by Trish Mercer
Chapter 1 ~ “Deceit, my dear young men, is indeed an art.”
Early in the morning of the 64th Day of Raining Season, 320, Tuma Hifadhi leaned on his cane to watch the young men as they filed before him. Behind the elderly man stood several middle-aged men, their arms folded, watching critically. Last week’s failed raid in the forests above Edge brought everyone out in the snow sooner than they expected.
Things were different now, and the time had come.
Hifadhi evaluated the young men as they lined up in the field covered with new snow, the light of dawn just reaching them. Some of them were as large and strong as draft horses. Others were as quick and sneaky as coyotes. Still others were as quiet and subtle as deer. And each one of them was sharp, clever, and focused.
These ten had been selected out of several dozen, and now each waited patiently for the next stage. The weeding process had been most thorough. Even one of Hifadhi’s grandsons had been rejected, but it wasn’t because of his size or ability; it was because he was married and a father. Whomever Tuma chose would lead a life very different than he had known, and he couldn’t have any ties that might influence him to neglect his duty.
Hifadhi smiled at the confident faces that tried to conceal their apprehension. Some were more successful than others. He looked up and down the line, his gaze pausing for a moment on one young man a little taller and a little broader than the others.
Draft horse.
Hifadhi tried not to say anything with his eyes, but he suspected the young man could read them anyway.
He would be the one.
In some ways it was obvious why. There was no one with a more innocent face. His clear sky-blue eyes, smooth chin that would likely never grow a beard, and soft light brown hair lent an almost baby-like quality to his face.
But his quick grin and quicker mind were what would secure him the position. His father, Tuma smiled to himself, would forgive him eventually.
Hifadhi cleared his throat to get their attention, but it wasn’t necessary. Each young man was already focused on him.
“Congratulations on making it to this point, men. You are indeed some of the greatest we’ve ever trained. And because of that I promise each of you will have a place to serve.”
The young men smiled and glanced at each other in relief.
“However,” Hifadhi continued, “while we usually assign pairs, considering the nature of the upcoming assignment, it seems most prudent to send in only one man.”
A few of them raised their eyebrows at the unexpected change.
The draft horse with blue eyes, however, didn’t. He already understood.
“Two men going in together may draw too much attention,” Hifadhi explained. “And after what happened—well, things are going to have to be very different. Last week’s incident with the captain and his fourteen attackers was far too deadly. It’s obvious we need eyes on the inside of the fort. Therefore whoever we send needs to be the most capable. He will be responsible for getting as close to Captain Shin as possible. We need to know everything: his strengths, his weaknesses, his goals, his fears, what he loves, and what he hates. Knowing him intimately will allow us to accomplish great things.”
The elderly man slowly paced in front of the ten hopefuls, his shuffling causing only a slight build-up of snow in front of his boots. He recalled being one of them, so many decades ago. A part of him wished he were younger so that he could choose himself. Not because he didn’t trust the young men, but because he hadn’t been on an adventure for so long.
Still . . .
“We can’t risk being exposed,” he reminded them—but mostly himself—unnecessarily. “To do so would destroy everything. It’s a delicate balance we need to establish, and the opportunity of a lifetime. We’ve recently learned that Captain Shin will be undergoing more changes in his personal life, suggesting that he is, indeed, the one we’ve been watching for. We hope to have someone in place when that change occurs, we guess near the end of Planting Season. How you perform in this next round of training will decide who is chosen. Is this understood?” He stopped his shuffling and looked sternly at the young men.
They nodded.
Hifadhi broke into an easy grin. “Good! Now, Hew Gleace will begin with you today in your first lesson which you may find a little unusual, but very necessary. Hew?” He turned to the men behind him.
Gleace, a pale middle-aged man of muscular build, nodded to Hifadhi and approached the line. “There are many ways a man gives himself away. Today we’re going to begin training you to do just that: deliberately give yourself away in such a manner that those who work with you believe they’ve actually discovered your true identity. However, you will still be concealing it. It’s not easy. You have to maintain complete control over your true self in order to appropriately let slip your feigned ‘true self.’”
Several of the young men blinked in confusion.
But the draft horse grinned in anticipation.
Gleace glanced at Hifadhi to see if he noticed.
