Safety Assured Leaving East of Medicetti

by Trish Mercer

It was Gleace who first got Perrin moving. For a while all he could do was sit in the damp grasses staring at the long knife. When he first kidnapped the lieutenants, he’d thoroughly searched their unconscious bodies for long knives. He wasn’t surprised they each had two, which he confiscated.

  But apparently Radan had three.

  Even when Shem pulled out the knife, and Gleace, who had ridden down to the meadow, had covered Radan’s face and chest with his own jacket, Perrin still stared at the ugly blade, now lying next to the body. He was only dimly aware of Gleace asking Jon and Shem about what happened, and couldn’t focus on what the two of them shouted at each other. Only much later would Perrin realize it was the first time he’d heard Jon Offra raise his voice to anyone.

  “—only needed to disarm him, Offra; not kill him!”

  “You didn’t know Radan like I did, Zenos! You don’t know what he was capable of—”

  “Even paralyzed?!”

  Perrin vaguely noticed other men arriving on horseback, asking questions and keeping an excessively safe distance away from General Shin.

  He just stared at the broken body. The body he broke.

  Eventually he felt someone tugging on his arm. “Come, Perrin. Let’s get you cleaned up.” It was Guide Gleace gently but firmly pulling him to his feet.

  Perrin never looked him in the eyes. He couldn’t look at anyone. He obediently stumbled along with Gleace, keeping his blurring eyes fixed on the ground, but not quite seeing it. Twice he nearly planted his face in the filth of the landscape, but somehow the elderly man kept him from falling completely. He put an arm around Perrin to nudge him in the right directions as they slowly climbed up the eastern slope, then lumbered together down to the glacial fort.

  At one point Perrin noticed a couple of riders from the fort go past, with shovels strapped to their saddles, but Perrin couldn’t be bothered to know why.

  Finally the two men staggered into the empty fort, Gleace guiding Perrin to the eating/surgery area. He pulled out a chair from the table, but Perrin just slumped against the wall and slid down to sit on the floor. He stared at the table legs while Gleace sighed and sat down in the chair instead.

  Perrin didn’t move, and Gleace didn’t speak.

  After a while the guide stood up, went to the water pump, and came back a minute later with wet cloths. “Wipe your hands, Perrin.”

  Dutifully he did so, trying to rub off the drying blood mixed with mud. It wasn’t until then that he realized the blood was his. Wrenching the knife out of Radan’s grip had caused a gash in his palm, and, not feeling any pain, he dabbed mindlessly at it while it continued to ooze.

  Gleace replaced the cloths with fresh ones a few times, until Perrin dropped them on the floor.

  Silently Gleace picked them up, subtly wiping away the puddle of blood Perrin’s hand had left, and put the cloths away. He returned with a long bandage which he wrapped tightly around Perrin’s still-bleeding hand. Neither man spoke as Gleace tied it securely and again sat down across from Perrin.

  Why he still sat there, Perrin didn’t know. Waiting for his confession to everything the guide had already witnessed? Waiting to exile Perrin for the murder? Waiting for him to come out of his stupor so he could properly yell at him?

  Unable to bear the silence any longer, Perrin finally whispered, “I know. I failed.”

  Gleace nodded slightly. “Yes. You did.”

  “I really thought . . . I really thought he was seeing. Trying. Seeing. All that you’ve given me and my family.” Tears streamed down his cheeks.

  Gleace listened.

  “But I failed. I don’t know how, or why—”

  “Yes, Perrin,” Gleace said gently. “You do.”

  Perrin nodded once. “You can’t force a heart. You can’t change someone else’s mind.”

  Gleace nodded again.

  Perrin gripped his head with his hands. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered and sniffed. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry—”

  It took another five minutes for him to regain himself.

  Gleace sat patiently waiting. “The Creator knows, Perrin. He knows you meant well. You always do. You just didn’t listen well. A little thing we call pride.”

  Perrin wiped his face with a clean cloth Gleace handed him. “I wanted to share . . . I wanted to change . . .”

  “That’s the calling of a scout, Perrin. You’re not a scout; you were called to be our general. Our defender. Today you demonstrated quite well—albeit overzealously—why you were extended that call.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “Rather like using a tornado to nudge a calf.”

