by Trish Mercer
Chapter 2 ~ “My wife, you are insane.”
“Captain, do you have a moment?” Karna asked through the partially opened office door. “Zenos made contact again.”
Perrin quickly snatched up his quill and grabbed a clean piece of paper. “Of course. Send him in.”
Zenos came in dressed in regular work clothes and wearing an eager grin. “Saw him again, sir! Just before the eastern canals.”
“I pulled back the patrols when I realized Zenos was talking to someone in the trees,” Karna explained. “I should get back out there—”
“Certainly,” Shin waved him away. “Go, go! See if we have any other confused Guarders out there.”
Karna bounded back down the stairs.
“Sit, Zenos,” Shin told him as he dipped his quill into the ink bottle. “Tell me everything he said, no matter how bizarre. He still thinks you’re some farmer’s son?”
“Yes, sir. I was strolling at the edges of the fields they just planted, hoping to catch sight of him again. Since I’m not in a uniform—”
“—which is precisely why I recommended some changes last year,” Shin grumbled. “We could learn so much more if we weren’t so obvious. But the Command Board . . . well, never mind. So what did he say?”
“He was a bit more coherent this time,” Zenos explained. “I think because I fed him, first.” He winced in apology. “I’d taken an extra beef sandwich from midday meal and had it in my pocket in case I got hungry, and . . . well, the Guarder seemed half-starved—”
The captain shook his head. “I have no problem with you feeding him, Zenos. It’s a sandwich well spent. If he sees you as a provider, he’ll become more comfortable with you and perhaps reveal what’s going on.”
Zenos’s face relaxed. “I was hoping you’d feel that way, sir. I kind of already told him I could give him more tomorrow at the same time.”
Shin smiled. “Well, bring more than a sandwich. It’s a proven fact that the people will follow whoever will feed them. I’m hoping he’ll eventually follow you all the way to this office.”
Zenos shrugged. “I’m not sure I’m that skilled yet, sir.”
“If you joined up officially, I could train you,” the captain hinted. “I need men like you.”
“Thank you, sir. I know,” Zenos shrugged again, looking down at his hands in bashfulness. “It’s just that . . .”
Perrin sat back to analyze his volunteer of three weeks. Zenos often demurred like that, as if intimidated by himself. But he was more naturally skilled than any soldier Perrin had met. And so far there had been no responses to the inquiries about a missing younger-than-legal boy. Nor had there been any reports about a girl looking for her run-off boyfriend.
The boy was as innocent as his face, which didn’t even have the decency to sprout any pimples. Perrin saw Zenos in the market a few days ago grinning at the sellers and receiving many shy and encouraging smiles from Mahrree’s former students, but he was so naïve he didn’t even notice them.
The boy was simply so pure.
Perrin would snag him, eventually. He just needed the right lure. But in the meantime—
He picked up his quill and poised it over the paper. “So Zenos—your report?”
Zenos looked up from his hands and sat up at attention. He even did that better than most soldiers. “Sorry—yes, sir. At first he told me we were planting our corn all wrong.”
Perrin’s quill hesitated over the paper. “He what?”
Zenos nodded. “He’d been watching the farmer the other day, and said that we should be planting the corn in small hills instead, with a cut up fish to nourish the plants. Much greater yields than planting the corn in rows.”
Shin put down the quill, perplexed. “Why would he be concerned about our plantings?”
“I thought it was an interesting idea,” Zenos offered. “Maybe the Guarders know something about improving crops?”
“Why would they? Or, maybe he’s planning to steal those crops in Harvest Season, and thinks it’s easier to hide in the small hills rather than rows?”
Zenos pondered that. “Probably right, sir. Still, would be interesting to try, don’t you think? At a farm away from the forests, to see if he’s right?”
Perrin growled quietly. “I’m not accustomed to taking agricultural tips from our enemies. What else did he say?”
Zenos cleared his throat. “Well, this won’t be too helpful either, then. But maybe . . . uh, he said that improving yields are crucial to feeding the population. We have lots of fallow land, and even small gardens could be used for vegetables and fruit trees.”
“Our population is fed just fine,” said Perrin steadily. “We’re at a stable and maintainable rate, we never have a lack, especially since the crop controls were established. He’s interested in our population rates?”
“Maybe because they need our food?” Zenos suggested. “He said that their women have so many children now—”
Perrin pointed at him. “They are looking to raid our crops. Very good, Zenos. Now we know to keep our farms more carefully guarded, especially once Harvest comes around.” He quickly scrawled down some notes.
Zenos smiled to have been some use.
“I’m curious,” Perrin paused, tapping his quill on the ink jar, “Just how many children? Did he say?”
Zenos nodded. “Well, in the middle of his rambling he said there was a woman who recently had her fifteenth child—”
Perrin’s mouth dropped open.
“—then he said something about most of them having smaller families, averaging about six or seven children. Then he started on about something with teaching chickens to fly—”
But Perrin was shaking his head slowly. “A ‘small’ family is six or seven children? Unbelievable. Likely have so many to replace their population. I can only imagine how many of their people die each year. Fourteen here just last year.”
Zenos nodded soberly. “Yes, I’ve heard all about that, sir, from some of the men. Makes my back itch to think about it.”
