by Trish Mercer
The soldiers on patrol the next evening squinted in surprise when they saw the man crawling out of the trees.
“Help me! Someone!” he gasped. “Captain Thorne?”
The two soldiers stared as the man struggled to get to his feet.
“No food, no water . . .” He collapsed against a bush. “Death—”
“Are you . . . a Guarder?” one of the soldiers asked stupidly.
“Of course not! I’m Lieutenant Offra,” said the ragged man.
“But . . . how did you get in there? What did you see?”
The man, struggling to stand up, stared up at them with empty eyes. “Neither of you,” he said in a voice that chilled both of them to their bellies, “would ever sleep again if I told you. Now get me back to Fort Shin. And that’s an order!”
---
Captain Thorne’s mouth dropped open. “Offra’s here?” he whispered to the sergeant who gave him the news. He glanced at the door to the commandant’s office to see it was still closed. “Where is he?”
“Back treatment room of the surgeon’s,” the sergeant whispered. “The surgeon agreed to keep his condition quiet.”
“And Radan?”
“Radan? He went in too? Only Offra came out.”
“Let’s go!” Thorne whispered, and he and the sergeant silently trotted down the stairs, rushed through the compound, and over to the surgeon’s. A minute later they burst into the surgery and marched to the private treatment room, ignoring the surgeon who hastened after them.
Thorne swung open the door, eager to interrogate Offra, but stopped.
Offra was filthy, bruised, and resting on the cot. Lemuel noticed the blood stains on his torn clothing.
The surgeon barreled in after Thorne. “Exactly what have you done to him, Captain?! Why was he in the forest?”
“I don’t know,” Thorne said in a stunned monotone. “That’s why I’m here. You’re relieved, Surgeon.”
“He is my patient, and I will—”
It was Captain Thorne’s long knife that startled him into silence. It was pressing at his gut.
“You are relieved, Surgeon,” Thorne repeated steadily. “And you will never reveal what you saw here, especially to Genev. Is that clear?”
The surgeon licked his lips nervously, but the look in his eyes was defiant. “It’s clear, Captain. It’s clear nothing’s ever going to be clear again!” Before the surgeon stormed out of the room, he tossed an apologetic glance at the lieutenant who, with great effort, was opening his eyes.
Thorne spun to Offra. “Well?” he demanded as he slipped his long knife into his belt again.
“Sir, the news isn’t good,” he whispered. “Found bones—horses. Probably four. Some other bones, too. Far up by the boulder field. Likely human. Some very small ones, too. They didn’t make it, Thorne. Here.” He fished around in his trousers’ pocket and pulled out a strip of black cloth. “Found this among them. Like the cloaks they wore. That may be blood dried on it.”
Gingerly Thorne took the torn cloth and examined it, his eyes stinging. “Almost like teeth marks . . .”
“I saw bears up there,” Offra murmured. “And wolves. Heard something like a mountain lion screaming one night. And other noises, I couldn’t figure out what caused them. Like . . . wailing. Terrible place, Captain. I’ll never get over it,” Jon whimpered, tears beginning to dribble out of his eyes. “I was sure I was next . . .”
“Where’s Radan?” Thorne seemed to regret asking.
Offra’s shoulders began to heave. “Slipped into a crevice. I didn’t even hear him hit the bottom. A sudden cry, and then nothing. The ground just gave way under him. Just emptiness, darkness . . . he’s gone, sir.”
“When?” Thorne whispered.
“Yesterday morning. We were still looking for remains, and then he was gone!”
Thorne nodded once. “So did you find anything else? Any sign of Jaytsy or a baby? Caves?”
“I never saw any . . . evidence of life in any of the caves we found.” Offra rubbed his eyes and shook his head. “It’s been over a year, sir. There are bones scattered everywhere. Big ones, tiny ones—could have been a baby. I don’t know, I don’t know. Nothing can survive in the forest, Captain. Not for long. I barely made it out alive. Don’t ever go back there—EVER! The noises, the sounds—not natural or normal.”
Thorne put down the cloth and awkwardly patted the trembling Offra on the shoulder. “Well done, soldier,” he managed. “Not the news I was hoping for, but . . .”
Offra was obviously upset. That he found something was really quite remarkable and unexpected.
And disappointing.
For a brief moment he wondered if Offra might have been faking it, but his terror was real, and the cloth, which Lemuel picked up again, was very similar to the cloaks the Shins were wearing. Wolves could do that much damage. So could bears . . .