He did.
Gleace smiled at the line. “Deceit, my dear young men, is indeed an art. Good thing we have about twelve weeks’ time . . .”
---
Chairman Nicko Mal stood in the hallway of Command School, his hands clasped behind his back, and a small, somewhat unnatural smile on his face.
As the young men marched orderly out of their classrooms and toward the mess hall for their midday meal, they each paused in their stride, stunned to see the man with white hair, long red coat, and black trousers.
“Hello, men!” he said with unusual cheeriness. “Fine group of officers we’re teaching here, I see. Don’t mind me, go get your meal. Can’t have our future leaders weakening now, can we?”
A few purposely caught his eye, but he didn’t focus any additional attention on them, so they continued on. But one lieutenant did receive a prolonged gaze from the Chairman, and it caused him to drop his books.
“Oh, let me help you with those, son,” Mal said brightly as he squatted to help him gather his scattered notes.
The rest of the soldiers picked up their step, eager to get past the hapless soldier who garnered the attention of Nicko Mal.
“Thank you, sir,” the young man said, fumbling to stack his books again, “but I’m sure I can handle it.”
“Now, now, Lieutenant Heth, what kind of leader would I be if I didn’t take care of those who serve me?”
Heth risked a timid smile as the last of the soldiers entered the mess hall. He and Mal stood up and Mal placed the stack of pages on Heth’s pile of books.
“Still haven’t heard from your younger brother?” Mal whispered. “Been over a year since his late night visit to you, isn’t it?”
Mal had asked him—no, shouted—that same question in a raging fit just a couple of nights ago in Lieutenant Heth’s dormitory room. Perhaps the leader of the world thought the answer would change if he asked it again in a different time and place.
Heth shook his head, almost imperceptibly. “Since he left I haven’t heard anything from him.”
“Neither have I,” Mal murmured. “Not sure what to make of it. It’s almost as if he’s vanished. Keeping very low and quiet.”
“Maybe he changed his name,” the former Sonoforen suggested. “Would be wisest.”
“I considered that as well,” Mal nodded once. “Which would make him as difficult to locate as the other missing son of the last king,” he said with a deliberate squint.
The young man who should have been king after his father’s execution—had he not been illegitimate and in hiding—only nodded at the current leader of the world.
“Should you hear anything, you’ll be sure to notify me immediately,” Mal told him.
Heth nodded again. “Absolutely, sir. In the meantime, is there anything else—”
“No,” Mal cut him off. “Not yet.”
“I could leave school early, and—”
“Oh
no, Lieutenant,” Mal said firmly. “You of all people definitely need to finish Command School.”
Heth’s expression fell.
Mal smirked. Every future officer thought he was something special; otherwise, he wouldn’t be in Command School.
“But eventually the time will be right, Heth. Currently we’re priming the pump, shall we say. Discovering how to create the ideal set-up.”
“And I’ll be your first choice when your research is done?”
Mal smiled thinly at the eager mutt. “Men who have personal motivation are far more effective than those who are merely curious or simply following orders. I have shelves of studies to prove it. And anyone with a personal vendetta against the officer who had his father killed will likely be far more driven than just a regular soldier. You will be the first choice.”
---
“So . . . anything?” Perrin asked many weeks later as he watched his wife closely. Their now one-year-old daughter Jaytsy was asleep in bed, and her parents finally had a moment to themselves.
Perrin put a hand on Mahrree’s enormous belly and waited.
Mahrree just stared at him, her mouth hanging open and her eyes unblinking.
Perrin tried to jiggle her immovable belly. “It’s been thirteen weeks since the forest incident, little kicker. It’s safe to come out now!” He looked up into his wife’s face again.
She still hadn’t budged, simply too shocked.
“Hmm,” Perrin frowned. “I thought for sure that—”
“THEY WERE AFTER ME?!” Mahrree suddenly bellowed.
“And now it’s sunk in,” Perrin smiled. He put his other hand on her belly. “So at any moment . . . remarkable. Nothing. I thought for sure the truth would start birthing pains, but no tightening, no—”
“THE FOURTEEN GUARDERS WERE AFTER ME?!”
