Near the end of Weeding Season Peto approached his parents’ wing of the house and stopped at the door, because he wasn’t sure what he’d say when he opened it. Lilla had prodded him down this far, but left him on his own. He was about to grasp the door handle when it suddenly opened.
“And how long have you been standing there?” Mahrree asked.
“Uh, not too long.”
“Don’t you think you should come in? You have lots of work to do, after all.” In her hands was a stack of files which she held out to him. “I got a start for you. These were from the bedroom, on his side table. But I’m not sure where you want everything.”
Peto sighed as he walked into their small gathering room. “I feel terrible about this, Mother. I—”
“Why should you feel terrible?” she cut him off. “Peto, there’s no one else I’d rather have becoming the next general. Or whatever it is they’re calling you.”
“I don’t have a title picked out yet. I told Shem there was no way ever I’d accept an army title, especially since I took up a sword willingly only once in my life, and that was to use it against my father.”
Mahrree gave him a hug. “You’ll do wonderfully. Your father said you practically did his job for him. Did you want to take over his office, or . . .”
Peto shook his head. “I don’t want to change anything. I’ll just bring some of the plans and maps to my office and reorganize my things to make room.”
“It’s a waste to leave his desk unused and the room untouched,” Mahrree told him. “That’s not the Salem way.”
“But it is the Salem way to honor those who have gone before by leaving memorials. Maybe someday we’ll do something with the office, but not today. We still have to finish Wes and Hycy’s new house before their wedding, and I don’t feel like starting another major project anyway. No one needs the space right now, and no one is in need of a desk. I already checked.”
“But you should go through his desk, see what you may need.”
“Of course,” Peto said, finally taking the stack she offered him.
“And I found this,” she said, pulling a small note from her skirt pocket. “I discovered it on the floor under the bed shortly after he passed, but I wasn’t up to doing anything with it then. I realize now it’s your responsibility, so thank you in advance for dealing with it.”
Peto took the note, the handwriting unsteady as if it were a great struggle to form the words. Although Perrin’s hand was normally neat and tidy, the shapes of the letters were definitely his, likely written when he was ailing.
“He was always one for making lists. Never wanted to forget anything important. Item number one,” Peto read out loud. “Jothan about Shem.” He looked up at his mother. “Jothan came over to talk to him, right?”
“Just before he went.”
“About Shem? Meaning?”
“I don’t know what that means,” she admitted. “Although I think Perrin was likely asking Jothan to watch out for him. Take over as big brother, perhaps.”
Peto nodded at that. “Item number two: Drag Jon Offra home. We haven’t had any news about him for a couple of moons now.”
“Eltana hadn’t heard about him since last year. No one has. Nothing recent about our colonel-at-large,” Mahrree said.
“I’ll talk to Woodson about organizing another search party for him. If I explain it was one of Father’s last concerns, they may dare to be more aggressive with him when they track him down again.”
“They could use sedation,” Mahrree suggested.
Peto let out a low whistle. “He’d hate that. And when he came to, he just might run again back to the world to do his duty.”
“Then we’ll have to find some other way to convince him his duty is over,” Mahrree said, unconvinced they’d be successful.
“Item number three,” Peto read. “Poe Hili? Father wanted to find Poe?”
Mahrree shrugged. “It’s been quite a while. The last time scouts heard about him, he was all the way south with Karna.”
“But that was ten years ago now. Surely he still wouldn’t be down there, would he?” Peto asked.
Mahrree pondered that. “Well, once Sargon took over the southern forts, there was a movement of defecting soldiers to the north. Many decided Thorne or Yordin had to be better than Sargon. I can’t imagine Poe would want to serve the commander who betrayed Karna and Fadh. But maybe . . . maybe he’s one of Sargon’s men now?” Dread tinged her voice.
“I don’t think so,” Peto assured her. “I’m sure he’d find the north more appealing. He may have left the army after Sargon took over, for all we know.”
“No scouts or recent refugees have had any updates,” Mahrree recalled. “So maybe he did quit the army. Citizens are much harder to track than soldiers.”
“But maybe,” Peto began hesitantly, “maybe Poe has died. Ten years since any news?” and he shrugged apologetically for having brought up the idea.
“Hmm,” Mahrree mused sadly. “Then we likely may never know. I forgot to ask Eltana when she first arrived if she knew of him, but frankly, I don’t feel like talking to her right now.”
