Safety Assured Leaving East of Medicetti

by Trish Mercer

The only thing “fancy” in the Gleaces’ eating room was a massive painting of their family. Mahrree gasped when she noticed it, taking up nearly an entire wall.

  “So we’re always eating with the family,” Mrs. Gleace explained as the Shins and Briters stared at the shockingly lifelike portrait.

  “That was done by Raffie,” Guide Gleace told them. “I understand one from her portrait group was at your place today? Davinch?”

  “Yes,” murmured Perrin, his eyes bouncing from one smiling face to another. “How many in your family?”

  Guide Gleace looked at his wife, apologetically, for the number.

  “Sixty-two total. But only fifty-four are there. That’s why we have additional portraits on the sides—the latest babies.”

  “Amazing!”

  Mahrree noticed Peto looking at the younger women in the painting. “She seems practical . . .” he whispered.

  The dinner was simple—chicken, vegetables, and rolls—and most satisfying, just like everything else in Salem, Mahrree decided. But as they ate, Mahrree felt as if dozens of painted people behind her were watching.

  While the Gleaces may have seemed to be ‘regular people,’ there was a gentle power that came from them which was anything but regular. Mahrree often felt as if she were looking into the eyes of the Creator Himself as the guide listened earnestly to Peto’s description of kickball, offered advice to Deck on selecting cattle to start his herd, chuckled at Jaytsy’s explanation of her mother’s first attempt to garden, and laughed at hearing how Perrin became a cat owner. He paid full attention to each of them, as if no one else existed, and what they had to say was the most important thing ever.

  Mahrree knew there were some people who envisioned the Creator as a great and terrible Being, full of impatient vengeance for the fallibility of His creations.

  But Mahrree had always pictured someone else: a perfect Father who wanted to make sure His children knew they were loved and cared about. Only a man close to the Creator could reflect the Creator’s love. Gleace was as near a perfect mirror as any mortal man could be.

  And his wife, as she heaped upon them more food and more questions, was as perfect a match. The Shins asked them all kinds of questions about Salem, and the Gleaces were happy to explain.

  “We feel badly you’ve had so little time to prepare for our way of life,” Guide Gleace said. “Usually we work with newcomers for several weeks first. That was to have been Shem’s duty, but he was shoveling stalls in Idumea instead. When I knew you were in danger, we had no other choice but to take you immediately.”

  Gleace continued, “You see, our idea of why we’re here is different than the world’s. We take care of the necessities such as food, clothing, and housing with as little attention as necessary so that we can get on with the real purpose of life—learning, thinking, and developing our talents. We’re supposed to be enjoying this glorious sphere, not exploiting it. And we’re to prepare ourselves to return to the Creator.

  “But in the world everyone is absorbed with the basics. They want more food, more clothing, more housing, and more things to fill their lives with nothing important. Rarely do they discover the real purpose of their lives.”

  His dinner guests stared blankly at him.

  Guide Gleace smiled in understanding. “Forgive me. I tend to dump too much hay on the calves. Let’s start with how everything began for us. You may not realize this, but the word Salem is what we call an acronym—”

  “Oh, we just learned that,” Mahrree chuckled as Perrin’s ears turned red. “Professor Kopersee dropped by.”

  “Already?” Gleace exclaimed. “I told him to give you at least a week! I’m sorry. As you likely could tell, he’s a very impatient person without a good sense of timing.”

  “And he already gave Father a homework assignment,” Peto chuckled.

  The Gleaces exchanged knowing looks.

  “Again, my apologies,” Gleace said. “Well, so you know that part, but did he tell you about what happened when the first families came to Salem? Good. I get to tell you. As you know, Pax came to this valley first, with one of his assistants and a guard who used to work for Querul. Pax realized this valley would be perfect for a new home, and sent his guard back to get the word out about Salem.

  “Within a week the first four families arrived with only the clothes on their backs and a couple days of food in their packs. One man had a hatchet, and one woman had a butcher knife. And that was all this group of now twenty-one had for survival. Fortunately, it was Planting Season, so the weather was moderate, but it was clear that food and shelter were the priorities. Using the one hatchet, the men took turns chopping down trees to make a covered shelter for everyone to share, and using the one knife, the women butchered pheasants and dug up roots for meals. Within the next few weeks, more and more refugees poured into the valley, some more prepared than others. Someone brought a shovel, another a pick axe, someone else a sewing kit, and so on. But since nearly everyone was literally running away, no one could take with them more than they could carry.

  “By early Weeding Season, there were over two thousand refugees here, all needing shelter, food, and clothing. By sharing those few tools and implements, crude long houses were built with several families sharing sections of them, and every meal prepared was for the entire community to eat. Everyone contributed as they could.

  “As the last of the refugees made their way to Salem, a few families with great forethought arrived, carrying bags of wheat, corn, and oats, and pockets full of seeds for vegetable gardens, cotton, and flax. They arrived just in time to plant it all, and the Creator was generous in holding back the first snows so that the crops could be gathered in before their first long Snowing Season together.”

  “It hadn’t occurred to me before,” said Mahrree, “that they had to do everything from scratch.”

  “Nor had it occurred to many of them, either,” Gleace agreed. “It was a struggle, those first few moons. But by the time Snowing Season came, there were nearly three thousand people here, and they had developed a system.

  “This is the part of the story that tends to disappoint newcomers. They expect to hear about a terrible season, about raging snows and near-to-starving conditions, and grief and sorrow, but . . .” Gleace held up his hands. “They actually had a wonderful Snowing Season, I’m happy to report.

  “You see, they discovered they had a marvelous diversity of talent, skill, labor, and creativity. There was no problem all of them together couldn’t solve. There was no need that went unfulfilled.

  “For example, two men were trappers. They taught a dozen more how to set traps, and together they were able to collect enough animals for meat that season. There were a handful of refugees who knew how to turn pelts into coats. They taught a dozen others, and by mid-Snowing Season, everyone had enough furs to keep them warm.

  “Every skill was shared freely, and everyone pitched in to save their friends and families from freezing and starving. There were even several musicians who fashioned simple instruments and put on shows for everyone each night before bed. When you read their journals, those early refugees write about the easiness of the days, the joys of working together, the entertainment of the evenings, and the satisfaction they felt with simple yet full lives.

  “When Planting Season came around again, and it was time to start building individual houses and gardens, Pax made a recommendation that they would not resort to the ways of the world, each person or family struggling on their own. He asked them to remember how easy and delightful their lives had been by sharing in each other’s labors and burdens, and that they continue.

  “Everyone agreed. Houses were built by large groups of highly organized laborers, and were completed often in just a week’s time. Orchards and fields of grain were planted, directed by experienced farmers sharing their talents with everyone else.

  “Every last Salemite helped build the granary, the saw mills, and when it was time to establish the forge, e
veryone went into the mountains looking for sources of ore. They also found gold and silver, but they used those metals for only one purpose. A few refugees snuck back to the world and, under assumed names, they purchased sheep, cattle, pigs, chickens, and a few horses. They brought them back to Salem where everyone shared in taking care of them.

  “That’s the only way we use the gold and silver we find when we mine the ore: to purchase animals from the world. No, we don’t steal them like the Guarders used to, but we had to smuggle them into the forests like they did. And Perrin, I have to say we didn’t appreciate you building that cattle fence at the edge of the forest many years ago. Gave us as many problems as it did thieving Guarders.”

