by Trish Mercer
She had never realized before how easy it could be to torment him. He was nearly bursting with something that he really couldn’t share.
She smiled sweetly at him. “Isn’t monotony blissful?” she said. “I predict a full year with nothing exciting happening. I know—one year from now, the 48th Day of Harvest, 338, let’s review and see if my prediction was correct.”
Pain.
That’s what it was.
Absolute pain in trying to reveal nothing with his face. It was delicious.
But Mahrree wasn’t nearly as good at this as he was. She snorted.
He pointed at her, his eyes flashing. “What do you know?!”
“Nothing!” she snorted again. “I know nothing at all!” She started to laugh.
“And I know nothing either!” he declared and caught her in a big hug. “Neither does Deck suspect anything. The poor girl. I think she may be the only one who really ‘knows’ nothing at all!”
---
Peto heard his parents laughing as he came up to the back door. When he walked into the kitchen they were hugging and wiping away tears as they tried to catch their breath.
He sighed. “What now?”
“Kittens!” they both told him, and started laughing again.
In a small way Peto did want to know why his parents were laughing and crying about kittens. But instead he shook his head and stomped past them to his room. Sometimes they were so . . .
Well, take right now. Sometimes getting a straight answer out of them aggravatingly impossible. And getting them to understand anything was just a fruitless.
But tomorrow might change all of that. Passing the Final Test was the first step. And since he couldn’t enroll in any university until he was seventeen, he had all year to ready himself. In the meantime, his parents had been giving him ideas about his future.
“With such a high Final Test score,” Mahrree said proudly the other night at dinner, “he could become a doctor, or a fort surgeon.”
“He’d have to go to Idumea to finish that training,” Perrin had said, clearly not pleased with the option. “He could start studying at Mountseen and maybe finish elsewhere, like at Waves or Midplain, and become a scientist.”
“True,” Mahrree said. “Or even a historian, or a university professor.”
“Or maybe,” Peto had interrupted them, “you could ask ME what I want to do.”
They had both turned to him in surprise. “But we’re just letting you know what your options are, son. We’re not making any decisions. You could do anything in the world. You’re one of the few who still gets to decide his own future,” Mahrree reminded him.
“That’s right, and there’s only one thing I want to become right now, and you both know it,” he declared.
“Not as a profession, son,” Perrin had scowled. “You could do that for fun on the side, and still go to the university.”
“I’ll go in a few years—I promise. Just let me do what I want to do now.”
They had shaken their heads at him in disappointment.
He had left the table in frustration.
But tomorrow the main scout for the Idumean United team would be coming all the way to Edge. And he wanted to meet Peto Shin. Tomorrow he might finally have his future decided.
And his father’s.
Peto changed into his work clothes but paused when something in his wardrobe caught his eye. He stared at the corner of the parchment envelope. Taking it would make things a lot easier, but his grandfather had been adamant: share it with no one else.
Eventually he shut the doors and headed for the table where his parents were sitting down to dinner.
“Rector Yung wanted my help to pick the last peaches,” Peto said as picked up a slab of bread and piled on it mashed potatoes, a hunk of beef, then poured gravy carefully over the top of it, licking the spills off his fingers.
Mahrree grimaced. “At least use a plate! Just sit down with us for five minutes, and—”
“I’ll be back later to finish off what you two don’t eat. The sun’s going down soon, and Yung was pretty insistent.”
“No, he’s not,” Mahrree said, “but I am!”
Perrin patted her shoulder. “It’s better this way. We can go to Deck and Jaytsy’s by ourselves.”
Peto didn’t know why that sounded as if he was speaking in code, nor did he care as he took a large bite of his dinner. “Can’t pick peaches in the dark. See you later,” and he was out the door.
---
Halfway to Rector Yung’s he finished his dinner on the go, and soon was licking his fingers to knock on the door.
“Peto! To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Yung smiled.
Peto walked into the sparse sitting room, a tad guiltily. “I, uh, told my parents that you needed help picking peaches, so . . .”
Yung was a quick one. Already he was taking up a cracked bowl from his tiny table, filled with peaches. “Peto, pick one.”
“Why, thank you, Rector,” Peto grinned in feigned sincerity, taking a peach from the bowl he helped fill a few weeks ago. Now that he was an honest man again, he could explain why he was there.
“You see—” he garbled as he took a big bite, peach juice dribbling down his chin.
Yung handed him a napkin as Peto sat down in the ancient stuffed chair that creaked faintly.
“—tomorrow’s a pretty big day for me, Rector.”
“Is it, now?”
“There’s a kickball recruiter coming from Idumea to evaluate some of us. I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with my future!”
Yung squatted in front of Peto, watching nothing, but intently. “These teams—they play in Idumea?”
“Primarily, yes,” Peto took another bite. “They travel around, too, but all are based in Idumea and Pools.”
“I see . . . I see,” Yung said, lost in thought. “And why have you come to me?”
“Well, I’m going to need your help with a couple of things.”
“And what are those things?”
