by Trish Mercer
Then she felt a cold rag on her head that chilled her, heard her children asking what they should make for dinner, heard Shem say it was his shift, and felt a strange man lift her eyelids.
And she knew Perrin was sitting next to her, almost always next to her. Sometimes she thought he was a log, or a boulder, and even once imagined him as a cuddly bear, as if bears could ever be something someone would want to embrace.
Nothing made sense. The harder she tried to grasp reality, the more slippery it became.
Once she felt a strong hand hold hers, and heard a deep voice whisper earnestly in her ear, “Please don’t leave me, Mahrree. I couldn’t bear it. Please, Mahrree, please. Stay for me.”
The odd thing was, it wasn’t Perrin, but Shem’s pleading.
Nothing made sense.
At some point she opened her eyes and felt, for the first time, that she knew exactly where she was and what was happening.
She was sick. And mucky, as if she’d been sweating for days.
And her mother had died.
There was sunshine outside, but on the wrong side of the house. Late afternoon.
Jaytsy was sitting by the door reading a book, with The Cat slumbering at her feet.
“Jayts? What time is it?”
“Father! I think she’s coming out of it!” Jaytsy called and came to sit by her mother. She touched her head experimentally and smiled. “You’re not so hot anymore.”
Mahrree heard steps pounding up the stairs. Perrin and Peto appeared, worry evaporating from their faces when they saw her.
“You’ve been one sick woman,” Perrin smiled at her.
Suddenly she remembered. “My mother! Perrin, when’s the burial?” She struggled to get out of bed but got tangled in the blankets.
“No, no, no,” he said gently pushing her back in. “I’m sorry. You don’t remember, do you?” He sat down next to her and smoothed her damp hair off her face. “We buried her two mornings ago, next to your father. Rector Yung said the blessings. We brought you there in the fort’s coach, but you were out of it the whole time, just lying on the bench. Afterward Rector Yung asked a special blessing for you. Mahrree, I’m so sorry.”
She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry.
Perrin motioned to a mug of water on the wardrobe, and Peto hurriedly brought it to her.
“I missed it? Her burial . . . I, I missed it?” she asked, astonished. “How long have I been here?”
“This is the fourth day,” Perrin said gently, trying to give her the mug, but her hands trembled too much to grasp it. “That seems to be how long the fever takes to run its course.”
“Fever?” Mahrree’s hands flew to her face in surprise, where she received another shock. Her skin felt rough and bumpy. Once she touched it, it itched.
Perrin cringed. “That’s the next stage.” He took a wet rag offered by Jaytsy and dabbed her face. “You’re a little, uh, pocked.”
“Pocked?!”
Her children nodded somberly.
“Some soldiers in Idumea had this last year,” Perrin said, tenderly wiping her face. “They quarantined them, but obviously it didn’t work. We’re not sure how the illness got up here, but it’s starting to work its way through Edge. The new fort surgeon thinks your mother may have had it too. That’s why she went so quickly. Not everyone breaks out in the pocks.”
“It’s good that you do, Mother,” Jaytsy tried to assure her. “Those who don’t tend to . . . not make it.”
Mahrree closed her eyes and laid back on the pillow. “How bad do I look?”
“Really doesn’t matter,” Perrin said firmly.
Her eyes flew open. “That bad?!”
“They say it should fade, Mother!” Jaytsy gave her father a nasty look.
Peto nodded in agreement, but bit his lip anyway.
“Just one quiet season,” Mahrree whispered. “That’s all I wanted. A quiet season with nothing major happening, just time to rest.”
Her son shrugged. “You’ve been pretty quiet for the past few days, not doing much of anything, just resting—”
“That’s not what she meant, Peto!” Perrin snapped.
Mahrree wanted to laugh. Then she wanted to cry. She was too parched to do anything but lay there. Perrin tried to help her drink from the mug but she hardly had any strength to do it.
“You’ve got to drink,” he told her with tender earnestness. “You’ll never get better unless you do. You’re very dry.”
