On the 15th Day of Harvest Season, 337, Perrin took the long way home through Deckett’s farm. He breathed in the cool air and smiled.
This was the way life should be, he thought. Perfect temperature, beautiful season, with a feeling in the air that everything was in harmony with the world. If only days like this could last forever.
And, he quickly reminded himself—because if he didn’t acknowledge the blessings he knew he didn’t deserve them—it had felt like a “small forever” that everything had been ideal. For the past six moons his life had been perfect. Just no other word for it.
Jaytsy was living happily down the road with a young man Perrin had to admit was as close to perfect as a father could wish for his daughter.
Peto, while no longer around as much as Perrin wanted—at least he wasn’t redistributing livestock during the night—had just received excellent marks on his Final Administrative Competency Test and could go to any university and study any subject in another year.
The world was calm—for now—eagerly awaiting the news from the expedition about vast new lands they could acquire and develop. Guarder activity was nonexistent, and Moorland remained uninhabited.
The fort was in excellent shape and Thorne stayed well out of his way, except to alternate between flattering him with weak compliments and remind him of proper procedures. But even he was tolerable.
Perrin’s recruitment quota was easily met, thanks to the tireless efforts of Shem who kept him on his toes in the tower during the days, and kept him laughing in his gathering room during the evenings. In a few weeks they’d be running their annual Strongest Soldier Race, and already Shem had started the taunting. Having beaten Perrin in the last three races, he was feeling overconfident.
Perrin, on the other hand, was just feeling over. He hadn’t told Shem yet, but the fifteenth race was going to be his last. It was time to let someone younger take on the sergeant major. There were plenty of soldiers, especially Offra, wanting the chance.
Perrin didn’t like to admit it, but it creeping up on him. At least it was moving slowly, but he knew it was there: age. After the race he would turn forty-six.
He was on a slide to fifty.
He felt it when he moved, his muscles and joints responding just a bit slower than he wished. He saw it when he shaved his chin smooth each morning where gray hairs—no, white: they had the nerve to be white!—were sprouting in his beard. And also disturbingly on his eyebrows, but he yanked those out.
He could still beat the vast majority of the soldiers in speed and skill, but Shem had caught up to him. If Perrin were a more prideful man, that would have bothered him. But he wasn’t, so it didn’t.
He couldn’t have been prouder of Sergeant Major Zenos. That Shem exceeded Perrin in many ways as a soldier was the ultimate compliment. Occasionally Perrin regretted that he hadn’t pushed Shem to attend Command School. With his charisma, passion, and insight, Zenos would have been a fantastic general. As officers together, they could have done great things in Idumea.
Perrin didn’t mind passing along the title of Strongest Soldier to his best friend. After fourteen races Perrin still had more wins than losses, and he doubted Shem could ever surpass his win record before he reached Perrin’s age and felt the years dragging on him as well. That would mean that Perrin would still have more overall wins than Shem.
All right, maybe he was a bit prideful.
Still, he had the most wonderful wife in the world that made his perfection complete. And he could easily outrun her.
As he slowly walked through the crops that flourished around him, he shook his head in admiration. He’d never paid much attention to the rhythms of the weather and the progress of the plants until his daughter’s livelihood began to depend upon it. Now he felt as proud of this farm as if he were the one running it. He mentally added ‘farmer’ to the list of alternatives to being High General. The list he began two and half years ago in Idumea had never been erased from his mind. Periodically he pulled it out, reminding himself that his future wasn’t set in stone.
But there was another part of him that still revisited the memory of the chant of “General Shin” and smiled at it. He wasn’t entirely against the idea. In many scenarios it could work, quite well.
It was the unknown variables that troubled him. He often felt his life was a complicated math problem where he’d been given only a few numbers with the rest to follow at a later date. He’d stare at the equation, anticipating what the missing digits may be, wondering when the final solution would reveal itself.
He’d already decided he’d never be the Advisor to General Thorne. And should he become the High General, he’d never have Thorne as his Advisor. Brillen Karna would be a far better choice since he knew Perrin so well. Graeson Fadh would be steady and insightful, and Gari Yordin would be most entertaining.
But Thorne would never stand for any of them usurping his position, at least not without an open battle. And Perrin could never allow that, either.
There were too many possible solutions, and none of them felt quite right.
Perrin shrugged off the problem, shoving it far back in the corner of his mind as he usually did, but also knowing exactly where to extract it again should another unknown of the equation suddenly appear.
Because something more pressing was directly before him.
He’d been sent a message from Jaytsy that there was a surprise in her barn, and she wanted him to be the first to know. He meandered through the corn now taller than him, breaking off an ear and snacking on it along the way. It was the fort’s crop anyway, he reasoned. He should check it.
He stepped over the large pumpkins and thought briefly how well a catapult could toss those, if they still had catapults. He passed the second crop of green beans and wondered how his daughter could abide eating them straight off the plants.
Last week she had stood in the field nibbling them, one after another. “They just taste so green! I don’t know why, but they’re so good this year!”
He could barely tolerate beans boiled for five minutes and drenched in butter and pepper. But as he watched her down three plants’ worth, an idea flashed briefly across his mind. Time would tell soon enough.
He made his way through the rows of perfectly straight and tall carrots, and frowned at a rabbit nibbling on the greens.
“The Cat would take care of you, if only he’d stay over here!” Perrin shooed it away by tossing the now-empty cob at it. He walked over to the barn and pushed open the door.
“Hello? Jayts? Deck?”
“Over here, Perrin,” Deckett called from an unseen stall.
“This is a strange place to keep a surprise,” Perrin answered as he sidestepped a nervous cow to get to the corner of the barn. He turned into the stall.
“Oh. I see. Well,” was all he could think of saying. “Whose fault is it?”
Jaytsy laughed from her spot in the scattered hay. “Take a look for yourself. Six kittens, all mostly black!” She held up a tiny ball of fur. “Now can you see the wisdom of leaving The Cat at your house? He loves you most, anyway.”
