by Trish Mercer
Before she turned around to face the teenagers, Mahrree made sure her teacher expression was fixed and ready.
“Chommy, I know that was you, because that’s the only question you ever ask. And since it’s the only question you ever ask, you know the answer I always give.”
The boy on the back row sighed. “I know. ‘It doesn’t matter, does it? Because all learning is important.’”
“Oh good, I was hoping you would pick something up this year. You now know how to mimic me.”
“Nah, that’s Lannard’s hobby,” Chommy punched the shoulder of his friend next to him.
Lannard, engrossed with his packet of matches, was sniffing the sulfur tops. “What?” he said automatically, his head popping up. “The answer’s four.”
Mahrree congratulated herself for not rolling her eyes and gestured for him to, once again, put away the matches.
Chommy shook his head as the rest of the class snickered. “Lannard,” he said in a loud whisper, “she didn’t ask a question. And just because your answer of ‘three’ yesterday was wrong, there’s no reason to believe ‘four’ will be correct today.”
Mahrree nodded once to Chommy for saying exactly what she was about to. Like it or not, he was better at copying her than Lannard was who considered himself to be the class comedian. It was all the slow-witted boy had going for him, and Mahrree wasn’t about to yank that away from him, as unfunny as Lannard was.
“Seriously though, Mrs. Shin. And I’m not trying to be difficult,” Chommy insisted as Lannard dutifully tucked the matches into his shirt pocket where he’d extract them again in a few minutes. “Well, not this time. But why, oh why, must I know the year the Administrative Chairman first came to power? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be invited to some party where I have to write on a message ‘Congratulations on being in power for nineteen—’”
“It will be twenty-one,” Mahrree corrected, pointing to the date on the board as a few boys sniggered.
“—twenty-one years.’ I’m going to be a tanner. Why do I have to know this stuff?”
Well, Mahrree considered, it was a question. Not a very compelling one, but a question nonetheless.
And she was going to run with it.
“Tell me, Chommy, why do you think the Administrators want you to know this?”
“Because they’re stupid old men trying to ruin my day!”
The boys laughed their agreement.
Mahrree knew she shouldn’t smile. She’d lose all credibility if she did, but she couldn’t help it. Not only did she smile, she found herself chuckling.
“Ha!” another boy pointed at her. “She agrees!”
Mahrree shook her head. “No I don’t. He just said it so . . . all right.” She waited until their laughter began to die down before she said over the last of it, “I’m going to tell you something you may not know.”
They hushed. Since it didn’t sound as if it’d be on the test, what she was about to tell them might actually be worth listening to.
She paused for another three seconds because she knew how to work a crowd as well as her husband. When they were absolutely still with anticipation, she whispered, “I’ve met the Administrators! All of them.”
“No!”
“Seriously?”
“And they’re a bunch of stupid old men, aren’t they?”
Mahrree pointed at Chommy. “Careful, now,” she said in a stern voice she used only rarely. Keeping a more light-hearted tone in her class also kept the boys more often in the classroom. For some, she suspected her class was the only place where they had actual discussions with an adult. “You do remember who my husband is, right? Eyes and ears?”
“Ankles, spleen, elbows . . . whatever.” Chommy rolled his eyes again.
“But Mrs. Shin, you really met them? What was it like?” asked another boy.
She wasn’t about to ignore the rarely-seen glimmer of curiosity in her students’ eyes. Forget memorizing dates for the test.
“Actually, it was terrifying,” she admitted. “This was right after the land tremor when we were in Idumea. I had to be presented to them in their large Conference Room. There was a huge, highly polished table—” she gestured the size and shape, “—where all of them sat around with their stiff red coats and frilly white shirts, and Chairman Mal sat at the head so he could stare directly at whoever came in.” She folded her hands and furrowed her eyebrows in a sinister manner.
Several boys snickered.
“And you were scared speechless, right?” asked Lannard with a mischievous grin. For once he was paying attention.
“Actually, no, Lannard. I found a few things to say.”
“Of course you would, Mrs. Shin,” Chommy said. “And you told them to let us either learn something useful, or let us leave.”
Oh, how she wished she could have said that! If the boys didn’t care about a subject, spending hour after hour on it didn’t suddenly change that, or force it into their minds. Nothing could be forced into a mind and compelled to stay there.
But for some reason the Department believed all students should learn the exact same way and at the exact same time, demonstrating that none of them knew the first thing about children.
For a few the education system worked fine, Mahrree grudgingly had to concede, and delivered enough acceptable results that the Administrators were satisfied. Someone at the Department of Instruction was probably waiting for the rest of the students to finally fall in step with the thirty percent who did all right under the currently rigid system.
Otherwise students either sat listlessly or fidgeted nonstop, just waiting until the long day was over. But occasionally—rarely—a moment came around when a student brought up a topic he actually cared about. And suddenly, Mahrree remembered why she used to love teaching.
She eyed Chommy in appreciation, and he fidgeted.
“Uh-oh, Chommy,” Lannard whispered loudly. “I sense a departure from lesson plan, and it’s heading straight for you.”
