Safety Assured Leaving East of Medicetti

by Trish Mercer

Perrin sat down on the chair next to Gleace’s desk, worried about what it was that the guide saw in his eyes to ask him to come to his study. Feeling like a school boy in trouble, he’d even volunteered to help with the dishes, but Mrs. Gleace merely pointed him in the direction of her husband’s study.

  He felt many times during dinner that the guide could read any person’s heart as if it were an open book. Not all of the pages detailing Perrin’s life were as distinguished as he wished.

  While the Guide rearranged some files on his desk, Perrin peered outside the dark windows, straining to see—

  “Are you looking for something?” Gleace asked him.

  “They hide themselves very well,” Perrin said, shielding his eyes from the light cast by the candles in the office. “Then again, they are Guarders, in a way.”

  “What in the world are you talking about?”

  Perrin turned to see puzzlement on the guide’s face. “Your guards,” he told him. “I haven’t been able to spot them.”

  “Perrin, I don’t have any guards.”

  “None?”

  “None.”

  “But . . . why not? You’re the most important man in Salem—yes, yes, yes I know. No one’s ‘more important’ than someone else, but you’re the Guide. That must count for something.”

  Gleace shrugged. “I suppose. But that’s why the Creator lets me know if there’s anything I should worry about it. Otherwise?” He shrugged again.

  “Don’t people come knocking on your door at all hours, wanting your help?”

  “Well, I’ve trained them, just as the previous guides have trained them. You know all about chain of command, right? We have something similar. If someone has a problem, they know to go first to their neighbors. If they can’t help, the rector is called in next. If he can’t solve it, then the matter is brought to one of my assistants. Only after that do I deal with the problem, and even then I ask that my time be scheduled in advance. Otherwise, I’d never have a moment to breathe. As it is, I deal with about a dozen issues each week. Occasionally someone has pounded on my door, and I’ve walked him back to his home and let his neighbors take care of the problem. Word gets around that you can’t jump the chain of command.”

  Perrin smiled. “I can respect that. Still, it strikes me as a bit foolish to have no security—” He paused. “You really don’t need it here, do you?”

  “Never have. Maybe someday, but not this year. Now, if I were in the world, however, I’d probably have twenty men around me! Even though I served as a scout in my younger years, the world worries me, deeply. Please, Perrin—sit down.”

  As he pulled up a chair to the desk, Perrin found himself thinking about the large Conference Room table at Administrative Headquarters. While this pine desk in front of him, simple in construction, lacked the enormity and high polish that made the Administrative table so imposing, this desk was solid and clean, and somehow more significant than that glossy monstrosity in Idumea.

  Gleace sat down in the chair behind the desk and turned to Perrin. “I see you’re still wearing it.”

  Perrin blinked in surprise. He glanced at himself until he realized what Gleace was gesturing to: the woolen knitted cord on his wrist, mostly concealed by his sleeve. Shem had tied it on to his wrist well over a year ago, and it had been the key to helping him discern the difference between his nightmares and reality. While he was no longer traumatized, the woolen chain had become so much a part of him that he’d never considered not wearing it. But—

  “I suppose I could take it off now,” Perrin decided.

  “There’s no need,” said Gleace kindly.

  “I’m guessing Rector Yung told you about this.” Perrin slipped the chain around his wrist repeated as he frequently did. “I’m not sure who the woman is who knitted him several lengths, but I assume she lives in Salem as well.”

  “Not exactly,” the guide said. “I mean, yes the chain came originally from Salem. But my brother-in-law didn’t tell you everything about it.”

  “Well, of course not!” Perrin said flippantly. “No one has told me everything yet! I’m sorry,” he immediately apologized. “It’s all been—”

  Gleace’s upraised hand stopped Perrin. “Don’t apologize. It’s us who should be asking for your forgiveness, for keeping you in the dark about so many things.”

  Perrin couldn’t help but smile. “But I prefer being in the light now, even if I do find it quite blinding at times.”