Perrin crouched in front of the calico licking another fluff of fur that was stretching next to her. “I didn’t even know you had a barn cat, Deck.”
“Neither did I until this morning,” Deck chuckled. “I came in here and heard all this mewing. And I want you to know, Perrin, I hold you responsible.”
“Me? I never saw her before! I mean—”
His daughter and son-in-law burst out laughing.
Perrin groaned. “You know what I mean,” he chuckled.
Jaytsy handed him a sleeping kitten. “Look at the markings on this one—exactly like The Cat.”
Perrin’s large hand could have closed over the tiny kitten completely. He held it up for examination, slowly stroking its little head, its ears and eyes not yet open.
“So small,” he whispered in amazement.
A sniffing sound caused him to shift his g
aze to his daughter.
Her chin was trembling and a tear was threatening to escape her eyes. “Oh Father, you’re so cute! With that tiny little baby animal and . . .” She sniffed again, picked up another kitten, and rubbed it against her face. “Ooh, so cute.”
Perrin looked over at Deckett.
Deck was watching his wife with a slightly disturbed demeanor. He glanced at his father-in-law for an explanation.
He didn’t get any. Yet.
“Jayts,” Deck said gently. “Did you need to check on dinner?”
“What? Oh, yes. I almost forgot! Here Deck,” she said, standing up and holding out the kitten. “This one feels a little cold. Can you do something for it?”
Deck took the kitten from her hand.
She started to leave but paused as her husband cupped the kitten to warm it. “Oh, you’re even cuter holding that baby kitten! You’re so sweet!” She squealed, gave him a quick kiss and wiped away a tear. “I hope you don’t mind beans for dinner again, Deck. We have such a good crop this year.” She rushed out of the barn.
Perrin analyzed his son-in-law’s face as Deck stared at the kitten.
First Deck’s eyes narrowed, then his nose twitched, and his mouth scrunched. He looked over at the kitten in Perrin’s hands, then finally up at Perrin’s face.
Perrin gave him a small smile and a wink.
Deck swallowed. “Green beans for every meal and crying over kittens weren’t on your list, Perrin.”
Perrin chuckled. “But using the word ‘cute’ was, on the very top. And ‘sweet’! Everyone woman is different, Deck. You let me know when I can officially congratulate you. I recommend you give it a little time, though, maybe to the end of the season, just to make sure. But send Jaytsy to talk to her mother in the meantime. Mahrree might be able to keep this quiet.”
Deck nodded slowly. His smile grew into a broad grin.
Perrin matched it.
“Middle of Planting Season next year,” Deck said. “That’s my guess. Wow. I hope you won’t be too busy, Perrin. I think I might need some extra help. Kind of bad timing for a farmer.”
“There’s never a good time to have a baby, but it always has a way of working out. I’m an expert at changing cloths, Deck. I’ll teach you everything I know.” He slapped Deck happily on the back.
Deck stared dreamily at the kitten. “I really hope she is.”
Perfect life, Perrin sighed to himself.
Eventually he said, “I should be heading home, Deck. Mahrree worries when I’m late.” He stroked the tiny kitten again, not making any movements to leave.
“I’m sure you’ll be back after dinner once Mahrree hears about these,” Deck chuckled. “Now, what was the name Shem told me . . . oh, yes. Grandpy. Put that fist away, you can’t hit me! We’re holding kittens!”
---
In her kitchen Jaytsy downed another handful of raw green beans. At some point someone was going to notice, she giggled to herself. But maybe not for a while. The nausea she felt in the mornings was relatively easy to ignore, and she wasn’t as tired as she expected she would be. Certainly not the way her mother had told her she’d been when she was expecting her and Peto.
Her mother who would be a grandmother.
Jaytsy bit her lip in anticipation and patted her still-flat belly. “Just our secret for now, little one. But tonight your father’s going to get a surprise! Bigger than your grandfather’s. Did you hear what I said?” she said, tears brimming in her eyes. “Your ‘father’? ‘Grandfather’? Oh, I wished you could have seen them holding those kittens!”
She grabbed another handful of beans and blew her nose into a cloth.
---
Mahrree knew the look on her husband’s face when he came home that evening, but she could tell he was trying to hide it. She hadn’t seen that expression for many years, but some looks you just don’t forget. She sighed in contentment.
Middle of Planting Season. That’s what she guessed a couple of days ago.
“You’re home a little late.” She kissed him. “Everything all right?”
“Yes, I stopped by Deck and Jaytsy’s. They had something they wanted to show me.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, it appears that for the brief time The Cat was living there he was busy.”
Mahrree smiled, confused. “Busy? How?”
“Kitten busy. Six of them.”
“Really? Oh, we have to go after dinner to see them.”
“But not with Peto. I know him; he’d bring them all home.”
Mahrree laughed. “I was just thinking the other morning how quiet and peaceful this past Weeding Season was. Finally a normal year again! No terrible news, no disturbances, nothing to worry us. So naturally, I started to worry. When Harvest began, I started to get nervous, wondering what was coming. Surely our restful season couldn’t continue. Well if the big event in our life is just kittens, that’s wonderful! Nothing more than that, that’s just fine. The only one who has been ‘busy’ plotting, or anticipating, or up to something, I suppose, has been The Cat.”
For the past minute she studied her husband’s face. Until he started trying to teach her Shem and his hobby, she didn’t watch his every facial twitch too closely. But now the tiny muscles around his mouth were quivering like mad, holding back something he suspected.
She had never realized before how easy it could be to torment him. He was nearly bursting with something that he really couldn’t share.
She smiled sweetly at him. “Isn’t monotony blissful?” she said. “I predict a full year with nothing exciting happening. I know—one year from now, the 48th Day of Harvest, 338, let’s review and see if my prediction was correct.”
Pain.
That’s what it was.