  Everyone laughed as Perrin said, “I’m genuinely sorry about that. So you don’t use gold or silver here in Salem?”

  “We have some, in an unlocked box in the scouts’ office, because occasionally they need it in the world, but here? No, we don’t buy or sell anything.”

  “Nothing? At all?”

  “Nothing,” Gleace grinned. “At all! You see, no one wanted to. Everyone could see, as clearly as Pax, that sharing was better. No one starved, no one was without shelter, and no one was without clothing. Everyone was taken care of. Everyone was also expected to work, according to their ability and health, and no one was considered better or worse than someone else. Everyone acted as a family, exactly the way the Creator had established for us at the very beginning.

  “Naturally questions needed to be settled as to how much each family or person needed, and there was some discussion as to what was considered fair. Eventually they concluded that each person should have a week’s worth of clothing, every family should have a house big enough that no more than two children needed to share a bedroom, and everyone should try to produce extra of what they could: food, blankets, clothing, plows, hammers, whatever. And those items would then be placed in a large storehouse for whomever needed it. Rectors over each congregation would help decide amounts required in each family, according to the guidelines, and then whoever needed a new pair of trousers, or pillows, or a pot, could just go to the storehouse and take it.”

  “Just take it?” Peto exclaimed. “Like, say I wanted a new pocketknife—”

  “You have a new pocketknife,” Gleace said knowingly. “It’s part of your requisition order for new families, as a teenage boy.” He glanced over at Mahrree. “Sorry. Just easier that way, boys being boys. If he were female, he would have been given two hats. Or a knife. Girls like pocketknives, too—”

  “But Guide,” Peto persisted, in a tone of friendly argument, “if I wanted a new knife—”

  Gleace sat back with a smile on his face. “I told you earlier that I’m ready for you, so show me your damaged one first.”

  “Let’s say that I lost it.”

  “Can your parents verify that you lost it?”

  “I don’t want them to know.”

  “Honesty is of first and foremost importance in Salem, Peto. Be honest with others, and primarily with yourself. Where’s your knife?”

  “So what you’re saying is,” Peto evaded his question, “I can’t just saunter in and take off the shelf whatever I want.”

  “No, you can’t. If, however, you have a need—an honest need that your rector or parents can verify—then yes, you can go to one of the many storehouses in Salem, tell the attendant on duty, and they will help you acquire a new pocketknife.”

  Peto tilted his head. “And it really works like that?”

  “It really works like that. Just to make me happy, Peto, show me your new knife.”

  Peto grinned and pulled it out.

  “I want a knife,” Perrin murmured to Mahrree. “Where’d he find that?”

  “In my drawer,” Peto said, sliding it back into his trousers’ pocket. “Did you check your drawers?”

  Gleace chuckled. “Perrin, you have a knife. Not as impressive as the long knife you left in Edge, but serviceable.”

  “Thank you. I’ll be sure to look when we get home. But I have to confess,” Perrin said, “all of this seems a bit too good to be true. Everyone agrees to this?”

  “No,” Gleace said simply. “There’s a period of adjustment for those who join us. It takes tremendous faith in the Creator to believe you’ll be taken care of if you share all that you have. Our natural tendency is to jealousy and fear. There are some who leave us because they can’t overcome that fear by faith, or they can’t satiate their appetites to realize how much is enough. We have to educate our appetites. But this lifestyle isn’t forced; it’s by choice.”

  “There are some born and raised in Salem who choose to leave,” his wife added.

  Gleace nodded. “We have three smaller dissenter colonies of those who have left. Two are northeast and the other is northwest. There are great disparities in their communities because they’ve adopted the ways of the world, with a monetary system and the status that follows it. There’s quite a bit of fluctuation in their populations, and often the very poor among them come back to us. Then the wealthier find it difficult to succeed without their cheap labor, and come recruiting new members with the lure of riches which they, too, will likely never see. They’re in constant turmoil.”

  “That must be difficult for their families, to see them leave,” Mahrree said.

  “It’s not as if they are shunned,” Gleace assured her. “We trade with them, they come to visit their families, we visit them; we respect their wishes, so they respect our way of life. To be honest, Perrin and Mahrree, folks like you, with the worldly background and knowledge you have . . .” Gleace’s words slowed, as if he really didn’t want to utter them. “You’d do very well in the dissenter colonies. I have no doubt that by Weeding Season, you’d be the head of all of it.”

  Mahrree smiled halfway. “Trying to kick us out of Salem already?”

  “Absolutely not!” Gleace exclaimed. “I’d much rather have you here. Although with the Shins in charge of the colonies . . .” He bobbed his head thoughtfully. “They just might stabilize. For a time.”

  But Perrin scowled. “Being in charge of unstable colonies? There’s nothing that sounds appealing about any of that.”

  Gleace grinned. “Oh, good. I have to be forthcoming with all that we can offer, you see, so that you can make a choice as to where you really want to be. You could leave and move up there,” he added, his enthusiasm flagging. “Even visit for a time, just to see . . .?” His tone indicated that was the last thing he wanted to have happen.

  Mahrree smiled at him reassuringly. “I can’t imagine anywhere better than here. We were hoping to leave the world, Guide. Not find it again in another form.”

  Again Gleace grinned, as if a burden had just been lifted. “I was hoping you’d say that. You know, there are some in the colonies who refuse to even interact with us. They call us backward. Some even wish to return to the world. That’s the only thing I cannot allow,” he said gravely. “It’s too great a risk to our entire civilization if one of them returns. If they say the wrong things to the wrong people, that could be the end of us.”

  “Has anyone tried to leave?” asked Perrin.

  “Only occasionally. Almost always extended families convince them to remain. We’ve had only four people vanish over the past one hundred years. If they made it to the world, or perished along the way, I don’t know.”

  Curious, Perrin asked, “When did the last person vanish?”

  For the first time, Guide Gleace seemed hesitant to answer. “Four years ago, a man named Lickiah. Actually, Perrin, you knew him as Walickiah. A lieutenant?”

  Perrin squinted as he ran the name over in his mind. “Walickiah . . . wait a minute. Yes! He came to the fort years ago, shortly after the first Guarder attack in Edge. He was there for the first Strongest Soldier race, then resigned abruptly. Wait another minute . . . why did he resign?”

  Guide Gleace sighed. “He was persuaded by Corporal Zenos.”

  “What? How?”

&nbs
p; Now the guide looked a little embarrassed. “With the help of six of our men. Walickiah was one of them, Perrin. A true Guarder sent to spy on you. We had a lot of men in the trees at that time, and they picked up the message that someone new was coming to the fort to help the ‘Quiet Man.’”

  Perrin nodded. “I heard all about the ‘Quiet Man.’”

  Gleace noticed the looks of bemusement on the faces of the rest of Shins and Briters. “Shem was known as the ‘Quiet Man’ to the Guarders,” he explained. “When Shem first signed up with Perrin, he dropped a message in the trees for the Guarders telling them that he was keeping a close eye on Captain Shin, and that he wouldn’t communicate with them unless it was an emergency. Shem claimed he would be their insider. It was mostly true—he just wasn’t an insider for their side.

  “Well, it seems someone in the Guarders must have thought Shem was too quiet. We could never find a way to let him communicate with the real Guarders without compromising him or Perrin. So our spies watched for clues that someone else was being sent to watch. Shem would bring that new spy out to the forest, and then we took them.”

  “I had a few recruits over the years suddenly vanish,” Perrin reminded his family.

