by Trish Mercer
“It came from Gleace himself.”
Shem smiled. “That should carry something, shouldn’t it?”
“It may, but will he recognize it? That’s the question, Shem.”
Chapter 5 ~ “What did I almost do?”
It was desperation that was driving Mahrree right now. Desperation that her husband was nearly gone, but she wasn’t about to give up.
She stood on her bed in the middle of the night, grasping his wrist and holding it above her head in the dark. In that hand was his long knife, trembling to find a target.
“Who are you?!” he shouted at her.
“Your wife!” she yelled back.
“No, you’re not! You killed her!”
“Perrin, just open your eyes! Look at me. Look at your wrist.”
“It’s a trick!” he shouted, panicked.
Mahrree noticed a movement at her bedroom door, but didn’t take her focus off of her husband. It was too much to hope that it was Shem. He’d been suffering from a cold and decided his coughing all night would disturb Perrin, so he stayed at the fort.
Well it didn’t disturb Perrin, she realized as she tensed her measly muscles to keep her husband’s strong arm in the air and his long knife away from her neck. He was disturbed all on his own.
“Perrin Shin,” she said as calmly as she could, “I order you to put down this knife and command you to look at your wrist.”
“There’s nothing there!” he wailed.
“That’s right. Nothing’s there, so you’re in a dream.”
“Mother?” said a whimper at the door. It was Peto, and he was lighting a candle. “Will this help?”
Without glancing his way, she nodded. “Perrin, look for the candle. Open your eyes and come out of this now, soldier!”
In the growing light Mahrree could tell his eyes were still closed, but they cracked open a bit, squinting at the flame.
Mahrree firmed her grip on his arm, making sure the knitted chain was visible between her clenched fingers.
“Eyes open wider, Colonel. Good. Now, look at your wrist. What do you see there?”
Perrin, blinking in confusion, scowled as he looked at his arm. “The chain?” he whispered.
“Good,” Mahrree said, impressed with her ability to remain so composed. “Now look a little higher and see what’s in your hand.”
His gaze crept up to his hand, and when he saw what he was about to do, he gasped, dropping the long knife.
Mahrree ducked out of the way, but the blade tip jabbed into her shoulder before it tumbled onto the bed.
“Mother!” Peto cried, but didn’t dare come into the room.
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” she said, crawling off the bed while her husband collapsed onto it. “Just a minor nick, I’m sure. No real pain.” She slipped her bed dress off of her shoulder to inspect the now bleeding cut. “Doesn’t even need resin. Peto, get me a clean rag, please. And leave the candle. And don’t wake your sister.”
Peto obediently handed her the candle and darted down the stairs. Mahrree set the candle on the dresser, retrieved the long knife from the side of the bed, and slipped it into her stocking drawer where she knew her husband wouldn’t find it.
He remained curled up on the bed, shaking.
She was surprised she’d reached this point. The terror was gone, replaced by numbed acceptance. She wasn’t even trembling as much as she expected for having been nearly murdered.
Sitting down by her husband, she put a hand experimentally on his shuddering shoulder. “Perrin?”
She didn’t expect him to suddenly sit up and grab her, clumsily pulling her body next to his, clawing at her almost with animal-like intensity as he tried to envelop her. “Sorry . . . so sorry! What did I nearly do?!”
It was difficult to embrace him back, because he was squeezing her too firmly for her to wriggle her arms free. Instead she stroked his arm with one of her free fingers. “It’s all right, it’s over now. Did you notice that looking at your wrist worked? I think it helped wake you up.”
But he didn’t hear her over his mumbling of, “What did I almost do? What did I almost do?”
Peto stood at the door again, a damp cloth in his hands and an anxious expression on his face.
“It’s all right, Peto,” Mahrree told him from somewhere in her husband’s body. “Come on in.”
“What did I almost do?” Perrin continued. “What did—What is this, blood? Mahrree?”
He released her to see the red spot expanding on her bed dress.
