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

by Trish Mercer

  It was the Creator who won that battle and turned the momentum of the war—not him. He had to always remember that.

  So when Perrin woke up on the 37th Day of Planting Season, 336, he wanted this morning to be significant, to be the day he was truly a new man. He had to start keeping his old hours at the fort again and be sure to be home by dinner. He could no longer allow himself to be consumed by himself. There were too many other people needing him, and he could no longer remain indulgently weak. He closed his eyes and repeated the string of meditative thoughts he had established weeks ago.

  Who was he? Not a future general, not a colonel, not more important than someone else, but a beloved son of the Creator.

  Why was he here? Not to take revenge, not to be important, not to worry about the world’s expectations, but to learn His will and to pass His test.

  What was his goal today? Not to be the kind of man the world wanted, but to be the kind of leader the Creator wanted him to be. If he was serving others, he was serving the Creator. He needed to be submissive enough to accept anything the Creator chose to allow the Refuser inflict on him. And only with the Creator’s help could he overcome the Refuser’s trials. The blessings would come some day. Maybe not even in this life, but most assuredly in the next one. Because he was a son of the Creator.

  Perrin opened his eyes and breathed deeply. He rolled over to watch his dozing wife. She used to sleep as if on guard, clinging to her side of the bed with a stiffness that seemed impossible to maintain while one was unconscious.

  But now, now she lay softly, and closer to him. Her hand was even against his side. In the middle of the night he was aware of her holding his bare upper arm, not feeling his strength, but giving it. She needed that deep slumber, almost as much as he needed to watch her. She needed so much that he hadn’t given her.

  When they had first come home from Idumea she had cried about “too many miracles.” At the time, he had thought that was funny. Then, just days later, so much that he loved in his life was destroyed.

  Then he in turn destroyed Mahrree’s life.

  A few weeks ago during one of their late night discussions he asked her if she felt they still had too many miracles.

  “Absolutely!” she said. “It’s not that I would ever want to repeat this year, but I never would have wanted to skip it, either. We’ve learned so much. Besides, there are always more miracles. My father’s last words to me were, ‘Every story has a happy ending, if we just wait long enough.’ Having you back is the greatest miracle so far.”

  Her staying by his side was the greatest miracle, he thought. He knew she loved him, but her sacrifices for him were beyond love, if that were possible. She had pulled him back out of the depths, day after day, for seasons. She used to have to dig deep to find him, but now she needed only to nudge him to make sure he was all right.

  Somehow he’d make it up to her. He still remembered her dream house with weathered gray wood and window boxes filled with herbs that she told him about on their second wedding anniversary, the dream he told her was nonsense.

  But perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps there was something he could do, when he was sure he was solid and complete again. In another year or so, he decided, he would set into motion the next big miracle in her life, something she never would have dreamed possible but Perrin suspected could be.

  He felt guilty as she began to stir. Her eyes opened slowly at first, then popped open in worry. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, yes.” He stroked her face as if he could pull both strength and softness from her cheeks, and he craved both. His hand slid down to her throat and rested there a moment. The movement served two purposes—to show his affection, and to subtly check her pulse. “It was a good night. All’s well.”

  Although she never said anything, he was sure she knew why his hand rested on her throat. She twisted her head slightly to kiss his arm. “It’s just that you’re up so early—”

  “Well, I have to be today.”

  “I know. I remember.” She huddled up to his chest. “Let’s see, one year ago I was about right here . . .”

  Perrin closed his eyes in sheer contentment. For too long she didn’t dare get that close to him in bed. He wrapped his arms tightly around her as if he could have absorbed her into his body.

  “Yes,” Mahrree muttered into his chest, “and one year ago you were right there, holding me. Hmm. It’s much better on top of the bed than under it, don’t you think? Quieter. And no squirrels.”

  He chuckled as she kissed his chest, sighed deeply, and placed her cheek against him.

  “I have an idea,” she said dreamily. “How about we just stay here all morning, just like this.”