  “Only one agreed to come to Salem,” Gleace said. “Walickiah. The others took their oaths very seriously and preferred to take their own lives over abandoning their duty,” he told them. “I’m sorry,” he added when he noticed Perrin flinch.

  “Shem didn’t tell me that. What happened with Walickiah?”

  Gleace shrugged. “I’m really not sure. Everything was fine for over ten years. Shem visited him frequently, and they laughed over Shem’s abduction of him. He was doing well, moved up to the north, and was enjoying himself as far as we could tell. His rector said he was interested in a young woman there, but nothing came of it. Then about five years ago in 333 he became agitated and wanted to return to the world. His rector and one of my assistants over that area couldn’t help him see reason. I went a few times to speak with him, but he refused to see me. Eventually one of his neighbors noticed he was gone. No sign, not trace—nothing. We searched for him for weeks, but . . .” Gleace shrugged again.

  “I can’t think of anything that has changed in the world or may have been compromised in that time,” Perrin said.

  Gleace nodded. “Shem has a way of hearing just about everything. He searched all over for Lickiah and notified the other scouts to watch for him returning to the world. No one saw or heard from him in the past four years. We assume he died somewhere. Probably for the best,” he acknowledged reluctantly. “He was the first murderer we ever tried to integrate into Salem.”

  Mahrree was as astonished as Perrin, who exclaimed, “He was a what?”

  Gleace sighed sadly. “You probably even know what he did. His first ‘success’ was around the time you arrived in Edge. He was part of that first group of Guarders attacking Grasses—”

  “The captain’s parents!” Perrin cried out. “And his sister! He killed them?”

  “Yes,” Gleace said heavily. “He bludgeoned the young woman only nearly to death so that her dying would be prolonged and agonizing to all around her. Those were his orders.”

  Mahrree nearly choked on her shock. “She was supposed to marry the lieutenant, but they had her burial the same day Perrin and I married.”

  “I remember,” said Perrin, his tone thick with anger. “You let that . . . that monster live in Salem?!”

  At any other moment she would have kicked her husband under the table for shouting at the Creator’s Guide, but she was just as livid as he was.

  “Not the first time I’ve been yelled at about him,” said Gleace wretchedly.

  “He should have been incarcerated,” Perrin declared, “at the very least!”

  “But we don’t have incarceration in Salem,” said Gleace. “I wasn’t about to start just for him. Salem is a place of second chances. Always has been.”

  Mahrree blinked. “No incarceration?”

  “Never been needed. Our people enforce our laws themselves. But if you want to see prisons, they’ve got some elaborate ones in the dissenter colonies.” Gleace tried to smile, but gave up.

  Perrin was fuming. “Walickiah should have been executed for those three deaths!”

  “Closer to a dozen,” said Gleace quietly. “That’s what he confessed to me.”

  “A dozen!”

  That’s when Gleace’s gaze shifted abruptly, from contrite to sharp. “We’ve allowed men into Salem who have killed even more than that, Perrin. Most of them were just following orders. And all of them believed they were doing the right thing at the time. Wouldn’t you agree?”

  Mahrree cringed in dread for her husband, who sat back as if he’d been slapped. He could do nothing but swallow guiltily and stare at his plate.

  His tally was much higher than a dozen.

  With unexpected warmth, Gleace leaned toward Perrin. “Walickiah thought he was doing the right things for the world. He’d been deceived by the Guarders who had conditioned him for over a year. I’d never met a man whose thinking had been so warped. But we were straightening it out. I never believed that locking away a criminal was the way to help him. Maybe that makes the community feel safer, but it does nothing for the offender. But reclaiming his mind and mending his heart? Not only does that change his life, it makes the entire community stronger. Walickiah was changing, Perrin. My best men and women worked with him every week. Until one day . . . well, none of us know what happened. Likely never will.”

  Perrin continued to stare at the table. “I made that same argument about Qualipoe Hili. He made much more progress with Shem rebuilding our bedroom in a few days than he ever did during the many moons he spent locked up.”

  Gleace nodded once. “So you understand. Already your thinking is improving. You won’t find living in Salem difficult, Perrin Shin. As long as you think before reacting.”

  Perrin cracked a smile and dared to look up at the guide. “And here I thought you knew a lot about soldiers.”

  Gleace grinned at him.

  “People struggle with this kind of life?” Deck spoke up. “Why is it so hard to accept? It’s wonderful!”

  “Of course it looks wonderful to you now, Deckett,” Gleace said. “Today you just learned that you’ll visit twenty ranches and choose five cattle from each for your new herd. But when the word reaches you next year that a newlywed young man will be visiting your ranch to select his five head from you, will you still feel this is a wonderful way of life?”

  Deckett thought about that. “I hope so. I hope I never forget how I felt today when I heard the news. I wondered how I could ever repay that generosity.”

  “You’ll repay it by helping the next one in line. You may repay it many times over in your life. When you reach my age you may realize you’ve given away five hundred cattle. The test is, will you still see that as wonderful?”

  Deckett thought again. “Who gave us the cattle in the first place?”

  The guide sat back in his chair. “The Creator.”

  “So they’re not really mine, or yours, or anyone’s, right? They multiply according to His will, not mine. So how can I be bitter about sharing what never was mine to begin with?”

  The Guide grinned. “You married an excellent young man, Jaytsy Briter. Well said, Deckett!”

  “All shared for free,” Peto mumbled. “Unbelievable.”

  Gleace turned to study him.

  Mahrree cleared her throat. “Guide? Peto’s had a difficult few days, accepting all of this. A bit cynical, perhaps . . .”

  But the guide nodded once to Peto. “I see him as . . . a hopeful duck.”

  “A what?” Peto said, the corners of his mouth tugging.

  “Yes, a hopeful duck, who’s been bobbing up and down in a sea of cynicism.”

  Jaytsy giggled. “A sea of cynicism—yes, that’s Peto!”

  “No,” Gleace said slowly, his gaze still intently on Peto, who was b
eginning to squirm. “He’s the duck. He’s been in that cynical sea for a long time, and even though it’s splashed him quite a bit, he’s a duck. The water’s not part of him, and deep down he’s still warm and dry.”

  Mrs. Gleace, noticing her guests’ mouths wriggling in amusement, said, “My husband’s strength is in animals, not metaphors.”

  But her husband smiled. “Not my metaphor, but Tuma’s,” he said to his wife.

  “Ah,” and she smiled.

  “Tuma?” Mahrree asked.

  “I’ll explain who he was later. Tuma was a dear friend and an insightful man. And this young man Peto here—Tuma would have appreciated him. He would have seen his optimism, hidden like his down feathers. He would have noticed his hope, slicking every feather and keeping off the cynical waters that tried to drown him. He may look wet, but he’s anything but. All Peto needs is some time to dry off, so to speak. So, my Hopeful Duck—I can tell you have questions. Ask them.”

  “Anything?” Peto asked.

  “Anything.”

  “All right . . . how many more times are you going to call me a Hopeful Duck?”

  Gleace grinned. “About three more, but I’ll try to pace myself.”

  Peto smiled at that, but then concern came over him. “If everything’s shared, then . . .”