Absolute pain in trying to reveal nothing with his face. It was delicious.
But Mahrree wasn’t nearly as good at this as he was. She snorted.
He pointed at her, his eyes flashing. “What do you know?!”
“Nothing!” she snorted again. “I know nothing at all!” She started to laugh.
“And I know nothing either!” he declared and caught her in a big hug. “Neither does Deck suspect anything. The poor girl. I think she may be the only one who really ‘knows’ nothing at all!”
---
Peto heard his parents laughing as he came up to the back door. When he walked into the kitchen they were hugging and wiping away tears as they tried to catch their breath.
He sighed. “What now?”
“Kittens!” they both told him, and started laughing again.
In a small way Peto did want to know why his parents were laughing and crying about kittens. But instead he shook his head and stomped past them to his room. Sometimes they were so . . .
Well, take right now. Sometimes getting a straight answer out of them aggravatingly impossible. And getting them to understand anything was just a fruitless.
But tomorrow might change all of that. Passing the Final Test was the first step. And since he couldn’t enroll in any university until he was seventeen, he had all year to ready himself. In the meantime, his parents had been giving him ideas about his future.
“With such a high Final Test score,” Mahrree said proudly the other night at dinner, “he could become a doctor, or a fort surgeon.”
“He’d have to go to Idumea to finish that training,” Perrin had said, clearly not pleased with the option. “He could start studying at Mountseen and maybe finish elsewhere, like at Waves or Midplain, and become a scientist.”
“True,” Mahrree said. “Or even a historian, or a university professor.”
“Or maybe,” Peto had interrupted them, “you could ask ME what I want to do.”
They had both turned to him in surprise. “But we’re just letting you know what your options are, son. We’re not making any decisions. You could do anything in the world. You’re one of the few who still gets to decide his own future,” Mahrree reminded hi
m.
“That’s right, and there’s only one thing I want to become right now, and you both know it,” he declared.
“Not as a profession, son,” Perrin had scowled. “You could do that for fun on the side, and still go to the university.”
“I’ll go in a few years—I promise. Just let me do what I want to do now.”
They had shaken their heads at him in disappointment.
He had left the table in frustration.
But tomorrow the main scout for the Idumean United team would be coming all the way to Edge. And he wanted to meet Peto Shin. Tomorrow he might finally have his future decided.
And his father’s.
Peto changed into his work clothes but paused when something in his wardrobe caught his eye. He stared at the corner of the parchment envelope. Taking it would make things a lot easier, but his grandfather had been adamant: share it with no one else.
Eventually he shut the doors and headed for the table where his parents were sitting down to dinner.
“Rector Yung wanted my help to pick the last peaches,” Peto said as picked up a slab of bread and piled on it mashed potatoes, a hunk of beef, then poured gravy carefully over the top of it, licking the spills off his fingers.
Mahrree grimaced. “At least use a plate! Just sit down with us for five minutes, and—”
“I’ll be back later to finish off what you two don’t eat. The sun’s going down soon, and Yung was pretty insistent.”
“No, he’s not,” Mahrree said, “but I am!”
Perrin patted her shoulder. “It’s better this way. We can go to Deck and Jaytsy’s by ourselves.”
Peto didn’t know why that sounded as if he was speaking in code, nor did he care as he took a large bite of his dinner. “Can’t pick peaches in the dark. See you later,” and he was out the door.
---
Halfway to Rector Yung’s he finished his dinner on the go, and soon was licking his fingers to knock on the door.
“Peto! To what do I owe the honor of your visit?” Yung smiled.
Peto walked into the sparse sitting room, a tad guiltily. “I, uh, told my parents that you needed help picking peaches, so . . .”
Yung was a quick one. Already he was taking up a cracked bowl from his tiny table, filled with peaches. “Peto, pick one.”
“Why, thank you, Rector,” Peto grinned in feigned sincerity, taking a peach from the bowl he helped fill a few weeks ago. Now that he was an honest man again, he could explain why he was there.
“You see—” he garbled as he took a big bite, peach juice dribbling down his chin.
Yung handed him a napkin as Peto sat down in the ancient stuffed chair that creaked faintly.
“—tomorrow’s a pretty big day for me, Rector.”
“Is it, now?”
“There’s a kickball recruiter coming from Idumea to evaluate some of us. I’ve got an appointment tomorrow with my future!”
Yung squatted in front of Peto, watching nothing, but intently. “These teams—they play in Idumea?”
“Primarily, yes,” Peto took another bite. “They travel around, too, but all are based in Idumea and Pools.”
“I see . . . I see,” Yung said, lost in thought. “And why have you come to me?”
“Well, I’m going to need your help with a couple of things.”
“And what are those things?”
“One’s called Perrin,” Peto said, slurping up the juice, “and the other’s called Mahrree.”
“Hmm,” Yung said, his voice strangely far away.
“You see, if I get selected—and I’m sure I will,” he added modestly, “I get to start next Planting Season. But my parents won’t want me to go alone, nor will they want to go with me, so . . .”
Yung looked up at his eager face.
“I need you to help me convince them this is a good idea.”
Yung sighed. “But I don’t think it is, Peto.”
Peto’s shoulders dropped. “Why not? Rector, it’s crucial that—” He realized there was no way he could explain to Rector Yung that his grandfather had a recurring dream about his son becoming the greatest general in the world. Grandfather had been specific about that, to not share that dream with anyone except his wife.
His very distant, very far, far away into the future wife.
But he could say a little bit, right? “My grandfather really wanted my father to become a general, Rector—” which was true and everyone knew that, “—and I’m trying to help my father realize that . . . destiny.”
Yung tilted his head. “Destiny?”
Peto exhaled. “You know what I mean.”
“Destiny,” Yung whispered, lost in contemplation. Lifting his head again, he said, “What do you know of your father’s destiny?”
Peto squirmed. “Rector, that’s kind of personal, don’t you think?”