Perrin chuckled.
“I also started thinking, sir,” the young volunteer began hesitantly, “you’re a father, and seem to be a devoted one at that—if you could have more than two children, would you? Considering that it seems apparent Guarder women still have so many—”
Perrin stiffened. “Do you know the name of Gadiman, Zenos?”
Zenos blinked rapidly at the captain’s abrupt change in tone. “Uh, sounds vaguely familiar.”
“Perhaps you’re more familiar with his title: Administrator of Loyalty?”
Zenos gulped. “Ah, yes sir. That Gadiman.”
“Would you like to meet the Administrator of Loyalty, Zenos?” Perrin’s tone was cold as death.
Zenos gulped again. “No, sir?”
“That’s right—you don’t. But asking such kinds of questions will earn you a one-way journey to Idumea and an extended discussion with Gadiman. To answer your questions, Zenos: no, I’ve never considered having more than two children. That’s the law of the land, and I’ve sworn to uphold it. Querul the First recognized that our population couldn’t exceed one million people, or we’d run into the same divisions and shortages we suffered under the Great War in 200—”
“I know all about that, sir,” Zenos tried diplomatically to cut him off.
“If you did, then you wouldn’t need a history refresher right now!” Perrin snapped. “After the war, Querul told families to maintain only a replacement population, that women should birth only two children. When his son Querul the Second took over, he enforced that law ruthlessly. While the First turned a blind eye to the occasional third or fourth baby, his son made sure that any woman expecting a third time never birthed that baby. If she survived the soldiers and their brutality, she certainly could never conceive again!”
Zenos swallowed hard, but the captain wasn’t finished yet.
“Fifty years ago The Drink was developed to ensure there would be no accidental violat
ions of the law. Not only has it kept our population in balance, but it has preserved women from the difficulties of expecting. I’ve seen it twice, Zenos, first-hand. It’s an enormous sacrifice, and nothing a woman should have to endure too often.”
If the captain thought his lecture would scare the large young man into silence, he was mistaken.
“Sir, I know the sacrifices,” Zenos said gravely. “My older sister has two daughters. I saw her suffer. I also saw her joy when she held those newborns, and how much she adores her girls now. I know for a fact that she’s said the pain and suffering were nothing compared to becoming a mother. I didn’t mean to be disrespectful to the laws, I merely wondered if you had ever considered that maybe there could be another way.”
Perrin sat back, stunned by the boy’s boldness. “As I said before, Zenos—no, I’ve never considered violating the laws of the land. At least, not that one,” he confessed with the smallest of smiles.
Zenos hazarded a small smile too, but it seemed to have a sad undertone. “Understood, sir. I shouldn’t have . . . well, never mind. That’s about all I have for you today.” He made to get up out of the chair, but Perrin was struck by a thought and held up his hand to stop him.
“Zenos, one question: exactly how did the Guarder know the farmer was planting corn? He would have been across the upper canal there. For all he knew the farmer was dropping peas or pumpkin seeds.”
Zenos hesitated. “Too late in the season for peas, and pumpkins aren’t sown in rows.”
“But would the Guarder know that? If we plant corn in rows, might we not plant everything in rows?” Shin pressed. “I’m not exactly a gardener, as you might have guessed, but I do know that seeds are very small and difficult to identify from a distance.”
Zenos looked perplexed for a moment. “Maybe he went out at night and dug up the seeds, just to see what had been planted?”
Perrin pondered that, along with the odd look his volunteer tried to conceal. He seemed to be worried that he hadn’t asked the Guarder how he knew what seeds were planted. “Possibly,” he decided. “You’re dismissed, Zenos. Remember—extra food for our babbling Guarder tomorrow. Let’s see if sweet bread doesn’t loosen his tongue even more.”
Zenos stood up, apparently relieved. “Thank you, sir! Hope I have something promising tomorrow.”
After he left the room, Perrin whistled under his breath. “Six or seven children?” he whispered.
He sat quietly for a minute, lost in thought.
Then he forced himself to shake the traitorous thought out of his head.
---
The second year of Mahrree and Perrin’s marriage had flown by even more quickly than their first. It was a nauseating, exhausting, sweet, gratifying, terrifying, sleepless, fantastic blur.
There were many events and funny things Mahrree had decided she should would write down, but she always forgot until it was in the middle of the night and she was up with someone small, or using the washroom, or was disturbed by the churning in her belly or the snoring of her husband, or by an irrational fear, or by a legitimate concern, or simply up because nothing had awakened her so she was worried that nothing was waking her. That’s when she thought she could record what she wanted to remember, especially those days in the past Raining Season when she and Perrin rested on their bed on the floor in the gathering room doing nothing but watching Jaytsy and tending to his stitches. But even then she kept putting off stepping away from it all to record it for later.
Before she realized it, it was the 38th Day of Weeding Season again, 321, and the evening of their second wedding anniversary. This year the Shin family was celebrating. Half of the family was asleep; the other half would be soon. The sky was a magnificent combination of swirling reds, purples, and blues, but Mahrree was the only one who noticed it.
