Edge was quiet.
Six weeks after the attack on Moorland it, too, was quiet, as were Quake, Rivers, Mountseen, Idumea and the entire world. If there was another enemy—be it Guarders, or mountain lions, or whatever—it was either busy with planning or licking its wounds, Mahrree decided.
And that was more than just fine with her. Ever since the land tremor she craved monotony and the sense of easy happiness that came with it which people generally dismissed as “routine”. That Weeding Season, now a year and a season after the tremor, showed real promise. Jaytsy was happy weeding the Briters’ garden each day, Peto was happy practicing kickball with some professional players who traveled looking for future recruits, and Perrin was happy because the fort was calm, he slept like a teenage boy all on his own, and Captain Thorne’s schedule was, thanks to Shem, usually opposite of his. And soon Hycymum Peto would be happy as well. She was dying.
She’d been declining for the last year; she got up slower, moved less, and was losing weight. She even quit cooking at Edge’s Inn last season. The doctor, unsure of what was wrong, gave her until the Harvest Celebration. She was fine with that.
“I’ve been without your father for thirty years now. He may not even want me back. Who knows who he’s met in Paradise.”
She said that on the 13th Day of Weeding, almost two weeks after Peto’s 15th birthday. Mahrree had brought her mother dinner again. She chuckled as Hycymum tried to fluff up her mostly gray curls, as if those would be traveling to Paradise with her.
“Oh honestly, Mother, who would Father possibly want instead?” She set down a tray of food on Hycymum’s sewing table, still with a few unfinished projects but folded neatly and waiting. Hycymum had been too weary to leave the house more than a couple of times since Peto’s birthday, and now she sat on her lavender sofa propped up by numerous pink and yellow pillows. Even though it was a hot day, she still wanted her green blanket over her legs, giving her the appearance of drowning in a flower bed.
Mahrree dragged the sewing table over to the sofa, positioning it so that her mother didn’t have to leave her comfort to eat.
Hycymum, her hand wobbling, scooped up spoonful of Mahrree’s vegetable stew and analyzed it. “You know, this looks remarkably good! Mahrree, you’ve become quite the cook in your own right, you know that?”
Mahrree felt herself blushing at the compliment from the finest cook she’d ever known. “The vegetables are straight from the Briters’ farm, picked this morning by Jaytsy. Mrs. Briter wanted you to have them, to see if they would help.”
Hycymum sniffed the stew on the spoon, sampled a bit, and smiled. “Wonderful. Tell Mrs. Briter and Jaytsy that they’ve made my daughter into a marvelous cook.”
“Now, stop that. It’ll all go to my head if you keep talking like that.”
Hycymum picked up a slice of bread and examined it. “Well, then how’s this: your bread’s still a bit flat, Mahrree. You’re not letting it rise enough. Has that humbled you again?”
“Yes, thank you!” She sat down on a blue poufy chair next to the sofa. “I mean that,” she added more soberly. “Thank you, Mother. For everything.”
“Now you stop that,” Hycymum said, her voice shaky as she scooped up more stew. “You keep talking like that, and I’ll cry into the parsnips and make them too salty.”
She could finish only half the bowl, and just a few bites of bread, before she slouched again. “Maybe you can leave the rest in the kitchen under a dish cloth,” she murmured. “If I get hungry in the night I can finish it.”
Mahrree smiled sadly. “Of course,” she said, as if Hycymum would really find the energy to go looking for a midnight snack. “Let’s move you to your bed for the night, shall we? There’s a cool breeze coming from the mountains already, and that will feel nice tonight.”
After extracting Hycymum from the flowery sofa and planting her again in her overly soft bed, Mahrree opened the window a crack.
“A bit more, Mahrree,” Hycymum said. “I’m starting to feel the heat of the day catch up to me.”
Mahrree adjusted the window, feeling safe in the fact that no Guarders would be coming after Colonel Shin’s mother-in-law ever again. “Anything else before I go?”
“No, but thank you for everything.”