“Uh, yes. I think I just told you that. Mahrree, please blink. Your eyes will dry out—”
“PERRIN! THEY WERE AFTER—”
He put a finger on her lips. “You, yes. And Jaytsy, but don’t wake her up,” he added quietly. “The fourteen Guarders were actually after my family, not me. Hogal still has the message if you want to see it. I decided it was best left in his hands until now. Ah, well at least you blinked. Now let’s see if we can’t get the stubborn little kicker here to—”
“Oh, Perrin!” Mahrree exclaimed, and started to weep. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sighed. “I thought it was obvious—to keep you from birthing too early. But now that you’re ready it doesn’t seem to have any effect. Why are you crying?”
“You’ve had three moons to get over this, but I’m barely learning about it now!”
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Well, as close as her bulging middle would allow. “You’re right,” he sighed. “I didn’t think about it that way. My back’s been healed for several weeks now, so in my mind it’s all well in the past.”
At least his back felt fine. He was even able to finish the new baby’s addition on the house last week, and before that erected a fence around the front yard when Jaytsy discovered how to walk shortly after her first birthday.
But how his back looked was another matter. He saw the scar only a few times in the surgery, when the surgeon positioned mirrors for him to admire it. He thought the raw jagged line was an ideal badge of honor.
But it took Mahrree weeks to stop whimpering whenever he undressed. Occasionally he noticed her biting her lip when she saw the thick white scar that would forever mark him.
“You did it all for me?” she asked quietly. “The long nights, the bow and arrows and long knives, your slashed back—my scarf!” she suddenly remembered.
“Of course,” he chuckled. “And your scarf is somewhere in the middle of the forest. I got too hot. Sorry. It was truly Guarder snatched.”
“What’s a silly old scarf, anyway,” she blubbered.
He put a hand back on her belly. “You’re really not feeling any pain at all?”
She sighed. “No, nothing, I’m afraid. In fact, maybe now you’ve scared the baby into wanting to stay inside permanently. Why come into a world that’s out to get him?”
“Because he has a father that can conquer the world!” Perrin declared. “With a little help, that is,” he admitted.
Mahrree finally smiled. “Yes, he does.” She kissed her husband. “So, have you told your father the truth?”
Perrin groaned. “Sent the confession this morning. Should reach him by tomorrow. And then . . . we’ll likely hear him bellowing all the way from Idumea.”
“If not him, then probably your mother.”
Perrin shut his eyes momentarily. “My mother! Please, little one,” he said to his wife’s expecting bulge, “Come out now and be a distraction to your grandparents’ wrath.”
“Oh great,” Mahrree sighed. “Now it’ll never be born.”
---
It was near the end of Planting Season when Relf Shin opened the envelope with the familiar writing on the outside.
“So am I a grandfather again, Perrin?” the High General smiled as he opened the message. He pushed aside the other messages on his desk to pay full attention. His smile diminished as he read. Eventually his left hand clenched into a fist, his lips pressed tightly together, and he closed his eyes to stop seeing the words.
“Son, son—you stupid boy!” he whispered.
The General opened his eyes again and continued to read, the faint smile reforming on his lips.
“But fantastic, Perrin!” he said a few minutes later. “Why did I know you went further into that forest than a few paces? But now,” he sighed heavily, “what to do with you? What will Mal—”
Relf Shin pondered.
“Fourteen Guarders dead, no soldiers or citizens hurt, your wife preserved, and you were the only one injured, and not by a tree branch . . . Sounds to me as if your twenty stitches were punishment enough. And since this is an army matter,” he said with a sly smile, tossing the message into the fireplace where the flames consumed the confession, “the head of the army will take care of it.”
He pulled out a piece of parchment and began writing.
As High General of the Army of Idumea, I must inform you, Captain Perrin Shin, that your behavior in deliberately entering the forest a second time three moons ago—although for noble and commendable reasons—violated the firm admonitions sent to you by General Cush. I hereby officially reprimand you with a strict warning to never reveal your activities that night to anyone else. Not even to your mother. This is not a matter to be celebrated or boasted about, but to feel great shame and embarrassment, as you undoubtedly do, thus prompting your most remorseful, albeit delayed, confession to me . . .
The High General chuckled the entire time.
---
Captain Shin stared the formal-looking message from Idumea two days later. He held it at arm’s length as if waiting for it to bite.