“Look, Lemuel,” Offra said, his quiet voice struggling to be steady, “I didn’t go up there for you. I went hoping to find the Shins.” Offra turned to stare in Lemuel’s eyes, and the captain was taken aback by his intensity. Perhaps terror created clarity. “I know you don’t think much of me. I’m expendable, and that’s why you sent me. And frankly, I hate you. But Lemuel, I wouldn’t force even my worst enemy into that forest, and that includes you. I’m warning you now, and not as a friend by any means—stay far, far away from those trees.”
Astonished, Lemuel could only nod back to Offra who sighed and closed his eyes in an uneasy rest.
Thorne squeezed his own eyes shut, trying to keep the wetness back, and held the torn cloth close to his chest.
So they were gone.
Completely gone.
No more Perrin, no more Jaytsy, no more hope. He couldn’t pretend anymore.
Thorne patted Offra’s shoulder in as genial a manner as he could. “Rest up, soldier. Genev doesn’t know you’re here, and once you’re up to it, I’ll sneak you out again.”
Offra looked up at him with what seemed to be gratitude, as if his last warning and declaration of hatred had never been uttered. Indeed, something odd was going on in Offra’s eyes as he said, “Thanks, Captain. I really could use some sleep now.”
“Understood,” Thorne said, and once more something in Offra’s demeanor seemed to shift. He almost appeared to be smiling as he wearily rolled over.
Thorne made a mental note to tell the surgeon to watch for instability in Offra. Surely no man could come back from such an experience without some degree of madness.
Lemuel stared at the cloth in his hand, shoved it into his jacket pocket, and left the treatment room.
He was going to need another story, if only for himself.
And a few more vials.
---
Mahrree had been adequately warned by the scout who brought her the message, by Guide Gleace who visited with her for an hour last night, and even by Shem who had returned in the morning and came to see her first instead of his wife.
She knew the entire story, she knew where Jon had gone, and she knew how Perrin was dealing—or not dealing—with it all.
Still she was startled to see the depth of distress in his face when he finally came home on Clark that evening. He had stayed at the glacial fort until he received word from the scouts that Jon had been observed heading back to Fort Shin, carried by two soldiers who discovered him.
Mahrree had been waiting on the front porch when she saw him coming down the road, his head low. He wouldn’t meet her eyes after he dismounted and started for the front door, so she blocked his way with a fierce embrace.
Reluctantly he wrapped his arms around her too, and once he held her he didn’t seem as if he’d ever let go again. Only after a long time did he finally speak, his words muffled in her shoulder.
“Please tell me honestly—have I destroyed your life too?”
“Every single day,” she said into his chest, “has been a joy and an honor to share with you.”
He sighed into her
neck and she felt his tears leak down her back.
“You could be a scout. You lie as well as they do now. But thank you.”
---
Perrin didn’t sleep well that night, nor did Mahrree. It wasn’t her husband’s tossing and turning that affected her, but the sullen darkness that came flooding back from Edge where he had banished it a few years ago.
By the morning he was as red-eyed as her, and wordlessly they ate their breakfast. Peto had left yesterday with Lilla Trovato and a hundred other teenagers and leaders for Terryp’s land, and Mahrree was grateful he wasn’t around to see his father so low again.
A knock came at the door, and Mahrree got up from the table. She intended to send whomever it was away, but she was startled instead to see Rector Bustani.
“Good morning, Mrs. Shin,” he said brightly, although it seemed to her that his eyes were puffy as well. “May I come in and speak to you and General Shin?”
“Oh, dear,” she murmured before saying, “Rector, I don’t think you know what’s happened—”
“I do,” he assured her. “That’s why I’m here.”
Mahrree surprised herself by whispering, “But he’s so fragile right now.”
“I know,” Bustani assured her. “I haven’t come to knock him down, you know. Only to brace him up.”
“Of course, of course,” she said, still not wanting to let him in so that he could see the condition of Salem’s general, but she couldn’t think of a way to refuse him.
Perrin was already in the gathering room, standing stiffly. “Rector?”
Bustani smiled warmly. “General and Mrs. Shin, it’s my honor to tell you that it’s been over a year since you were baptized as members of Salem—”
Mahrree’s heart flopped. They hadn’t done too good a job at being Salemites.
“—and because of your efforts, you have been deemed worthy and ready to enter the temple.”
