Flight of the Wounded Falcon

Peto was finishing saddling Clark 14 the next morning when the guide of the Creator rode to the barn.

  “Rector Shin! How’s my nephew?”

  Peto smiled at his uncle-turned-distant-cousin-turned-brother-in-law-turned-guide. Shem Zenos looked just as he did years ago in Edge, but a little thicker, a little grayer, and even gentler.

  “Doing better, Guide Zenos. Bruising colorfully, but mobile.”

  Shem smiled in relief. “Nothing can keep him down for long, can it? About ready, Rector?”

  “Yes, sir.” Peto cinched a strap. “I saw the tower message. We should get there in plenty of time. I suspect that the late snow on the higher elevations delayed them a bit.”

  “That, and the old folks don’t like to travel too fast.”

  Peto turned and glared good-naturedly at the guide. Because, under all the titles, he was still just Shem.

  “Old folks? Shem, you could be considered an old folk. She’s only a couple years older than you.”

  Shem narrowed his eyes at Peto. “Sixty-two is not old.”

  Peto mounted his horse. “You’re a Grandpy,” he reminded him.

  “But I still have three teenagers at home,” Shem countered. “They keep me young, Grandpy Peto.”

  “You were a grandpy first,” Peto pointed out.

  Shem cocked his head. “True, but Briter is only two years older than Ensio.”

  Peto chuckled. “Are you trying to prove I’m as grandpy as you are?”

  “Hey,” Shem spread out his hands. “I’m nearly to five grandchildren, but you’re already there. And what about Barnos and Ivy?” He raised his eyebrows.

  Peto smiled, because at the last family dinner, Barnos’s wife kept excusing herself to run to the washing room. “I think an announcement will be coming soon. No one vomits that much and still smiles.”

  Shem chuckled. “Eventually, Peto, because you have thirteen children, you will be grandpier than me!”

  “Unless,” Peto pointed at him, “Zaddick starts getting serious and ends up giving you fifteen grandchildren, then—”

  The men stared at each other, their expressions turning sheepish.

  “We’re doing it again,” Shem murmured apologetically.

  “Yes, I noticed that too,” Peto responded, unable to look Shem in the eye. “Why do we still struggle so much with this? Competing with each other?”

  “If I had an answer for that,” the guide said sadly, “I wouldn’t have a problem with it. I like to blame it on our time in the world, but now we’ve been here longer than we were in Edge, so I don’t know if we can say that. I guess always trying to outdo someone is just our burden to carry, Rector Shin.”

  They eyed each other contritely, and Shem could see in Peto’s eyes a few more burdens.

  “Come on,” Shem nodded to his brother-in-law. “I have a feeling there are a few things you want to talk about this morning. We have a nice long ride ahead of us.”

  Peto clucked his horse to follow, and they rode in silence for a few minutes before Shem broke it.

  “Do you want to know what I see, Peto?” he asked as the horses made their way along the road that left the Shin-Briter homes.

  “Yes, I do. Tell me everything so I can know what to do better.”

  Shem smiled at Peto’s meekness. He had come so far in twenty-five years from the cocky seventeen-year-old boy he used to be. That’s why Shem had such hope for Peto’s seventeen-year-old son.

  “Peto, I see a father and a mother who are doing their best to keep a free spirit from becoming ensnared by his own lack of foresight. I see an extended family who shows their love no matter how much he aggravates them. I see a family who remembers that love is the only thing that will not fail with this son.”

  Peto was quiet, pondering.

  “Are we really doing all that we can do?” he eventually said. “That’s the question that plagues me, Shem. You say we’re doing our best, but are we really?”

  Shem let out a low whistle. “What more could you do?”

  Peto sighed. “Pray all the time. Hover near him every minute of every day like a paranoid hummingbird—”

  “You can’t keep that up, Peto. Nor is that expected of you. You still believe it’s your fault, don’t you? That maybe you haven’t taught him enough, or prayed hard enough, or sacrificed enough for the Creator to turn him around?”

  Peto bobbed his head helplessly.

  “You know that’s not the way it works, Peto. I’ve heard you talking about this very thing, and you were right. But you just don’t believe it applies to your family, do you? Peto, you have taught Young Pere what he needs to do and know. Lori, Jori, Relf, Barnos, and Hycy wouldn’t be the adults they are today if you didn’t. And Lilla is a wonderful mother. At some point you’re going to have to accept that Young Pere is exercising his will, and that it’s his choice to do so. The Creator’s eye is always on him. He knows full well what Young Pere is capable of, and what kind of trouble he may cause. That’s why the Creator sent him to your family. You’re the only ones in Salem who can handle him.”

  Shem looked straight ahead, a new thought coming to his mind.

  “I’ll be honest with you, Peto: Young Pere may have to wander on his own for a while. He may have to suffer some grave consequences before he understands what he should.”

  Peto groaned. “Has he spoken to you about that again? I made my feelings very clear to him—”

  “No, he hasn’t asked again. Not since last year. But Peto, it may be the only way he can learn what he needs to know. And there’s nothing you can do to stop him, but just do all you can to welcome him back home.”

  Cringing at the suggestion, Peto said, “That’s what I’m afraid of. What might he have to suffer? I just couldn’t bear to see that. And I couldn’t bear what it would do to my parents.”

  “That’s why we’ve been told to put our full trust in the Creator,” Shem reminded. “Young Pere is His son. He has a plan for him. Even if Young Pere moves beyond your sight, he’s not beyond the Creator’s sight. He can heal all wounds and all suffering. He can turn it to one’s good.”

  “I know,” Peto said quietly. “It’s just so hard to watch.”

  “I know that too,” Shem told him. “Being rector doesn’t exclude you from trials, nor does being the guide, for that matter,” he said with a miserable smile. “The Creator never said He’d spare us from problems if we’re faithful, but He has promised He’ll help us get through them.

  “I know how you feel about watching him suffer,” Shem continued when Peto remained sullen and quiet. “I had similar feelings about your father, years ago, when we came back from Idumea. I knew exactly what he needed to overcome his nightmares of his family being killed by Guarders: he needed to come to Salem. I knew this place would heal him faster, but it wasn’t his time. It was terrible to watch all of you enduring that season.”

  “That was probably the worst year we ever experienced,” Peto said in a whisper that Shem barely heard over the noise of the horses. “We never would have made it without you, Shem.”

  “But it was a necessary year, wasn’t it, Peto? Your father came out of that a different man. More humble, more willing to do whatever was necessary to take care of your family. Willing to realize he needed to rely on the Creator and not himself. Willing to abandon the life he knew for something better.”

  “Not really High General material then, was he?” Peto said with a faint smile.

  “No, not at all! Thank goodness, because that wasn’t the Creator’s plan for him. But he’s a perfect general for Salem now, isn’t he?”

  Peto’s smile grew. “I never could have imagined this outcome back then. I was trying so hard to get recruited to play kickball in Idumea . . .”

  He stopped, as if alarmed by the memory.

  “I know what you’re saying, Shem,” he continued on another track. “We have no idea what the future holds, or why we have to go through what we do. But the Creator does. He’s already p
rovided for a way home—”

  Tears stung his eyes, his words surprising him along with the impression that came to his mind.