Several boys chuckled.
“You’re right,” Mahrree said. “And no, this won’t be on the Administrators’ test. Tell me, Chommy, honestly—why do you think the Administrators want you to know these dates? No silly answers. Give me something ‘useful’.”
Chommy sat back in his chair, his sixteen-year-old legs pushing beyond the confines of his desk to stretch out into the aisle. No matter how far apart Mahrree set up the desks, the boys always had their legs in the aisles within kicking distance of each other. If she were down to one boy, he would fill the entire room. “Because they think the dates are important.”
“Important to . . . ?” she pressed.
“Important to . . . to them?”
“If they are important to them, why should some tanner-to-be in Edge worry about them?”
“That’s what I’ve been asking!”
“And now I want you to answer it!” Mahrree said. “Come on, why?”
He wasn’t used to coming up with answers that hadn’t already been supplied to him. “I don’t know why.”
“Guess. Take a shot. Let that arrow fly. See what you hit. Or miss. Just try!”
Chommy thought for a few silent, tension-filled moments, and Mahrree begged internally that he wouldn’t give up and say he didn’t know. He had to know something on his own, and he needed to discover that right now. Mahrree frequently suspected many of the boys were far brighter than they let on, but performed poorly because, like her, they were happier hiding in her classroom where no one expected much from them.
But she always expected something. She couldn’t help not have hope for them.
“Because . . . they want a tanner in Edge to know,” he stumbled. “It’s important so that I always remember who they are and how long they’ve been there.”
He was on the cusp of something he’d never approached before, and Mahrree could see in his eyes that he was worried about being there.
So in her best encouraging, pleading manner
she said, “Why?”
He started to sigh in frustration, but then stopped. With squinting eyes and a decidedly cynical tone he said, “Because a tanner in Edge needs to know so that he . . . knows who to obey? And why?”
Mahrree felt a smile creep around her mouth. “And why should you know why you need to obey them?”
“To remember, I guess.”
“Remember what?”
“How bad it was under the kings, how much better it is under the Administrators?”
Mahrree nodded. “Not bad, Chommy. That just may be one of the right answers. And there are often many correct answers.”
Chommy sat back, a tad pleased with himself. “But is it, Mrs. Shin? I mean, is life really better?”
This was one of the things Mahrree loved about teaching: the rare moments when a student dares to wonder. The best learning happened when the students asked the questions, not the teachers.
It was also at these moments that she panicked, because sometimes the questions caught her by surprise. But it was the good kind of panic that lets you remember you’re alive, like being chased by a dog you know you can outrun, but it terrifies you just the same. It feels great when you finally reach home, or see the dog suddenly yanked back by its leash and you gloat at it triumphantly.
But first you have to run.
She always had a ready answer. “Chommy, what do you think?”
It was the best stalling question she’d ever come up with. She could think while the student stumbled around for an answer himself. Already she could see the little wheels in Chommy’s mind spinning, trying to connect to find an answer.
A light came on in his eyes. “I don’t know what to think, Mrs. Shin, because they never tell us what life was like before.”
Mahrree moaned inwardly. When did Chommy get so insightful?
“Hey,” said Lannard, “he’s right! When at any time in this past year have we learned about life under the kings? We hear how bad it was, but I want to know just how bad. Details! Give me details!”
Mahrree suppressed a smile at his imitation of her when she criticized their essays. Several other boys chimed in their opinions. Mahrree let them go for a moment to let them get it out of their systems. And also to buy herself a little more time.
But even the laziest youth of Edge deserved honest answers.
Mahrree held up her hands in surrender. “You’re right, you’re right. We haven’t talked about that this year. Do you know why?”
“Because it’s not on the test?” asked a boy on the front row.
She pointed to him. “Exactly! Still want to know what life was like under the kings?”
“Well, is should still matter, shouldn’t it? What life was like? Wouldn’t we be even more loyal if we knew?” he wondered.
Mahrree marveled. Why didn’t they show this much passion when they discussed the life cycle of a worm?
“Again, you’re right. It does matter. In fact . . .” She put a finger on her lips.
The boys moaned and pulled out their slates. They knew what that look meant.
She smiled. “No writing, I promise. But . . . exploring!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Shin. I was too young to go exploring on the expedition. I tried,” Lannard said, shrugging in disappointment.
“We all appreciate your trying to leave us, Lannard. That would have meant no one’s trousers’ legs would have mysteriously caught on fire anymore this year,” she said with a slight glare.
He squirmed and guiltily patted his shirt pocket where his matches waited for him.
“No,” Mahrree continued, “what I mean is, I want you to explore your parents’ or grandparents’ past. The Administrator over Science has sent out a delegation of thirty men to explore Terryp’s past, so we should too. I want each of you to ask your parents what life was like under the kings. Bring me your answers tomorrow for us to discuss, and I’ll not make you write it up as your next week’s writing assignment.
“But,” she paused to let her students’ cheers die down, “if you don’t bring me proof that you talked to your parents, you all will write about it. And remember, I’m an old woman and I know very well what life was like under the kings. I’ll know if you’re making things up!”
