Soldier at the Door (Forest at the Edge)

by Mercer, Trish

  Mahrree thought again of what Joriana had said about her own blank books, and decided that maybe she need to follow Hogal’s advice as well. The rich, thick pages would be darkened with her own frustrations, musings, worrying, and venting. It seemed a poor way to treat such a treasure, but nothing else came to her mind.

  Since it seems that The Writings are actually the records of families and what they experienced, perhaps I too can create my own “Writings” on these pages given to me by my mother-in-law, Joriana Shin.

  She smiled at the words. “Not a bad beginning,” she murmured, and continued on.

  So much has happened this past year that I almost worry what more can occur, because we’re only nearing the end of Harvest Season, and a long Raining Season is still to come. The year started quietly enough, until Weeding Season came bringing with it strange changes to the education of our children and a raid by the Guarders which resulted in tragic consequences, especially for Perrin’s great aunt and uncle, Tabbit and Hogal Densal.

  It would have been worse though, I’m sure, had Corporal Shem Zenos not

  Mahrree stopped.

  Exactly how much should she say about Shem and their suspicions? It was barely over a week ago the two lieutenants were found dead in the hallway of the guest quarters. Shem even volunteered himself to be interrogated by her father-in-law, and only an hour later an exasperated High General sent him out of the command tower. Perrin told Mahrree he had never seen his father so frustrated, nor had he seen Shem so relieved to be exonerated, again.

  Two days after the attack, files came by the Administrators’ messenger service from Dr. Brisack. It seemed there had been a girl both lieutenants had pursued when they first arrived at Command School, one that played both of them before chasing after a graduating officer. There was bad blood between the two lieutenants which they chose not to reveal, both eager to serve the Chairman and High General. The files were accompanied by a note from Dr. Brisack personally apologizing for not recognizing the potential problems with the young officers and allowing such ill-disciplined men to serve so closely to the High General.

  Later Perrin told Mahrree over dinner that his father confided to him that Dr. Brisack was the only decent one among the Administrators, but he’d never own up to saying that.

  “And I read the note from Brisack, Mahrree, and thinking on the off chance that maybe . . .” He shrugged when he said that, and looked at her hard to see if she could finish the sentence.

  It took her a minute. “If maybe . . . he was the one who sent you the warning a year and a half ago?! About the twelve Guarders? An Administrator? How would he have known?!”

  Perrin shook his head quickly. “I know, I know. And the writing didn’t match, not one bit. It was ridiculous to even think it, but . . . Well, at least the mystery seems to be solved. The lieutenants did kill each other at the same time. Brisack confirmed he had seen a case of that before. Shem was so relieved he was no longer a suspect that he practically danced out of the office.”

  “So,” Mahrree sighed happily, “we can be absolutely sure we know the truth about Shem Zenos?”

  Her husband only swallowed and went back to his dinner.

  That’s why Mahrree stared now at her new book, wondering exactly what to write. Shem had been over the afternoon and evening before, staying with the children so that she could go with Perrin to do the final inspection of the new small fort in Moorland. She didn’t even think twice about leaving Jaytsy and Peto in Corporal Zenos’s devoted care. Shem was their little brother, after all. The children called him Unk and ran into his arms whenever they saw him.

  The three of them were sound asleep together on the sofa when she and Perrin returned late last night. The sight of her children snuggled in Shem’s ample arms was so adorable that Mahrree committed it to memory.

  “He really is the sweetest soldier ever, isn’t he?” she said to her husband, who merely sneered good-naturedly at her.

  But still Mahrree was plagued with suspicion.

  Was it really just coincidence that Shem noticed the Guarder raid first that Weeding Season? Or had he been watching for it? And if he had, why did he let them succeed in reaching the village? Just how much on Mahrree and Perrin’s side was he then? Was he more now?

  She tapped the feathered end of the quill on the paper.

  Shem was theirs, she was sure of it. In fact, the question hadn’t even entered her mind again until she started thinking about it just now.

  She shrugged and started writing instead about Hogal and Tabbit’s passing, about Shem’s injury, and about Perrin’s new measures that were now being implemented throughout the entire world.

  She chuckled as she wrote about High General Shin’s suggestion to put a simple log cattle fence at the edge of the forest to slow down the Guarders attempting to run across the barren field, and her husband’s dumbfounded reaction that he hadn’t thought of that himself. Yesterday he set two crews of soldiers to begin felling timbers along the river for the long beams.

  Mahrree’s writing strayed into the Shins’ visit and the assassination attempt, that really wasn’t officially an attempt, but Mahrree and Perrin had wondered if maybe—

  She scribbled out the last two sentences she wrote.

  “Oh, that’s smart,” she shook her head. “Yes, put down in writing that you suspect Shem Zenos to be something . . . else. That the lieutenants were something . . . else. Don’t even know if it’s the same ‘else’! Should this ever fall into the wrong hands . . . Sorry Shem, I simply lost my head for a few minutes.” She dropped her quill and folded her arms. “I wonder if the guides ever struggled with knowing what to reveal.”

