The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series) (88 page)

“Until one young man hit the bear in the eye.
Something in that massive, and—up to that point—
harmless
,
beast snapped. He roared, lunged through the bushes, and attacked
the first teenager he could reach: an innocent young woman who’d
been trying to get the boys to stop. It was a battle after that,
and eventually the teenagers beat off the bear with a variety of
sticks and thrown rocks. The girl lived, but it took several moons
for her leg to heal from the ravages of the bear, and she always
walked with an obvious limp. It was that last berry that broke the
bear.”

Mahrree nodded, understanding too much what
Yung was trying to say. “But the world’s been throwing things much
harder than berries at him for years.”

“I know,” Rector Yung said solemnly. “That’s
why I’m worried for him, and for you. When a bear goes on a
rampage, it doesn’t discriminate its victims. It goes for the
closest and most convenient target.”

Mahrree swallowed. “Which would be me. Or the
children.”

He patted her back again. “Then again,
nothing might come of any of this. I may just be overly
concerned.”

“And I appreciate it,” Mahrree told him. “You
remind me of Perrin’s great uncle Hogal.”

Yung looked down. “I feel him there, in that
house sometimes. As if he’s checking up on me, watching to make
sure I’m continuing his work properly.”

“You are. You say what I think he’d say.
That’s important now, since Perrin doesn’t have his great uncle,
and now no longer has his fa—” The word seized in her throat. Just
when she thought she was able to deal with it all, she was
overwhelmed again.

Yung squeezed her shoulder and tenderly
pulled her close as her tears dampened his shoulder, again.

---

That evening Shem stood listening outside the
doors of the training arena, a cringe etching itself on his
face.

“Mennn,” Beneff held out the word for three
counts, “welcome to the Army . . . of Idumea, ho-ho,” he droned and
paced.

“I’m so sorry,” Shem whispered, as if any of
his ten recruits could hear him. Beneff had insisted on introducing
himself to the men immediately, before Shem could take them out on
their nighttime orientation ride.

In a way it would provide an interesting
contrast, Shem The Optimist decided. The dullest experience of
training, followed by the most terrifying.

“To-daaay,” Beneff continued, taking most of
the evening to say the word, “we will begin . . . by learning . . .
to care for . . . your horse, hum-hum.”

Beneff’s strange delivery was amusing for
five minutes; beyond that it was agonizing. Maybe the soldiers were
already asleep on their feet. If not, Master Sergeant Zenos would
teach them how, out of kindness.

“For if . . . you take care of your horse . .
. he or she—or
it
, snip-snip, ho-ho, as the unfortunate
creature may be—will then care for you.”

Shem groaned. Beneff would take three hours
to review something that took five minutes.

“First . . . the blanket. May be wool . . .
may be cotton . . . may not be silk, may not be linen . . . may not
be sheepskin, because we all know that there’s a reason why wheels
aren’t square—”

At least the random bits of Beneff’s dubious
wisdom should keep them somewhat alert, trying to puzzle out his
meanings.

“Really, boys,” Shem whispered, “if there was
anything
else I dared have him do—”

“—may not be leather . . . may not be linen .
. . I believe I mentioned that already, good to repeat,
ho-hah—”

“That’s right,” Shem whispered, “ramble about
nothing important so you say nothing revealing.”

Shem leaned against the wall. It was bad
enough when he realized that a Thorne would be coming back with
them to Edge, but then Beneff showed up. Shem was fairly confident
Beneff was just an “old horse” no one in the army wanted, but
didn’t have the heart to put out to pasture. Yet one could never be
sure when someone who’d been predictable for years would suddenly
remember his true nature.

After all, Shem had gone through the same
training himself.

“At least I’m dealing with only two cats,” he
whispered to himself. “One so young and inexperienced it doesn’t
even know it’s a cat, and the other so old it can’t remember what
it is. Both manageable, for now. But at some point,” he closed his
eyes in dread, “they’re going to send in the mountain lions. And
then?”

And then . . .

“What will Perrin think of me?”

