by Trish Mercer
“Colonel Shin—Perrin,” he corrected himself when his former commander scowled good-naturedly at him. “You look good. Better than good!” Brillen smiled at him, but only briefly.
Perrin knew his knitted brow expression all too well. “What is it, Brillen? You know I’ll get it out of you eventually, so let’s just make this easier for both of us. Let’s pretend I’ve already cajoled, teased, and even threatened you to the point that you break down and give me the bad news you’re dreading to say.”
Brillen chuckled, his eyes pained. There really was no more time to delay. “Perrin, the Guarders are back. And they may be looking to stay. Scouts from Quake went on a surveillance ride to Moorland and discovered that houses nearest the forests were occupied. Major Fadh sent me an urgent message yesterday wanting to make sure you knew. You’re most likely to get hit first, since you’re the closest. But both of our forts are ready to assist in any way. I’m sure Major Yordin at Mountseen will offer assistance as well. If you need extra men, or supplies, or leadership—”
“I appreciate that,” Perrin cut him off, putting a hand on his shoulder. “But I’m sure we can handle it.”
Brillen shook his head. “If anything happens to you, half of Idumea would demand the execution of Cush, Mal and the Administrators, I’m sure. Even we hear the stories about you. The Compassionate Colonel. The Colonel Who Cares,” he winced at the titles. “People in Rivers stop me on the road to ask questions about you. You’re more popular than that kickball player, whatever his name is. My niece has his name written all over her school slates.”
Perrin chuckled and squeezed his shoulder. “It’s good to know I still have a few friends.”
“Perrin, you’ve got more than a ‘few friends.’ You’ve got the world!”
As Perrin sat this morning on the sofa thinking about Karna’s gleaming evaluation, he knew it didn’t matter how many friends he had: the Administrators couldn’t be happy about the citizens fawning over him. The fact that he hadn’t received any personal communication from the garrison for the past season seemed telling. Captain Thorne had been distant for the past week, thanks to Shem, so Perrin didn’t know what Thorne’s father or grandfather were thinking.
But Perrin knew what he was thinking. Whoever was in charge of sending cats to watch the injured falcon had now called in the mountain lions. He felt as if they were slowly closing in, surrounding him, waiting for the ideal moment to strike.
“They believe I’m still trapped helplessly in the barn,” he whispered to the dawn. “But recently Shem relayed to me a most brilliant battle, carried out in secret. A victim that was surprised, but still overpowered the stalker and rendered him temporarily impotent.” He sniggered in satisfaction.
“So,” he announced quietly to the growing light, “if even my daughter can fight her way out of a barn, surely I can too.”
His next thought was, Why should there even be a ‘barn’?
He got up from the sofa and walked into his study. Instead of taking the seat behind the desk, he sat down in the chair across from it where he could view his bookshelves crammed with books, rolls of old maps, parchments . . . maps—
“There shouldn’t be a ‘barn’,” he whispered. “As long as it exists, others can be imprisoned. So how does one bring down the barn? No, scratch that. How do I bring down the barn?”
A twisting knot of anticipation formed in his chest and radiated, hot and prickly, down his arms. He knew what that meant. He’d felt it before on the rare occasions he was about to embark on a completely different way of thinking, or do something that was about to change the course of his life. He felt it when he was tutored by Hogal when he was eighteen, again when he was twenty-eight and learned Edge would be getting its first fort, and once more at the moment Mahrree Peto first came into view. That sense of significant excitement had come to him a few times since, but what he felt right now was more powerful than ever before.
“I bring down that barn. Correct?” He looked to the ceiling for confirmation.
His heartbeat increased.
He nodded. “So . . . who’s in control of that barn? That’s easy: Nicko Mal, Aldwyn Cush, and Qayin Thorne. But . . . there are also the Guarders. And in the barn, they are—oh, forget the analogy.”
He folded his arms, sat back in the chair, and stared at the shelves.