  “Mmm, tempting,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head. “But not today,” he said sadly. “How about tomorrow? We could really get into a great argument.”

  They’d fought plenty during the past year. Plenty of shouting, screaming, even throwing things . . .

  But very little arguing, the kind that first drew them to each other, and sent them upstairs to “resolve the issue” while their children frowned, trying to figure out why that involved the bedroom.

  But they were arguing again, and he hadn’t realized before how desperately he needed her warmth and softness. Before, he was pushing her away while paradoxically trying to save her. In the confusion of his existence there wasn’t room for her in his life.

  Now, he realized, she was his life.

  She laughed lightly and wrapped her arms around him. “If only there was time, but you know we can’t. I have school tomorrow. This is the only day. You declared it a Day of Remembrance, let’s remember this. Your holiday, your rules.”

  He groaned, only slightly irritated. “For the last time, I did NOT declare it a holiday! Rector Yung and the magistrate did.”

  She giggled into his chest. “Ooh, so we’re going to argue now? I suppose if we skip breakfast we’ll have time . . .”

  He chuckled with her, enjoying the sound of their voices together. “Silly woman,” he kissed her again. “By the way, I’m going to start going to the fort in the mornings again.”

  “Are you sure?” She sounded slightly hesitant. “Will you have enough time to prepare yourself each morning?”

  “Yes, I’ll have time,” he assured her. “I need to be home for dinner, with you and the children.”

  Mahrree sighed. She’d be foolish to try to change his mind. So she’d accept his decisions, albeit conditionally. “We can try it for a week or two, see how things go. I guess this holiday idea of yours is just the thing to get you going. You just shouldn’t have made it for so early in the morning, though,” she gently teased.

  “That was the magistrate’s idea,” he reminded her. “To have it at the same time the land tremor hit.”

  Mahrree sighed. “Just an hour later would have been good enough.”

  “Oh, please. You’d be getting up right now for school anyway,” he pointed out. “At least this way you don’t have any school at all. You should be thanking me for that.”

  “Of course I do. Thank you, by the way.” She was quiet for a moment, then asked, “Do you know what you’re going to say at the ceremony?”

  “I’ve got it pretty much worked out.”

  “That means you’ll plan when you’re on the platform, right?”

  “I used to do very well that way during our debates, if you remember.”

  “I remember that’s how I frequently beat you.” She sighed, putting her cheek against his chest again. “It will be strange and wonderful to see you up there again.”

  “Want to join me?”

  She scoffed. “No, thank you! No one wants to see me, they all want to see the Saver of Edge.”

  Perrin groaned and rolled on to his back. “Don’t say that. Seriously, you really think people are coming for that?”

  She propped herself up on her arm. “I didn’t want to tell you last night, but my mother said that all the inns are full with yo
ur admirers. Many had been asking about you. She was wise enough, for once, to not tell them that she knew you.”

  Perrin groaned again. “Mahrree, you better stand up there with me just so they know I’m married!”

  “No way. I want to be in the audience watching!” She laughed. But she added, with considerable worry, “Are you sure you’re ready? From what Shem read, something this public and exposed could set you back. We can still do something else,” she suggested. “Or let Brillen handle it. He told me when he arrived last night that he can step in for you. You just give me the signal, and we’re on it.”

  He rolled over and kissed her again—properly, on the lips. “I can do it,” he promised. “I really think I need to.”

  Mahrree kissed him back, then pulled away to give him a look. He knew that look. It was a slightly squinty, mouth munching, eyebrow raising look, full of anxiety and mischief. She was about to test the waters to see how he really was.

  “All right,” she said slowly. “As long as you’re sure . . . Colonel Cuddly.” She leaped out of bed, giggling in nervousness.

  Perrin roared and jumped out of bed, chased her down the stairs, and tackled her on the sofa.

  “Take it back, woman! I told you, don’t ever say that again!” He picked her up and sat down on the sofa, keeping her easily trapped in his arms. But she wasn’t fighting him. She was laughing too hard.