“Oh, indeed I do. But you want my very personal help, so I must ask very personal questions.”
Peto could sense he was falling into a trap, but he wasn’t sure in which direction he should go to avoid it.
“Please, Rector. I’m not asking this for myself. I know it seems selfish to want to play for the professional teams, but it’s really to help my father, and to fulfill what my grandfather asked me to do.”
Yung nodded. “I have no doubt, my dear Peto, that you are sincere and honest in all that you intend. You are an exceptional young man—”
“But?” Peto said, feeling antsy.
Yung cocked his head. “But I don’t believe you understand quite everything your grandfather may have intended.”
Peto groaned. “No, no, no, it’s you who don’t understand, but I need you to trust me—”
When Yung interrupted him, it was with a still, calm voice that somehow cut Peto through his core. “No, my dear boy—it is you who do not understand the destiny of Perrin Shin. You must not go to Idumea. In fact, I will do all that I can to stand in your way.”
Peto was at first taken aback, then furious. “What? Stand in my way? What . . . what . . .” He gestured wildly to the ceiling. “I’ve helped you with that orchard and we’ve talked and I thought you were my friend and willing to help me and—”
“Oh, but I am your friend, and I’m helping you in ways you cannot understand yet—”
“Augh!” Peto exclaimed, leaping to his feet. “It’s not that simple, Yung!”
“I agree,” he said kindly. “It’s not. Not in the least bit, no, not simple whatsoever—”
Peto wasn’t listening but storming around the small sitting area that used to belong to his great, great Uncle Hogal and Aunt Tabbit. They would have understood, he was sure. Yung just didn’t want to lose his free laborer. Who else would chop his wood and tend to his peach trees if Peto went to Idumea?
“Look,” Peto tried again, “he’s going to become a general—”
The expectant expression on Yung’s face seemed almost to agree with Peto.
“—and there’s no other way but if he goes to Idumea. He’ll go for his son, I know it! Oh, I wish I could explain it all to you.” Peto gripped his head and continued to pace around the small man.
Yung watched him attentively, craning his neck to keep his eyes on the frustrated teenager. “And how I wish I could explain it to you, too, my boy.”
Peto stopped and dropped his hands to his side. “Please, Rector Yung. My father can handle going back down there. He’s strong and ready, and I made promises.”
Yung stood up and smiled. “Look how much you’ve grown this last year,” he said, reaching up to pat his shoulder. “More than a full head taller than me now. We used to be the same height. My, have you grown—”
“Is there a point to this, Rector?” Peto was out of patience.
“And so much like your father, too,” Yung said. “So determined, and a bit on the impatient side. My point is, you still have some growing to do, Peto. In your heart and in your mind.”
Peto rolled his eyes as dramatical
ly as he knew how. “So you’re not going to help me get my parents to Idumea?”
Yung’s wrinkled face broke into a pleasant smile that reduced his already narrow eyes into mere slits. “Not one bit, my dear friend. I’ll fight you every step of the way if I must.”
Peto stormed out of the house, not bothering to say goodbye.
He missed hearing Rector Yung say, “Because it’s not simple at all, my dear boy. Oh, not simple in any sort of way . . .”
---
Peto stood in the changing room of the arena in Edge wearing only his thin undershirt and shorts, because he was the only one asked to stay longer. The other young men had already been dismissed. That had to be a good sign, he decided, although he was being treated like a horse at an auction.
The scout inspected him up and down. He squeezed Peto’s calf muscle and nodded in approval, then poked his thigh which was as hard as a rock. Satisfied, he thumped Peto’s tight belly.
“I have to admit,” he said as he walked around Peto who stood at attention, “when I learned who your father was, I thought there was no way you could be a good player if you were anything as large as him. But you’re not. You’re the perfect shape for a ball player—lean, tight, not too broad. And on the field no one today had better ball handling skills or was faster on his feet. If you were as bulky as your father you’d be useless except as a goal tender. But that’s not what you want to be, is it?”
“No sir!” Peto mentally thanked his maternal grandfather, wherever he might be, for having more dominant traits than his father. His face may be the copy of Colonel Shin, but his brown hair, pale eyes, and body shape came from a school teacher.
The scout chuckled. “At ease, soldier. I was player, just like you. No need for ‘sir’-ing me. I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Shin, you’re a good candidate. Tryouts are at the beginning of Weeding Season next year, and men start coming in Planting to practice.” He folded his arms and grinned. “You are officially invited to come to Idumea!”
“Thank you, sir!” Peto exhaled. “You won’t be disappointed, I promise!”
“Oh, I’m sure I won’t. Do you have a way to come down?”
“Uh . . . working on it.”
The scout smiled. “We have plenty of time yet. I’m sure we can work something out.” He glanced around before saying in a low voice, “A lot of boys say they’re going to the university, and tell their parents they want to head to Idumea early to get a feel for the city. Those that make the team simply never start school. Those who don’t instead go to school for a while until they do make the team. Then they drop out of the university.”
Peto’s eyes brightened. “Do you have any players that do both? Study and play at the same time?”
“Not successfully. You’re still young, Peto. The university can wait. And once you start those command classes—”
Peto shook his head emphatically. “I’m not going to Command School. Just the university.”
The scout stepped back in surprise. “Seriously? I thought with a name like Shin there was no other possibility than—”
Peto held up his hands. “I don’t want to be an officer. Never have.”
“Not that I would want to either,” the scout said, “but I’m curious—why not?”
“Would you like to go to Command School as the son of Perrin Shin? The grandson of Relf Shin? The great grandson of Pere Shin?”
The scout shook his head in sympathy. “No. No, I wouldn’t. I see your point.”
“Exactly! Tell me, how could I possibly live up to whatever expectations anyone would have of me? No one will be able to top my father’s accomplishments, so I won’t even bother to try. I mean, true—he jumps into his trousers with both legs at the same time like every other man, but still . . .”