  “He’s already provided a way,” Peto continued gruffly, “for Young Pere to come home should he wander, hasn’t He?”

  “He has, Peto,” said Shem soberly. “Whatever Young Pere does, the Creator is already prepared. Just love the boy. Someday knowing that you love him is what will help him turn everything around. It has to be his choice.”

  Peto exhaled. “So we’re looking at some interesting years ahead of us, aren’t we? Shem, please don’t tell Lilla!”

  Shem scoffed lightly. “I think she already knows that Young Pere is running headlong into serious trouble. Not just running into forest fires, or falling into frozen lakes, or getting impaled on trees, or jumping off of schools—”

  “I know, I know,” Peto cut him off. Even though they still had a few miles to go, listing all of Young Pere’s moments of dabbling with death would take longer than they had. “And Lilla always knows.”

  Three chimes in the distance caught their attention, and they squinted at the tower at the canyon entrance.

  “Signal’s changed,” Peto said. “They’re making faster time than expected.” He turned to Shem. “Feel like a little race? I need to test Clark 14, after all.”

  Shem’s eyes flashed in anticipation before he could fight it down. “No competition in Salem, Rector Shin! How many times do I have to tell you that?”

  Peto smiled in a conciliatory manner. “No race then, just an opportunity to let the horses run as they wish for as long as they wish to the tower, all right? To judge Clark 14’s ability, you know.”

  Shem growled quietly. “All right, all right. On three, then.” He sighed in aggravation, then suddenly whispered, “Three,” and kicked his horse into a run. Peto heard him laughing as his horse Silver quickly pulled away.

  “Oh, I fell for it again . . . Shem!” Peto yelled as he kicked Clark 14 to catch up to him.

  By the time they reached the tower it was a tie. It always had to be, or there would be glares and smirks for the next half hour.

  They walked the horses up the gentle slope to the canyon entrance as they had done many times before. Shem once again thought a prayer of gratitude for Rector Shin. When Shem had become guide seven years ago, he assigned Peto to be his official accompaniment when they welcomed new arrivals who had a past in the army. The rumors of how Colonel and Mahrree Shin ‘died’ in the forest because of the alleged betrayal of Shem Zenos so many years ago was considered a pivotal moment in the world’s history.

  In the army it was still an oft-remembered and discussed event. Soldiers were indoctrinated to believe that trusting a wife or a subordinate was deadly. The greater power you have, the greater deceit will follow you. No one was dependable.

  But no one in Salem had realized the impact of the official story until a few years after the Shins had left, when the routes closed by Guide Gleace were deemed safe to reopen after the Administrators were gone.

  Salem scouts returned on a limited basis to the world, and nearly six years after the Shins were “lost,” the first refuges from the world came again, the story still raw and painful in their minds.

  Shem felt the brunt of that, quite literally, as he rode with Guide Gleace to greet the first sergeant to leave the army of Idumea, with his expecting wife and two daughters.

  The sergeant recognized Shem at the canyon entrance, having been a corporal under him during the Moorland offensive when Shem led a group from Rivers. In a flash, the former soldier leaped off his horse, tackled Shem, and started punching him in the face.

  Guide Gleace and the escorts had to pull off the enraged sergeant before he beat Shem to a pulp. They did their best to convince him the story of the betrayal and deaths had been a lie, but had little success until Perrin arrived a few minutes later, to the astonishment of the sergeant. He finally began to believe Shem wasn’t the traitor he had been taught he was. Still, it took him a while to see Shem and Mrs. Shin in the right light.

  Now the world’s official story was discredited for those coming to Salem before they left on the journey, to help them recognize how much they’d been deceived over the years. But actually meeting Shem Zenos, widely regarded as the destroyer of the newly appointed High General of Idumea, and subsequently of the world’s peace, whose betrayal was considered a catalyst for starting the never-ending battles?

  Well, a smiling Shem was still a bit much to take.

  Peto had proved to be the perfect antidote for the poisoned minds the refugees came with.

  At forty-two years old, Peto looked a great deal like his father when he was the beloved Colonel Shin in Edge. Although Peto was shorter, slighter, and had lighter eyes and hair, the similarities were enough to make those with memories of Perrin Shin stare in wonder. Seeing Peto first did a great deal to soften hearts before they faced Shem Zenos, the chosen guide of the Creator.

  Shem thought many times it was no accident that Peto resembled his father so much. It was just another way the Creator had planned ahead. Still, a Welcome Home like this one tied a knot in his belly.

  As they neared the canyon entrance, Peto heard Shem take a deep breath, so he tossed him a comforting glance. “It will be fine, Shem. As usual.”

  Shem said, with timid hope, “I really don’t think she’ll remember me.”

  Peto shrugged. “I don’t know. Honestly, you look the same as when we left. Just longer hair, now going gray, and a little thicker around the middle.” Peto chuckled as Shem sucked in his belly instinctively.

  “I only meant that I met her just a couple of times.”

  “But you’re a very hard man to forget, Guide Zenos,” Peto said reverently. “Always were. You always had a presence about you. Now we know why.”

  Shem looked down, embarrassed, as Peto smiled. Even when he was a young man, people noticed and remembered Shem Zenos. He had a glimmer in his eyes and a sincerity in his smile that struck people as unusual, almost contrived. How could someone be so solid and good?

  That was why the rumor had stuck so convincingly, Peto knew. While everyone who met Shem felt drawn to him, when Genev’s story broke about Shem having an affair with Mahrree to destroy Perrin, the cynicism of the world easily believed that no man could have been so genuine, so wholesome. It had to be an act. No one tried to be that good without an ulterior motive. There weren’t wholly pure men in the world.

  But Shem had been the real thing, and he wasn’t unique. When they came to Salem, Peto realized there were many pure men and women, but they couldn’t exist in the polluted world.

  Once back in Salem, Shem seemed to lose nearly all the little smudges the world had left on him. Although he became softer and gentler and lost his fighting spirit, he seemed to be stronger than ever, in soul and body.

  And it was impossible to hide the light in his eyes. It was almost hard to look at him sometimes when he was acting as the guide. The power that came from him reminded Peto of the moment years ago back at the kickball fields when Shem told him his calling lay somewhere else. Back then, he thought Shem was magnified by the power of ten. But now it was sometimes to the power of fifty.

  Then there were other times when Guide Zenos was just Uncle Shem, challenging Peto and Deck to yet another wrestling match to ‘educate’ their sons, and fighting the urge to participate in another race. His competitive spirit was the last bit of the world that refused to be easily shaken off.

  A horse whinnying in the distance made both men look up. The escorts with their net sling swaying between them were coming into view at the mouth of the canyon. A woman in her late sixties, resting in the sling, sat up as she caught her first view of Salem.

  That was Peto’s signal. He smiled, dismounted and waved a greeting at the husband and wife team who had served as escorts this trip.

  Shem dismounted, too, and held the reins of Clark 14, along with Silver. He positioned himself behind the
horses so that his face was not the first that was seen. Peto’s was always best, and when he grinned, no one could stop themselves from matching it.

  Peto walked up to greet the latest refugee from the world with outstretched arms. “Welcome to Salem, Mrs. Yordin! I hope you had a pleasant journey.”

