by Trish Mercer
Chapter 5 ~ “They made us watch how a worm moves.”
It was so late in Harvest Season that the Celebration was last week, but mercifully the Rainy Season storms had yet to arrive. That meant Mahrree could still take her babies outside in the cool but sunny afternoon.
Jaytsy, wearing a new sweater knitted in such a wild pattern that only her Grandmother Peto could have designed and named it pays-lee, picked dried weeds and tossed them over the low fence. Mahrree sat on her front porch holding Peto, who had just dozed off. Maybe that was thanks to the blanket he was wrapped in that looked suspiciously like the same dark blue wool used exclusively for dress uniforms, compliments of Grandmother Shin.
The sky was such an intense blue that it had shades of purple in it. The trees along the road, with the last of their yellow and orange leaves still clinging to the branches, stood out against the sky as a vivid complement. Mahrree pointed out the blueness of the sky to her daughter, but her nineteen-moons-old girl was far more interested in the dirt. Her almost six-moons-old son smiled in his sleep.
That was good enough for Mahrree; she thought nothing could be more ideal than that moment. It took a long time to get there, though.
Peto was wearing his third dirt-colored dressing gown of the day because he didn’t like the mashed anything Mahrree tried to feed him. While Peto continuously spat out his food his mother tried so hard to keep in him, Jaytsy was in the kitchen experimenting to see what was in each of the eggs they had gathered from the neighbors’ chickens the day before. It wasn’t until Jaytsy was on the eleventh egg that Mahrree realized that her daughter had been quiet for some time.
Her parents had already learned the hard way that silence from a toddler was never a good thing.
After Mahrree had cleaned up the mess—Jaytsy helpfully pointing out sections of the kitchen her mother had missed and saying, “Ewwww! Ucky”—Mahrree heard Peto fussing. He had learned at that moment how to roll continuously. Although Mahrree had left Peto securely in his napping blankets, he was now in the study, stuck underneath a chair.
While Mahrree rescued and comforted her startled son, Jaytsy announced another “Ewww!” and led Mahrree to a new spot in the gathering room she ‘accidentally’ left. Mahrree realized then that she was out of clean washing cloths and trudged out to the washing rack in the back yard, with both children in her arms to prevent any new developments, in search of something dirty to mop up the latest spill.
That’s when she decided it was time for her daily break.
Shortly before Jaytsy was born someone had told her that quitting her teaching job would leave her with too much time on her hands and no real purpose. She was still waiting for that time because every day held some kind of surprise, usually good, but occasionally revolting. And not all caused by the children.
As Mahrree sat soaking up the last of the sunny weather, she glanced over at the black blob resting under a twiggy bush. That surprise had been one of the worst.
Three moons ago Perrin came home a little later than usual with a large item in his arms wrapped in an old army blanket. Through the wavy glass Mahrree couldn’t quite tell what it was, but when she opened the back door for him she gasped. “No!”
“Ah, Mahrree . . . give it a chance.” He pulled back part of the blanket and immediately Mahrree recoiled.
“What is that?”
He chuckled. “What do you think it is?”
“Perrin—a bear cub? Are you insane? How can the children—”
“It’s not a bear cub. It’s a puppy!”
“That’s a, a, a puppy?” she stammered. Its head was as large as hers, the black muzzle remarkably bear-like, the eyes were dark and droopy, and the ears floppy . . .
Bears didn’t have floppy ears.
But puppies were supposed to be small, the size of a cat at most, and not so large so that her brawny husband strained under the weight of it.
He set the ‘puppy’ on the ground and finished unwrapping it to reveal a completely black animal with ragged fur. It looked up at Mahrree with the most forlorn eyes she had ever seen.
She decided that was one conniving creature.
“Look at his paws. See how large they are?” Perrin said eagerly. “That means he has to grow into them, so he’s still only a puppy.”
Mahrree swallowed. The paws were as large as her hands. “Where did this come from?”
“Well, Private Zenos found him along the canal all alone and filthy. Looks pretty sad, doesn’t he? We washed him up, dried him with the blanket here, and I think all he needs is some love and food, right boy?” He bent over and scratched the creature behind the ears.
It looked up at him with dripping eyes.
Mahrree’s upper lip curled. “And to think I liked Private Zenos. Thanks for nothing, Messenger. Are we supposed to keep it?”
Perrin beamed. “He’ll be a great watch dog! I’m going to name him Barker. Now you and the children will always be safe. Any Guarder passing our garden will think twice about coming in when he sees an animal like that!”
“Now I’m thinking twice about staying here with an animal like that,” she murmured.
“He’ll grow on you,” Perrin assured her as he petted the beast that trembled nervously in his new surroundings.
“Uh-huh,” Mahrree said dubiously. “He’ll grow on me, over me, around me . . .”
Perrin squatted by the animal masquerading as a dog. “Look at that face, Mahrree. How can you send it back out in the cold?”
“It was hot enough today to cook bacon on the cobblestones.”
Perrin scrunched up his face to look remarkably like the animal, his dark eyes nearly as pitiful and pleading.
Mahrree exhaled. “You train it, clean up after it, and don’t make me touch it.”
“You won’t regret this!” Perrin grinned as he kissed her.
In the past season she regretted the thing every day. Especially when Jaytsy began to discover some of its droppings that Perrin hadn’t yet cleaned up. At least all it ever did was sleep and eat whatever Peto flung on the floor, licking the wood with such fastidiousness that he would soon create a groove around Peto’s baby chair.
And so far, he was a remarkably silent dog. But someday he would live up to his name, and then Mahrree would announce it was time for him to go.
Undoubtedly Barker knew that, so he never made a sound.
The animal, now twice as large and still growing, looked up at her as if trying to understand her glare for his adding to the messes she had to clean up each day. There was absolutely no malice in the dog’s eyes. Just pleading for acceptance.
Mahrree nodded at it once—the most she could manage—and Barker put his head back down to enjoy the last of the fair weather. Mahrree rolled her eyes at him and looked back up at the road.
A child was heading toward the main fort road, one of her former morning students.
“Hello, Mr. Hili!” she called cheerfully. “Where are you off to on this glorious afternoon?”
Qualipoe smiled and bounded up to her house. He let himself in the gate and awkwardly accepted the weed Jaytsy offered him.
Barker didn’t even twitch his nose at someone coming in the gate. Guard dog, indeed.
“You don’t have to eat Jaytsy’s weed, even though she finds them tasty,” Mahrree assured Qualipoe.
He nodded in relief. “I’m going to watch the soldiers do their drilling,” he said as he came and sat down on the steps below Mahrree. Immediately he stood back up, brushed the stones carefully free of any dirt, and sat down again.
Mahrree had wondered about his clothing as he had approached. Under his woolen jacket was a shirt of shimmering pale yellow that set off his light brown skin, and his pants were a dark fabric more tightly woven and finely spun than Perrin’s dress uniform. Even his thick black hair was carefully combed. Qualipoe sat stiffly.
“I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a fine set of clothing before, Poe.”
H
e sighed as heavily as his nine-year-old lungs would allow. “It’s called an outfit,” he explained. “And I’m not supposed to get it dirty.”
Mahrree cringed in sympathy. “Kind of hard to throw dirt clods in, I guess.”
“Yes,” he said miserably.
“May I ask why you are wearing such nice clothing?”
“Because it’s what everyone at the seaside villages is wearing this season.”
“So,” Mahrree ventured, “why do you think you’re wearing it? We’re days away from the sea, and people usually visit it only once in their lives.”
He looked at her with dismay. “Obviously you haven’t been out to the new shops,” he said in a sophisticated tone that startled Mahrree. “This is what everyone is wearing now. Except you.”
Mahrree nodded amusedly and fingered the rounded collar on his shirt. “No, I haven’t been out much lately. That feels amazing, I must admit. What’s it called?”
“I think it’s silk.”
