by Trish Mercer
Shem laughed again in his hacking, precisely as Mahrree hoped he would. She’d apologize to the Briters someday for using them for a light moment, and she uselessly patted Shem’s back again.
A shadow at the rectory doors drew Mahrree and Shem’s attention, for behind a shriveled old woman shaking Rector Yung’s hand stood Perrin, his arms folded and looking like an irritated bear with an appetite. Yung had asked Perrin to stay for a few minutes after everyone had left, and Shem and Mahrree knew why.
After the old woman, Rector Yung glanced over the Shem and Mahrree and subtly winked. They nodded back once.
Perrin now took his place at the door, looking quite put out. “What did you need, Rector Yung?”
The rector patted him genially, which Mahrree thought was exceptionally brave. “Just wanted to talk, Colonel. It’s been quite a while and I miss our conversations. Just for ten minutes?”
Perrin gripped his uniform’s cap in his hands none too gently. “I really don’t have time to chat—”
“Five minutes then, Colonel.”
“Rector—”
“Colonel, you’re getting worse,” Yung cut straight to the point. “I see it in your eyes. And it’s the weather. The darker days, less sunlight—all of it makes your condition deteriorate. I know a little bit about this. But if you can just hold on until Planting—”
Perrin’s menacing eyebrow arched. “I have no condition, Rector!” and he stepped in front of the small man.
Mahrree held her breath and gripped Shem’s arm in warning when she saw what Rector Yung did next.
He jumped in front of Perrin and put his wrinkled finger on Perrin’s chest. Amazingly, he stopped the colonel, even though he barely came up to Perrin’s third brass button.
“You do, Perrin Shin, and it’ll destroy you if you don’t fight it! The Refuser has focused all of his attention on you. He knows that if he destroys you, he destroys a great many other plans as well—”
“Rector, enough—”
“Face the nightmares, Colonel, and order them gone! You haven’t asked for help yet, not from me—”
“Rector, you have no idea what you’re talking about—”
“Oh, I do. And that’s what worries you. You haven’t even asked the Creator for His help—”
“Shut up, Yung!”
“Where’s your faith, Colonel? Find it! Use it! We need you, healthy and solid. Order the darkness gone, and then hold on until the snows melt and the sun returns. That’s when you’ll return.”
“Look, old man—”
“Perrin, your darkest days are ahead of you. You cannot give up. Not now. Promise me!”
Mahrree, transfixed for the past minute at the sheer bravery of the rector, feared her husband’s very thin patience was about to snap. She pulled on Shem’s arm to get him to do something.
But Shem just shook his head. “Yung’s got this. Watch.”
“Rector Yung,” said Perrin, irritated, “you have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“I know far more than you ever will, Perrin Shin!” Yung declared. “Now fight. Focus on that woolen chain on your wrist,” he grasped Perrin’s arm, forcing the chain to slip. “Remember what’s real, and—”
“Your five minutes are up. Remove your hand.”
“Fight, Perrin!”
Perrin’s movement was so swift that Mahrree didn’t even see his hand flash upwards to grab the rector’s arm. He took a step closer and hovered over Rector Yung, gripping him tightly. “I fight every minute of every day and night, Yung!” he growled. “If you don’t believe me, come by some night and see for yourself!”
He jerked the rector out of his way with such force that Mahrree gasped. She sent a look of apology at the rector as he stumbled in the snow to regain his footing.
He just looked back at Mahrree with his usual sweet smile. “Until next week, Shin family. Shem Zenos,” he called over to them as if he hadn’t just nearly had his arm pulled off.
Perrin was already striding past Mahrree and Shem, barking orders to his children that it was time to go home. Jaytsy yelped and fell in line, while Peto sent a worried look to Rector Yung.
Mahrree glanced back as well and mouthed, I’m so sorry.
Shem seemed to be doing the same thing.
The rector nodded and waved goodbye.
“He’s fine,” Shem whispered to Mahrree as they followed the fury-in-uniform. “Yung looks small and fragile, but he’s a tough old horse. I’ve seen him deal with worse.”