“One’s called Perrin,” Peto said, slurping up the juice, “and the other’s called Mahrree.”
“Hmm,” Yung said, his voice strangely far away.
“You see, if I get selected—and I’m sure I will,” he added modestly, “I get to start next Planting Season. But my parents won’t want me to go alone, nor will they want to go with me, so . . .”
Yung looked up at his eager face.
“I need you to help me convince them this is a good idea.”
Yung sighed. “But I don’t think it is, Peto.”
Peto’s shoulders dropped. “Why not? Rector, it’s crucial that—” He realized there was no way he could explain to Rector Yung that his grandfather had a recurring dream about his son becoming the greatest general in the world. Grandfather had been specific about that, to not share that dream with anyone except his wife.
His very distant, very far, far away into the future wife.
But he could say a little bit, right? “My grandfather really wanted my father to become a general, Rector—” which was true and everyone knew that, “—and I’m trying to help my father realize that . . . destiny.”
Yung tilted his head. “Destiny?”
Peto exhaled. “You know what I mean.”
“Destiny,” Yung whispered, lost in contemplation. Lifting his head again, he said, “What do you know of your father’s destiny?”
Peto squirmed. “Rector, that’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”
“Oh, indeed I do. But you want my very personal help, so I must ask very personal questions.”
Peto could sense he was falling into a trap, but he wasn’t sure in which direction he should go to avoid it.
“Please, Rector. I’m not asking this for myself. I know it seems selfish to want to play for the professional teams, but it’s really to help my father, and to fulfill what my grandfather asked me to do.”
Yung nodded. “I have no doubt, my dear Peto, that y
ou are sincere and honest in all that you intend. You are an exceptional young man—”
“But?” Peto said, feeling antsy.
Yung cocked his head. “But I don’t believe you understand quite everything your grandfather may have intended.”
Peto groaned. “No, no, no, it’s you who don’t understand, but I need you to trust me—”
When Yung interrupted him, it was with a still, calm voice that somehow cut Peto through his core. “No, my dear boy—it is you who do not understand the destiny of Perrin Shin. You must not go to Idumea. In fact, I will do all that I can to stand in your way.”
Peto was at first taken aback, then furious. “What? Stand in my way? What . . . what . . .” He gestured wildly to the ceiling. “I’ve helped you with that orchard and we’ve talked and I thought you were my friend and willing to help me and—”
“Oh, but I am your friend, and I’m helping you in ways you cannot understand yet—”
“Augh!” Peto exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “It’s not that simple, Yung!”
“I agree,” he said kindly. “It’s not. Not in the least bit, no, not simple whatsoever—”
Peto wasn’t listening but storming around the small sitting area that used to belong to his great, great Uncle Hogal and Aunt Tabbit. They would have understood, he was sure. Yung just didn’t want to lose his free laborer. Who else would chop his wood and tend to his peach trees if Peto went to Idumea?
“Look,” Peto tried again, “he’s going to become a general—”
The expectant expression on Yung’s face seemed almost to agree with Peto.
“—and there’s no other way but if he goes to Idumea. He’ll go for his son, I know it! Oh, I wish I could explain it all to you.” Peto gripped his head and continued to pace around the small man.
Yung watched him attentively, craning his neck to keep his eyes on the frustrated teenager. “And how I wish I could explain it to you, too, my boy.”
Peto stopped and dropped his hands to his side. “Please, Rector Yung. My father can handle going back down there. He’s strong and ready, and I made promises.”
Yung stood up and smiled. “Look how much you’ve grown this last year,” he said, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “More than a full head taller than me now. We used to be the same height. My, have you grown—”
“Is there a point to this, Rector?” Peto was out of patience.
“And so much like your father, too,” Yung said. “So determined, and a bit on the impatient side. My point is, you still have some growing to do, Peto. In your heart and in your mind.”
Peto rolled his eyes as dramatically as he knew how. “So you’re not going to help me get my parents to Idumea?”
Yung’s wrinkled face broke into a pleasant smile that reduced his already narrow eyes into mere slits. “Not one bit, my dear friend. I’ll fight you every step of the way if I must.”
Peto stormed out of the house, not bothering to say goodbye.
He missed hearing Rector Yung say, “Because it’s not simple at all, my dear boy. Oh, not simple in any sort of way . . .”
---
Peto stood in the changing room of the arena in Edge wearing only his thin undershirt and shorts, because he was the only one asked to stay longer. The other young men had already been dismissed. That had to be a good sign, he decided, although he was being treated like a horse at an auction.
The scout inspected him up and down. He squeezed Peto’s calf muscle and nodded in approval, then poked his thigh which was as hard as a rock. Satisfied, he thumped Peto’s tight belly.
“I have to admit,” he said as he walked around Peto who stood at attention, “when I learned who your father was, I thought there was no way you could be a good player if you were anything as large as him. But you’re not. You’re the perfect shape for a ball player—lean, tight, not too broad. And on the field no one today had better ball handling skills or was faster on his feet. If you were as bulky as your father you’d be useless except as a goal tender. But that’s not what you want to be, is it?”