“I’ve heard of silk, but never saw any before. Guess it’s finally arrived in Edge.”
“It’s really gross to think about,” said Poe, pulling a face. “It’s actually worm droppings, or something like that.”
Mahrree’s fingers immediately stopped moving on the collar. “I think it may be something a little different than that,” she suggested as she let the collar go.
“All I know is, I can’t play. I have to sit and look like a handsome young man.”
“That is a burden,” Mahrree agreed. “Is that what your mother said before she sent you out this afternoon?”
“It’s what she said before she went to work and I left for school. She said she’d be home by dinner time.”
That troubled Mahrree. She knew Poe’s mother had started working since her son was now in the new Full School system implemented in Edge, ‘only as trial basis,’ the Administrators had assured. About half of the parents had signed up their children, and soon after began working further from home. But she hadn’t expected this development.
“No one’s home for you right now? You’re all alone?”
“I’m sitting here with you,” he said brightly. “And I’m going to meet my friends at the fort.”
“Still, that’s a bit of a walk from your home. You know, you can stay here with me until dinner time. We can talk.”
“Talk about what?”
“Oh, all kinds of things. What are you learning about in school?”
“Angles,” he said glumly.
“Ooh, angles are important. You can measure things with angles and you certainly can’t make a proper catapult without understanding angles.”
“We’re not making catapults this year. We’re just talking about them.” He kicked the dirt by his shoe.
“Not making them!” Mahrree was aghast. Catapult Day was a village tradition that was coming up in only two weeks. “Well, how are you going to launch the gourds this year?”
“We’re not. Remember last year, when one of the girls got hit with a piece of pumpkin and cried and cried and cried?”
“Yeesss.” Mahrree didn’t like the direction this was going. “It didn’t even leave a mark,” she remembered.
Getting hit on Catapult Day was an unwritten tradition. You were truly a member of the village if you caught a bit of vegetative shrapnel. While the event was officially a day for the children from all the schools to come together and put into practice elements of math and science they learned over the year, much of the village would sit alongside the field with their offerings of spoiled gourds and vegetables to be thrown. Picnics were brought by mothers and friendly bets were placed by grandparents.
Often the extensive participation of the fathers revealed that little of the catapults were their children’s designs. But since the purpose was to observe how all kinds of forces worked, including the force of competitiveness, the teachers had long since turned a blind eye to parental involvement.
During the Great War, catapults had been used to throw rocks from one village toward the approaching soldiers of another. At times the fighting became so desperate that villages threw gourds, melons, and even an occasional piece of ugly furniture.
After the war the catapults were destroyed by King Querul, hoping that such weaponry would never again be needed. A couple of decades later some teachers in the northern villages, intrigued by the mathematical properties of the catapults, helped their students create small-scale devices to learn about angles.
Only Edge, Mountseen, Moorland, Quake, and Scrub held Catapult Day, and the Army of Idumea never saw a reason to be concerned with a village’s ability to throw an eggplant over one hundred paces.
Three years ago Mahrree was hit by an entire acorn squash when a catapult was prematurely released while she was measuring the distance of a thrown melon. No one took blame—or credit—for the launch. She had an enormous bruise on her thigh for weeks that caused her walk with a noticeable limp. She wore it as a badge of honor.
Two years ago at Perrin’s first Catapult Day, she conspired to have him hit. He had appeared at the competition astride a horse and looking very official. Since the abandoned fields were adjacent to the fort, he told Mahrree he was there as a goodwill gesture to the village, but she knew he was actually intrigued by the designs, and a bit envious of the fathers manning the catapults.
Despite the efforts of many children and even more adults, he successfully dodged each hastily launched item. By the end of the day the new objective was no longer to send a spent vegetable the farthest, but to find a way to hit the captain.
Last year he showed up halfway through the competition on a horse and brandished his sword to fight off attacking zucchini.
Mahrree didn’t say it to Poe, who was already disappointed, that she couldn’t imagine her children not experiencing Catapult Day. Maybe something could still be done . . .
“So they’re not having it because a girl was crying?” Mahrree tried to clarify. She noticed Jaytsy experimentally taste a bug. Maybe she’d feel more protective of her children and fret about every little thing as they got older. But wasn’t life an adventure that should be experienced in every way not certain to end in death?
Jaytsy spat out the bug and next tried a leaf.
“We don’t want anyone to get hurt,” Poe explained in the same tone it was probably told to him. “Besides, it takes a lot of time to plan and get stuff together, parents have to help out a lot and that’s a problem because lots are working, so it’s just not that important.”
Helping their children not important? “Who decided this?”
“Some old man. From the department.”
“You mean the Department of Instruction? In Idumea?” Mahrree wondered why their arm reached so far north.
“He said that since we weren’t going to be tested on it, it wasn’t something we had to do. They might bring it back next year, though.”
“So if you’re not to be tested on it, you do not have to learn about it. I understand,” Mahrree lied.
The testing Captain Shin had warned Edge about at their first debate had been, according to the Administrators, such a success in its first year that all children throughout the world were to have the ‘opportunity’ to take it as well.
Mahrree still didn’t understand how the test was deemed successful. Did it improve the students’ learning? Expose problems? Unsurprisingly, there hadn’t been any explanation on the notice boards, but a vague and enthusiastic announcement that, Full School and testing were successful!!! And it was spreading to all villages!!! And all children could participate!!!
And Mahrree wondered if they had asked a teenage girl to write the notice because she’d never seen so many exclamation points used before!!!
Only a few parents came to Mahrree asking her opinion about Full School and seeking assurance that this new program was only temporary. But she and Perrin knew nothing about it.
Yet everyone else seemed to believe that Full School was
the way to go. It was as if parents were so willing to see the Administrators succeed that they embraced every new idea without concern. Mahrree worried about such unquestioned unity. No one, as far as she knew, had debated the testing or Full School. In fact, debate was discouraged; the Administrators told all of the villages they didn’t need to ‘waste their time’ discussing the decision but only accept it, for now.
The only times Mahrree had heard people claim that debating a particular issue was a waste of time was when they knew they would lose that debate.
Even Perrin had been surprised at the swiftness with which Full School and testing had come to Edge. He confided to Mahrree that he couldn’t imagine the Administrators loosening their hold in education once they had it. If all the parents agreed to let the Administrators ‘help,’ eventually they could have more influence over the rising generation than their parents. It was an excellent tactic for establishing loyalty to the government: win over the children when they’re the most vulnerable.
Mahrree had noted with satisfaction that Perrin was disturbed by this strategy, rather than impressed with it.
“There they are!” Poe’s call brought Mahrree out of her thoughts. He brightened as he saw two of his friends making their way down the road. One of them had a silky shirt like Poe’s, but in purple. He was a violet looking for trouble.
“You’re going to just sit properly on the fence, right?” Mahrree reminded him. “Come back tomorrow, Poe, and tell me more of what’s going on in our edge of the world.”
He smiled. “I will Miss Mahrree. You’re good to talk to.” He patted sleeping Peto on the head and took another proffered weed from Jaytsy before hopping over the fence.
Just before dinner Mahrree looked out of the window to see Perrin walking down the road with Qualipoe and his friends. They each had a long stick and were practicing parrying and thrusting as they made their way.
In front of the house Perrin stopped to give them additional pointers. The boys saluted sloppily and ran home. Mahrree smiled to think they found something they could do without getting dirty.
Perrin came in the house and immediately swept up his little girl. “Did you see those boys’ shirts?” he asked as he kissed Jaytsy on the cheek. “I haven’t seen something that fancy since I left Idumea. The poor boys looked miserable.”
“But handsome,” Mahrree pointed out.
Perrin huffed. “What little boy wants to be handsome?”
“That’s not the worst of it,” and she told him about Catapult Day.