  She gasped as she looked up at Peto.

  The escorts’ horses stopped and Peto went to the sling to help Eltana Yordin out. She was a formidable female, with a broad build putting her on the tall side for a woman, and making her roughly the same shape as her stocky husband. Her brown hair, mixed with wispy gray tangles, was falling out of her ponytail after her long travels. Her features, while normally sharp and taut, were decidedly softer, especially as she stared at Peto.

  “It’s true!” Mrs. Yordin whispered, stunned, as she got to her feet. She grabbed Peto’s face. “Colonel Shin’s family is alive! You . . . you look just like him!”

  Peto held her hands and chuckled softly. “My name is Peto Shin. We met at Jaytsy’s wedding. I was only a teenager then—”

  Mrs. Yordin nodded vigorously. “I remember you! My goodness, you’ve hardly changed.” She grasped him in a firm hug. “We were so upset about the loss of your family. It was so meaningless. Such a waste. But it wasn’t, was it? I can’t believe you’re real.”

  Peto pulled away and noticed a stray tear had slipped from her eye. She didn’t strike him as a woman who’d ever confess to shedding tears, so he subtly wiped it away for her. “Yes, I’m real. Mrs. Yordin, you’re about to discover Salem is a place of miracles.”

  She tried to pull her eyes from his to take in all of Salem. “It is! It is. Look at this valley! It’s immense. Gari would never have believed this.”

  “I’m so sorry about the general,” said Peto softly. “We all felt terrible when we heard the news. My father loved his enthusiasm and spirit. I could always tell when he’d been thinking about Roarin’ Yordin because he’d slap his desk.”

  Mrs. Yordin turned to him, her expression resolute and fierce. But she surprised him by saying, “Gari wept for your father. I’d never seen him do that before, nor since. Not even when our son . . .” Her jaw shifted angrily, and Peto decided she needed another hug in order to hide the disobedient tears leaking out of her eyes again.

  Shem, watching from behind the horses, smiled at Rector Shin. Years ago no one would have guessed Peto had the ability to be compassionate.

  “You’ll have a new family here, Mrs. Yordin,” Peto assured as he embraced her until she could regain herself. “You’ll find an entire community that will make sure you never feel alone again. You’ll be living in the boundaries of my rectory, and many people are eager to meet you. There are even a few who served under your husband who you may recognize. You’ll find peace and joy again, I promise you.”

  Mrs. Yordin pulled away, her face once again set and strong. But her red eyes gave her away. “Wait a minute. What did you say? Are you the rector?” She chuckled in disbelief as Peto smiled. “The future High General Shin the fourth, a rector.”

  “I never had intentions of becoming a general or going to command school,” Peto told her. “How could I follow in my father’s footsteps? His strides were just too long.”

  “You would have been a great general, Peto Shin,” Mrs. Yordin insisted. “Much better than Thorne and his like. Do you have any idea what they did to the world?” She squinted in fury.

  This was where Peto’s real work began: letting newcomers express their frustrations with the world while carefully directing them to look forward to their new lives. While he knew the satisfaction of harping about the past, he also knew that satisfaction was short-lived, soon to be replaced with renewed feelings of anger about a life that couldn’t be changed, words that couldn’t be unsaid, and events that couldn’t be erased. The past was to be occasionally remembered, but not lived in.

  That was the greatest task of the rectors working with the refugees: helping them leave that past behind. Those who served in the army seemed to bring an extra helping of resentment with them. That was why almost all of them began their new lives in Rector Shin’s congregation.

  “I do have a few ideas as to what’s happened, Mrs. Yordin,” Peto told her. “We’ve received scattered reports throughout the years. But I try not to let the world influence me. There’s too much to do today to dwell on yesterday. And you still have a bit of a journey until we reach your new home,” he hinted.

  Something again softened in Mrs. Yordin’s expression. “Peto, I don’t know how to ask this, but . . . your father. Is he really—”

  “Waiting for you to join him for midday meal?”

  “No!” she cried in delight, but still seemingly not ready to believe. “Really?”

  “Absolutely!”

  “Oh, Peto—what will I say to him? After all these years?”

  Peto put on a thoughtful face. “Just say, ‘Perrin, I agree with your grandchildren. That hair is going white.’”

  Mrs. Yordin laughed and dabbed at her eyes. “I just can’t believe it. I’m really going to see Colonel Shin. They said he was alive, but I—”

  “Now,” Peto interrupted as kindly as possible, “before we continue, there’s someone else I’d like you to meet.”

  “The guide, right?” she asked, suddenly wary.

  “That’s right. Now, Mrs. Yordin, you see me standing before you, and you know that my father is still alive. You understand that the story you learned years ago was a lie. Completely, entirely false. Yesterday and this morning you traveled the same path our family took to come to Salem, to avoid imprisonment and execution by the Administrators. Shem Zenos never betrayed us, Mrs. Yordin. He saved us. He brought us out of the world to a place where we could come to better know the Creator. Can you see why the world would want to destroy his name?”

  Mrs. Yordin nodded hesitantly. “I’m working on that. I have been for the past eight days, ever since I heard your stories. But none of it felt real until I saw you just now. It may take a little more time to sink in, but yes, I understand about Sergeant Major Zenos.”

  Peto doubted that. It was one thing to say one understood, but quite another to meet him face to face. But it had to be done.

  He called over to the horses. “Mrs. Yordin is ready to meet you, Guide.”

  ‘Ready’ was probably a stretch. When Guide Zenos, with his warmest smile fixed in place, slipped out of hiding and walked over to them, Mrs. Yordin gripped Peto’s arm as if it were a handy weapon.

  Shem groaned softly to himself. She recognized him, all right.

  Peto lightly covered Mrs. Yordin’s hand gripping his arm with his own. “Mrs. Yordin, remember—Shem Zenos saved our family. He has also saved you. When we received word about General Yordin from one of our scouts, Shem sent another scout specifically to find out how you were. The rector, Honri, who you met in Sands a season ago, is one of Shem’s brother-in-laws, sent to bring you home. Shem Zenos never betrayed anyone. He’s worked to save us all.”

  Mrs. Yordin’s chin trembled—either out of fury or fear, Peto wasn’t sure which emotion she was experiencing—as she looked into the gentle face of the man who did so much to bring her here. Peto could tell she was pitting against each other the new story she’d been given, and the old one she’d believed for twenty-five years. The battle might take a while.

  Smiling, Shem held out his hand to her.

  Stiffly, she took it.

  “Mrs. Yordin, it’s wonderful to see you again!” Shem said warmly. “I think the last time was when I came by your house looking for Colonel Yordin right after Perrin resigned from the army.”

  “Oh, I remember that. I lied to you, too,” she admitted, her teeth gritted. “He was there, he just didn’t dare talk to you then because one of Genev’s men was there, too. He told me to send you away, worried about the future of all of us.”

  Shem nodded in understanding. “Genev was behind the official story about our disappearance. His office caused a great
deal of harm to all of us. But we can leave that all behind. Salem gives everyone a new chance at life. You will find another chance here too.”

