Flight of the Wounded Falcon

Mahrree had been watching for his arrival. She stood at the window, and when the horses came trotting down the lane she held her breath.

  They were doing things differently with Jon Offra. Already they’d been delayed, because once Jon saw the glacial fort, where twenty-five years ago he’d spent many days with Perrin and Shem learning about Salem, he sat down on a log and could only stare at it for an hour. He murmured quietly, used to sharing his thoughts only with himself, while Relf, Woodson, and four accompanying scouts patiently waited. Jon Offra had a lot of rethinking to do. Eventually he stood up, faced the mountain where Lieutenant Radan had run away to, where Perrin had stabbed him to death after Radan had been trampled by a stampede, and where they had buried his body. Jon silently stared at the summit, his eyes clouded, until finally he said, “And now I go the opposite direction home. To another home. One that I don’t know, but have always known.”

  Taking those conflicting words as their cue, the scouts continued with Jon on their way. Messengers sent ahead to Salem warned that Jon was frequently stopping as if taking stock of all he saw around him, and that no one felt the need to prod him faster.

  No parades were to greet him as they did for the group of orphans two days ago, and the refugees yesterday, because no one was quite sure how Jon would react to cheering and calling crowds.

  Instead, Jon and his traveling companions eventually came to the mouth of the canyon where Shem, alone, was going to greet him. Where Shem was also going to break to him the news that General Shin had passed away last year.

  Mahrree stepped out on to the front porch, trying to read the expression on Shem’s face as he reined his horse to a stop. His eyes met Mahrree’s, and communicated, I still don’t know about his stability. He likely doesn’t know, either.

  Mahrree nodded once, knowing the four guards would remain in the area. When she had greeted Relf yesterday, it was with a firm, grateful hug and the admonition to spend the rest of today with his wife and children once he had delivered Offra. There were plenty of people volunteering to help with Offra, Honri included.

  She’d hesitated to call Honri for help, however, because as of late things had become uneasy between them. Mainly because she only recently discovered that all of Honri’s taking her out and coming over had been leading up to something, and she had no option but to put a stop to that.

  She fixed on a smile as she came down the stairs.

  Colonel Jon Offra had dismounted and was slowly pivoting, taking in the houses, the ranch, the garden, the mountains, then—

  Mahrree held out her arms. “Oh, Jon! I’m so happy to see you again!”

  He only stared at her, as if looking for something.

  Not sure what to do with his gaze, and not sure what to do with her arms still outstretched, she took a few cautious steps toward him.

  He didn’t move, nor did he step back.

  Cautiously, she took his arms and squeezed them. “We’ve worried so much about you over the years. I’m so glad you finally agreed to retire and come home.”

  Jon still didn’t move, didn’t respond, but stared deeply at her. He appeared so weary, so much older than just fifty-two. The lines in his face were deep and shadowed, but something lurking in his eyes looked almost as young as Mahrree remembered him.

  She met his probing gaze, hoping he’d see what he was looking for.

  At last he said, “Yes . . . yes, it really is you, Mrs. Shin.” His shoulders slumped in relief. “I had to be sure, you know.” Hesitantly, his hand lifted to touch her hair, as if her head were covered in porcupine quills.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Shem nodding, so Mahrree wrapped her arms around Jon and hugged him.

  He startled her by hugging back, fiercely, powerfully. He lifted her off her feet, never saying a word, but squeezing her as if both their lives depended on it.

  The scouts stepped closer, but Mahrree waved them back with a finger. She could hold her breath for a while.

  “I’m so sorry,” Jon whispered, still holding her securely in the air. “I’m so sorry that he died.”

  “It’s all right, Jon,” Mahrree whispered back. “He was so happy for so many years, thanks to you. You let him be happy.”

  “I tried. I tried so hard.”

  “I know you did. You did a fantastic job. Can I show you what you did for us? Do you want to come in and see the paintings? Jon, if you could just set me down . . .”

