by Trish Mercer
They headed east out of the alley, passed two more snoring soldiers, crossed the main road that led to the fort, then ducked down another alley using the shadows to dart across dark roads.
Jothan lead the way with Peto behind him, Jaytsy and Deckett following, and Mahrree and Perrin bringing up the rear.
At one point Mahrree breathed to her husband, “I feel I should be saying goodbye to all of our neighbo—”
A dog barking in the distance hushed her before Perrin could. Jothan automatically crouched to the ground, and everyone followed suit. After a moment he slowly stood up, beckoned, and the Shins and Briters continued to practice their Guarder sneak to the east of Edge.
---
Mahrree tried not to notice in what part of Edge she was in. To keep her mind occupied, she instead imagined her new home. Asrar had told her it was completed, but Mahrree didn’t dare ask about which way it faced, or what else it might look like, just in case the description didn’t match the image from her dreams. But that didn’t matter; the thought of a new home was overwhelming. Asrar explained that every family coming to Salem had a house built for them, and the Briters’ would be finished next week.
Even Perrin was speechless when he heard that hundreds of people, formerly of the world, had come to put up a board or donate furnishings for Colonel Shin’s new home.
Those thoughts made leaving their village, which ignored them for the past few weeks, easier. But Mahrree was still disappointed that Perrin hadn’t heard anything from the other forts. Not even Karna had sent them a message. Shem had told Perrin last night that he’d stopped in Mountseen to talk to Yordin, but Gari wasn’t at the fort, and his wife told him he was out. At least, that’s what she claimed.
When she ran through her mind the names and faces of all they knew, Mahrree concluded that they really weren’t leaving anyone who would miss them. Maybe The Cat. And they’d see Shem again.
She clutched her husband’s hand. He didn’t need it now for drawing a sword. His old one was left behind. All weapons were.
---
Perrin squeezed her hand back as he scanned the neighborhoods. He had done it hundreds of times before, but always looking for people in black, never being one of them. He felt the odd mixture of relief and displeasure that none of the soldiers he trained so thoroughly noticed six people sneaking out of Edge.
Then again, Shem had told him they’d had some close calls in the past. When the soldiers should have seen something, it was if the Creator had turned their heads at the right moment, or distracted them long enough to slip a frightened child or a slow-moving mother into a pocket of trees.
Maybe, just maybe, Perrin had done a good enough job.
It’s just that the Creator was sneakier.
He looked ahead at his daughter and wondered how well he could run if he carried her. Perhaps the Strongest Soldier race should have included hefting expecting women. He and Deck should be able to get her to safety if someone spotted them.
The thought made him nervous, and he picked up the rate of his perimeter scanning.
---
Jaytsy did her best to keep up behind Jothan, who timed his pace by her waddle. Only a few weeks earlier she could have hustled more quickly, but two days ago it was as if her belly fell forward, straining every muscle it was attached to. While grateful for the strong arm of her husband around her, her awkward gait kept throwing him off of his. After the fifth time of him whispering to ask if she was all right, she whispered back, “Assume that I am, unless you hear otherwise!”
More than once she contemplated heading back to take the journey another time. She wasn’t the one in danger—it was her parents. They needed to leave now. She and Deck could sneak away with their baby at the end of the season, when she could run again. But her father had been adamant: no one stays behind.
Naturally they felt obligated to drag her along, even though she slowed them down. She didn’t even look up as they passed her old school building. She just wanted out of Edge, and to not be the reason her family didn’t escape.
But she knew she would be.
---
Deck wished he knew what was going on in his wife’s mind. He wondered if he could carry her, but last week he tried to romantically whisk her up the stairs to their bedroom. It wasn’t that she was too heavy, but that she was laughing so hard at his attempts to cradle her. Once he finally got her upstairs she rushed back down them to relieve herself in the washing room.
But by the severely determined look on her face tonight, there’d be no giggling. Twice she asked him if he really thought they were doing the right thing. And twice he told her he didn’t want her birthing anywhere but Salem.
Deck tried not to think about his uncle Holling, aunt Lilla, and cousin Atlee. He’d been torn up all day imagining what losing another family member would do to them, and when Perrin asked him about that earlier this morning, Deck didn’t dare admit that his family’s response worried him. But he meant what he said: Jaytsy and their baby were his family now. Perhaps the Mountseen Briters would take comfort that Deck was “lost” with his wife.
Over a year ago, when he told his uncle about Jaytsy and asked what his father would think if he asked Jaytsy to marry him, Uncle Holling said, “Do whatever you need to have a family again. Follow her and her parents to Idumea if you must. Cambo and Suzie would be thrilled. I’m certainly relieved to see that spark back in your eyes.”