“That’s not good for your skin, either,” Jaytsy tried to say encouragingly, but her wince gave her away.
For the rest of the day Mahrree couldn’t lift herself out of bed but was well-attended to by her family. Once she finally started to drink she didn’t think she could ever stop. She downed mug after mug, feeling the water fill every inch of her dehydrated body.
Shem came by at dinner time and released a huge sigh of relief to see Mahrree in a somewhat sitting position.
“Mahrree? Are you actually there?” he asked hesitantly as he walked into her bedroom.
“What kind of question is that, Shem?” she said weakly.
Perrin, following him in, smiled. “You’ve been mumbling a few odd things. More than once you sat up and baffled us.”
Shem sat down easily on the bed next to Mahrree, as if he’d done it many times in the past few days. He gently touched her forehead. “Much cooler! Thank the Creator,” he sighed. “Perrin, tell her what she did last night.”
“Why? You’re the one who witnessed it. I had fallen asleep,” he said apologetically as he sat down on the other side of her.
“But he never left your side,” Shem told her. “Risking illness himself, he’s never been gone for more than a few minutes. Last night you sat up, looked around, and said, ‘I think the peach blossoms are a lovely idea.’” Shem tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.
Mahrree scowled. “Peach blossoms? Since when have I ever cared about peach blossoms?”
“That’s what we were wondering,” Perrin chuckled. “Another afternoon you mumbled something about moving the rocks off of the rug—”
“Why would we have rocks on a rug?”
“And then there was the time you said you could see the flooding,” Shem said.
Mahrree stared at the two men. “What flooding?”
Shem shook his head. “That’s too bad—I was really hoping you’d remember that one. I’ve been wondering about that myself.”
Perrin chuckled again, as if he couldn’t do it enough, and put his hand over hers. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
Mahrree remembered something. “Wait a minute—you’ve been here the entire time I’ve been ill? What about the fort?”
He looked into her eyes. “The fort can function without me for a while. I had some leave coming anyway. I belong by your side.”
Mahrree blinked. “Four days? You’ve never been away that long without being unconscious or seriously injured.”
He shrugged. “Shem kept an eye on things for me. So did Jon Offra. Whatever Thorne may have changed in my absence, I’ll just right again.”
“Oh, Perrin. I’m so sorry!” Mahrree said, trying to grip his arm, but only managing to tug on his sleeve. “Look, maybe you should go up there now, just for the evening. I’m feeling much better now, and I’m sure you’ll feel better about seeing to things—”
The change in his eyes revealed that was exactly what he was hoping she’d suggest. Four days was a very long time when someone like Lemuel Thorne is second in command.
“But Mahrree, only if you’re sure—”
“Positive! Shem’s here, the children are here—I’m fine. Go. Make sure it hasn’t been renamed to Fort Thorne in your absence.”
Perrin grinned, kissed her quickly on the cheek where there were no pocks, and stood up. “I’ll be back before midnight. I promise.” He pointed to his sergeant major. “Keep a close eye on her.”
Shem blushed ever so slight
ly. “Always do.”
“Remember—I’ll be back,” he said as he removed his jacket that remained ever ready on the chair by the bed. “Midnight.”
“Go!” Only after she heard his footsteps fade down the stairs did Mahrree turn to Shem. “Really? He never left?”
Shem patted her hand awkwardly. “You’ve been one very ill woman,” he said, his voice cracking. “We thought you were going to leave us.”
That’s when Mahrree remembered one of her odd dreams. It was someone pleading quietly in her ear, Please don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear it.
And it was Shem—she was sure of it. He sat next to her now, unusually close. There had been only rare moments when he’d been in their bedroom, usually wrestling with her half-awake husband. But apparently the past few days had introduced an intimacy she wasn’t aware of. Shem sat easily with his hand still enveloping hers, as if he’d done that before, and Mahrree wondered if he knew she had heard him whispering in her ear.