They were on a blanket in the middle of their yard in a bed of yellow weedy flowers. Their garden had shrunk considerably since Perrin finished the latest addition to the house. Tonight Jaytsy kept leaving the blanket to practice her new trick of walking. She loved to hoot after the occasional cart and driver that passed.
Five-week-old Peto, born on the 91st and last day of Planting Season, with thick brown hair and pale blue eyes, slept snuggled into his mother.
Mahrree sat next to her husband who lay on the blanket with his eyes closed. He promised he wouldn’t fall asleep but Mahrree knew what his slow deep breathing meant. They had been talking about the amazing changes of the past two years, but neither could stay coherent enough to complete a complicated thought. A few moments ago Perrin’s words had dribbled away in a slur of slumber.
If anyone had asked them to debate these days, Mahrree thought, it would have been about whose turn it was to change which child’s soiled cloths. And halfway through the discussion they would have asked each other what they were talking about.
But Mahrree’s mind was quite fully occupied tonight, and she’d spent many weeks—moons, actually—trying to find a way to express all that cluttered her thoughts. Lack of sleep disorganized her, but it also seemed to embolden her. It was time to confront Perrin. She couldn’t wait for them to not be tired. She’d be a grandmother by then.
Besides, her husband should be used to ambush situations.
“Perrin?” she said, glancing at the gate to make sure Jaytsy couldn’t escape the yard.
He grunted drowsily.
“Have you ever wondered what it would be like if we could have more than two children?”
That woke him up. She knew it would and she fought down a smile.
“What did you say?” he blurted as he rolled over to look at her with hazy eyes. “You birthed Peto barely five weeks ago, and . . . what did you say?”
“I said,” she began, and realizing there was much he wasn’t going to understand this evening, tried a different direction. “I’ve been thinking. About the village and families. About . . . what if families were allowed to have more than two children? If they could have as many children as, as, as the Creator allowed them? If women didn’t have to take The Drink after the second child?”
Perrin propped himself up on his elbow and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “Oh, that’s what this is about. You’re worried about The Drink. I told you I’ll come with you. Don’t worry—the mixture has improved since our mothers’ time. It’s supposed to be quite painless now. I didn’t realize that was on your mind.”
“No, I wasn’t worried about taking The Drink until now,” she said grimly. “But I was thinking about something more. We got our two children so quickly, and just as quickly it will be over. Not that I won’t be happy to sleep again, but somehow it doesn’t feel right to me.”
Perrin watched her for a moment, trying to work out her direction. “I don’t remember you ever talking this way before.”
“I never dared before,” she admitted, “But now I must. When I was a teacher, parenting a child or two seemed such a great burden. But now that I’m a mother I see what an adventure it is. My view of the whole world has changed in only one short year. But Perrin, why does the adventure have to be so restricted?”
He sat up and eyed her sternly. “For the good of the community! You know that. Do you need a history lesson? I feel like I’ve been giving those a lot lately,” he added in an odd mumble to himself.
“No, I don’t,” she snapped.
“Mahrree,” he said firmly, “you know The Drink’s far better than what the kings used to do to women who kept having babies. Besides,” his tone turned matter-of-fact, “we’ll run out of space if people have too many children, and women’s bodies can’t birth more than two children without permanent damage. The Administrator of Family Life’s studies proved that. Notices were everywhere.”
“Yes,” Mahrree said with a dangerous gleam in her eye, “Dr. Brisack did that, correct? Quite convenient, don’t you think, that a study verifies the very practice they’ve already engaged in for the past fifty years?”
Perrin s
tared at her, recognizing her debating voice. They fell in love debating each other two years ago, but his expression hinted he knew he wasn’t about to enjoy what was coming. “What is this all about?”
“I find it very difficult to believe that Brisack’s study was completely unbiased and objective,” she announced.
“Mahrree,” Perrin sighed, “as Administrators go, if we were forced to have one over for dinner, he’d be my first pick. Even my father has said he’s a very decent man.”
“And you could cook that dinner yourself,” she declared. “The very decent Administrator of Family Life is perpetuating a very convenient lie.”
“You’re accusing the Administrators of lying?” His eyebrows rose. “Are you sure you’re not still experiencing the lingering effects of birthing? The Commander of Edge can’t have a wife speaking traitorously,” he said, only half in jest.
Mahrree sighed. She had to tell him everything she was thinking, and while she was quite confident how he would react, she couldn’t keep quiet. That was what he loved about her, wasn’t it? Her ability to think of things in new ways? That she cared for no one’s opinion but the Creator’s? That’s what he told her at their wedding. It was time to see if it was still true.
Besides . . .
“You’ve admitted yourself that the Administrators aren’t always forthcoming,” she reminded him. “You’ve shown me enough of your father’s messages about the ‘color of the sky.’ And it’s not traitorous talk. It’s just . . . well, have we really evaluated all our options? There must be more places for us to settle! I mean, there’s so much land, yet the Administrators limit us to only this region. Why not go west to where the ruins are? We can build around them. Every report that comes back says they’re poisoned, but I simply can’t believe that. Terryp didn’t go crazy from poison 138 years ago—he went crazy with eagerness! And there are no more people there simply because their time is over. Their Test was finished! They didn’t die because of dangerous ground or air. It doesn’t make sense. If they died, then where are their bodies? Shouldn’t there be some kind of bones or remains?”
