by Trish Mercer
Lannard shifted nervously, having expected some kind of reprimand. He seemed a little off balance, but saw the captain’s thin smile and hesitantly gave him one back. “She said something like I was obviously capable of independent thought, and she wanted me to do more of that kind of thinking.”
A grin spread across Thorne’s face that wasn’t entirely pleasant. He clapped a hand on teen’s shoulder. “And I agree with her. You nurture that ‘independent thinking.’ It sounds like you have just the right teacher to help you do that.”
Lannard relaxed a little, still uneasy. “If you say so, sir.” He took the reins. “I’ll be back in an hour.”
“Make it two, Lannard. You’ve earned some fun.”
---
3rd Day of Weeding Season, 337.
When student declared life under the Administrators is no better than life under the kings, MPS encouraged him to keep up his independent thinking. Did nothing to dissuade student to think otherwise, nor reinforced a sense of loyalty to the Administrators.
Lemuel smiled. It was too easy. Just too easy.
---
The next day Lannard stood at attention, or at least a relatively close approximation of it, as Captain Thorne walked from the main gates of the fort to the adjoining pasture. Thorne noticed the boy trying to watch him without appearing to be watching him. He definitely needed more practice.
“Lannard, you look . . . uncomfortable,” the captain said as he approached him. “Something wrong?”
“No, sir!”
Thorne paused. “That’s all you have to say today?”
“Yes, sir!”
Thorne scratched his chin. “Lannard, what do you know?”
“Explanation, sir?”
“The only time a talkative man stops talking is when he finally has something interesting to share. Out with it, boy.”
Lannard squirmed. “I don’t want to offend, sir!”
Thorne scoffed. “I’m not easily offended, Lannard. Come on, what’s with you today? You were far easier yesterday.”
“I didn’t know who you were yesterday, sir!”
“Who I am . . . ? Oh. You mean, who my father is?”
“And your grandfather, sir!”
Thorne nodded. It was only a matter of time before Lannard put it together. “Who told you?”
“My grandfather, sir! When I told him who I was working for, he said you were the grandson of the High General, sir, and, um, that’s a little . . .um,” Lannard’s voice started getting higher.
Thorne smiled thinly. “It’s not anything, Lannard.”
“But what I say, sir, may get back to the High General and to the Chairman and the Administrators,” his voice croaked, “who are celebrating twenty glorious years in power, sir! Almost twenty-one!”
Thorne barked half a laugh. “You really think I write letters to my father and grandfather about the conversations I have with my hired hand? You think they care about the opinions of a sixteen-year-old boy in Edge of all places? Lannard, you give yourself too much credit. And too much worry. And stop with that ridiculous stance already!”
Lannard tried to relax to a more normal posture, appearing instead like a caught fish flopping in different ways to achieve a “casual” position.
“That’s sort of better.” Feeling some sympathy, he took Lannard by the shoulders and shook him a little. “It’s just me, remember?” He practiced his best smile.
It was almost good enough.
“Yes, sir,” Lannard said, a little more comfortably.
“Hey,” Thorne shook him again. “We’re . . . friends,” he stumbled momentarily on the word as if it were one that rarely crossed his lips. “Right? Right? Who else but a friend would sneak you over to Moorland when you’re not a soldier?”
Lannard finally smiled. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Now don’t let the thought that someday I’m going to be High General distress you in any way.”
Lannard’s eyes flared in alarm.
“You don’t have much of a sense of humor, do you Lannard?”
Lannard considered the comment. “I don’t know that anyone has ever said that to me before, sir.”
Thorne shrugged. “So, you know the routine. You get to ride, but first you tell me what you learned in school today.”
Lannard smiled easily as he followed Captain Thorne into the shed. “Today was pretty dull until in science we got into a debate—
discussion . . . bickering session about the origin of the universe. You know the explosion theory? Well Mrs. Shin has her own theories.”
“Tell me all of them, Lannard.”
Chapter 28 ~ “It’s not that simple, Yung!”
On the 15th Day of Harvest Season, 337, Perrin took the long way home through Deckett’s farm. He breathed in the cool air and smiled.
This was the way life should be, he thought. Perfect temperature, beautiful season, with a feeling in the air that everything was in harmony with the world. If only days like this could last forever.
And, he quickly reminded himself—because if he didn’t acknowledge the blessings he knew he didn’t deserve them—it had felt like a “small forever” that everything had been ideal. For the past six moons his life had been perfect. Just no other word for it.
Jaytsy was living happily down the road with a young man Perrin had to admit was as close to perfect as a father could wish for his daughter.
Peto, while no longer around as much as Perrin wanted—at least he wasn’t redistributing livestock during the night—had just received excellent marks on his Final Administrative Competency Test and could go to any university and study any subject in another year.
The world was calm—for now—eagerly awaiting the news from the expedition about vast new lands they could acquire and develop. Guarder activity was nonexistent, and Moorland remained uninhabited.
The fort was in excellent shape and Thorne stayed well out of his way, except to alternate between flattering him with weak compliments and remind him of proper procedures. But even he was tolerable.