  Gleace grinned. “Well said.” His gaze traveled back to the woolen chain again. “If you’d like a replacement, I have a few cleaner ones.”

  “Mahrree’s washed this one a few times,” he admitted. But he didn’t confess that at those times he felt like a toddler waiting for his favorite blanket to be returned. “Was it your wife who knitted this?”

  “No. It was me.”

  “You?”

  “I could master only that simple chain,” Gleace smiled sheepishly, “but it was enough. You’re not the first man to wear one, but I will admit that one is special.”

  Perrin fingered it again. “Why?”

  “It’s the first I sent with a blessing,” Gleace said. “Not exactly a practice of ours, but Jothan said Shem was growing panicky as you descended again during Raining Season over a year ago, and we couldn’t imagine losing you. This chain has helped other men with trauma, and each time the man receiving it also was given a blessing by the guide. But how I could come give you a blessing?”

  Gleace sat back in his chair and smiled vaguely at the darkened wool.

  “So I asked the Creator if He could convey my blessing through the chain to you, that perhaps when you felt it and saw it, you could feel of the Creator’s power as well. The Creator honors the worthy requests of His guides, as I believe He did with that.” Gleace’s gaze rose to meet Perrin’s.

  Perrin nodded and blinked back a few tears. “It did work,” he cleared his throat. “At a critical time, I remembered all kinds of things I had struggled to remember. And,” he hesitated to compose himself, “I felt the Creator there, too. I once held a long knife with this hand,” he held up the arm with the chain, “aimed for my chest. And then I felt the wool. I felt all kinds of things,” he said vaguely, not wanting to revisit the moment, but feeling the need to explain some of it, which he really wasn’t doing very well either.

  But Gleace said, “I understand. And I’m pleased it helped.” He slid open a drawer on the desk and pulled out three more lengths. “For if ever you feel the need.”

  Perrin took the lengths and reverently put them into his shirt pocket, still staring at the desk that impossibly carried so much weight.

  Gleace noticed. “Nice desk, isn’t it?”

  “Uh, yes?”

  “Want to guess how old it is?”

  “Twenty years?”

  “Try one hundred and thirty years. One of the first desks made in Salem.”

  “Really?”

  “In Salem we build things to last. I’ve been told this desk would have been ‘in fashion’ over one hundred years ago, then considered ‘old fashioned’ and destroyed to be used for kindling. But about ten years ago it was considered ‘in fashion’ again, according to some refugees. What a waste if I were concerned about such things, to destroy a functional piece of furniture merely because someone somewhere thought the legs should look differently. I would have had to rebuild it exactly as it was over one hundred years later again.”

  Perrin nodded. “Sounds so ridiculous when you put it that way. But you’re right—that’s the ‘fashion’ of the world: everything is destroyable. Is that what you wanted to talk to me about? Desk trends in the world?”

  Gleace chuckled. “Perrin, I wanted to talk to you about a couple of things.”

  Feeling his palms grow sweaty, he rubbed them on his trousers and glanced around the office, feeling very unprotected. “Go ahead.”

  “First,” Gleace said, “I want you to know that I worry about you adjusting to Salem.”<
br />
  “I know, but I—”

  Gleace raised his hand again. “I’m not making a judgment, just an observation. And I want you to know that I’m here to help you. I have full confidence that will do superbly in Salem, but we may need to work at it.”

  Now understanding the dread some of the teens he dragged to incarceration must have felt when he sat them down in the chair, he asked, “Meaning what, sir?”

  Gleace smiled easily in an attempt to relax Perrin.

  It didn’t work. Perrin knew when people were trying too hard.

  “Meaning only that your entire life has been focused on keeping people safe so they can go about their regular lives. But you, Perrin, have never really gone about a ‘regular life,’ have you?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I’m not sure what that would look like.”