  Mrs. Yordin nodded slowly again, trying hard to see the face before her as someone else besides the traitor her husband swore he would have killed if Thorne hadn’t beaten him to it.

  “Will you give everyone in Salem another chance?” Shem asked.

  “It’s just that . . .” Again her jaw clenched.

  “It’s just that what, Mrs. Yordin?” Peto prodded kindly. “Go ahead, say it. You won’t hurt any feelings or surprise anyone. We’ve heard it all by now. This is a good time to get it all out.”

  Mrs. Yordin pulled her eyes from Shem and looked back at Peto. Immediately her tension eased as she was reminded of Colonel Shin.

  “It’s just that . . . Gari was so sure that Zenos was guilty.” She gave a fleeting look to Shem who pressed his lips together. “He said there was a lot of tension between Zenos and Colonel Shin during the Moorland offensive. They always seemed to have something else going on between them. Things they discussed in private. Lots of looks exchanged. That sort of thing.”

  Peto couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yes, they did! Their whole little language of looks, Mrs. Yordin. An annoying hobby they continue to this day. And there was some tension between them,” Peto said more soberly, “because my father wanted to find out the secrets of the explosions, and Shem wouldn’t let him. It was wise that he prevented my father from doing so. He could have created some very dangerous devices that would have been left behind in the world to destroy it further. Shem prevented that.

  “But there was also more going on,” Peto continued. “Shem was always like our uncle, like my father’s brother. Living in the world you don’t see it as much since very few men actually have brothers, but once you’ve spent a little time in Salem, you’ll realize that close brothers tend to have a lot going on between them! Now,” he continued, “when we get to our midday meal, ask Perrin yourself how he feels about Shem. And also, ask my mother.”

  There it was. The other half of the story. It was best Mrs. Yordin came to it now, rather than at the doorstep of the Shin home.

  Mrs. Yordin swallowed. “Your mother,” she repeated tonelessly.

  “Yes,” Shem spoke up. “The woman I did not have a relationship with, and never tried. Let Mahrree tell you herself. She’s loved Perrin from the first day she saw him, and that never changed. Anyone close to the family could see that.” With a wan smile, he added, “I would never have had a chance.”

  “That was the part of the story that I didn’t understand,” Mrs. Yordin admitted, her brittle demeanor relaxing. “At Jaytsy’s wedding, Mahrree seemed so devoted to Perrin. The way she looked at him . . . All I could imagine was that her mind was poisoned by—” She stopped short and looked solidly at Shem.

  “So deep inside you had a feeling that the story was a lie,” Shem said quietly. “Your feelings were correct. You just weren’t allowed to hope they were, were you?”

  Mrs. Yordin clenched her fists as if feeling exposed.

  “It’s all right, Mrs. Yordin,” Shem said. “It’ll take you some time, but soon you’ll understand things as they really are. The world makes up stories to keep us from finding the truth. You’ll find no such stories here. I promise.

  “Now,” he said cheerfully as if there were no sticky past between anyone, “if we want to make it to midday meal at the Shins before dinner, I recommend we get you back into that sling and start giving you a tour of Salem.”

  Mrs. Yordin allowed Shem to help her, along with Peto, to sit back down in the netting, all the while watching Shem as if waiting for him to slip up in any small way.

  As Shem and Peto started walking back to the horses, Eltana said quietly, “Oh Gari, I wished you could see all of this. And know about the Shins.”

  Shem heard her.

  He stopped, turned, and looked back. When her eyes met his, the clarity of his gaze took her breath away.

  In a voice that sounded like someone who had died six moons ago, Guide Zenos said, “Eltana, he does. You have not been traveling alone.”

  Mrs. Yordin couldn’t say anything as another tear insisted on trickling her face, but she eventually whispered, “Remarkable.”

  ---

  By the time Peto, Shem, the escorts, and Mrs. Yordin reached the lane that lead to the Shins’, Mrs. Yordin was warming up to Shem as he told her about Salem and the home she’d be sharing with two sisters, widows of army veterans.

  She also recognized three men she knew along the welcome parade route, and choked up a few times as thousands of people lined the miles of road to wave to her.

  The crowd ended at the turn onto the Shin and Briters’ lane. Under the official road name, she noticed a wooden sign, “Shin-Briter-Zenos Eztates,” with an arrow pointing to the left.

  Mrs. Yordin nodded at it. “Peto, what’s the meaning of the sign?”

  Peto turned in his saddle. “One of my sons, Relf—”

  “Wait, your son is named Relf? As in General Relf Shin?”

  Peto nodded. “My sister and I have named most of our children after relatives who never made it to Salem. In a way, they’re with us now.”

  “What a lovely idea!”

  “Well, my son Relf, when he was twelve, was interested in carving.”

  “He’s quite the master stone-cutter, now,” Shem said proudly.

  “Thank you, Uncle Shem,” Peto chuckled. “I was getting to that. Anyway, he started by carving in wood, years ago. He made that sign so that visitors would know where we lived.”

  “But, I hate to say it, he spelled ‘estates’ incorrectly,” Mrs. Yordin pointed out.

  “No, no he didn’t,” Peto laughed. “Mrs. Yordin, were you ever in Idumea?”

  “Yes, a few times.”

  “It’s tradition that on the anniversary of when we first arrived in Salem that we discuss what we left behind in the world with our children. The year Relf turned twelve, we were telling the children about our trip to Idumea, after the land tremor. That’s when Puggah—”

  “Puggah?” Mrs. Yordin interrupted.

  “The grandchildren’s name for Perrin,” Peto explained. “He didn’t want to be called Grandfather or Grandpa, so he was stuck with the name his first grandchild made up for him.”

  Mrs. Yordin laughed lightly. “General Puggah!”

  Peto laughed as well. “Just don’t say that to his face! Well, on our trip to Idumea, Puggah had noticed many of the housing developments had been given ridiculous names. The one that made him most agitated was Zebra Eztates. He always liked the idea of zebras, but mangling estates like that really bothered him.”

  “Oh, I think I know the development you’re talking about,” Mrs. Yordin said. “Did it have names like Elephant Elms and Lion Lane? Mythical Mystical Mansions?”

  “That’s the one!”

  Mrs. Yordin laughed. “I’d forgotten all about that!”

  “Well, Relf latched right on to that. He thought the name Zebra Eztates was hilarious. And he thought that’s what our corner of Salem should be called. Take a look ahead and you’ll see.”

  Mrs. Yordin stretched in the sling to see ahead. There was an enormous plank of wood, hoisted in the air by two tall logs, spanning the entire road. In carefully carved letters, and burned to black, was “Shin-Briter-Zenos Eztates.” In smaller letters underneath, which were more easily read as they neared the sign, were carved the words “Begun—338. End—Never.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Mrs. Yordin chuckled. But she quieted as she saw the two large homes come into view. “Oh my . . .”

  As they approached the Shin home, Mrs. Yordin sat up anxiously. The horses stopped and her escorts helped her out of the sling while Shem and Peto rode to the barn. She was just straightening her Salem-issued traveling clothes when the front door flew open. Mrs. Yordin looked up quickly and gasped at the sight.

  Perrin strode across the front porch,
down the stairs, and straight to Mrs. Yordin. He held out his arms and offered her his widest smile.