Mahrree sighed. “At least he said something to him. Oh Shem, are you sure he wasn’t injured or insulted or anything?”
Shem shook his head. “No one’s ever successfully insulted him, because he refuses to be insulted. People do their best, but Yung won’t even acknowledge the attempt of an affront.”
Before Mahrree could comprehend how one did that, Shem continued with, “Besides, he’s tamed many people over the years. His wife, to begin with. When they first married, apparently she was quite the hothead. He taught her to channel that ferocity. By the time she was middle-aged, she was adept at turning it off and on when needed.”
“I can’t imagine him married to someone like that,” Mahrree said. “I guess I’ve always pictured a rector’s wife to be like Tabbit Densal. Tender, concerned, loving—”
“Oh, Mrs. Yung was all those things, Mahrree. Not everyone who worries about someone’s future will tell them so in a loving manner. They may humble and even intimidate the one they care about. Mrs. Yung was quite skilled at that. A perfect match for her ever-gentle husband. She knew precisely what to say to get someone where they needed to be. Forceful love, I suppose.”
“I guess I just can’t picture a woman like that.”
Shem looked at her askance. “You really can’t? Never in your life met a woman like that? Ever?”
Mahrree shook her head.
“Interesting,” was all he said.
---
Two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.
“I must admit, Genev is proving to be meaner and sharper than Gadiman,” Mal said. “Then again, cotton’s sharper than Gadiman. Still, Genev’s holding that department together quite well.”
Brisack knew better than to ask if there were any updates on Gadiman’s whereabouts. There weren’t, and even though Brisack followed up on every report about discovered corpses, none matched Gadiman’s description. The weasel was gone.
Just . . . don’t mention that to Nicko Mal.
“And with so much going on in the south,” Mal continued brightly, “and our men’s success in raiding the mines, I’ve nearly forgotten to ask: what about the latest update on our colonel?”
“Still terrifying everyone in Edge, Nicko,” smiled Brisack. “She even asked for another bottle. Perrin’s still on his knees in the pit, and clawing uselessly at the walls, according to Thorne.”
Mal smiled in smug satisfaction. “And she still hasn’t asked for any more advice?”
“No,” Brisack said, his previous pleasure turning to consternation. “Maybe she’s found her own ways to deal with him.”
Mal scoffed. “Not likely. Thorne’s reports are filled with his erratic behavior. Just how long can he keep this up, Doctor?”
Brisack shrugged. “It’s truly remarkable. While he’s at the bottom of that pit, he’s still alive after eight moons.”
“I have to admit,” Mal said, clasping his hands, “I really thought he would have broken by now. I suppose our Quiet Man Zenos is keeping the fort together. So,” he said with a tone of expectancy, “what if Shin pulls through this? Is your latest plan satisfactory?”
“Satisfactory?” the doctor hooted. “That would be the understatement of my life. The results are nothing short of spectacular! Now if he’ll just give me a reason to employ it, I’ll be a contented man and my scientific career unparalleled.”
Mal sat back. “My, my. Are we still irked about the caravan to Edge?”
Brisack shook his
head. “I’m not petty, Nicko. You can drop that condescending tone. I’m just fascinated. No matter what’s thrown at him, he comes back up. It’s like trying to drown a frog.”
“I know what will destroy him,” Mal said. “Just give me one of those children—the boy. The captain has already claimed the girl, so we can’t touch her. At least not yet. But the boy doesn’t even want to join the army, from what I’ve heard.”
Brisack shook his head. “Trust me, Nicko—this new project will be far more devastating to the colonel than merely losing half of his children. Just think: what would happen to him if he lost half his village? In a season or two, you’ll be amazed at the results. If he makes it out of his trauma, he just may think he’s invincible. And we certainly couldn’t have him thinking like that.”
“No, no we could not,” Nicko Mal agreed. “With thinking like that, he might begin to think he’s our equal.”
Chapter 6 ~ “I’m an object of pity.”