Perrin sagged, and stumbled over to a sofa where he sat and buried his face in his hands. “Obviously you don’t know. You don’t know what’s happened—”
Bustani was over to him in a heartbeat, kneeling before him. “But I do, sir. Guide Gleace called me and Rector Yung to his home last night, and together we prayed to know how to help you. Then Gleace sent us home to ponder what to do next. As soon as we had an answer, we were to visit him. Before sunrise, I was awoken with the answer. General Shin, only the Creator can help you, and He wants you in His temple. While you didn’t intend to do anything wrong, you feel as if you’ve destroyed everything.”
Perrin stared at him with both surprise and hope. “Yes,” he said. “I do.”
“He sees things differently, and He wants to soothe you. I rushed over to Gleace’s with my impression, only to find that the guide was already awake and waiting for me. He said he felt the same way—that you and Mrs. Shin needed to go to the temple—and he’d already sent a message to Rector Yung to be ready to meet you there. Before I left the guide’s, Yung had sent back word that he was hoping Gleace was going to say that. So there’s three of us, sir, who all got the same impression that you are worthy and needing to go to the temple. Will you?”
Perrin could only nod his head.
Bustani smiled at Mahrree. “It’s our custom that you bathe first, then come dressed in white clothing. White for baptisms, for marriages, for funerals, and for the temple. Every sacred moment calls for purity. Can you be ready in an hour? What you wore to your baptism will suffice. I’ll drive you there myself, and Guide Gleace said he hopes to be there as well.”
After he left, Mahrree and Perrin wept quietly on the sofa next to each other before gently arguing who would bathe first. They were barely ready on time—spotless in white and feeling rather self-conscious about it—when Bustani pulled up in a wagon. Soon they were on their way north into Salem.
The site of the temple was remarkable in that the stone edifice—mimicking the ancient site before its ruin—sat on the eastern most edge of Salem. But what was so astonishing to the Shins, since the first time they saw it, was a swath of land completely untouched in all the years Salemites had been there, bisecting Salem entirely. Kept as pristine and pure as when Guide Pax first gazed upon it, a twelve-mile-long and quarter-mile-wide section of potential farm land was left to remain as wild grasses and flowers, from the temple where it was perched on a slight rise before the eastern mountains, all the way to the rise of the mountains in the west.
Perhaps most meaningful to Perrin and Mahrree was the approach from the south. One of the many rivers which meandered through Salem took a sharp turn near the temple and continued west, helping to divide Salem’s southern and northern halves. Along the river grew a lush and dense forest of trees and brush.
Another river meandered a quarter of a mile to the north, creating the other border to the temple land, as they called it, but that border was populated with tall grasses, marshes, and occasionally moose.
It was as Bustani’s wagon neared the southern border that Mahrree fully took in the symbolism: they had to go through a forest to reach peace.
Not that the forest was very wide. The wagon went through it and over the river in much less than a minute. But it was the idea, and the irony, that the world was terrified of the trees which could lead them to the safety they craved.
“I kind of wish we could walk through the forest to the temple,” she whispered to Perrin. “Like the Zenoses told me they frequently do, to remember what their ancestors went through.”
“You mean what we went through a year ago? Next time,” Perrin promised her. “Right now, I think Bustani is worried he might lose us if we walk.”
Mahrree instinctively she held her breath as they emerged from the trees and turned onto the simple tracked lane which led to the temple, still half a mile away.
There was nothing else in front of them except for the meticulously carved white stone building, the mountains behind it, and the lush meadow full of wildflowers before it. They’d been here before, driving past on their way to a northerly destination, speculating about what the building contained. Now they were headed there, and Mahrree could take in the chiseled stone, the columns in two rows, the spanning roof, the three-feet thick stone walls.
A wide stone portico, open and inviting, ran the entire width of the temple. Below it on the ground were a variety of small boulders and jagged stone: leftovers from its construction, and reminiscent of the boulder fields their ancestors passed through to reach Salem.
It was a good thing, Mahrree considered, that children weren’t allowed. While beautiful, it wasn’t the safest place for children to play. The grandmother in her wanted to construct a protective railing along the edge before the rock garden.
But adults were careful, so no railing was needed before the rows of columns, rising as high as at the ancient site. Supporting the roof above, the columns created an imposing yet friendly front porch with even a few rocking chairs—painted white, of course—for those waiting for friends or family to join them.