“Nor would she want to talk to you, either,” Peto said. “She’s still bitter. I’ve asked another rector to take over counseling her for a while. She doesn’t seem to want to deal with any Shins right now.” He looked again at the note. There were a few more stray lines, but no other items. “I wonder if he finished this,” Peto murmured, the thought of leaving any business undone as troubling to him as it would have been to his father.
“You’ll finish it for him, Rector-General Shin,” Mahrree said, kissing him on the cheek. “I’ll let you get to work, and if I find anything else, I’ll bring it to you.”
Reluctantly he walked into his father’s office. It was virtually untouched since he passed away three weeks ago, and Peto felt as if he were treading in sacred territory. Even though he’d been there nearly every day for decades, today it felt like a completely different room.
“Sorry, Father. I’m just coming to find some things,” he whispered as he sat down behind the large desk. “I hope you don’t mind. I’ve been given your position. I never expected you wouldn’t finish it. I don’t feel ready or worthy, but Lilla told me I’d say that. Apparently you and she have been talking?”
Peto pulled out the top drawer and smiled at the precisely placed quills and parchments. “I was never that neat. Maybe the army was good for something, huh? Taught you to keep things in good order. Shouldn’t be hard to find what I’m looking for.”
He pulled out one of the deep side drawers and easily located the file of what each emergency storehouse along the four trails contained. He opened it and saw a note on top. No emergency storehouses are established on the Back Door route. One should be made.
Peto smiled and nodded. “I considered that as well. Every now and then I remember that route, and I remember your sliding down it in the middle of Snowing Season! I’ll add it to the list. We’ll find a spot for supplies and make sure it’s stocked this Harvest.”
There’s more.
Peto’s hand was on the drawer to close it, but he stopped.
There’s more. In the back.
He pulled the drawer open wider and looked toward the back. There was an envelope, with his name on it.
“How long has this been in here, Father?” He pulled out the envelope and a glint of metal beneath it caught his eye. He reached in and pulled out something he thought had been left in Edge years ago.
The long knife.
Peto chuckled in dismay. “You snuck this out of Edge, didn’t you! We were supposed to leave unarmed, but you couldn’t do it, could you?” He grinned as he turned the sharp blade over in his hands. “What did you expect, an attack in your office?”
Peto’s grin fell as he remembered the end of General Yordin, stabbed to death by his own traitorous soldiers.
“But not in Salem, General. Not in Salem.”
He laid the long knife on the
desk and opened the envelope addressed to him. Looking at the words on the parchment was like a gift: one last, unexpected conversation with his father.
Peto, if you’re reading this it means I’m no longer there as general. I’m leaving you this letter with some instructions. Don’t worry—there shouldn’t be anything as potentially scandalous here as there was in the letter I left for Shem in my desk at the fort at Edge years ago.
Honestly, I hope you never find this. I hope the Last Day comes and finds us standing side by side at the ancient temple site, watching the forces of Idumea march in and comparing guesses as to how the Creator is going to end it all. I guess that since you’re reading this it means I’ll be watching from the other side. And that’s all right as well. The view should still be pretty good. I always wanted to see an attack from a falcon’s point of view anyway.
You should be the next one in command for the securing of Salem. You’ve done an excellent job as my assistant, and you should consider finding someone to assist you as well. Perhaps one of your sons or nephews would be interested in taking your former position.
There’s an attached list detailing where each file is. Don’t feel the need to preserve anything in the office to remember me by. How could you possibly forget me? You know what I mean. Take whatever you need. Use this office, use the desk, move everything—I’m not going to care. Do whatever you need to in order to complete this work, to continue to secure Salem, to continue to mark the trails.
I’m proud of you, son. You’ve become something far greater than the next High General of Idumea. You know who you are, and you’re raising a wonderful family. I’m grateful you listen to the Creator and that you never ran off to Idumea to play kickball. I’m still amazed that you’ve given me twelve grandchildren, and that Lilla is willing to give us one more—
Peto smiled. Eight years ago. He wrote this eight years ago, just before Morah was born.
Please know that I love you, that I’m proud of you, and that I know you can do anything, because you listen to the Creator who helps us accomplish everything. Never forget why you are here—to pass His Test.
Love,
Your Father
Peto wiped at the wetness around his eyes and ran his hand over the parchment. Then he noticed a note at the bottom.