The scout squinted, his face reflecting the puzzled wondering if he had been dressing incorrectly his entire life. He blinked it away. “So what do you want to study?”
“I don’t know. My mother wants me to be a fort surgeon. If I’m not a soldier, at least I can patch them up, I suppose—”
The scout nodded. “You could do that for us as well. You could become a team surgeon.”
Team surgeon?
Team surgeon . . .
A memory surfaced in Peto’s mind. He remembered getting lost in the fort once when he was little. Apparently it happened several times when his father showed off his little boy and set him down thinking he wouldn’t toddle off again. Once, when Peto was about three or four, he had made his way into the soldier’s quarters and became disoriented in the rows of bunks and trunks and hallways and windows. He didn’t panic, but he couldn’t remember which way was out to the mess hall, his real destination. He still remembered the relief and excitement that swept over him when he turned another confusing corner and crashed right into Uncle Shem’s legs. When Shem picked him up and carried him out of the maze, Peto felt as if everything in his life was perfect again.
Team surgeon.
The same feeling came over him again. The maze of his future suddenly became a straight and perfect path that led all the way to Idumea, with his parents in tow.
A smile formed on Peto’s face and expanded into a grin. “A team surgeon.”
“Oh, yeah,” the scout nodded. “You know how many injuries we have each season? You’d be busier than any fort doctor. Plus you get to sit on the sidelines of every game. Your on-field career will last five years, if you’re lucky. Usually a permanent injury ends your playing, but then you need to do something else with the rest of your life. You can’t have my job—I plan to be a scout until I die. But we could use a surgeon.”
Peto clapped his hands. “I’ve found my way to Idumea, sir! And I’ll make the team, I promise you that.”
A few minutes later, Peto, fully dressed and leaving the arena changing room, rode an enthusiastic wave that distracted him from noticing anything else, including the blue uniform standing in a shadow next to the exit.
“Where do you think you’re going, Peto?”
Peto stopped and turned to the voice, the wave crashing down around him.
“Uncle Shem! What are you doing here?” But he already knew.
“I want to know where you’re going,” Shem said genially as he put his arm around Peto’s shoulders, walked him out the door and across the field.
“I’m going home,” Peto said evasively.
“I mean after that.”
Peto gave him a sidelong glance. “Then I’m going to bed.”
Shem shook his head. “I know what you’re planning, Peto.”
“Rector Yung’s supposed to keep things in confidence!” he fumed. “He must have told you last night about—”
“I haven’t spoken to Yung in about three days, Peto.”
“So then how did you . . . Wait,” Peto glared. “How long have you been here?”
“Too long. Looked like a meat market in there, with those scouts poking as if you’re a potential steak. Worse than the exam we give to new recruits.”
“Don’t exaggerate, Shem,” Peto snapped, feeling as if the entire world was out to undermine him. “Look, I’ve got it all figured out. Everyone will be happy. I can go to the university and be on the team—”
“Are you going to tell your parents about the team, or the university?”
“They don’t need to know about the team yet,” said Peto firmly. “They’ve never seen that as a real profession.”
“It’s not,” Shem agreed. “In five years your body is used up. I heard the scout.”
“So are a lot of soldiers’ bodies, Shem. I’ve seen them,” Peto pointed out. “Very few make it as long as you and Father.”
Shem bobbed his head. “That’s true. But you’re deceiving your parents by not telling them that first you’re going to play.”
“You don’t know that,” Peto said, wishing Shem didn’t have such a firm grip on his shoulder. “I don’t even know that. I’m still working on it. I have to make the team
first.”
“He won’t let you go, you know. Not to Idumea.” Shem held him tighter.
Peto stiffened. “Yes he will. He has to. He has to go there, too.”
Shem looked at him askance. “Why do you say that?”
“Never mind.” Peto rubbed his forehead. “Look, I know what I’m doing. Just let me try to pursue my dream.”
Shem stopped suddenly and Peto walked right out of his grip.
While he realized this was his opportunity to run, Peto was too intrigued as to why Shem halted. He turned to face him.
Shem, seemingly rooted to the ground in the middle of the grassy playing field, reached and caught Peto’s shoulders again.
The intensity of the expression on his face made Peto gasp. Shem’s eyes were deep and penetrating, digging straight into Peto’s soul, and Peto felt himself shrink a little under his sharp gaze. Shem wasn’t angry or frightening, just profoundly earnest. Shem to the power of ten.
“Peto, I have to tell you. I don’t know why, but I simply must.”
His tone had a quality Peto had never heard before, almost as if he spoke with another man’s voice, and that voice carried the message straight to Peto’s heart and nailed it in place.
“I’m not able to take another step,” Shem said, as if under the control of someone else, “unless I make this very clear: Peto, you must not play in Idumea. And your father must not go to Idumea either. The plans the Creator has for you and Perrin lie elsewhere.”
“What?!” Now Peto was sure that Yung was in on this somehow. “Where?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can’t, or you won’t?” Peto’s voice choked and his chest burned. He wanted to be furious at Shem, but instead found his thoughts filled oddly with his Grandfather Shin, among other confusing things. “Does this have anything to do with Terryp’s land? The expedition hasn’t returned yet, but when they do?”
Shem closed his eyes as if in deep concentration. After a moment he opened them and slowly shook his head. “I can’t tell you. Not yet. Peto, don’t pursue Idumea. You could be very successful there, but that’s not the Creator’s plan for you.”
Peto pulled away from Shem’s grip and sat down hard on the grass. What kind of trick was this? And who was Shem to tell Peto what he should and shouldn’t do! What would Shem know of the Creator’s plans for—
The instant he thought those words he felt a presence—familiar and powerful—that told him, Just listen.
Listen to Shem Zenos destroy all his plans?
“Shem!” he roared angrily to his lap. “Why? No. No—just stay out of it. Ah, you just don’t understand!”