Perrin just stared at her, absently running a finger up and down his son’s tiny arm.
Mahrree wasn’t sure what she saw in his eyes. She knew her words were disloyal, but if she couldn’t trust her husband with her thoughts—
She took advantage of his stunned silence and plowed on. “And the mountains: what’s on the other side? No one’s tried to find out. I’ll admit I’m not sure how to traverse that boulder field—could take a few days, I imagine—and getting up and over the mountains would undoubtedly be difficult, but you told me yourself a few weeks ago that going through the forest wasn’t what you expected, and was actually comforting. What if the boulder field is the same way? And the mountains? We don’t know because we’ve never tried! The only thing in our way are the Guarders. And Perrin, what if you eliminated every last Guarder above Edge? If any survived, maybe they’re gone, or frightened of you. Can’t we take advantage of your success?”
Perrin continued to stare, absorbing only half of what she said. His voice was merely a low rumble when he finally spoke. “How long have you been thinking about this?”
“Getting to the other side? It’s been building in my mind for several moons now.”
“That’s a long time to think,” he replied with an unreadable expression.
Mahrree felt she was about to burst. “Perrin, tell me honestly: isn’t there any way to work with the remaining Guarders? Any way to get around them?”
“My wife, you are insane,” he whispered, searching her eyes for evidence. “Do you have any idea what you’re suggesting?”
“I do, and I’m not insane. Why do men assume women are unstable when they’re expecting or have just birthed?” she exclaimed. “We shed a few tears, fret for a bit, and you—and Dr. Brisack—” she sneered at his name, “conclude we’re going crazy, simply because we react differently than men.” She scoffed. “I’d love to see how a man would respond to the dramatic changes in his body if he were expecting. Frankly, I think our sex handles it and recovers remarkably well, and we emerge even more focused and determined!”
“So I see,” he murmured.
She exhaled. “Just . . . humor me for a few minutes. Please? Can we work with the Guarders?”
He twitched. “The ones I encountered in Raining Season weren’t interested in talking. They were interested in you.”
She swallowed at that, the same way she had repeatedly when he finally told her the truth about that night.
“But,” he continued reluctantly, “something new is going on in the trees. If it’s a result of last season or not, I really don’t know. It seems that there’s a lost Guarder. And he does talk. I have a new volunteer named Zenos who happened upon him quite by accident at the fresh spring, and for the past two weeks they’ve been talking. Since Zenos isn’t in uniform, the Guarder thinks he’s a local boy and he’s become quite eager to see him, especially since Zenos brings him food from the mess hall.”
Mahrree’s eyes grew big with expectation.
Perrin tried to shut it down as soon as he saw it. “But what you’re proposing is . . . is ridiculous! Unheard of!”
Jaytsy plopped down on her father’s legs and began to suck her thumb.
Mahrree sat up taller. “And? What does the Guarder say?”
Perrin shook his head. “Nothing really useful. He’s lost and confused and blathers on incoherently. Zenos tells me what he says, and it’s mostly nonsense. What I can tell you is . . .” He exhaled, obviously not wanting to divulge but likely feeling the need to be honest with her, “Zenos mentioned that the Guarder told him their women have many babies. Even as many as fifteen.”
Mahrree’s mouth dropped open so far that Peto’s fist could have fit neatly inside it. “Fifteen? That’s . . . that’s far more than I imagined, but I knew it! I read that report from the Office of Family—I’m sure they didn’t think anyone would take the time, but I did! And it said women couldn’t safely have more than two before causing permanent damage, but that doesn’t make any sense. Who have they studied to know this? Oh, but fifteen!” She fixated on the possibility. . .
Perrin noticed. He looked at her suspiciously as he ran his fingers through Jaytsy’s stringy light brown hair. She used his lap as a pillow. “Why does that interest you so much?”
“Because it’s proof!”
He shook his head, bewildered. “It’s proof of nothing, Mahrree. It’s from a disoriented Guarder who’s not the most reliable source of information. And if it were true, which I doubt, it demonstrates only that they’re uncivilized and cruel, destroying their women’s bodies to replenish their population. They give birth to creatures that attack us at night, steal our goods, and threaten our families. That’s why I kill them.”
Mahrree flinched. After a quiet moment she meekly said, “But they still have many children.”
Perrin scoffed. “And live in the wilderness, skirmishing among themselves, struggling to survive, watching their mates die, their children starve—”
His descriptions were too much, and yes—she was still feeling some irrational effects of birthing. “Stop it!” Mahrree exclaimed in a loud whisper.
Perrin clamped shut his mouth and analyzed his wife. “What is this all about, Mahrree?”
She couldn’t put it off any longer. Her time was growing short and the date was already set. “Perrin, what if I don’t take The Drink? What if we have a third baby instead? I don’t believe my body would be maimed or my mind destroyed. I just need to rest first, then—”
Perrin was suddenly right in her face, on all fours straddling her and glaring with horror and confusion.
Jaytsy, sprawled on the blanket, wondered what happened to her pillow.
“Mahrree Peto Shin, I must inform you that you are sounding at this moment like a traitor.” His voice was cold and fierce. “Not my wife. Not my wife!”