By the way, I know about the sedation. Karna was right—the stuff was a miracle. I found the bottle in your mother’s drawer back in Edge when I was trying to find her a change of clothes when she was ill with the pox. I’ve just been waiting all these years for her to confess she used it on me.
Peto threw back his head and laughed.
Mahrree came into the office, alarmed. “Everything all right?”
Still laughing, Peto waved the letter at her and held up the long knife.
Her mouth dropped open as she came over to the desk and gingerly took the knife.
“I had a feeling he wouldn’t leave that behind. But I never knew where he hid it! I think I’ll put it on the table next to the bed. Remind me of better days in Edge.”
Peto wiped his eyes but kept chuckling. “That sounded strange, Mother—better days in Edge meant a knife by the bed?” He still held out the letter.
Mahrree shrugged in agreement. “So what’s so funny?” She took the letter and began to read. “Oh Peto, this is addressed to you. I shouldn’t—”
“It’s all right, Mother. He wrote it eight years ago. Just read the note at the bottom, then.”
Her eyes grew large and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “Oh no!” She laughed behind her hand. “And he never said anything?”
Peto was delighted to hear her laugh again. It’d been far too many weeks. “He was waiting for you to confess, obviously! I wonder if he knew Shem was involved with it, too.”
“We told him at the burial, remember? Maybe that’s why Shem thought he heard him groaning. He didn’t know Shem knew about the sedation as well. Oh, Perrin!” She laughed again as she sat down in a chair and handed the letter back to Peto. “What else did he say?”
“That I should do his work. That he didn’t expect for me to ever find this. Leaving letters in drawers he thinks no one will read . . . that’s typical. Ah, well,” Peto sighed, looking up at the walls. “I’ll need the maps, Mother. But the rest of the books and things? Well, they can stay. For now.”
Mahrree nodded.
---
Shem was trying to go home, but when people recognized his GrayClark Silver, or him, they’d sidle up and ask if they could have “just a moment.” Those moments frequently turned to hours, but he’d never turn anyone away. The Creator never would, so neither would he, despite the lateness of the hour or the hunger in his belly.
This evening, the sun was setting before he finally made his way to the stables behind the council building to head for home, but someone was waiting in the shadows. He suppressed his sigh so as to not seem inconvenienced, and said, “Who’s there? Can I help you?”
“No,” said a deep voice. “I’m hoping to help you, Guide.”
“Jothan, you don’t have to hide in shadows anymore.”
“It’s where I’m the most comfortable,” he replied, and stepped over to shake Shem’s hand.
“So what did you need again?” Shem asked. It’d been a long day, and sometimes he found it difficult to keep up.
Jothan put his arm around him. “You got that backward. I want to know how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine,” he said automatically.
“Good. Now tell me how you’re really doing.”
Shem sighed, deflated. “I miss him. What else can I say?”
In the privacy of the dark stable, Jothan wrapped his arms around Shem. “So do I. He asked me to watch out for you, you know.”
Shem sniffed. “Of course he would.”
“And I happily agreed. I’ll be checking on you, Guide Zenos. Every man needs a big brother, no matter how old he is. I can never replace Perrin, but—”
“But a man can have more than one brother,” Shem said, and let himself weep for a few minutes with the only man he knew stronger than Perrin Shin.
---
It was the first day of school again, and Mahrree had too many mixed feelings to catalogue. It was good to get back into a routine again, and she’d always loved the first week of Harvest Season, because teaching at Salem’s university was a sheer delight.
First, the students actually wanted to be there, unlike in Edge where she was always having to keep an eye on the door, or the window, for escaping students. In Salem, a university education, like everything else, was free. Everyone completed at least the first year of schooling offered. There wasn’t any law requiring them to do so; it was just what everyone wanted to do when they were seventeen and eighteen: learn more about the world around them—experiment, create, go on excursions, and develop new ideas, all in conjunction with the brightest minds in Salem.
And also, Mahrree was quite sure, to meet members of the opposite sex from other parts of the massive valley. By the end of the first semester, there were always many romances, and by the end of that first year, a lot of weddings she was invited to.
Students who lived far away from the center of Salem were housed not in dorms like in the world, but with extended family members, or with those who eagerly opened their doors to any students needing a home to live in.
After that first year, about a third of the students went off to learn a trade or become an apprentice. But about two-thirds of the students continued at the university for up to three more years, depending on the difficulty of their first chosen careers.