  “I know. I have no army to give you, although I do have some tasks specifically for you,” Gleace added enigmatically. “But that won’t occupy all your time. So you need to decide: what do you want to do with the rest of your life?”

  Perrin exhaled. “That’s not exactly a question one gets asked every day.”

  Gleace leaned back. “But it’s one you’ve thought of every day.”

  Perrin stared at him before murmuring, “You really do know what’s in a man’s heart, don’t you?”

  “Only the glimpses the Creator gives me. So tell me, Perrin: what do you want to do in your spare ti—”

  “Be a builder!” he burst out, and Gleace laughed.

  “Well, that was easier than I anticipated. I can think of a dozen men who’d love someone with your strength helping them put up a barn.”

  Perrin chuckled, embarrassed by his enthusiasm that startled even him, but feeling a bit more at ease . . .

  Until he remembered Gleace’s ‘other tasks’. Once again he looked around the room. The window was too big, he thought fleetingly.

  “What is it?” Gleace prodded.

  Perrin hadn’t said the words out loud, but the thoughts had been floating in his head for two days and were now scrambling to be expressed.

  “That measly little canyon—that’s all. That’s all that separates the world from Salem? Shem said that in just a few hours he can make from here to Edge? And the only guards you have are a dozen middle-aged men going gray? That’s your only defense?”

  Instead of appearing alarmed or offended, Gleace simply smiled in his easy way. “Well, you’re a middle-aged man, going gray—”

  “I’m a lot more skilled than they are!”

  “They might surprise you—”

  “They could never stop an army!”

  “You’re right,” Gleace said calmly. “That’s why we need you. I have enough shepherds, farmers, tanners, smiths, teachers—you name it. What I don’t have is someone like you, Perrin.” He leaned forward. “Salem is in danger, because Idumea will come for us.”

  He said the words so plainly, almost casually, and it jolted Perrin as if awakening him from a bad dream only to realize he hadn’t been dreaming.

  “No, no, no, we weren’t followed! Your scouts said no one left the forest of Edge! We got verification of that this afternoon—”

  Gleace gently took Perrin’s arm. “Today we are not in danger. Nor next year. But some day. Perrin, it’s already been seen. The day will come when Idumea’s army will march into Salem.”

  Perrin sank in his chair. Despair crept up on him through some unplugged crevice he forgot to seal before leaving Edge. “They’re going to follow me. No matter what I do, I bring trouble. I’m bringing it to Salem—”

  Gleace shook his arm which he still gripped. “No! They would come no matter what. Circumstances will eventually change that will force Idumea to look for something else. That’s when they’ll find us. You were sent by the Creator ahead of that day. You were sent to prepare us! I told you earlier that Salem needs you, and it’s true. What do I know of defense? I don’t even have guards around my house, just an ornery old bull.”

  He released Perrin’s arm and pulled a large book from the corner of his desk. The leather binding looked new, but when he opened it, the loose pages inside were old and ragged. “This book is unlike any other. Do you know what it is?”

  Perrin reluctantly sat up to see it better. “Looks like The Writings.”

  “That’s right. But not a copy of The Writings; it’s The Writings themselves. This is the collection of the original writings of all the guides down to me.” The guide’s voice became quiet as he gingerly handled the myriad of pages in different sizes and conditions. “Usually it’s kept in a dry, dark box, but I brought it out today just for you. I want you to read this one.” He carefully pulled out an old piece of parchment, darkened at the edges with the ink fading, but still legible. “It was by Guide Pax, after he first arrived in Salem, one-hundred-thirty-eight years ago. He walked to a rise on a hill west of here and looked over the valley. His assistants recorded what he saw, and he rewrote the words on this parchment. Read this section, right here.”

  Perrin guardedly took the old parchment, feeling the power of all the hands that had touched it. Before he could even focus on the words he began to feel something inside warm, then burn.

  “The inhabitants of this new city will live in peace until the end comes, when the enemy will threaten to annihilate them. But before that time the Creator will send one to prepare them. From the highest ranks of the enemy—”

  Perrin’s voice began to break.