“There are actually two enemies—the Guarders, and my three little friends in Idumea. Both need to be brought down . . . but who should go first? It’s all about power,” he decided.
He glanced up again for confirmation, nodded once, then tapped a finger on his lips.
“Power to . . . create fear? Control fear? Manipulate it? Or maybe,” he leaned forward, “it’s all of it, isn’t it? Fear controls people, keeps them confined. So, eliminate the fear and you free the people. I overcame my fear of my dreams, my fear of the Refuser—”
His voice trembled briefly, still overwhelmed, but not because of what he felt from the Refuser, but from the memory of how the Creator rescued him.
It was the Creator who pulled him from the barn.
It was important to always remember that.
“Dear Creator, tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
He sat quietly for another minute, then slowly nodded.
“You already have, haven’t you? If I eliminate one threat, the other will fall on its own, won’t it? The army and Administrators function primarily to protect us from the Guarders. If there are no more Guarders, then the army becomes nothing more than a peace-keeping force. The politics of it all ends.”
He began to grin.
“Cush and Thorne would be bored silly! Mal would . . . I’m not sure what he’d do, but if the people began to feel a sense of freedom, then . . . Mal just might find himself out of a job. Who needs a controlling protector when there’s nothing left to protect them from? Suddenly there were would be options, possibilities. Opportunities to climb over the walls, and—”
He was grinning broadly now.
“—head into the forests!”
His cheeks began to hurt from the width of his planning.
“That’s it! Obliterate that stupid barn! Let everyone out!” He gazed eagerly at the rolls of maps on his shelf. “And then . . . and then, I could do some amazing things for some remarkable people. Perhaps the army could create a new occupation. Those going exploring may need some guards.”
He sat back, closed his eyes, and let the prospect wash over him until he worried that he might drown in the exhilaration of it all.
Clanging in the kitchen—likely a dropped pot—signaled that a mess was occurring and that Jaytsy was nearly finished cooking, pulling him back to the present. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes.
“So, what has to happen first?” he asked the ceiling.
Immediately he knew. Karna had told him last night that one enemy was congregating, just ten miles away from his home. Three other commanders would be willing to help—
That was more than one thousand soldiers.
“Eliminate one, then the other will also fall. Then, everything in the world changes.” He looked to the ceiling and smiled. “That’s what you’ve been trying to teach me, isn’t it? It’s not about revenge. It’s not about changing things for me. It’s about changing things for everyone. That’s why I’m finally getting it now, because my primary target has just taken up residence down the road. How convenient. So, when do You want me to begin changing the world?”
He listened for an answer.
Another pot fell in the kitchen. Jaytsy called out, “Breakfast’s ready!”
Peto’s voice came from his bedroom, muffled, “Is it edible?”
“Peto, you’d think a boot’s edible,” Jaytsy snapped back.
“Oh, grand,” Peto whined loudly. “She’s mistaken my boots for the oatmeal again. Father, I have to go barefoot today—”
But Perrin didn’t answer. He was staring at the ceiling, his eyebrows up in surprise.
Obedientl
y he threw a salute to the highest general he knew.
Chapter 9 ~ “We are here to remember.”
An hour later the Shin family walked to the amphitheater at the center of Edge. Well, more like weaved and squeezed their way. All of Edge was there, along with visitors from other villages. To Mahrree’s amazement, there was no more room in the amphitheater and people were waiting outside.
“Head for the soldiers,” Perrin said when they saw the crowds. “We’ll use them to sneak to the back entrance. I don’t need to meet any members of the Committee of Retired Goat Milkers for Perrin Shin today.”
It was fortunate Lieutenant Offra was as tall as Perrin—something he confided to Mahrree that he hadn’t noticed before about the reticent officer—because Offra served well as a shield to smuggle the colonel past several groups of non-Edgers, who really didn’t know who they were watching for, but knew enough to look for insignias and name patches on the uniforms.