Mahrree sat down on her bed to smooth a blanket and kissed her mother’s cheek. “You know, you don’t feel as cool and clammy as you have in the past. In fact, you’re rather warm! Maybe you’re improving?” She pulled a thicker blanket off her mother, leaving her with only a sheet.
Hycymum sighed. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope not. I love you and Perrin and the children, but I feel it’s time for me to go. And I miss your father. Lately I’ve been unable to think of nothing but Cephas. I’m ready to be with him again.”
Mahrree didn’t know how to respond to that.
“I’m not worried about dying, Mahrree,” Hycymum told her. “I’m more worried about the pain of lingering.”
That, Mahrree understood. “Well, Mother, I’m happy to have every day I can with you, but as much as I’ll hate to see you go, I’ll pray that you can go as quickly as the Creator will allow.”
As Mahrree got up to leave, Hycymum called to her again. “Tomorrow, how about a nice veal chop for dinner? Do you know how to do that?”
Mahrree grinned. “Of course, I do. I follow your recipe.”
“Which one? I have four, you know.”
Not realizing that she did, Mahrree pretended to contemplate that for a moment. “I’ll surprise you, all right?”
“As long as it’s the recipe with the rosemary and salt jacket.”
As she walked home that evening Mahrree wondered what a “salt jacket” was, and made a mental note to visit Rector Yung in the morning for fresh rosemary.
But early that next morning, Mahrree lay in bed trying to understand what disturbed her awake. Perrin wasn’t snoring, The Cat was silently stretched out between them, and outside was still. But something had definitely had roused her. She tried to listen to the air, then felt the presence of her father Cephas.
She needs you, now.
Mahrree sat up. Hycymum must have fallen on her way to get an early breakfast, or was struggling to make it to the washing room. Perhaps, Mahrree considered as she dressed quickly without disturbing Perrin, they should move her to their house for a time.
Downstairs she wrote a note for her family as to where she was going, then started out—the air already surprisingly warm—for her mother’s house. By the time she fumbled with the lock on her mother’s back door the sun had yet to rise.
Mahrree made her way through the shelves of knick-knacks and paddy-whacks and saw that the dinner from last night still untouched under the towel. Mahrree crept quietly to her mother’s bedroom, unsure of what she’d find.
“Mother? Are you all right?”
Between her shallow breaths, Hycymum whispered, “Mahrree, always remember that the Creator is real. I asked Him to send you to me this morning, and here you are.”
Mahrree’s eyes filled with tears. “Father told me to come.”
“I know. He’s waiting over there by the wardrobe. I love you. Tell the children and Perrin I love them, too.”
And then she went still.
Mahrree grabbed her hand. It felt surprisingly hot to the touch, but rapidly began to cool.
She sat down clumsily on the chair by her silent mother and stared in astonishment.
“But I was going to make you a veal chop for dinner . . . with rosemary—”
It was over? Just like that?
She knew the end was coming, but just four days ago her mother had enough energy to go with the other women in her neighborhood to see the new line of hats on display in the market. How could it have happened so quickly?
But then again, Mahrree thought as she gently replaced her mother’s hand on the bed, how could she have wished for anything else for Hycymum? Her passing had been relatively painless, swift, and with
family. And Mahrree distinctly felt both of her parents, joyful, leaving the room together.
But that didn’t keep her from sobbing by her mother’s bed.
Had she said everything? Done everything? Was there anything Mahrree missed to share with her?
It was now too late.
Did she thank her mother enough for her ever-damp-and-ready shoulder that terrible last year? Did she . . . oh, there was too many things to consider that maybe she hadn’t done.
After some time—Mahrree didn’t dare guess how long—and feeling weak from so much weeping, she dried her eyes, went out of the house, and sat on the front doorstep. All of the Cottages, with a capital C, were painted in one of four colors approved by the community. The effect was nice, but Mahrree felt a new rush of grief realizing that she’d never again have to argue with her mother about moving to the neighboring development, with grander houses and five color choices.