Shem Zenos wrapped the thick overcoat around him and wished it actually rained in Raining Season. He reached the vent and sat down on a log.
A moment later a large man joined him, sat on the log, and pulled off his thick gloves.
“Vent seems to be hotter tonight,” he said to Shem.
“Yes, and I’m grateful for that. The hike always feels further in the snow.” Shem broke out into another coughing fit.
His companion pulled a flask from his hip. “Got what you need. Can’t have you giving away our position to soldiers on patrol.”
“Thanks.” Shem pulled the cork from the flask and swallowed down the liquid. He paused only to say, “Still warm, too. Perfect.”
“Works best that way. Too bad you can take the recipe down with you and sell it in the world. You’d be the richest man in the world simply because you have a cure for the cold.”
“Well, we both know none of this has ever been about gold and silver,” Shem said, and he finished off the flask and handed it back.
“I know you’re here for more than just a remedy. So how is he?”
“Bad, Jothan. He even turned on Yung.”
Jothan sighed. “The setbacks were to be expected. This season is always the worst, even for those not traumatized.”
“I just hate seeing him like this,” Shem whispered. “I feel like my best friend has died.”
Jothan nodded. “I hate to tell you what I must, then.”
“Oh no,” Shem whispered. “What is it?”
“They’re moving north. The activity is coming back here.”
Shem moaned. “He can’t take it. He’ll crack.”
“They’re taking over the abandoned houses in Moorland.”
“Smart move,” Shem had to agree. “I wondered that they didn’t do it earlier. Snow must have driven them to it.”
“Been waiting for reinforcements. Now that they’ve arrived, it’s time to strike again.”
“It’s too soon, isn’t it?” Shem asked, with pleading in his voice. “We can’t end it for him yet, can we?”
“No, I’m sorry,” said Jothan. “Keeping your route free is more important now than ever, now that we’ve lost Moorland. First group of the season’s coming in two weeks.”
“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Shem sighed, “since I schedule everyone at the fort—still, despite Thorne’s meddling. It’s easy enough to keep the way clear.”
“Good, and . . .” Jothan paused, “how are your other concerns?”
“Well, Beneff is still as effective as a toothless dog, thankfully. But as for the other one? He’s still the most sniveling, insincere, beast of a boy I have ever met!”
The large man chuckled. “Shem Zenos, I have never known you to dislike anyone. You actually loathe Captain Thorne.”
“I do, may the Creator forgive me! Something about his smarmy ways just gets under my skin and . . .” He stopped when he realized his hands were outstretched in front of him, as if choking someone.
Jothan smiled cautiously.
“Why can’t I eliminate him?!” Shem exhaled. “Just bring him to the fresh spring? I haven’t had the pleasure of doing that for years.”
Jothan eyed him. “You’re the one who received that answer.”
Shem growled. “And the answer was, No. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.”
“Sure you do. What would happen if the grandson of the High General suddenly vanished? Besides, you said yourself he’s not one of them. At least, not yet.”
“And why is that?” Shem stared at the steam vent. “There are tests, but apparently he hasn’t passed them to know everything?”
“There’s another reason you haven’t brought him out here yet.”
“I know,” Shem groused, “but I have a hard time believing it.”
The large man leaned back. “Truly, I’ve never seen anyone exasperate you so much as Lemuel Thorne. You really can’t believe that there’s hope for him?”
Shem sighed. “You know, just a year ago the fort felt like a family. But now? Thorne undermines whatever I do.” He scoffed. “He simpers around Perrin, then adjusts everything from how the papers are stacked on the desk to how the armory is arranged, then glares at me as if to say, ‘Your days are over!’”
Jothan blinked. “Are you . . . are you jealous? That’s not the Shem Zenos I know.”
Shem growled. “I don’t know myself! He’s always saying things like, ‘Are you sure that’s the best strategy? When I was at Command School . . .’” Shem cracked his neck to ease the tension.