  But all Perrin heard was that Gleace had said were. Were extended that call.

  He took a deep breath and knew it was time to stop acting like a humiliated child and behave like a humbled man. He forced himself to look up into the guide’s eyes.

  To his surprise they were filled with compassion and even a few tears of his own.

  Perrin knew what had to happen next. No sense in postponing it.

  “How long do I have, Guide?”

  Gleace cocked his head. “Have for what, Perrin?”

  “Have until I need to leave Salem?” His voice cracked and he struggled to steady it again. “I realize you can’t have a murderer living here, but may I have time to say goodbye to my family first? Before you send me to a colony?”

  Gleace sat up. “Perrin, we never send anyone away. Walickiah was a true killer, but we allowed even him to live among us for several years. And Perrin—you’re not a murderer. I heard Offra’s explanation. You were reacting, and in self-defense. You didn’t pull that knife. While you acted hastily, you didn’t act evilly. It was your conditioning that kicked in, and I think Salem needs a man who knows how to automatically defend. You’re still our General Shin.”

  It took Perrin another ten minutes to compose himself again. Gleace joined him on the floor to embrace him as he sobbed in regret and relief.

  Eventually he quieted down, and Gleace said, “I understand the earnestness with which you tried to turn Radan. I don’t know if you realize this, but it was my idea to bring Walickiah to Salem. I, too, was convinced that if someone from the world could just see what we have, he would want to be part of it. I suggested we change his name to truly change his character, and I worked with him to erase his previous indoctrination and substitute our own. And when he was changed—or so I thought—I helped him move to the north to begin his new life.”

  Perrin listened in dreadful fascination.

  “I still don’t know what went wrong,” Gleace whispered. “He seemed so happy. He seemed to really believe, then—he stopped responding to my letters. He refused to see me. Then one day I received the message that he was missing . . . I failed him, too.”

  The men sat in silence until Gleace spoke again, his voice shaky. “I may not have plunged a knife into his chest, but my actions still caused his death. Somewhere, somehow, I failed to teach, or to notice, or to see, and Lickiah wandered away from us, trying to reach the world. He likely suffered a slow, painful death alone in the wilds. At least Radan went quickly.”

  It wasn’t until then that Perrin realized he was leaning against Gleace’s shoulder, as if he were a boy again listening to his grandfather tell him stories.

  “You and I are a lot alike, Perrin Shin,” Gleace said sadly. “Maybe I experienced Lickiah so that I would feel compassion for you today.”

  “I don’t deserve compassion,” Perrin whispered.

  “I agree,” Gleace said simply. “None of us deserve anything we get. Yet still the Creator gives it to us.”

  Perrin swallowed. “Guide?” he said as he sat up, “What does . . . what does He think of me right now?”

  Gleace smiled feebly at him. “The Creator feels your sorrow. He’s pleased you feel such depth of regret, because that will move you into better directions. And . . .” he hesitated. “Radan didn’t have much time left in the world. His days were numbered. Wi
th or without your interference he wouldn’t have lived to see tomorrow.”

  “Why?”

  “Had you not caused a stampede, Radan would have escaped. He would have made his way over the ridge, recognized Deceit, and understood just how close he was to the world.”

  “That’s what I feared,” Perrin admitted. “I think that’s why I reacted as I did.”

  “I was also impressed with the idea,” Gleace continued, “that Radan would have run straight to Lemuel Thorne and told him select details about what happened here.”

  “Select details?”

  “While Thorne sent him on this errand, Radan didn’t intend to report everything he learned to Thorne,” Gleace explained. “He planned instead to reveal his best information to Snyd, who would’ve used it to his advantage.”

  “The Creator told you this?”

  “Showed me. In His own way. He knows everyone’s hearts, Perrin. Nothing is secret or hidden from Him.”

  “So Snyd would have killed Radan instead?”

  Gleace shook his head. “Radan never would have left Edge. You see, what Radan would reveal to Thorne would so shock and anger him that he would—in a fit of fury—have killed Radan.”

  Perrin closed his eyes. “What would set off Lemuel like that?”

  “The fact that Jaytsy was still alive, and had given birth to a girl.”