  He did, and regarded her so earnestly that Mahrree could feel the years surrounding him, suffocating him.

  Mahrree peered around Jon. “Shem, I’m sure you have work to do?”

  He sent her a calculated look, and she smiled reassuringly. “Jon and I have lots to talk about. We’re fine.” She knew the guards weren’t going anywhere, except to watch her doors for a bolting and confused Colonel Offra.

  Mahrree took Jon by the arm. “Come in to our home and see the life you let us live.”

  “All right, ma’am,” he said calmly, obediently, as if taking orders from a general.

  The house had been prepared. No one was at home so that Jon wouldn’t be startled. Even the yard was quiet, except for activity over behind the Briters, where everyone was hiding out.

  In the gathering room, Jon stopped, astonished. The paintings, dozens of them, chronologically detailing the Shins’ life over the past twenty-six years, waited for him.

  “Right here, Jon,” Mahrree said softly, leading him by the arm. “This one was painted right after we arrived. Look at Perrin’s hair, still short, and still mostly black. And mine was still mostly brown. You saw Perrin the next year, when you came up with Radan.

  “Then this one, here, painted a few years later, with some of our grandchildren. These ones are all grown up now, with children of their own. Perrin and I got to become great-grandparents, Jon. Because of you.”

  He nodded meekly, his finger gently running along the wood of the frame. “His hair’s longer,” he whispered. “And that’s a cute little boy.”

  “You met him already. That was Relf, as a toddler.”

  Jon frowned, unsure.

  Mahrree led him down the wall. “Our son Peto, his wife Lilla, and some of their children. Jaytsy and Deck, their first children. Now look at this one, of Perrin and me. A few years later . . .”

  He looked deeply, closely, at each painting, into each person’s eyes, searching, evaluating. When he finished, Mahrree led him to the next, until after half an hour she said, “And now I’d like to show you the last one, in our part of the house. It’s the biggest painting, but the smallest of the two of us. It’s at one of our favorite places, an ancient temple ruin just over the mountain here.”

  Jon stopped before he even got near the large painting of Perrin and Mahrree leaning happily, casually, against a pillar at the ancient site.

  “For our 44th wedding anniversary,” she told him. “Perrin passed away just a few weeks later. That’s how he looked, at his end.”

  Tears were sliding down Jon’s cheeks, and he approached the painting in a manner of reverence. He surprised Mahrree next by kneeling in front of it, so that he could look up into Perrin’s soft smile, inches away. “I’m so happy for you, sir. It worked. It really worked. Look at the life you lived.” Delicately touching the painting, Jon’s fingers trembled.

  Mahrree had an idea. She wasn’t planning to do this, but she realized he needed it. “Jon, would you like to visit his grave? It’s not far from here.”

  Nodding slowly, Jon sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. “Yes, please.”

  Again she led him by the arm, as if he were a very tall two-year-old, and brought him outside to the boulder which stood between their two houses.

  His guards followed at a respectful, but watchful, distance.

  “We buried him here, close to everyone. The rocks around it are ones we all signed. Our family, always together.”

  Jon was fingering the carving of Perrin’s name, slowly rubbing them as if he could rub t
hem off the boulder.

  Sensing his heaviness, Mahrree said, “Would you like a few minutes alone here?”

  He nodded.

  “I’ll be in the house when you’re finished. We can talk then, and maybe get you something to eat?”

  He kept nodding.

  Mahrree glanced over to the guards. They’d keep watch.

  She squeezed Jon’s arm again, but he didn’t notice. He just stared at the words on the stone as Mahrree quietly went back to the house to watch him from the windows.

  He didn’t leave, not for a long time. Peto came home from updating the Thornes at the Second Resting Station about their new house in Norden and for how long they wanted to quarantine them at the Second Resting Station, and still Jon was there, now sitting on the grave, and now talking quietly to the boulder.