  Peto groggily opened his door. “Ah, come on you two. It’s too early for that!”

  That made Mahrree laugh even harder.

  Perrin held her firmly. This morning he was solid. Absolutely, fantastically, rock solid. He tried to put on a serious face but he couldn’t completely hide his grin from his son.

  Jaytsy came out from the washroom and smiled when she saw them. “What did she say this time, Father?” She had the same look as her mother had. One more test. “Did she call you our future Genial Gentle Generous General again?”

  Peto started laughing. “That one’s my favorite! Those poets in Midplain know how to make a title.”

  Perrin glared, but mischievously. The teasing was significant. The more there was, the better he was. Laughter rooted him.

  “Just don’t fight it, Father,” said Jaytsy as she came over to rescue her mother. She evaluated their knot, then tried to tickle her father despite the fact he had no ticklish spots. At least, that’s what he told her. He could just keep a straight face. But this morning he thought Jaytsy was right. Why fight it?

  He released his wife and suddenly grabbed his daughter, tickling her instead. “I said last week, girl,” he tried to be stern as she squirmed and giggled, “to never use those names again!” He dropped her unceremoniously and she collapsed on the floor gasping and laughing.

  She looked at him with her mother’s expression again. “All right . . . Shin the Magnificent!”

  Perrin growled.

  For as much as the fort and Edge were hesitant around him the past year, the rest of the world had rushed to embrace him. He knew what caused it; that first letter he responded to, for Roak at the Stables at Pools. Then he answered another to Gizzada, and another. All thirty-two of them.

  He thought that would be the end of it, but those who received his responses must have said something to their families. And their friends. And their neighbors. Perrin heard from Brillen that Gizzada had displayed Perrin’s response on the wall of his back restaurant.

  Soon more letters arrived at the fort. Then more. Not just from enlisted men in Pools, but from citizens all over the world writing to him that they thought he should be the next High General in honor of his father and his deeds for Edge.

  Then one day the fort received an odd announcement from the Administrators detailing the promotion procedures, and ordered that the notice to be put up on all the village message boards. Perrin wrote to Brillen asking if he knew why any villagers would care about that dreariness.

  Brillen explained that he’d heard citizens were also writing to the Administrators, flooding them with insistences that Perrin be promoted to general. Instead of responding to the letters, Idumea showered villagers back with dull notices.

  And it didn’t work.

  Because next the fort began to receive letters from people saying that if they could choose the High General the way they could choose the local magistrates, Perrin would win. Three weeks ago the mail wagon brought a large bag packed with messages all for the colonel. He hadn’t dared look into the bag when he dropped it on the table late one night after returning from the fort.

  “What is that?” Mahrree asked, surprised to see the lump sitting on the papers she was grading.

  “My letters,” he said miserably. “Anyone want to read them?”

  “Yes!” Jaytsy cried, and she and Peto started snatching and opening letters.

  “I just don’t have time for this.” Perrin sat on a chair and regarded the pile with dread.

  “We can help answer them,” Jaytsy volunteered.

  Peto grinned. “Yes, but Father, I may need some help. This is from a group of ladies in Marsh.” He waved a folded parchment.

  “Oh really?” Mahrree said with a glint in her eye.

  Perrin sighed.

  “Yes, and they want to know,” Peto cleared his throat and assumed an official tone, “Colonel Shin, what is your favorite color?”

  “Favorite color?” Perrin sneered. “People have favorite colors? Who wants to know?”

  Peto looked down and chuckled. “The Association of Woolen Weavers for Perrin Shin for General, Marsh Chapter.”

  Mahrree smirked. “That’s quite a mouthful.”

  “So, what is it?” Peto asked solemnly. “There may be a scarf involved.”

  “I don’t know,” Perrin shrugged. “Anything but pink, I guess.”

  “Hmm,” Peto said, shaking his head. “Too vague an answer. Need something more specific. I think rocks. That’s a good color.”