Perrin was crestfallen. “I was going to bring Private Zenos this year. I told him all about it when we were mapping some of the forest’s edge. He’s a bit of a food thrower himself, from what I’ve seen in the mess hall. What are they going to do with all that rotten vegetation? It was kind of fun to see what would grow in that field the next year.”
“You’re missing the point—these children can’t experiment because it takes time and isn’t going to be tested on anyway, and someone might get hurt!”
Perrin stopped and considered that. “I thought getting hurt was part of being a child. At least, part of being a boy.”
Mahrree paused. “Getting hurt intentionally is not part of it,” and noticed that the look his face suggested otherwise.
The next afternoon she was ready when Qualipoe bounded by again. He grinned as he saw her and readily sat on the porch stairs.
After first wiping them clean, of course.
“Tell me the news, Poe,” Mahrree greeted him.
“Nothing too exciting,” Poe reported. “We’re getting ready for tests from Idumea and it’s really dumb.”
“What kind of tests?”
“Tests to see if Full School is succeeding.”
“I guess that sounds important,” Mahrree nodded. “But you’ve only been doing it for a full season now.”
“It sounds boooring!” Poe said loudly, startling the baby. “Sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s all right,” Mahrree assured him as Peto fell back to sleep. “Why is it boring?”
“Because all we do all day is write down things. And what things mean. We never talk about things like we did when you were our teacher. We just have to remember the things we write down. Boring.”
“But when you have the discussions, you certainly—”
His head, slowly shaking, stopped her.
“You don’t have discussions? What about debating?”
He kept shaking his head sadly.
“Well, surely you must still act out—”
His head didn’t stop moving.
“No more play acting? Building models! You must be still building models of everythin—”
Her voice trailed off when she saw that Poe’s eyes were absolutely dismal.
“Drawing?”
Poe’s shoulders sagged.
“Singing?” Not that it was her favorite, but many of the children liked songs. And whatever was good for the children—
Poe didn’t even look at her.
“Experiments?” Oh, they had to still do experiments, with so many hours in school—
Poe sighed heavily. “They made us watch how a worm moves.”
Mahrree shrugged. Not the most creative project, but, “At least when you went outside.”
“They didn’t let us outside,” he droned drearily. “They brought the worm—only one worm—into the class and set it on a desk. Then it wouldn’t move.”
Mahrree frowned.
A small smile dared to grace Poe’s face. “Then a teacher started poking it to make it move. He poked it so much, it broke in two!”
Mahrree cringed. That should have at least provoked a few laughs, she thought. And when children laughed, they remembered the lesson. “Well, I suppose that was interesting—”
“It wasn’t! Right after that they sent us back to our desks to write about what should have happened,” Poe scoffed in disgust. “That stinking blob you grew a long time ago moved a lot more than that stupid worm.”
Mahrree smiled. “You still remember the blob?”
“I still have bad dreams about that!” He grinned and shivered with delight. “I bet that blob could have eaten that worm!”
They both laughed, happy for the opportunity.
Then, just as quickly, Poe’s face fell again. “It’s nothing like that anymore, like when you were my teacher. It’s all day long now. They don’t even let us outside. Too distracting, or something like that. We even eat midday meal at our desks.”
Mahrree was almost in tears for the poor boy. How can children learn by merely sitting and copying words? No, that couldn’t be all of it. “So you sit and . . .”
“Copy what they write down,” he droned.
Well, maybe that was all of it.
“What about questions?” she wondered.
“Get this—they ask US the questions!”
“What?”
“Yeah, like they can’t remember what they just told us. I asked a question once, and the teacher said not to worry about it because it wasn’t on the test. And Miss Mahrree, it’s so boring that I stopped thinking of questions to ask my teachers. There are four now, too.”
“What are their names?” She hadn’t talked to the other teachers since Jaytsy was born, but she could track them down and see if something couldn’t be improved.
Poe didn’t even bother to give that a complete shrug, but simply a little shoulder shake. “Don’t know. Some people from Idumea. Specially trained to start Full School.”
Mahrree rolled her eyes. “Oh, specially trained, are they?” The hair on the back of her neck rose up. Anyone from Idumea, and specially trained, deserved a great deal of scrutiny and cynicism.
Poe looked at her worriedly. He must have heard the sarcasm in her voice, but didn’t know what it meant. Something like nervous loyalty hovered in his eyes. “Captain Shin was specially trained in Idumea too, wasn’t he?”
She had to smile at that. “Yes he was, Poe.
Thank you for reminding me. Captain Shin was trained by other people, though, and you can certainly trust him.”
Poe smiled, pleased that the respect he felt for the captain could grow into full blown hero worship.
But Mahrree’s shoulders drooped as she thought about Poe’s days. Something was dreadfully wrong if children didn’t have questions.
“You know, I have to agree that Full School sounds boring,” she said. “But I think I have a solution for you. You need something interesting to read.” When he pulled a face as if he had smelled Jaytsy’s changing cloths, she nudged him with her elbow. “No, really, I was pulling out some of my favorite stories from when I was your age for Jaytsy, and I have a few you’d enjoy.”
Poe looked at Jaytsy. She was putting her finger in her mouth, then drawing in the dirt with it. “What will she do with stories, lick them?”
“True, she’s a little young still, but you aren’t. I have one you’ll like, with all kinds of theories about the world, how it moves in the sky, what keeps it from falling—”
“We already talked about that in school. Where the world came from? It was like a big explosion,” he said flatly. “Stars, moons, sun. Boom—all that. Had to memorize it. Boring.”
Mahrree thought about his brief explanation. She hadn’t heard that one before. “Alright . . . and what were the other stories they told you?”
Poe frowned. “That’s the only one. The only right one.”
“The only right one?” Mahrree exclaimed, forgetting about her sleeping baby.
Poe seemed almost apologetic. “It’s so that we know what the right answer is. For the test.”
Mahrree scoffed loudly, and amazingly her son slept through it. “Who decides what story is the right one?” she demanded of the world in general. “What professor or administrator has the nerve to declare how things really are? What’s the point of having a populace that thinks exactly like everyone else? They really want us to be as dull and non-thinking as mules?”
But only a little boy with a worried expression on his face was there, his lip curling in dread that she was actually expecting him to answer that.
“Uhh . . .”
“Sorry, Poe,” she said with a weak smile. “Don’t mind me. I’m just an old lady, rambling.”
“Whew,” he sighed in relief and nodded in agreement.
Mahrree chuckled to herself. Nine-year-olds were agonizingly honest. “Did they at least teach about the version in The Writings?”
Poe pondered for a moment—this was something he could answer—then shook his head.
“I can’t believe they didn’t teach all the stories,” Mahrree grumbled under her breath. “Supposed to let you draw your own conclusions—”
“What kind of stories?” Poe interrupted her cautiously.
“Oh you remember,” she told him and hoped that he did, “like the one about how a large man holds the world on his back, or—”
“Wait, wait. No man really holds the world on his back, Miss Mahrree.”
“Well, of course not. It’s only a story, see? It’s something to make you think of different possibilities. Like the theory that the world is dragged by a large elephant, bear, turtle or squirrel, depending on the time of year.”
Poe looked at her as if she was an idiot. “Now that’s just silly.” But he couldn’t help himself. “Squirrels? How big?”
Mahrree smiled sadly. “You really don’t remember this? Well, it was three years ago.” And he was only six then, she thought dejectedly, so it’s not unexpected that he forgets if he’s not reminded—
“Wait, Miss Mahrree,” Poe interrupted her brooding, “Elephants? I seem to remember something about elephants.”
Mahrree smiled with tentative hope. “Those were some of the beasts that are mythological.”
When Poe’s face indicated he was lost in the syllables of that word, Mahrree clarified. “Pretend. But we’re really not sure. You see, Terryp, the man who wrote the stories of how the world moves, wasn’t just an old story teller. He was a historian. We talked a little about him in school.”