Peto gingerly handed his mother the cloth, then stepped back to the relative safety of the doorway.
Mahrree patted Perrin’s hand and sat up out of his grip. Putting the cloth on her shoulder, she said, “Just a nick.”
He stared at her shoulder in growing horror. “Hide it. My long knife. Where I can’t find it.”
“Already have,” she said as brightly as possible.
“Let me help you,” he said as he made to take the damp cloth off of her shoulder.
Not too sure of how gentle he was at the moment, she said, “Really, Perrin, it’s fine—”
“Please let me do this,” he said with such yearning that Mahrree let her hand drop and allowed him to remove the damp cloth. He grimaced when he saw the perfect puncture point. Tenderly, he wiped the remaining blood off with the damp cloth while Mahrree tensed in worry.
“No, it’s not too bad,” he agreed. “But it’s still horrible.”
“It’s fine,” she assured him again.
To her surprise, he bent and kissed her wound as if she were three years old.
Peto, in the doorway, turned away.
Mahrree noticed. “Thank you, son. Go back to bed now.”
He nodded before trotting down the stairs.
Perrin gingerly put the damp cloth on her shoulder again. “Bleeding’s already slowing.”
They sat in silence for a few minutes, Mahrree too exhausted to think anything else but a prayer of gratitude that nothing worse transpired. What Perrin thought as he repeatedly pressed the cloth on her shoulder, she could only imagine.
Eventually he said, “It’s never got this far before, has it?”
“Besides you and Shem bloodying each other’s noses, no,” she said softly. “And it was just an accident.”
“What if you hadn’t been stopping me, though?”
She shrugged, and regretted it as her shoulder twinged.
Again her husband kissed it, as if somehow that would make the wound vanish.
“Nothing did happen, Perrin.”
“I can’t go on like this anymore,” he said so softly she almost didn’t hear him.
Sickened by what he may have meant by that, she hugged him fiercely. “Well, I can!” she told him. “For as long as you need to.”
He hugged her back, but something felt different about him, some terrible notion of . . . giving up.
---
That morning Peto left for school earlier than normal so he could run first to the rectory and pound on the door.
Rector Yung flung it open. “Peto? Come in, come in.”
“Last night,” he said, gulping in the warm air of Yung’s small fire. “It was bad. Shem’s been sick, so he wasn’t there, but this time . . . this time there was bloodshed.”
Yung’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Whose? Are you all right?”
Peto nodded. “Yes, everyone’s fine. Not that bad, but . . . it was my mother. Father was holding his long knife above her, sure that she had killed herself or something. I brought up a candle and he saw the light and dropped the knife on Mother,” he said in a rush. “Just a nick, but,” he paused to collect himself, “it worried me.”
Rector Yung pulled him into a gentle hug. “Of course. And your sister?”
“She doesn’t know. Slept through it. Father was really upset. But the bracelet thing? It helped wake him up, or something.”
Yung nodded. “Good, but now this is going too far. We need to confront this bear.”
<
br /> “I don’t know how that will help,” Peto said in resignation.
“On Holy Day, I’ll talk to him,” Rector Yung promised.
---
Perrin didn’t go to the fort that morning.
By the time dawn had arrived, he was still so out of sorts that he’d put his uniform on before shaving. Halfway through his breakfast he remembered, and went to the washroom. It was while he was slicing off the stubble from his throat with the single-edge blade that he caught his reflection in the mirror. Or rather, he caught the reflection of the army patch, the one with the sword imposed on top of a pine tree. The sword tip seemed to be aimed right at his head, and—
The army will kill you.
Abruptly he dropped his razor into the washing basin and darted out of the washing room. He didn’t know where those words came from—his imagination or somewhere else—but they terrified him nonetheless.
Panting, he jerked open the back door and ran on to the back porch, breathing in the cool morning air. Unable to control the trembling of his hands, he shoved them in his pockets.
Two soldiers coming off of patrols for the night passed along the back alley, and Perrin whistled to them.
