The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series)

by Trish Mercer

  Shem closed his eyes and immediately pictured where she was. He sprinted around the side of the barn to a stand of trees where he could just make out a figure cowering on the ground in a tight ball.

  “Oh, Jaytsy!” he whispered and gingerly tiptoed over to her. He hesitated to hug her, concerned that the presence of another man might be the last thing she wanted. Instead he crouched and placed a gentle hand on her head, which she had buried in her arms.

  Cautiously she lifted her head to see who was there, then, recognizing Shem, she lunged and caught him in a hug.

  Shem sat down in front of her to hold her, trying to keep back his tears of rage.

  “Come here, Jayts,” he said softly as she curled up into his arms the way she did when she was six years old. She was far too big now, but he found a way to embrace her anyway. “Oh, I’m so sorry Jayts. We need to get you to your mother—”

  To his astonishment, she pulled away and exclaimed, “No! Uncle Shem, we can’t do that to them! Mother’s not ready and did you see Father today? He looked so good. Next week is so important. He needs to be ready for the ceremony. I can’t do this to them!”

  “Jayts, they need to know! Your mother needs to, to . . .” He gave up trying to find the words. What her mother would do to even begin to try fix any of this was, well . . . he didn’t know, nor did he try to imagine. All he knew was that this was far, far beyond the role of an uncle.

  Jaytsy slid off his legs and knelt next to him. “Shem, I’m all right,” she said, sounding strangely mature and calm. “I’m fine.”

  When he looked at her more closely in the growing dark, he realized she wasn’t even crying, but grinning. Completely perplexed, all he could say was, “But . . . but . . .”

  “He got the worst of it, Uncle Shem! You and Father would’ve been proud of me. I got him, twice! I kick more accurately than Peto.”

  “But . . . but . . .”

  “He wasn’t successful, Shem,” and he noticed that she once again had dropped the uncle, “He couldn’t be. I remembered everything Father showed me, and did most of it. I really am all right.” She smiled and patted his shoulder comfortingly.

  Shem leaned back against a tree and covered his face with his hands. “Thank the Creator,” he whispered. “You’re something else, Miss Jaytsy Shin. Come to think of it, he did look pretty bad before I even got to him.” He released a tense chuckled. “Ah, Jayts—when I saw you in there . . .” He shook his head at the memory that was still so raw, so enraging. “I was ready to kill him. I really was.”

  “You didn’t, did you?” she said, panic rising in her voice. “You’d get in so much trouble. I mean, I heard you yelling at him, but you didn’t—”

  “No,” Shem sighed heavily, “I didn’t kill him. Pricked his throat a few times, punched him pretty good in the jaw—”

  “Good,” Jaytsy said, something deep and bitter in her tone that made Shem’s left fist feel proud of itself.

  “Jayts, we need to keep him away from you.

  “I know,” she agreed, “but I bring Father his dinner every evening, and I don’t want to miss that. It’s been good for both of us.”

  A terrible thought occurred to Shem. “Wait a minute—just how long has this been going on with Thorne?”

  Jaytsy shrugged and examined the dark earth she sat on. “He was walking me home every day last year when he first arrived, but by Weeding Season I told him I wasn’t ready for his attention. He did kiss me once, though, last year,” she shivered at the memory. “I’ve run into him a couple dozen times since then, but only for a few minutes here and there. Then tonight,” she paused, her voice a little shaky, “tonight he said I was ‘ready’.”

  His right hand balled up into a fist, ready and willing, but Shem forced it to relax. “Oh, Jayts, I’m sorry. I had no idea. I don’t think your parents knew, either.”

  “I figured everyone had enough to worry about, so I just handled him myself. Hid in the fields weeding, things like that.”

  “You shouldn’t have to, though,” he told her earnestly. “I could have helped.”

  “It was a bad time,” she said vaguely.

  Then Shem understood, and he closed his eyes. “It was when Perrin was first struggling, wasn’t it? And I bet I said something stupid like, ‘We shouldn’t bother him with anything,’ didn’t I?”