  “Eltana Yordin! Welcome to Salem!”

  Mrs. Yordin’s hands flew to her face. “It’s you!” she breathed. “It’s really you!” Even with his white hair, he was obviously Perrin Shin. She weakened visibly as he neared. Perrin put his arms around her as she was attacked by sobs she couldn’t fight off. “Colonel Shin, Colonel Shin . . .”

  “It’s all right, Eltana,” he said, patting her back. “It’s all right. Call me Perrin.” His voice was tender as he held her, trembling and choking. “Eltana, I’m so sorry about Gari. He was a great man. I’ve missed him over the years.”

  Mrs. Yordin nodded into his chest but continued to cry.

  Perrin looked over his shoulder to the front porch where Mahrree stood, wiping away her own tears at the sight of Mrs. Yordin’s emotion. She gave a smile of approval to her husband and remained on the porch, waiting.

  “It’s as if you’ve come back from the dead, Perrin,” Mrs. Yordin said between sobs. “Or I’ve died and gone to Paradise. If only Gari was here with us.”

  “Then it really would be Paradise, Eltana,” Perrin said, holding her tighter. He nodded to his wife and gently pulled away from Mrs. Yordin as Mahrree neared. It was time for the handoff.

  Mrs. Yordin, hearing someone approach, turned to Mahrree. For a moment she froze in place, but the warm smile on Mahrree’s face, along with her outstretched arms waiting to give another embrace, melted Mrs. Yordin.

  “I’m so glad you could join us!” Mahrree said, putting her arms around the surprised woman.

  Mrs. Yordin hugged her back. “You really never . . .” She began, then stepped back to search Mahrree’s face for anything that could signal the stories were true.

  Mahrree shook her head. “I’ve always adored my husband.”

  Mrs. Yordin sighed in relief. “I knew you couldn’t have . . . I just didn’t want to believe you could ever . . . have done such a thing.”

  “Thank you!” Mahrree said. “You have no idea what that means to me, Eltana. That you didn’t want to believe it. That’s the kind of thinking that paved your way to Salem. Come in, you must be starving.”

  Mahrree gingerly led her into the large gathering room and braced herself for what was sure to come next.

  Eltana didn’t disappoint.

  “Look at those paintings!” she gasped. “Why, that’s you and Perrin!”

  “Right after we arrived, yes.”

  Eltana rushed to the first painting on the wall and ran a finger gently over the frame. “You look exactly as I remember you, so many years ago. And look, there’s a young Peto. And that must’ve been at his wedding? And . . . oh, my. Look at all of those children!”

  “Yes,” Mahrree chuckled. “We have a few grandchildren. No limits here, and our family just loves to test the limits, you know.”

  Eltana shook her head slowly, marveling at the portraits filling the walls, of children at various ages, and of Mahrree and Perrin slowly aging. “What a life you’ve lived here,” she breathed, almost in envy.

  The meals with army newcomers were carefully planned. Those in attendance were always Perrin, the great cheerer of hearts, Peto, the rector over those who served in the army, and Calla, the guide’s gentle and welcoming wife.

  The presence of those three always provided a strong counter-balance to the presence of the other two at the meal. Although most people were starting to have better feelings toward Shem Zenos by the time they arrived at the Shin home, the sight of Mahrree Shin still sent many of them back years ago to relive the anger they felt as they first heard the news of her ‘betrayal’ with the sergeant major.

  That’s why seating at the meals was also thoughtfully established. Perrin would sit across the table from the former army member so that his was the face they saw the most frequently. Mahrree sat to one side of him, Peto on the other. Next to the newcomer was Calla, and next to her was Shem. That put Shem and Mahrree at opposite corners of the table, and Shem out of easy view of the army member.

  The other seat next to the newcomer was usually for the spouse or, in cases like today, Lilla joined them.

  All of the Shins’ grandchildren would spend the next couple of hours at the Briters or Zenoses, to be introduced later. There were only so many shocks a person from the world could take at one time.

  Mahrree seated Mrs. Yordin at her designated spot across from Perrin and hoped that by the end of the meal the changes in her eyes Mahrree already saw would be complete. She had spent only a few days with Eltana during Jaytsy’s wedding, enjoying her company as they prepared the dinner and directed the soldiers in setting up the tables and chairs. But Perrin had thought so highly of Roarin’ Yordin, Mahrree wanted his wife to feel comfortable with them.

  And she did. By the end of the meal she was talking easily with Guide Zenos about the Moorland offensive, and the table thumped several times as Perrin remembered Major Yordin. Even Mrs. Yordin was laughing as Perrin described to Lilla how Roarin’ Yordin received his wounds, and his stubbornness about laying in a position that would alleviate his suffering.

  “I wish you could have seen him about a year and a half after you died—I mean,” Mrs. Yordin chuckled, “after you vanished. High General Qayin Thorne was visiting the fort, and they got into a discussion about the Guarders. Actually, an argument would be more like it. Thorne was telling Gari that the Guarder concern wasn’t as dangerous as the growing insubordination of the army. Gari told him the insubordination would reduce if Thorne paid better attention to the condition of the world and acknowledged the real threats. Remember, at this time we were sure there were thousands of Guarders again in the forest.”

  She shook her head as if to toss all the details into more correct piles in her mind.

  “Their argument escalated until Gari decided to show Thorne just how dangerous the Guarders really were.” Eltana blushed at the memory. “So he pulled down his trousers and literally showed him,” and she patted her behind. “Two full moons that day.”

  “Yes!” Perrin laughed and slapped the table. “Excellent tactic, Yordin! I’d felt that desire a few times myself.”

  “So,” Peto said thoughtfully as everyone at the table laughed, “the demise of the world could, in a manner of speaking, be traced to one colonel exposing himself to a general? It really was the end.”

  “Not like you’d read about that in the history texts!” Mahrree said, wiping her eyes.

  “I’m sure Thorne was thrilled about that!” Perrin said.

  “Maybe that’s really what started the Great War so long ago,” Shem suggested. “Someone showed the king an unfortunately placed scar and he took it as a personal insult.”

  “Eltana, how many people in the world knew about Yordin and Thorne’s argument?” Perrin wondered.

  “Only a handful, I suppose.”

  Perrin grinned. “How much of our history do we really not know? We’re given the official stories, but I suspect the real truth is far more interesting.” He slapped the table again. “Ah, Gari! You would have been great fun in Idumea.”

  “Well, Karna wasn’t thrilled or amused,” Mrs. Yordin said. “He agreed with you, Peto. He told Gari he thought that act might have been the beginning of the end of the unified world. When Thorne marched out of there that afternoon, he threatened to demote Gari all the way down to lieutenant. That was when Karna, Fadh, and Gari began to send secret messages to each other about a coalition. They were trying to recreate the unity of the Moorland offensive. Then with the unrest in Idumea . . .” She shook her head sadly as she looked at Perrin. “And the distances between them?” She sighed. “They were also missing the most important man. They could have had more success had you stayed.”

  Perrin sighed. “I couldn’t have been any help, Eltana. I would have been a distraught widower in the dungeon of the garrison, if they hadn’t executed me as well.”