Mahrree had exp
ected this response. He played it out quite as she imagined he would. A part of him—Captain Shin—was loyal to the Administrators, and she knew the captain would rear up as soon as she confessed her idea. But she didn’t burst into tears or shrink away.
Perrin’s eyebrows furrowed in surprise at her lack of it. She was overly calm, like a crazed person who had been planning a bizarre scheme for seasons.
Which she had.
“Perrin,” she said steadily, “just consider it for a moment. The Writings tell us to bring more into the world so all can have an opportunity to go through The Test. We should have more children—”
“Why are you saying these things?!” he whispered severely, and looked around to see if anyone was near enough to hear.
“Because our ancestors had many more than two,” she insisted. “I’ve done the math, I know I’m right.”
He shook his head.
“The world began with one thousand and the Creator,” she said. “Then He paired them up to populate the land.”
“Yes,” he said slowly, trying to put his shock in his back pocket for a moment.
“Now, one thousand people means five hundred pairs. If they have an average of 6.5 children in each family—”
“Where did you get that number?” he demanded in a whisper.
She was a bit startled by his exclamation, but decided it was a natural reaction to the onslaught she was throwing at him. “It’s just an average, all right? You can say six then, or seven—”
“Still, six?!” he exclaimed hoarsely. “You can barely keep track of Jaytsy while Peto is feeding! How could anyone keep track of six children?”
She would not be deterred. “Couldn’t the older help take care of the younger?”
“I suppose,” he conceded, “but how would they know what to do?”
“Learn from their mothers? I don’t know. That’s not the point. Besides, some could have less, and some could have more.”
Perrin stared at her, wild-eyed.
“So at a rate of 6.5 children—I ran scenarios for four and eight as well,” she explained, “but this seems to be the most accurate average—”
“You really have been thinking about this.”
“There’s little else to do when I’m nursing a baby. So, 500 couples have 6.5 children for 3250 people. Pair them up for another generation and at 6.5 children per couple and that becomes about 10,500. The third generation at the same rate becomes around 34,000. The fourth generation is, what was it? Oh yes—110,500. Fifth generation means almost 360,000, and by the sixth generation we have over a million and one hundred thousand people. Give or take.”
Perrin only blinked.
“The Great War broke out during the seventh generation. Perrin, how many people were in the world then? Does the army have any good estimates?”
He shook his head slightly, catching up to her calculations and frantically trying to figure out the dangerous direction his wife was headed. “Uh, not any better than anyone else. Well over a million people. At least two hundred thousand died over those five years. If it weren’t for the war, we’d have far too many people now. One million is all the land can support.”
Mahrree ignored his rationale cultivated into him by his Idumean education. “Over one million people. The only way we got so many was because families were bigger. Now Perrin, consider this—what if the world is already supporting more than only us, just somewhere else? How many Guarders might there be?”
He thought for a moment. “Uh, no one’s sure. When they left there were maybe 2,000. But they can’t be more than 10,000 now, according to some of the estimates my father has been given. That’s still a large number to battle, especially if they arm their wives and children. That’s why we’re increasing the army to 15,000.”
“Has anyone ever encountered an armed woman or child?” she pressed.
Perrin paused. “No,” he admitted. “That’s the rumor, though.”
Mahrree was unimpressed. “Rumor. And since when do you believe in rumors?”
His eyes flared, and she realized she’d nudged awake the captain again. “Rumor, Mrs. Shin,” he said in a low growl, “was how we knew the Guarders were becoming active again. You might even say rumor is also how I found out about you being marked last season.”
Mahrree scrunched up her mouth, realizing she was losing that debate. So she shifted it. “Then I suppose you should also believe the rumor that Guarder women can have up to fifteen babies. So, with birth rates like that, might there not be more Guarders? Maybe even tens of thousands?”
“Surviving in the wilderness?” Perrin challenged back.
“Why not? Didn’t our ancestors live in a kind of wilderness at first and have many children?”
Perrin shook his head to clear out the fog. “Mahrree, what’s your point?”
“That the Creator made us capable of having more children!” she nearly exploded. “Families were much larger, but no one remembers or even thinks about that because all the family line records were destroyed. That fire can’t have been an accident. Querul the First did it on purpose, so generations later no one would remember what we once had.”
He stared at her with what she thought might have been fear. But having never seen fear before in him, she didn’t know how to interpret the look that tried to penetrate her mind. If she wasn’t holding her newborn she would have gripped his shoulders and shook him.
“It’s all a lie, Perrin, started by the kings and continued by the Administrators. I’ve searched The Writings and I can’t find anywhere that the Creator said, ‘And when this people has reached one million, cease to multiply.’ We’re only replacing now, and many couples aren’t even doing that. But we can! My body can—”
“Mahrree, Mahrree!” he whispered urgently. “You’ve got to stop! You don’t know what you’re saying—what you’re asking.” He wasn’t holding a baby, so he did grip her shoulders and shake her gently. “Everything you’re saying—you must realize—is traitorous. Please, Mahrree, if you love your family, just stop. Remember, the Administrators don’t care much for The Writings. I’ve heard Nicko Mal say that those who are believers have ceased being thinkers.”
That was the wrong thing to say.