  Perrin’s eyes flashed open. “What?”

  Gleace shrugged. “My best guess is that men like Lemuel think immortality comes from creating another ‘self.’ People in the world have forgotten that we’re already immortal, that this life is just a temporary school of sorts, and that we graduate on to greater experiences when it’s over.

  “Lemuel wanted a son, Perrin, preferably your grandson as his legacy. He never imagined a granddaughter. Radan would have died simply because he brought bad news.”

  Perrin held his hand over his mouth and slowly shook his head. “What madness.”

  “Lemuel would’ve been furious with himself for killing his informant before he was fully informed, but—”

  “Such a mess,” Perrin murmured. “And now what do we do with Offra? Lemuel’s still expecting the lieutenants to return, and Jon was under the impression that Lemuel may send up even more men, looking in case they didn’t come back. Suddenly I’m thinking that leaving their bloodied clothes at the edge of the forest won’t deter the captain any more than it did last year. Oh, I’ve made such a mess . . .” He buried his face in his hands as the failures of the past week pressed on his heart.

  The guide sighed. “The Creator will provide us with a solution. It may not, however, be an easy one, or anything you may have desired,” he hinted. “Things may become very uncomfortable.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Perrin said yet again.

  After a moment of silence Gleace said, “There’s one more thing. Something I’ve decided about you, if you’re interested.”

  “I am. Let me have it, Guide,” said Perrin meekly.

  “Well said. But Perrin, I’ve decided that in Harvest Season when we need to round up the stray cattle, I don’t want your help.”

  Perrin was glad he was still hiding his face, because he found himself embarrassed to almost be ready to smile.

  Gleace patted him on the back in a fatherly manner just as they heard a noise at the back door. Perrin looked up to see Shem and Jon Offra standing at the doorway.

  Shem’s brow furrowed to see both men sitting on the floor. “How’s everything going here?” he ventured cautiously.

  Jon bit his lip in worry.

  Gleace produced a small smile. “Perrin’s going to be just fine. General Shin has some new understanding which will cause him to be an even more effective defender for us.”

  Shem’s shoulders visibly relaxed, likely worried about the same thing Perrin had been: he would no longer be Salem’s General.

  “And how is everything,” Gleace said, “on the other side?”

  Shem and Jon sat down at the table.

  “We took care of everything,” Jon said ambiguously.

  “Found a safe spot at the edge of the forest,” Shem said. “Buried deeply, covered by rocks. Shouldn’t be disturbed by wolves. I asked the blessing over it myself.”

  Gleace nodded. “Well done, boys.”

  “There’s something else,” Shem said reluctantly.

  Jon nodded for him to continue.

  “We found another knife on him, Perrin. Strapped to his thigh. It seems . . .” Shem hesitated, glanced apologetically at Jon, then continued. “Jon was right. He may actually have been able to do some damage to Perrin, even after he took the first knife.”

  “That still doesn’t make me feel any better,” said Perrin.

  “Well it makes me feel better,” said Shem miserably.

  Gleace got to his feet. “Lieutenant, I’m afraid we didn’t meet properly earlier.” He extended his hand. “Name’s Hew Gleace. I used to work with the scouts here, and I came up with my son’s herd hoping to meet the young man they’ve been trying to teach.”

  Jon shook his hand. “Good to meet you, sir. Are you one of the men in charge?”

  Gleace smiled amiably. “Oh, I don’t know that I could ever be in charge of Shin and Zenos.”

  As they discussed what Jon had been learning, Perrin realized that Gleace hadn’t revealed to Jon who he was. He glanced at Shem who raised an eyebrow in warning. Perrin twitched back: message received. Jon didn’t need to know that Salem still had a guide.

  “—which brings us to a problem,” Gleace was saying when Perrin paid attention again. “What might your commander do if you and Radan don’t return?”

  “I’m not sure, but Radan seemed to believe that Thorne would send up more men after us.”

  Gleace rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “More soldiers roaming in the forest.”

  “Possibly resulting in another situation like we just experienced,” Shem pointed out.

  Perrin didn’t have anything to contribute.

  But Jon did. “Sirs? I have an idea. I think I know a way to keep your secret and prevent additional soldiers from wandering up here.”