Behind and below the platform was a flurry of people. Several soldiers, Magistrate Wibble, Rector Yung, and Lieutenant Colonel Karna were discussing the program, while the new chief of enforcement Barnie directed some of his assistants in crowd control.
But Mahrree found her eye caught by something else: her old favorite oak tree by the warm spring. She hadn’t been behind the amphitheater since her and Perrin’s last debate when she thought she might never see him again. When she saw the oak so much flooded back to her from their first tempestuous and wonderful season together. The tree had grown significantly over the years, despite being enclosed by the amphitheater and frequently covered overhead by oilskins when it rained during a performance. Mahrree stood there for a moment, just to remember.
Her family kept walking, but Perrin turned abruptly when he realized she was no longer with them. He smiled when he saw why.
“Been a long time, hasn’t it?” He returned to her, took hold of the trunk and tried to shake it. “It certainly doesn’t move anymore. I once gave this tree a real thrashing. I came back after that last debate of ours, late at night, and tried to rip it out of the ground to take it back to the fort.”
“Really?” Mahrree said. “Why?”
“I thought it might be the last thing I’d have to remember you by. Besides the holes I punched in my office wall.”
Mahrree laughed softly. “There was something I always wanted to do by this tree, but,” she looked around her timidly, “now is certainly not the time.”
Perrin’s smile was full of mischief as he took a step closer. She hadn’t seen that expression on his face in a long time, and she loved seeing it again. “What is it?” he asked in the deep hushed tone that he knew always gave her goose bumps.
Mahrree bit her lip and took another step closer to him. “I guess this tree has the same appeal for me as the stand of trees back at the university had for you.”
“Maybe you and I just have a thing for kissing in the trees?”
Mahrree grinned at the old Perrin she always knew and adored. “Ooh, don’t let Captain Thorne hear you say that. He’ll turn us in on suspicion of secretly being Guarders.”
Perrin chuckled. “That’s why I left him at the fort today. But I promise that someday we’ll sneak back here, late at night, and do whatever you want under our tree.”
Mahrree’s eyebrows went up.
Perrin winked meaningfully, took her arm, and led her away.
Mahrree and her children found the bench that had been saved for them at the front while Perrin joined the others behind the platform to discuss the ceremony. By the time it started every seat encircling the platform was taken, and any spot where a standing body could be wedged in was filled. Mahrree worried that some in attendance were there for the wrong reason: to see Colonel Shin, who was with the other presenters below and shielded by curtains.
But soon it was evident everyone felt the land tremor as deeply as the Shin family had. When Rector Yung took to the platform the crowd grew silent. Just one year ago no more than a hundred people knew who he was, and only half attended the sole congregational meetings.
But after the land tremor, attendance at his meetings included most of Edge. Then, just as quickly as his flock grew, it scattered again. After five or six weeks of listening to his sermons on healing and renewing, Edgers felt healed and renewed—especially after the caravan of supplies arrived from Idumea—and stopped attending. When the crisis was gone, so was the need to feel the Creator.
But this morning the entire audience bowed their heads as Rector Yung led them in prayer. He thanked the Creator for preserving them, for sending the food that saw them through, and for the sacrifices of so many. It was a beautiful prayer, but Mahrree was sure she heard the distinct sound of snoring behind her.
Yung then introduced Lieutenant Colonel Karna, who joined him on the platform to great cheers and applause of the village that knew him for so many years and was happy to see him return for the day. He read a description of what happened to the village, gave a report on the buildings burned, damaged, and demolished, and amused the crowd with a recitation of the variety of meals served at the Shin house each night that first week.
When he introduced Magistrate Wibble, a wisp of a man, there was only polite applause that greeted him, but the magistrate bowed and grinned as if they loved him as much as Karna. Wibble described in flowing detail the efforts to join together to help in cleaning up and rebuilding. He never seemed to remember that it was Colonel Shin who developed the plan. With great emotion that was mostly genuine, he retold the story of the family with the twins that were found after all hope had been lost to recover any more people.