  Gleace noticed that Peto was fingering his new knife in his pocket. “You’re worried that maybe someone will walk into your house, take your new knife, and decide it’s his? That won’t happen. The cattle given to your brother-in-law will be his. His stewardship, his responsibility. In that way, he ‘owns’ them. But if his herd grows to two hundred next year, he simply doesn’t have enough grazing land. He’ll give many away. Maybe another rancher lost several calves to wolves. Maybe another family has growing teenage boys and will need an extra side of beef this season. Deckett then transfers his stewardship to those with the greater need.”

  Peto still had worry etched all over his face.

  “Go ahead, son,” Gleace encouraged.

  “Just seems lopsided,” he confessed. “Just give that family another side of beef?”

  “Yes. And you know what? That family just may be cobblers. And a few weeks later, the wife will be by to fit you for new boots. And you’ll be walking around in the finest leather and you won’t have given up any slips of silver either. Everything balances, Peto. Everything balances, when you want to make sure your neighbor is taken care of. That’s the Creator’s way.”

  Peto slowly nodded. “It just seems too good to be true. I’m waiting to hear the other side. I’m sorry, but—”

  “Here’s one of those other sides,” Mrs. Gleace said. Her openness was so easy that Mahrree was dumbfounded. “Peto, you told my husband all about kickball. It may surprise you to know that here in Salem, we have no competition.”

  Peto squinted. “So . . . no kickball?”

  “Not in the way you played it, Peto,” the guide said. “We play, laugh, and enjoy each other, but we don’t taunt or degrade anyone.”

  “So,” Peto leaned forward on the table, “do you keep score?”

  “Very sloppily.”

  Peto was appalled.

  “It’s true. A score may be kept for a time, until one team reaches a set point, then the score is forgotten and the play continues until the sun goes down or someone is injured.”

  “We understand,” said Mrs. Gleace, “that in the world some men devote so much of their lives to kickball that after five years their bodies are nearly worn out.”

  Peto looked down at the table.

  “Seems shortsighted,” said the guide, “crippling your body before you’re even middle aged, just for a game? I can’t imagine what kind of condition those poor men may be in when they’re my age. I can still climb a mountain. They might not even be able to climb the stairs. All for a game that will be forgotten when the next champion is named? And Shem told us the fans even erupt into violence when their teams don’t win, as if they actually own the teams. And then it’s starts all over the next year? It’s just so strange.”

  Peto smiled dismally. “Guide Gleace, you have a way of describing things that makes them seem positively . . . stupid.”

  “Please understand, I’m not disparaging games,” Gleace explained. “We play all kinds of games, often and loudly! But our community can’t function if there’s resentment of any kind. So, Perrin,” the guide shifted his focus to him, “I’m afraid we won’t be having any Strongest Soldier races. Especially after I saw Shem’s struggle each year when he lost. I thought about pulling him home for a season in some years, just to work it out of him.”

  Perrin fussed with a biscuit. “It did get a little ugly at times.”

  “Ha!” Peto barked at that understatement. “The first time Shem beat Father, he didn’t talk to Shem for a week!”

  “But the races were a great motivational tool,” Perrin defended, and already Mahrree could hear the defeat in his tone. “It gave the men something to look forward to, the entire village of Edge got involved—it became an event no one wanted to miss.”

  The guide nodded slowly. “I’m sure there were many good things attributed to it. Even if illegal gambling at the fort cost several soldiers enormous amounts of pay—”

  Perrin’s eye grew big at the guide’s knowledge.

  “—and even if you lost the companionship of your closest friend for a time each year.”

  Perrin pursed his lips at that.

  Mahrree patted his leg under the table.

  But Peto laughed. “And the day after the first time Shem beat him, he came to the house and Father wouldn’t even let him in.”

  Jaytsy sniggered into her napkin.

  “Peto—” Perrin tried to stop him.

  “And it was raining outside. Pouring!”

  “Peto!”

  “Then it turned to hail!” Peto was foolishly unstoppable when there was a great story to tell. “Shem had to walk all the way back to the fort! He couldn’t run because he was so sore—”

  “PETO!”

  The only sound in the room after Perrin’s bellow was the guide politely coughing.

  Perrin was already red with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have raised my voice—”

  “You left your best friend, confidante, and brother out in the hail?” the guide asked.

  Perrin’s shoulder twitched. “You didn’t see the dance he did in front of everyone after he won the race.”

  “He sang a little song, too,” Jaytsy mumbled.

  “Who’s the strongest soldier now?” Peto whispered the melody. “I’m the strongest soldier now!”

  Perrin began to puff until he realized that Gleace was intently studying him.

  “Still you feel it, don’t you Perrin?”

  He fidgeted. “Yes. Point well made.”

  “In times of crisis and emergencies we can easily put aside our differences and come together to help,” Gleace said, with too much generosity. “But those things happen only a few times in each person’s life. It’s the everyday relationships that need to be protected. It’s when everything’s going easy that we become annoyed by the little irritations. And then we start to think, ‘I’m better than him, he’s worse than me, she doesn’t deserve this, I deserve more. I’m better than everyone else, and I must prove it.’ But that’s just being human. However, that’s what we need to fight every day. Battling that competitive nature is the war of our lives.”

  “True,” Mahrree said. “At least women aren’t like that.”

  Everyone stared at her.

  Peto turned to his sister. “Did she really just say that?”

  Jaytsy guffawed behind her hand.

  Insulted, Mahrree said, “What?” The steady gaze of the guide caught her. More submissively she said again, “What?”

  With great warmth, but a distinct glint in his eye, Guide Gleace hit her with, “Comparison is a form of competition. What you said suggested that women are better than men, did
n’t it?”

  Now Mahrree practiced her lip pursing.

  Guide Gleace smiled in understanding. “The force behind all competition and comparison is pride. Pointing out faults, failing to be compassionate, defending our mistakes instead of trying to fix them. Pride causes it all. And that’s the great enemy that we’re trying to conquer in Salem. But in the world, pride’s the heart and soul. It defines, controls, and motivates everyone and everything.

  “As large as Salem is, we have no room for it. Pride is also a form of fear. Not trusting in the Creator to care for us in this Test, but trusting ourselves instead. That always leads to failure.”

  Mahrree sighed. “Salem’s going to take a bit of getting used to, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, and you get to spend the rest of your life doing so. It’s a delicate balance we try to maintain. We debate, but we don’t argue. We tease, but we don’t harm. We laugh, but not at someone else’s pain. We judge, but assume the best about a situation, not the worst. We strive for excellence, but for everyone, not for individual glory. We don’t always succeed, but we never give up trying to. We only fail when we quit trying. So I’m sure none of you will fail living a Salem-like life.”

  “Your confidence is overwhelming, Guide Gleace,” Mahrree said with a sad chuckle. “You obviously don’t know much about our family.”

  “You agreed to come to Salem,” the guide reminded her. “That’s all I need to know. There’s something else you may struggle with, especially Perrin.”

  Perrin sighed. “You best let me have it.”

  “Humbly said. Excellent beginning. We have no rankings in Salem. For a man whose life was defined by status, this may take some getting used to. You’ll have no one following your orders and no one saluting you.”

  Perrin shrugged. “I haven’t had that in Edge for the past few weeks. I don’t see why I should have it here. I don’t even have a purpose here.”

  “You do. You’ll learn of it, very soon. What I’m trying to explain is that everyone in Salem is treated equally. I may be the guide over all of Salem, but I’m also accountable to my local rector. If I need something, I request it of him, and twice a year, he evaluates our needs with us. Not even I can saunter into the storehouses and take whatever I want,” he said to Peto.