Mahrree’s department, history, had some two- and three-year programs, and those who completed them knew far more than anyone in the world to the south of them. There were courses in Salem history, history of the guides and their teachings, writing family histories, and, of course, Mahrree’s world history. In her department was also speculative history, where the archaeology division taught all they knew about wr
itings and buildings and peoples no one had ever met.
And, at the head of it all, was Professor Mahrree Shin. As she walked up to the large stone building early that morning, she expected—as she did every year—to finally see the president of the university standing in front, tapping her foot in annoyance, and announcing, “Mrs. Shin—we’re on to you.”
Mahrree could never understand why they made her the director of the department, why they considered her one of the brightest minds, why they put her over twenty other professors, and put her on the board of directors. She felt like a fraud among a city of purely brilliant, kind people. One day, they’d figure it out.
But not today, and she was grateful for the ability to leave home where everyone doted far too much on her and every corner of her house reminded her of who was no longer in it.
She walked through the quiet corridors—in a couple of hours to be full and noisy with students returning to school—and headed to her office, which she hadn’t been to since school let out two moons ago.
“Hello, Professor Shin!” called out a cheerful voice.
Mahrree grinned. “Hello, Roggie. How goes the sweeping?”
Roggie was a master sweeper. He swept the university buildings in the mornings, never missing a speck, then the temple at night. It was perfect work for him, because, unlike in the world, Salem had several people like him: the special ones.
The first time she met a special one, she was startled by the thick tongue, the drooping eyes, the slow manner of speaking. No one in the world was quite like that.
Mrs. Braxhicks, Jaytsy’s midwife for her earlier deliveries, explained to Mahrree that special ones did exist in the world. “But not for long,” she added bitterly.
“Why?” Mahrree asked.
“Because they’re killed shortly after birth,” Mrs. Braxhicks said, to Mahrree’s horror. “Yet another practice instituted under the first King Querul. Any babies not seemingly ‘perfect’ were to be ‘humanely smothered’ by the midwife.”
“Except not by Salem midwives, right?” Mahrree asked hurriedly.
“Of course not!” Mrs. Braxhicks said, slightly offended. “That was one of the many reasons we started sending midwives into the world—to help rescue the special ones. With some, their mothers didn’t want them, so we brought them back to Salem for other families to raise. But a few of the refugee families had a special newborn, and readily came to Salem when given the option. The world won’t tolerate them, but we love them. They love us back, far too much. And everyone can be useful and have a fulfilling life. Salem demonstrates that.”
So did Roggie. Mahrree braced herself as Roggie came to her with his big arms outstretched. He was a large man, in build and in belly, and with the most painfully wonderful hugs in all of Salem. He always cracked Mahrree’s back when he hugged her, unintentionally. She’d never consider not indulging him. Hugs were mandatory. Roggie and Lilla got along great.
“I’m sorry, Professor Shin,” Roggie said in his deliberate, yet careful way as he crushed her with his affection. “About the general. I liked him. That’s sad he’s gone.”
“Yes, Roggie. It is sad he’s gone. Thank you.” She hugged him back, waiting for him to finally release her, but she heard a quiet sob instead, which, naturally, got her tears flowing again.
“So sad,” Roggie repeated. “So sad.”
Eventually he released her, and hurriedly wiped his face of tears. Immediately his grin was back. “Thought you might not come back to school. Good to see you!”
“I need to be here. It’s good to be here,” she decided.
“It is,” he agreed. When he saw she was heading to her office, he jumped ahead. “Lemme get the door for you, Professor Shin.”
He turned the handle and pushed, but oddly it seemed stuck.
Mahrree blinked. If Roggie couldn’t get the door open, there was little chance she could.
“Lemme push a little more . . . Oh, looks like papers are stuck behind it.”
Mahrree bent down, slipped her hand in the gap Roggie had made, and pulled out a few folded parchments. She could tell they were part of a much larger pile. “Hold on a minute, Roggie. Let’s see what’s happening here.”
She stood up and opened the first parchment.
“What’s it say?” Roggie asked. While in his thirties, Roggie had never managed to learn to read, despite the efforts of many patient tutors. His mind just couldn’t grasp the complexity of the task. But he knew a lot, because he’d sat in many university classes, absorbing what he could. And however often he wanted to sit in a class, he was welcome to. He’d been through Mahrree’s History of the World at least half a dozen times. When she asked for written essays, he’d put a smiley face on a scrap piece of paper and handed that in. She always wrote a smiley face back for his grade.