  “—will He call one to mark the path of escape for the valiant.” He could hardly utter the next words, “The Deliverer will ensure the safety of the Creator’s people, until the coming Destruction.”

  Perrin’s voice was barely a whisper when he said, “You think I’m the one ‘from the highest ranks of the enemy’.”

  “You are. It was made known to the guide before me. Perrin, does the name Tuma Hifadhi mean anything to you?”

  By the reverent way Guide Gleace said his name, he knew Tuma Hifadhi must have been someone important. “You mentioned Tuma earlier. Any relation to Jothan Hifadhi?”

  “Tuma was his grandfather. Guide Tuma Hifadhi. He’s also distantly related to someone else you know. A Colonel Fadh?”

  Perrin’s eyebrows went up. “Graeson Fadh? But . . . how?”

  “Tuma’s grandfather was your colonel’s great-great-grandfather. He was one that left with our so-called Guarders. One of his sons stayed behind and changed his last name, cutting off some of the first and last letters of his last name to disguise who he was.”

  Perrin scoffed lightly. “Yes, Kopersee told me about that trend. So Fadh has ancestors here too, just like Yordin? It seems everyone has a connection to Salem.”

  “Well Perrin, your name meant a great deal to Tuma Hifadhi. Remarkable man—he lived to be ninety-three and was active until the day before he died. His work meant a great deal to him,” Gleace said quietly. “You see, he spent the last of his years organizing scouts and overseeing their training to keep an eye on you.”

  Perrin’s eyebrows rose again. He should have just left them up.

  “Hifadhi was told by the Creator that the man to fulfill Pax’s prophecy would be an officer who was not afraid of the forest. That first attack on Edge, shortly after you arrived there, you spent three days and four nights braving the wilds you knew nothing about, chasing an enemy you saw as a threat to those you loved. We had scouts above you in the trees, watching you the entire time. I was the assistant assigned to overseeing their training and reviewing all their reports as they came in. I have them in another box if you want to see them. And then, a year later, a large man mysteriously dressed in all white entered the forest, armed with a bow, quiver, and at least three knives, according to what our scouts could tell.”

  Perrin nodded. “Shem told me you had sent me help.”

  “Perrin, the Creator revealed to Tuma that fourteen Guarders were out to get Mahrree and your children, and that you were intent on tracking all of t
hem down. But you wouldn’t have been able to do it alone. We gathered as many men as we could and sent them immediately into the forest.”

  “Shem said over seventy.”

  “I hope you won’t be offended to know this, but we helped you. Several of the Guarders slipped past you while you were struggling with one in a ravine, but we chased them back to you. Rather like herding cattle to a gate. That you accomplished so much on your own was incredible, but there was no way you could’ve found and stopped them all.”

  “I know,” Perrin said quietly. “I was praying for help. And I could tell with at least two of the Guarders that something was chasing them. I thought it was maybe an animal.”

  “Just us, keeping track of them and sending them in your direction.”

  “And Jothan saved my life that night. I never thought I would solve that mystery. And now the solution is even more amazing than I could’ve imagined. Jothan’s grandfather—a guide—sent him.”

  Gleace smiled. “We couldn’t lose you, Perrin. Never before in the one-hundred-nineteen-year history of watching the forest had we seen someone come in as fearlessly as you, as if it were in your blood to be part of the trees. Hifadhi also knew the right man would have a wife and children. When he learned that Mahrree was expecting your second child, he started training ten men from which one would be chosen to get as close to you as possible, so that we could learn about you. That man turned out to be Shem. And Perrin, you actually met Tuma.”

  Perrin squinted. “How? I’ve never been to Salem before.”