  “You passed our governing house,” Gleace continued. “I doubt it’s anything as large or elaborate as the Administrators’ Headquarters. But we have need of nothing larger. My twelve assistants and I meet twice a week to discuss the community’s needs. We rarely have any legal issues to resolve. The first line for dealing with conflicts are the rectors. They almost always can fix the problems. If they can’t, the issue is brought to our council. Those who can’t accept our decisions are those who leave for the dissenter communities. Usually they’ve been struggling with our way of life for some time already. They’re looking for a reason—maybe they think someone’s offended them, or they realize that no one here is perfect yet, so they use that to justify leaving us.

  “But none of us in Salem is perfect. We’re just people, trying our best, making mistakes, and trying to fix those. That’s the very essence of the Creator’s Test. Try, fail, try again, and eventually succeed. The Creator has ways of making up for where we fall short, ways that we don’t fully understand yet, but we must always try.

  “What He’s testing is the nature and progress of our hearts,” Gleace continued. “The world has different measures. It’s all about getting more, building higher, and looking better. The world believes ‘enough’ is defined by what they have, plus a little more. So they’re never satisfied. Their hearts are small and weak.”

  Gleace sat back and looked at his guests sadly. “And that’s why the world is dying.”

  Perrin sighed. “I once told Shem I thought the most dangerous sentences began with the words, ‘I deserve . . .’”

  “Precisely right. The world will always believe it deserves more. Here’s a question for you: How many hours a day do people in the world work?”

  Mahrree shrugged. “All depends. Up to fourteen hours a day, but at least nine to ten.”

  “Not here. Most people get all of their necessary labors finished by midday meal.”

  “What, everything?” Deck said, duly amazed.

  “Yes. Everything.”

  “Ask yourself this,” Mrs. Gleace said. “What do the people in the world work for? A larger house? Then to fill those larger houses with trinkets and furniture that need to be changed again after a few seasons because some trend says so? They work for new clothing in the latest styles. Better saddles for better horses and better carriages to look better. They’re working for more, and more is never enough. But we labor enough to provide for everyone’s needs. That takes only a few hours each day.”

  “After our ancestors’ first year here, they established some rules,” Gleace explained. “The first was, no person is to be idle here, unless they are ill, crippled, or recovering from birthing a baby. Most of those who left the world had suffered from working for the wealthy. They spent hours each day milling, weaving, building, and digging for just one slip of silver a year, when their overseer received fifty for idly watching them. One of my ancestors wrote in his journal about digging in dark holes for golden nuggets near Trades, then handing everything he found to a man who did nothing all day but sit on a horse, shouting. It was his gold mine, only because he happened to find it first.”

  Gleace shook his head in genuine disbelief. “I still don’t get it. But that’s the state of mind in the world. ‘I found this first, I created this first, I combined this first.’ As if they did it all on their own, as if the Creator didn’t inspire them, or give them the talents to do what they did. People really think they’re that brilliant, all on their own? You know, that’s what led to the Great War. Laborers were upset with being treated so unfairly. The wealthy were capitalizing upon the poor. So much anger churns and boils and eventually spills over. So when Pax and the others came here, everyone readily agreed that the first rule of Salem would be, ‘No idlers will eat the bread nor wear the clothing of the laborers. All must labor for their own.’”

  “But even then,” Mrs. Gleace smiled, “or probably because of that, everyone still finishes their work by midday meal.”

  “Remarkable!” Mahrree breathed. “But don’t you ever need a supervisor over larger projects?”

  “Of course,” Guide Gleace said. “But the supervisors don’t sit around shouting. They’re working right alongside everyone else, and just as hard. No one here has servants. No one here is considered higher or better because they did something first, or have more of something than everyone else. You know what completely baffles me?”

  Mahrree shook her head along with everyone else. She was too baffled herself—pleasantly—to have the slightest idea what could confuse the guide.

  “The concept you have in the world of earning enough slips to allow for a life of ease and luxury.” Gleace sat back and gestured helplessly. “How could that be fulfilling, sitting around and doing . . . what? A few times I’ve been too ill to work and had to lie around the house. Oh, I couldn’t wait to get back to being useful again!”

  “And I couldn’t wait for him to get out of the house again, either!” Mrs. Gleace winked lovingly at her husband.

  “How can one enjoy sitting around doing nothing?” Guide Gleace asked earnestly. “After half an hour, I’m ready to accomplish something. Anything!”

  Perrin chuckled. “You know, Guide Gleace, with your attitude you would inadvertently find yourself one of the wealthiest men in the world, because you’d always be doing something.”

  “But you said you have a great deal of free time,” Mahrree said. “So, what do you do with all of it?”

  “Everything!” Guide Gleace smiled broadly. “Anything! We don’t sit around picking at our nails, if that’s what you’re wondering. What have you always wanted to do or learn, Mahrree?”

  Mahrree didn’t need any time to think
about that. “Ruins! I’d love to learn about the ruins.”

  “And so you will,” the guide said. “We have ruins all around us. Many people have studied, written, and hypothesized about them, and explored them. You can join them. Tell me, how long do you think it will take you to become an expert in the ruins?”

  Mahrree was nearly bursting with the potential. “Years?”

  “Then you may take as many years as you wish. And when you’re ready for a new challenge, what do you want to learn next?”

  “I have no idea. I never thought that far.”

  “Well,” Mrs. Gleace smiled, “you have years to do so. That’s how we measure progress in Salem,” she explained. “Not by possessions, but by learning, exploring, and understanding. And what one person discovers, everyone discovers. A talent that one person develops, everyone benefits from.”

  “The world, however,” Guide Gleace said with great disappointment, “is dull by comparison. Oh, they think they’ve got excitement and progress, but really it’s all the same old entertainments, the same old chase for nothing more invigorating than fleeting stature. How utterly tedious. It’s rare that anyone there comes up with new ideas, or pokes at old notions to discover if what everyone believes is actually true.

  “But you,” he smiled slyly at the Perrin and Mahrree, “you poked all the time. And that’s how you got here. And that’s why you’ll love Salem.”

  “Our poking caused trouble,” Mahrree pointed out.

  “Ah, but the very best kind!” Gleace declared. “The kind that makes people question everything they know. People need to be poked every now and then, Mahrree.”

  Hesitantly, she smiled, sincerely hoping that was true.

  But Peto’s expression was thoughtful. “So, you mentioned the same old entertainments. What do you have that’s different?”

  “Oh, where to start?” Mrs. Gleace said. “I think you’ll just have to experience what we have to offer, and you’ll begin to see what we’re talking about. For example, we have a granddaughter who plays the cello. That’s an instrument you don’t have in the world, because they don’t take the time to create them. The Creator gave her a great talent, and she spends several hours every day practicing. But she also has three little children, so each afternoon they enjoy time at their grandmothers’ houses, or here with me, so that their mother can develop her talent.

  “Now, I know what you may be thinking,” she eyed Peto, the duck who was growing cynically wet again, “that’s unfair, forcing someone else to watch her children. But caring for my great-grandchildren is a blessing, not a burden. Through their eyes I see the world anew again, and what greater thing could I be doing than caring for the youngest of the Creator’s family?

  “Every Holy Day afternoon we go to our granddaughter’s house and she performs her latest works for us. I could never play like her, but I get to appreciate her talent because she shares it freely. Every season she gives a performance at the arena, along with many other musicians. People from the world tell me the music is more intricate and moving than anything they’ve heard before. Now, tell me, how much does it cost to attend concerts in the world?”

