this resolved in your head, is there?”

  “We’re arguing now!” she declared, a bit put out that he didn’t seem worried about whose side they were on.

  “No, this is debating—loudly,” he said patiently. “I was suggesting the kind of arguing that begins with kissing.”

  Mahrree kissed him quickly on the cheek.

  “Well that was hardly worth the effort . . .”

  “So what do we do?” she asked earnestly.

  “Well, first, I come over here to face you properly—”

  “No! I mean, how do we expose the Administrators, preserve the truth, and save the world?!”

  Perrin chuckled. “That’s a little more than we can expect to accomplish tonight, my darling wife. I have a much better chance at kissing you, but now I’m beginning to doubt my odds of succeeding at that.”

  She giggled sadly. “I supposed you’re right. About fixing the world, that is.”

  “There’s one thing we can do,” he said. “We can make sure we’re not touched by whatever may be coming.”

  “Nor our children,” she reminded him.

  “Nor our children, I agree. In our house we will discuss and believe whatever we want. We can recognize for ourselves that the sky is dark and threatening with a storm obviously on the way, and explain to our children that the rest of the world has been conditioned to believe it is blue, despite all evidence to the contrary.”

  She kissed him quickly on the lips. “Have I told you lately that you are the most perfect man, and that I love and adore you more than words can express?”

  “That kiss is still inadequate for the perfect man. And, if you insist, you can even believe the dinner leftovers can evolve into something as handsome as me, and I’ll explain to our children how their mother is a little odd at times.”

  Mahrree giggled. “I’m odd? Mr. Let-Me-Put-My-Boots-at-a-Perfect-50-Degree-Angle-to-the-Bed?”

  He chuckled. “Just as long as no one outside of our house ever finds out what we discuss inside the house, we should be all right.” He sighed. “It’s simply too big a battle to fight, Mahrree. The two of us against the twenty-three Administrators? Definitely not good odds.”

  Mahrree had heard that excuse before, and she tried to ignore it.

  “Hmm. At least the forests are still quiet,” she mumbled in resignation. “At least that’s one less battle we have to fight.”

  Perrin slipped his arm under her. “Mm, yes. At least the forests are still quiet. And the soldiers know how much I love a quiet forest, especially at night. But they don’t know entirely why.”

  She giggled as he pulled her close and finally claimed his kiss.

  ---

  Barker was waiting when the man in the black jacket reappeared. He trotted over to the fence and began his slow climb.

  “Up, up, up. Well done, well done. Jerky again, but you seemed to enjoy that. Sorry about being late. Didn’t realize messengers showed up this hour of night. But it figures—we’ve had nothing but delay after delay. Alongside, now, alongside. Hope you’re ready. Long night ahead of us, boy.”

  Chapter 22 ~ “Now, how do I go about putting an end to all of this nonsense?”

  Mahrree was getting breakfast ready the next morning when she saw the flashes of blue come over her back fence and run towards the kitchen door. Immediately she knew there’d be no announcement that night at the amphitheater about the new taxation. Something bigger would be occupying the Army of Idumea.

  “PERRIN!” she called, and went to open the door for the two soldiers.

  “Ma’am! Major Shin here?” said one of the corporals breathlessly. In the alley Mahrree saw a third soldier arrive on horseback with an additional saddled horse ready for her husband.

  “I’m right here!” Perrin announced as he hurried through the door, his sword ready at his side. “News?”

  “Something moving in the forest, sir!” the soldier told him, and Perrin jogged out the door without a word to Mahrree.

  Jaytsy toddled into the kitchen, her long tunic bed clothes nearly tripping her as she rushed after Perrin, but the door was already closed. Disappointed, and with her wild brown hair in disarray, she said, “Where Fodder go?”

  Mahrree waved half-heartedly and unnoticed at the windows as Perrin rode off in a puff of dust. �
��Had to go to the fort early, Jayts. Something’s come up.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” Mahrree smiled at her. “I rarely do. Guess it’s only you, me, and Peto for pancakes.”

  “Only you and me, Mudder,” Jaytsy said. “Peto sleeping. He can’t eat. He’s messy wif pancakes.”

  Mahrree chuckled. “Your brother gets to eat too, Little Lady! Even pancakes.”

  “No, just keep the pancakes a secret. Give him apples.”

  “Jaytsy, we don’t keep secrets from your brother.”

  “Why not?” Jaytsy asked, her big Perrin-brown eyes looking up at her, truly wondering.

  “Why we don’t keep secrets? Because . . . it’s not nice.”

  “Why?”

  Mahrree sighed. “That really was an inadequate answer, wasn’t it?”

  Jaytsy nodded soberly as if she understood what ‘inadequate’ meant.

  “Because people deserve to know. Because even if we don’t like watching Peto eat, with his mouth all open and syrup dribbling down his chin, he gets breakfast too, even if you don’t think he deserves it—”

  Mahrree stopped, a variety of ideas flashing in her mind too quickly for her to keep up with them all. “Even though you think he doesn’t deserve to know the truth, he does,” she said slowly, trying to put all her thoughts in some kind of order as if they were more obedient than her children and the dog. “Every person needs to know the truth of everything.”

  Jaytsy just blinked at her.

  But Mahrree was looking past her. “And it’s up to us to find out that truth. We can’t expect someone to give it to us, we have to go out to find it. Even take risks to find it, if necessary. No . . . no, that’s it exactly! The truth brings great responsibility because it takes great risk to actually find it! Few people dare to take those risks, but there’s no great reward without great struggle. Oh, Jaytsy.” She looked out the wavy window at the large dark smudge that was the forest and mountains.

  A plan was forming in her mind.