Perrin’s face immediately registered his mistake as Mahrree began to fume. “That has to be the most illogical, stupid thing I’ve ever heard! We believe because we think. We choose to believe, which indicates a great deal of thought went into the decision. What—if Mal believes he has a mind, does that mean he no longer thinks with it? Obviously!”
She never was skilled at holding her tongue. Not even with her fingers.
But she had to shake off the narrow-mindedness of Nicko Mal to get back to her point. “But they’ve told us we can still believe. And is not continuing to multiply against our beliefs? Couldn’t we argue that we must follow our hearts?” she implored. “Besides, my mother had only one, and so did your mother. Think about this: what if we have the two they didn’t?”
His eyes nearly popped out. “Now you want four children?” he screamed in a whisper and looked around. It would have been much safer to have the conversation in the house.
In a closet.
Under a blanket.
Into a pillow.
“Woman, what is with you tonight?!”
“But couldn’t we make that argument?” she pushed. “That we want to have the children our mothers had a right to, but didn’t? With your father’s connections, couldn’t he get us permission from Brisack—”
He shook his head violently as if that would change the view he saw of his wife. It didn’t. “The High General challenging the Administrators?” he asked to make sure he heard her correctly.
“You defied them all by going into the forest again.”
“That was different! Mahrree, this . . . this—I can’t think of a worse idea! Do you know of anyone who deliberately had more than two children? I mean besides the occasional twins or triplets?”
“No, not really. But I think that’s because no one has tried—”
“No, it is not,” Perrin said darkly. “Many have tried. I don’t know about this village, but I’ve seen the families from other villages who’ve attempted it.”
A smile began to grow on Mahrree’s face. “So it’s possible?”
“No! It’s not!” Perrin repeated in a panicked hush. “Physically, maybe yes. But in no other way.”
He sighed and sat down in front of her.
“When I was in Command School, I served for a time in the King Oren’s courts building, as all future officers did. I saw several families come in with two children and a mother large with expecting. Mahrree, they were broken apart.” His voice became husky as he saw the tears building in her eyes. “A judge would evaluate the parents, always find them unfit to care for so many, and disband them. The father would be incarcerated for not ensuring his wife took The Drink—”
Mahrree’s chin began to quiver.
Perrin tenderly tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear. “The mother would be sent to a building which houses the mentally ill because she was unfit to care for any children. And their children—”
Tears were already streaking down Mahrree’s face.
“—the children and the new baby would be given to different sets of parents, people who found themselves unable to have babies. The Administrators merely took the kings’ Office of Family and put Dr. Brisack over it. Nothing there has changed.”
Mahrree sniffled. “The Roons claimed as their own a four-year-old only a few weeks ago,” she whispered. “The little girl said her family traveled to Idumea, but then they disappeared.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “Saysha was told the girl’s parents and younger brother were taken by Guarders. Guarder snatched. Oh Perrin, they weren’t, were they? Her mother may have been expecting again.”
He smoothed her hair. “Don’t tell Saysha your suspicions,” he warned her softly. “Just let her enjoy becoming a mother. That’s all that can be done now.” He kissed her cheek. “Do you understand why we can’t risk this? Even if my father mentions your idea we might be under suspicion. Our babies could still be taken. I love our children, too. Let’s be grateful we have them, and desire no more than we should.”
“Oh, I wish I could, but I can’t! Because I . . .” She faltered as she sobbed. She’d had it all figured out, too. It could have worked.
It could have . . .
But now?
“Because you what?” he asked quietly.
“Because I dream!” she burst out. “I dreamed the night we were engaged, and the night Jaytsy was born and again when Peto was born, and a few other times, too—Perrin, it sounds crazy, I know, but I was sitting with children all around me. And there was a huge house, with weathered gray wood, and window boxes and herb plants growing in them. We needed something so large for all the family. And there were mountains. And the children were ours. Over a dozen, I think. And I was so happy!”
Perrin’s face showed no new emotion. “Mahrree, a dream’s simply a dream. That it came on significant nights for you is, is, is . . . just a coincidence.”
Mahrree was stunned that he didn’t seem moved by her revelation. In fact, he seemed to think nothing of it at all, and that bothered her immensely. It’d been so important to her, so comforting, so exciting, so glorious—
“Are you sure it’s not a gift from the Creator?” she tried again. Maybe it was the captain that was in charge of his mind right now, not her husband. She had to find her Perrin again. “Are you sure a coincidence isn’t really a miracle? In The Writings there are accounts of people having dreams that came true.”
He sighed. “Mahrree, I don’t think it happens anymore. I like to believe they did, but now . . . have you heard of anyone recently dreaming, I mean, dreams with significance?”
“Oh Perrin, people don’t share such dreams lightly. It took me more than two years to dare tell mine to you.”
Perrin sighed again. “Tell me more about it. What else is there? Any landmarks, any activity?”
Mahrree hesitated, but he did seem open to the idea, even if only a little. “Well, there is something else. I guess this is the part that makes it seem truly unbelievable.” She paused before rushing out the words, “I was sitting in a garden, a big one, and I was weeding it and I was happy.”
Perrin burst out laughing, startling his daughter who was drifting off to sleep on the blanket. “Well there you have it! Ridiculous! What kind of garden was it?”