The sun had risen and already Mahrree felt the heat promising to be an oppressively long day. One of Hycymum’s neighbors came out and waved as she went to check her tomato plants. But when Mahrree didn’t wave back, the older woman rushed across the road. She cradled Mahrree as a new batch of tears began.
About two hours later, after half the neighborhood consisting of Hycymum’s old sewing club had come to her Cottage, assured Mahrree they would prepare her mother for burial, and gave her wet kisses, Mahrree finally accepted a ride home.
She didn’t think she’d feel this awful but she could barely keep upright. The heat and agony kept pushing her down. All she wanted to do was put her face on the floorboards of the wagon. A few roads from her house the wagon passed Perrin walking on his way to Hycymum’s. He took one look at Mahrree’s distraught pale face, leaped on to the wagon, and held her for the rest of the way home.
Perrin carried her up to the bedroom, but Mahrree hardly noticed. She felt so heavy, hot, and sad that nothing seemed to make sense. For a time she bizarrely thought a snowstorm had come into the house. She shivered under the blankets of her bed, wishing she hadn’t put away Hycymum’s plaid down comforter they used in Raining Season.
Then all she could do was weep as she fell in and out of bizarre dreams.
Perrin didn’t go to the fort that day, but Mahrree didn’t know that either. She once felt her husband kiss her forehead, and heard other voices in the room, but everything blurred together in a rush of hot, then cold, then quiet and confusing dimness.
At one point she found herself sitting straight up in bed. Everything was dark except for a candle on the dresser. Perrin stood at the door talking quietly to Shem and another man Mahrree didn’t recognize. The three of them looked at her, and the strange man quickly approached. The motion seemed to move the air in front of her in such a powerful way that it pushed her back down.
The next thing she remembered was shaking from cold as the sun rose. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized her mother had died, and she started to weep.
Her husband’s arms come around her. “Just one more day,” he whispered strangely to her. “They say it’ll pass in one more day. Just hold on. You can make it.” He kissed her cheek and his lips were so cold that she flinched.
If it was day or night, snowing or hot, Mahrree couldn’t figure it out.
She remembered death.
Twice she saw her parents shaking their heads at her, pushing her away. They wouldn’t let her run to embrace them and she couldn’t understand why. They gave her sad smiles and kept waving for her to go.
Then she felt a cold rag on her head that chilled her, heard her children asking what they should make for dinner, heard Shem say it was his shift, and felt a strange man lift her eyelids.
And she knew Perrin was sitting next to her, almost always next to her. Sometimes she thought he was a log, or a boulder, and even once imagined him as a cuddly bear, as if bears could ever be something someone would want to embrace.
Nothing made sense. The harder she tried to grasp reality, the more slippery it became.
Once she felt a strong hand hold hers, and heard a deep voice whisper earnestly in her ear, “Please don’t leave me, Mahrree. I couldn’t bear it. Please, Mahrree, please. Stay for me.”
The odd thing was, it wasn’t Perrin, but Shem’s pleading.
Nothing made sense.
At some point she opened her eyes and felt, for the first time, that she knew exactly where she was and what was happening.
She was sick. And mucky, as if she’d been sweating for days.
And her mother had died.
There was sunshine outside, but on the wrong side of the house. Late afternoon.
Jaytsy was sitting by the door reading a book, with The Cat slumbering at her feet.
“Jayts? What time is it?”
“Father! I think she’s coming out of it!” Jaytsy called and came to sit by her mother. She touched her head experimentally and smiled. “You’re not so hot anymore.”
Mahrree heard steps pounding up the stairs. Perrin and Peto appeared, worry evaporating from their faces when they saw her.
“You’ve been one sick woman,” Perrin smiled at her.
Suddenly she remembered. “My mother! Perrin, when’s the burial?” She struggled to get out of bed but got tangled in the blankets.
“No, no, no,” he said gently pushing her back in. “I’m sorry. You don’t remember, do you?” He sat down next to her and smoothed her damp hair off her face. “We buried her two mornings ago, next to your father. Rector Yung said the blessings. We brought you there in the fort’s coach, but you were out of it the whole time, just lying on the bench. Afterward Rector Yung asked a special blessing for you. Mahrree, I’m so sorry.”
She tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry.
Perrin motioned to a mug of water on the wardrobe, and Peto hurriedly brought it to her.
“I missed it? Her burial . . . I, I missed it?” she asked, astonished. “How long have I been here?”
“This is the fourth day,” Perrin said gently, trying to give her the mug, but her hands trembled too much to grasp it. “That seems to be how long the fever takes to run its course.”
“Fever?” Mahrree’s hands flew to her face in surprise, where she received another shock. Her skin felt rough and bumpy. Once she touched it, it itched.
Perrin cringed. “That’s the next stage.” He took a wet rag offered by Jaytsy and dabbed her face. “You’re a little, uh, pocked.”
“Pocked?!”
Her children nodded somberly.
“Some soldiers in Idumea had this last year,” Perrin said, tenderly wiping her face. “They quarantined them, but obviously it didn’t work. We’re not sure how the illness got up here, but it’s starting to work its way through Edge. The new fort surgeon thinks your mother may have had it too. That’s why she went so quickly. Not everyone breaks out in the pocks.”
“It’s good that you do, Mother,” Jaytsy tried to assure her. “Those who don’t tend to . . . not make it.”
Mahrree closed her eyes and laid back on the pillow. “How bad do I look?”
“Really doesn’t matter,” Perrin said firmly.
Her eyes flew open. “That bad?!”
“They say it should fade, Mother!” Jaytsy gave her father a nasty look.
Peto nodded in agreement, but bit his lip anyway.
“Just one quiet season,” Mahrree whispered. “That’s all I wanted. A quiet season with nothing major happening, just time to rest.”
Her son shrugged. “You’ve been pretty quiet for the past few days, not doing much of anything, just resting—”
“That’s not what she meant, Peto!” Perrin snapped.
Mahrree wanted to laugh. Then she wanted to cry. She was too parched to do anything but lay there. Perrin tried to help her drink from the mug but she hardly had any strength to do it.
“You’ve got to drink,” he told her with tender earnestness. “You’ll never get better unless you
do. You’re very dry.”
“That’s not good for your skin, either,” Jaytsy tried to say encouragingly, but her wince gave her away.
For the rest of the day Mahrree couldn’t lift herself out of bed but was well-attended to by her family. Once she finally started to drink she didn’t think she could ever stop. She downed mug after mug, feeling the water fill every inch of her dehydrated body.
Shem came by at dinner time and released a huge sigh of relief to see Mahrree in a somewhat sitting position.
“Mahrree? Are you actually there?” he asked hesitantly as he walked into her bedroom.
“What kind of question is that, Shem?” she said weakly.
Perrin, following him in, smiled. “You’ve been mumbling a few odd things. More than once you sat up and baffled us.”
Shem sat down easily on the bed next to Mahrree, as if he’d done it many times in the past few days. He gently touched her forehead. “Much cooler! Thank the Creator,” he sighed. “Perrin, tell her what she did last night.”
“Why? You’re the one who witnessed it. I had fallen asleep,” he said apologetically as he sat down on the other side of her.
“But he never left your side,” Shem told her. “Risking illness himself, he’s never been gone for more than a few minutes. Last night you sat up, looked around, and said, ‘I think the peach blossoms are a lovely idea.’” Shem tried to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth were twitching.
Mahrree scowled. “Peach blossoms? Since when have I ever cared about peach blossoms?”
“That’s what we were wondering,” Perrin chuckled. “Another afternoon you mumbled something about moving the rocks off of the rug—”
“Why would we have rocks on a rug?”
“And then there was the time you said you could see the flooding,” Shem said.
Mahrree stared at the two men. “What flooding?”
Shem shook his head. “That’s too bad—I was really hoping you’d remember that one. I’ve been wondering about that myself.”
Perrin chuckled again, as if he couldn’t do it enough, and put his hand over hers. “Doesn’t matter anymore.”
Mahrree remembered something. “Wait a minute—you’ve been here the entire time I’ve been ill? What about the fort?”