  “Go ahead, son,” Gleace said.

  Jon reddened to be the center of attention. “It has to do with stories. Until now I never realized the power of them. I believed all kinds of stories before, and now I know new ones—true ones. But see, that’s what we need to do: present the world with a new story. They believed the one about Zenos and Mrs. Shin. We can give them another one just as convincing. We can make them think the sky is blue, even when it’s black!”

  Perrin couldn’t help but smile. Jon was perfect for Salem.

  “All right,” Gleace said slowly. “What kind of story, exactly?”

  Jon took an eager breath. “If someone were to come staggering out of the forest half-starved and traumatized, it would have a great effect on the soldiers. Sirs, they were terrified of the forests the night we chased the Shins away. Many still are leery, even though Captain Thorne wants to start patrolling in the trees. If enough of them balk, then he won’t find any volunteers. If the story is that the remains of several horses and people were found, ravaged and scattered by wild animals, and terrible noises fill the area, they’d believe it. Some thought the trees were haunted by strange beings, well let’s tell them someone saw them! Someone witnessed everything, saw his companion die, and barely made it out alive himself. They’d leave the forests alone for years.”

  He grinned broadly, and Gleace smiled back at him. “I think it’s a most intriguing idea.”

  Shem bobbed his head back and forth. “It has merit. I could see where this could work.”

  But Perrin shook his head. “I don’t like it.”

  “Why not?” asked Jon.

  “Because who’s going to be the one staggering out of that forest half-starved and traumatized?”

  Jon blushed again, but stood tall. “I will, sir.”

  Shem’s mouth dropped open in understandin
g. “Oh, Jon. I don’t think you—”

  Gleace’s raised hand silenced him. “Jon, why? Why would you volunteer for this?”

  Jon looked at Perrin’s bloodshot eyes, filling with tears again. “Because I’ve always wanted to do something great. Protecting a secret society? Keeping my colonel and his family hidden? Making sure the forest remains as a safe buffer? What could I do that’d be better?”

  “Come to Salem!” Perrin insisted, without realizing that was the first time he’d told Jon its name.

  But Jon was solid. More solid than he’d ever been. “Salem. Knowing that it exists and keeps you safe is good enough for me. No, sir. This is what I must do, I know it.”

  Gleace regarded him solemnly. “It will be exceptionally difficult, Jon. You can’t live a lie and not have it affect you in some deep way. You’ll have to forget all that Winter and Perrin have taught you. You have to believe and live the story you tell yourself. The consequences of that? I don’t know what may happen to your mind. If you were more deceitful and duplicitous, you might succeed. But you’re a good man, an excellent man. Jon, this may destroy you.”

  “I don’t care!” Jon exclaimed. “I want to do something, just for once in my life. No one’s ever expected much from me. I was never going to be a great leader, or a powerful soldier, or even a memorable person. I’m quiet, stable, predictable Jon Offra. I answer messages and move papers. But don’t you think that would make the story seem even more convincing? Coming from bland, inconsequential me?”

  The lieutenant was absolutely right, and Perrin hated that.

  Shem sighed. “No one would ever know the sacrifice you’re about to make.”

  “But you sirs would,” he said.

  “Yes,” Gleace said, “and we would never forget it.” He clapped his hands. “I believe this is settled. Shem, we need to get him ready.”

  Shem nodded. “Write it three times?”

  “We don’t have time for more.”

  “Write what?” Jon blinked in surprise.

  “Sorry if you thought your homework was over,” Shem said to him. “But to remember your story convincingly, you need to write it out at least three times. Let’s get some paper and start drafting the details. We have to plot your every moment of the past two weeks so that it becomes your new reality.”

  “You really have this all figured out, don’t you?” Jon marveled.

  “I lasted for seventeen years in the world without giving away who I really was,” Shem said. “I did a lot of writing over the years.”

  They chuckled as they went to the front room for paper.

  Perrin took that moment to stand up and grip Gleace’s shoulders.

  “Bless him! Please, Guide—bless him like Hifadhi blessed Mahrree and me so many years ago. A blessing of protection?”

  Gleace gently pried Perrin’s hands off of him. “I will do what I can, Perrin. I can only give what the Creator allows. But I was already planning on doing that. Something subtle, so that he doesn’t realize I’m a guide.”