  She nudged his boot with hers. “It wasn’t stupid, Shem. And I really didn’t want to bother any of you.”

  “Well, you shouldn’t have listened to me—and that’s the only time I’ll ever say that again! I could’ve helped. Promise me you won’t ever keep something like this secret again. The whole reason why I’m here is to help your family. I’ve already promised Lemuel I’ll be keeping a very close eye on him, but you know, Jayts, it really would be a lot easier if you told your parents—”

  She got up on her knees. “No, Uncle Shem, I’m begging you. Don’t say a word to them! I held him off! You scared him nearly to death, I’m sure. Not a word to my parents?”

  “You got lucky, Jaytsy, but you might not be next time. And next time, it may not be Thorne. It may be another—” He recognized her clearly confused look. Grandpy Neeks had been right; soldiers were looking at ‘little’ Jaytsy Shin. And she definitely wasn’t ‘little’ anymore. She probably noticed their smiles, but innocently didn’t recognize their leers.

  He groaned as she cocked her head at him in question. He really didn’t want to have this discussion with her.

  “All right, all right,” he sighed. “I promise: not a word. Whenever you come to the fort, let me walk with you. But let me state right now, I don’t like keeping this a secret from your parents. They can handle it now.”

  “Come on, Shem,” she kicked his foot again, this time playfully. “I’m sure you’ve kept a few secrets from them.”

  Something flashed across Shem’s face that Jaytsy must have glimpsed in the dark.

  “You have, haven’t you, Uncle Shem?” she giggled. “So just one more secret then, please? For a little while? If there’s any more trouble with Lemuel, then we can tell them. If not, they’ll never have to fret about what they don’t know.”

  Shem groaned softly and rubbed his temples. “All right, all right. Your family’s giving me a headache, Jaytsy. All these secrets . . . don’t tell Perrin he’s being sedated. Don’t tell my parents Thorne tried to attack me. Don’t tell Mahrree that Versula Thorne kissed Perrin in Idumea . . .”

  That last one wasn’t an accidental revelation. He wanted Jaytsy to know, on some level, exactly what kind of family the Thornes were. Shem wasn’t disappointed by her reaction.

  Jaytsy’s eyes were bulging appropriately when she gasped, “Whoa, Shem! She did what?! When you were in Idumea? Tell me!”

  “Yep, she did. Right in front of me, too. But if I told you all that I know about everything, you’d be so shocked you’d sit there for three days straight.”

  Jaytsy giggled despite her surprise. “So what happened?”

  Shem smiled halfheartedly. “Don’t you worry, Jayts. Perrin didn’t return her affection and got rid of Versula as fast you got rid of her son. Without kicking her, though.” Then, mumbling to himself, he added, “Why anyone wants to be an officer is beyond me. You people are so messed up. Be a farmer, my father said. You want stress, try growing crops.”

  Jaytsy giggled again and kissed Shem’s cheek. “Thank you for keeping us all straight. At least we keep you entertained, right? You don’t regret being with us really, do you?”

  “Entertained? Ha!” Shem barked. “I used to think people went to the amphitheater because they were so bored with their lives that any of that nonsense they show now would be a welcomed diversion. But now I’m thinking if they have lives anything like ours, they go just for some kind of escape! Entertained . . .”

  She looked slightly hurt.

  He gently squeezed her arm. “But no, Jayts, I never regret being with your family. Wait, let me think about it . . . Uh, all right, no.”


  “Poor Shem,” Jaytsy laughed softly. “By the way, how did you know to come to the barns?”

  “Just a feeling I knew I had to act upon.”

  “Well, in behalf of the Shin family, I thank you for coming to the rescue. Again.”

  “Oh, I do it so often it’s an old habit now.” He waved it off, got to his feet, and held out his hands to help her up. “Come on, I’ll walk you home. We need to come up with an excuse as to why you’re late getting home. Ah, listen to me. Now you have me making up lies!”

  “That’s why you’re an honorary Shin!”

  Chapter 8 ~ “It was a good night. All is well.”