But by the naturally happy look in his blue eyes, which were growing shiny, he didn’t seem to think anything about that moment was inappropriate.
She remembered many years ago when Shem was an injured young corporal with a bashed-in head, lying still at the village green when the Guarders first attacked the village. Mahrree had sat by his side all night holding his hand looking for signs of responsiveness. The only time she got any reaction was when she’d whispered, “I still need you!” His mouth had twitched.
She later suspected that he had heard everything she told him that night, about how she and Perrin thought of him as their younger brother and how Perrin had great plans for him. Then again, maybe he heard only bits and pieces, as Mahrree had. Maybe Shem had said even more to her, but that was all she remembered.
She looked into his innocent blue eyes and patted his hand with her other. “I’m sorry I worried my little brother. Now I need to thank you again for all of your attention.”
He blushed and stood up hastily from the bed, as if suddenly remembering something. A guilty countenance came over his face—at least that’s what Mahrree decided it was because she’d never seen that look on him before.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be taking up your resting space.” He glanced over to the side where Perrin normally slept, and stepped over to the chair where his uniform always lay ready. His trousers were still there, since he had gone to the fort in his regular clothes and uniform jacket.
Shem gingerly picked up the trousers and draped them over the back of the chair before he sat down. “No thanks needed,” he said, then added, as if eager for a new topic, “Can I get you something to drink?”
---
Perrin trotted up the tower stairs, bracing for the worst.
Instead, he faced the best. “Jon! Why are you up here? I thought Thorne was on duty tonight.”
Lieutenant Offra saluted. “Sir, I should be asking the same thing of you—aren’t you supposed to be at home with your wife?”
“Her fever broke this afternoon. She’s doing much better.”
Offra grinned. “Oh, sir—that’s good news! I was a bit worried about her, to be honest.”
“We were all worried,” Perrin told him, sure that the relief was evident on his face, “but she’s quite back to herself again. And although she’s a bit pocked and dehydrated, she’ll recover. Wait—where’s Thorne?”
“He’s down too, sir. Since yesterday.”
“Thorne has the pox?” Perrin tried to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.
Oh, he shouldn’t think like that. No, no, no. It was bordering on contemptible to hope—and certainly inappropriate to pray—that perhaps Thorne would be one of those who didn’t break out in the pox, but instead—
Dear Creator, he prayed anyway in his mind, I’m so sorry for what I’m thinking, but surely you understand, right? And if I have to lose another soldier, may I submit a personal request as to who that might be—
“Sir?” Offra pulled him out of the most unworthy prayer ever. “Thorne broke out in pocks this evening already.” The lieutenant must have read some of Perrin’s fantasy in his face and he offered a conciliatory smile.
“Well, of course he did,” Perrin gave him The Dinner smile in return. “How fortunate for us.”
“And sir? An Administrative messenger arrived not too long ago bringing word that the guest quarters should be prepared, because Mrs. Versula Thorne is coming to sit with her son until he recovers. Radan had informed Idumea in the same hour that Thorne became feverish. Sorry.”
Perrin knew his groan was audible, but it was in front of Jon, so it was all right. “Mrs. Thorne’s coming. How fortunate for us,” he repeated, even more dismally.
Offer snorted at his miserable expression. “Sorry again, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Perrin sighed loudly. “No . . . nothing . . . at . . . all.”
“We’ve kept the fort running smoothly in your absence, sir,” Offra said, trying to cheer up his commander. “In fact, I didn’t have much to do up here tonight—”
Perrin looked around at the tidy office. “Take the rest of the evening off, Jon. You’ll likely be pulling a double shift tomorrow to cover for Thorne again, and I really don’t want you falling ill in the meantime. You do not want Mrs. Thorne tending to you as well.”
Offra grinned. “No, sir! Thank you, sir. And may I add, I’m sorry to hear about Mrs. Peto? It’s been quite a week that your family’s had to endure, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed, it has,” Perrin sighed, and his eyes rested on the purple and gold banner of Edge, stitched brightly and excessively by Hycymum years ago. Someone had tied a sprig of flowers to the nail from which it hung.
