by Trish Mercer
Mahrree smiled. “Almost as good as Lannard. You know, I think I might actually miss those boys.”
“It’s just for a little while, Mahrree. Give this some time and everything will calm down. Hegek will be here by the beginning of Harvest Season begging you to return. No one else will put up with those boys.”
“Maybe we should have kept Peto home this morning,” she worried.
“This is all about you and me, remember? Not him. He needs a distraction anyway. I don’t think he knows what to think right now.”
“That makes three of us then, right?”
He pursed his lips. “Now what?”
Mahrree sighed. “Go back upstairs and laze around in bed for the rest of the morning?”
He smiled sadly, until another knock surprised them both. Hesitantly, Perrin opened the door.
Rector Yung stood there with his usual cheerful smile. “Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Shin!”
A movement on the road caught Perrin’s eye. “Yung, you’re a brave man. As much as I’d like to talk to you, two soldiers have just arrived at the end of the road and are watching. Perhaps you should just leave. I’d hate for anything—”
Rector Yung held up his hand. “And another one followed me here. I care nothing for what they can do to me. If I meet the Creator today or in five years, it doesn’t matter, as long as I complete His errands. I have one more to do today. Shin family, I’m here to bid you farewell.”
“What?” Mahrree exclaimed. “Where are you going?”
“It seems my rectory is needed more by the Administrators than by the citizens of Edge. And, since The Writings have been declared to be mythology and nothing more, there’s no longer a need for Holy Day services,” he said with a pained smile.
“No!” Mahrree cried.
Perrin shook his head in disbelief.“They’re just stopping everything and taking it from you?”
“Apparently I haven’t paid certain taxes over the years,” Yung said, “although my records—which they’ve confiscated—say otherwise. So the Administrators, in their generous manner, instead of incarcerating me are allowing me to go on my way provided I hand over the property.”
Mahrree sighed. “This is about last night, isn’t it? Perrin told me what you did for us. You were so brave, and now this is your reward? I am so sorry!”
Rector Yung held up his hand again. “Not at all. Rectories all over the world are being closed. Besides, my main work here is finished, except for one last thing: Perrin, Mahrree—”
It must have been serious. He’d never before called them by their first names.
“Become very, very quiet,” he whispered. He stared intently into each of their eyes to see if they received the message.
Mahrree smiled sadly. “Rector Yung, if there’s one thing I want to do now, it’s to never make another peep in this village again.”
He smiled back. “I didn’t mean it as an admonition, Mahrree, but as a recommendation for the future. The quieter you both are, the faster all of this will just . . . go away.”
The way he said those two last words added an extra meaning which neither she nor Perrin could quite discern, but they nodded anyway.
Suddenly brighter, Yung said, “Would you please give Peto and the Briters my best wishes? I think this is the only stop I dare to make on my way out of Edge.”
“This is just wrong,” Perrin said. “Where will you go?”
“I have many friends, a few in the same situation as me now. We’ll keep ourselves occupied, I have no doubt. And I also have no doubt we’ll meet again. This is only temporary, I’m sure.”
“Please be careful!” Mahrree squeezed Yung’s arm.
“Of course,” he nodded to them. “You too. I best be going now. The soldiers get bored easily.” Again, there was another level of meaning, and that time Mahrree caught on to all he recommended, as did her husband.
Go quiet, bore the soldiers, and they’ll go away.
“Wait,” Perrin said, looking around him. “You don’t have any bags with you.”
“I’ve never been one for many possessions,” he assured them. “And there’s nothing from the world I want to take with me anyway. The aides to the Administrators took my copy of The Writings, as I suspect they’ll take others—” another hint, “—and recently my chair broke, so there’s really nothing left. Until we meet again, Shins!”
He trotted down the stairs, whistling cheerfully, and headed east.
Perrin closed the door again. “Unbelievable. Are we even in Edge anymore?”