  Some mornings just feel significant. There’s nothing different in the air, but everything has a singular feel nonetheless. Perhaps the feeling comes from within and is projected outward. When everyone anticipates the day—be it birthdays or Harvest Celebration—perhaps they energize it themselves with their own expectations.

  When Perrin opened his eyes early in the morning, he knew what day it was: the 37th Day of Planting. He looked up at the high peaked roof and remembered it was exactly one year ago that the old low roof came down. He thought about the many years before when nothing more significant happened than Peto breaking an arm or him getting another gash that required stitches. When their roof gave way last year it was if everything else collapsed in their world. If only he had known what would transpire in the next year . . .

  Well if he did, what could he have done? Anything different? He’d asked himself that many times. Visiting his parents after the land tremor and taking back the stores for Edge—he wouldn’t have changed a thing about any of that.

  But afterward? Sometimes he pictured himself resigning in front of the Administrators, or taking a stab at Gadiman when he was on that grotesque table. Once he considered what would have happened if he hadn’t taken that mad ride to Idumea in the first place. Would he still have gone down in that spiral that he had to climb out of so many mornings?

  When he went to apologize to Rector Yung a few weeks ago, Perrin stayed for much longer than five minutes. He revealed to the tiny man that, despite the attention of his family and friends, he’d felt abandoned.

  “By whom?” Rector Yung prodded.

  Perrin stared at his hands before saying, “The army. Surely they knew this happens to soldiers sometimes. Shem said he read about trauma in the surgeon’s book, but even the surgeon couldn’t give him much practical advice beyond this bracelet.”

  He never took it off, and he frequently found himself fingering it, finding an unexpected comfort in the grooves of the soft chain. He still had dreams, but not as fearsome or as intense as before. And each time he did, he looked at his wrist or grasped it if it was too dark. It was when he felt it missing that a slight wave of panic rushed him, enough to jerk him out of the dream. He’d awake to find himself gripping his arm, clasping the thin wool, and then encountering a sense of calm.

  Perrin noticed Rector Yung looking at the chain, now a bit darker and dirtier than when Shem first tied it on to him. Mahrree wanted to wash it, but Perrin assured her he scrubbed it each time he bathed. Besides, he thought it looked better a bit worn and soiled.

  Perrin released it and tugged his sleeve to cover it. “Rector, I refuse to believe I was the only who ever suffered this way.”

  “You aren’t,” Yung said quietly, meeting his eyes. “With no offense to the memory of your honorable father, the army does know. There were many cases during the Great War, and have been several since. But you see, the army doesn’t want to deal with broken soldiers—forgive my choice of words. They want fighters. If you can’t fight, then you’re ushered out, given a pat on the back, and then it’s hoped you fade away.”

  While Perrin wanted to be shocked at that revelation, he knew it was true. There had been a couple of men he heard of over the years that had troubles, then no one heard about them again. He didn’t give them much thought, because the thought that even he could succumb to such a state of mind was too terrifying. In fact, that was probably the biggest terror soldiers faced—not losing their lives, or their limbs, or even their families, but losing themselves.

  “How do you know this?” Perrin whispered to Yung.

  Yung smiled gently. “It’s never been the fort surgeons who dealt with trauma. It’s always been the village rectors. When men feel abandoned, as you so rightly put it, that’s when they come to the rectors hoping to find the Creator, and quite often we’re able to help facilitate a most wonderful reunion. But Perrin, please forgive both Shem and I, but it wasn’t the surgeon who suggested your bracelet.” Yung squinted his narrow eyes into mere slits and shrugged.

  “You?” Perrin sighed. Somehow, he knew. The surgeon never talked to him. In fact, he acted as if the colonel didn’t even exist. And Perrin had never sought him out, either. It was an unspoken mutual avoidance, and while on the surface it seemed to work for both men, it didn’t do any good at all.

  Perrin managed a small smile for the old man crouched in front of him. “You knit?”

  The rector chuckled. “No, not one bit! But I have a friend who does, and made me many lengths so that I have a ready supply. You’re not my first victim of trauma, Perrin. But you have been one of the most deeply affected.”