Disappointingly, Poe’s face still didn’t register any memory, so Mahrree backtracked. “A long time ago, over one hundred twenty years now when our land was becoming too crowded during the Great War, we sent scouts to the west looking for new places to live. Terryp went with them as their recorder. After weeks of traveling they came upon the ruins: big ancient stone buildings, crumbling and falling apart. But many of them still stood seven and eight levels high. Terryp was fascinated by the carvings on the great stones. What he found was astonishing—representations of things none of us have ever seen. He wrote down every character in their writing, and traced every strange beast and shape. The scouts continued to search the surrounding areas, but Terryp refused to leave the ruins. There was so much he didn’t know and desperately wanted to study. So the scouts would go out during the day and return to their camp at night to find he was still writing. He wrote so much that he even ran out of paper and started taking notes on his clothing and the clothing of the scouts.”
Poe’s eyes were enormous. “I bet the scouts didn’t like him writing on them,” he said soberly. “Their mothers would get very angry.”
Mahrree nodded and suppressed a smile. “You’re right, they did not like it. They thought he was losing his mind. He wouldn’t sleep, he wouldn’t eat. He would merely mumble as he ran from stone to stone. Sometimes he would cry out and jump up and down in excitement.”
“Like I do on the last day of school!”
Mahrree was momentarily diverted by that comment, but then decided she’d feel that way too if she were forced into Full School. “Well, all right, I suppose. But Terryp felt a need to understand what he saw, and he couldn’t waste a moment. When he began to write on his flesh in desperation for a way to record all that he saw, the scouts were convinced something evil was in that place and making him crazed. They decided that since he was the only one among the ruins all day long, only his mind was affected. I’m sorry to say that they hit him over the head and dragged him away. By the time he woke up, he was two days’ ride away from the ruins and in extremely poor health. He nearly died from being so tired and hungry.”
“He nearly died from trying to write down what he saw?” Poe asked in astonishment.
“He nearly died from trying to understand what he thought might be new truths,” she clarified. “Things he thought could benefit everyone. People have given up their lives for far less important matters than that.”
Poe was silent for a moment. “So Terryp saw elephants?”
“He saw carvings of them, on the ruins. And he wondered, why would there be carvings of something pretend? We’ve always had stories of elephants and other fantastic beasts, but here were actual pictures made by someone who may have seen them. Terryp saw depictions that showed twenty people could sit on top of one elephant!”
Poe was completely awestruck.
Mahrree continued, “They had these long noses that water could come out of, and ears taller than you, and it seemed like they could flap. Terryp wondered if maybe they could fly like an enormous insect. Maybe the people that lived there even flew away on the elephants.”
“That would help keep the world up, wouldn’t it?” Poe considered. “Big flying elephants?”
“Maybe,” Mahrree said. “And those weren’t the only animals he saw.”
Poe’s eyes lit up even more, if that were possible. “What else?”
“He saw drawings of tall animals with long necks that could eat from the tops of trees.”
“Wow!” he breathed.
It was at moments like these that Mahrree missed teaching. Oh, there was so much to tell him, and Full School—fool school—had no idea how to do it.
But it really was easy. Since children naturally enjoy learning, simply lay before them the world with all its mystery and wonder, and they’ll gobble it up. No need to force-feed it.
“There were horse
s that had stripes,” Mahrree continued, her own enthusiasm building when she considered how eagerly her own children would feast on these stories in a few years, “and—”
“I remember, I remember!” Poe cried, jumping to his feet. “There were those hairy little things, with long tails that would swing from tree to tree! Like little fuzzy children!”
“Yes!” Mahrree grinned. She knew having them act out the animals would help them remember. Poe had been a perfect mon-kee when he was six. He had laughed, and he had remembered.
“Now why don’t they teach us things like that at school,” Poe said, his grin fading, “instead of just making us remember boring things over and over?”
His question stung Mahrree. She didn’t know how to answer him, but he deserved a response. “We did teach those things, and you’re supposed to be learning them again, in greater detail. I’ll be sure to ask the parents if you can discuss Terryp,” she promised.
“Oh, you won’t have to worry about that,” Poe sat down again, carefully straightening his trousers. “My mother says the men in Idumea do all of that now. Parents don’t have to bother. It’s better that way,” he added matter-of-factly.
Mahrree tried to make sense of why parents no longer decided what their children would learn, and how that was better.
Poe brought her out of her thoughts with, “Can I borrow the book of Terryp? I mean, all of the stuff he saw and wrote about?”
Mahrree always hated this part of the story.
She shook her head. “There’s no book of Terryp, besides his stories for children. That’s all he wrote in his later years.” She didn’t want to explain the rest, but she believed children deserved the truth, no matter how disgraceful. “You see, shortly after he returned all of his maps, notes and papers were destroyed in a fire right after the Great War, along with many other records we considered important. Terryp was a very sad man for a long time after that.”
Poe’s eyes narrowed and he stated gravely, “I bet that wasn’t an accident, that fire.”
Mahrree was charged by his insight. “Why do you think that?”
His face screwed up as he thought about his answer. “Because maybe what Terryp found would have changed a lot of stuff. Maybe people don’t like to change what they know, even if they know it’s wrong. Even if the new stuff is really amazing! Does that make sense?”
“Absolutely!” Mahrree said proudly. “Ah, Poe, I have great hope for you. Don’t let Full School destroy your ability to think and reason.”
Confused by her advice he frowned at her and likely decided she was simply rambling again.
“By the way, Poe—what color is the sky?”
To her delight, he looked at it first.
“Blue with long white clouds, Miss Mahrree. Oh, and bright white where the sun is! Why?”
He remembered to mention the sun, Mahrree thought, duly impressed. Rarely do people remember the sun as part of the sky.
But Poe did.
Voices from down the road caught his attention. “My friends are here!” he announced and stood up.
“Poe, when you’re done at the fort today come by and I’ll let you borrow the stories. There are some good ones in there. Then we can talk about them some more.”
He nodded and waved good-bye.
Poe remembered the sun, Mahrree sighed. That boy could go a long way some day.
That evening Perrin came home accompanied by his short soldiers who were chatting excitedly. One of them was wearing Perrin’s cap which swallowed more than half his head. Poe ran up to the door to get the stories from Mahrree and bounded off down the darkening road. Perrin retrieved his cap from the forgetful boy, came to the door, and picked up his daughter.
“Looks like you have discovered a new recruiting technique,” Mahrree said as she watched the boys scamper off, “adopted from the Administrators. Win them over when they’re nine, and wait a few years until they’re old enough to sign up. The Administrators will find you very clever, Captain.”
He shot her a glare before he smiled sadly. “They just sit on the fence watching the men. They should be rolling in the dirt instead. But I have to admit, when the soldiers see their young audience, they seem to sharpen up. All the way home those boys had so many questions. What do you do when a Guarder sneaks up on you? What if you don’t like dinner, does someone force you to eat it? Has anyone cut off an arm by accident with their sword?”
Perrin’s smile dimmed. “What they really need is someone to talk to. I thought something like this would happen, just like it did when they first started Full School in Idumea. As soon as the parents saw the teachers did all the teaching, they thought they were no longer needed. After the first year lots of parents were working all the time. Sure, businesses and farms started producing more. But what’s more important, goods or children? All day the boys have teachers drilling them. Children don’t need someone to talk at them, but with them. I’m sorry, Mahrree, but I don’t think teachers can talk to children as well as their parents can. And if the parents don’t talk, then . . .”
He stopped when he realized Mahrree had been watching him adoringly during his little speech.
“What?” he asked.
“I’m remembering how you said your mind was like my mind. Have I told you lately how you’re the most perfect man in the world?”
“No, you’ve been quite derelict in that duty. But you’re making up for it,” and he kissed her on the lips. “Mahrree, promise me we’ll always remember to talk to our children. By the way, what was Poe taking from you?”
“I wanted him to read the Stories of the World. He didn’t seem to be familiar with many of them, and the teachers aren’t bothering to teach them! I learned about those in school several times when I was young.”
