The Forest at the Edge of the World

by Mercer, Trish

  The first smiled thinly. “I assume that question means you’re willing to be my research partner. Take your pick. The world’s under my control.

  Chapter 5 ~ “Tell me what you know about Guarders.”

  In the morning Captain Shin stared out again at the forest, his stack of notes in one hand, his sharpened charcoal in another, and his mind back at the platform staring at the memory of a school teacher with blazing eyes and a blistering demeanor. He shook his head to dislodge the distraction and glared at the forest. It was no use. He really should check on the builders’ progress at the barracks, anyway. With a sigh of self-deprecation, he turned and headed back to the fort.

  Just inside the forest, about thirty paces deep and sitting high up in a tree, two men dressed in mottled green and brown clothing waved good-bye to the captain. Then they winked at each other.

  ---

  Chairman Mal sat at his desk going over files that morning from the Administrator of Loyalty—another list of citizens the sniveling man suspected of potential sedition, or at least weak senses—when the door swung open and a commotion of men poured into his office.

  “Sir, I’m sorry, but he just won’t—”

  Mal held up his hand to calm the group, about eight men in short red jackets subduing a scruffy creature. Mal’s eyes fell upon the young man in his twenties, his hair filthy and mussed, his face smeared with muck, and his clothing disheveled—an unappreciated mutt left out in a storm. In his hand was a butchering knife.

  Mal had no doubt he would have been lunging towards the Chairman if it weren’t for the guards who’d finally caught up to him. Two were on each of his arms, holding him back, while another guard panted his apologies.

  “Sir, he was so quick. Before we knew it he was through the outer doors—”

  Mal nodded coolly. “To get through the outer doors is a serious breach, but you and your men made up for your previous error. He’s not going anywhere now, is he?” He stared into the blue eyes of his would-be assassin.

  The young man stared back, full of fury.

  “Relieve him of his weapon,” Mal commanded, and a guard wrenched the knife from his fist. “Now, all of you may leave, for I’d like to have a few words with our guest in private.”

  “But, but . . . sir, he, he—” the head of the guard stammered.

  “Is now unarmed, and knows full well that all of you will be standing outside the doors, your long knives and swords readied. Isn’t that correct?”

  The young man grunted in response.

  Mal waved for the guard to leave, and reluctantly they filed out.

  Only once the door shut behind them did Mal speak again, quietly. “Been wondering when I might see you, Sonoforen. Figured your gold may have run out by now, and with your mother dying last season, it was just a matter of time. Interesting attempt to disguise yourself, but I must point out, it was unnecessary. You don’t look anything like him and no one would think a moment about you. Disappointing. I had hoped you would have a little more forethought than your father. Poor attempt at an execution.”

  “Well, you would know all about executions, wouldn’t you, Chairman?” the young man seethed.

  “Ah,” Mal said easily. “So that’s what you believe, is it? What are you calling yourself these days, anyway?”

  “Batalk,” he answered shortly. “My mother’s maiden name.”

  “That’s still too obvious, Sonoforen Batalk,” Mal sneered. “And that was always your mother’s name. Oren never married her.”

  “He planned to!”

  Mal shook his head slowly. “Doesn’t matter what he planned to do. You’re not a legal heir to his throne, even though you’re the oldest son. Neither you nor your younger brother. Where’s Dormin, anyway? Covered in vines and waiting at the grand entrance pretending he’s a tree?”

  “Don’t know, don’t care.” Sonoforen clenched his fists.

  Mal smiled halfway. “Ah, the bonds of brotherhood. Did he bind you first, or did you bind him?”

  “I’m here to take back my throne!”

  “You may have it,” Mal nodded casually. “Perhaps you noticed as you passed it on the way in, near the grand entrance? A reminder of the neglect and abuses of your ancestors. Get a few friends and haul it out of here.”

  Sonoforen slammed his hands down on the desk and bellowed, “I want to be king!”