  Peto came in the house, concerned.

  “From the way he was gesturing,” she told him, “I think he’s giving the general a report on the last twenty-five years.”

  “We should get him something to eat,” Peto suggested.

  “I tried already. Maybe he’ll take it from you?”

  Peto went into the kitchen and found the plate of sandwiches Mahrree had made Jon earlier.

  He brought them out to Jon, still sitting, still talking softly to the boulder. “. . . and then there was this one time, when a soldier swore he’d heard something in the bushes, and I knew that would be a good time to build on that—Oh, what do you need?”

  Peto smiled. “Colonel Offra, I’m Peto Shin. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. I thought maybe you could eat something?”

  Jon stared blankly, then decided to take the plate.

  “Everything all right here?” Peto said, sitting next to Jon on the rocky ground of Perrin’s grave.

  “Just giving him an update,” Jon said, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Lots to tell him about. I should have written it down, but I couldn’t have evidence, you know.”

  “Yes, I know,” Peto said, watching him for signs of stability, or not. “What do you think of Salem, now that you’re here?”

  Chewing, Jon glanced around him. “Still trying to establish what, exactly, is real and what isn’t.”

  “Everything here is real, Jon. Everything.”

  Jon bobbed his head noncommittally. “We’ll see.”

  Peto pondered on that for a moment. “Do you . . . do you understand that Perrin isn’t here? I mean, his body is beneath us, but he’s not actually here.”

  Jon eyed him carefully. “Yes. I’m not insane, you know.”

  Peto wasn’t sure that he did.

  “I know he’s not here. Hogal told me.”

  Peto pursed his mouth, looking for the right response to that. He glanced behind the boulder to see who was working in the fields. Some time ago, the children had leaked out of Jaytsy’s house, because there were chores to do, and Jon Offra didn’t notice any of them anyway.

  Down some ways was his son Hogal, but the thirteen-year-old wasn’t one to speak to strange middle-aged men sitting on his grandfather’s grave talking to a boulder.

  “Um . . . Jon? Hogal?”

  He took another bite of his sandwich. “Yes. He told me about Perrin, that he’s down south following after your son who’s lost.” He said it so casually that Peto was startled.

  “Where . . . is Hogal?”

  Jon looked up, then around. “Hmm. You must have scared him off,” he said, with some accusation in his tone. “Said he was your great-great uncle, married to Joriana’s aunt,” he relayed easily. “He’s Perrin’s companion now, because Perrin vowed he’d stay next to the Lost One. Hogal keeps him informed, and will let him know of my report once Perrin has a few quiet minutes.”

  Peto was dumbfounded, and couldn’t move as Jon finished his sandwich. When he finally found some words, they came out halting and soggy. “So . . . we suspected—hoped—that my father was . . . but you know this?”

  “Don’t you?” Jon said, taking another sandwich.

  Peto smiled almost embarrassedly. “I don’t seem to see things as clearly as you do today, Colonel.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he whispered. “I retired. Or vanished. Or whatever. Call me Jon. Perrin did. He knows, you know. Everything.”

  “Do you know . . . anything about my son?” Peto felt odd asking him, but, “Did Hogal tell you?”

  Jon frowned. “Well, of course he did. Your son’s heading to Idumea with Thorne’s offensive.” He started on the second sandwich while Peto covered his face with his hands.

  “Oh, no, no, no. This is terrible, this is horrible—”

  “Why?” Jon garbled, his mouth full of food.

  “He’s heading into battle? Young Pere doesn’t know anything! He could get hurt, or killed, and we’d never—”

  “No, he won’t,” Jon said simply.

  “You don’t understand my son—”

  “You don’t understand your father.” Jon took another bite. “He’s watching him, guarding him, trying to talk reason to him. He’ll be fine.”

  Peto held his breath. “You really think so?”