“It’s his handwriting, isn’t it?” Sergeant Major Grandpy Neeks said, stopping in the process of opening another message.
Lieutenant Karna looked up from the latest announcement he was scanning to look at his commander.
“Yep,” was all that Shin said as he slowly unfolded the parchment.
Karna and Neeks exchanged worried looks as Captain Shin started to read the High General Shin’s response to the report—the real report—of what happened in the forest a season ago.
The men held their collective breath as the captain read, his eyes revealing no emotion until he got to the end. That’s when he finally blinked and folded the letter again.
“Well?” Neeks nearly burst out.
Shin swallowed. “My father is very disappointed in me. So disappointed that he won’t even reveal the enormity of my ‘success’ to General Cush or Chairman Mal. Or even my mother. I am officially on notice.”
Neeks scowled. “Notice? Never heard of an officer on ‘notice.’ What does that mean?”
Shin smi
led. “Absolutely nothing at all.”
Then he started to chuckle.
---
Two weeks later in the evening of the 89th Day of Planting Season, in the forests outside the small village of Edge, several men stood in a thick stand of trees. All but one of them was dressed in concealing clothing, allowing them to blend into the woods. The one who didn’t was younger than the others, and wore a tunic and trousers like the villagers.
They had been watching the erratic patrols all evening, trying to predict the pattern. One patrol went by, followed by another. Then another.
Realizing it would be impossible to choose a perfect moment, the young man suddenly nodded once and darted across the dark, barren field unnoticed.
Tomorrow, the fort at Edge would receive a new recruit.
---
On the 90th and almost last day of Planting Season, Captain Shin jogged up the stairs of the command tower in the late afternoon.
Lieutenant Karna looked at him expectantly.
The captain shook his head. “False alarm. Again. Might as well finish out the day. But I don’t know how she can get any bigger. She bumped into the corner of the table last night and I fully expected to hear a loud pop.”
Karna chuckled. “You spent over a season helping her to stop the pains, now you can’t get them started again?”
Perrin shook his head. “It’s hopeless. Nothing will scare that baby out.”
“Now, not being a father or married, I won’t confess to knowing anything about children,” Karna began, “but if her expecting is any indication of the kind of baby she’s about to birth, that will be one stubborn, annoying child. Probably a boy, much like his father.”
Perrin chuckled and rubbed his eyes wearily. “That’s what my uncle Hogal said last night. Brillen, I’m not sure how much more of this I can stand. We were up half the night counting the minutes before the pains suddenly stopped. I thought she was going to explode from disappointment. Then the same thing happened at midday meal. I’ve got Corporal Yip patrolling the alley behind the house so she can holler to him if anything happens.”
“Poor Captain,” Karna smiled and patted his shoulder sympathetically. “Maybe this is why people have only two children.”
Shin smiled sadly. “Not for population control, but for sanity preservation.”
The men chuckled and Captain Shin headed for the command office.
“Sir,” Karna stopped him. “There’s someone in there waiting. Said he wants to be a volunteer. I was just about to go interview him, but—”
Shin frowned. “Volunteer? I’ll take care of him.” In a whisper he added, “Something must be wrong with him if he wants to work for me without wages.”
Karna laughed as Shin went into his office. Inside stood a strapping young man, already at attention.
Perrin nodded a greeting. “Captain Perrin Shin,” he held out his hand in introduction. “And already I doubt your ability to be of service.”
The young man with light brown hair swallowed hard as he shook the captain’s hand. “Sir?”
“You want to do this without pay? What does that say about your intelligence? Not a great deal.” He winked at him, sat down at his desk, and gestured for the hopeful volunteer to take a seat across from him.
With a hesitant smile the large boy sat down.
Perrin shifted some neat stacks of paper around his desk before launching into his routine of subtle interrogation. There were only a few other cases of volunteerism he had ever seen, and each one ended up with the prospect taken in chains to incarceration. The army was no place to hide from law enforcers, difficult parents, or expecting girlfriends. Even if he didn’t sign up officially, someone’s still going to write down his name.
“So,” he said, finally looking up at him once he was sure the young man had grown uneasy with waiting, “my lieutenant says you’re interested in volunteering?”