  Mal nonchalantly straightened up a few piles that were disturbed by the outburst.

  “I’m sure you do,” he said in a jaded tone. “Someone like you believes the world owes him something, although he’s done nothing to deserve it. Typical. So you thought killing me would let you become king? That this world which has embraced our government, rejoiced in our reforms, and sends us letters of gratitude each week would simply accept your killing me and restore you to a throne you have no right to? Hmm?” Mal shook his head slowly. “Astounding how you simply don’t realize that it’s that very lack of intelligence that destroyed your family’s claim to rule this world to begin with.”

  Sonoforen breathed heavily, furiously, then, as the reality of what Mal said sank in, slower until even his shoulders sagged in defeat.

  Mal sat back and evaluated him. Sonoforen had a modicum of intelligence. Not as much as his younger brother, but enough to make him a trainable mutt. “I understand your anger, boy, but I assure you—you’re fury is not with me.”

  “You ordered the execution squad!”

  “Is that what they told you? Oh, Sonoforen.” He sighed. “You and I both cling to a shaky existence. Our futures are only as secure as we plot them to be. Sit down, son.” He gestured to a chair near his desk.

  Sonoforen considered the unexpected bone offered him. He sat down warily, never taking his eyes off the Chairman.

  “Your father was betrayed not by me, his most trusted adviser,” Mal whispered, “but by someone else close to him: the High General. Sonoforen, very few men know this, but Shin was planning a violent overthrow of your father. Fortunately I heard of it. I stopped him before he not only had your father killed, but the entire mansion staff along with you, your brother, and your mother. Shin was furious after that incident at the silk shops, and was ready to begin another war over it. I spent hours reasoning with him. One of my most trusted friends, Dr. Brisack, also helped me to talk sense into the man. I argued to dispose quietly of your father in some remote village somewhere, but Shin wouldn’t hear of it. He wanted him—and all of you—dead. In the end, he agreed that your father’s death would suffice, and that he trusted only someone such as me to now lead the world. Shin gave me the list of who should be Administrators and what kinds of laws we could enact. It was the only way to prevent war, Sonoforen. Your father died nobly, son, to save the world. I’m here only to try to keep Shin from total control. Your argument is not with me, but with Relf Shin.”

  Sonoforen remained motionless. “They told me that’s the story you’d give.”

  Mal smiled kindly to show the dog who really cared for him. “And who is ‘they’?”

  “My father’s servants. Ones I found not long ago.”

  “Think about this, son. I’m an old man, a university professor of animal behavior, and never held a blade in my life. Shin is more fearsome in his fifties than he ever was in his twenties, and is in command of more than ten thousand soldiers. Who, really, is the greater threat?”

  Sonoforen sighed.

  “It’s a difficult balance I keep with the High General, Sonoforen. Right now I have just slightly more power than he does. Without my administrators, the army would be ruling this world, and that is not a world either of us would want to live in.”

  Sonoforen squirmed. “Then he needs to die,” he whispered.

  Mal nodded once. “But that would be very difficult to do. Especially with the way you do things. What animal is waiting outside to swift you away from the scene of your crime? A goat?”

  Sonoforen just stared at the desk.

  “A sheep, then,” Mal said sadly. �
��Sonoforen, Shin is a strong, cunning man. You’d never succeed. Not without help.”

  “I’d do anything,” Sonoforen said, lifting his eyes to meet Mal’s. “Work with anyone, do anything, to get my revenge.”

  “Are you serious about that?”

  “He killed my father!” Sonoforen barked. “Denied me my throne!”

  Mal’s mouth pursed. “What kind of a relationship do you still have with Dormin?”

  “None,” Sonoforen murmured.

  “Any other connections with family? Girlfriend? Friends? Acquaintances?”

  “Chairman Mal, if you’re trying to figure out who I have waiting outside to help me the answer is . . . no one,” Sonoforen muttered in embarrassment. “Not even an animal. My cat ran away last week.”

  “So you were just charging in here and hoping to . . . wing it?”