  “Of course. General Shin talked to me all the time in the world, too. It’s how I stayed sane, even though your Gleace said it’d be hard. I heard him all the time. I heard all kinds of people all the time.”

  Something in Jon’s eyes began to cloud over, as if a thick fog was settling in.

  “It was . . . um . . .” His hand was poised halfway to his mouth, and everything went still.

  Peto waited while Jon remained motionless.

  “That boulder is real, isn’t it?” Jon finally whispered.

  “It is.”

  “He died, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Just last year?”

  “Yes. We still feel the sting.”

  Jon’s grip on his sandwich loosened, and it fell in pieces to his lap. “Dear Creator,” he whispered, his chin trembling and the fog in his eyes dissolving into water. “He’s really gone!”

  Peto wrapped his arms around Jon Offra as he broke down into sobs, and glanced behind him to see his mother watching. Mahrree hurried off the porch and ran to the first guard she came to.

  “Get Dr. Toon. Tell him we have Jon Offra, and he may need some help.”

  Jon sat by the grave for hours, with various people talking to him, comforting him, analyzing him.

  Shem finally got him up as the sun set, and walked him to his house where he’d stay for the night. Once Jon was asleep, Shem came over to Mahrree, along with Dr. Toon and Honri.

  “Well?” she asked them for their evaluations.

  “He told you about Hogal?” Shem said, his voice breaking. “And Perrin?”

  “Peto told me,” Mahrree said. “I think Jon was in his right mind at that point. At least, I hope so.”

  “But I’m a little worried,” Honri began almost apologetically, “that he thinks he’s been hearing Perrin for all these years. I’d heard stories about Offra when I was in the world. He frequently talked to himself, out loud, as if carrying on a conversation with someone. It wouldn’t have been Perrin until recently. So,” he winced in worry, “who was he listening to before?”

  Dr. Toon shrugged sadly. “Maybe his hope of Perrin? I think he’s fluctuating right now. He lives in three worlds: the one he knew, the one he made up to tell the rest of the world, and the real one of today. He can’t quite make all of them fit together. He might not ever be able to,” he added quietly.

  “The poor man,” Mahrree sighed. “Maybe if we’d gotten to him sooner—”

  “I don’t know that it would have mattered, Mrs. Shin,” Toon told her. “He’s also seen a lot of trauma, death, violence . . . He’s been broken by the world. That’s the only way I can describe him.”

  “So how do we fix him?” she asked earnestly.

  Toon, Honri, and Shem exchanged uncertain glances.

  “Mahrree,” Honri started, “I’m not sure that we can. S
ometimes all you can do with a broken object is to try not to lose additional pieces.”

  “There’s a widower,” Toon said, “who lives south of here, and was in the army many years ago. He has a very calming nature about him. I already told him about Jon Offra, and he’s eager to help. I think moving Jon to live with him, to have someone watching him day and night and talking with him, is the best we can do now.”

  Mahrree sat down dejectedly on her sofa. “I feel like we broke him, not the world. We sent him out there to be shattered. I feel so guilty—”

  “It was all Jon’s idea in the first place,” Shem reminded her. “To be in the world. And then he didn’t even want to come back. We had to knock him out and trick him with Relf! But we can make his final years better, and we will.”

  She slumped. “If you think so. I guess all we can hope for right now are no more sudden surprises. The poor man’s endured enough for a few days.”

  ---

  On the 56th Day, Corporal Shin endured yet another dull day of marching and anticipation, filled with comments from a know-it-all general, but soon—soon—everything was going to change.

  He could feel it!

  ---

  Mahrree noticed the date, the 56th Day of Weeding. Last year, it was two days before the Marking Party. Eltana had just arrived, they’d had a pleasant midday meal—the memory of which Mahrree now sneered at—and normally at this time of year she’d be chin deep in helping to get gear and food ready for the boys, and projects and food ready for the girls.