---
Perrin reined Clark to a stop just under the shade of a large maple tree. The horse obediently halted, even a moment before Perrin pulled on the reins as if reading his mind. Perrin would have smiled at the stallion’s instincts, but his concentration was too focused on the large group of travelers moving at a painstaking pace. The forty horses, some pack mules, and a three dozen men slowly made their way on the other side of Moorland, purposely avoiding the dead village by a quarter mile. Although Perrin was on the other side of the ruins next to the tree line of the forest and out of sight, he could still make out the expedition party by the huge cloud of dust they created, likely from dragging their heels.
“They should be halfway to Scrub by now,” he told Clark. “If it were me on that expedition, we’d already be passing Sands.” He smiled at the prospect. “What do you think, Clark? Ready to go exploring in a year or two? Know of a mellow mare we could set Mahrree on?”
He chuckled to himself, picturing her balancing unsteadily on the back of a beast she was terrified of. Her eyes would likely be as large as the poor horse’s.
“Well, we’ve got some time to find her the right animal, don’t we now?”
Clark snuffed in agreement.
“Ever done a desert?” he asked his mount. “No, of course you haven’t. No one has. Not even the best and brightest cowards chosen for this expedition. They probably would have talked Shem out of going with them. He’s far too brave for them. Oh, Clark—they better draw the correct conclusions,” he sighed wistfully. “They better see what they’re supposed to see at the ruins. It’s all on that map. If I could see it, surely they will too. If they don’t—”
He grumbled in anticipatory frustration. He couldn’t bear to think of the expedition returning next year with the news that the ruins were a dangerous place. He had far too many plans already in mind, and he wasn’t about to let them be foiled by some timid idiots.
“Well, if they don’t reach the correct conclusion, maybe we’ll just have to do something about that.” He patted his horse’s neck and realized how calmly Clark stood for such a large and vibrant stallion.
“Interesting . . .”
He glanced to his right, to the densely wooded forest that last year held a host of Guarders, now all dead. It was peaceful and inviting, as the trees always were to him. That didn’t bother him, just intrigued him.
“You’re not in the least bit skittish to be here, are you?” he asked Clark. Several horses he had gone through over the years would develop the sudden need to trample something when he neared the darkened trees, but not Clark. He merely glanced over to the pines and twitched his ears as if to ask, Want to head in there? I’m game.
“Don’t tempt me, Clark. Come along. We need to finish our survey of Moorland.”
He gently nudged the horse, and Clark immediately set off for the ruins as if knowing the way. Perrin sent someone to check on Moorland at irregular intervals each week, just to make sure no one else was trying to set up an explosives shop, as if anything remained that could be usable.
But every once in a while Perrin set out alone just to see it again and to prove to himself that it was still conquered. That knowledge helped him sleep better at night.
Of course Shem didn’t like that idea that Perrin went by himself. The last time he snuck away from the fort, Shem caught up to him and accompanied him on his rounds of the charred buildings, the large crater, and the blackened fields now beginning to sprout new growth. Nature recovers quickly. Perrin envied it sometimes.
But today he made sure Shem was busy before he set out, and didn’t tell anyone where he was going. Deep down his training told him that going alone was dangerous, but in each man there’s still a rebellious teenager that jumps u
p and begs to be indulged once in a while. This was it.
He didn’t get too close to Moorland itself. With the rock foundations and first floors of all the structures now tumbled down, it was easy to see through the remains of the small village, still dead and abandoned.
He tipped the reins to the side to nudge Clark in another direction, but instead the horse hesitated, then did a quick sideways step.
Perrin looked down to see that Clark had deliberated avoided stepping on a large, gnawed-on bone. Perrin gulped. Likely human, likely dug up by some wolves, likely left here for a snack later.
Clark merely continued steadily on his way, and Perrin once again patted the horse’s neck. The creature was smarter than the majority of his new recruits.
Satisfied that Moorland was still just a memory, he clucked Clark to return to the shade of the trees. The black horse blended in perfectly with the woods. Perrin always enjoyed riding in the shadows at the edge where he could hear the forest calling him.
They hadn’t traveled more than a hundred paces or so when Clark sidestepped again, this time slightly agitated. His ears twitched and he snorted in concern.
“Whoa,” Perrin said unnecessarily, for Clark had already stopped as if hoping his rider would notice what he did. “What is it, Clark?” he whispered. “What do you smell?”
Perrin peered into the woods but all he could see were thick young pines, dense scrubby brush, dead logs, fallen branches, and absolute quiet. Still, he wasn’t about to doubt Clark, whose nostrils were flaring as if he smelled something absolutely foul. Perrin found himself subtly sniffing the air but didn’t catch a whiff of sulfur or anything else alarming.
Yet . . . there was something. Something he could feel, as if another set of eyes were watching him closely. Without moving his head he shifted his gaze upward into the tops of the trees. Seeing nothing unusual, his eyes traveled down again to look in the direction Clark was staring and now stomping in annoyance.