  Perrin tipped his head. “Depending on the performer, up to a weeks’ worth of pay.”

  “Let me guess,” Peto said, “no one here pays for a concert.”

  “That’s right,” Mrs. Gleace said. “Anything you want to attend, you just attend. Sometimes people have to be turned away because too many come. In that case, another concert is scheduled so no one is disappointed.”

  Peto scratched his head. “I understand that your granddaughter lets her baby tenders in for free, but everyone else too?”

  Guide Gleace leaned over to him. “Peto, who gave our granddaughter her talent?”

  Peto shrugged. “I suppose she works really hard—”

  Guide Gleace’s head shaking stopped him. “She does work very hard, but the raw talent was nothing she created herself. It was a gift from the Creator. Tell me, in kickball were there ever any boys who tried and tried but were just never good enough for the teams?”

  “Oh yeah!” Peto snorted. “There was one boy who tried out every year. No matter how long he practiced, every ball he kicked curved to the left.”

  “And you could kick straight?”

  “Perfectly!”

  “Why?”

  “Because I practiced!”

  Gleace held up a finger. “Are you sure? Or did the Creator give you a gift, one that He chose not to give the other boy? When you practiced, you improved because of that gift, not because of any special ability you made for yourself.”

  Peto hesitated. “I never considered that before.”

  “The Creator’s gifts are varied and myriad,” Gleace told them. “Some think of the obvious gifts, like music or art. But there are others, such as leadership, organizing homes, communities, orchards. Patience with children, animals, plants,” he nodded to the Briters. “Inquisitiveness is a gift. How fast is sound? Light? Thinking about difficult things is a gift. What’s under a mountain, and how can I find out?”

  “Another gift is being able to tolerate being married to a person who sits around thinking about such things!” Mrs. Gleace said to Peto, who grinned.

  Her husband chuckled. “Some have the gift of making people feel comfortable,” he gestured to his wife. “Some the gift of teaching,” he nodded to Mahrree. “Others, the gift of defending,” he said to Perrin. “And I’m sure Peto has more gifts than just kicking straight. There are hundreds of gifts, given to us by the Creator so we can improve everyone’s lives.”

  Gleace sat back, his face nearly radiating.

  “Here in Salem we get to learn and grow and help each other, with no pressure of status, or gold, or worry about what others think of us. Here, you will find true freedom.

  “So Mahrree—don’t mourn the books you left behind. You’ll find books in our libraries about things you never imagined. You can spend the rest of your life reading and learning and never get to the end of what we have to offer.

  “Peto, you think you’re done with schooling? I’m happy to tell you that the schools in the world know only about one-tenth of what we do. You have plenty more to learn, and I’m sure you’ll be fascinated by it all, so don’t roll your eyes at me.

  “Perrin, I’ve heard you wondered about zebras. I can introduce you to the men who tried to ride them.

  “Jaytsy, we’ve developed methods for improving garden yields that will excite you, especially if you love green beans.

  “And Deckett, wait till you see the cows we purchased in Sands and brought over last Harvest. Such beautiful animals!”

  Guide Gleace leaned back in his chair. “Oh, Shin and Briter families, you have no idea what great things await you! Sometimes I envy those who come here. I’d love to experience the awestruck surprise I see on your faces right now. This massive sphere was given to us to explore and learn about, not to take from and hoard. What a tragic existence you’ve been forced to endure all these years, but the Creator will make it up to you, I promise. Soon you’ll discover what life was meant to be. It’s a gift—all of it, from fantastically generous Parents who sent us here for an incredible learning experience. Everything has been given to us freely. That’s the Creator’s way!”

  But then Gleace’s countenance clouded. “Ah, but the Refuser has other plans. He’s far too clever.”

  “How so?” Peto asked.

  “The world’s forgotten him, my Hopeful Duck. Yes, only two more. No one there speaks much of him, and that’s the way he wants it. If they forget he exists, his hold on them is secure. He’s the one who told the Creator he didn’t believe this test was fair. He refused the gifts and the test. And now he’s angry about what he denied himself, because he sees that it actually was a great idea, so he’s using the world and everyone in it for his own revenge. He and his followers are trying to get everyone else to refuse the greatness of the Creator’s Plan. Oh, and he hates Salem, becaus
e our people’s hearts are so pure he can never get a firm hold here, but still he tries. We have to always be watchful, because he always tries.”

  Deck asked, “But what could he do in Salem?”

  “Make us forget,” Gleace said, “all that we’ve learned and felt here. Remembering is the key, my dear Deckett. Remembering how the Creator wants us to live. You see, while the Creator gave us everything freely, the Refuser has stolen it all. The land, the animals, the seeds, the metals, the richness of this sphere—everything. And now he demands payment for all he holds hostage. He wants us to exploit each other the way he exploits us. Riches for goods. In the world they refer to it benignly as ‘good business’.”

  Perrin let out a low whistle. “Guide Gleace, if were you to say something like that in the world, the Administrators would instantly label you as a traitor.”

  Guide Gleace smile sadly. “I certainly hope so. A traitor to the Refuser is a defender of the Creator. The Administrators are the Refuser’s most gullible players. He’s using them masterfully like pieces in a big game, one he intends to win at all costs. The Administrators believe that they act according to their own ingenuity, but none of them is capable of original thought. Perhaps none of us are. We’re either inspired by the Creator or the Refuser, as if they give us the raw materials of an idea, then let us develop them into something wonderful or something terrible. All that the Administrators come up with is first devised by the Refuser. He will cheat and lie and manipulate in any way he can to win this game and destroy our existence. He cares nothing for any of us, and he disposes of his players as indifferently as we burn a filthy cloth. And he’s doing an excellent job. No one in the world realizes just how tightly his chains are around them.

  “But here you’ll find no chains,” Guide Gleace looked at each one of them, his gaze resting the longest on Perrin. “Another refugee once told me that the world believes the greatest freedom is gold in the cellar, but I can’t help but wonder, wouldn’t you then always be obsessed with what’s happening in the cellar? How can you then spend any time enjoying the world above it?”

  Perrin smiled wanly. “That’s where our savings were, in the cellar. Probably all been looted by now.”

  Mahrree hadn’t thought of their old home all day, and now she felt a pang of sorrow for it, being ravaged by strangers.

  Gleace must have seen that on her face, because he said, “Everything you need, plus more, is here. Home, security, professions—as many as you wish to sample—”

  “Wait a minute,” Peto said. “Sample? How? Don’t you train for a profession, then . . . that’s it?”

  “Peto, why be limited to one thing?” Gleace asked him. “Here in Salem we allow everyone to try something new, just to learn about it. One year our neighbor who was a professor of geography—that means ‘terrain’—became fascinated by the metals he found in the mountains. So he quit teaching and became a blacksmith.”

  “He what?” Peto scoffed. “But professors earn much more than blacksmiths—”

  Gleace’s head shaking stopped him again. “Not here. Work is work, and all is necessary. No one’s work is valued above someone else’s. One day the most important person to you may be a doctor who can set your broken leg. The next day the most important person may the carpenter who fashions you a set of crutches. The next day it’ll be the neighbors who come over to take care of your chores. Everyone works, and everyone is valued equally.

  “Back to our neighbor: after a year of blacksmithing he decided to do something more intricate. He became an artist for a time, creating elaborate designs with thin bits of metal.”

  Perrin frowned good-naturedly. “From professor to blacksmith to artist?”