“Tell Thorne I’ll be in for the afternoon shift. Got some . . . got some things to do around here.”
The soldiers nodded to him uncertainly, then saluted—forcing Perrin to remove his jittery right hand from his pocket to salute back—and jogged off to the fort.
Perrin sighed and, feeling something itchy on his throat, rubbed it. His hand came away with a mixture of gray soap and red blood. He’d cut himself, likely when he dropped his razor. No wonder his soldiers regarded him with such trepidation.
Back in the washing room he smiled dismally at himself in the mirror. He was a bit of a mess, he thought as he reluctantly picked up the razor again.
But he couldn’t finish the shaving job. He couldn’t bear to hold another blade again. Not just yet.
Instead he took a rag and wiped his face, partly shaved, partly stubble, and dabbed at the nick. Right next to that blood vessel, the one they teach the soldiers about.
Want to hit your enemy right there, to make him bleed to death.
Want to make sure you never get hit there, or—
If only he’d been just a finger width’s closer, then—
He shuffled to the gathering room and plopped on the sofa. Mahrree tilted her head at him as she readied her bag for school.
“Going to work later today?” she asked, far too cheerily.
He only nodded.
“Want me to stay with you until then?”
He heard the hint of hesitancy in her tone. While half of him wanted to say yes, the other half didn’t want to be reminded of what he nearly did to her. “No, go ahead. I’m just going to . . . rest.”
She kissed him on the forehead. “All right, then!” She produced a smile so exceptionally merry that Perrin wouldn’t have been in the least bit surprised that if, once she reached the back garden, songbirds flocked to her and butterflies accompanied her to the school.
Alone in the house, he headed to his study and slumped into a chair. In his dream he was only moments away from plunging his knife into the neck of a Guarder.
Into the neck of her.
Last week he had slept better, and it was after he wrote a few responses to letters. With growing anxiety, he snatched the rest of the letters waiting on the shelf and started answering them. Hogal used to say that the best way to get over feeling sorry for yourself was to forget yourself and do something for someone else.
It was a feeble effort, but he needed to begin to absolve himself of nearly committing an unforgiveable crime, although it was like draining the river with a mug.
Half an hour later he realized, as he started into the fourth letter, that it was providing him with a sense of completion, of tying up loose ends. Of finishing a nagging task.
Of ending.
---
Two days later on Holy Day Mahrree hugged her mother outside the rectory.
“I can stay to help,” Hycymum offered again, but the tone of her voice suggested she’d rather go start dinner for them all instead.
Mahrree shook her head. “It’s all right. I’m not sure what you could do, anyway.”
Hycymum sighed sadly. “Is your shoulder feeling better?”
“Scabbed over nicely, yes. Just go home, Mother. We’ll be by later to eat.”
Hycymum squeezed her daughter’s arm and looked over at Shem who stood nearby.
“I’ll bring them over myself early, in case he gets worse,” Shem promised.
“I’ll make fresh rolls,” she promised back. With a kiss on her daughter’s cheek, and a wave to her grandchildren, Hycymum picked her way through the snow after the congregation meeting.
“Why do they call it the Raining Season?” Mahrree grumbled as she kicked a clump of slush with her boot. “It’s always snowing here.”
Shem, standing next to her in the frigid air, tried to chuckle, but it turned into a fit of hacking. Mahrree patted his back uselessly until he stopped coughing. “This Raining Season is brought to you by the same minds in Idumea that declared the sky to be blue.” Shem looked up into the gray washed expanse of it.
Mahrree scoffed. “I don’t even know why I bother checking its color anymore.”
They stood outside the congregation hall near a tree, waiting for Perrin. Jaytsy and Peto were a little ways away making snowballs and halfheartedly taking aim at a nearby trunk.
“Shem,” Mahrree whispered, “look at Jaytsy and Peto, alone. There are no more teenagers here on Holy Day. They’re either at the dances or entertainments or the games. They’ve got no one.”