Deck hoped Uncle Holling would remember those words. Leaving his father’s family and a herd of expecting cattle wasn’t as difficult as the thought of disappointing his new family. If worse came to worst, he was sure he and Perrin could carry Jaytsy to safety. As long as she didn’t giggle.
---
Peto watched the long strides taken by Jothan in front of him, and planned.
He’d already memorized a description of Asrar and Jothan, and paid close attention to the route they took, slotting away in his mind every detail he could for when he’d need to pull it out again to reveal whatever he needed to, to whomever would listen.
Grandfather Relf, he thought, keeping an open line of communication with him, please let me know what and when and how. We’ll get your son out of whatever trap he’s about to walk into. Any kind of sign will do. A bat swooping, an odd noise somewhere—I don’t know, just make it obvious, all right?
Peto searched the dark around him, genuinely confused as to whether he wanted a soldier to spot them or not. It’s kind of hard to know who the bad guys are tonight, Relf. And should Shem suddenly appear? Peto exhaled under his breath.
I really don’t know what to think of him. Just . . . help me save this family.
---
Six people in black reached the end of the alleys of Edge. From there they took a dirt road past quiet farms to the canals which ran along the furthermost eastern farms. Beyond the canals the land sloped significantly downward to the east for several hundred paces, where it flattened out to swampy marshes which extended a few more miles to the sea.
Everyone halted when they saw Jothan head down that slope.
Sensing his party wasn’t following, he turned around. “I assure you, it’s not through the marshes. Come down here and you’ll see how we can travel without being spotted by soldiers or farmers.”
Perrin gestured for Peto to continue on, and Peto grumbled under his breath, “There’s a reason no one goes down here. The buzzing, the blood sucking, the smacking . . .”
Mahrree was ready to smack him herself, but Peto stopped his complaining before she got within hitting distance.
Cautiously they made their way down the dark slope, holding on to each other for support. A quiet “oof!” signaled that Peto had crashed into Jothan, who likely could have held back all of them from going too far.
“There’s a path here,” Jothan told them barely above a whisper. “If you look back up the slope, you’ll see that our heads are much lower than the farmland. The way it drops here, a soldier on horseback riding
near the edge won’t notice us. Soldiers always looked further into the marshes. They rarely looked straight down.”
Even in the dark Mahrree could tell Perrin had his mouth pursed. “Never saw a reason for it,” he murmured.
“But teenagers hide out here,” Jaytsy said, sounding winded. “There’s that rise, where the mosquitoes weren’t as prevalent in the middle of Weeding Seaso—” Her breath ran out.
“I know,” Perrin sighed. “We could spot them from here. But I never noticed this path.”
“Neither did those teenagers,” Jothan said. “They were too busy whining to notice pregnant women and families creeping along just a few hundred paces away from them. Then again, the reeds do grow quite tall.”
“Jothan,” Jaytsy panted, “could we rest for a moment?”
“Of course.”
Jaytsy slumped to the ground, and her worried husband crouched nearby.
Perrin slid over to Jothan. “I haven’t seen any patrols.”
“That’s because Shem detected movement near Moorland,” Jothan explained. “Seems to be villagers sneaking over there hoping to find a shortcut to Terryp’s ruins. There have already been a few cases of people trying to leave the world.”
“Really?” Perrin said.
Jothan’s mouth turned up into the smallest of smiles. “Shem told me you were conveniently gullible.”
Perrin groaned. “I have no idea when to believe him anymore!”
Jothan patted his shoulder. “Actually, there have been a few cases of people in Sands trying to head west, and patrols have increased at the border. But there is a rumor of another path that may lead to the western passage, starting in the forests near Moorland.”
“Let me guess,” Perrin folded his arms, “Shem started that?”
“Gives him a reason to send soldiers to the west. Shem’s a master rumor starter, so our way should be clear tonight. Jaytsy, I’m sorry, but it’s a little less than a mile until we reach the forest. We need to be moving. While we’re relatively concealed, we’re not yet safe.”
“I understand,” she said, getting up with Deck’s help. “Let’s go.”
Mahrree cringed with worry for Jaytsy. She did seem to be waddling more. Even Peto looked back to check on her.
Perrin put his hand against Mahrree’s back to gently push her on. “The sooner we reach the forest, the better I’ll feel about all of this,” he whispered. “It’s almost too quiet. There should have been at least two soldiers on the last road.”
“Perrin, it’s a blessing.”
“I hope so.”
---
“Well, hello gorgeous!”