Perrin’s recruitment quota was easily met, thanks to the tireless efforts of Shem who kept him on his toes in the tower during the days, and kept him laughing in his gathering room during the evenings. In a few weeks they’d be running their annual Strongest Soldier Race, and already Shem had started the taunting. Having beaten Perrin in the last three races, he was feeling overconfident.
Perrin, on the other hand, was just feeling over. He hadn’t told Shem yet, but the fifteenth race was going to be his last. It was time to let someone younger take on the sergeant major. There were plenty of soldiers, especially Offra, wanting the chance.
Perrin didn’t like to admit it, but it creeping up on him. At least it was moving slowly, but he knew it was there: age. After the race he would turn forty-six.
He was on a slide to fifty.
He felt it when he moved, his muscles and joints responding just a bit slower than he wished. He saw it when he shaved his chin smooth each morning where gray hairs—no, white: they had the nerve to be white!—were sprouting in his beard. And also disturbingly on his eyebrows, but he yanked those out.
He could still beat the vast majority of the soldiers in speed and skill, but Shem had caught up to him. If Perrin were a more prideful man, that would have bothered him. But he wasn’t, so it didn’t.
He couldn’t have been prouder of Sergeant Major Zenos. That Shem exceeded Perrin in many ways as a soldier was the ultimate compliment. Occasionally Perrin regretted that he hadn’t pushed Shem to attend Command School. With his charisma, passion, and insight, Zenos would have been a fantastic general. As officers together, they could have done great things in Idumea.
Perrin didn’t mind passing along the title of Strongest Soldier to his best friend. After fourteen races Perrin still had more wins than losses, and he doubted Shem could ever surpass his win record before he reached Perrin’s age and felt the years dragging on him as well. That would mean that Perri
n would still have more overall wins than Shem.
All right, maybe he was a bit prideful.
Still, he had the most wonderful wife in the world that made his perfection complete. And he could easily outrun her.
As he slowly walked through the crops that flourished around him, he shook his head in admiration. He’d never paid much attention to the rhythms of the weather and the progress of the plants until his daughter’s livelihood began to depend upon it. Now he felt as proud of this farm as if he were the one running it. He mentally added ‘farmer’ to the list of alternatives to being High General. The list he began two and half years ago in Idumea had never been erased from his mind. Periodically he pulled it out, reminding himself that his future wasn’t set in stone.
But there was another part of him that still revisited the memory of the chant of “General Shin” and smiled at it. He wasn’t entirely against the idea. In many scenarios it could work, quite well.
It was the unknown variables that troubled him. He often felt his life was a complicated math problem where he’d been given only a few numbers with the rest to follow at a later date. He’d stare at the equation, anticipating what the missing digits may be, wondering when the final solution would reveal itself.
He’d already decided he’d never be the Advisor to General Thorne. And should he become the High General, he’d never have Thorne as his Advisor. Brillen Karna would be a far better choice since he knew Perrin so well. Graeson Fadh would be steady and insightful, and Gari Yordin would be most entertaining.
But Thorne would never stand for any of them usurping his position, at least not without an open battle. And Perrin could never allow that, either.
There were too many possible solutions, and none of them felt quite right.
Perrin shrugged off the problem, shoving it far back in the corner of his mind as he usually did, but also knowing exactly where to extract it again should another unknown of the equation suddenly appear.
Because something more pressing was directly before him.
He’d been sent a message from Jaytsy that there was a surprise in her barn, and she wanted him to be the first to know. He meandered through the corn now taller than him, breaking off an ear and snacking on it along the way. It was the fort’s crop anyway, he reasoned. He should check it.
He stepped over the large pumpkins and thought briefly how well a catapult could toss those, if they still had catapults. He passed the second crop of green beans and wondered how his daughter could abide eating them straight off the plants.
Last week she had stood in the field nibbling them, one after another. “They just taste so green! I don’t know why, but they’re so good this year!”
He could barely tolerate beans boiled for five minutes and drenched in butter and pepper. But as he watched her down three plants’ worth, an idea flashed briefly across his mind. Time would tell soon enough.
He made his way through the rows of perfectly straight and tall carrots, and frowned at a rabbit nibbling on the greens.
“The Cat would take care of you, if only he’d stay over here!” Perrin shooed it away by tossing the now-empty cob at it. He walked over to the barn and pushed open the door.
“Hello? Jayts? Deck?”
“Over here, Perrin,” Deckett called from an unseen stall.
“This is a strange place to keep a surprise,” Perrin answered as he sidestepped a nervous cow to get to the corner of the barn. He turned into the stall.
“Oh. I see. Well,” was all he could think of saying. “Whose fault is it?”
Jaytsy laughed from her spot in the scattered hay. “Take a look for yourself. Six kittens, all mostly black!” She held up a tiny ball of fur. “Now can you see the wisdom of leaving The Cat at your house? He loves you most, anyway.”
Perrin crouched in front of the calico licking another fluff of fur that was stretching next to her. “I didn’t even know you had a barn cat, Deck.”
“Neither did I until this morning,” Deck chuckled. “I came in here and heard all this mewing. And I want you to know, Perrin, I hold you responsible.”