“Perhaps if Thorne’s incompetent,” Jothan said, “then maybe—”
“That’s the worst part!” Shem nearly wailed. “That little . . .” he searched for an appropriate word until he finally settled on, “—thing isn’t that bad of an officer! The men listen to him, even though many of them are older and seem almost afraid of him. I’m too distracted myself to know why.”
Jothan put a brotherly hand on his shoulder.
Shem sighed. “It’s going to destroy Perrin, you know. Their return? He can’t do it alone, Jothan. I know our rules, but we have to help him! I’m refuse to lose him!”
“We know,” Jothan squeezed his shoulder with so much reassurance that he accidentally left a bruise. “We don’t want to lose him either. We’ve already decided to help.”
Shem sat up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. “Really?”
“We have a slew of volunteers ready to man the forest and present obstacles. No one wants to lose them either, Shem.”
Shem exhaled in relief. “Thank you! You know, if we could just end it for him earlier—”
“No, Shem. A few more years, still.”
Shem sagged again. “He won’t survive it—”
“He will,” his companion said firmly. “It’s known he will. We need the colonel—and you—now more than ever before.”
“I know, I know,” Shem confessed. “I just need to hear it one more time: he’s going to make it, isn’t he?”
“They will all get there, Shem. Because of you. Hey, you’re not coughing anymore.”
Shem smiled. “No, I’m not.”
“Then get back to work, soldier.”
---
When Perrin came to himself he was standing in the middle of the gathering room, his father’s sword in hand.
“Oh, not again,” he whispered.
It was the middle of the night and he was alone.
“Well, that’s a first. I must either be getting quieter, or they’re sleeping through it.” He stared at the sword in the faint light from the slivers of the moons. He also noticed the thin soft chain which wasn’t there a few minutes ago. Its absence had forced him to shove the dream aside and slog to find reality.
The silly thing had worked again.
He trembled as he clutched the ornate hilt, unable to remember what sent him hurrying down the stairs.
“I’m sick of this,” he whispered to the room. “Three seasons. How much more am I expected to put up with? Why me?�
� he demanded of the darkness. “Why ME?”
He didn’t expect to get an answer, yet one came, heavy and thick, as if it were created by the night itself, blanketing him with cold terror.
Why NOT you?
Suffocating in the dark, he pondering the words. In case he hadn’t heard it before, it came again, sending a fresh chill down his back.
Why NOT you? Because you’re special? The son of the High General? A colonel?
“No,” he whispered. “I know I’m not special—”
Oh, but you DO. Nothing should touch you. But you could have been a beggar in Idumea if it weren’t for your privileged birth. You deserve nothing. You’re no better than your lowest soldier. And you’re not beyond my touch, Shin.
He gripped the sword tighter, as if that would give him power against the smothering sensation that was filling the room.
Why bother? You can’t touch me. Why don’t you just give up? Three seasons, remember? What if it lasts for three years? Three decades? Do you really want to endure this for the rest of your life?
“It won’t be decades,” he declared with every bit of bravery he could borrow from his past. “I’ll conquer it. I’ll conquer you. I never quit—”
Of course you do. You quit all the time. It’s not a sign of weakness; it’s a sign of reason. You’ve stopped doing things before. And it turned out to be the right thing to do.
“That’s different!” he insisted to the words that poured into his mind. They weren’t jumbled and confused as in a dream, but came from a deliberate consciousness, with distinct power. What kept that force from overwhelming him, he didn’t know. But his heart beat rapidly and he feared it was only a matter of time before the force pounced on him like a bored cat on a wounded creature.
“There are times to quit,” he admitted, “but then there are times to fight to your very last breath!”
So that’s what you think you’re doing? You’re not fighting, you pathetic son of Relf. You’re barely existing. Everyone has to do everything for you. Oversee the fort. Talk you into bed. Force you back in it again. Wake you up. Feed you. Next they’ll dress you, too, and take you to the washing room. You’ve become a burden. And what do you give them back? Nothing. How do you live with yourself? Oh wait, you don’t. You live in your dreams.