by Trish Mercer
“He? He who?” Mahrree looked around quickly.
A large dark man emerged from a shadow next to the front door.
Mahrree whimpered.
“Please don’t be alarmed,” he said in a deep voice.
“I . . . I walked right past . . .”
“Yes, you did,” he chuckled softly.
“That’s why she’d never make a good officer,” Perrin said dully. “She misses things.”
Mahrree saw Perrin’s long knife in the man’s hand, his arms crossed.
He unfolded them. “Would it make it easier to believe me if I was no longer holding this?” He held up the knife.
Until he passed in front of her on his way to the table, Mahrree didn’t realize how massive the man was. He seemed to blend into the shadows, making him appear to be part of everything and everywhere. She tried to stifle another whimper.
The man stopped and looked at her kindly. His dark face was far more pleasant than she expected. “You don’t need to fear me. If I really wanted to kill you, I could have done it a while ago. Besides, I never kill anyone unless I have to. I usually try only to give people something to remember me by.” He turned to Perrin. “I always thought that was excellent advice.”
He noiselessly pulled out the drawer next to Perrin, whose mouth was hanging open.
The man placed the knife in and closed the drawer.
“Perrin,” Mahrree whispered, “how did he know where . . .”
The man turned so that he could look at both of them.
“You’re right. I do look like a Guarder. That’s because Guarders try to look like us. They’ve copied our dress, our mannerisms, even our ability to negotiate the forest. Not as successfully, though,” he added with a satisfied smile. “They have no originality or creativity. They steal everything, from your goods and security, to our techniques. There have always been two groups in the forest, Colonel. But you never saw us. You saw Guarders, but not Salemites. Well, except for one more.”
Perrin let out a low breath, his shoulders sagging.
“Something to remember me by,” he whispered, shaking his head. “I’m so dense.” He turned his gaze from the man and looked at Mahrree. He raised one eyebrow at her and twitched his nose.
Mahrree would have returned a signal, and perhaps she was, but she didn’t know what the meaning was associated with a mouth agape. She did manage to nod slowly. They said it together.
“Shem Zenos!”
The man nodded and smiled hesitantly.
His wife spoke up. “I didn’t mislead you when I said there was no Shem Zenos with us, Mr. Shin. He isn’t ‘with us’ right now. But he did tell us how to enter your home and where to find the knife, some time ago.”
Perrin stared hard at the dark woman’s husband. “Where is he? I want to talk to him, now!”
“I don’t know,” the man confessed. “He missed our meeting last night. The first time it’s happened in a very long time. Thorne must have a very tight hold on him right now.”
“You know about Thorne?” Mahrree asked, slightly dazed, still trying to process what she was hearing.
“I know everything, Mrs. Shin. Whatever Shem knows, I know.” He turned to Perrin. “Everything. You can trust me.”
Perrin sat back and folded his arms, probably feeling just as exposed as Mahrree did right then.
Mahrree shook her head. “So when Shem went on leave . . . he didn’t go to Flax—”
The man chuckled. “The first time he ever went near Idumea was when he was chasing the colonel almost three years ago.”
“You know about that?” Mahrree asked in amazement. “Oh wait, you know everything.” She put her hands to her head to rub her temples, as if that might put all that she heard in some kind of order.
Perrin stared at the large man, trying to understand just what all of this meant.
Shem Zenos was a Guarder, in a way. Both Perrin and Mahrree had suspected that once, a long time ago.
But he wasn’t really a Guarder, but a Salemite.
Mahrree could see in Perrin’s face exactly what she was thinking.
Shem Zenos had lied to them. For years.
They called him brother. He watched their children. He helped when the family was ill or injured. He ate with them. Laughed with them. Cried with them. He slept in their home. He rescued them. He knew everything about them, more intimately than any other man.
And they obviously knew nothing about him.
Mahrree was wondering how to feel about him when she heard the woman speaking again.
“My husband doesn’t know everything,” she said worriedly. “He doesn’t know where Shem’s been the past three weeks.”
The man shrugged. “But he’s back, I’m sure of it.”
“He is,” Perrin said, sounding surprised to be volunteering that information. He stood up next to the large man.
Perrin could probably take him, Mahrree decided. Perrin was likely evaluating that scenario too. Maybe if he surprised him. And the man was wounded. And blindfolded. And tied to a large rock.
“Look,” Perrin said, “you tell me I can trust you, but I have no reason to. Until I speak to Shem, I’m going to find it very difficult to trust anyone. Especially Shem. But I can read his eyes. I think,” he added quietly.
The man put a sympathetic hand on Perrin’s shoulder. “I wished we had that kind of time. But Mr. Shin, we don’t. Your family is in danger, right now. We need to get you out and to safety.”
“Out? Where?” Mahrree asked.
“We’ll take you to Salem. Tomorrow night.”
Mahrree was glad she was sitting down because her ability to hold herself up was gone.
Perrin was already shaking his head. “Tomorrow?! No! Absolutely not. I told your wife I would consider this. We need time to think, to weigh the decision—”
Now the man was shaking his head. “You have no time for—”
“How do you know?!” Perrin bellowed. “What do you know?”