“And who was your teacher?” Perrin reminded her.
“My father,” Mahrree nodded. “He always explored the furthest reaches of what was known and what could be imagined. That doesn’t seem to be the purpose of schooling anymore.”
“I had a copy of those stories,” Perrin remembered as he put down Jaytsy who was squirming to be released, and scooped up Peto instead. “I loved the one about the giant that holds the world on his back. I used to imagine that land tremors were because he had an itch he couldn’t reach.” He smiled at the memory. “And then,” his voice became lively, “I figured when it was thundering, that was when he sneezed.”
“Eww, now that’s not very appetizing right before dinner,” Mahrree sneered. “So what was the rain?—Oh, never mind.”
“And then,” Perrin wasn’t finished yet, his eyes looking twenty years younger, “I decided that when he had intestinal pains it was—”
“Nothing I want to know about!” Mahrree shut him up.
Perrin gave her a disappointed look. “You may not want to know about it, but I am sure little Peto here would. Right, my son? The bodily functions of giants are fascinating to little boys.” Perrin held up his son and rubbed noses with him until he giggled.
“And right now, you are that giant.”
---
After dinner there was a knock at the door. Mahrree opened it to see Qualipoe’s robust mother standing there wearing a gown that took Mahrree’s breath away. It was of the same shimmering cloth as Poe’s, but with stripes of pink and burgundy which seemed to shine even in the dark of the evening. A long coat of finely woven black worsted wool, which matched her glistening black hair, protected her from the growing chill.
“Good evening, Miss Mahrree—I mean, Mrs. Shin,” Mrs. Hili apologized with a smile.
“Oh, it’s always Mahrree. Come in, please.”
“Actually, I won’t, I’m on my way to the concert tonight. I just wanted to return this,” and she handed Mahrree The Stories of the World. “Qualipoe won’t be needing it right now.”
“Why not?” Mahrree asked, disappointed. “He seemed excited to read it. I’m sure if I talk to him I can convince him to—”
“No
, he wanted to read it,” Mrs. Hili interrupted. “But I told him he probably shouldn’t, at least not right now. I don’t want him to have too much on his mind before the testing next week.”
Mahrree narrowed her eyes. “Are you saying that reading this book will . . . make him forget what he needs to know on the test?”
“See, I knew you’d understand!” she breathed easier. “If he remembers this nonsense,” she gestured to the stories, “but then doesn’t remember the numbers and facts he’s memorized, well then, there’s a problem.”
“Oh, I’m sure he won’t confuse flying arrows from another people assaulting our world with the definition of an acute angle.”
Mrs. Hili did not look amused. “You may not realize it, but if the children perform well on the test, the school will receive funding from the Administrators.”
“The children get paid for learning? My, my. Maybe I’ll go back and be a student,” Mahrree said mischievously. “But I don’t see why we need slips of silver. The school house—”
“Is in shambles!” Mrs. Hili exclaimed.
“Really?” Mahrree gaped. “What happened to it?”
Mrs. Hili rolled her eyes. “Come now, you know what it looks like—stone walls, wood floor, log supports, so basic, so . . . tasteless.”
Mahrree was completely lost. “Exactly how is that tasteless?” The description matched her own house.
“You really haven’t been out lately, have you?” She glanced down to Jaytsy who was hanging on her mother’s skirt. There were unidentified food and patches of dirt smeared on her face and dress.
“Cute little girl,” Mrs. Hili said, unconvinced of her own evaluation. She looked back up at Mahrree. “You haven’t even seen the new building project, have you? The home development on the south side? They’re building with blocks now, and the structures are astoundingly innovative!”
“Innovative, huh?” Perrin came up to the door to join the conversation. “They’ve had block buildings in Idumea for about seven or eight years now. I admit they are sturdy and possibly safer in a land tremor. But honestly, I find them rather bland. Every building looks the same: same gray color, same square shape, each block poured to look identical. Anything with variety is broken down and recast. But stone and log buildings? Now those have character!” he smiled.
Mrs. Hili did not. “What some call character, others call provincial.”
By the blank reaction on his face it was obvious the distinction was lost on Perrin.
Mrs. Hili decided to educate him. “Captain Shin, consider the wisdom in building with block. You can have smooth walls and any kind of shape you want!”
“As long as it is roughly the same shape as the house next door,” Perrin pointed out. “I’ve seen what they’re doing in Idumea, and you have to hire men specially trained to build them.”
“Well it’s easier and faster to build all of them the same shapes.” Sensing that she was losing the argument, she turned to Mahrree, “You should come see them. I think you’ll be impressed. It’s what everyone wants this year.”
“Not me,” Perrin said shortly.
“But you should!” Mrs. Hili insisted.
“Why?”
“A grand house would prove how important you are to the community. To show your position.”
“My uniform does that,” Perrin said coolly.
“Not well enough,” Mrs. Hili countered with the air of a woman truly in the know. She glanced around the gathering and eating room that showed the remnants of their dinner, washing, and playtime. “This is hardly the way to impress others.”
Mahrree shrugged, never having been much concerned about Mrs. Hili’s opinions. “I’m not worried about impressing others.”
Mrs. Hili rolled her eyes in her plump face. “You need to impress everyone! You need to get ahead! Attention! Progress! My goodness, what does a captain need to do to become a major?”
Perrin folded his ample arms across his broad chest. “Kill someone.”
Mrs. Hili went deathly pale.
As much as Mahrree approved of her husband’s answer, she chuckled to lighten the mood. “Not exactly. He trains the men well, has them prepared for attacks—” and, because she couldn’t help herself, she added, “I mean, he’s already killed a dozen men.”
Mrs. Hili began to swoon backward.
Perrin smiled smugly.
Gripped with guilt, Mahrree groaned and caught Mrs. Hili by the arm before she fell over. “What I’m trying to get at is, we’re simply not worried about impressing people. We’re more concerned about what the Creator thinks of us.”
Mrs. Hili shifted her gaze from the terrifying captain to Mahrree’s purposely sweet expression. She snapped out of her reverie. “Yes, yes of course. Although I think you’re completely wrong, Miss Mahrree. I mean yes, we worry about the Creator’s opinion, but we live in the world. We have to impress the world.”
“Why?” Mahrree genuinely wanted to know.
Mrs. Hili frowned. “You really don’t get it, do you?”
“What I don’t get,” Perrin started, and Mrs. Hili looked at him uneasily, “is why people would spend so much money on those houses? They cost three times what our home cost.”
“At least!” Mrs. Hili puffed up proudly, straining the seams on her dress. “And the increasing values will multiply capital within the safe realm of speculative ventures.”
Perrin and Mahrree both stared at her.
“What does that mean?” Mahrree asked, not able to bear the suspense anymore.
“I’m not entirely sure,” Mrs. Hili confessed. “Our money manager explains it so much better than I do. Just come by and look at the houses.”
“No,” Perrin said resolutely. “I don’t see the reason at looking at something I know I don’t want.”
“Oh come now,” Mrs. Hili said. “What would it hurt?”
“A lot,” he said. “After I met Mahrree I didn’t go looking for other women. I was satisfied with what I had. Same with my house. Why look for something more if I have all that I need?”
“And you’re from Idumea?” Mrs. Hili asked, incredulous.
“I barely escaped in time,” he deadpanned.
Mahrree snorted and made a mental note to kiss him later. “Besides,” she said to Mrs. Hili, “the new houses are too far away from the fort.”
“That’s not a problem!” Mrs. Hili said with a chubby finger in the air. “There are plans to build another housing development on the old catapult fields.”
Mahrree’s face fell. “You can’t! What about Catapult Day?”
Mrs. Hili scoffed. “Nonsense. Housing is far more important.”
“Maybe, but I won’t allow anyone to build there,” Perrin told her.
“Why not? Who are you to say who can build there?”