The hopeful cleared his throat. “Yes, sir, I am. For two, maybe three seasons, sir. Just to see if I really want to stay.”
Perrin frowned. “Two seasons? Work half a year without slips of silver?”
“To be honest, sir—”
Deceit frequently begins with the words To be honest, Perrin thought to himself.
“—I’m not sure I’m up to being a soldier. But I’m very interested in helping track down the Guarders. I’m good at tracking. My father has a herd of cattle that are always escaping. I can find a lost calf anywhere.”
Perrin nodded once. “Good skill. But Guarders don’t moo. And we’re not allowed to track into the forest.”
“But sir, I can tell you if someone has come out of the forest, then gone back in.”
He couldn’t help but smile at his confidence. “Well, I’d be foolish not to accept your help, then. I can let you stay in the barracks and eat in the mess hall, but I can’t issue you a uniform if you’re not official.”
The young man began to smile back. “That’s all right, sir! Don’t need one. And I have a little bit of savings, so I don’t need slips of silver.”
Perrin pulled out a blank paper. “Well, then, I don’t have a stamped form to fill out for volunteers. You must be the first. But I do need some information. Name?” He would check it, along with variations, with the chief of enforcement later.
“Shem Zenos, sir.”
He offered that up easily, Perrin thought. Usually young men stammer a bit with a false name, even if they practiced it.
Still . . .
He furrowed his brow. “Zenos? Never heard that last name before. Not from Edge, are you?”
“No, sir. I kind of wanted to get away from home. So I came north.”
“Understood,” he said casually as he wrote the name. “Where are you from? Mountseen? Quake? Rivers?”
“From between Flax and Waves, sir.”
Perrin’s head came up, startled. Even though he knew the villages were at the furthest southern edges of the world, still he turned to stare at the large map of the world that hung on the wall. “Really? Talk about getting away from home. You can’t get any further than that.”
Zenos shrugged. “I know, sir.”
Perrin’s suspicions rose, but he remained relaxed. “Take you a long time to get here?”
“Weeks, sir,” he sighed. “Sold my horse down in Trades to have enough silver to get up here so I wouldn’t have to touch my savings. Walked the rest of the way.”
“Sold your own horse?” Few young men owned their own horses. Only very wealthy families could take on the expense of an extra animal. Even Perrin had never owned his own horse, he remembered with the smallest twinge of jealousy, although he ‘claimed’ one or two over the years that the stables at the garrison allowed him to ride.
And although he was allowed to choose a horse at the fort to be designated his own, he had yet to do so. None of the animals were the right blend of strength and speed to match Perrin’s build. If a stallion was fast enough, it also grew tired too quickly. If a mare was sturdy enough, it couldn’t keep up. Perrin alternated between three different animals.
And this overgrown boy in front of him had had his very own?
He also realized that very successful ranchers frequently had several horses to keep up with their cattle. But why would a father allow his son to sell such a valuable animal?
Or perhaps, he didn’t.
Perrin watched the young man for signs that the sale hadn’t been sanctioned, but he met the captain’s steady gaze. “Yes, sir, I did. So I could come chase Guarders. No forests near Waves, sir. Only salty water.”
Perrin leaned back in his seat, intrigued. “There are places closer to your home where Guarders are attacking. In fact, there was that raid just a few weeks ago on Coast. Guarders came in on canoes. Might be coming to Waves in canoes, too.”
Zenos smiled cautiously. “And they’ll have just as a difficult time. The water is rougher at Waves than at Coast, sir.”
The captain nodded as he appraised the lar
ge boy, still unconvinced that he traveled so far. It was common knowledge that the waves at Waves were much stronger than at Coast. The name was a bit of a giveaway.
“That it is,” Perrin said. “I’ve been to both villages. I’m not surprised the Guarder canoes all sank, although I was rather disappointed. I was hoping someone might be able to catch one of them alive. Guess it would be rather hard to track on the water, wouldn’t it?”
Zenos nodded. “I imagine they’ve abandoned that strategy, sir. I’m confident the village of Waves will be safe from future water attacks.”
Perrin studied him for a moment—the young man held his penetrating gaze remarkably well—before he looked back at the map. “A lot of people have speculated about where they launched their canoes. Around here folks are guessing they somehow managed to make a home in the marshes east of here and went south. But then they would have had to travel for quite a distance.”