  “They would have brok
en you out, I’m sure of it!” Mrs. Yordin said with fierce determination. “There are ways, you know.”

  Perrin leaned forward on the table. “It does us no good to dwell on what never could have been, Eltana. We can imagine different scenarios until the snows fall and still it changes nothing. We need to let the past rest, and focus on the future.”

  Grudgingly she nodded and rubbed her finger on her plate. “Would you have chosen Gari as your Advising General if you had taken the High General position?”

  “I considered him,” Perrin said. “To be honest, I never made a final decision as to who I would’ve chosen. I was more worried about the Thorne issue. Qayin would never have stepped aside willingly. There would have been an all-out battle, and who knows who would have been dead at the end of it. I just choose not to think about what could have been, Eltana. Everything has turned out for the best.”

  Mrs. Yordin raised her eyebrows at him. “How can you say that? The world is in shambles!” Table slap. “We had three factions fighting each other in never-ending skirmishes to take one village away from another! If you hadn’t resigned, who knows what condition the world would be in now! We could have had peace for decades with you as High General before you retired.”

  Perrin and Mahrree exchanged the same look. They’d had the conversation before with others who came from the world. Why did he resign? Why couldn’t they just continue as they had? Why did they have to fight the world? Let everything happen? Abandon Idumea? Abandon them?

  “Eltana, no one knows what might have been,” Perrin said in a low voice. “You’re imagining only the best possibility. But things also could have been worse. I’d been disenchanted with the army for a while, even before the land tremor and the passing of my parents. I was looking for a reason to quit. The troubles the Administrators faced afterward were of their own doing, not because of my leaving. They’d been traveling down that road for quite some time. I just leapt from the wagon.”

  “But Perrin,” Mrs. Yordin leaned toward him intently, “what if you didn’t abandon that wagon? Couldn’t you have taken control of it? None of us knew then how much internal strife the Administrators were dealing with. If the Sergeants Army hadn’t killed them all, they would have likely turned on each other soon anyway.”

  Perrin had had this conversation before, too. “Again, realize my staying may not have changed anything. A great deal of their splintering, we were told, started with the passing of the laws to punish Mahrree, Peto, and me. There wasn’t exactly a majority vote that pushed them through. But then how could I, even as High General, have resolved the turmoil among the Administrators?”

  “Perrin, you were exactly what Idumea and the world needed!” Mrs. Yordin slapped the table again. “The thousands of soldiers who followed Corporal Hili out of Idumea left looking for someone like you! Karna was the best they could find. The people and the soldiers would have supported General Shin.”

  “To what end, Eltana?” Perrin asked cautiously.

  “To making you the new Chairman, Perrin! Or even abolish the Administrators and make you, make you . . .” She faltered, unsure if she should say the word.

  But Perrin had a suspicion. “King?” he suggested quietly.

  “Yes!” declared Mrs. Yordin.

  Peto let out a low whistle.

  “But think of the condition of Idumea with you as king!” Mrs. Yordin forged on. “I have to tell you, Perrin, Gari mentioned it a few times after the Moorland offensive. He hated the Administrators as much as you did. He thought things could be very different with a change of leadership. With you as the leader.”

  She ignored Perrin’s slow head-shaking and went on.

  “Gari suspected the Administrators feared that very prospect: that you could’ve deposed all of them. That’s why they kept your probation continuing as long as they did, especially after the play ‘The Midnight Ride of Perrin Shin.’ But even then, the world still saw you as a hero. A hero they wanted and needed.”

  He opened his mouth to retort, but Roarin’ Yordin’s widow, who was too much like her late husband, didn’t give him any opening.

  “The people will follow whoever will feed them, Perrin! Feed them and protect them. That’s exactly what you did for Edge, and everyone knew it.

  “The Administrators were hoping the desire for Perrin Shin in Idumea would die away,” she continued in a fevered pitch. “When it didn’t, they decided to make you the next High General, to keep you close and under their control. But even when you resigned you were still a threat to them. It took Qayin Thorne weeks, but he finally convinced the Administrators that you were capable of staging a takeover. That’s why they wanted to bring you to trial: to demonstrate to the world you were far more dangerous than anyone imagined. Having you ‘die’ was just as effective, I suppose.” She began to lose momentum. “Even more so, considering how they twisted it.”

  Everyone fell into ponderous silence.

  Eventually Mahrree whispered, “So they really thought Perrin wanted to become king?”

  “Hmm,” Peto said thoughtfully in the uncomfortable stillness. “King Puggah. Doesn’t have a very good ring to it, does it? Sounds like something he’d name his horse.”

  Lilla covered her mouth in a vain effort to stifle her giggle.

  Calla and Mahrree snorted. Shem started to chuckle. Even Mrs. Yordin began to smile.

  Perrin winked at his son in gratitude for breaking the tension. “I would have been a terrible king, I promise you that, Eltana. That’s simply too much influence for only one person to have. For the brief moments I was High General, I felt the strength of the position, and I have to admit, it made me a little light-headed. Men can’t help but misuse power. It’s their nature, and the Creator expects them to fight it. The only way one man alone can rule a people is if the Creator selects someone humble enough who will be guided by Him.”

  Perrin glanced at his friend, but Shem merely pushed a bit of food around his plate without looking up.

  “And there’s only one man who could ever do that successfully, Eltana,” Perrin continued. “But the world, in its short-sightedness, would never accept King Shem Zenos.”

  Shem froze, his eyes never leaving his plate.

  Perrin sighed and turned to Mrs. Yordin who regarded him dubiously. “Eltana, I admit that I’ve wept for the condition of the world over the years. But it wasn’t my fault, nor would have my remaining solved any of it. I would’ve abused that power as much as any other man. Then it would have been my fault. I stand by what I said earlier: everything has turned out for the best.” He risked a smile. “Besides, how could I have twenty-five grandchildren in Idumea?”

  Mrs. Yordin looked sadly at the table. “You could have changed those laws. Lemuel Thorne certainly did!” But she stopped herself and took a moment to regain her composure. “Just so many bad years, Perrin, after you died. Left,” she corrected herself again. “I wish it could’ve been different. But now you’ve just demonstrated what Fadh said to Gari: the men with the best hearts to lead the people are also the same men with too much common sense to want the position. That’s why you would never have done it.”

  Perrin smiled at Graeson Fadh’s assessment.

  But Mahrree could see by the look in his eyes that he’d be struggling tonight with the effects of another, You could’ve changed the past argument.

  “There are many from the world who play this dangerous ‘what if?’ game,” Perrin said to Eltana, and Mahrree knew she’d repeat that line to him later. “There are never any winners. But, Eltana,” he waited for her to look up at him, “I think you’d enjoy our Army of Idumea meetings. One is coming up in three weeks. When word gets out that General Yordin’s wife has joined us, we’ll have so many come we may have to move the meeting to the rectory.”

  Mrs. Yordin’s eyebrows went up. “Army of Idumea meeting?”

  Peto chuckled. “It was the only way for Father to placate all the men who sought him out over the years to rehash their t
ime in the army. Every other moon, the Armchair Generals—”

  Perrin rubbed his forehead at Peto’s nickname.