“Me? I never saw her before! I mean—”
His daughter and son-in-law burst out laughing.
Perrin groaned. “You know what I mean,” he chuckled.
Jaytsy handed him a sleeping kitten. “Look at the markings on this one—exactly like The Cat.”
Perrin’s large hand could have closed over the tiny kitten completely. He held it up for examination, slowly stroking its little head, its ears and eyes not yet open.
“So small,” he whispered in amazement.
A sniffing sound caused him to shift his gaze to his daughter.
Her chin was trembling and a tear was threatening to escape her eyes. “Oh Father, you’re so cute! With that tiny little baby animal and . . .” She sniffed again, picked up another kitten, and rubbed it against her face. “Ooh, so cute.”
Perrin looked over at Deckett.
Deck was watching his wife with a slightly disturbed demeanor. He glanced at his father-in-law for an explanation.
He didn’t get any. Yet.
“Jayts,” Deck said gently. “Did you need to check on dinner?”
“What? Oh, yes. I almost forgot! Here Deck,” she said, standing up and holding out the kitten. “This one feels a little cold. Can you do something for it?”
Deck took the kitten from her hand.
She started to leave but paused as her husband cupped the kitten to warm it. “Oh, you’re even cuter holding that baby kitten! You’re so sweet!” She squealed, gave him a quick kiss and wiped away a tear. “I hope you don’t mind beans for dinner again, Deck. We have such a good crop this year.” She rushed out of the barn.
Perrin analyzed his son-in-law’s face as Deck stared at the kitten.
First Deck’s eyes narrowed, then his nose twitched, and his mouth scrunched. He looked over at the kitten in Perrin’s hands, then finally up at Perrin’s face.
Perrin gave him a small smile and a wink.
Deck swallowed. “Green beans for every meal and crying over kittens weren’t on your list, Perrin.”
Perrin chuckled. “But using the word ‘cute’ was, on the very top. And ‘sweet’! Everyone woman is different, Deck. You let me know when I can officially congratulate you. I recommend you give it a little time, though, maybe to the end of the season, just to make sure. But send Jaytsy to talk to her mother in the meantime. Mahrree might be able to keep this quiet.”
Deck nodded slowly. His smile grew into a broad grin.
Perrin matched it.
“Middle of Planting Season next year,” Deck said. “That’s my guess. Wow. I hope you won’t be too busy, Perrin. I think I might need some extra help. Kind of bad timing for a farmer.”
“There’s never a good time to have a baby, but it always has a way of working out. I’m an expert at changing cloths, Deck. I’ll teach you everything I know.” He slapped Deck happily on the back.
Deck stared dreamily at the kitten. “I really hope she is.”
Perfect life, Perrin sighed to himself.
Eventually he said, “I should be heading home, Deck. Mahrree worries when I’m late.” He stroked the tiny kitten again, not making any movements to leave.
“I’m sure you’ll be back after dinner once Mahrree hears about these,” Deck chuckled. “Now, what was the name Shem told me . . . oh, yes. Grandpy. Put that fist away, you can’t hit me! We’re holding kittens!”
---
In her kitchen Jaytsy downed another handful of raw green beans. At some point someone was going to notice, she giggled to herself. But maybe not for a while. The nausea she felt in the mornings was relatively easy to ignore, and she wasn’t as tired as she expected she would be. Certainly not the way her mother had told her she’d been when she was expecting her and Peto.
Her mother who would be a grandmother.
Jaytsy bit her lip in anticipation and patted her still-flat belly. “Just our se
cret for now, little one. But tonight your father’s going to get a surprise! Bigger than your grandfather’s. Did you hear what I said?” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “Your ‘father’? ‘Grandfather’? Oh, I wished you could have seen them holding those kittens!”
She grabbed another handful of beans and blew her nose into a cloth.
---
Mahrree knew the look on her husband’s face when he came home that evening, but she could tell he was trying to hide it. She hadn’t seen that expression for many years, but some looks you just don’t forget. She sighed in contentment.
Middle of Planting Season. That’s what she guessed a couple of days ago.
“You’re home a little late.” She kissed him. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, I stopped by Deck and Jaytsy’s. They had something they wanted to show me.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it appears that for the brief time The Cat was living there he was busy.”
Mahrree smiled, confused. “Busy? How?”
“Kitten busy. Six of them.”
“Really? Oh, we have to go after dinner to see them.”
“But not with Peto. I know him; he’d bring them all home.”
Mahrree laughed. “I was just thinking the other morning how quiet and peaceful this past Weeding Season was. Finally a normal year again! No terrible news, no disturbances, nothing to worry us. So naturally, I started to worry. When Harvest began, I started to get nervous, wondering what was coming. Surely our restful season couldn’t continue. Well if the big event in our life is just kittens, that’s wonderful! Nothing more than that, that’s just fine. The only one who has been ‘busy’ plotting, or anticipating, or up to something, I suppose, has been The Cat.”
For the past minute she studied her husband’s face. Until he started trying to teach her Shem and his hobby, she didn’t watch his every facial twitch too closely. But now the tiny muscles around his mouth were quivering like mad, holding back something he suspected.