  “Why haven’t you revealed that to him?”

  “The poor boy already knows too much,” Gleace said, looking through the door to Shem and Jon huddled together at the desk. “No sense in his knowing what he’s about to leave. This is a good plan, Perrin. The Creator inspired him; I could feel that as he spoke. But I want you to be warned: this may be that very uncomfortable way out of our mess I was talking about.”

  Perrin watched Jon working happily with Shem. “But all the discomfort will be on poor Jon,” he pointed out.

  “Oh, no. We’ll get to feel tremendous discomfort too,” the guide whispered, “hearing about his sacrifice and knowing he’s suffering only to protect us.”

  Perrin blinked back the water building in his eyes.

  By the time Shem and Jon had finished plotting his new “truth,” and Jon carefully wrote it out three times, the rest of the scouts had returned, along with a few ranchers. They smiled sadly at Jon for what he was about to do, but he was too excited about his plan to notice the pained sympathy in their eyes.

  As far as Lieutenant Jon Offra was concerned, he was about to do something heroic.

  Perrin could hardly bear to look at him.

  It was well before dinnertime when Gleace announced to Jon, “You best be going. You need to spend the night in the forest.”

  Shem raised his eyebrows. “Not even let him stay one last night with us?”

  “Authenticity is crucial here,” Gleace said. “So much is riding on your performance. You not only have to appear hungry and terrified, you actually need to be so.” He removed a mug from Jon’s hands, the last of his water. “Being thirsty helps, too. Sorry, son. I don’t know how good an actor you are, so we’re going to have to make it real.”

  For the first time Jon appeared apprehensive, and he shared a look of worry with Perrin.

  Gleace set down the mug and held Jon’s shoulders with both hands. Because of his height, Gleace had to look up into his eyes.

  Perrin knew what was coming, and he exhaled in relief. Guide Hifadhi had held Mahrree and him in a similar way so many years ago when he bestowed a blessing of protection on them.

  Jon watched Gleace earnestly.

  “Do you know much about the Creator, Jon?” Gleace asked him.

  Jon shrugged. “Just the little I’ve learned here. I’ve tried talking to Him a couple of times, too.”

  Gleace smiled. “Well, the Creator knows a great deal about you, Jon Offra. You are His son, and He loves you. He knows you have a good heart, and a loyal spirit, and a strong mind. He blessed you long ago with those traits, because He knew someday you would do a great thing for us. We just figured that out today, though, didn’t we?”

  Jon smiled back, but also fidgeted. Gleace’s intensity when he was acting as guide was palpable. Jon could feel it, but wasn’t sure as to what he was feeling.

  “Jon, don’t worry too much about tonight,” Gleace told him. “You will be safe in the forest, and you will deliver your message to Thorne with appropriate terror. Your story and your efforts will secure Salem for a long time, and will be remembered by Salemites until the Last Day. May the Creator—”

  And then Gleace paused, and Perrin stared at him in dread. Those were supposed to be the words, the words that would protect and preserve Jon—

  Protect and preserve! Perrin frantically thought at the Guide.

  “—always be aware of your sacrifice, your efforts, and your pain. I assure you, Jon, that when your work for us has been completed, you will be immediately embraced by the Creator Himself in the Paradise that you so faithfully earned.”

  Shem and Perrin’s faces were tear-streaked, but Jon just cleared his throat awkwardly as Gleace released him. “Uh, thanks, I suppose, Mr. Gleace. Never quite heard words like that before.”

  Gleace nodded and said, “Go to the stables. One of the scouts there will dirty you up a bit more. The blood on your clothing is a nice touch, but I think we can do better.”

  Jon grinned and turned to make his way to the stables, not noticing the expressions of anguish on Shem and Perrin’s faces.

  They both rounded on the guide as soon as Jon was gone.

  “What was that?” Perrin asked, trying not to sound panicked.

  “I thought you could give him some protection!” Shem almost accused.

  Gleace stared out the door where Jon had left. “I couldn’t do it, boys,” he murmured apologetically. “I wanted to. The words were on my lips, but they stopped moving. I can’t force what isn’t the Creator’s will. Jon’s going to suffer.” He sighed heavily. “I could see it, but I couldn’t prevent it. None of us can. The path has been set, and I saw his end.”