Mahrree sighed miserably as she confessed, “Vegetables.”
He grinned as if he’d just won a complicated game. “Ah, well, then. You know what it is? It’s your ‘condition’ playing tricks on you.” His smugness was insulting.
“I was not in my ‘condition’ when we became engaged!”
“Ah, but you were dreaming of the time you would be, right?” He smiled virtuously. “You went to bed that night dreaming of the day you could hold your own little baby. Come now, I know the minds of women well enough now.” Two years of marriage had apparently made him an expert.
Mahrree felt as if a crushing boulder had just rolled on top of her hope, and it made her chest tight and achy. “I hate to admit it, but that’s a bit true,” she murmured. “That night we decided to marry, I was thinking of you. Of a family.”
But the dreams had seemed so real, so vivid that she could even make out from which direction the sun hit the house. She couldn’t let it go so easily. “Do you really think it was only my imagination and coincidence?”
“Definitely,” he said in a tone that suggested she should never speak of it again.
“Now,” he continued, suddenly cheerful, “I propose we get these sleepy children in the house and catch a nap ourselves before Peto’s next feeding which should happen, by my estimation, in seventeen minutes.”
And just like that, it was over.
Her dream house, her garden, her hopes for more children—all of it wiped away as if it were merely a drawing in the dirt.
Perrin the deluge destroyed it all.
Well, not so much him, she admitted grudgingly as the ache in her chest sharpened into genuine pain. It was the Administrators, it was their world—it was everyone. He was simply reminding her of all the obstacles that stood in the way. He didn’t create them, just pointed them out.
Still, couldn’t he have looked a bit harder for a way around them?
She watched Perrin as he gently scooped up his little girl, wrapped her in the blanket, and kissed her sleeping form. Mahrree loved him, she was sure of that. But he seemed further away tonight. Not so much the most perfect man in the world.
She almost forgave him as he tenderly carried Jaytsy into the house. But she couldn’t let this go.
Women have lists in their brains that keep a tally of everything, and in Mahrree’s mind appeared again: “Ways in which Perrin’s mind is not like mine.” Underneath Dogs are better than cats, and Boots do belong on the eating table, Mahrree recorded, Dreams are nonsense.
They didn’t talk much that evening after Perrin put Jaytsy to bed. Just brief, civil exchanges before he went to his study. And during Peto’s last feeding Mahrree fell into a deep sleep, fed by exhaustion mixed with despair.
There was nothing she could do about the date, already set for next week. The midwives had made the appointment when they reported to Idumea the names of all the women who had recently birthed a second time. A coach carrying an assistant from Family Life and several vials of The Drink would stop at a small, windowless building just outside the market, as it did every two weeks.
Mahrree had seen the assistant’s arrival a couple of times before. She was a brutish woman, nearly as large as Perrin, likely chosen because she was both female—allegedly—and powerful enough to strong-arm any woman who had a sudden last minute change of heart.
Mahrree had also seen the mothers waiting for their turns, usually a handful each time. Some were there voluntar
ily after their first babies, not wanting to endure the experience of birthing again. But none of them ever looked up, as if some oppressive and invisible hand forced their heads down to inspect the gravel at their feet. Then they were ushered, one at a time, into the building accompanied by their own mothers, grandmothers, or the occasional brave husband.
The mothers didn’t look any different coming out again after swallowing down a concoction of bitter herbs and a burning liquid, the brutal recipe created by Dr. Brisack. The effects didn’t occur for about another hour, Mahrree had been told. That’s why the women went straight home, because the brew soon made its way into the womb and cramped into a useless nothingness.
Perrin had said the Guarders were cruel to force their women to have so many children, but she was sure that deliberately killing the part of her body that made new life was crueler.
Now she was rethinking her decision to have Perrin accompany her, with his current attitude, instead of her mother.
Then again, while Hycymum had been most attentive and helpful during birthing, she also had a way of multiplying Mahrree’s anxiety. Being concerned about each pain was one thing, but gasping in worry and rushing to horrible conclusions was quite another. Hycymum meant well, but Mahrree was quite sure that the constant reassurance that everything was going to be all right was supposed to go from grandmother to birthing mother, not the other way around.
Maybe, Mahrree thought glumly as her heavy head nodded that night, she’d just go by herself to take The Drink. She already felt utterly alone. Perrin hadn’t bothered to come to bed yet either, nor would he. They’d done too much fighting that night to consider anything like an argument.
As she drifted off to sleep, her infant tucked securely next to her, she didn’t know that a candle remained lit until the small hours of the night on their eating table until it eventually extinguished itself.
Nor did she know that her copy of The Writings and old maps lay open next to several pages filled with dates, calculations, cross outs, notes, and more calculations.
Nor did she realize that Perrin snored peacefully with his head on the table, and a quill balanced in his fingers.
Early in the dark morning, Mahrree padded wearily down the stairs in search of clean changing cloths. Both children were in her bed, again. It was simply easier to keep Peto within arm’s reach during the night, and now Jaytsy was braving the dark to climb the stairs and scale the side of the massive bed to sleep with her parents. While the bed was big enough for eight soldiers, it somehow wasn’t large enough for two small children when they stretched and rolled, pushing their parents to the very edges.