  “That’s not all,” Gleace smiled. “After that he became curious with the geometric designs he made with the metals, and began to wonder about the mathematical properties. So he went back to the university and took courses in advanced calculations.”

  “So what is he doing now?” Peto asked, mystified that a grown man would want to go back to school again.

  “Now he’s back at the university teaching again, this time mathematics. But last season I heard he was thinking about studying the stars. His goal is to figure out exactly how far away it is to the nearest one. He’s making a sculpture of the universe in metal to help him think about distances.”

  Peto rolled his eyes. “How can he ever figure the distance to a star?”

  Guide Gleace shrugged. “I don’t know, but when he figures it out, he’ll let us all know.”

  “No one in the world could jump from career to career like that!” Mahrree exclaimed, “People would think he’s unstable.”

  “And not just curious about life and its possibilities? Doesn’t that sound tragic?” Gleace nodded to his wife. “Tell them about Broony.”

  “My friend’s mother was named Broony,” Mrs. Gleace said, “and when she was a girl she loved to weave cloth. After she married she wanted to weave new colors, so she spent the entire Weeding Season gathering all kinds of leaves, berries, barks, and roots. Then she boiled them down to discover new dyes, and as she did so she found herself wondering if they might taste beautiful as well.”

  Jaytsy cringed and laughed. “Oh no! Did she drink any?”

  Mrs. Gleace grinned. “She did. And you know what she discovered? Birch root juice tasted pretty good, mixed with enough sugar. That started her thinking. She wondered if any of the objects she had gathered might not have other properties as well. At that time she had a little girl, my friend’s oldest sister, who suffered from frequent colds. So, her mother purposely got herself ill as well.”

  “She what?” Peto exclaimed. “Why?”

  “To find a remedy. She would purposely get another cold, then sample leaves and herbs and bark and wait to see if any of them made her feel better.”

  “That’s crazy,” Peto decided.

  “Oh no,” Mrs. Gleace chuckled. “She was very methodical. Her husband helped her keep track of what she ingested, how much, and how she reacted to it. There were a few times she considered trying some substance, but felt strongly that she shouldn’t, so she disposed of those items without another thought. A few of them we now know were poisonous. But after three years of experimenting, Broony found a remedy. Now everyone in Salem, when they get a cold, knows exactly which leaves and bark to combine, and for how long to boil them. Within a day and night, all their symptoms are gone.”

  Mahrree’s eyebrows shot up. “She discovered a remedy for the cold?”

  “Along with many other remedies. And it all started because she loved to weave cloth.”

  “That’s incredible!” Deck said. “I’m always getting colds. Now I can hardly wait to get another one.”

  “And would you like to guess how much her remedy costs people?” Guide Gleace asked Peto.

  “Nothing, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  Peto sighed. “But she spent so much time at it. She got herself sick on purpose! She should be . . . I don’t know, rewarded for that somehow.”

  “She was,” said Mrs. Gleace. “She was rewarded with the knowledge that thousands of people each year felt better because of her efforts. Oh, I can tell you think that’s trite, but it’s the truth. Her oldest daughter’s health improved dramatically, and for over sixty years we’ve all benefitted from her sacrifice and work. She realized that the Creator provides solutions to every problem He sends us. But it’s up to us to think, experiment, and work until we discover the solution. Broony inspired many other doctors, so we continue to find new solutions to old problems. What could be more rewarding than that? She never felt she needed anything more.

  “You see, my mother helped take care of her when she was ill. As bright and inquisitive as Broony was, there were some things she couldn’t do. Keeping yeast alive was one of them. The woman loved sweet rolls, but she always killed the yeast and made sweet rocks instead. My mother baked for her while Broony ‘cooked’ up everything else. To Br
oony, my mother was a worker of miracles because she knew how to make bread. My mother thought the same thing about her. It all worked out. In Salem, everything balances.”

  “Wait a minute,” Peto said. “So Broony was . . . a doctor?”

  Mrs. Gleace blinked as if that was obvious. “Yes, why? Oh, I keep forgetting. The world thinks only men can do some jobs, and only women can do others.”

  “That’s not the way it is here?”

  “People work in what interests them. We have women doctors, professors—”

  “Ranchers,” Guide Gleace interjected.

  Mrs. Gleace nodded at him. “Shepherds, wood workers—anything and everything.”

  Deck leaned closer. “What about the men?”

  “They can do whatever they want to as well,” Mrs. Gleace said.

  “Sew clothing? Blankets?” Peto asked, scowling.

  “Of course. The strongest weaves are made by the strongest arms.”

  “Cook?” Deck asked.

  “Naturally. Men can create fantastic dishes.”

  “Tend children?” Peto said, and before Mrs. Gleace could answer, his face paled as he said, “Help deliver babies?”

  Guide Gleace leaned over to him. “Yes. You met Jothan, right? But usually we just call them ‘fathers’.”

  They all laughed at Peto’s horrified expression.

  “Men don’t ‘tend children,’ Peto,” Mrs. Gleace explained. “They ‘father’ them. But we do have a few trained male midwives, as knowledgeable and compassionate as the women. In fact all of our doctors—male and female—are trained extensively by midwives in case a midwife can’t be located quickly enough. And fathers are always right by their wives’ sides.”

  Peto nearly choked. “I . . . am . . . never . . . getting . . . married . . . here.”

  Everyone at the table burst into laughter, except for Peto, who looked positively wretched.

  Eventually the laughter died down.

  “What is it, Peto?” the guide asked kindly. “Don’t worry—you can call for as many midwives as you want when your wife is ready to birth. They can hold you up, even.”

  Peto waved that off. “That’s not it,” he said miserably. “Some people here have a variety of professions? I can’t even think of one.”

  “It will come to you, My Hopeful Duck. Yes, that’s twice.” He looked over to Perrin who wore the same worried expression as Peto. “It’s coming to you as well, Perrin. All of you will realize that Salem was always meant to be your home.”

  “It’s an amazing existence you’ve created here,” Perrin said. “I just hope our family can find some way to contribute.”

  “Oh, you will,” Gleace said. “Already you’ve been living a Salem-like life.”

  “How?”

  “Perrin, we don’t make it a habit to steal away people, as we did with you and your family. We invite those from the world to come, after we’ve explained our ways. But you were ready to come. I don’t know of another family—there or perhaps even here—that would give up as much as you have for those you see in need. Shem told me: you and Mahrree had amassed a fortune in your cellar. You were by far the wealthiest family in all of Edge.”

  “Wait,” Peto frowned, “we were? Even richer than Trum?”

  Mahrree waved him off, but shrugged. “Well, I suppose . . .”

  “And when you saw people in need after the land tremor,” Gleace continued, ignoring Peto’s slack-jaw and Jaytsy’s rapid blinking, “you gave every last slip of gold and silver, along with the jewelry you inherited, to pay off everyone’s losses in Edge. Shem knows because he helped moved it all to Karna in Rivers.

  “You also took that caravan of supplies from Idumea, even though you could’ve lost your commission. You and Mahrree don’t care for possessions or status, but for people. Already you understand. It’s not how much you give away, but how much you keep for yourself. You kept nothing. You already lived as Salemites.

  “Which leads me to the real reason you’re here tonight,” he announced to the family who thought they’d already heard all they possibly could. “Mrs. Gleace and I invite all newcomers to join us for dinner in order to formally extend the invitation.”