Shem crouched on the grass by Peto. “What don’t I understand? The dreams of a sixteen-year-old? The hope of glory on the field?” He sounded more like himself. “Trust me, Peto. I do understand.”
Peto shook his head. He wasn’t just a self-centered ball player. “It’s more than just that. It’s . . . oh, forget it.”
“What?” Shem said earnestly. “Help me understand.”
Peto sighed. “I can’t! I’m not supposed to.”
Then he felt it, very distinctly. The presence at his side became stronger, more defined.
And then he knew.
It was his grandfather Relf, right there on the other side of Shem. If Peto reached out he could have touched him, or the essence of what Relf Shin was now. Peto couldn’t understand why he was there. Trying to tell him to ignore Shem? To go to Idumea anyway? To make his father follow him to be High General?
No . . . no, it wasn’t that.
Refusing to look up, Peto felt lost in a maze again as he yanked up a fistful of grass.
Grandfather, I’m no good at this! he cried out in his mind. I don’t know what you want me to do! Why are you here?
“Peto,” Shem’s voice came calmly next to his ear. “You’re not supposed to . . . not supposed to tell me? Or . . .”
Peto felt Shem sit down in the grass next to him.
“Oh Peto, I understand. I really do. Actually, I don’t understand it all, but enough. It’s Relf, isn’t it?”
Peto’s head jerked up to stare at Shem.
“I’ve felt him before, Peto. I’ve even seen him before. Not just at the fort, but in Idumea, after he passed away.”
“Wh—. H—.”
“At his burial. That evening I got to know him better than I ever had,” Shem said matter-of-factly, as if he communicated with dead people all the time.
Peto’s eyes bulged. “Uh . . .”
Shem nodded. “He was trying to reach your father that night. So was your grandmother. They didn’t have much success at the time, so they tried through me instead.”
Peto stared at him, dumbfounded. Just when you think you know a man, you discover he’s on speaking terms with your dead grandparents.
Shem took Peto’s stunned silence as a signal to continue. “He’s right here, isn’t he? Peto, your grandfather is proud of your determination to keep your promises. But there are other ways. This isn’t it. He wants you to wait. He knows more now than he did when he first spoke to you about it, but more can’t be revealed; it’s too soon. You need to have faith in Relf, trust his knowledge, and just wait.”
Peto shook his head to try to settle the words in some kind of recognizable order. “Wait?”
Shem smiled and put his hand on Peto’s face. Peto almost recoiled, but didn’t. It was the exact movement his grandfather made just after he entrusted the envelope to his care.
“Just wait, Peto.” The voice was back. “You have a future that today you could never imagine.”
Peto closed his eyes. Now he recognized the voice. He hadn’t heard it in two and a half years, and he hadn’t expected to hear it again until he died.
Near his heart, Peto felt a patch of heat appear, taking whatever remaining breath he had away. Slowly the warmth dissipated.
Shem’s hand slid off of Peto’s face to rest heavily on his shoulder; another classic Relf Shin movement.
Peto wiped away a few tears that for some reason had filled his eyes. The presence of Relf Shin faded, and Shem’s hand came off of Peto’s shoulder. After a long minute Peto opened his eyes and looked at Uncle Shem.
He’d hoped he’d feel that same sense of rescue that he’d felt as a small child, but he was still in the maze. At least he wasn’t alone.
Shem, looking rather drained, attempted a weak smile. “Did you understand all of that?”
Peto nodded, not sure of the condition of his voice.
“Someday, when the time’s right, will you explain to me what just happened here?”
Peto smiled faintly. “Yeah. Relf wants us to wait, though.”
“I caught that part.”
The two of them sat there silently, meditatively, in the grass.
Until a thought hit Peto, and he buried his head in his hands. “But now what? I’m no closer to figuring out my future. Shem, it’s not fair. You know how easy it is for girls? Jaytsy had no worries. She just sat around and waited until some man fell in love with her and married her.”
“Actually, Peto,” Shem said with a sad chuckle, “it was a little more complicated than that.”
Peto waved that off. “That whole Thorne wanting to take her to Idumea thing—that was nothing. Not like this. My parents have tried every title on me in the past few weeks, just to see what sounds best. Doctor Shin. Professor Shin. Rector Shin. Old Goat Milker Shin—”
“Old Goat Milker?”
“I threw that one in, just to watch their reaction. It was pretty good. You would’ve appreciated it.”
“I kind of like the sound of Rector Shin myself. Rector Yung is becoming Rector Old.”
Peto chuckled. “So why don’t you become Rector Zenos? I don’t know of a man more open to inspiration than you.” The last ten minutes still sat on top of Peto, pressing him into the grass with sobering reality. “Really, Uncle Shem. No one more than you.”
Shem gently elbowed him. “You wait for your calling, Peto. My calling was to be a soldier for your father. Your calling will come to you as well.”
“My calling?” He remembered vaguely his father saying that to him as well, the night they left Idumea. The fact that he had never again thought of those words twanged his conscience.
“You’ll feel it someday, Peto. Not just as a ‘Gee, I’d love to play kickball for the next five years’ kind of feeling, but a drive, a need to do something for the world and the Creator. Most people don’t wait for it. They just jump into the most convenient job that presents itself. But if you ask—and wait—you will eventually feel something deep and clear that demands that you act upon it. You have a calling.”
“I suppose I do,” Peto sighed. “So what do I do in the meantime?”
“Well,” Shem rubbed his chin. “Keep going to school, just to stay sharp. Keep practicing, just to stay sharp, and . . .”
“Wait,” Peto finished for him. “I have to admit, I don’t exactly enjoy waiting.”
Shem’s face fell. “I recommend you get used to it now. Nothing happens when you think it should. There are a lot of things I’ve been waiting for, for a long time now.” He looked up to the mountains, his eyes clouded. “The Creator has His reasons, and we just have to trust them.”
Shem shook out his shoulders, put on his familiar smile, and elbowed his nephew again. “Come on. You need to get home and I’ve got a shift coming up. Going to be another long night for your Uncle Shem.”