“It’s not really that far, sir,” Zenos suggested.
Perrin turned his attention to boy. “About fifty miles in a canoe isn’t ‘that far’? Few people would agree with you, Zenos. Anywhere more than ten miles away might as well be one hundred.”
Zenos swallowed. “Sir, you said you’ve been all the way south, so you’ve traveled, right?”
“Yes.”
“Surely you would agree that traveling one hundred twenty miles isn’t that much harder than traveling ten miles. Just . . . do it longer. Most people have never tried it, so they don’t know. You simply keep going. You don’t die from it. You rest, eat, walk, sleep. Every village has a market with food, and there are inns and taverns to stay in. Even some barns if no one’s looking,” he confessed, a little uncomfortably.
Perrin smiled.
The boy’s demeanor changed significantly when he confessed to sleeping in barns. He didn’t have to reveal that information, but he apparently didn’t know how to hold back on the truth. So, likely, he did come from a long distance.
The next question then was, why.
“You’re right,” Perrin said, “I don’t understand why people fear traveling, but then again, now that I’ve settled down I’m rather content to be where I am. Why leave home when all that I want is right here?”
“Yes, sir.” Zenos looked down at his hands and started rubbing them as if trying to remove unseen dirt. An unconscious behavior of guilt.
Perrin smiled inwardly. “Well, we’ll provide you a horse to chase Guarders with, but it may be rather dull here for a time. Been exceptionally quiet for over three moons now. More recently they hit Trades again, just north of Flax, out of the forest about there.” He pointed to a spot on the map. “You could have stayed near home to find Guarders,” he hinted again.
Zenos swallowed again. “But I also wanted to see the world. Saw most of it walking north, sir,” he chuckled anxiously.
“And a very long way to walk it is, Zenos.” Perrin smiled genially.
Zenos smiled cautiously back.
In the same casual tone, Perrin got right to the point. “Trouble at home, son?”
Zenos shook his head rapidly. “No, sir. None at all. Not really.”
Perrin put down his quill to show he wasn’t about to record anything more. “Was she pretty?”
Zenos’s eyes grew big. “Sir?”
He raised his eyebrows in suggestion. The boy needed to hide for two to three seasons. Six to nine moons was long enough for anything that might be developing to arrive.
Zenos blushed a deep shade of red. “Sir, no girl! I promise! I’ve never, never—”
Shin raised his hand to stop the young man’s frantic defense. He didn’t need that much honesty.
Zenos bit his lower lip to silence it.
Perrin considered him. There was no deceit in his clear blue eyes, so there must have been something else. While Zenos’s body was surprisingly broad and muscular, his smooth, almost gentle face looked like it belonged to a twelve-year-old.
“Do you have your parents’ permission to be here?”
Zenos furrowed his eyebrows. “Sir, I don’t have a mother anymore, and my father wasn’t too happy about me leaving, but he’s getting over it.”
“I may need a signature, Zenos.”
Zenos’s mouth dropped open. “Sir, I’m of age! I’m twenty. My birthday was at the beginning of the season!”
Perrin smiled dubiously. “Really.”
Zenos rubbed his smooth chin. “My father can’t grow much of a beard either, sir. I assure you, I’m of age.”
If a single hair emerged on his chin, the boy probably would have thrown a celebration.
“Well, no crime in not growing a beard. Saves you some time each morning. While the rest of the army is shaving, you’ll be first in line for breakfast. But if you choose to sign up later, I may need a verifying signature from your father.”
Zenos shifted uneasily. “Would take some time to get that but . . . yes, sir.”
So it was likely his age. Nothing else made him as uncomfortable as that. Perrin would send a message to the chief of enforcement asking if any villages were missing a younger-than-legal boy. Until he received word back, there was nothing else he could do except let him stay and work for food. At least he’d be safe at the fort.
Perrin went back to writing, hoping to elicit something about Zenos’s relationship with his family. “Your father owns cattle, you say? Between Flax and Waves?”
“Yes, sir. Large herd. Even brought some of it up to Idumea once to sell. May do it again when he has a big surplus.”