He looked into her eyes. “The fort can function without me for a while. I had some leave coming anyway. I belong by your side.”
Mahrree blinked. “Four days? You’ve never been away that long without being unconscious or seriously injured.”
He shrugged. “Shem kept an eye on things for me. So did Jon Offra. Whatever Thorne may have changed in my absence, I’ll just right again.”
“Oh, Perrin. I’m so sorry!” Mahrree said, trying to grip his arm, but only managing to tug on his sleeve. “Look, maybe you should go up there now, just for the evening. I’m feeling much better now, and I’m sure you’ll feel better about seeing to things—”
The change in his eyes revealed that was exactly what he was hoping she’d suggest. Four days was a very long time when someone like Lemuel Thorne is second in command.
“But Mahrree, only if you’re sure—”
“Positive! Shem’s here, the children are here—I’m fine. Go. Make sure it hasn’t been renamed to Fort Thorne in your absence.”
Perrin grinned, kissed her quickly on the cheek where there were no pocks, and stood up. “I’ll be back before midnight. I promise.” He pointed to his sergeant major. “Keep a close eye on her.”
Shem blushed ever so slightly. “Always do.”
“Remember—I’ll be back,” he said as he removed his jacket that remained ever ready on the chair by the bed. “Midnight.”
“Go!” Only after she heard his footsteps fade down the stairs did Mahrree turn to Shem. “Really? He never left?”
Shem patted her hand awkwardly. “You’ve been one very ill woman,” he said, his voice cracking. “We thought you were going to leave us.”
That’s when Mahrree remembered one of her odd dreams. It was someone pleading quietly in her ear, Please don’t leave me. I couldn’t bear it.
And it was Shem—she was sure of it. He sat next to her now, unusually close. There had been only rare moments when he’d been in their bedroom, usually wrestling with her half-awake husband. But apparently the past few days had introduced an intimacy she wasn’t aware of. Shem sat easily with his hand still enveloping hers, as if he’d done that before, and Mahrree wondered if he knew she had heard him whispering in her ear.
But by the naturally happy look in his blue eyes, which were growing shiny, he didn’t seem to think anything about that moment was inappropriate.
She remembered many years ago when Shem was an injured young corporal with a bashed-in head, lying still at the village green when the Guarders first attacked the village. Mahrree had sat by his side all night holding his hand looking for signs of responsiveness. The only time she got any reaction was when she’d whispered, “I still need you!” His mouth had twitched.
She later suspected that he had heard everything she told him that night, about how she and Perrin thought of him as their younger brother and how Perrin had great plans for him. Then again, maybe he heard only bits and pieces, as Mahrree had. Maybe Shem had said even more to her, but that was all she remembered.
She looked into his innocent blue eyes and patted his hand with her other. “I’m sorry I worried my little brother. Now I need to thank you again for all of your attention.”
He blushed and stood up hastily from the bed, as if suddenly remembering something. A guilty countenance came over his face—at least that’s what Mahrree decided it was because she’d never seen that look on him before.
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be taking up your resting space.” He glanced over to the side where Perrin normally slept, and stepped over to the chair where his uniform always lay ready. His trousers were still there, since he had gone to the fort in his regular clothes and uniform jacket.
Shem gingerly picked up the trousers and draped them over the back of the chair before he sat down. “No thanks needed,” he said, then added, as if eager for a new topic, “Can I get you something to drink?”
---
Perrin trotted up the tower stairs, bracing for the worst.
Instead, he faced the best. “Jon! Why are you up here? I thought Thorne was on duty tonight.”
Lieutenant Offra saluted. “Sir, I should be asking the same thing of you—aren’t you supposed to be at home with your wife?”
“Her fever broke this afternoon. She’s doing much better.”
Offra grinned. “Oh, sir—that’s good news! I was a bit worried about her, to be honest.”
“We were all worried,” Perrin told him, sure that the relief was evident on his face, “but she’s quite back to herself again. And although she’s a bit pocked and dehydrated, she’ll recover. Wait—where’s Thorne?”