---
The forest was very active that night, but no soldiers knew it. Men, horses, and even two women in dark clothing filled a section of the trees north and east of the fort, waiting.
Shem had scheduled the soldiers to patrol in the west.
The deep canal, which normally ran from the river to the few farms on the east side of Edge leading up to where the murky swamps began, was empty of water, as it usually was in the Harvest Season.
But there was still a steady trickle in it heading north.
---
Mahrree opened the door when she heard the knocking. “Thank goodness you got here so quickly . . . oh. Rector Yung! I was expecting the piping man.”
“Oh dear,” Yung said. “A clog?”
“A burst!” Mahrree sighed. “The side of my yard is now a mud bath, in case you know of any dry, hot pigs?”
Yung chuckled. “I wished I could help, but actually I was hoping to catch Peto home.”
“He’s off again,” Mahrree sighed. “Kickball. Although for the past couple of days his heart doesn’t seem to be in at as much.”
“Oh really?” Yung seemed unusually interested in that.
“Yes, I’m not sure why, but whatever has changed in him has certainly made him quieter. Honestly, Rector,” Mahrree lowered her voice, “I’m worried about him. He won’t tell me what’s going on.”
To her surprise, Yung chuckled. “A teenage boy not telling his mother what’s going on? Mrs. Shin, that’s pretty typical.”
“Yes, but my daughter—”
“Is a female. There tends to be a difference, you know.”
Mahrree had to smile at that. “So I shouldn’t worry?”
“Mrs. Shin, I believe you have far less to worry about now than you did a few days ago.”
Mahrree sighed. “If you say so.”
“I wanted to give him this,” Yung said, holding up a small bag.
Mahrree felt the contents through the cotton as she took it. “Feels like . . . rocks?”
“Pits,” Yung clarified. “From peaches, to be specific. I thought he might find it interesting to plant a few, see what comes up? Your garden seems to have a bit of room.”
Mahrree nearly laughed. A bit of room? She hadn’t seen the gravely soil in over a decade, so overrun by unidentifiable foliage that her daughter didn’t know where to start fixing it.
“I’ll give him the bag, Rector. Thank you.”
“Remind him, however, to not plant the pits anywhere near the new piping that may go in. The roots will get all tangled in it.”
Mahrree frowned. “But the piping is down at least two feet.”
Yung tilted his head, amazed. “You really know nothing of gardening, do you Mrs. Shin? Peto will know what to do with them.”
---
Knock-knock . . . knock-knock-knock.
There were very few things that could wipe the guarded smile from Perrin’s face that day. The notion that in a couple of seasons he might be cradling a newborn again—his own grandchild—had filled him with an emotion the past week that he would almost dare label as giddy. As ridiculous as it might seem, as un-soldier-like as it would sound should he ever admit it, he really loved nothing more than squishy cheeks.
But the knock erased his smile for a moment, until Perrin remembered it wasn’t his child.
“Come in.”
Thorne opened the door, and behind him stood three villagers with stern expressions. “Sir, we have a problem with a property line—”
“No,” Perrin interrupted him, “we don’t. Maybe some villagers do, or Chief Barnie does, but we at the fort have no property line disputes.”
The men behind Thorne immediately began to argue that point, but Thorne held up his hand which then became a fist.
Impressively, the men immediately silenced.
He turned back to Colonel Shin with a determined gaze. “Sir. The problem arose back when the pox eliminated the original owners of the property. The line was in dispute at the time, and the issue has arisen again. To avoid violence—”
“You shouldn’t have brought them here,” Shin said with a glare just as penetrating. “The three of you, take your complaint out of my office. We have, as I’m sure you well know, something called a chain of command. I am at the very end of that chain. Begin at front of it. May I recommend Rector Yung? He’s probably the most insightful and fair-minded man in the village. Allow him to mediate your problem. If you still find yourselves in disagreement, then visit Chief Barnie. If he can’t resolve your issue, take it to Magistrate Wibble. Still no satisfying result, then you may SCHEDULE my time in order to come speak to me. Is that understood?”
Thorne’s glare increased by a few degrees. “Yung? The old rector?” he scoffed. “Rectors are naïve and simplistic.”
“Rector Yung,” Perrin said steadily, “can see into the heart of a problem far faster, and can make the correct judgment far better than any man or woman in this village, myself included. And that, I suspect, is why these men do not want to consult with him. He will see right through whomever is attempting to deceive.”
At that, the three villagers huffed and harrumphed and guffawed, and abruptly turned to stomp down the stairs of the command tower.
Perrin smiled smugly.
But Thorne was seething. “Sir, you could have resolved that in five minutes—”
“No, I couldn’t. It would’ve taken them five minutes just to decide who should speak first. And I don’t have five minutes today, Thorne. You know that. For some reason the garrison feels they need a full accounting of every last weapon in the fort, and the inventory sent to them written in my own hand in triplicate. That’s why I sent you out on the village patrol today, and didn’t go out myself. I didn’t want you to bring back trivial problems.”
“That was hardly trivial!” Thorne insisted. “The way we handle the small problems reflects on how well we handle the big ones. If the village sees that we’re ready to step in and—”
“And handle every little issue? Every trivial problem? Then they’ll never do anything for themselves again! That’s precisely what the governing body should NOT do—manage every detail of their lives. We are not their meddling grandmothers; we exist to keep them safe so they can make their own decisions, resolve their own problems, and live their own lives as their conscience dictates. We are NOT to become that conscience.”
“Why not? Colonel, if they’re incapable of making intelligent choices?
??”
“They can’t learn to make those choices if they aren’t given the opportunity, Thorne. Give them the opportunity to learn.”
“And fail?”
“Failure is part of learning, Captain. It’s not to be shunned—it’s to be embraced and learned from. Would you really want someone making all your decisions for you?”