---

Perrin sat on the bed for probably hours—he
lost track of time. He stared at the wilting lilacs, now releasing
a sickly decaying odor, as he slowly fingered the ornate hilt on
the general’s sword.

It had been made in honor of the High
General’s installment and presented to him after he made his oaths
of fidelity and loyalty to King Oren. As far as Perrin knew, the
gleaming steel blade had never been used in all those years. But
that didn’t mean it couldn’t be. This was no decorative sword—not
like the flimsy thing General Cush kept at his side as a symbol
rather than as a weapon, and used to clean his fingernails when he
thought no one was looking.

No,
this
sword, this masterpiece of
metalwork and intricacy—the hilt was an elaborate mass of twisting
steel and careful cutwork, called filling-gree by the
swordsmith—no, this sword was made to be much more than a symbol or
a piece of art.

It was meant to be
used
.

Perrin wasn’t sure why they’d sent it to him:
as a promise for his future, out of pity for his loss, or as a
taunting reminder why the previous owner no longer needed it. It
didn’t matter.

He fingered the carefully twisted bits of
shining steel and breathed in the stench of rotting flowers. He
shouldn’t have been feeling this way, he knew. They were fine. He
heard them, he felt them—he
still
felt them, burning
constantly and quietly in his chest. They were fine in Paradise,
with Hogal and Tabbit and countless others whose existence had
graduated to the next life
.

They were fine
.

He had shed his tears, near to dehydration,
before they reached Idumea. And then he buried them, and felt them,
and they were fine.

So why did it hurt so much? Again? Still?

Yes, he’d miss them. Nothing would ever fully
take their place in his life, but he was adaptable. Granted, he
hated change—everyone does. But change happens, and you accept it,
deal with it, rearrange your mind and soul in accordance with it,
and you move on.

But he couldn’t move. He hadn’t moved for
hours. He just sat there fingering the filling-gree.

After a while, he looked up in the darkening
bedroom to see his sheathed sword leaning by the bedroom door, in
precise position for him to strap it on in less than five seconds
when the call came.

Eventually, he knew something he could do, a
way he could move. He stood up, made his feet shuffle to his sword,
and pulled it out of the sheath. Carefully he slipped it under the
bed, between two of Mahrree’s storage crates.

Then he took the general’s sword and
reverently slipped it into his sheath by the door.

And then . . .

. . . everything changed.

###

Sneak peek at Book 3,
Falcon in
the Barn

Eight weeks after the land tremor that shook
the world, Jaytsy sat on her bed late at night with her knees
pulled up to her chest. She slowly rocked, but didn’t dare go to
sleep. There was a chance tonight would be quiet, but she’d had her
sleep disturbed far too many times.

She knew it was self-centered to think so,
but more and more she began to suspect that the shaking she had
wished for everyone else, just to “wake them up a little,” had been
focused primarily on her. While the world was looking more and more
normal with all the rebuilding, nothing in Jaytsy’s world was the
same.

Her grandparents were gone. And now, so was
her father.

Perrin Shin’s body came home from his enraged
ride to Idumea, but it was soon apparent his mind didn’t. Where it
was most of the time, no one in their family really knew. All they
knew was as soon as he put General Relf Shin’s sword into his
sheath, everything changed.

It was the day after the crate had come from
Idumea, the 55
^th
Day of Planting, that he replaced his
sword with his father’s. That night he tried to use it.

Jaytsy had been sleeping when she heard
shouting upstairs. Panicked, she opened her door at the same time
Peto opened his. They stared at each other across the dark
gathering room, hearing their father yelling and their mother
trying to calm him. He came running down the stairs, Relf’s sword
drawn, and looked dimly at his children in the dark.

“Upstairs! Now! My bedroom! The only place
you’ll be safe.”

Mahrree followed him. “Perrin, no one’s here.
There’s no danger.”

“Yes there is! It’s everywhere!” His eyes
flashed wildly around the room as if seeing something.

Jaytsy and Peto searched the darkness, then
each other’s faces in worry.

“NOW!” he bellowed at them.

“Just go,” their mother whispered, “I’ll deal
with him.”