  “But Tuma went to Edge, right after Peto was born. He had been waiting for years to hear about a brave officer, and he couldn’t stand not meeting you. Despite the protests of his children, his assistants, and mostly me—I was the assistant who had been serving the longest, and if he didn’t return I would’ve been the next guide, and I wasn’t ready for that!—he went with a scouting party down to Edge. He was there for less than a day, but the Creator told him exactly where to be and when so that he could meet you. I believe it was in the center of Edge, near a pond?”

  Perrin searched his memory, but it didn’t take long to find it. “Was he probably taller and darker as a young man, but a bit hunched over and gray?”

  “Yes, he was.”

  Perrin sat back. “I remember him! I’ve thought of him frequently over the years. He was so unusual. He caught Jaytsy as she was chasing after . . . something, and then he patted Peto to sleep. Mahrree and I tried for weeks to imitate how he did that. I always wanted to do that for someone else—give them a reprieve from their crying baby. That’s what I did at The Dinner in Idumea. I saw the Nelts and that fussing baby and knew it was finally my chance to repay the debt.” He shook his head. “Repay my debt to a real guide. Amazing!” He chuckled softly. “I keep saying that word.”

  Gleace leaned forward. “Perrin, if I may know, he had wanted to say something to you. I never knew what it was, though. Do you remember?”

  Perrin looked up. “Uh, we spoke for only a few minutes . . . he said something about how children move on and away, then something about the importance of grandfathers, how often they were the only ones who could say or do things for grandchildren.” He shrugged. “Not too significant, I suppose. I think he was just making small talk.”

  Gleace looked a little disappointed, but covered it with a forced smile.

  “There was . . . something else, though,” Perrin said, realizing he could say it in front of Gleace. In fact, he should say it. “Just before he walked off he put a hand on each of us and said something like, ‘May the Creator bless and preserve your family.’” He looked up to the guide to see if that was significant. Those were the words he heard replayed in his mind that horrible night he held the long knife above his heart, hoping something would stop him.

  Gleace’s smile became genuine. “Of course he would!” he whispered. “Ah, Tuma. How much you risked just to keep them safe. I should have known.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Perrin, Tuma gave you a guide’s blessing. I blessed the chain, but Tuma blessed all of you. The Creator gives guides the ability to ask for blessings—as all of us can—but he also allows guides to give blessings, acting in the Creator’s name. In this case, Guide Hifadhi gave you a blessing of protection, of preservation. No matter what happened, the Refuser wouldn’t be allowed to destroy you or Mahrree or your children. Make your life difficult? Oh, yes. But destroy? Not with the guide’s blessing upon you. After what happened with those fourteen Guarders, Tuma was very concerned about keeping your family alive. Just before he died he told me you would all eventually make it to Salem, and that he made sure of it. I wondered how he could bestow a blessing without revealing himself. Usually blessings are much longer, with a great deal of instruction, but I see now that he spoke only the words that were really necessary. Tuma always found a way.”

  Perrin sat back in his chair. “Remarkable. How old was he when he made the journey to Edge?”

  “Eighty-seven! He wanted to know if you were really the one we were waiting for. He came back convinced that you were. That’s when he sent the word for Shem to officially sign up with you as a soldier. Later Shem asked Hifadhi if he could stay indefinitely to watch out for you.”

  “Shem knows all about this? Well, of course he does. Yet another thing he didn’t bother to tell me,” Perrin murmured.

  “Yes, he does. In fact,” Gleace said, a bit apologetically, “everyone in Salem knows about you and this passage,” he gestured to the parchment still in Perrin’s hands. “When I became the guide, the Creator made it known to me that one of my most important duties was to get you and your family safely to Salem. We need your whole family, Perrin. You’ve all been prepared to come here. Will you help us?”

  A new understanding came to Perrin, and he couldn’t drop the parchment fast enough. “The people who lined the roads waving to us this morning thought they were . . . they were seeing the fulfiller of a prophecy?”

  The parchment floated and settled on the desk, almost apologetically, but certainly hopefully.

  Gleace had the decency to look a tad sheepish.