  “—get together to talk about their experiences and run through different scenarios. Kind of helps them to get it out of their system, and keeps poor General Shin from having to spend countless hours debating strategies with old soldiers who served for two seasons over forty years ago.”

  Mrs. Yordin smiled slyly. “And why do you call them Armchair Generals?”

  Shem grinned. “The meetings are usually held here, and they pull out Mahrree and Perrin’s armchairs to Peto and Lilla’s large gathering room. One chair always goes to the standing General of Salem,” Shem gestured to Perrin, “while the other goes to whoever is lucky enough to have his name drawn out of a bowl. He’s the honorary general for the evening and gets to lead the discussion.”

  “And how would they feel about the presence of a woman?” Mrs. Yordin ventured.

  Shem nodded to Calla. “I think my wife would enjoy the company.”

  Mrs. Yordin turned in surprise to Calla. “You attend?”

  Calla shrugged modestly.

  But Shem’s grin grew even broader. “Of course! The author of The Army of Idumea: The Shin-Zenos Years always has Peto’s armchair. When the former soldiers start their ‘creative remembering’ and romanticizing their time in the world, Calla here sets them straight with the facts.”

  “Someone needs to sit in my chair,” Lilla nodded to Mrs. Yordin. “I stay far away from this house on those nights!”

  Mrs. Yordin chuckled and turned to Calla, regarding her with new admiration. “Guide Zenos told me on the ride over here that you were interested in the army while he served, but I had no idea.”

  “Mrs. Yordin, you’d give a great deal of balance to the discussions,” Calla told her. “I stopped following the changes in the army once Shem came home, so you could provide the corrective details for the past twenty-five years for those who were in the world more recently.”

  Mrs. Yordin nodded thoughtfully. “Sounds quite intriguing. Of course, Gari would know so much more. So would our—” She stopped, not wanting to say the word.

  Perrin gave Mahrree a meaningful look.

  She knew what to do with it.

  “Eltana,” Mahrree asked carefully, “do you know how your son is? How he might take the news that you’re missing?”

  Mrs. Yordin sighed, and when she spoke it was with a stab of bitterness. “He didn’t have much reaction to the news about his father two seasons ago. All I got from him was a message that said, ‘Sorry about your loss.’ Can you imagine?” she scoffed. “He won’t think twice about my vanishing, I’m sure.”

  “I’m so sorry, Eltana,” Mahrree said. “I’m sure that’s not true. I remember him as a nice boy. I’m sure someday he’ll remember who he used to be.”

  Mrs. Yordin exhaled. “Doubtful. It’s not as if he’s even my son anymore. Any man who can desert General Gari Yordin to defect to Lemuel Thorne is not someone I will ever claim as kin.”

  ---

  They were just finishing dessert when the side door opened.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Papa. We thought you were done.”

  Mrs. Yordin did a double-take at the two young men who stood there and stared at the dark-haired boy. “Will the copies of General Shin never end?” she whispered.

  Peto chuckled as he got up and went to the door. “They end right here. Well, until you meet Kew. It’s all right, boys. You haven’t interrupted anything.”

  “Good,” said Relf, with his arm around his younger brother. “Young Pere could use a little rest, I think.”

  Lilla was already on her feet, bustling over to her son. “Young Pere, I thought you were still in bed! Where were you?”

  Relf gave a sidelong glance to his brother whose face was twisted in pain. When he saw no answer would be coming, he answered for him. “Apparently he felt the need to prove to Cephas that he could take care of the firewood today. He was successful until a few minutes ago.”

  “Come on, son,” Peto said, trying to take his other side. “Let’s get you back to bed.”

  “I’m fine,” Young Pere said, out of breath and shrugging off his father’s attempt to help him. “Just need to sit for a moment.”

  Lilla pulled out the chair nearest to Young Pere, and he collapsed on it.

  “Mrs. Yordin,” Perrin said, “these are two of my grandsons. Relf here, who you can see is not a copy of me, has also made me the proud great-grandfather of the blondest little boy you’ve ever seen.”

  Perrin beamed as Relf smiled appropriately at Mrs. Yordin and walked over to shake her hand. But Perrin’s smile turned brittle as he gestured at the wincing boy at the end of the table.

  “And this is Young Perrin, who recently had an accident from which he’s supposed to be recuperating.” His voice turned sharp.

  Young Pere offered a Perrin-like smile and a weak wave.

  “Uncanny!” Mrs. Yordin whispered. She turned back to blond-haired, blue-eyed Relf. “The sign maker, right? I would never imagine that such a fair young man is related to Perrin.”

  “He takes after his mother’s side,” Peto explained. “Except in one way. Relf, do the voice for her.”

  “Oh, Papa, really?” Relf blushed pink. “She doesn’t want—”

  “Yes, she does.” Peto turned to Mrs. Yordin. “You heard my grandfather Relf’s voice before, right?”

  “I did,” Eltana said. “I met him a couple of times, and even heard him yelling at Gari’s soldiers once. Why?”

  Peto cocked his head to his son. “You have to do it, Relf. She even heard him yelling once.”

  “Oh, Papa, I always feel so weird doing this.” He turned to Mrs. Yordin. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m like their one-man entertainment. They think it’s funny and scary at the same time—”

  “It is!” Shem declared. “And the original Relf really laid into me a few times, so I know him when I hear him.”

  “Relf,” Perrin said, with that authoritative tone none of his grandchildren could argue with. “Prove to Mrs. Yordin that you truly are my grandson. You may not have inherited any of the Shin looks, but you certainly inherited something else.”

  The growing amusement and intrigue on Mrs. Yordin’s face made Relf give in.

  He sighed and cleared his throat. “Men—” he began, but his Uncle Shem cut him off.

  “No, no, no. Lower, Relf. Really hit that deep gravel mark. The one that makes me break out in goosebumps. Come on, now.”

  Relf shrugged apologetically to Mrs. Yordin, squared his shoulders and bellowed, “MEN! That is not the appropriate way to saddle a horse!” His voice thundered around the room. “I do not like riding backward!”

  While his family laughed, Mrs. Yordin tried to pick her chin up off the ground. “That was . . . that was fabulously frightening!”

  Shem showed her his arm, with his hair standing on end.

  Relf shrugged and, in his normal soft-spoken way, said, “Sorry. Sometimes they make me call in the younger kids using the General Relf voice.”

  Eltana began to chuckle. “I’ve got goosebumps myself!”

  “He always has to make an appearance at the Armchair Generals meetings,” Perrin told her. “Half of the attendants never heard my father’s voice, but he scares them, too.”

  Mrs. Yordin laughed and she noticed again Young Pere. “And that boy at the end of the table, my goodness!”

  Young Pere nodded. “Yeah, I got the Shin looks. And I’ve heard it all before,” he added resignedly. “Perrin’s Shadow, Perrin the Revised Edition, Perrin and Re-Perrin, Perrin’s Little Lieutenant. I’m always open to new nicknames, Mrs. Yordin.”

  She chuckled at his pained expression and turned to Peto. “Did you name him after Perrin because he looked like him as a baby?”

  Peto shook his head. “No, not at all. We actually had a different boy’s name picked out—Hogal, a great-great-uncle of mine—but the day before he was
born, both Lilla and I felt he should be named after my father instead. Since he looks so much like his grandfather, it now seems to be fitting. We still got our Hogal, just a few years later.”