Mahrree had seen that look in Perrin’s eyes before, but only directed at an obstinate mule. She gently squeezed his hand in a useless attempt to calm him.
“I am the commanding officer of the Administrators’ Army of Idumea, ordered to protect the citizens of Edge,” he declared darkly. “The area is unsafe and would present an inviting target to Guarders looking for food, weapons, animals and . . . unsuspecting women wearing silk.” His voice dripped doom. “They love silk.”
Mrs. Hili began to swoon backward again. “I’m . . . I’m sure that it will be reconsidered, Captain. It was only a suggestion by some of the developers, you see . . . when they were looking for land for new school buildings, they noticed the catapult fields across from the fort—”
“Wait a minute,” Mahrree interrupted her. “Developers are already looking for land?”
“Of course. Our children will undoubtedly perform well on the test, and we’ll get our building.”
“And if they do poorly on next year’s test do they have to give back the bribe?” Mahrree asked in all seriousness.
Jaytsy pulled on her mother’s dress and hollered for her attention.
Mrs. Hili shook
her head. “This is so hard for you, I can see. Don’t worry,” she said as Mahrree bent down to pick up Jaytsy who had sprung a leak from her nose. “This difficult time will be over soon enough, and then you can get back to living in the world with the rest of us.”
Mahrree was bewildered. “What do you mean, this difficult time will be over soon enough? What time?”
“Being tied up by demanding little snot—I mean, children. But life will be better once they’re old enough to go to school.” She winced as Jaytsy demonstrated her high-pitched scream and ability to kick in all directions at the same time.
As Mahrree tried to hand her to Perrin, Jaytsy added flailing to her list of skills. Perrin held Jaytsy at arm’s length to avoid being bruised and headed back to the kitchen.
Mahrree sighed and said, “It’s bathing time, but I guess that’s obvious. My children have me tied?”
The thought had never occurred to her. True, her life was completely different now. And she didn’t participate in anything outside of the house. And she hadn’t thought about the condition of her hair in nearly two years. Or the condition of her clothes. Or her house. Or garden.
But caring for these little children, who she thought were funny more often than frustrating, loving more often than loud, was an honor. It said so in The Writings, and she’d chosen to believe it from the moment she knew she was expecting her firstborn. And choosing to believe it had made all the difference in her attitude as a mother.
Were they difficult? Yes.
But demanding?
For some reason that word just didn’t seem right. It suggested that she and Perrin hadn’t invited them to be part of their family. An infestation of roaches suddenly filled her mind.
Mrs. Hili shook her head gently at Mahrree’s mystified expression. “You really need to get out once in a while. Captain!” she called past Mahrree. “Find someone to stay with your children one evening, and take this poor thing out to see the world.”
Perrin poked his head out of the kitchen door. In his arms was Jaytsy, squirming to put back on the clothes Perrin was trying to take off. “Are you volunteering?” he asked with a wicked grin.
Mahrree knew that he would never want Mrs. Hili watching his children, but he was never one to pass up an opportunity to tease an unsuspecting citizen.
But, as Mahrree sighed to herself, she knew it was useless to ask her mother to watch the babies. Hycymum was the kind of woman who loved the idea of children, but struggled to know how to deal with the actual manifestations. She lavished clothing and gifts on them, but she couldn’t stand for long their noise, energy, constant demands, sticky parts, and wet patches.
Their great-great-aunt loved them too, but Tabbit was slowing down considerably to the point where Peto could now out-crawl her.
When Joriana had visited at the end of Weeding Season for a few weeks, Perrin and Mahrree actually escaped a few times to the concerts. Mahrree enjoyed getting out, albeit for only an hour at a time because she worried about her babies, but now with her mother-in-law gone there was no else they trusted.
And Perrin definitely didn’t trust Mrs. Hili, but Mahrree knew he was looking forward to her reaction.
The large woman turned almost as red as the burgundy stripes on her dress. “Gracious, no!” she flustered and fanned herself despite the cold outside.
Perrin smiled in satisfaction.
“I have too many things to do,” she tried to explain. “But certainly you can find someone to help poor Miss Mahrree. Now I really must go. The performance will have started.”
Mahrree stood at the door for a few moments watching Poe’s mother glide down the cobblestones in a rush. She wondered what Poe was doing right now. And where was his father?
From the kitchen she heard the sounds of Jaytsy in the large washing basin, splashing and giggling. For all the fussing she did before, the moment Jaytsy’s toes hit the warm water she loved her baths. It was as if each day she forgot that baths were a favorite activity. Getting her out again would be yet another battle, one that Perrin was well suited for.
Mahrree glanced down at her dress, faded in parts and mucked up by a variety of smudges and smears. True, it was her daily work dress, so it should look like this. She did have a few others, and one was even in good condition. But she wondered if she really was missing something, spending every day and night with her babies.
Yes, there were days she was frustrated to tears by the never-ending messes and crying. But she also knew that the never-ending would end, sooner than she would want. Despite it all, she found herself fascinated by her remarkable children. As they discovered the world, she felt she was seeing it new herself.
Take, for instance, just this morning. Mahrree realized to her chagrin that she hadn’t swept under the sofa since before Peto was born. So while her babies were unraveling balls of yarn from their Grandmother Peto, Mahrree bravely slid over the sofa and braced for the worst.
It was practically a warren of dust bunnies. She quickly swept it together, but not before Jaytsy toddled over, crouched, and oohed! at the pile of dust, soot, and—
Mahrree peered closer, suddenly panicked—
No, no that was only a clump of black Barker fur.
In his odd crawling technique, Peto skooched himself over to stare in wonder at the pile, and Mahrree realized it actually was a fascinating sight. She watched her budding little scientists stare in rapt interest and tried to remember where her notes on the moldy blob were. In a couple of years Jaytsy and Peto would undoubtedly find that a most enthralling experiment.
But then the children simultaneously stretched out their little hands to the pile of black dust, their mouths already opened for a taste—
And Mahrree briskly swept up the mess before anyone choked on Barker fur. Perhaps regrowing the blob should wait for at least ten more years. Why was it that her babies were so eager to taste anything except the food she cooked for them?
Oh yes, being their mother was by far the most difficult work she’d ever undertaken. And it also was, by far, the most satisfying. At the end of the day she knew she’d accomplished an enormous amount of work, even if the house looked as messy as it had in the morning. But at this point of her life, messy meant success. Things happened.
To look forward to the day she no longer found surprises in Jaytsy’s changing cloths or when Peto no longer spewed half of his meals? The thought already made her sad. It was such a short time. Only a few years . . .
She didn’t notice the blue uniform standing directly in front of her in the open doorway.
The soldier looked at her worriedly and knocked lightly on the door frame. “Mrs. Shin? Are you all right?”
Mahrree’s head snapped up and she found herself face-to-face with Private Shem Zenos. She shook her head a little. “Oh, oh, yes. I’m sorry—just a little lost, I suppose.”
Private Zenos took her by the arm and turned her gently back into her house. “I think I understand, Mrs. Shin. They call it sleep deprivation. It was a form of warfare used during the Great War, back home near Waves.” He closed the front door behind him as he explained. “Villagers from Waves would capture female cats that were in season—” he blushed briefly, “secure them in baskets, and hide them around the village of Flax after nightfall. Naturally, the male cats would come seeking them and start caterwauling in desperation to find their new loves. The villagers spent most of the night trying to shut up the cats and find the females. By morning, they were exhausted and that’s when Waves attacked them.”
Mahrree, now fully out of her daydream, folded her arms. “Cat warfare?” she said dubiously.
“Absolutely,” said Zenos solemnly. “I understand it was suggested by a man who was father to triplets. Meowaaaah!” he demonstrated a mix between meowing and crying.
Mahrree looked at him in disbelief until she couldn’t hold it in anymore, and she laughed. “How do you keep such a straight face? I never know when to believe you. If there were a con
test for lying, Zenos, you’d take first prize! What are you doing here this evening? Come, sit down.”