  This year, none of that was happening, making her feel odd. Peto and Lilla, and Shem and Calla were off making sure the dump children were easing into their new homes, and Jaytsy and Deck were taking care of the cattle and farm as usual. Honri had been by already, hope in his eyes until Mahrree shook her head, patted his cheek affectionately, and sent him away again.

  And that was it.

  Mahrree stared out the window, feeling time tighten around her like a lasso. Soon it would be a full year. A full year since he died.

  She didn’t think she’d have to endure that long without him. But maybe something—something—might happen before that year was up. Maybe something to give her hope, or to signal that her waiting to be in her husband’s arms again was nearly over . . .

  Something had to happen. She could feel it.

  ---

  On the morning of 57th Day of Weeding, Peto knew he was awakened by a tremendous noise, but as he sat up abruptly in bed he couldn’t pinpoint where it came from. It was deep and enormous and seemed to rumble throughout his body.

  Lilla sat up as well, staring at him in surprise. Her mouth opened to say words, but Peto didn’t hear anything come out. The rumbling, astonishingly, drowned her out. Nothing ever drowned out Lilla.

  Her eyes grew wide as she realized she couldn’t hear herself over the incredible sound. She pointed to her ears and gestured earnestly.

  Peto shook his head. She wasn’t deaf. Neither was he.

  And the rumble wasn’t just the sound, it was the bed as well. It was shaking. Everything was shaking.

  Now Lilla was screaming. Peto knew that look on her face well enough. Fruitlessly, he took her by the shoulders to try to calm her, and eventually heard her faintly beneath the continuing deep roar that, bizarrely, seemed to be somehow catching up to them.

  The pitch became higher and loud enough that Peto’s ears began to hurt. He and Lilla watched each other in terror.

  This was no normal land tremor.

  Peto had experienced dozens of those growing up in Edge. It wasn’t uncommon to feel the ground shift vaguely under his feet four or five times a year. But this wasn’t a shift or a jolt or even a prolonged rocking. It was as if thunder had been trapped in the ground and was trembling at a constant rate.

  It didn’t seem necessary to hide under the bed, especially after so long a trembling, but he wrapped a protective arm around his wife as she sobbed. A memory bumped him and he glanced at the wardrobe. It didn’t seem to be making plans to fall on his bed.

  After about a full minute he began to hear words.

  “What is it?! What is it?! Peto, what’s happening?”

  The rumble began to die down as if the thunder had retreated down the valley.

  “What is it?!”

  “Lilla, stop shouting! I hear you. I don’t know what it is,” he said, giving her a quick squeeze, then jumped out of bed. “But I’m going to find out.”

  Lilla scrambled out of bed too. “Morah!” she cried as she ran to the nearest bedroom upstairs. “Centia! Sakal! Are you all right?”

  Peto ran down the stairs and nearly collided into a frightened Kew.

  “Papa, what was that?”

  “Trying to find out,” and Peto rushed to the front door.

  Even though the sun was rising, the sky seemed unnaturally dark. He glanced at the ground for cracks or crevices as there had been in Edge, wondering if he should get everyone out of the house in case the ground and structure showed signs of giving way, but he saw nothing immediately.

  “Rector!” he heard the watchmen cry from the tower. “What do we do?”

  Peto looked up at the two men who must have had a terrifying ride. “Emergency banner, now!” he called up, knowing that telling people there was an emergency was rather obvious. “Then come down until the ground stops moving!” He dashed back into the house, running down the hall and pounding on doors. “Everyone all right? Anyone hurt?”

  The doors flew open to reveal panicked children.

  “My ears hurt, Papa!” Hogal shouted at him.

  “Shh. I know. Mine do too.”

  “Papa,” Kanthi said worriedly, “does it feel like the ground is still shaking?”

  Peto took her into his arms. “It does. I want everyone in the gathering room, now. Stay away from the walls and windows. Push the sofas to the middle of the room and sit there while I get Muggah.”