  “So you’ve worked with others?”

  Yung told Perrin about many traumatized men he knew of. Perrin’s imagination was captured by the story of a general during the Great War who suddenly doubted everything in his life, even the devotion of his wife and son. For weeks he was confused and angry with everyone. One of his sergeants was the last to see him, wandering toward the forest. He was never seen again.

  Maybe Perrin’s fascination stemmed from the fact that he’d considered that possibility a few times: just leaving. Maybe existing somewhere else would make the horrors of everything else here vanish. He knew enough of the forest to survive in there. But he also knew his family and friends would foolishly try to find him, and then there would have been even greater tragedies.

  So he was left to endure it on his own which, he realized now, he didn’t have to. Many wanted to help him, but he refused them. A part of him had feared that they wouldn’t have been able to pull him out of the pit, but that he would’ve dragged them down instead.

  Yet when he thought about his past year, honestly, he wouldn’t have traded any of the experiences. He had the impression that every moment seemed to work for his good. Every raw emotion and each tender nerve was exposed to make him feel it. It was if the Creator looked down and said, “Perrin’s had it too easy lately. It’s time to test his mettle.”

  But some days he had felt it was more like his metal being tested, burned in a fire, trying to slough off the impurities he didn’t even know were there. He didn’t realize he could feel so murderous, or so motivated by pride.

  But worst of all, he didn’t realize he was so vulnerable.

  In all of his talks with his wife he avoided going into detail about those times when he was sure she was dead, and it was his fault. He also tried to forget the night he looked up from the floor in his bedroom to see his children cowering behind Shem, holding onto each other. The more he tried to forget that image the more indelible it became. His weakness took away their security, and revealed to them that their father was just a regular man.

  Just a regular man.

  He could be destroyed as easily as any rubbish collector, and just as quickly, if the Creator decided it. There was no special protection around him, or around anyone. Each person was in the power of the Creator, or could be turned over to be battered by the Refuser. Every soul was equal in the Creator’s eyes.

  That was comforting and troubling at the same time.

  And Perrin had been powerless to do anything about it. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t march into Paradise, demand to see the Creator, and insist the trials be stopped because of who he was.

  But he had two choices: he could fight the direction his life had taken, or he could
try to learn from it. There were times, especially in the beginning, when he felt like surrendering. It was just too hard to face his failures, to see the looks of distress on his family’s faces each morning, and to consider going on.

  But a quiet voice in the back of his mind would remind him, Surrender to whom? To that darkness that tormented him? He’d come so close to giving up that night when he held the long knife just inches away from his chest. But then what?

  There was no end to his existence. If he gave up, he would’ve been in that horror indefinitely. In many ways the terror of that thought pushed him to climb even faster, to try even harder to escape. There was no option of surrender. When you’re in a pit, you intuitively look up for a light; that instinct is from the Creator. The compulsion to slump to the ground and weep at the dirt walls was from the Refuser.

  He couldn’t abide such an existence.

  As obvious as the choices appeared, it took Perrin an excruciatingly long time to recognize them. For more than three seasons he was too paralyzed in his world of chaotic thoughts. So many nights he tried to avoid sleep and what would happen during it. But avoiding it didn’t solve anything. Many afternoons he fell asleep at his desk only to be woken up by his own screaming.

  But then there were nights when sleep came so deeply he felt glimmers of hope again. The only image he remembered in those dreams was the face of a young child looking up at him, and himself laughing.

  When his family knelt with him in prayer he finally felt some of the chaos slow enough for him to see clearly. And now, when he spent each morning in meditation and consultation with the Creator, he could halt the images in his mind long enough to face the day.

  Studying himself so intently was far more painful than the beating Shem gave him in that barn on the way to Idumea. But the pain had a purifying quality to it, showing him how to rely on the only one true strength in the world that wasn’t even in the world. Only the Creator knew him well enough to fix him. It was the Creator who gave him the strength he needed to face the Refuser that terrible night a few weeks ago. It was the Creator who loosened his grip on the long knife that he was about to plunge into his chest.