Mahrree wiped her eyes. “He seems to think it’s all temporary as well. That’s what we have to hope for—that none of this is forever. We need a distraction,” she decided.
“So what do we do next?”
“Hide our copy of The Writings, then get to work . . . here?” Mahrree suggested.
Perrin looked around. “Plenty of things around here I’ve been neglecting. I’ll start with the front door here. Feels a little tight. Make me a list and I’ll get this house in shape.”
“And I’ll get to the washing,” Mahrree agreed.
It was the strangest of mornings.
Mahrree felt the rhythm of their life had abruptly shifted, as if they no longer knew how to do anything correctly or at the right time. She should have been at school, he at the fort . . .
They might as well have had breakfast for dinner sitting on their front porch wearing their bedclothes while loudly singing Harvest Day songs and snorting like pigs at their neighbors.
Instead, they shared stiff smiles as they passed each other while they halfheartedly completed chores that should have been done on other days.
By late morning Perrin was out in the back garden sanding the new cradle he had been working on for the baby.
Well, perhaps calling it a “cradle” was a bit of a stretch. Since it was a Perrin Shin creation that meant there was nothing dainty or impractical about it; it was a baby bed that could withstand a land tremor strong enough to bring down the house around it, while keeping its occupant secure within its barred sides. Mahrree had never seen a cradle made of full timbers before, but having watched the construction of her bed many years ago, she wasn’t surprised to see what wood Perrin requisitioned for his grandchild.
Jaytsy wasn’t surprised either, but Deck had stared at the timbers and design in bafflement. Perhaps he fretted about the disposition of his new baby, considering that Perrin felt it required a miniature incarceration chamber, but he knew his father-in-law well enough to not ask. It was sturdy enough to contain even Peto. Perrin had tested that aspect for an hour one evening with his reluctant son before he began sanding it to make sure tiny fingers received no splinters.
Through the small washroom window Mahrree watched him as she rung out the clothes in the sink. Several times he looked toward Fort Shin, his jaw shifting, his eyes scanning the alleyway. Then he’d look down at the cradle, smile feebly at it, and continue sanding the beefy bars.
She sighed. Maybe if they had had time to prepare, if they could have planned for the change, they wouldn’t have left so many loose ends at the fort and the school that others needed to tie up.
But Perrin’s resignation was the right decision. They’d spent half the night discussing it, and both felt a release of pressure and weight. But now she would have appreciated a little of that weight back. She felt as if they were floating aimlessly, tied to nothing and not knowing where they would end up.
Mahrree smiled as The Cat rub up against Perrin’s leg. He bent down to scratch his ears for a moment before staring at the dirt.
She remembered once when Peto became separated from her at the market when he was three. When she finally found him wasn’t panicked or crying, just a little sad. There was a hint of that look in Perrin’s eyes today.
“Dear Creator,” she whispered, “what can he do now? The fort was such a large part of his life. Please help him find his way. Help him find a new purpose. And please help us get out of thi
s mess I created.”
By midday meal Perrin had finished the cradle and shored up the wobbly fence posts. He absent-mindedly ate his food, but a few times he sent The Dinner smile to Mahrree.
“This is nice, isn’t it?” he said, not believing a word of it.
“It certainly is!” Mahrree agreed with just as much conviction. “I’m sure Deck could use some help this afternoon,” she hinted.
He nodded. “I’d thought of that. The cattle should be in the pasture by now so they won’t stampede at the sight of me. He had some leaks in the barn roof I could take care of. Always wanted to be builder, right? Today’s my day to see if that’s my new calling.”
Mahrree nodded back. “When do you think Shem’s due back?”
Perrin sighed. “Three weeks he has off. No way Thorne would let him stay now. Much easier for him to do whatever he’s planning without Zenos breathing down his neck.”
It was what the young captain might be planning that had Mahrree concerned. “Do you think Shem could get us a message, to tell us what’s happening?”
“How? He’s not going to know what’s going on.”