  His children took off as Lilla and the three youngest girls came hurrying down the stairs.

  Peto rushed to his mother’s wing and was just about to open the door as she opened it herself.

  “That did NOT feel like Edge!” she announced loudly.

  “You all right?” Peto asked.

  “Yes, but I don’t feel like sleeping outside tonight on the sofa!”

  They hurried back to the gathering room where the family stared at them, waiting for answers.

  “So Papa,” Nool asked, “what was that?”

  Peto looked at the curtains that were still trembling. “You mean, what is it? It’s a land tremor, but nothing like I’ve ever experienced.” He looked at his mother for her evaluation.

  “Nor I.”

  Something was happening outside the window. Something he hadn’t noticed before.

  “What is that?” Mahrree said next to him, and started for the door.

  “Mother, no! It’s not safe!”

  “You just darted out there a moment ago!” she reminded him, pulling open the door. “I saw you! Peto, something’s very wrong.”

  He knew it, too, and as his mother stepped out on to the front porch and gasped, Peto hurried out and down the stairs for a better view. The rest of the family huddled protectively around Muggah.

  Peto, rooted to the trembling ground, found that his mouth had gone dry, and all he could whisper was, “Mount Deceit?”

  It wasn’t visible from this side of the mountains, but as he looked to the southwest Peto had an odd feeling that even if he could see it, there’d be nothing left to see.

  An enormous cloud shaped like a colossal mushroom was rising and billowing from the mountains, darkening the sky. Another great rumbling noise came from it as the ground pitched more violently. Someone on the porch screamed.

  Peto’s mouth dropped open in astonishment.

  “It’s his dream,” his mother’s voice drifted over to him, toneless and dazed. “Peto, it’s Shem’s dream. PETO!” she cried suddenly. “Mount Deceit is
awakening!”

  ---

  Corporal Shin awoke well before dawn to sharpen his sword, again. At this rate, there’d be no blade left, his tentmate had commented.

  Their march into Idumea would begin in just an hour and he hadn’t been able to sleep at all. The large empty fields lying fallow for the season outside of Pools—Province 2—had last night become an enormous camp with twelve thousand soldiers ready to join the six thousand waiting only a few miles away near the southern border of Thorne’s territory. Another three thousand from the eastern forts should be arriving soon.

  Shin had stayed up late in the night watching the hundreds of campfires burning, silently trying to count the tents and horses that extended forever, and listening to the faint clanks of steel here and there.

  Fantastic.

  That was all he could think. It was an incredible collection of men and weapons and anticipation. Shin had thought briefly of the first offensive on Moorland. It was only seven hundred soldiers, but to that date it had been the largest collection of soldiers since the Great War. How pathetic it must seem compared to this!

  Shin wished he could see General Thorne’s face as he surveyed the great scene before them, and maybe ask his opinion about the first offensive compared to this one. More than once that night he took a walk trying to find the command tents, to see if he could maybe, finally, chance an introduction. But the guards kept thinking he was a panicky soldier trying to escape, and sent him back to his tent where his tentmate dozed. He couldn’t imagine how anyone could be snoring when such a glorious morning awaited them.

  So he had laid outside under the stars, imagining scenarios, fantasizing about conquests, and hoping to dispatch some hapless southerner right in front of General Thorne. He’d gotten up as early as he dared to inspect his sword one more time—

  You really don’t know what’s coming, Young Pere.

  Why do you keep saying that? You’ve been hounding me for days now. I’ve read Calla’s book. I know all about battle. Just let it go, old man. Enjoy the experience.

  Leave now, while you still can. Head east to the canal system. It will be dry.

  Why? Will I die if I stay?

  No. Not necessarily.

  Then leave me alone! Let me do amazing things!

  You really don’t know what’s coming.

  Would you stop that already? You ceased to be entertaining days ago! You’re only tiresome now.

  Corporal Shin got in line to get his breakfast and fingered the hilt of his sword. In his mind he envisioned himself whipping it out and slashing some southerner in one swift movement.