The man smiled patiently. “You’re a man of faith, I know you are. And as a man of faith you know there are times you must trust in what you are told, and believe that the verification will come later. I can’t tell you how we know. To be honest, I don’t know myself why you need to leave so quickly. But it has been made very clear to our leaders in Salem that you must leave tomorrow night. All of you.”
“That’s just not possible!” Mahrree exclaimed. “I mean, we do have enough silver and gold—”
“You won’t need any of that,” the man told them. “We have no use for it in Salem.”
Perrin scowled. “How can that be?”
“It can ‘be’ quite well,” the woman assured them. “Oh, how I wished we had more time to explain things to you, but we simply don’t. We realize that we’re asking you to put a great deal of faith in us, but I promise—you’ll be glad you did.”
Mahrree sighed. “But right now we can’t go on a journey to . . . exactly where is Salem?”
The man’s smile turned apologetic. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you that either.”
Perrin exhaled in aggravation.
“No matter how far it is,” Mahrree insisted, “Jaytsy can’t make the journey. She’s expecting, and soon!”
“Mrs. Shin,” the woman said kindly, “moving expecting women is what we do best.”
“What do you mean?” Perrin asked sharply.
The woman remained calm despite the glare aimed at her. “Mr. Shin, how many people go missing each year? We know you were trying to figure that out two years ago, before Moorland.”
Perrin took a surprised step backward. “We never got definitive numbers. The villages don’t like to record those kinds of failures, but at most, maybe one hundred a year.”
The man shook his head. “It’s closer to three hundred each year, according to Shem’s records. Usually more. There are some who are lost to accidents, but far more are lost to Salem.”
“Why?” Mahrree asked, but she alread
y had a feeling she knew.
“Many reasons,” the man told her. “Some are fleeing from some kind of oppression.” He nodded to his wife. “Tell them. I think it’ll help.”
The woman nodded back. “Mrs. Shin, Mr. Shin—I’m sure you know, because Mrs. Shin mentioned them on the platform to Mr. Kori. Mrs. Braxhicks was there and heard,” she added in explanation. “King Querul the First had servants, right?”
Perrin slowly sat down. “How do you know about—”
“Those servants were held in the compound of his mansion during the Great War,” the woman said, “and after the war they were told that the world outside was a dangerous, lawless place.”
Mahrree stared at the woman, fascinated.
“For three generations the Queruls held those servants, trapped as slaves,” her voice grew husky, and she cleared her throat. “Until one day a general named Pere Shin decided to undo that terrible wrong. High General Shin freed those thirty-three servants, sent them to Winds, and made sure they had a new life of freedom.”
“Yes he did,” Perrin whispered.
The woman smiled as a tear trickled down her face. “I am one of their great-granddaughters.”
Perrin covered his mouth with his hand. “I tried looking once for your ancestors . . .” his muffled voice trailed off.
Mahrree felt a tear slide down her face, too.
“Thank you!” the woman beamed. “But my ancestors left only two years after they settled in Winds. Salemites came for them and took them away for a real life of freedom. But they never forgot the man who freed them. As they had children they told them the story, and each one of us, as we grew old enough, vowed we would do what we could to finally free Pere Shin’s descendants. Perrin Shin, I’ve been waiting many years to fulfill my family’s vow to free you.”
He was speechless.
So was Mahrree.
The woman looked at her husband and smiled. “Fortunately, I don’t look anything like my great-great-great grandfather Querul the Second. At least, according to a couple of people who knew.”
It took another minute for Perrin to finally stammer out, “My grandfather . . . my grandfather thought the Queruls fathered some of their servants . . .”
The dark woman shrugged but smiled.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Perrin whispered. “Everything. How could you know unless you learned it from those who . . . who . . .”
The woman’s husband put a comforting hand back on his shoulder. “We don’t make it a habit to drop so much information at once. We usually teach you over several weeks. I’m sorry for the onslaught, but as I said before, time is of the essence. We move people all the time. Some have been oppressed, like my wife’s ancestors. Others are being threatened by the Administrators, but many others are just looking for a better life, or are in danger of being sent to Idumea.”
“Sent to Idumea?” Mahrree wondered. Then she remembered what the woman said about moving expecting women. “Because they’re expecting a third baby?”
Perrin’s gaze shifted to the floor and his fingers pinched the bridge of his nose. That was a new movement for him, and Mahrree didn’t know what to make of it.
“Yes,” the woman said. “Mrs. Shin, it’s not by accident that many of the midwives in the world are now from Salem. When a woman confides to her midwife that she desires more children, they’re supposed to convince the woman to take The Drink. Unless,” she said with a sly smile, “that midwife is from Salem. Then we present them with another solution.”
“We’ve been doing it for decades,” her husband told them. “Shortly after a woman delivers her second child, but before she’s to take The Drink, the family is moved to another village, with our assistance. Sometimes the grandparents move with them. No one in the new village knows them, or knows if the wife took The Drink. They live there for a season, keeping to themselves and not meeting anyone. Neighbors don’t take an interest in each other here, so it’s not a problem. Then we take the family to Salem. Since no one knew them, no one’s too alarmed at their disappearance, and they’re soon forgotten. One of the main routes to Salem is controlled by Shem. He’s made our job much easier over the years.”