  Perrin rubbed his forehead, but Shem said, “I’ve never heard you say what you did at the end, though. About Jon being embraced by the Creator?”

  Surprising both Shem and Perrin, Gleace’s mouth turned into a slight smile. “That was remarkable! That’s not exactly how things ha
ppen in Paradise, you know.”

  But neither of the men really knew.

  “Very few people are ready to face the Creator at the moment of their deaths,” Gleace explained. “There’s usually a period of adjustment, of reflection, of understanding, of contrition—even for the very best of souls. Eventually all will stand before Him, but not immediately. But not Jon!” The guide’s voice trembled. “His suffering will be instantly wiped away. And after that?” Gleace let his tears fall.

  “Envy him after his end, boys. I certainly do.”

  ---

  Jon stood at the top of the boulder field just before sundown, shaking his head. “Seriously? Edge is this close? You only brought us a few miles?”

  Shem shrugged guiltily. “We’re still working on developing sedation, Jon. But we have the knowledge of where to hit a man to keep him unconscious for a time.”

  “Unbelievable!” he chuckled. “So where you live isn’t that far either?”

  Shem raised his eyebrows.

  “I remember. The less I know, the easier it is to tell the lie.”

  “So you’ll wander around the forest until tomorrow evening,” Shem said. “No food, no water. You’ll be sufficiently weakened and a bit dehydrated. No one will suspect you’re deceiving them.”

  “Don’t worry,” Jon said, rubbing his face to work extra dirt. “I’ll be starving by tomorrow. When I crawl out of the trees begging for food, I won’t be acting.”

  “You have the cloth?”

  Jon pulled it out of his trousers’ pocket—a shredded piece of dark fabric, dirtied with dried blood. “Just like the cloaks the Shins were wearing, right?”

  “Same cloth,” Shem assured him.

  “All I could find,” Jon sighed dramatically, “next to the bones of the horses.”

  “Very good. You know, I’m beginning to think you can pull this off.”

  “I can, Shem,” Jon assured him. “Nothing’s more important. Will you please tell Perrin that?”

  “I will.”

  “And will you also tell me why he didn’t come with us?” Jon asked, wondering why Perrin Shin gave him a firm hug and a quick kiss on the neck as they left, refusing to go any further than the glacial fort.

  “He’s afraid he’ll kill again,” Shem said. “He told me he felt the influence of the world coming up the canyon, and he thinks that the further he stays away, the safer everyone is. Gleace agreed.”

  “Gleace is one of your men in charge, isn’t he?” Jon guessed.

  Shem nodded. “Kind of our own Chairman, but a much better man.”

  “Kind of like a guide, I’d say,” Jon hinted, “if they still existed.”

  Shem couldn’t look Jon in the eyes. Instead he surveyed the darkening forest below them. “You best be moving, Jon. Find yourself a decent place to camp for the night before it gets too late. Then tomorrow you wander out of there a broken, terrified man.”

  “I will, Shem. And you’ll be safe.”

  Shem caught Jon in an embrace. “This is as far as I go. I never want to set foot in that forest again. The scouts will see you through the boulders. And Jon? Thank you.”

  Jon flashed him a rare grin, saluted, and followed the scouts into the maze of boulders.

  Shem sighed. “You’re never going to be the same.”

  ---

  Winter sat in the reception office staring out the open front door of the fort. That’s why he was surprised by the eager teenager bounding in behind him.

  “Hey Doctor Winter! I’m here for my two weeks!”

  Winter sighed. “Oh, Woodson. I’m so sorry. I forgot you were coming up today. Look, this may not be the best time. I don’t think you’ve heard, but—”

  “I heard,” the young man said, his enthusiasm dampening. “I ran into Guide Gleace on the way up, and he filled me in. I really am here to help. Scouting lessons can wait. When Zenos and the others come back, their horses will need tending to. And, to be honest, sir, you all look pretty worn out.”

  Winter smiled darkly. “It’s been an eventful day, to put it mildly. Of course you can stay. We’ll start scouting lessons tomorrow. Tonight, we watch and pray.”