“So what do you want them to do?” Shem said softly back. “Let them go after midday meal? Send them off dancing or to the amphitheater?”
Mahrree twisted to look at him. “Of course not! Why would I allow it today when I don’t allow it during the week? Besides, Holy Day is all day, not just until the service is over.”
Calmly he said, “Then what other option is there? Mahrree, sometimes doing the right thing means a life of solitude.”
That’s when she noticed the depth of gloom in his eyes. Since he was twenty she’d been taken in by his big, happy blue eyes. But she didn’t realize until then how his eyes had changed. They were duller, sadder. There was still a faint twinkle when he looked at her, but his eyes were colder and definitely older. And lonely.
“Oh, Shem,” she whispered, touching his arm. “Here I am complaining, and there you are still single. I’m just not thinking.”
He smiled at her, a tiny bit of a twinkle trying to rise up in expanse of heavy blue. “Nothing to apologize for, Mahrree. I’m just stating a fact. But you’re right—look around. Which of these women could I marry? The only single ones left are widows with children my age.”
Mahrree chuckled sadly. “Message received. And I’ll stop nagging you about finding a wife. And I also won’t bring up that Sareen was asking after you again. I finally broke down and visited her little book shop, thinking I might find something diverting in there.”
“And?”
“Oh, I was diverted, all right. Don’t you ever go in there! Not that I’m one to advocate more laws, but the books she’s selling? There ought to be several laws against those.”
Shem smiled grimly. “I assumed as much. She’s not what I’d consider marriageable either.”
“Agreed. I’m so sorry that being devoted to us for so many years has meant that . . . you have only us.”
“It’s all right, Mahrree. Truly,” he said. “I’ve made peace with that idea that I may never be married. It’s better than being with someone who may persuade me away from my belief in the Creator, and it’s far better than behaving in a less-than-honorable manner. The next fifty, sixty years will seem temporary compared to the one thousand years’ reward to live with the Creator. Each year slips by so quickly, so it really doesn’t matter.”
>
He never ceased to amaze her. “I wished I had your insight, Shem. You should have been a rector, you know that?”
Again his sad smile appeared. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, but this is my calling. I’m sure of it.” He followed that up with a pathetic chuckle which dissolved into coughing.
It used to be that he and Perrin would laugh every time they got together. Mahrree noticed years ago that their laughs had both changed to mimic each other. They had the same pitch, rhythm, and length, as if the two men were truly brothers. She couldn’t remember the last time she heard either of them laugh.
Shem and Mahrree watched the front door. Rector Yung was saying goodbye to his attendees, which didn’t take long since there were less than fifty who still went on Holy Day.
Holiday to the rest of the world.
The Briters came out of the hall, waved at Mahrree and Shem, then headed for Jaytsy. She rushed over to give Mrs. Briter a hug.
“See Mahrree? Jaytsy’s got a friend,” Shem elbowed her. “So what if she’s nearly the same age as her mother? That’s a woman you can trust, right?”
Mahrree chuckled miserably. “Yes. Jaytsy could do far worse. Mrs. Briter is a very lovely, but odd, woman. Anyone who willingly plunges their hands into dirt is odd.”
Shem grinned. “Well I like them. They’re improving the diet of the soldiers, and we’ve never had such a consistent supply of butter until the Briters came with their cows.”
Mahrree smiled in agreement, but wasn’t about to let it go, especially since she saw a bit of brightness return to his eyes. “I’ve got opinions about men who willingly touch those things to get milk. That’s not just odd—it’s downright indecent!”
It worked. Shem laughed out loud and Mahrree sighed in pleasure. Until Shem’s laugh transferred into another fit of coughing.
The Briters, not knowing the source of the amusement, waved again to say farewell to Mahrree and Shem, who recovered quickly.
“There they are, waving those hands,” Mahrree murmured under her breath as she waved back. “I’ll never shake those hands, mark my words.”