  She looked sadly at the page where she’d so carefully recorded, then so violently crossed out, words that could do far too much damage. There was only one thing to do.

  Cringing, she tore out the first two pages of her beautiful new book and threw them into the fireplace.

  “Sorry, Mother Shin. Well, this is hardly a promising beginning,” she chuckled sadly, looking at her now-blank book again. “Maybe this is why people don’t always keep their own writings. Whatever isn’t boastful is embarrassing, or shameful, or libelous. And if it’s none of those things, then it’s downright boring!”

  She sighed loudly and looked over at her worn copy of The Writings on a shelf, wedged between other books. There were many incidences in their ancient history which were less-than-glorious, but certainly memorable. Maybe that really was the purpose of The Writings: to show not everything is charming, funny, and happy every day. She read the set-backs and failures of her ancestors so she could see how they endured those dark days to see the sun shine again. And it always did.

  She shut the cover on her own bound pages, retrieved her copy of The Writings from the shelves, and sat back down.

  How did their ancestors write about difficult things?

  She opened the book to the saddest words in The Writings, the last warnings from Guide Hierum, the first guide chosen by the Creator. She had hoped, when her mother gave her the copies of her family lines, that she would see she was descended from the Great Guide. But to her disappointment, she wasn’t. Still, she admired him more than any other man who had lived. Her chest burned, either with the power of his last words or the dread of them. They always seemed timely, no matter what time she read them.

  I warn you now that we cannot continue in the ways we are now. Our lives and existence on this world are not forever. An end will come.

  In the arguing among our people I see the seeds of antipathy and apathy that will grow to destroy the world we are striving so hard to create. We’re drifting from the structure the Creator left us, and if we continue on this path our descendants will not be found faithful at the Last Day when the test ends. What we do today affects our children and their children. For their sakes, we can’t continue down this way you are planning. I know your secrets, and they will destroy us all. I beg you to abandon this!

  You know as wel
l as I do that the Last Day will find each one of us facing either the reward of Paradise to enjoy the company of our family and friends for the next one thousand years and beyond, or the misery of the Dark Deserts to endure the torture of knowing we failed to do His will.

  When that Last Day comes, no one knows but our Creator, and its arrival will surprise those that fight against the Creator’s people.

  On that day do not be one of those surprised to find yourself on the wrong side.

  On that day do not find yourself with a blade in hand ready to charge your brother or sister.

  On that day be one of the many standing with the guide, having seen the signs and recognizing what is coming.

  Before the Last Day will be a land tremor more powerful than any ever experienced. It will awaken the largest mountain and change all that we know in the world. Those changes will bring famine, death, and desperation to the world. And that desperation will cause the world’s army to seek to destroy the faithful of the Creator.

  Be among those faithful to the Creator!

  Be among those standing firm for what you know, having not so quickly forgotten His words to us!

  Be among those who see the marvelous deliverance from the enemy the Creator will send us! For He will send deliverance before He sends destruction to those who fight Him!

  Don’t destroy His structure for our survival. What you’re planning to do will ruin—

  There was more he was trying to say, but he wasn’t allowed to. Mahrree read the following account of those who rushed the Great Guide—as he was remembered—while he stood on a large rock to address the people who came to him demanding changes to their world. With knives and stones they attacked him, shoving him off the boulder, then stabbing and beating him as he cried out for understanding and faith in what they had learned not so long ago. They didn’t like his words, so they silenced them.

  No one came to his aid. Everyone else fled in fear, hiding in caves to avoid the confrontation. It was the first violence their ancestors had ever experienced, and bravery wasn’t something they had yet learned. They hadn’t yet made the connection that faith and courage were opposite ends of the same stick.

  Each man who attacked Guide Hierum had personally known the Creator, had sat at His feet and learned from Him. But they chose to ignore all His teachings and words, as if overtaken by the power of the Refuser, and wanted to destroy the man who wouldn’t let them forget. The Last Day, they had reasoned, would be thousands of years away. Now was the time to live the way they wanted to live. If necessary, they could apologize for any wrong-doing later. It would be easy to get forgiveness, they rationalized. After a slap on the hand for their disobedience, the Creator would surely allow them into Paradise. He said He truly loved them, so why would He deny them what they truly wanted?

  The only witness to the horror was one of Guide Hierum’s assistants, Clewus, who eventually became the next guide. He was hiding silently and safely in a tree by Guide Hierum’s command. The assistant wept as he wrote the Great Guide’s last words and watched his death. It was the first murder, and it was the end of the gloriously perfect peace they had enjoyed for the six years they had existed in the world.

  The men who attacked the guide created a secret order of oaths they developed to control the most coveted piece of land they found. It was “eastward,” the only specifications The Writings gave to its location.