“The garrison is always looking for good beef.” Perrin nodded as he took notes on the paper, stalling to come up with another tactic to gather more information about the boy’s father—
Zenos leaned forward a bit to see what the captain was writing.
Perrin looked up abruptly, but didn’t focus on the young man who froze in alarm that he’d been caught snooping. Instead he watched the door.
A moment later it swung open.
There stood a wide-eyed corporal, panting. Realizing that he’d opened the door without knocking first, he lamely did so. Then he looked at the door in complete confusion as if trying to work out what he was doing.
“Well, Yip?” Shin demanded.
The corporal turned immediately to the captain and nodded. “Said she’s positive this time,” he gasped. “Something about water rupturing? Mrs. Peto arrived and said to come get you. Midwives are on their way.”
Perrin slammed down the quill and stood up. “Zenos, welcome to Edge,” he said hurriedly. “You’ll have to excuse me, but Karna will show you around and get you a cot. I’m due at home. I need to take my daughter for a very long walk.”
“Second child, sir?” Zenos asked.
“Yes!” he shouted as he ran down the stairs.
Lieutenant Karna chuckled from the outer office. “About time, Captain. Good luck!” he called. “Zenos, I’ll be with you in just a moment.”
“Yes, sir,” Zenos called back. “Take your time.”
All alone in the office, he looked around and made quick mental notes. He was there for research, after all.
Although the documents on the desk were organized and tidy, the fort didn’t seem overly formal, and the lieutenant and the captain appeared to be on easy terms judging by the laughter he heard before the captain came in to interview him, and the casual send-off the lieutenant shouted as the captain left.
Zenos admired the overly large, clear windows of the command office, which revealed a great deal of the village. The enormous windows in the forward office also afforded an unobstructed view of the forest to the north. Much more than he expected, but that was what he needed to find out.
Through the western window he spied the captain sprinting, at an amazing pace for such a hefty build, out the fort’s gates and down the road south toward the village. Yet another piece of crucial information: the captain was a very fast runner, and wholly devoted to his family. And either today or tomor
row, another Shin would be born.
There was a great deal to be learned here, and already new developments.
“Looks like I got here just in time,” Zenos whispered with a smile.
---
Two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.
“Any news?” Mal began.
“You mean, any more bodies or canoes wash ashore?” Brisack smirked. It really had been one of Nicko Mal’s more ridiculous ideas.
Mal clasped his hands so tightly his knuckles turned white. “We weren’t to bring that up again, remember?”
“That’s what you decided, not me,” the good doctor pointed out. Mal was an easy target tonight.
“What I was asking was, any news from Edge?” Mal tried to recover his casual tone.
“What kind of news, specifically?” Dr. Brisack said with teasing smile.
Mal sighed loudly. “You know what I mean! I saw Relf leaving the Administrative Headquarters, and he was smiling. I didn’t have time to ask him myself so . . . ?”
“Yes, he’s a grandfather again. Got the news this afternoon,” was all Brisack told him. Antagonizing Mal was one of the simple joys of his life.
“Well?” Mal steamed.
“Well,” Brisack said slowly, enjoying the tension building in his companion’s face, “it’s a good thing Mrs. Shin survived your little Guarder raid. She’s delivered a healthy son. Another male Shin that can grow up to become a High General Shin. Just what you wanted, correct? He could be the fourth general.”
Mal growled quietly and massaged his hands. “Shin got lucky,” he mumbled. “He always gets lucky. Speaking of women delivering babies, did you finish your research about the dangers of women birthing too often?”
“That’s nearly finished,” Brisack smiled at the shift in topic. “Just need to summarize the findings and print it for the villages should anyone else question the need to keep families small.”
Mal shrugged at that. “I still think you made too much of it. Gadiman had things under control—”
“Under control?” Brisack spat, his joyful moment over. “He was ready to execute that midwife! How’s that ‘under control’?”
“That’s why we have him, my good doctor. To sniff out potential threats. Question those who question us. Find those who would unravel the cloth that weaves our society together,” Mal slipped into a practiced speech. “Yank one thread inappropriately and it all comes apart.”
“I know the rationale,” Brisack scowled. “I helped you write it! But people will follow laws more willingly if they understand why they exist. It’s not merely about population control. What I’ve done is demonstrate to that midwife, and everyone else, that childbirth truly is a grave danger to women. That’s why I never let my wife subject herself to it.”