  The ground rumbled gently under his feet, but he ignored it like everyone else. The first time he had felt a land tremor he nearly panicked. They were rare in Salem, but a frequent occurrence in the provinces. The soldiers around him had chuckled at his alarm.

  “What, are you from between Flax and Waves? I heard they never had land tremors there!” He’d learned to dismiss the trembling underfoot, as well as the derogatory insult intended to suggest that he was “a Zenos,” and took the tremors in stride like everyone else.

  The tremor this morning seemed to last longer than the others, but his mind was elsewhere, marching into Idumea. He almost forgot to take the food as it was he handed it to him. He couldn’t even remember what he ate because he wolfed it down so quickly.

  Then the light of the morning seemed to dim slightly. Shin glanced behind him and saw cloud cover approaching from the north. Good. The darker the day, the better for their crossing at the border.

  He picked up his mug to take a drink, but something floated in the water that looked like ash.

  “Hey!” a voice called out near him. “What is this?”

  “Snow?” someone suggested.

  Shin looked up and saw unusual gray flakes falling around them.

  “Snow in Weeding Season?!” someone else scoffed.

  Shin twisted around and looked toward the north again. Strangely, the cloud was approaching, faster than any cloud he’d ever seen. And even stranger, it was warm.

  “It’s not snow,” Shin said, panic growing in his belly. Hundreds of soldiers around him now stared in curious worry. “It’s too warm,” he pointed out.

  Shouts of alarm from thousands of men rose up in a great roar as the cloud descended on them.

  And the ground shook harder.

  You have no idea what’s coming—

  Be quiet or be helpful!

  Run back and get your pack and blanket. You can use the blanket as shelter. And grab a few of those biscuits. You won’t be getting another decent meal for quite a while. Grab more!

  ---

  Jon Offra tore out of his new residence and spun around in the yard, completely perplexed and disoriented. He wore only his pajama bottoms, and hugged his bare upper body as if worried it’d be attacked.

  Right on his heels was his new house companion, also wide-eyed and stunned, still holding a wooden spoon since he was making them scrambled eggs.

  Jon spun to him. “Teman, is this real?”

  Teman Sobat, a small man in his early sixties, in astonishment said, “Jon, I think it is!”

  “The ground’s shaking, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Jon, I feel it too.”

  “And what is that?!” Jon cried, pointing to the massive cloud building in the sky.

  Teman staggered as he looked in the direction of Mount Deceit. “I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure it’s real.”

  To Teman’s surprise, Jon said simply, “All right, then.” Shaking, he walked back into the house, but Teman didn’t follow, too flabbergasted by the rising cloud. Many of his neighbors now stood outside as well, their jaws hanging ludicrously.

  Suddenly Jon came barreling out of the house again. “Teman! It’s still happening! It’s NOT all right, then!”

  “I know, Jon,” said Teman breathlessly, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene. “It’s not.”

  “Oh,” Jon said, bemused. He scratched his head. “Because, usually, when I walk back into a house, everything changes again. But it’s not changing. It’s not changing, Teman!”

  Teman blinked away from the cloud and rushed over to Jon who was frantically swinging his arms as if ready to jump for distance. Teman tossed his wooden spoon aside to catch Jon’s arms. He said, in the most soothing voice he could muster, given the circumstances, “That’s right, Jon. It’s not changing, and I don’t think it will for a while now. Well, if you want to keep swinging your arms, that’s fine too. We can handle this, Jon. We’ll be all right. Here in Salem, everyone will be all right.”

  Jon stopped swinging long enough to point at him. “As long as I’m not the only one unstable here.”

  Teman chuckled anxiously. “I think that today, everything and everyone in Salem is unstable. We’re all in excellent company.”

  “All right, then.”

  Chapter 34--“Men, we’re looking at Mount Deceit, right now.”