Everyone in the trees chuckled quietly, except for the middle-aged man in the orange tunic, skirt, and black pony tail made from a real pony’s tail. The severity of his glare, however, was lost in the darkness.
“I’m still the professor of advanced mathematics,” he warned the young scout. “And I’ll be grading your test next week. Don’t think I won’t remember this.”
“Yes, Mr. Archedes,” the scout tried not to snigger. “I’ll definitely remember this.”
Another young man, dressed as Mr. Briter, smiled amiably and held out his arm. “Shall we, my dear?”
Archedes stiffened. “No one said anything about play acting!”
“The Briters were seen leaving to the Shins,” said another scout, materializing suddenly from the trees. “We need to ‘walk them back’ so the fort thinks they’re home. The more we can misdirect, the better chances the real Shins and Briters have tonight.” The man in his late thirties folded his arms sternly. “We’ve never had a riskier moving, and we don’t have time for nonsense or stage fright!”
“Sorry, Dormin,” several of the dozen men mumbled.
Archedes obediently took the arm of the younger man. “Let’s go,” he said darkly. “Once around that farm there, beyond the clearing, then into the back door. Shall we, dearest?” he said as he pulled the younger man along. “This horse hair’s getting itchy.”
---
In another section of the woods, the youngest scout ever allowed on a moving was hurriedly getting dressed. “Hey, they fit perfectly!”
“Good, Peto,” said the scout helping ‘Mrs. Shin’ with the buttons on the blue linen.
The man wearing the dress dropped his hands helplessly. “Just how many buttons does one dress need?”
“Apparently,” said the man helping him to unbutton the previous eight, once he realized they’d skipped yet another one, “at least forty.”
“Oh dear,” said a fourth man, attempting to put on Perrin Shin’s trousers. “I’m not as tall as him. Good around the middle, but the length?”
‘Peto’ for the night skipped over to him. “Just roll up the bottoms,” he said cheerfully. “See? No problem! Come on, come on—we should be getting out there by now.”
The man chuckled. “Woodson, I think you’re just a bit too excited about all of this. And no, we don’t go until we get the signal that we’re needed. So far everything’s quiet. If it stays that way, we won’t even be called for—”
“What?” Woodson wailed in a whisper. “After all I had to do to convince my parents to let me come?”
Deciding that a couple of skipped buttons wouldn’t be noticed in the dark, the man helping to dress ‘Mrs. Shin’ gave up and turned to Woodson. “Keep it down! You really don’t want to be caught now. Should Thorne discover you—or worse, Genev—do you realize what Guarders are supposed to do to themselves when they’re caught?”
Woodson gulped. “Wait . . . we’re not going to, to . . .”
“Ease up on the boy,” ‘Perrin’ said, buttoning the real Perrin’s shirt over his chest that didn’t fill it out quite as fully. “No, Woodson. No suicides tonight. But you’ll have to run as if a mountain lion is on your tail should you become separated from us. Head straight—”
“I know, I know,” Woodson intoned. “Head straight for the trees and run, run, run.”
“One question,” ‘Mrs. Shin’ asked, looking down at ‘her’ skirt. “How am I supposed to run in this?”
The scout helping them pulled out his long knife—he was one of the few authorized to carry one—and slashed the side seam from the thigh to the ground.
Aghast, ‘Mrs. Shin’ stared at the rip. “Do you have any idea how much this dress is probably worth? And now my leg’s showing!”
The scout blinked at him. “And it’s not even worth looking at. Get a grip, man! We’re tearing these clothes to shreds later anyway. This will add believability. Now, wait behind that boulder until you hear the signal. And remember, all you need to do is—”
“I know, I know,” Woodson said, eyeing the long knife with the ardor only a fifteen-year-old could possess. “Run.”
---
“Are you sleeping on the job?” Lieutenant Radan exclaimed as he kicked the soldier he’d just tripped over. “What, a bad bottle of mead? Drinking on duty as well? I’m writing that up, don’t you think I’m not,” he said, officiously pulling out a little notebook. He’d purchased it shortly after Thorne became commander, and in the past three weeks he’d been invaluable as Thorne’s Second in Command, dutifully finding as many things wrong with the soldiers as possible. That was his job, after all: making everyone else know who to fear. No wonder so many were trying to leave the fort for somewhere easier and lazier.
“So dark out here I can hardly find my slagging charcoal.”
That was another change: Thorne didn’t care if men cussed, so Radan took advantage of that and liberally sprinkled his sentences with manly cursings, like pickled relish flavoring every conversational meal. Sometimes it didn’t always fit, but that wasn’t the point.