Mahrree read out loud the neat handwriting on the note. “Professor Shin, I’m so sorry about your husband. I wish I could help take away your pain—” already her voice was trembling, “—but I know he’s gone to Paradise and the Creator, and is watching over you.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” Roggie said. “Read another one!” He pointed excitedly to one with a sketch of flowers on the front. “That one’s pretty. Read it!”
Mahrree had to chuckle at his enthusiasm. “Dear Professor Shin, I’ve been thinking about you ever since we got the news about the general. I wanted to tell you about a time when he—”
“Oh, I get it!” Roggie nearly exploded. “I get it! They’re doing what happened when the general’s parents died in Idumea because of those bad guys who stabbed them in bed. Sending messages to him? Yeah, that! But for you!”
Mahrree smiled weakly, feeling once again overwhelmed. She peered around the jammed door and saw a stack nearly to her knees. People must have been slipping them under her door for weeks now.
“I can get them all out,” Roggie said confidently, slipping his broom handle into the gap and nudging the notes aside. “See? They’ll all be out in a minute.”
“Thank you, Roggie,” she whispered, and clutched the notes to her chest. There’d be a lot of reading to get through in the next few days . . . maybe weeks, she amended as she saw the pile growing at her feet. For as lonely as she felt, Salem would refuse to let her feel alone. People in the world had done this for Perrin, writing him letters, and he answered them back, generating more letters—
Wait. Was she going to have to answer all of these?
Well, years ago she and Jaytsy and even Peto had helped respond to his letters. She had plenty of grandchildren who could help her with this lovely pile.
By the time she headed to teach her first class, the pile of messages had been stacked into a large crate Roggie had found, that he promised to bring to her home. Finally, she could get back to work and forget, for a few hours at least, the misery of the past few weeks. Weaving through the students walking swiftly to find their rooms, she counted down in her head when the bells would clang.
She always timed her entrance into the first class of the semester precisely, walking in just as the bells rang, sort of an announcement of her arrival. She liked to make an entrance to establish her authority, something she learned back in her debating years when she felt her small stature needing some bolstering.
She swept through the door of her first class just at the moment the bells sounded, to find each of the thirty desks with a student at or near it. Audibly, the students gasped.
That’s a first, Mahrree thought as they stared at her. She wondered if maybe she’d forgotten to put on a vital piece of clothing that morning. Not as if Roggie would have noticed . . .
She smiled and motioned for the few students still on their feet to take a desk. “Good morning. You all seem surprised about something?” Then she thought, Please let there not be something horrendously wrong with my hair—
Her students, a new batch of first years whom she hadn’t met before, looked at each other as if daring someone to speak up.
; A girl raised her hand. “Ma’am? We’re just surprised that you’re teaching. The rumor was that . . . you weren’t coming back.”
Mahrree scoffed a laugh. “A rumor? In Salem? What is this, the world?”
Her students glanced nervously again at each other.
“Trust me,” she said slyly, “in a few weeks that’s going to be funny. Now, why would I not be here? I’m not infirm, I’m not dying—”
There it was again, that soft, shocked gasp of surprise.
“Ah, that. Yes, my husband died nearly four weeks ago—” and she was proud of how easily that slipped out, “—but I can’t sit in that house anymore feeling sorry for myself. Not when there are students to teach and gossip to share about the world. Now, your semester is going to be even more interesting than what’s been taught in the past, because over the Weeding Season break, a new refugee came to Salem. Her husband was one of the battling generals until recently, and she came back with a lot of fascinating details, many of which I haven’t been able to put in the textbook yet, so you better be taking notes. And that’s a hint—start taking notes!”
Frantically they scrambled in their bags for paper and sharpened charcoal.
“We’re going to begin a bit backward today, starting with the most recent history first. Here’s a name for you to know,” and she picked up the chalk and walked to the blackboard. “General Gari Roarin’ Yordin,” she said as she wrote the name. “Most of you should have heard about him before, but you’re going to hear a lot more. His widow, Eltana Yordin, arrived in Salem just a few weeks ago.”
Now the gasps were startled and excited.
“Professor Shin?” a young man asked.
Mahrree turned around. “Yes?”
“Will she be coming to speak to us?”