“No! But I’m not like them. Neither of us is. We are superior in training, education, and intelligence. They need us to guide and direct them. They simply aren’t capable of it—”
“HO!” Perrin howled, finally reaching his tipping point. “Who are you to judge who’s capable and who isn’t?”
“These make me worthy of judging!” The captain slapped the Administrative patches on his chest, and Perrin wished the upright sword on the little pine tree patch would have stabbed Thorne’s finger. “These say I’m in control and I make the decisions.”
Perrin took a deep breath and slowly shook his head. “You’re willing to dismiss the advice of a wise, selfless rector in order to put all your faith in a committee of men who are more motivated by their large houses, stashes of gold, and lust for status? Captain Thorne, you have no idea who’s superior, do you?”
Thorne’s jaw slacked. “Colonel Shin, are you stating that the Administrators are not deserving of their positions and power?”
Perrin folded his arms. “Yes. And I’m also saying you should listen to little old rectors every now and then.”
A soft throat-clearing sound came from behind the captain.
Thorne stepped aside and pivoted to see where the noise came from.
Mahrree bit her lip nervously. “If this isn’t a good time—”
“No, it isn’t!” Thorne snapped at her. “The colonel is so exceptionally busy that—”
“He can spare five minutes for his wife, Captain! You are dismissed.”
If a look could draw down thunder from a clear blue sky, that one from Thorne would have rattled the entire village. His jaw worked back and forth for a moment before he turned to Mahrree with an expression that startled Perrin. Why Lemuel regarded innocent, sweet Mahrree Shin with such animosity, Perrin couldn’t understand.
But he would never forget it.
With a quiet growl, Thorne turned on his heel and thumped loudly down the stairs.
Mahrree exhaled and looked at her husband with wide eyes. “What was that all about?”
He gestured for her to shut the door. When she did so, he said quietly, “I’m sure the soldiers in the outer office are wondering the same thing.”
“You’re right—he really has turned rancid. Mushroom pudding is now more lethal than that blob I grew many years ago.”
She went to sit on a chair, but her husband shook his head and pointed to his lap.
She giggled softly. “What if someone caught us doing this?” she asked as she made herself comfortable.
“My chair. I get to do whatever I want on it. If I don’t want to be disturbed, I just don’t say ‘Come in’,” and he kissed her.
“By the way,” he mumbled after a while, “why did you come by?”
“Just to see if a grandpy can kiss as good as my husband,” she murmured back. “I suppose he can . . .”
Perrin groaned and pulled away. “Not Grandpy! Anything but that.”
Mahrree giggled again and snuggled into his neck. “Actually, I just came by to tell you the estimate for the burst piping under the house. The pipe maker said it will be close to forty slips of silver, depending on how much he has to replace. He can get working on it this afternoon.”
Perrin sighed. “Do we really need water?”
“Yes. And even more, we need the waste water piped away from the house to the waste canals.”
“I suppose we do. Tell him to go ahead. And then see if Peto wants to be apprenticed to him. Forty slips of silver? Now that’s a profitable career.”
Mahrree kissed him again and got off his lap. “I think my five minutes are up.”
“Oh, if only it were ten,” he said with a suggestive eyebrow waggle, and held his hands out at the long, wide desk.
Mahrree blushed. “Then you could never again look at your desk without smirking. Try explaining that to Captain Thorne.”
“You’re probably right,” he chuckled. “And Thorne can’t seem to understand anything anymore.”
---
Lemuel Thorne huffed across the compound to the western gates where he watched the three villagers argue their way to Edge. Where they were going, the captain didn’t know or care. But if any violence ensued, it would be the colonel’s fault. Yet he wouldn’t realize that. Colonel Shin was so blinded he saw nothing clearly anymore.
She’d done it again! Showed up unscheduled, looked at her husband with kitten-eyes, and he melted into a puddle of uselessness. The control she had over him was astonishing. On many occasions Thorne wanted to bring the poor colonel’s attention to the fact that he was being manipulated, but he knew the timing wasn’t right.
Until then, the file on the egregious behavior of his wife was thickening every week, and within another season or two, the pile of evidence would be overwhelming.
Then Colonel Shin would see.
So would Administrator Genev.
And then the whole world.
And it would be Lemuel Thorne who delivered the world’s greatest traitor to Idumea.
That had to be a one way trip to becoming High General.
---
That evening after dinner Mahrree remembered the bag of pits. When she gave them to Peto he actually scowled at the contents.
“What’s this supposed to mean?”
Mahrree shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe Yung thought you’d like to plant a few? But not near the trenches where the pipers are digging, apparently,” she added, a bit mystified.
Peto’s fist clamped around the bag. “But what does this mean?”
Yung tied up meanings around everything, so much so that Peto now looked at innocuous objects and thought, How would Rector Yung turn this into a Holy Day lesson? He didn’t know if he should be alarmed or impressed that he came up with a couple of sermons related to the dung wagon that he passed on his way home.
And now he’d been given peach pits.
As a rector, Yung was the equivalent of Hycymum Peto as a cook: a steak wasn’t just for eating; it was for spicing and presenting into something far more than you expected it should be.
It was the same with everything that Rector Yung handed you; it always had another layer. That old peach orchard he helped Yung revive last year wasn’t just about peaches; it was to teach Peto about rescuing his father, although Peto was sure he missed a few key points here and there. Anyway, they worked hard, brought back the orchard that no one had much hope for, and got a handful of good peaches, then Perrin Shin was better and this harvest they gathered several baskets full which Yung gave away for free at the market, annoying the fruit sellers, and now Yung was giving him . . . the pits.
There was a meaning in there, somewhere.
Mahrree watched as her son studied the pits with too much worry. “All he said was that you’d know what to do with them.”
He closed his fist over the bag. “But how do I know what to do with them?” he said enigmatically, and a bit annoyed, as he trudged off to his bedroom
.
Chapter 29 ~ “They’re back! The expedition!”