  Woodson pulled up a chair next to the surgeon and sat down. “Someone need stitching up today? I saw your needles soaking on the surgery table.”

  Winter nodded once, still staring out the front door and not shifting his gaze. “General has a slashed palm, from grabbing the long knife. I don’t think he even noticed me putting in the stitches. Of course, the numbing agent is quite effective, but . . .”

  That’s when Woodson noticed what Winter was watching. Or rather, who.

  “Is that General Shin out there?” Woodson asked. “Sitting on the log?”

  Winter nodded. “He planted himself there as Shem and the others took Offra down, and he hasn’t moved since. Been a few hours now.”

  “Maybe he wants company?” Woodson said cheerfully. “We’re pretty good friends now. I’ve helped him a lot with his maps, and he even told me to call him Perrin—”

  Winter’s sharp look silenced Woodson. “He’s also told me to call him Perrin. I was nearly close to doing so, until I saw the general in action today. Never knew a man could move so quickly, nor kill so efficiently. We’re all a bit wary of him. I think he knows that, too. He put himself out there, almost as if in self-banishment, and none of us feels like bothering him.”

  “But,” Woodson tried valiantly again, “maybe he needs a mug of water, or he wants to talk—”

  “Woodson, there are ways that nature says to leave something alone. The stench of a skunk, the growl of a wolf, the spikes of a cactus, and the brooding of a general.” Winter leaned back in his chair. “I’m watching him, son. Don’t worry. I’m keeping an eye on him should he need anything. But I also know when to leave a man to work things out himself.”

  Woodson sighed.

  After a quiet minute, Winter said, “Actually, Woodson, we’re having a scouting lesson right now. The hardest part about being a scout is realizing that often you can’t do anything to alleviate the suffering the world causes itself. All you can do is watch and pray for them. Watch and pray.”

  Woodson’s shoulders sank as he saw General Shin hold his head in his hands.

  ---

  Dusk had fallen as Shem rode into the glacial valley. He’d left the rest of the scouts to keep an eye on Jon, but couldn’t bear to be so close to Edge again. He felt its influence, too, and had to escape it.

  Before he reached the fort, Shem spied the large shadow sitting on a log. It rose quickly, and a bit stiffly.

  “Offra’s gone then?” Perrin asked, his voice thin and shallow. “He’s safe for the night?”

  “Yes,” Shem said shortly. “He’ll be all right. The forest scouts will help him make a camp.”

  Perrin nodded and shoved his uninjured hand into his pocket like a nervous ten-year-old. “Shem, I need to say . . . I’m sorry, and I know that’s horribly inadequate, and I just wish . . . I just wish—”

  Shem didn’t offer any help. Too drained by the day, he remained mounted on his horse staring down at his friend who couldn’t even look him in the eyes.

  “I just . . . I wish someone had explained better—”

  “I didn’t explain things to you?!” Shem exploded.

  Perrin held up his hands as if to hold back Shem’s onslaught. “No, you explained plenty to me. I mean, explain my position of general better. I’ve realized something this evening. I may be the general, and the guide is over everything and everyone, but you—you’re really my commander, aren’t you? I should have listened to you. I should have recognized that you’re issuing the orders now. I’m merely the guard dog for Salem, and you’re . . . my master.”

  At any other moment Shem would have humbly demurred, but not tonight. Not after that week. “I suppose I am, although I can’t imagine issuing you any order that you’d obey.”

  “Try me,” Perrin said, with such submissiveness that Shem was star
tled. “Try me, and I promise I’ll obey. Even a general needs to be accountable to someone. That’s how stewardships work, right? Everyone is accountable to someone else?”

  Shem stared at him in amazement. “We’ve never had a general before, and I suppose we’re still working out the kinks in our chain of command. But you’re right. And tonight you sound like a true Salemite.”

  Perrin’s chin quivered.

  Shem had so much more to say to him. Or rather, to yell at him. But it was impossible to be furious at a man so broken-hearted and so deeply contrite.

  All Shem could do was sigh and say, “First order, General: go get something to eat, go to sleep, then tomorrow go home to your wife. You need her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Chapter 35-- “Stay far, far away from

  those trees.”