Mahrree squirmed. “Perrin, I’m worried. I know you said probably nothing is coming at us, but I wished I knew for sure. Maybe we could send a message to Karna or Yordin or Fadh—”
“How?” Perrin said again. “Any mail I send by the regular messengers will undoubtedly be checked. I don’t have soldiers at my disposal anymore. I don’t even have Clark. He’s in the stables of the fort. I don’t dare go up there to retrieve him, and I’m not entirely sure if he’s my horse or the fort’s.”
“Maybe the other commanders will send us a message?”
Perrin bobbed his head. “Once they hear about what happened I imagine we may get something. Probably opened and read. We should lie low and quiet, as Yung suggested, and be model citizens, then . . . we’ll see what’s next. All right?”
She nodded miserably.
He stood up, leaned over the table, and kissed her. “It will get better, I promise.”
She sat up tall and produced her fearless face, which she’d become good at pulling out over the years. “I’m married to the most wonderful man in the world. How could my life be any better?”
He straightened up and studied her. “Have I ever told you that you are the perfect woman, and that I love and adore you more than words can express?”
She grinned. “Yes, you have. Every day!”
He kissed her again. “I’ll be home by dinner. I can promise that.”
---
Perrin hopped over the fence into the alley. “I’m going over to my son-in-law’s house,” he said loudly, “to work on his barn. I’ll be home by dinner. I’m sure the soldier hiding in his foliage will keep a good enough watch on me. You have permission to take a nap.”
“Thank you, sir!” the voice in the tree above him said. It was followed by a groan and the sound of a hand smacking a forehead.
Perrin chuckled as he walked down the alley. “And later,” he murmured to himself, “I think I’ll learn how to chop down some trees. The wood pile’s looking a little low.”
He turned from the alley on to the main road that led to the fort. For a moment he considered trying not to see it, although once he passed the last row of houses, nothing else would be in his view other than Deckett and Jaytsy’s place. But as soon as he stepped on the road he analyzed the fort objectively.
It was made of wood. It had walls. And soldiers. And horses. Weapons. Paperwork. Supply lists. Regulations. Duty Rosters. Training schedules. Messages from Idumea. Reports. More reports. Reports of reports.
And none of it, absolutely none of it, was his responsibility.
A smile crept around his mouth. He let it grow.
Not his responsibility.
He chuckled.
That was quite a liberating feeling. He took in a deep breath and smelled, perhaps for the first time ever, the dirt of Deck’s farm as he approached it. Every morning for the past nineteen years at this point in his walk to the fort he had been mentally listing his duties for the day. He couldn’t remember if he had ever actually smelled the dark earth before. It was welcoming, interesting, new. Something for him to explore.
Explore.
The word sat in his mind, rapidly growing, until it filled every crevice. Exciting possibilities grew with it. Explore . . .
His fantasy was interrupted by a group of six soldiers approaching him on their way into the village. The first test, he thought. Feeling a familiar twitch in his arm he knew he’d be fighting for a long time, he shoved his saluting hand into his trouser’s pocket.
As the soldiers neared they recognized the man in the rough spun brown shirt and worn black trousers. Three automatically saluted. Two others began but then stopped, their arms bouncing absurdly up and down near their foreheads, unsure of what to do next. The last soldier merely nodded and bit his lip.
Perrin nodded back. “Gentlemen. Good day,” he said genially as he passed. His right arm flinched, desperately wanting to salute back. He did, however, allow his index finger to do a miniature salute in the safety of his pocket.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
Another group of soldiers now came his way, at least a dozen. Several of them recognized him and their eyes flashed in alarm.
I should get a hat, Perrin considered. Something straw or felt with a wide brim like Deckett’s that shields my face from the sun. Maybe let my hair grow out a bit. No need to keep it above my ears and collar anymore. Could even try growing a beard for once. Mahrree would probably hate it, though.