  Perrin rubbed his forehead, stood up, and stomped to the back of the chair. Glaring at the corner of the office he said, “They were looking at me today as, what?” He leaned over to see the words again, aimed right at him. “The deliverer?”

  Gleace smiled patiently. “No one knows exactly who you are Perrin, except the Creator. Deliverer or not, it really doesn’t matter. All He’s told me is that we need you here, to help us prepare. You are, however, the one from the highest ranks of the enemy. You were to have been High General—”

  “This . . . this is too much,” Perrin gestured at the parchment, half expecting it to hide. “I’m not that man! And I put away my sword, Guide. I was never planning to take it up again.”

  “Nor will you,” Gleace promised. “Salem doesn’t need an offensive strategy, but we need defense. Who better than you knows the strategies of Idumea? Who better could develop a plan to organize, prepare, and move this people to safety when the time comes?”

  Perrin shook his head throughout Gleace’s response, but Gleace was just as persistent.

  “All that you’ve experienced has been to prepare you to help us. Your fortifications against the Guarders. Your rescue and rebuilding of Edge. Chasing down the troubled youth of the village. You were learning skills then to help our people now. Salem is where your future lies. It always has been. The Creator brought you home now for a purpose.”

  Perrin slowly sat down again, feeling overwhelmed, defeated, yet strangely intrigued. Still ignoring the parchment in front of him, he said, “But I really don’t think I’m your man. If Shem were an officer he’d be the rank of general. He’d do a much better—”

  “Shem Zenos already has another calling, to be one of my assistants. One passed away a few weeks ago. I need someone to coordinate between you and me, should you choose to accept this calling. You two have bec
ome such a good pairing—”

  Perrin scoffed. He meant it to be lighthearted, but it came out as a blast of frustration. “Choose to accept this calling? Your people rescue me and my family, give us a heroes’ welcome, deliver us into our own home and property, then think I feel no obligation to accept this calling? I’ll still be baptized, but this? This?”

  Gleace’s patient smile suggested this wasn’t the first time he’d faced resistance. “You owe us nothing. We rescue families every season. It’s what we do. There are those who come who don’t accept their callings, who choose never to be baptized. You can still live in the house. This isn’t Idumea, Perrin. You still have the ability to choose for yourself. Choices, always.”

  Perrin studied his face, looking for any deceit, any hidden motives.

  Gleace’s face was pure and clear as he leaned closer. “I told you yesterday that you would never again hear the title of colonel. And you won’t. But Perrin, Salem needs a general. Ever since you first entered the forests above Edge shortly after your marriage, our scouts have been saluting you. After you dressed as a man in white and sought out those fourteen Guarders to preserve your wife and children, we began to call you General, even though you were just a captain. Jothan Hifadhi and twenty other men saluted you as you stumbled out of the forest, your back slashed and bleeding, but your family safe. For the raid at Moorland, we had over one hundred men capturing escaping Guarders. At one point you, on horseback, made it all the way to the edge of the forest, cutting down Guarders as you went. Again, we had men just a few dozen paces away, hiding in the shadows created by the burning forest. You stopped and looked at one of our men who was less than twenty paces away, and he impulsively saluted you. You stared at him, not completely seeing him through the smoke. But you did see something, didn’t you?”

  Perrin swallowed. He always knew the forest was watching him, but he never could explain how. He thought it maybe was something mystical. He never imagined it was literal.

  “You were always our general. Will you now accept the calling to officially be our General Shin?”

  Perrin could hardly breathe. He had been ignoring the feeling in his chest, but it had grown so large and hot that he could no longer dismiss it. A distinct personality was associated with it, a familiar presence, one that he hadn’t felt so distinctly since the day he buried his parents.

  Because it was his parents, his mother on the left side, his father on the right.

  And it was from that right side that he felt the words more intensely than if he had heard them.

  This—this, Perrin—is the general you were meant to be.

  Chapter 16--“Sometimes it takes years to understand how something’s

  supposed to happen.”