  “Perrin, the Salem version,” Young Pere droned on, “Perrin back in time, New and Improved Perrin.” He looked up to the ceiling to see if he had forgotten any. “Ah, and Perrin Squared. Guess that means I’m trouble multiplied.”

  Lilla bent over and kissed her son on the head. “No, just a multiple of . . . entertainment, Young Pere! There’s never a dull moment around this boy, Mrs. Yordin,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck and giving him another kiss.

  Young Pere grimaced in pain and embarrassment.

  Mrs. Yordin’s smile faded and she looked at Young Pere intently. “Be as entertaining as you want, young man. Just don’t ever break their hearts.” Her voice began to quaver and Calla put a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Broken hearts never mend.”

  “They do in Salem, Mrs. Yordin,” Guide Zenos said softly. “Place of miracles, remember? Just wait and see.”

  ---

  Young Pere lounged on the rocking chair on the front porch, tasked with the dullest duty in all of Salem: goat watching. The nannies had been chewing through their ropes lately, then wandering up the hillside behind the Briters, making it difficult for his sisters and cousins to milk them. So his father declared that if Young Pere didn’t want to rest in the house, he could rest outside in the shade of the porch while the day heated up, and make sure no grazing goats escaped.

  Young Pere was still trying to figure out if this was punishment or reward for trying to chop the wood and show up Cephas. Sometimes, his father’s assignments felt like both.

  Mrs. Yordin had been brought to her new home not long ago, and Mahrree and Lilla were cleaning up the kitchen while discussing Mrs. Yordin’s comments with Perrin, Peto, and Shem who took care of the leftovers and washed a few dishes.

  Young Pere had headed out the door at the earliest opportunity since he didn’t know any of those old or dead people whose names they were tossing about, and now his eyes were drooping in exhaustion and boredom. But then he heard the giggle. Or rather, giggles. His head jerked up with the beginnings of a smile.

  Quietly he counted, “One, two, three . . . nine. Well, that’s a fair amount today.”

  It was a group of girls, the oldest maybe eighteen, the youngest around fifteen, and a few of them were carrying items covered with cloth.

  He sat up a little, wished he could make sure his hair wasn’t mussed up—it likely wasn’t, but if it were, it’d only add to his rugged appeal—and he smiled.

  “So,” he said casually as the flock of females turned to approach his porch. He raised his voice in relation to their volume of giggling. “What’s all this, then?” He would have addressed them by their names, but he couldn’t remember any of them. He never bothered anyway. They all kind of blended together, with their long braids and their coy mannerisms. Some dark, some light, some in between, and all of them gooey-eyed and tittering.

  “Hi, Young Pere,” a couple of them chorused, and a few others hid behind their hands like silly things.

  “We heard you were hurt but improving, so we, um, baked you things. To build up your strength again,” said a braver girl. Her eyes roved over his broad shoulders and lingered on his defined chest, his light cotton tunic clinging to him because he was sweating in the heat of the afternoon. The girl blushed a violent purple, and nearly dropped the plate of cookies she carried.

  He grinned. Not his usual grin, but his narrower one, which made his eyes squint and the girls’ knees knock.

  “Well, that is awfully sweet of you all. Wow, with such attention, I’ll be back to normal in just hours. That certainly looks good,” he gestured to another girl, and in her excited nervousness she stumbled on her way up the stairs.

  “Ooh, careful there,” he said, extending an arm to catch her, and holding on to her wrist longer than he needed to.

  It worked. She nearly turned into a puddle on the porch before handing over her sweet rolls.

  “Sit down, sit down,” he indicated for them all to find a place around his chair, and for a moment he wondered if the old kings of the world on their thrones ever were surrounded by giddy girls. “So what’s the latest news around our corner of Salem?” And he nibbled on a strawberry tart someone handed him.

  Beyond his flock, he could see his older sister Hycy coming down the road. She paused, shook her head in disgust—she was tired of him asking again and again what their names were—and took the long way around to the side door. Apparently, she’d been trying to dissuade some of his followers, telling them he wasn’t as great as they thought he was.

  It didn’t work. They trailed after him all the more. Someone dangerous in Salem was a rare treat for the excitement-starved girls of the valley.

  They stayed for an hour, chatting inanely while Young Pere emptied each plate they brought. Their gossiping stopped abruptly when Puggah opened the door, looked over the scene with veiled amusement, and said, “So what’d you bring me?”

  He sat down right in the middle of the gaggle of girls, causing all of them to hurriedly get to their feet, surprised and anxious that the general of Salem had decided to get so friendly.

  He chuckled as they snatched up their empty plates and rushed down the stairs, calling back farewells to Young Pere who glared in annoyance at his grandfather.

  Only after the girls were out of earshot did Perrin’s smile fade. “Young Pere, it’s not fair to them, and you know it.”

  “What, making them feel appreciated? Eating their treats?”

  Perrin pivoted on his spot and looked up into his grandson’s eyes. “Using them like this. Don’t do it, son. They are daughters of the Creator, and they deserve better than to be led on by you.”

  Young Pere scowled. “I’m not leading them on,” he said, not quite sure what that meant, but knowing it wasn’t good, based on his grandfather’s hardened eyes.

  “You’re making them think they have a chance with you. I know you’d never physically take advantage of any of them—”

  Young Pere fidgeted at such a worldly idea.

  “—but emotionally, you’re being cruel. Each one’s going to go home tonight and fantasize about you choosing her.”

  He shrugged at that. “Wouldn’t it be crueler to ignore them? To be rude?”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m suggesting you turn down that charm a notch. Save it for the girl who you really want to win over, and not just because she can bake . . . What is that, a piece of cake?”

  Below Young Pere’s chair was half a slice, forgotten. Perrin picked it up, nibbled on it, and frowned. “No, not that one. Whoever she was—not that one.”

  Young Pere chuckled.

  Perrin didn’t. “I mean it, son—quit treating them like your adoring servants. If you’re not going to court any of them, stop flirting with them.”

  Court them? Young Pere was stunned by the thought. It’s true, most young men his age were courting girls, but . . . No, he wasn’t ready for that. For any of them.

  He had adventures to plan . . . Court a girl?

  His distaste for that idea must have been evident. His grandfather shook his head sadly at him, got to his feet, extended a hand to his grandson to help him out of the chair, and said, “Dinner will be ready in about an hour, in case you might still be hungry. That’ll give you enough time.”

  “To do what?” Young Pere asked.

  “To chase after two females,” Perrin winked. “While you were nibbling away on your treats, the goats were nibbling on the ropes. They left about ten minutes ago. You have my permission to charm them.”

  With a groan, Young Pere stiffly and slowly made his way down the steps after the bleating goats, his grandfather’s low chuckle following him.

  ---

  Perrin’s chuckling lasted only until his grandson, calling uselessly after the goats who never responded anyway,
broke into a lumbering and painful trot.

  “They named you all too accurately,” he sighed, almost in despair. “You’re too much like me. Please,” he whispered, “stop being me.”

  Chapter 4--“I didn’t sleep much last night—”