  “You’re point is well made, sir!”

  Mal clasped his hands together and rested them on the desk. A desperate, homeless mutt. Perfect.

  “Sonoforen, how would you like to get your revenge? Not through a rash, ill-thought out plan, but in a rational, organized, and effective manner which will yield results that will not only appease your desires but will also lend me a great deal of research?”

  Sonoforen blinked. “What in the world are you talking about?”

  “First, we change your name to something less obvious. How does Heth strike you?” The corner of Mal’s mouth went up slightly. “Then tell me what you know about Guarders.”

  ---

  Mahrree sighed for the twelfth time. Usually it was the six-year-olds in her morning class that couldn’t concentrate for more than five minutes, not the eight teenage girls in the afternoons.

  “If you really want to know that much about the captain, you should have come to the debate!” she chided as Hitty asked yet another question about how many medals he had on his uniform. Mahrree hadn’t noticed. “Now, we need to get back to our discussion—”

  Hitty raised her hand again.

  Mahrree groaned.

  “Really, Miss Mahrree, this has to do with the discussion.”

  “Do you remember what the discussion was about?”

  Hitty nodded. “The history of the Guarders.”

  “Good. Now remember, many of your parents contacted me this morning to make sure we went over it, considering that the fort will soon be ready. They’ll be quizzing you tonight, so understanding the nature of the Guarders is not only vital to your welfare, but also to your passing this class. Be grateful, because we were to be discussing developments in sugar production in the south. So Hitty, I will happily answer any questions regarding Guarders.”

  Hitty put her hand down and tossed her straw-colored hair behind her, as she did every five minutes. “If the Guarders return, and they invade the village, with what hand will the captain fight them? My mother said he wore a very large sword.”

  The girls erupted into fits of sniggers as Mahrree practiced her best glare.

  Hitty kept her face impressively still, but finally broke into a smile of embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Miss Mahrree,” she whispered.

  “His right.” Mahrree sighed for the thirteenth time. “He wore his sword on his left side, so that he can draw it with his right hand.”

  “If his sword is large, then that means he’s very strong, right?” Sareen asked in a giggle. The poor girl couldn’t speak without an accompanying giggle, which made her brown curls wiggle.

  “Could you tell how strong he was, Miss Mahrree?” asked another dreamy-eyed girl. “You were closest to him. My mother said he was very tall and had a chest like an ox!”

  “Ooh, I hope she meant a bull,” said another girl, to a variety of tittering.

  Mahrree wondered why so many mothers—married women—had paid such close attention to him. “Believe it or not, I wasn’t concerned with how strong he might be,” she said sternly. “I was more concerned about his views on education and progress, which we’ll be discussing next week. After we finish learning about the Guarders!”

  Teeria nodded. “Because without the Guarders, there would be no new fort, and no Captain Shin.” The rest of the class nodded eagerly back.

  Mahrree could always count on Teeria. The girl was as straight and serious as her dark brown hair and somber expression. “You’re right. Because of the Guarders, Captain Shin and a few more soldiers—”

  Several of the girls sighed in anticipatory delight.

  Mahrree plowed on, ignoring that. “—will be living in Edge. Edge, as you recall, was one of the four villages where Guarders were seen retreating into the forests one hundred nineteen years ago, in 200.”

  “Before or after the Great War?” asked Sareen.

  “After. Right after. Remember, King Querul the First and Guide Pax were trying to find a way to bring an end to the fighting. For five years our world was in complete upheaval. All seventeen villages and the city of Idumea were entangled in the war. No one is sure of the population, but we were well over one million people, and the land was struggling to sustain that many people. Couple that with farms lying fallow because of the fighting, and herds being slaughtered for meat, meant people were dying. According to some estimates, we may have lost up to 200,000 people to fighting and famine during those five years.”

  The girls dutifully took notes on their slate boards as Mahrree spoke.