Mahrree’s mouth scrunched. Word had gotten around that her class was one of the most entertaining, because she did only half of the teaching. As often as possible, she brought in the history makers themselves to teach her five groups of students each semester about the history they lived, and even affected.
Jothan Hifadhi came at least twice: the first time to tell them about his grandfather Guide Tuma Hifadhi; the second time, with Asrar to provide details about their adventures as scouts in the forests above Edge. Everyone always wanted to see the faint scar on his hand, given to him accidentally by Perrin when they were both fighting a Guarder on a snowy night.
Mahrree also brought in as many refugees as she could, giving them the hour to tell the students about their villages and the world they left, and why. She’d also bring in scouts and midwives and rectors who served in the world, and Perrin always . . .
Oh, this was going to be a long, difficult semester.
Because Perrin usually came three times; when the discussion was about the kings, who he had met; about Chairman Mal and the Administrators, who he also knew; and the Army of Idumea which, for one full day, he was wholly in charge of.
Then there was the Perrin-and-Shem Show—Mahrree’s unofficial title for it. All of her classes combined in the largest lecture hall in the early evening, with many former students and other professors returning for the lecture when both of the former soldiers came to tell them all about their experiences in the Army of Idumea.
To the first-year students, they must have been an impressive sight, Perrin and Shem walking together on to the stage of the thousand-seat lecture hall, wearing their old uniform jackets casually over their shirts without buttoning them (it’d be too hard to breathe for the two hours if they did), appearing dignified, mature, and wise.
But the reason the hall was always packed to standing-room only was because those who had seen this before knew that within minutes the two revered, older gentlemen would start explaining how it really was, which meant sharing stories, revising each other’s stories, getting in a few good digs at each other as they went into too much detail about the Strongest Soldier Races, and eventually getting into a good-natured argument—or shouting match—which shocked the newest students but made everyone else laugh and cheer.
And it hit Mahrree again, right then as she stared out at these thirty, fresh-faced older teenagers, what else in her life she’d need to revise now that Perrin was gone. Oh, that these students would never experience the Perrin-and-Shem Show! Her chest tightened at the thought of it. She’d still host the evening, and invite Guide Zenos to come again, accompanied by his wife who knew just as much about that army as anyone who served. But while Shem would still tell engaging stories, it wouldn’t be the same without Perrin’s interruptions. Calla would never argue with Shem on stage, but would probably make clarifications in her polite, kind way. It just wouldn’t be the same without the threat of men possibly coming to blows in front of the audience.
Quickly she regained herself, realizing that she’d been staring at the boy who’d asked the question just a little too long, and then she had to remember what the question was.
Would Eltana Yordin be coming to speak to the class?
“No,” Mahrree said decisively.
The young man looked disappointed. “But, Professor, why not?”
How could she explain that Mrs. Yordin was furious that instead of marching down into the world to avenge her husband’s murder, Perrin Shin had, instead, up and died from a mere infection? That she had taken over the Armchair Generals meeting and told every man who had recently attended what a disservice Shem and Perrin had done to Salem and the world by not organizing a standing army. That they had become weak, and complacent, and lazy living in Salem.
But somehow, in some gentle, Salemitish way, Mahrree was going to have to tell these innocent students that Mrs. Yordin was a bit disappointed in everything they were freely and openly giving her.
Mahrree exhaled. This was going to be a long semester.
That afternoon she caught a ride with Roggie, who was heading home to where he lived with his sister and her family. Theirs was one of the first homes off The Quiet Lands which bordered the temple, and Mahrree needed to visit there.
Roggie dropped her off at the end of the long drive, and she took her bag and walked into one of two small houses to the side of it, nestled obscurely in the trees along the river which formed the southern border to the Quiet Lands. One house was for men, the other for women to change from their work day clothing. She put on her white dress, then headed for the wide, stone steps of the temple.
It never ceased to amaze her that such a solid, imposing stone edifice could exude so much warmth and light, as if the Creator Himself was in the building, filling it with joy. The tall columns, reaching up two stories, were patterned after the ancient temple ruins to the west of the Eztates. Jagged rubble from its construction remained along the sides of the temple and portico, and bordered the stairs as smaller reminders of the boulders that created the natural border between them and the world to the south. The wide portico ran the width of the building, and held a few rocking chairs and benches, painted in white, for Salemites to sit and ponder as they looked across the miles of untouched land. Today, the meadows were filled with the last of the season’s wildflowers. Spindly yellow sunflowers dominated the landscape this time of year, as if drops of sunshine were growing among the thick grasses.