At that point Karna went down the front steps and stood in front of the family sitting on the second row. He gently pulled up the emotional father and mother. They scooped up their young children and the crowd began to applaud as they wiped away tears.
Then one man who was sitting next to them stood up. So did his wife. Then another woman. Within seconds the entire crowd was on their feet, applauding the family who were overcome with emotion.
Karna helped them to sit back down, crouched in front of them, and said a few quiet words as the crowd began to sit down as well. Mahrree watched the young couple’s faces. They brightened as Karna spoke to them, then they laughed and wiped away more tears. Karna gave their two children quick kisses.
As he stood, Mahrree caught his eye. She grinned proudly and winked at him. He was no longer the hesitant but obedient lieutenant Perrin had dragged through the forest as they chased Guarders for the first time. Now Lieutenant Colonel Karna was every whit as capable and confident a leader as Perrin. Yet Brillen’s light brown complexion developed a slight shade of bashful pink as he walked back up the podium stairs.
Wibble spoke for a little longer, but Mahrree couldn’t remember what the flimsy voice said. He was sounding a little like a campaign speech about the value of living in Edge.
When it was clear that he was finally winding down to introduce the next speaker, Mahrree instinctively looked at the left side of the platform where Perrin had always appeared at their debates. She saw him slowly walking up the stairs, partially shielded by a curtain and reading a piece of parchment.
Mahrree held her breath and took him in, remembering it was just over seventeen years ago when he first bounded up those stairs, stopped, and stared at her with a look she now knew meant, “Ah Hogal, that is not an old spinster teacher.”
This morning, at age forty-five, his face was more somber, he was a little thicker around the middle, certainly grayer along the edges, with lines etched more deeply around those dark eyes, and with many more medals, ribbons, and patches on his dress uniform.
But the cobblers of Winds got it right, Mahrree thought: he was magnificent, even now, after this terrible year.
No, especially now. Because of this year.
Choosing to continue to love him was the best decision she had ever made. What better thing could she have done with her life besides staying by his side? He
was her life.
He was almost to the top of the stairs now. Mahrree bit her lip and wondered if all women adored their husbands as much as she adored him. How would she feel about him in another twenty years? Or thirty, or forty years, if they had them? She remembered Tabbit and Hogal bickering good-naturedly around their kitchen table with a great fondness in their eyes she didn’t understand when she and Perrin were first married. She thought she loved Perrin then, but it was nothing compared to what she felt now. She smiled as she pictured Perrin and her as a wrinkled, white-haired couple arguing about who really ate the last piece of pie.
Then she heard a roar behind her.
He was no longer only hers. The crowd saw him as he fully emerged from the curtains. The roar raced around the entire amphitheater, completely encircling Perrin as he slowly made his way to the center of the platform. Before the magistrate could introduce him, his voice was drowned out by the audience cheering and rising to their feet for the Saver of Edge.
Perrin now stood several paces behind Wibble, still focused on the parchment, but seemingly taking up the entire platform. Karna and Rector Yung stepped to the edges of the platform as if his presence pushed them aside.
Next to Mahrree, Peto began to laugh at the crowd’s enthusiastic reaction. “He can’t even kick a ball straight!” he shouted to his mother, barely audible over the noise. But he grinned as he stood as well. Jaytsy was on her feet too, clapping loudly.
Mahrree could hardly see her husband anymore as she stood up, because tears blurred her vision. To read the letters was one thing; to see thousands of people on their feet cheering and now shouting “General!” was overwhelming.
Perrin hadn’t raised his head but was still staring at the parchment in his hand. Something rigid and worrying seemed to have overtaken him.
“Oh, no.” Mahrree murmured and took a few quick steps to the edge of the raised platform. If she was feeling overcome by the enthusiasm of the crowd, what might he be feeling? Shem was right—it was too much, too soon. She wished Perrin didn’t have his father’s sword strapped to his side.