  “Rocks?” Mahrree exclaimed. “That’s not a color!”

  But Perrin smiled as he looked at their walls. “Rocks is good. Lots of different shades. Tell them that,” he nodded to the message. “Make them think I’m a little crazy.”

  Peto patted his hand. “But we all know you’re a lot crazy.”

  Perrin had smiled at that. It was Peto’s way of bringing his father along. Mahrree talked, Shem hovered, Jaytsy hugged, and Peto ridiculed. The more he teased, the better Perrin knew he was that day. It was the days when Peto said nothing to him that Perrin realized he was standing at the edge of the pit again.

  “Ooh, Father, here’s a good one,” Jaytsy glanced at her brother. “These girls at Upper School #6 in Pools want to know what your son is like.”

  “I want that one!” said Peto, lunging for it and throwing Jaytsy the letter he was holding. “You can have the old weaving ladies.”

  “No, I’ll take that one.” Perrin grinned as he reached for Jaytsy’s letter. “I’ll tell them he’s annoying, disrespectful, and skinnier than a rail.”

  “Mmm,” Mahrree said. “Words to make any fourteen-year-old girl go, Eww!”

  Peto stood up, put his hands on his thin waist, tried to puff up his scrawny frame, and said with mock seriousness, “I don’t appreciate your attitudes. I’m exactly what some woman out there wants. Paint a portrait of me. Send it to them. No one will ever remember my father, only me!” and he struck a regal pose.

  His sister rolled her eyes while his parents laughed.

  The stack of letters, which Peto assured his father many of the most popular ball players received, kept them amused well into the night. Mahrree had tears in her eyes when she finished one from a woman in Scrub that went on about the supposed merits of Colonel Shin. She had closed it by saying, “I’m sure such a wonderful man like you must also be cuddly as well.”

  Mahrree had tears of laughter, that is. It was immediately her new nickname for him: Colonel Cuddly.

  They had answered the letters, sending out three hundred responses over the past few weeks
, but more kept pouring in. Perrin suggested having a woodcut made of a message: Thanks for the sentiment. Please don’t write anymore. Perrin Shin.

  Mahrree said that was rude. There were only a few hundred more to still answer. But she didn’t know about the second full bag that arrived at the office yesterday. Shem just chuckled when he set it down in the corner.

  Now Colonel Cuddly looked at his daughter on the floor on this significant morning. She was trying hard not to smirk at his feeble attempt at austerity for having been called Shin the Magnificent, a title bestowed upon him by cobblers in Winds.

  “Your punishment, for saying those names again, is to get me my breakfast. Now!”

  She leaped to her feet, saluted sloppily, and ran to the kitchen.

  To Peto in his doorway, Perrin said, “We leave in an hour.”

  “Then wake me in fifty minutes,” Peto said and shut his door.

  Mahrree started up the stairs, “I’ll make sure your dress uniform ready, Your Highness.”

  Perrin grumbled at her, but winked.

  And then he was looking out the front windows, all alone on the sofa. The sun would soon be rising. He leaned back and released a sigh that had been building all night.

  It was coming. He felt it a couple of weeks ago, but didn’t know how to tell Mahrree. She would’ve thought his paranoia was returning, and occasionally he wondered if that might not be true. It wasn’t as if he was perfectly cured; he knew that he’d never be. A couple of times each week he sat up gasping, but he could deal with it now. He breathed and prayed and concentrated to send it away again. After about only an hour he’d fall back asleep. Those interruptions felt were mild compared to what he used to experience.

  But he knew this feeling was different. It was as if he was being warned by Someone else.

  Brillen’s visit last night had been what he needed to validate his suspicions. Lieutenant Colonel and Mrs. Karna had come by the house to see the family since they’d be attending the Remembrance Ceremony this morning. While Mahrree and Brillen’s wife got acquainted in the gathering room, Perrin walked Brillen out to the back garden so they could talk.