  He said those last two words with such weight that Mahrree realized it was supposed to be meaningful. She regretted that all she could offer back was bewilderment.

  He glanced around at their faces and, seeing their blank expressions, said, “I’m guessing the Hifadhis didn’t have time to tell you about the invitation either, right?”

  “Jothan and I were too busy sizing each other up that first night to cover anything else but the essentials,” Perrin admitted.

  Gleace chuckled before saying, “Well, we invite you to commit to this Salem way of life, officially and publically. If and when you want to do so is completely up to you. We have people who live here for years before completely committing, but we extend the invitation to you now to think about it.”

  “And what if we say ‘no’?” Peto’s sharpness surprised his family. “What happens to us then?”

  But the guide wasn’t surprised. “You still get to live, learn, and work here. You still get to be part of our community, but it’s easier to make that transition in your mind and heart after you wholly commit to us.”

  “There’s only one thing that would be off-limits to you,” Mrs. Gleace chimed in. “If you choose not to accept the invitation, you’ll not be able to enter our temple.”

  The guide nodded, and Mahrree sat up eagerly. “What exactly happens in there?” she wondered, remembering Terryp had labeled ‘temples’ on his map. “What’s in there?”

  Guide Gleace smiled. “Beautiful furnishings and Salemites who are looking for silence so they can communicate with the Creator. There’s no other place in Salem like it. No children are allowed, because even parents need a place to hide away from the cares of life for a few hours. It’s the House of the Creator, and not all Salemites enter the temple, either. Only those who desire a place of refuge to talk with the Creator, to receive guidance from Him, and to feel of His peace—”

  “I want that.”

  Peto eyed his father, whose earnest whisper had interrupted the guide. “Yes, Father—you said that out loud.”

  But Perrin didn’t appear embarrassed by his quiet outburst, even though everyone was smiling gently at him. “I want that. I want that peace.”

  “Then you shall have it, but there’s some preparation time,” Gleace explained. “After you formally commit to Salem, you need to wait a year before entering the temple. You need that time to ready yourself, and for us to make sure you’re fully committed. Your rector will recommend you when you’re ready. The temple is sacred, meaning that it’s dedicated entirely to the Creator. We’re very protective of keeping it pure. Not that I doubt your resolve in any way, but we want to make sure it’s never in danger of being desecrated.”

  Peto frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I think I understand,” Mahrree said. “Peto, how do you feel knowing that Thorne has, by now, ordered our house to be searched by soldiers, and that everything we cared for has been thrown aside as meaningless?”

  “They’ve kicked around Grandfather’s ball, haven’t they?” Peto said. “Probably even stabbed it. Without knowing, or caring . . . I get it.” To the guide he said, a bit defensively, “We wouldn’t do that, you know. Desecrate it?”

  “I know,” the guide said, and Mahrree wondered if the man could ever be offended. “Certainly not deliberately, but perhaps accidentally only because you don’t know our ways. That’s why we give you time to get ready.”

  “So what’s the first step?” Perrin asked.

  “Something we call baptism,” Gleace told him. Catching Peto’s glance, he said, “It’s a symbolic act to demonstrate a very real commitment. It’s a way to signify washing away the ways of the world and becoming a new person.”

  Peto sneered. “Sounds like a bath. A public bath?”

  The Gleac
es chuckled, but Mahrree shot a warning glare at him.

  “Well, Peto,” the guide said, “you’re on the right track—”

  Now Mahrree’s eyebrows were high as she blinked at the guide.

  “—but you’re fully dressed, in white. And then we take you down to the river where we’ve dammed some areas to create ponds with hardly a current,” he nodded to Jaytsy who looked worried she’d be carried off downstream, belly first. “You can invite as many or as few people as you want to be part of it. Your rector or someone with the authority of a rector takes you into the river and dips you in, fully submersing—”

  “For how long?” Peto demanded, and Mahrree wished she were in kicking distance of him. The symbolism sounded interesting, but not to her son.

  “Guide,” Mahrree quietly seethed, “hold Peto down as long as you like. It’ll take at least two, maybe three minutes to wash the world completely from him.”

  “Hear, hear!” Perrin slapped the table as everyone else laughed.

  “Usually,” the guide said, “we try not to commit murder as we baptize someone. Peto, just down and up. It’s very quick.”

  Peto nodded and seemed to realize he’s pushed it about as far he should dare.

  “So, a quick bathing,” Mahrree said. “To wash away the world.”

  “That’s part of it,” Gleace said. “The other is to signify burial, as if burying the old worldly part of you, then being reborn from the water as a new Salemite.”

  “There’s a lot of water in birthing,” Jaytsy said. “Or so I’ve been told.”

  Mrs. Gleace patted her hand. “And also a lot of bleeding and yelling, but,” and she winked at Peto, “none of that is part of baptism. Well, unless something goes horribly wrong.”

  Peto grinned at her.

  “Nothing does!” Guide Gleace insisted, but laughed with everyone else. After he sobered again, he said, “Once you’re baptized, you’re a committed member of Salem. It’s a covenant, like an oath. Perrin, you took oaths in the army, right? Similar to that, but the Creator is on the other side of it, not any High General or Administrator. You commit to share in all Salemites’ burdens, to assist them as you would hope someone would assist you, and you also covenant to stand against the world as you stand with the Creator. He in turn promises to bless us with His influence, with daily guidance and reassurance, and to save us at the Last Day.”

  Suddenly Mahrree wanted nothing as much as she wanted to be washed clean of the world.

  Perrin must have been feeling the same thing because he said, “How soon can this happen? This baptism?”

  Gleace sat back, surprised. “Well, it’s up to you, but usually—”

  “Tomorrow?”

  Now Gleace blinked rapidly. “Uh, well, tomorrow being Holy Day, that’s quite a busy time for us—”

  “The next day, then.”

  “Of course,” Gleace said. “I was going to say that usually people wait at least a moon or two, but Perrin, if you want it day after tomorrow, then we can certainly arrange it. But only if you’re sure—”

  “Before Dormin’s remembrance service,” Perrin said, his voice growing gruff. “Dormin was baptized, right?”

  “Oh yes. He chose that quite quickly as well.”

  “I want him to know,” Perrin said. “I want him to feel it, that we embraced all that he wanted to give us.”

  Mahrree had been nodding vigorously. “Me too, Guide. Same time as Perrin?”

  “Me too,” Jaytsy said. “If that’s allowed?” She rubbed her belly.

  “Oh, we can manage that,” Gleace said warmly. “We’re very careful. By the smile on Deckett’s face, I’m guessing you as well?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Gleace purposely didn’t look at Peto, but everyone else was.

  Peto squirmed. “So what if I want to think about it for a while?”

  “You may think about it as long as you wish, Peto.” Gleace slowly turned to meet his eyes. “Don’t let your family sway your decision. I don’t want you to make this commitment until you feel it in your soul that you truly belong here, that you want to belong to us and with us.”

  “He’s too young anyway, isn’t he?” Jaytsy said with a friendly glower.

  “Oh, not at all,” Gleace said. “We let children much younger than him be baptized. But not until they’re at least eight, when they know their own minds better. Choices, always choices in Salem. This isn’t the world, you know. We’ll never tell you what to do, or what to think, or what to believe. We offer what we have and show you what we feel is true, but then we let you make your choice.

  “So whenever you choose, Young Mr. Shin. Whenever you choose.”

  Chapter 14--“Then it all balances.”