Perrin shook his head, still focused on the floor.
Mahrree cringed. She could only imagine what he was thinking. Just yesterday he told her he knew everything.
“Quite often the mother is already expecting,” the woman added. “We’ve had several close to birthing, having been kept hidden by their husbands until they finally confide in a Salemite midwife about their disloyalty to the Administrators. Then we have to work very quickly. There have even been a few babies born along the way! We have a lot of movement to Salem once the weather warms. That’s when the mothers can no longer hide their bellies in Snowing Season clothing. I’m sorry, I forgot—you call it the Raining Season.”
“That’s marvelous!” Mahrree sighed. “So many women have more than two children!” She beamed at her husband and her smile faded.
His head was still down, his fingers rubbing his forehead.
“Perrin?” she asked gently.
She could barely hear his response. “That’s what he was trying to tell me. After Peto was born. About The Drink, and Guarder women. That’s what Shem—” He slumped in the chair, still not looking up. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know . . . I couldn’t imagine. How could I have possibly thought that we . . .” He cleared his throat to reduce the emotion in it.
Mahrree’s heart ached for him. He must have been reliving their conversation on their second wedding anniversary, too. The night he told her adamantly there was no possible way they could have four, or even three, children.
Duty to the Administrators. Way it must be.
Mahrree had been bitterly disappointed, but had gotten over it years ago, grateful for the two children they did have. The news that many in the world defied the Administrators by not taking The Drink had filled Mahrree with immense hope.
But the news had the opposite effect on Perrin.
There was no way they could have done it back then, Mahrree realized. Just vanish from the world? High General Relf Shin would never have rested until he found them. Everything happened as it should, she was sure of it.
But Perrin’s posture suggested a man devastated by regret.
“Your daughter can have a different future, Mr. Shin,” the woman said kindly.
The man patted Perrin’s shoulder.
Perrin’s head slowly came up and he looked at Mahrree with bloodshot eyes. “Both of our children could have a different future,” he whispered.
Mahrree nodded at him.
Perrin cleared his throat gruffly and wiped his wet face. “Uh, perhaps you may know. About two years ago, as we were planning the offensive, the commander from Quake mentioned a family with two little boys—”
“Yes,” the man said. “Shem told me about them. Fadh’s neighbors. They came to Salem, and four moons later they were joined by a sister. The family is expecting their fourth child now.”
Perrin’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Another couple, much earlier. Last name of Yordin?”
The man smiled. “Shem mentioned them, too. I had a feeling you’d be asking, so I looked them up in our records. Mr. Yordin was under pressure of King Querul the Fourth.”
“To make swords?” Perrin asked. “He was experimenting with metals.”
“No, to make something else. Querul the Fourth wasn’t the brightest man. He was sure that the correct mixture of metals could create gold. Mr. Yordin had no success in convincing him gold wasn’t an alloy. The king became desperate and, influenced by his very controlling mother, threatened to take Mr. Yordin’s grandson as hostage until the grandfather found a way to create gold. Mr. Yordin confided in his rector, asking for ideas. The rector happened to be from Salem, one of the first we sent. The Yordins came to Salem to save their grandson’s life. With them gone, there was no more threat to Gari. They lived in Salem for twenty-four years. Died just
a few years ago.”
Perrin pinched his nose again. “Gari Roarin’ Yordin—they left for you. How ironic. King Oren was still in power when Yordin started Command School. The very government that forced his grandparents to leave was the one he pledged to serve. All to avenge his grandparents. They were alive most of that time.” He put his head in his hands. “Is there any way I can tell Gari? Let him know they were all right?”
“I’m sorry, no,” the man said quietly. “We have to maintain complete silence about disappearances. As much as we want people to know where we are, we can’t risk Idumea finding out about Salem. The world would never let us live in peace. Once you leave the world, that’s it. There can be no contact and no returning. You have to give up all that you know, but I promise you’ll wish you could have done it sooner. The elder Yordins missed their family, but they had a full and rich life, and knew that their grandson was safe. But you won’t have to abandon your family. We want to bring all of you.”
The four of them sat in silence, the visitors in dark mottled clothing letting Mahrree and Perrin mull over all they’d been told.
For the second time in less than a moon, all that Mahrree knew she knew was abruptly overturned. While the news three weeks ago was too infuriating to believe, the ideas of tonight were to fantastic to embrace. In her mind was a flood of information which she tried to contain with a washcloth.
One thing was for sure: as a history teacher, she’d been terribly inaccurate.
Eventually she whispered, “I never wanted to leave this house. My father helped build it. My husband added to it. Our children were born here. Every good memory is in this house.”
The woman answered just as softly. “And you take every good memory with you. Your life isn’t the house. Your life is your family. Your parents are gone, but you carry them with you, wherever you go. Things don’t matter. People do.”