  Mahrree was always intrigued by that. Didn’t that mean they used to live “westward”? Might their people actually have started in Terryp’s discovered land in the far west, beyond the desert of Sands? Might that have been one of the amazing discoveries Terryp made, that the king didn’t want known? The Writings were vague about the location of where the Creator had first placed them, and all of the other records kept from that time were destroyed in that fire so many years ago. So much lost, Mahrree sighed again in frustration. So many details about their origins and first years, gone forever.

  Their ancestors had a better way of living, she was sure of it. But no one knew it now or even cared to rediscover it. There were hints and suggestions scattered all throughout The Writings, but no one bothered to put them all together. Mahrree frequently tried, as she did again that morning, but knew she was missing key pieces to an intriguing puzzle.

  Perrin didn’t know any more than she did, and Rector Lunting actually skipped that section when he covered it a few weeks ago. Everyone always seems more interested in what the “awakening” of Mt. Deceit might mean, so useless speculation was all that was discussed that Holy Day.

  Mahrree occasionally wondered if Shem might have any insights about how their ancestors first lived. He was constantly surprising them with his understanding and knowledge. Among other things.

  Her eyes travelled again to Guide Hierum’s warnings.

  On that day do not be one of those surprised to find yourself on the wrong side. On that day do not find yourself with a blade in hand ready to charge your brother or sister.

  Right now it was obvious which side was the right side—opposite of the Guarders. But both sides, the army and the Guarders, held blades and charged each other. The only way someone could be “surprised” would be because they were sure they were on the Creator’s side, but weren’t.

  That worried Mahrree.

  What if they were already on the wrong side and didn’t recognize it? They certainly would be “surprised.” Guide Hierum had called “the world’s army” the enemy. But how could the Guarder side be the right one? They hadn’t “guarded” since they betrayed the last guide. All they did was terrorize.

  “Perrin’s right,” she murmured. “A complicated math problem with too many unknowns and variables. Oh, how I hate those unknowns.”

  She shook off the detestable notion of doing math so early in the morning, and instead continued reading the account of what happened to the first families.

  After the Great Guide died, a large group followed the six men and their families “eastward” to the new city. New villages popped up everywhere around it, given designations based on the terrain—Sands, Grasses, Winds, Marsh, and Rivers.

  But the original six rebellious men named their city after themselves and their new order of trade. They called it Idumea, taking a letter of each of the six men’s names to produce the name. Guide Clewus didn’t record their individual names, hoping that those who read The Writings many years later wouldn’t seek out those of similar names, either to take revenge or to take the oaths. The men of Idumea established rules, forcing settlers to hand over goods and nuggets of gold to secure their chosen plots and to ensure security from the six holders of the land.

  Ironically, Mahrree often considered, the only ones at the time threatening violence were those six men and their associates. People were buying protection from their aggressors, handing over their gold and silver to make sure they wouldn’t come steal it later. Mahrree still puzzled over why so many first families agreed to such a manipulative system. It was exactly what the Great Guide was trying to warn them about, that destroying the Creator’s order of government would ruin their prosperity. Perhaps the early families agreed to the extortion out of fear.

  Or maybe, from lack of faith.

  “In either case,” she muttered sadly, “they were all cowards.”

  Not all families moved eastward with the founders of Idumea, but eventually everyone found themselves in the city or the surrounding villages. And soon the influence, attitudes, and way of ‘business’ these six men created filled each village and the entire world, despite the pleadings of Guide Clewus.

  The land was meant for everyone, he tried to remind them, given freely from the Creator—just like the apples in the orchard that grew of their own accord and sat waiting for whomever needed them. The land and its products weren’t meant for people to horde and sell. That was the Refuser’s influence.

  But no one listened to his words.

  Today they still ignored those pleas, Mahrree realized. Guide Hierum di
ed saying his words in vain. No one listened then, and no one lived the Creator’s way anymore now. Everything had a price. From a grain of wheat to the death of a man, the right amount of gold nuggets or slips of silver could secure it.

  Mahrree felt a chill go through her, despite the heat coming from the fire. Always when she read that passage she felt a deep sense of loss. Their way of life was now considered only commerce. Even Mahrree gave a large bag of silver slips to the daughter of the widow who owned her house before her, so Mahrree could make sure no one else could lay claim to it.

  On the one hand she could see how it was considered fair—she gave pieces of something shiny taken from the ground in exchange for another piece of ground.

  But on the other hand it seemed peculiar.

  The man who claimed that piece of land where her house stood decades before didn’t pay anyone for it. He just took it. Was it right that he should demand the widow to pay for it simply because he was the first one there?

  And the family who owned the mine in Trades from which the gold nuggets and silver slips were cast didn’t make the nuggets or veins. They didn’t even find or dig them out. Their ancestors just claimed that piece of land, had other men and women labor to get the shiny bits out for them, and took the majority of the earnings for something they didn’t create, earn, or even pay for. It wasn’t destiny that they found that line of gold in the rock and laid claim to it all, but they acted as if it were. That was the way of the world, Mahrree considered, as unfair and exploitive as it was.

  And a gnawing in Mahrree’s heart said, This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.