“Ah, here it is. Now, what son of a sow do we have here?” Radan squatted next to the body. “A new transfer, I see. Sergeant Clot. Well, my dear Sergeant Clot, when you come out of your drunken stupor, Thorne will have a few choice words for you, and so will I.” He stood up, took another
step, and fell flat on his face. Again.
“What the slag is going on here?” he demanded, wiping himself off as he fumbled around the ground for his notebook. He found it, under a bush, and on top of—
“Another body? What, drinking with your buddy, here? Disgraceful!” Radan whipped out his charcoal again. “Another Sergeant, is it? Fergio?” He got to his feet, tsk-tsking the entire time. “The most important night to keep an eye on our prisoners, with Administrator Genev coming, and you men . . .”
It had been growing for the past few seconds, the notion that maybe something wasn’t quite right.
Radan began to realize that what he was dealing with was more serious than mead mixed with boredom.
Three seconds later full panic hit him like a thrown cat, and he rushed from the fort road over to the Shins’ house two doors down. He tripped on two more bodies in the alley, lost his notebook for good that time, and stared at the unconscious face just inches from his.
“Slagging son of a sow . . . Shin’s killed them!” he gasped.
The man beneath him snored.
“Or maybe not,” Radan said, scrambling off the body. On his knees, he looked around at the bodies littering the yard. His gaze rose to the back door and instinctively knew that the house was empty.
“Oh slag. We’re going to be in so much trouble.”
---
Halfway to the forest Jaytsy slowed considerably. Jothan, who had been turning to check on her frequently, stopped.
“Do you need to rest?”
Jaytsy only nodded, held her belly, and slid to the ground again. Jothan climbed up the slope on his hands and knees, and peered over the edge to the flat farmland. Perrin followed and watched the quiet terrain with him.
Mahrree crouched next to Jaytsy, with Deck on the other side, while Peto stared out into the blank darkness.
“How are you?” Mahrree asked Jaytsy.
“My legs ache. I just need a few minutes, I promise,” Jaytsy said with as much determination as she could muster.
Deck kissed her on her head and wrapped an arm around her.
---
Shem Zenos mounted up and waved to his ten soldiers to follow him. He was surprised that his hand trembled as he did so, but in the dark none of the young men noticed.
He’d done this dozens of times, taking soldiers out on diversions while behind him far more activity than anyone suspected was taking place. But tonight was different.
Tonight, it was the Shins.
After all these years and effort, it was finally ending, and his feelings about that were as mixed as . . . well, as two smashed pies.
Shem had considered that the two lives he led was like holding a different pie in each hand. Usually he could keep them separate and balanced, but on nights like this, they came dangerously close to colliding with each other as he tried to juggle his identities.
At the fresh water spring where he paused to let his ten men water their horses, he glanced up at the cloudy sky, and was startled to see a familiar face in the branches just a few feet above him, waggling his eyebrows.
Suddenly Shem knew the two pies he held were about to smash together, and everyone would see just what he’d been doing all these years, and would stare in astonishment at the mess he’d created.
Shem also realized that he shouldn’t try to come up with metaphors when he was hungry.
---
The fort was in complete pandemonium as every soldier was frantically forced into duty, saddling horses, grabbing supplies, and forming groups of ten.
Captain Lemuel Thorne had been shouting orders, but now he let Radan complete that task.
Lieutenant Offra sauntered leisurely from his quarters and sent Thorne the same look of disdain he had been for the past three weeks.
Thorne didn’t have time to deal with Offra’s silent disobedience. He’d be leading his own group of ten as soon as Lemuel forced him. No, right now he needed more authority on the field of treachery. And he knew exactly where to find it.
He stomped up the stairs of the command tower, feeling the power he was in search of reaching down to him. It wanted to be used.
Ignoring the glances of two nervous privates placed on duty to keep their eyes on the desks to make sure no more files went missing, Lemuel headed into the command office and went to the corner.
There it was, wrapped in worsted wool, and waiting to be returned to Idumea: the sword of Relf Shin.
It was a general’s sword, after all. And Perrin Shin had relinquished it, realizing that he didn’t have ability to wield it properly.
But Lemuel, who was now unwrapping it on his desk, knew how to wield power. He gripped the ornate hilt and gave the sword an experimental swipe. Without any thought, Lemuel removed his own sword, given to him by his father, and dropped it on the floor with a clank. Still admiring the gleaming steel of a High General’s weapon, Lemuel sheathed it, reveling in its muffled singing as it found its new home at his side.
Properly armed for battle with traitors, Captain Lemuel Thorne trotted down the stairs, shouting for his horse Streak to be brought to him at once.
Chapter 4--“We have no chance, do we?”