“No sir!” Peto mentally thanked his maternal grandfather, wherever he might be, for having more dominant traits than his father. His face may be the copy of Colonel Shin, but his brown hair, pale eyes, and body shape came from a school teacher.
The scout chuckled. “At ease, soldier. I was player, just like you. No need for ‘sir’-ing me. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Shin, you’re a good candidate. Tryouts are at the beginning of Weeding Season next year, and men start coming in Planting to practice.” He folded his arms and grinned. “You are officially invited to come to Idumea!”
“Thank you, sir!” Peto exhaled. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise!”
“Oh, I’m sure I won’t. Do you have a way to come down?”
“Uh . . . working on it.”
The scout smiled. “We have plenty of time yet. I’m sure we can work something out.” He glanced around before saying in a low voice, “A lot of boys say they’re going to the university, and tell their parents they want to head to Idumea early to get a feel for the city. Those that make the team simply never start school. Those who don’t instead go to school for a while until they do make the team. Then they drop out of the university.”
Peto’s eyes brightened. “Do you have any players that do both? Study and play at the same time?”
“Not successfully. You’re still young, Peto. The university can wait. And once you start those command classes—”
Peto shook his head emphatically. “I’m not going to Command School. Just the university.”
The scout stepped back in surprise. “Seriously? I thought with a name like Shin there was no other possibility than—”
Peto held up his hands. “I don’t want to be an officer. Never have.”
“Not that I would want to either,” the scout said, “but I’m curious—why not?”
“Would you like to go to Command School as the son of Perrin Shin? The grandson of Relf Shin? The great grandson of Pere Shin?”
The scout shook his head in sympathy. “No. No, I wouldn’t. I see your point.”
“Exactly! Tell me, how could I possibly live up to whatever expectations anyone would have of me? No one will be able to top my father’s accomplishments, so I won’t even bother to try. I mean, true—he jumps into his trousers with both legs at the same time like every other man, but still . . .”
The scout squinted, his face reflecting the puzzled wondering if he had been dressing incorrectly his entire life. He blinked it away. “So what do you want to study?”
“I don’t know. My mother wants me to be a fort surgeon. If I’m not a soldier, at least I can patch them up, I suppose—”
The scout nodded. “You could do that for us as well. You could become a team surgeon.”
Team surgeon?
Team surgeon . . .
A memory surfaced in Peto’s mind. He remembered getting lost in the fort once when he was little. Apparently it happened several times when his father showed off his little boy and set him down thinking he wouldn’t toddle off again. Once, when Peto was about three or four, he had made his way into the soldier’s quarters and became disoriented in the rows of bunks and trunks and hallways and windows. He didn’t panic, but he couldn’t remember which way was out to the mess hall, his real destination. He still remembered the relief and excitement that swept over him when he turned another confusing corner and crashed right into Uncle Shem’s legs. When Shem picked him up and carried him out of the maze, Peto felt as if everything in his life was perfect again.
Team surgeon.
The same feeling came over him again. The maze of his future suddenly became a straight and perfect path that led all the way to Idumea, with his parents in tow.
A smile formed on Peto’s face and expanded into a grin. “A team surgeon.”
“Oh, yeah,” the scout nodded. “You know how many injuries we have each season? You’d be busier than any fort doctor. Plus
you get to sit on the sidelines of every game. Your on-field career will last five years, if you’re lucky. Usually a permanent injury ends your playing, but then you need to do something else with the rest of your life. You can’t have my job—I plan to be a scout until I die. But we could use a surgeon.”
Peto clapped his hands. “I’ve found my way to Idumea, sir! And I’ll make the team, I promise you that.”
A few minutes later, Peto, fully dressed and leaving the arena changing room, rode an enthusiastic wave that distracted him from noticing anything else, including the blue uniform standing in a shadow next to the exit.
“Where do you think you’re going, Peto?”
Peto stopped and turned to the voice, the wave crashing down around him.
“Uncle Shem! What are you doing here?” But he already knew.
“I want to know where you’re going,” Shem said genially as he put his arm around Peto’s shoulders, walked him out the door and across the field.
“I’m going home,” Peto said evasively.
“I mean after that.”
Peto gave him a sidelong glance. “Then I’m going to bed.”
Shem shook his head. “I know what you’re planning, Peto.”
“Rector Yung’s supposed to keep things in confidence!” he fumed. “He must have told you last night about—”
“I haven’t spoken to Yung in about three days, Peto.”
“So then how did you . . . Wait,” Peto glared. “How long have you been here?”
“Too long. Looked like a meat market in there, with those scouts poking as if you’re a potential steak. Worse than the exam we give to new recruits.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Shem,” Peto snapped, feeling as if the entire world was out to undermine him. “Look, I’ve got it all figured out. Everyone will be happy. I can go to the university and be on the team—”
“Are you going to tell your parents about the team, or the university?”
“They don’t need to know about the team yet,” said Peto firmly. “They’ve never seen that as a real profession.”