As they neared, the Shins saw there were several people dressed in white waiting for them at the top of the stairs. Someone short got out of a rocking chair, and Mahrree immediately recognized Rector Yung. She matched his soft smile, and noticed that Guide Gleace stood there too, with an air of anticipation.
Rector Bustani halted the horses, and Perrin helped Mahrree out of the wagon. Gleace and Yung came down the stairs to walk up with them.
Neither Mahrree nor Perrin had said anything, unsure of what was appropriate, so when Yung whispered to them, “So happy to see you here!” they knew that silence was the rule, and one of the reasons children weren’t admitted.
The gentle stillness of the temple put into Mahrree’s mind a fluffy pillow, which was in odd contrast to the sharp and hard stone. However, even the stone seemed warm and inviting as they walked through the wide walnut wood doors with their escorts.
Mahrree hadn’t ever reached the point of speculating what was inside, but t
his wasn’t what she expected; however, it was entirely appropriate.
Before they’d left the world, she’d heard rumors about what “temples” in Terryp’s land were for. For some reason, every conjecture was full of violence, sacrifice, and strange rituals. Why no one in the world could imagine temples were for peace, for love, for escape, she didn’t know. She supposed the world simply preferred to believe their ancestors were necessarily debased and debauched. The idea that the current civilization wasn’t the most sophisticated never occurred to them. They were always on an upward trend; the notion that their ancestors used to live better than them was unimaginable.
As Mahrree looked around the vast and silent temple, she realized the imagination of the world was woefully inadequate.
Before her was an immense space, immaculate and beautiful, and Mahrree realized she had just entered the Creator’s Gathering Room. A few hundred people were there, seated among the many sofas and chairs, or talking in hushed tones along the walls or near tables filled with floral arrangements. Only a handful glanced over to see who had come in, before going back to their muted discussions or silent ponderings.
What surprised Mahrree the most were the trees. Yes, only Salemites would fill a temple with evergreens by the dozens, planted in massive pots which, she discovered later, could be silently rolled on ball bearings to new locations. The ten-foot high trees were used to create natural walls and quiet alcoves, and a sense of being outside while being inside.
Many windows flooded the temple with sunlight—even some in the ceiling, pitched at various angles to channel the light and keep off the snows. Along the walls were curtains dyed in deep reds, an intense hue which Mahrree hadn’t seen used anywhere else in Salem. The wooden chairs were elegantly and elaborately carved, in contrast to all of the simple chairs she’d seen in the valley. And woven intricately into the cloth covering the sofas was a design similar to the flowers and trees they’d passed. Hanging from the ceiling were elaborate wrought iron candelabras which could be lit at night. Beneath her bare feet—they’d been instructed to leave their shoes at the entrance—were soft, warm rugs covering sections of the polished stone floor.
Indeed, nothing in the world—not even the High General’s mansion—was as fine and sumptuous as the temple.
And here Mahrree had spent the last year thinking Salemites weren’t capable of making something luxurious. They could. But they reserved it all to share with the Creator.
Mahrree was surprised to see Mrs. Gleace in front of her. “Welcome,” she whispered, “to the closest you can be to the Creator while on this sphere. Now, come sit and learn.”
And they did.
And Mahrree understood why children weren’t allowed, and why only those who truly wanted and needed to be there were admitted, because she began to learn how to listen—really listen—to the Creator, and how to speak—really speak—to Him. There was never a sound above a whisper, and she realized later that even the grand wooden doors were muffled so as to not squeak or thud as they shut, and the rugs were thick to mute the sounds of footsteps.
They sat there for hours after the Gleaces and Rector Yung taught them, fully enveloped in a place that felt wholly other worldly. Wholly perfect. Wholly safe. She didn’t notice, as she thought deeply and fully, that others came and went, that Yudit had been by, offered some prayers in their behalf, then went on her way again. Mahrree didn’t even notice that midday meal time came and went, because she was so fully wrapped in peace that she never wanted to leave it as she poured out every last worry to the Creator, and had the sensation that He sat nearby, listening and responding to her every word.
But eventually her stomach growled.
And Mrs. Gleace assured her they could return any time, and stay for however long they wanted to. The afternoon was already half gone when Mahrree finally looked around her to realize Gleace and Yung had left some time ago, and new happy faces dressed in white were there to assist and worship with them.
Often Mahrree had paused from her own thoughts and prayers and watched her husband.