Mahrree paused for a moment and just listened.
Silence. Sweet, golden silence.
In the distance, she could hear the river gently humming through the trees, and further a horse softly whinnied, probably in the stables a quarter mile away. But otherwise? Paradise.
Indeed, the temple was as close to Paradise as anyone could be, as if sitting in the massive open room, filled with soft rugs, comfortable sofas, and real evergreens was like going home to visit the Creator in His gathering room. Wholly peaceful, wholly quiet, wholly meant for adults to take a moment out of their lives and pour out their worries and troubles in meditation and prayer.
Mahrree nodded to the three attendants at the front desk who helped open the massive oak doors for her, and
they nodded back a welcome. It’d been a few weeks since she’d been there, because of, well, everything.
But Yudit had told her she needed to go back, now.
“It’s where you can feel Perrin again,” Yudit told her last night during her visit. She had presented Mahrree with an unexpected and slightly strange gift: a lock of Perrin’s hair. Sometime when he was laid out in the orchard, Yudit had subtly trimmed a lock of his beautiful white hair and wrapped it in a handkerchief. When she presented it to Mahrree, she confided, “I still have a lock of Noch’s hair. I stroke it sometimes, just to feel something of him again. It sounds odd to those who have never lost a spouse, but—”
Mahrree was already tenderly fingering the white hair, noting that there were two black strands remaining in it, and her chin trembled.
Yudit cleared her throat of her own emotion and said, “I see that you already understand. Calla says you haven’t been to the temple lately, but you really must go. It’s where I go when I need to feel Noch nearby, to tell him about the family, to feel his arms around me again, to feel comfort. It’s a portal to Paradise, Mahrree. Go.”
Mahrree had known that already, yet she had hesitated, afraid that entering the temple might make her feel angrier that she couldn’t be with Perrin on the other side right now, rather than feeling comfort that she was supposed to stay.
Every day she looked for clues and reasons as to why she was still stuck in her body, not running through the cosmos with her husband. Each day she thought, Maybe I’ve done the bit I needed to, and I’ll die peacefully in my sleep and wake up next to him.
But every morning she woke up, alone in their massive bed, still in her body. And she’d sigh, and decide that maybe today would be the day . . .
It’d been four weeks now, and she realized she needed to take Yudit’s advice.
She also needed to remember the agreement she and Perrin had made, many years ago. It was another glorious surprise of Salem—the knowledge that the Creator didn’t intend marriages to be only for this life, but forever. It was a notion people occasionally mentioned in the world: “We’ll be together forever.” But it was intended to be more than just a sweet sentiment; it was meant to be a reality.
After they’d been in Salem for a year, Guide Gleace had explained to them the option of making their marriage lasting—of making a three-way agreement with the Creator that if Mahrree and Perrin both lived faithfully, and both desired to be together in Paradise, the Creator would grant that desire. Only in the temple, their link to Paradise, could Mahrree and Perrin make that agreement, with Guide Gleace guiding them through the vows to seal it. To Mahrree, it felt as if she and Perrin had been married all over again, and by the Creator. Nothing had ever felt so solid or lasting to her as that moment.
Next, they learned another marvelous detail: it wasn’t fair that the world didn’t have a temple, or knowledge of such forever marriages, and the Creator—supremely fair and loving—had provided a way to compensate for that. Guide Gleace told the Shins that they could stand in for their parents, grandparents, and aunts and uncles to make those agreements for them. Then, in Paradise, their relatives could decide if they wanted to seal the agreement on their end. No matter where or when someone lived, the Creator would see to it that all of His children had access to all of His blessings, if they wanted them. If not during their lives, then after. Choices, always; not only in Salem, but in Paradise as well.
Immediately Perrin and Mahrree told Gleace they wanted to stand in for their parents and aunt and uncle, and with Gleace again guiding them through the vows, Perrin and Mahrree stood in for Relf and Joriana Shin, and Cephas and Hycymum Peto, and Hogal and Tabbit Densal. Later Mahrree brought the names of the rest of their ancestors which they knew, and she and Perrin, with Gleace, gave all of their ancestors the choice of being together forever.