He didn’t sit, but stood at ease in the gathering room, his happy sky-blue eyes twinkling at her. “Thank you, ma’am, but I was wondering if I could have a moment with the captain. I’m sorry to have come so late to your home, but—”
“It’s not a problem, Private. And it’s not late. But you’ll have to wait your turn. He’s already busy in the other room with a female, and I strongly suspect she’s undressed,” said Mahrree gravely.
The private’s eyes flashed in shock and his mouth began to open.
Mahrree winked at him.
Perrin called loudly from the kitchen, “I’m just giving Jaytsy a bath. Don’t listen to her, Zenos. Haven’t I told you that before?”
The private broke into a wide grin and said, “Yes, sir! That’s why I keep finding excuses to come here. It reminds me of home.”
Mahrree chuckled. If ever she had a little brother, she imagined he would have been exactly like Zenos.
Perrin emerged from the kitchen with Jaytsy wrapped in a thick cloth, his tan shirt was nearly as wet as her wild hair. “And cat warfare? While I’d like to believe that, since I hate cats, I have to tell you—I never read about that in any of the history books, Zenos.”
“The best things never are remembered, sir,” Zenos declared sincerely.
Perrin chuckled. “I suspect that’s true. Peto’s turn for a bath,” he said to Mahrree. “There’s still a corner of the basin clean enough for him.”
On cue Peto rolled from his playing area. Mahrree caught him and walked with him toward the kitchen.
“Mahrree, where are Jaytsy’s bed clothes?” Perrin called to her.
Mahrree stopped. “Oh, I forgot. They must still be upstairs on our bed.”
Private Zenos held out his arms to Mahrree. “I’ve been meaning to ask for a while, and now seems the right time: Can I hold Peto while you find the clothes?”
Mahrree’s eyebrows rose at his offer. Maybe it was because he was from the southernmost areas, but Private Zenos was so unlike the men of the village. The last several weeks he had been happily serving as their messenger demonstrated that. He always first delivered Perrin’s message, then added an outlandish story or joke to make Mahrree laugh. She looked forward to his visits, and if Perrin hadn’t sent a message for three or four days she told him in the morning he needed to because she thought of something new to say to the young private to tease or embarrass him. Half of the time she succeeded. The other half he startled her instead. He must have always been thinking up ways to get her back, just as she planned on ways to get him first.
Whenever he dropped by, the children usually stopped whatever they were doing and hooted eagerly at him. Zenos always took a moment to tickle Jaytsy or make faces at Peto.
And now Zenos was offering to hold Peto. Mahrree had met only one other baby-snatching man in her life: her husband. Now there seemed to be another in the world, and he was only twenty years old.
Mahrree had said to Perrin a couple of weeks ago that she thought Zenos was the sweetest soldier she had ever met.
Perrin had glared at that and said to never, ever call a soldier “sweet” again. Or adorable.
Mahrree evaluated the sincerity of Zenos’s offer. His blue eyes were completely honest. “Peto’s a little sticky,” she warned him.
“That’s how babies should be, ma’am.” Zenos took Peto easily.
Peto stared at him with big eyes and reached up to grab his nose.
Perrin nodded to Mahrree. “Better run and get the clothes before Peto claws his face. We don’t want to ruin a good thing here.”
Mahrree jogged upstairs leaving Perrin to watch his young recruit who sat down on a chair and readily bounced laughter out of their son. She came down the stairs in time to see Zenos tipping Peto upside down and flipping him up again. Alarmed she asked, “Is that safe?”
“None of the babies in our family has had permanent damage yet, ma’am,” he assured her and flipped Peto yet again, to his giggling delight.
Perrin held his gaze for a moment, then sat down on the stuffed chair near the hearth and started to put a changing cloth on Jaytsy by the warmth of the fire.
“Perrin!” Mahrree exclaimed. “Not in front of the private!”
The soldier grinned. “I promise I won’t peek, Mrs. Shin. But it’s really nothing new to me. I have a sister who has two little girls and I always stayed with them and changed their cloths when she needed to go to the market. They loved their Uncle Shem.” He nuzzled Peto’s neck as only someone who was completely comfortable with babies knew how to do. “Yes they did!” he crooned as Peto giggled and grabbed clumps of his short brown hair in his chubby fists.
Mahrree stared. Even in Hycymum’s most relaxed moments she would only drop cookies on their heads from above.
But, Mahrree thought, wild ideas running in her mind, he’s a young man. Why would a young man agree to . . . ?
She continued to stare at him.
Zenos didn’t notice because his face was buried in Peto’s neck to make a bubbling noise which caused the tiny boy to howl with laughter.
It would make sense, really, though. Should anything happen while they were away, having someone who knew how to handle a sword would be the best choice for defending the captain’s children.
But still, Mahrree thought.
Now Zenos had Peto lying in his lap doing something called “eentsy weensy beetle” up his body and tickling him under his chin. Then he lifted Peto and impulsively gave him a kiss.
Mahrree smiled. No matter what Perrin insisted, Zenos was sweet.
And adorable.
Mahrree and Perrin exchanged the same look and shrugged at each other in an it-couldn’t-hurt-to-ask manner.
“Private,” Mahrree began slowly, “what I am about to ask, I say as a friend, not as the wife of your captain.” She glanced back to Perrin who nodded. “Would you ever consider, as a friend you see, when you have free time, maybe coming over here and . . .” She couldn’t get the rest of the words out.
Zenos squinted. “Stay with your children? Let you get away a little bit? ‘See the world,’ as that lady in silk suggested? Yes, ma’am, I was waiting by the bushes for a time,” he explained.
Mahrree turned to her husband. “Why did you name that dog Barker when he never barks? Not even when someone’s hiding in our bushes?”
Perrin rolled his eyes as he tried to get his daughter’s arm into the sleeve of her sleeping gown. The dog was staying, as ineffective as he was.
Zenos chuckled. “I’d be honored to watch your children, Mrs. Shin.”
“Really?” Mahrree sat down. “You’re an unusual young man, Private Zenos.”
“You better just call me Shem, ma’am. That’s the custom where I come from. Especially if I get to care for your children.” He turned to Peto. “Did you hear that? I get to come play with you!”
Peto giggled and clawed at his face. Zenos didn’t even flinch.
But his commander stared in wonder.
Somewhere in the forest, Perrin thought to himself, a mountain lion just rolled over in submission. That was the kind of influence the boy had. It wasn’t his words so much as it was his manner, his being. And he didn’t even realize it.
Mahrree shook her head. “I mean, it’s a little odd, I know, asking a soldier.”
“Nothing odd about it, ma’am. So, when do you want me to come over? I have it in pretty good with the captain, and can probably get him change my duty shifts,” Zenos said soberly, but the corner of his mouth tugged upwards.
A bear would have sat down on its haunches, Perrin mused, fascinated by the boy’s sincere exuberance.
“Private Zenos, I’d like you here on duty day after tomorrow, after midday meal,” he ordered with a wink. “These children should be ready for a nap then.”
“So soon?” Mahrree asked in a panic.
“W
ell when were you thinking? That’s my first day off.”
“I was thinking much later, like when Peto—”
“—is five years old?” Perrin interrupted.
“Yes!” Mahrree agreed.
Perrin shook his head and worked Jaytsy’s other arm into a sleeve. “Peto likes to drink from a mug and eats tolerably well. He’ll be fine. I think we really need to get out,” he said steadily. “Private Zenos, in two days?”
“Sir, I can only do that if you’ll please call me Shem when I’m in your home. That just seems right,” he said carefully, almost sweetly.
Lambs would’ve followed him anywhere.
His captain smiled at him. “All right, Shem.”
Mahrree regarded Zenos thoughtfully. “Perrin, I know what this young man needs—a wife! He’d be a wonderful father. Do you think we can help him?”