Some time ago Perrin had positioned himself in an armchair of dark blue, which struck Mahrree as similar to the color of the uniforms he used to wear, but was intended to be reminiscent the waters of the river nearby. He sat by a window of thick, wavy glass which distorted the scenery outside, and two pines had been rolled over to give him some privacy. But what Mahrree worried about was that when his head wasn’t bowed in prayer or thought, he was staring at the deep red curtains which seemed to Mahrree arteries of blood.
That color choice bothered her, and she wished the curtains were instead a delicate green like the rugs, or perhaps a cheery yellow.
Until she remembered something Guide Gleace told them as he pointed out the symbolism in the room. He must have noticed the Shins glancing at the red curtains, because he said, “Yes, they look like blood. That’s not to put into mind violence or rage, but to recognize that even blood is cleansing, just like water. Blood is present in birth, and quite frequently in death.
“But in ways that we do not yet understand, the Creator has revealed to us that blood can cleanse us, and can free us from the mistakes and burdens and pains we carry. Someday we’ll understand how and why, but for now He tells us to trust Him. The shedding of blood isn’t always wrong, Perrin. Sometimes it’s necessary. Sometimes it’s even purifying. You’re here to understand that for yourself.”
And that’s what he was trying to do.
Eventually Mahrree stood up from her sofa, went to his side, and placed a hand on his shoulder. He turned his unfocused gaze from the window and smiled faintly at her.
“They said you can come back,” she whispered to him. “It’s nearly dinner time.”
He blinked. “It is? I thought we’d been here only an hour.”
He went back the next day, without Mahrree who had a house to maintain and a history text to write, but rode Clark and tethered him in the forest where he enjoyed a quiet day of drinking from the river and nickering softly at passing Salemites. Perrin walked slowly, Mahrree found out later, along the river to the temple, relishing the metaphor.
He didn’t return again until dinner.
The next day he did the same thing.
And again the next.
Shem came over that evening, asking Mahrree how Perrin was doing.
“He comes home quiet and pensive, but I think he’s figuring things out,” she told him. “He barely picks at his dinner, which is always a sign his mind is elsewhere. I get the impression he’s on a very long walk, and when he reaches his destination, he’ll let us know.”
“It’s just that we’ve never known anyone to spend so long at the temple, and every day,” Shem explained. “Gleace is a little concerned about him. The volunteers there let him know what’s going on, and they asked if they should try to feed him.”
Mahrree smiled at that. “It’s just that you’ve never had someone with such a heavy burden to unpack. I think he’s working through the details of many years and many lives lost. But he’ll let us know when he’s done. Or when he’s hungry.”
Perrin went again in the morning the next day, but came home earlier than usual. Mahrree noticed that as he walked from the barn, he had a slight smile on his face and his step was lighter than she’d seen it in a long while.
When he came in the door, he could see the question on her face.
“It’s good,” he said. “It’s all good. I think . . . I think we can get a handle on living like Salemites. All we have to do is keep trying. We don’t even have to succeed, just keep trying. Perfection doesn’t happen in this lifetime, anyway. The Creator will fill in the parts we can’t manage. And Mahrree?” he said to her joyful expression, “For some reason I’m starving. Can dinner be early today?”
She made him sandwiches. Lots of them.
It was as they were eating that he said, “I finished at the temple a while ago, but made a stop on the way home.”
“
Oh?”
“I needed to talk to Professor Stone about ancient sites,” he said off-handedly.
“She didn’t go with the big teen expedition?”
“No,” Perrin said. “She sent other archaeologists since she’s too busy planning another expedition later in Weeding Season.”
Mahrree sensed there was something more to this, because Perrin was never very good at being nonchalant. “To where?” she asked. “And why?”
“It seems some of the senior students were approaching Terryp’s land last year and came across what they think may be undiscovered ruins.” He tried to sound indifferent, but his eyes were dancing too much and giving him away.
That’s why Mahrree was bouncing on the edge of her chair.
“And?”
“Well, I learned a lot over the past few days,” he drawled, even though he never drawled, “and one thing is that the Last Day isn’t coming tomorrow. I’ve been putting off some things needlessly, and now I understand that I have some time. It was made clear to me that there’s one thing more important than securing Salem.”
Now Mahrree was thoroughly confused. “What could be more important?”
“You. Professor Stone is putting together a team of students and archaeologists to try to find those ruins, and she said she’d be happy to take along some middle-aged assistants, if you’re interest—”
“YES!”
Chapter 36--“I can’t believe we’re here.”