Two soldiers stopped in their tracks, looking at each other in concern. Another broke off from the group and went across the road, and two more followed him, averting their eyes so as to not see their former colonel. The rest continued in their walk to him, some still not recognizing who he was.
Perrin kept his hand firmly planted in his trousers. Fortunately the dirt drive to Deck’s was coming up. He raised his left hand in a wave to the approaching soldiers, then cut abruptly through Deck’s field.
Perrin marched—strolled—to the Briter home. The fort was out of his view, as well as everything else attached to it. All that filled his sight now was the house, the fields, and the barn that he’d work on this afternoon. He could leave everything else behind, as simply as that. Just change his pace, find a new target, and head toward it. This wasn’t going to be so hard—
A voice from the group of soldiers trailed after him. “Sir! Goodbye. And thank you, sir. For everything.”
It was Jon Offra.
The Briter house in front of Perrin became blurry and he felt the need to clear his throat. He sniffed and slowed in his gait for just a moment. But he didn’t turn around. He couldn’t.
This was going to be harder than he thought.
---
Hew Gleace paced back and forth in his office while the man in green and brown clothing stood by patiently.
“I don’t believe it . . . He resigned!” the elderly man whispered in amazement. “Just up and . . . resigned!”
The man in mottled clothing cleared his throat. “Rumor is he was to have been the new High General.”
Gleace stopped and pivoted. His mouth was open, his eyes shiny, and his breathing paused. “That’s it then, isn’t it. The confirmation. The highest rank!” He whispered the last words and looked up at the planked ceiling. “This is it.”
The man smiled. “We thought you’d appreciate that.”
Gleace sat down, then promptly stood back up as anxious energy propelled him now to pace in a circle. “Not that I ever doubted, especially after Tuma Hifadhi declared it, but . . .” He looked up again. “Oh, Tuma—if only you could see this day! But I have a feeling you are anyway.”
His audience chuckled and Hew Gleace grinned at the scout. “So where’s Shem?”
The man’s eyebrows went up. “He hasn’t reported in?”
“No, he was due back f
or—” Gleace stopped, the joyous expression on his face fading into dread. “What’s he up to?”
The man shrugged. “I thought he was already here, helping—”
Gleace sat down worriedly. “Oh, he’s helping. Helping in ways that may prove very dangerous to him and everyone else. Oh, Shem.” The older man massaged his eyes. “The worst part is, someone’s going to have to tell his father he’s not coming home tonight.”
The younger man smiled sadly as Gleace opened his eyes again. There was simply too much excitement in the news of the day to keep Hew down for long. “Well, nothing for it, then. We have a great deal of work to do. Did you notify—”
“Everyone? Yes. They’ll be at your briefing this afternoon.”
Gleace rubbed his hands in anticipation. “I’ll put some people to work on the findings Mrs. Braxhicks gave you. We need to fully understand what they think they now understand. But for now, the big question is the Shins.”
“So how will it happen?”
Gleace’s eyebrows furrowed in new worry. “That’s what we have to work out. It’ll be like smuggling an elephant through a Holy Day service. How do you move something so obvious without anyone noticing?”
The man in mottled clothing frowned. “I don’t think you can.”
“No, we can’t,” Gleace agreed. “There’ll be a mess—we’ve always known there would be—and we’ll have to figure out how to clean it up, too.”
The man sighed. “Glad I’m not on the planning committee.”
“Then again,” Gleace said thoughtfully, “if we’re the one making the mess, we’ll know exactly what to clean . . .”
The man shrugged at that, not yet following his meaning. “Any recommendations for me to send in the meantime?”
Gleace rubbed his chin. “They have to become quiet. Very quiet.”
“Hifadhi said that’s the advice your brother-in-law was hoping to deliver to them. He’ll be on his way out soon. All rectors are being expelled from the world.”
Gleace stared out the window as if he could already see Yung. “As I’d expect. This will be unlike anything we’ve ever done before. Tuma and I discussed it, many times.”