She tried to pull those forever and eternal feelings out of the air as she strolled into the body of the temple, but she struggled to hold on to them. She knew it was because of her own frustration and grief that she vacillated. Right now she felt so shallow and temporal, so fragile and forgetful. She glanced up at the ceiling, vast and high, letting in chunks of light through the slanted windows in the roof, and wished she could float up and away through them. The tall, purposely wavy windows on every wall allowed even more light to pour in, while distorting the distractions of the world she no longer wished to live in.
Mahrree knew exactly where to go: Perrin’s favorite seat. It was one of many large cushioned chairs in deep blue, set up against a window on the left, next to the long curtains of blood red. Still next to the chair was Perrin’s favorite evergreen—a fat pine with such a deep and sharp aroma that whenever Mahrree encountered its species outside, she was immediately transported back to that lovely room. This tree, like the many others, were planted in massive pots that sat on coasters, and could be slid around on the stone floor between the rugs to create small rooms or privacy barriers.
Mahrree didn’t know if they’d left Perrin’s tree and chair that way on purpose, or if no one had felt the need to shift them. But to see them in their same positions put a smile on Mahrree’s face.
She sat down in the chair, breathed in the tree, and closed her eyes to pray—
And he was right there, his earthy-sweet scent even more distinct than the pine. He was still hers, forever.
Mahrree grinned. “I didn’t feel you at all today at the university,” she whispered.
You didn’t need me today.
“I always need you. Always!”
No, Mahrree, you don’t. You may want me, which is a flattering thought, but you don’t need me.
She sighed. “So is that how it’s going to be? Slowly weaned from you?’
She heard a cosmic chuckle. Well, I suppose you could put it that way, but Mahrree, our family is my calling. And there’s a lot of them. You, my darling wife, are capable and smart and can cope without me, far better than you want to believe. When you need me, I’ll be there. But the fact is, you won’t need me as much as you think you do.
“I’m not believing any of that,” she whispered resolutely.
You have to. You’re in the temple.
She couldn’t help but snicker softly, and thought she heard him chuckling, too.
“All right then, I don’t want to believe it.”
It’s only temporary, remember?
“You being gone? For how long? Years? That’s temporary?!”
When we’re spending the next eons and epochs together, yes, this separation will seem temporary. A mere sneeze of time.
She smiled at that, but exhaled in frustration. “Is it sooner than years?” she asked, full of hope.
It’s not up to me to give you those kinds of answers, Mahrree. Just have faith that you’ll join me when the time is right, not earlier, and certainly not later. It’ll all make sense in the end. What was it that your father used to tell you?
She felt like a pouting nine-year-old as she murmured, “Every story has a happy ending, if we just wait long enough.”
He was right, you know.
“I hate waiting,” she grumbled. “But as long as I’ve got access to you . . .”
Something in the air changed, and her heart sank in dread.
“I won’t, will I. Always have access to you?”
If the cosmos could shrug, it did.
“But you just said I could have you when I need you!” And then she remembered, “But I won’t need you as much as I think I do.”
I will always know what you’re thinking, what you’re feeling. And I’ll always try to help you feel me. But when Atlee’s climbing on the shed roof—
“He’s what?!” She almost forgot to keep her voice quiet.
He’s down, he’s down. That was a few days ago, anyway. I talked some sense into him, although I doubt he realized it was me. You certainly want me still chasing our grandchildren, don’t you?
“Yes, yes, of course,” she whispered.
“You’re probably in the best position to do so.”
Knew you’d see things my way. You always do, eventually.
She snorted so loudly that several people, sitting scattered in other sofas and chairs, glanced up from their quiet meditations and tried to send her generous smiles to cover their annoyance.
That only made Mahrree want to snort again, and she covered her face and turned to the window, nearly ready to burst into giggles.
Yes, the general’s widow is sitting alone snorting and giggling at the curtains . . . Be ready. Someone’s going to report to Shem that you’re going grainy already.
She thought her coughs to cover her chortling were quite believable.
“You stop that,” she said to the red curtains as she wiped the tears of laughter and misery from her eyes.
All right, I’ll leave then—
“Please don’t!” she whispered earnestly. “Please . . . stay with me.”
For now, I can.
Mahrree sat back in the blue chair and sighed, reveling in the sensation that both of them occupied the same space.
She didn’t leave for two hours, wondering how it was that she could ever go on without his whispering in her ear.
Chapter 18--“The world’s not so simple.”