“He’s down too, sir. Since yesterday.”
“Thorne has the pox?” Perrin tried to keep the hopeful tone out of his voice.
Oh, he shouldn’t think like that. No, no, no. It was bordering on contemptible to hope—and certainly inappropriate to pray—that perhaps Thorne would be one of those who didn’t break out in the pox, but instead—
Dear Creator, he prayed anyway in his mind, I’m so sorry for what I’m thinking, but surely you understand, right? And if I have to lose another soldier, may I submit a personal request as to who that might be—
“Sir?” Offra pulled him out of the most unworthy prayer ever. “Thorne broke out in pocks this evening already.” The lieutenant must have read some of Perrin’s fantasy in his face and he offered a conciliatory smile.
“Well, of course he did,” Perrin gave him The Dinner smile in return. “How fortunate for us.”
“And sir? An Administrative messenger arrived not too long ago bringing word that the guest quarters should be prepared, because Mrs. Versula Thorne is coming to sit with her so
n until he recovers. Radan had informed Idumea in the same hour that Thorne became feverish. Sorry.”
Perrin knew his groan was audible, but it was in front of Jon, so it was all right. “Mrs. Thorne’s coming. How fortunate for us,” he repeated, even more dismally.
Offer snorted at his miserable expression. “Sorry again, sir. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Perrin sighed loudly. “No . . . nothing . . . at . . . all.”
“We’ve kept the fort running smoothly in your absence, sir,” Offra said, trying to cheer up his commander. “In fact, I didn’t have much to do up here tonight—”
Perrin looked around at the tidy office. “Take the rest of the evening off, Jon. You’ll likely be pulling a double shift tomorrow to cover for Thorne again, and I really don’t want you falling ill in the meantime. You do not want Mrs. Thorne tending to you as well.”
Offra grinned. “No, sir! Thank you, sir. And may I add, I’m sorry to hear about Mrs. Peto? It’s been quite a week that your family’s had to endure, hasn’t it?”
“Indeed, it has,” Perrin sighed, and his eyes rested on the purple and gold banner of Edge, stitched brightly and excessively by Hycymum years ago. Someone had tied a sprig of flowers to the nail from which it hung.
“Zenos did that, after her burial,” said Offra quietly when he noticed where Perrin’s attention was focused. “I hadn’t realized Mrs. Peto made that banner. She was quite . . . the seamstress,” he added tactfully.
Perrin smiled sadly. “She was quite a lot of things, Jon. When I first arrived she wanted to make curtains for the tower windows, and in plaid, of all things. Did you know she sewed all of the tower banners? Even made pink striped ones, just in case I found a need for them.” He chuckled at the memory.
Offra actually sneered. “Pink stripes?”
“Yep! She said she got a great price on the cloth—which she charged to the army—and couldn’t resist. I told Karna to dispose of them, and he hid them deep in the supply building—except for one. He hoisted that ridiculous pink banner in the village green tower to signal the last tower in our first Strongest Soldier Race. I’ll tell you, I was in a hurry to get that down! That motivation was the main reason I won.”
Jon laughed. “Maybe we should try to find the pink banners, sir, in honor of her for your next race?”
Perrin smiled. “Not a bad idea. Did you know she also made cake for the races? I always complained because we had to use our wagons and soldiers to cart it all to the village green and set it up so everyone could have ‘refreshments’ at the conclusion of the race. I always told her it wasn’t necessary . . .” His voice faded when he realized that this year there’d be no cake.
And that he’d never thanked her for it.
And that now it was too late.
She was supposed to have lasted until next season, and Perrin had been planning to say a few things to her before then—
He cleared his throat gruffly and stared at the hideous purple banner again which he suddenly realized he loved. “Yes, Hycymum Peto was quite a lot of things.” Blinking wetness out of his eyes, he smiled at his lieutenant, whose own eyes had grown damp. “Good job with the fort, Jon. Thank you for taking care of so many things for me. I truly appreciate it, even if I forget to say so. Good night.”