Perrin laughed at Zenos’s distressed expression.
“Mrs. Shin, I’m afraid I’m not here to find a wife. I came here to serve your husband. I’m not the marrying type. Yet.”
“I spoke those words once before, too,” Perrin told him. “Only days after I arrived here. I changed my mind. You might, too.”
The private paused before saying, “Perhaps someday, sir. But right now my obligation is to you and your family, until I’m released from this duty.”
Perrin stopped trying to fasten Jaytsy’s sleeping gown, since she’d gone uncooperatively limp over the buttons, and asked, “What do you mean, ‘released from this duty’?”
Zenos hesitated. “Why, released from watching over your children. When they’re grown, I guess then I’ll have to get some of my own, sir.” He grinned broadly, and somewhere a garden of flowers unexpectedly bloomed in the night.
Perrin shook his head slowly. “Shem Zenos, you are an unusual young man. I need to keep an eye on you.”
“Sir, I certainly hope you will.”
It wasn’t until Zenos was replacing his cap and heading out the door, after involving Jaytsy in an introductory game of Tie up Your Uncle, that Perrin remembered. “Private, why did you come here tonight anyway?”
Zenos stepped back into the house and noiselessly closed the door behind him. He glanced toward Jaytsy’s room where Mahrree had just taken the children after Peto’s bath. When he was assured all was secure, he spoke. “You wanted to know when my Guarder contact finally returned. He’s back, hiding in the forest. I spoke with him then came straight over here.”
“Zenos!” the captain snapped. “Why’d you wait so long to tell me?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Zenos winced. “He left quickly back into the woods. I couldn’t imagine that we’d see in what direction, especially after dark. I thought at first not even telling you until morning. I realize now that I should have acted more hastily in speaking up. I actually forgot, sir, with the children and all.” He bit his lower lip. “I am sorry.”
Perrin sighed. “It’s all right. I need to develop protocols for such scenarios. The Guarder, I mean, not the children.” He gave Zenos a forgiving smile. “The army has never encountered a situation like this before. So, are our suspicions correct?”
Zenos nodded. “Yes, he claims he’s a spy, but he wants out. He says he’s been in new training for the past few weeks. They’re trying to teach them to lie without blinking, but he doesn’t understand why. Nor would he tell me where this training is occurring. I think we need to treat him carefully. He started getting edgy when I was asking him questions, and he says they’re watching him.”
“A half-hearted defecting spy,” the captain shook his head. “We’ll see what we can do with him. Keep feeding him and getting him to talk. Did he tell you anything we should be watching for?”
Zenos grimaced, as if he’d been told to kiss a pimply cousin. He’d been dreading this moment, and, when Perrin heard the report, understood why. “He said the woods were quiet tonight, but he has ‘existed’ in them for only moments. The forest is not ‘speaking’ to him right now, but it has been ‘singing’, so he promised to listen to it.”
Captain Shin didn’t respond to the odd message—he’d heard weirder from soldiers sogged by a bad batch of illegally brewed barracks mead—but instead stared at the ground, deep in thought. “I’m sure there’s a pattern in the chaos of his scared mind. We may find all we need in there if we can just organize it into something we can understand . . .”
He pulled out of his contemplation and looked decisively at Zenos who still wore an apologetic wince.
“Tomorrow morning have Karna block out some time from my schedule. The three of us are going to plot how to work this Guarder. We’ll also draft some guidelines on how to treat spies and send it to the High General and his advisors. We’re going to need their approval. Thank you, Zenos,” he said, returning the private’s salute.
Then he gripped the soldier’s shoulder and smiled. “And I expect you on these steps again, out of uniform, in two days’ time, Shem.”
---
That night Perrin lay in bed, worrying.
Why was it that when Zenos was around, Perrin felt completely at ease with him, but when he left, Perrin found his thoughts full of cold, dark doubts?
Can he really be trusted?
Those words would come to his mind in solitary moments, which struck Perrin as odd. He believed he was a good judge of character. Whenever he met someone that didn’t feel right, a tightness in his chest warned, Keep an eye out for this one. And he was never wrong.
But he never felt that way about Shem Zenos when he was around.
And so now you’re leaving your children with him? Your most prized possessions? Your own lambs?
It was usually in the dark when a coldness whispered in his mind, The boy doesn’t deserve your trust.
Perrin didn’t get it. That wasn’t the way he usually felt the Creator’s promptings. He rubbed his forehead and stared at the timbers crisscrossing the dark ceiling, trying to figure out what Zenos may have done to trip this trap of worry in his mind.
Nothing came.
You’re the bear he’s tamed. Now consider—why would mountain lions roll over in submission to him?
Not even Hogal picked up anything unworthy about the boy. Perrin had made a point of inviting Zenos to Holy Day services, and to his surprise he was eager to go. No one else from the fort ever went to listen to Rector Densal, but Zenos did, with rapt attention.
Perrin then introduced Zenos to his great uncle and watched closely as the two of them chatted. Later Hogal pulled Perrin aside during the congregational midday meal. “Excellent young man there, Perrin! I see wonderful things in his eyes.”
“Really?” Perrin was surprised, and relieved. Already he’d been taken by the boy, but he wanted a reason—and at the same time didn’t—to be suspicious of him. “The name hasn’t come up?”
Hogal shrugged. “No, but I’ll do a bit of asking around if you’d like.”
Perrin was one of the few who knew that the rectors throughout the world had their own communication system, quietly beyond the hearing of forts and law enforcers. Because not every missing wife wanted to be found, not all runaway children should be returned to their parents, and some young men weren’t out to simply “explore the world.”
But apparently Shem Zenos was. No one had yet sent word to Hogal that Zenos was wanted elsewhere.
So Perrin had allowed himself to be won over by the perennially cheerful, astute, and charismatic young man, and Zenos never let him down.
So why the worry?
He cleared his throat loudly next to his dozing wife, and Mahrree automatically mumbled, “Peto’s crying?”
“No, but I’m glad you’re awake. I’ve been thinking . . . about Zenos watching our children.”
She chuckled groggily. “I can’t believe he agreed to that. One part of me wants to spy on him the entire time just to see how well he does.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” he nodded in the dark. His spyglass at the fort could come in
handy.
“Perrin,” Mahrree said, now more awake, “can I say something about the private?”
Perrin tensed next to her.
“You may not like what I have to say, but I just can’t keep it in any longer.”
He nodded again, even though he knew she couldn’t see him. He needed to hear it from someone else, and not just from that unfamiliar voice in his head. He needed confirmation that he should be suspicious—
“Here it is,” Mahrree announced. “While I was watching him with Peto, I couldn’t help but think, ‘Shem Zenos is THE most adorable soldier I’ve ever met!’”
She giggled as Perrin groaned. That wasn’t exactly what he was expecting.
Then again, as he continued to pretend he was annoyed with her evaluation, he realized that was exactly he was hoping to hear: Mahrree liked Shem Zenos, too.
“I still think we should find him a girl,” Mahrree decided. “Some of my former students are his age. One of them might be a good match. I know—Teeria!”
Perrin cringed. “The giggler?”
“No,” Mahrree said. “That’s Sareen.”
“So the hair-tosser, then.”
Mahrree sighed in exasperation. “I told you—Hitty’s visiting her grandmother for a few seasons.”
It wasn’t as if keeping up with the comings and goings of teenage girls was the biggest priority in his life. “So . . . the smart one?”
“Yes! Shem strikes me as the kind of boy that would appreciate a thoughtful girl like Teeria.”
Perrin pursed his lips. “She’s rather calm, though.” That was a nice way of saying dull, sober, and as vibrant as a rotting cabbage.
“And a good balance for his exuberance, I would think. Teeria would be a good match for such an excellent young man.”
Excellent young man.
Everyone thinks that, Perrin thought to himself.
So why wouldn’t the doubting voice leave him alone?