They ran upstairs and sat on the edge of
their parents’ bed, listening to their mother try to reason with
their father. It was obvious by his shouting that she wasn’t
getting through to him.

“What’s wrong with him?” Peto whispered.

“I don’t know,” Jaytsy whispered back. She
pulled her legs up to her chest and hugged her knees. “Maybe he saw
something in a shadow.”

Peto crawled along the bed to look outside
the new window. It was exceptionally large and clear, providing an
unobstructed view to the back alley. “It’s really quiet out there,
the alley is empty, and the tower doesn’t look lit. I don’t think
there’s anything.”

He crawled back to sit next to his sister,
but not too close. “I don’t hear him anymore.”

Jaytsy listened for a moment. “Me
neither.”

“What does that mean?” Peto whispered.

Jaytsy shrugged. “It’s really . . .” she
couldn’t think of a word. She had never seen her father act like
that before.

“Creepy,” Peto supplied, and wrapped his arms
around himself.

A moment later their mother came upstairs to
the dark bedroom. “Just a nightmare, nothing more!” she said in an
overly merry voice. “He’s asleep on the sofa. I don’t think he was
even fully awake. You can go to bed now.”

Jaytsy didn’t dare move. Neither did
Peto.

“Does he still have the sword?” her brother
asked.

They heard a heavy sound from their mother.
“No, I took it after he fell on the sofa. We don’t need him
mistaking any of us for someone we’re not, do we?” she laughed
softly, but her voice was shaky. “It’s all right, I promise. Just .
. . keep your doors closed.”

In the morning when Jaytsy passed her father
on the sofa, he opened his eyes and looked at her, baffled. “Why am
I here? Did I have a fight with your mother that I slept through?”
he smiled.

“Uh,” Jaytsy stopped, unsure of how to
explain. He looked completely normal, just a little tired. “Sort
of?”

Jaytsy rushed to the washing room and shut
the door securely behind her. She sat in there waiting until she
heard her mother come down the stairs. Through the door she heard
the muffled conversation become louder and louder. She cringed when
she heard her father shout, “I would never do that!”

By the time she came out a few minutes later
for breakfast, her father was sitting at the table holding his
head. He gave her a weak smile which she half-heartedly
returned.

Peto just nodded at his father as he sat down
to eat.

By dinner everyone was easier again, smiling
and laughing as if nothing had happened, and they slept well that
night. Jaytsy thought nothing more about her father’s unusual
nighttime activity, especially since the night after was also calm
and quiet.

But in the middle of the fourth night Jaytsy
woke up, feeling a presence next to her bed. The light from the two
full moons coming through the window bounced off the sword she saw
her father holding over her.

“They’re after you.”

Jaytsy froze in terror, trying to see her
father’s face in the night, but shadows covered him. She noticed a
movement by the door and yelped in fear. Perrin spun to see what
caught her attention and pointed the sword at the figure, his
stance ready.

Peto trembled there in horror.

Jaytsy wanted to scream “Run!” but she
couldn’t find her voice.

But suddenly a voice shouted from the
gathering room, “Colonel Shin, put away your sword! That’s an
order!” Their mother pushed Peto out of the way and stood in the
doorway with her hands on her hips.

Perrin slowly lowered the sword, then looked
around blankly. Jaytsy slipped out of her bed and rushed over to
Peto’s side. She didn’t know which of them was shaking more.

“That was close!” she whispered to him.

Peto merely made a strangled sound in
response.

They watched their father walk, dazed, over
to the sofa. He sat down on it and stared at the dark floor.

Mahrree walked over to him and cautiously
laid a hand on his shoulder. “Perrin? Are you all right?”

He looked up at her. “What am I doing down
here?”

Peto and Jaytsy sighed in relief as he
looked, confused, at the sword in his hand.

“You’ve been walking in your sleep,” Mahrree
told him. “I think you had another nightmare.”

He glanced over at his children. “Did I scare
you?” he asked, almost timidly.

“Yes!” they squeaked.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out, then got up and
trudged back upstairs.