Mal opened his mouth in a vain attempt to stop the speech he dreaded was coming, but once Brisack got started it was easier to end a stampede.
“We improve women’s lives by birthing fewer babies!” the good doctor exclaimed. “To birth once is a tremendous risk. Twice? It’s nearly unconscionable. But to allow a woman to endure it a third time? Through accident or an oppressive husband or her own misguided sense of duty or desire?” He shook his head sadly. “Expecting changes a woman’s mind. Have you ever heard a new mother talking?”
The bored frown of Mal told him the question was completely unnecessary, and Brisack should have known that.
“Well—” Brisack continued undeterred.
Mal just made himself comfortable for the duration.
“—I’ve heard enough women state how their entire view of the world changes once they become a mother. I realize they generally mean it in a constructive way, but birthing alters their mental state, turns normally logical women into emotional creatures that can’t think clearly. Such irrationality is manifested even more after the birth of the second child, moving some women to become so severely imbalanced so as to desire the experience again, even while knowing the government strictly forbids it.”
Mal examined his fingernails, as if he could see them in the dark.
“And on occasion they drag their husbands into this state of defiance,” Brisack blathered on, “and he becomes as manic as she does in a desire for a third child, despite all laws and all logic! Tragic,” he sighed sadly.
Mal nibbled at a hangnail.
“So unnecessary. Amazing, really, that they can even raise their children to adulthood after such alterations,” Brisack said in genuine wonder. “I simply can’t figure out why they put their bodies through so much torment and their minds into such a state of frenzy. Can you imagine the frame of mind of a woman with four children? Or eight? She’d be a lunatic!”
“Most women already are, Doctor,” Mal intoned lazily. “You’re just too prejudiced to notice.”
Ignoring that accusation, Brisack said, “Well, we’ll have far fewer challenges once all the midwives understand and can make mothers realize that they’re under the duress of their conditions. The Drink certainly is the only—and best—course of action. That’s why I spent so much time perfecting it years ago.”
“No need to convince me of anything, Doctor.” Mal spat out his hangnail. “It sounds like you’re the one wrestling with a prick of conscience.”
“I’m not!” Brisack declared. “I truly feel this is for the best. And now every woman in the world can understand why, too.”
“Except for that midwife.”
Brisack went pale. “What do you mean, that midwife?”
“She’s missing,” Mal said dismissively, picking up some pages to signal he was ready to move on to another subject.
“No!” Brisack gasped. “Gadiman?”
“Does it matter?”
“Of course it matters! You promised me nothing would happen to her.”
Mal shrugged easily. “I really don’t know what happened. I just received a note from Gadiman saying that when he went for another interrogation, she was gone.”
“You don’t know what your weasel did with her?” Brisack bellowed.
“She may have left on her own,” Mal said, unruffled. “Hiding somewhere. That would be the most sensible, wouldn’t you think?”
“She did nothing wrong!” Brisack protested. “She was only wondering. Since when do we punish for that?”
“She wasn’t punished, Doctor. At least, I don’t think she was,” said Mal, unconcerned. “What does it matter, anyway? Just another woman. The world is crawling with them. They’re inconsequential beyond their ability to entertain men and birth another generation. And maybe bake a pie.”
“And people wonder that you never married,” marveled Brisack.
---
The forest grumbled and belched and trembled. The trees masked bottomless chasms that stank of sulfur, fountains of scalding hot water that shot into the air, and seemingly innocent patches of bubbling mud that burned. The forest was known to devour animals, people, and—the stories said—hope.
The midwife should have been terrified to be there, but she wasn’t. In fact, for the first time in far too long she felt safe as she picked her way through the dense foliage.
She’d been too vocal in Idumea—she knew that, and would have to explain herself. But if she could do the math, anyone could.
The population was dying, albeit slowly.
That could be fixed by allowing the request of a very few parents. But her proposal had garnered the attention of Administrator Gadiman himself, the biggest mistake she could have committed.
Keep a low profile and your name quiet. Make no lasting connections. Avoid drawing attention to yourself—
But she had to try. And now, fear of that weasely man had sent her running.
Home.