That was likely the real reason Perrin hadn’t come to bed. Jaytsy had kicked him so hard a few weeks ago she actually bruised her father’s ribs. He felt safer on the small sofa.
In the light that poured into the side window from the full Greater moon, Mahrree saw him sprawled on the sofa, snoring softly. She made a mental note that they should buy something that could accommodate his long legs and broad shoulders.
As she turned by the table she saw The Writings and notes. Why all of those were out, she couldn’t imagine, and she didn’t really care right then. She had only a few minutes before her babies would be waking and . . .
She found herself turning back to the table. Noiselessly she shifted the papers and bent closer to make out the notations in the dim light. Something softened in her aching chest as she read Perrin’s writing and recognized the other pages.
References to The Writings.
Calculations of Guarder population growth in varying circumstances.
Minimum dimensions of land needed to house different populations.
Maps from his collection.
Calculations of the world population, before and after the Great War.
The words weathered gray and window boxes.
Mahrree looked at Perrin. She was tempted to rush over and kiss him, but knew he needed the sleep almost as much as she did.
Her husband. That’s who he was right now. Captain Shin had been there the night before, growling at her like a rabid wolf, but he was gone now. She lived with two men, both too large to be contained in one body at the same time.
Captain Shin had stood on the podium shouting at her during the debates, but it was Perrin she fell in love with away from the platform.
Captain Shin was the man with the sword and the barely-controlled temper raging through the forests, but Perrin was the man who pulled his babies out of her arms the moment after he took off his uniform jacket.
Captain Shin was the one who declared her thoughts traitorous, but Perrin was the one who tried to see if anything could be done about her dreams.
She could live with both of them, as long as Perrin was around more than the officer. She pulled out her mental list and did her best to blot out Dreams are nonsense as she took the clean cloths back upstairs.
Nothing had changed, she knew. There was no more hope for her or for a bigger family. The Drink was still in her near future. But she felt as if her husband had spent the night lifting off that crushing boulder and heaving it away as far as he could. Granted, he couldn’t send it, but he had tried.
She got up again an hour later as the sun was rising, and carried both babies down the stairs balanced on each hip. The pain in her chest had subsided to a dull ache, but she could live with that. Not surprisingly, the eating table was completely cleared and Perrin snored in a new position on the sofa.
She smiled sweetly at him and dropped his babies on his chest.
“Let me guess,” he mumbled as he slowly opened his eyes and put a steadying hand on each child. “It’s morning already.”
“According to some farm animals, yes.” She bent over and kissed him.
He grinned sleepily. “Mm, not that we have any time to argue, but I’m curious—what was that for?”
“For being my husband.”
---
Perrin struggled to sit up with his children—his baby cradled in one arm while his toddler sat unhelpfully on his belly—as his wife went into the kitchen to start breakfast. He righted himself and glanced in a quick panic at the table, then sighed when he remembered he had already cleaned up his work.
He didn’t need her seeing it. Not again.
No one would see his calculations and notes again, now smoldering on the hearth.
He couldn’t shake Hogal’s words to him in Raining Season, right after he was injured. Hogal had said that not only was the Refuser after Perrin, but his family, too. And why?
Because Mahrree could someday prove to be a very dangerous woman.
Perrin had thought maybe some year, or decade, but not within a few moons! But there it was: Mahrree could see what no else bothered to look at. She already was the most dangerous woman in the world.
That’s why Perrin burned all his notes. He didn’t need written evidence of that lying around.
Her calculations had been correct. Her suggestions of how many Guarders there could be somewhere else, even at conservative birthrates, were staggering. And there was nothing he could do about it, he realized. Maybe send some of the ideas to his father to suggest 15,000 in the army might not be enough. But the notion of going somewhere else? Exploring? Increasing their own family size?
People simply weren’t supposed to think like that. There were rules and limits to their world—
Why was he suddenly thinking like an administrator?
For a brief moment he envisioned his grandfather glaring at him in disappointment. Wasn’t it General Pere Shin who told him to go over the wall, invade the forest, do what no one else could do?
Perrin did many things no one else had done, but he simply couldn’t do this. There was no way he could find to successfully fulfill Mahrree’s dreams. He tried most of the night, but no possibility he entertained ended happily.
Everything ended in Idumea.
He adjusted his small children on his lap and kissed eac
h one of them as they stared up at him with eyes far too wide awake for such an early hour. One pair was a dark chestnut brown, the other pair was pale blue, turning gray.
Annoy and anger the Refuser.
According to Hogal, these two soft little faces would someday annoy and anger the Refuser. Perrin sighed at his babies and tried to smile. Maybe Hogal was mistaken. He’d been up the entire night before he told Perrin his impressions of his family, and he must have been exhausted. Perrin and his family were no threats to anyone—
But the words sounded hollow in his mind. Rector Hogal Densal, in all his 82 years, was never wrong. And he had dreams too. He’d never told his nephew exactly how he knew the Refuser had a personal grudge against lowly Perrin Shin, but Hogal’s dreams were so vivid he couldn’t deny them.
And now Mahrree was having dreams.
But to Perrin they were nightmares.