---
Early the next morning Mahrree felt strong enough to venture out of bed. Perrin had come home earlier than she expected last night, and now the log-rock-bear snored peacefully next to her.
She unsteadily made her way to the mirror in her room, prepared for the worst. When she focused on herself, she relaxed. While she was covered in small red blisters, she didn’t think the scarring would be too bad. Besides, her husband still looked at her the same way he always did. As long as he didn’t care, she wouldn’t care.
She stumbled back into bed.
Perrin rolled over and opened his eyes. “Are you all right?”
She ran a finger down his face that used to be more scarred than hers. “Yes. It was a relatively good night. All is well.”
Perrin smiled, looking more at ease. “That’s my line! Now I’m supposed to suggest we spend the morning just lazing here in bed. But, as you may not know, we have been doing that for the past several mornings. You missed it.”
Mahrree sighed. “Guess I’ll walk down to the amphitheater now and have everyone yell ‘General Shin!’ at me. Get me a uniform.”
Perrin chuckled. “You sound much better. But really, how are you?”
“It hurts,” she admitted. “My body, my skin, my heart. But they are all right, my parents.” She fought back the tears, not wanting to lose any more water. She learned last night when she thought of her mother that crying stung her pocks. Shem and Jaytsy had tried to blot her face with damp clothes as she wept to keep her tears from her blisters. It would have been humorous if it weren’t so pathetic.
“I think I saw them when I was feverish. They were together, and they didn’t want me to come to them.”
Perrin nodded. “I believe it. Twice we thought we were going to lose you.” His voice grew husky. “You wouldn’t cool down. You wouldn’t drink, no matter what we tried.” He pushed a damp lock of hair off her face. “The new surgeon—he transferred here from Vines last week—tried to warn me one night that you wouldn’t make it to the morning. Shem threatened to hit him if he didn’t stop talking. The Cat even got spooked once. He wouldn’t come in here, and kept hissing at nothing.”
“I had no idea,” Mahrree whispered. “I didn’t realize I was that bad. Will you and the children get this?”
“Unsure,” Perrin shrugged. “Some fall to it while others have no problems. You seemed to have got it from your mother. But so far none of us are showing symptoms, so that’s a good sign. However, last night I got a report that one-third of the fort at Rivers is down, and Karna was very bad a few days ago but he’s coming out of it again. But Mahrree, he’s lost forty men so far.”
“Lost? You don’t mean . . .?”
He nodded somberly. “In Quake, Fadh’s lost over thirty, and we haven’t heard from Yordin yet, but it’s just beginning there.”
“How many have you lost?” Mahrree asked, afraid to know.
“I visited our surgery wing last night, and two more had just passed away as quickly as Hycymum. That brings us to up to nine. Captain Thorne is now ill, too, but already broken out in pocks, so he’ll recover,” he added drearily. Then his tone cheered up, just a bit. “He insisted on showing me his pocks, although I don’t know why, and along his just-healed scar he has a few dozen blisters, itching and puss-filled.” He smirked, but tried to cover it.
Mahrree snorted at his failed attempt.
“By the way,” he added, “Versula is on her way here to be with him, and she’s expecting to eat dinner with us when she arrives.”
“What?”
Perrin smiled. “I guess it’s too early to tease you, isn’t it.”
When her breathing became normal again, Mahrree rolled on her back. “I just realized: what if you’d waited on your offensive? Didn’t Shem suggest putting it off until Weeding Season?”
Perrin exhaled. “It wouldn’t have happened, would it? I didn’t realize six weeks ago why it was so important that we attack when we did. I just felt strongly impressed that we should. Had we waited, it could have been disastrous. If the Guarders were still active and found out the soldiers were ill . . . Mahrree, we could have been wiped out by them! Their explosives, our inability to fight—”
Mahrree groaned at the thought. “The Creator knew what was coming. I’m just grateful you know how to listen.”
---
In the hot afternoon sun Perrin stood in the compound with his arms folded, waiting miserably for the arrival of the black coach.
Next to him Lieutenant Radan was agitated. “Sir, I don’t even know what to say to her.”