  “Famine that King Querul vowed would never happen under his ‘supreme guidance’,” Teeria grumbled in disgust.

  “Exactly. When he took power at the beginning of the war, he said he would unite the world and bring peace. But he tried to force that peace.”

  “That was the problem with all the kings, right?” Teeria asked.

  These were the times Mahrree loved teaching. “Right again. The kings imposed changes upon us, without our consent. A leader may believe he’s successful in forcing his will, but he rarely sees how his subjects are quietly plotting against him until it’s too late.”

  “Like the Administrators,” Teeria said. “Plotting to depose King Oren, and surprising him two years ago. And the Administrators have promised to be here for the people to listen to what they want.”

  Mahrree recognized that phrase: “Be here for the people.”

  That’s what Chairman Mal had posted on the notice boards two years ago, had shouted by his representatives in red jackets as they came to the amphitheater, and had emphasized repeatedly as he took over the government of the world. She’d always believed he was sincere. But since last night, that little bit of guilty cynicism had been tainting every thought of the Administrators. Where her doubt came from, or why it persisted, Mahrree didn’t know.

  “Yes,” Mahrree said, hoping the girls didn’t hear her hesitation.

  Hitty wrinkled her nose. “But I thought it was the king that made the Guarders angry in the first place. Since the kings are gone, why are the Guarders coming back again?”

  “No one’s sure,” Mahrree shrugged. “Maybe they don’t know the kings are gone, or they don’t care. Maybe their anger is with everyone in the world. Remember, in 200 Guide Pax came up with a plan. He and King Querul had realized those prolonging the war were only a small minority of the world. Pax suggested that they try to find a new land for those people to live. Divide the world to have peace.”

  “But we can’t do that,” another girl pointed out. “There’s nowhere else people can live that’s not poisoned.”

  Mahrree scratched her head. “Yes, that’s what we’ve been told for over three hundred years. This plain where our seventeen villages and Idumea exist are the only habitable stretches of land anywhere.”

  Teeria squinted. “As usual, Miss Mahrree, you don’t sound completely sure of that.”

  Mahrree shrugged again. “You know me and Terryp.”

  She loved nothing more than tales of Terryp. He was a historian who served the first king and went on an expedition with Querul’s soldiers looking for new lands near the end of the Great War. In the
west he discovered vast regions of farmable land and enormous ruins of a massive civilization. But he came back from the expedition so crazed that the king vowed never to allow anyone else to suffer as much as Terryp did in the “poisoned” lands. Then all of Terryp’s findings and writings were accidentally destroyed in a fire over one hundred years ago. Mahrree was always suspicious of just how honest King Querul was about the lands Terryp discovered.

  Mahrree’s students knew their teacher didn’t have much faith in anything the kings had claimed, but they didn’t know all the reasons why. She’d been told by her father years ago that King Querul the First took in several servants during the Great War, and held them in his secured compound. By the time Querul the Fourth took over the mansion, the servants, who still believed the war continued and that the only place of refuge was in the king’s service, had multiplied to nearly three dozen. After eighty years those servants were finally released, and they were shocked to discover the world was something completely different.

  Cephas Peto had a friend who helped those people, secretly relocated to the eastern village of Winds, learn to read and write and adapt to life in the real world. And Cephas had told the story to his daughter, years later, in confidence.

  In rare, bleak moments Mahrree wondered if the world wasn’t itself imprisoned in a compound and fed lies to keep them there. But such thoughts were so dispiriting it did no good to ponder them.

  Besides, the Administrators were different, she loyally tried to remind herself. Maybe they might send another expedition to the west . . .

  “Back to Guarders,” Mahrree reluctantly continued her lecture. “Guide Pax travelled north from Idumea until he reached Moorland. About ten miles west of here he bravely entered the treacherous forest. He was hoping to find a way through it and up into the mountains. Maybe he could find a valley or another plain where the people who loved violence could live. He left with a dozen of the king’s soldiers—his elite guards—and was never heard from again,” she recounted sadly.