“Zenos did that, after her burial,” said Offra quietly when he noticed where Perrin’s attention was focused. “I hadn’t realized Mrs. Peto made that banner. She was quite . . . the seamstress,” he added tactfully.
Perrin smiled sadly. “She was quite a lot of things, Jon. When I first arrived she wanted to make curtains for the tower windows, and in plaid, of all things. Did you know she sewed all of the tower banners? Even made pink striped ones, just in case I found a need for them.” He chuckled at the memory.
Offra actually sneered. “Pink stripes?”
“Yep! She said she got a great price on the cloth—which she charged to the army—and couldn’t resist. I told Karna to dispose of them, and he hid them deep in the supply building—except for one. He hoisted that ridiculous pink banner in the village green tower to signal the last tower in our first Strongest Soldier Race. I’ll tell you, I was in a hurry to get that down! That motivation was the main reason I won.”
Jon laughed. “Maybe we should try to find the pink banners, sir, in honor of her for your next race?”
Perrin smiled. “Not a bad idea. Did you know she also made cake for the races? I always complained because we had to use our wagons and soldiers to cart it all to the village green and set it up so everyone could have ‘refreshments’ at the conclusion of the race. I always told her it wasn’t necessary . . .” His voice faded when he realized that this year there’d be no cake.
And that he’d never thanked her for it.
And that now it was too late.
She was supposed to have lasted until next season, and Perrin had been planning to say a few things to her before then—
He cleared his throat gruffly and stared at the hideous purple banner again which he suddenly realized he loved. “Yes, Hycymum Peto was quite a lot of things.” Blinking wetness out of his eyes, he smiled at his lieutenant, whose own eyes had grown damp. “Good job with the fort, Jon. Thank you for taking care of so many things for me. I truly appreciate it, even if I forget to say so. Good night.”
---
Early the next morning Mahrree felt strong enough to venture out of bed. Perrin had come home earlier than she expected last night, and now the log-rock-bear snored peacefully next to her.
She unsteadily made her way to the mirror in
her room, prepared for the worst. When she focused on herself, she relaxed. While she was covered in small red blisters, she didn’t think the scarring would be too bad. Besides, her husband still looked at her the same way he always did. As long as he didn’t care, she wouldn’t care.
She stumbled back into bed.
Perrin rolled over and opened his eyes. “Are you all right?”
She ran a finger down his face that used to be more scarred than hers. “Yes. It was a relatively good night. All is well.”
Perrin smiled, looking more at ease. “That’s my line! Now I’m supposed to suggest we spend the morning just lazing here in bed. But, as you may not know, we have been doing that for the past several mornings. You missed it.”
Mahrree sighed. “Guess I’ll walk down to the amphitheater now and have everyone yell ‘General Shin!’ at me. Get me a uniform.”
Perrin chuckled. “You sound much better. But really, how are you?”
“It hurts,” she admitted. “My body, my skin, my heart. But they are all right, my parents.” She fought back the tears, not wanting to lose any more water. She learned last night when she thought of her mother that crying stung her pocks. Shem and Jaytsy had tried to blot her face with damp clothes as she wept to keep her tears from her blisters. It would have been humorous if it weren’t so pathetic.
“I think I saw them when I was feverish. They were together, and they didn’t want me to come to them.”
Perrin nodded. “I believe it. Twice we thought we were going to lose you.” His voice grew husky. “You wouldn’t cool down. You wouldn’t drink, no matter what we tried.” He pushed a damp lock of hair off her face. “The new surgeon—he transferred here from Vines last week—tried to warn me one night that you wouldn’t make it to the morning. Shem threatened to hit him if he didn’t stop talking. The Cat even got spooked once. He wouldn’t come in here, and kept hissing at nothing.”
“I had no idea,” Mahrree whispered. “I didn’t realize I was that bad. Will you and the children get this?”