“Don’t worry,” Perrin told him. “She’ll say it all.”
“So what exactly am
I to do with her?”
Perrin turned slightly to him. “Act as her liaison, of course. I’ve even cleared your schedule. You’ll see her to her quarters, escort her to Thorne’s, bring her meals—”
“But sir, that sounds like servant’s work!”
Perrin smiled slyly. “Officers are supposed to be the servants of the army, Radan. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”
Radan’s confused expression made that answer clear.
“No, of course not. Officers think everyone should be serving them,” Perrin said, watching the gates for the inevitable arrival. “But the reality is, we are to serve the citizens, the world—”
The four horses rumbled in, pulling a coach which generated a cloud of dust behind it.
Perrin sighed. “—and to serve the mother of the captain, and the wife of a general. Both of them your superiors,” he reminded.
Fitting punishment, Perrin thought smugly to himself, for going over Perrin’s head to send an urgent message to General and Mrs. Thorne. The next two weeks would be a lesson the overeager lieutenant wouldn’t soon forget.
When the coach lurched to a halt, Perrin didn’t move but elbowed the lieutenant at his side. “Get the door.”
“Bu sir, there’s a corporal acting as footman—”
“Get the door!”
When Radan swung it open, Versula Thorne stood there in her silk—silk? To her wrists? And dark red? Not cotton in this heat?
The only thing Perrin understood about fashion was that all of it was stupid and made the wearers unnecessarily miserable. Whoever decided the trends in Idumea either must be sadistic or the wealthiest jokester ever.
But there she stood in multiple layers of silk fanning herself so rapidly she could have taken flight. “Oh, Perrin! I’ve—Wait.” She stared at Radan. “You’re not the colonel.”
Radan offered her his hand. “No, ma’am. I’m Lieutenant Radan, the one who wrote to you about Captain Thorne falling ill? He and I are good friends, ma’am. I’m sure he’s mentioned me—”
“No. Never.” She looked up and saw someone who did make her smile. “Now, there you are, Colonel Shin!” She took Radan’s hand only to get down the steps more quickly. “What a horrible ordeal! A terrible drive! I do feel a bit faint . . .”
She tried to fall dramatically into Perrin’s arms except that he didn’t unfold them. Instead, he used his shoulder to nudge upright again.
“Yes,” he said casually, “the drive is a bit long and hot. Radan can show you to your quarters and get you something to drink. He’ll be at your disposal while you’re at the fort—”
“Fort Shin, as it’s been renamed,” she beamed at him, suddenly quite recovered from her ‘horrible ordeal.’ “What an honor,” she gushed. “You realize no one’s ever had a fort named after him?”
She took his arm, even though he hadn’t offered it, and turned him to the buildings. “Show me everything, Perrin—and I mean everything—about Fort Shin!” She squeezed his bicep and released a giggle that sounded appropriate coming only from girls younger than fourteen years old.
He unhooked her grip from his arm and tilted his head to Radan. “I’m sure you understand, Mrs. Thorne, that with the pox outbreak we are short on manpower, and I am needed in about three other places right now. Therefore Radan is to take care of your needs and see you to your son.”
“Oh, yes!” Versula exclaimed, as if remembering why she’d come all that way. “How’s our Lemuel?”
“Your Lemuel is recovering, slowly. The pox seems to take at least two weeks—”
“How about dinner?” she whispered, taking his arm again and ignoring Radan who stood on her other side, patiently waiting.
“The lieutenant will bring it to you—”
“No, Perrin, I meant you and me—”
“And my wife Mahrree? No, I’m sorry. She’s still recuperating. She fell ill last week, lost her mother to it . . . I need to stay by her side.”
Something in Versula’s eyes registered a slight level of panic, as if she were trying to communicate something else but it was being missed.
That’s because Perrin was purposely dodging it. He pried her hand, none too gently, from off of his arm and clapped it onto Radan’s.
“Captain Thorne’s expecting you, Mrs. Thorne,” and he strode back to the tower just as sweat began to bead on his forehead.
Chapter 19 ~ “Who will go next?!”