Flight of the Wounded Falcon

It was late in the evening when Mahrree came home from the Briters’ house where she and Perrin had dinner. Perrin was still there, going over maps with Deck and Peto for their trip in a few days.

  Mahrree looked with disappointment at the clean sink. She really needed something to wash. Eltana’s breakfast discussion had sat on Perrin and her all day like a rash they both tried to pretend wasn’t there, annoying and itching at them. It was going to be another sleepless night, she knew it already.

  Taking up a dish rag, Mahrree began to wipe the already clean surfaces and cabinets, trying to wash away the memory of her husband’s agitated face. They had lived so peacefully here for so many years. It seemed wrong that someone should come and challenge him to return.

  He had never expressed a desire to go back. Even when the family went a few times on the routes near the glacial fort to see the wildflowers and waterfalls, he stayed behind in Salem. “I see those in the mountains here all the time,” was his excuse.

  He didn’t want to travel south, ever again. Especially after he had killed Lieutenant Radan who had been trying to escape from the glacial fort to return to the world, to tell Thorne what he had discovered. The further south Perrin went the deadlier he felt, and he never wanted to be deadly again.

  But it was that word Eltana used on him. Duty. That flashed something in his eyes, but he refused to talk to Mahrree about it. She would have to trap him on the sofa again as she did years ago to try to get him to talk it out before the trip, or many little boys would be traumatized in the middle of the night by their Puggah.

  He always said how satisfied he was with their life here, how he couldn’t have wished for anything else—

  But on the nights when his Armchair Generals came by, Mahrree spied the faint longing in his eyes. He’d been taught all his youth that his destiny was to be High General, and he wasn’t.

  Eltana’s challenge had pierced him. Maybe now, as he was entering the last stretch of his life, he was hoping to leave behind a greater legacy—

  “I’m pretty sure that’s clean now, Muggah.”

  Mahrree smiled as she looked up to see Young Pere.

  “I suppose you’re right. I haven’t seen you for a while. Have you been resting?”

  Young Pere pulled out a chair to sit down at the work table. “I promise you, Muggah, that all I did this afternoon was rest comfortably.”

  She pulled out a chair opposite of him, because she’d heard how carefully he’d phrased that. “Honestly?”

  “Yes.” He looked at her in a way she couldn’t interpret. He seemed to be analyzing her deeper than ever before.

  “But you weren’t around here,” she hinted. She’d checked his room a few times to find it empty.

  “I needed some time alone. I went instead to where I could rest and . . . listen to the world.”

  Again she noticed the judiciously selected words. “Listen to the world?”

  Young Pere nodded. “It was such a warm day, perfect for stretching out in the grasses and seeing the clouds float by, watching the birds fly, listening to the bugs . . . bugging around.” He was trying to be light-hearted, which meant he was trying to draw her away from her suspicions.

  “Did you go beyond the pasture lands?” she pressed. “Lying in cattle muck would definitely bring a lot of bugging bugs.”

  He cracked a smile. “Yes, I went north. And all I did was sit and listen and think.”

  Something sounded deceitful. While Salemites were hopelessly honest, Young Pere had picked up the worldly trait of lying while speaking what sounded like the truth. He probably learned that from his grandmother.

  Mahrree sat back. “So what did you think about?”

  “Flying. For a time, I watched the birds and their wing configurations. I got to watch a falcon for quite a while, circling above me.”

  She didn’t like the way he said that word. “A falcon?”

  “Yes,” he said slowly.

  Something in his tone suggested multiple meanings.

  “When it circled closer I realized it was far more complex than I anticipated. Lots of details I never realized before. I’m going to have to make some modifications to my design.” He turned up a corner of his mouth, and she recognized his teasing, almost flirtatious, smile. It always meant something was up, but she never let him know she was on to him.

  She attempted a real smile in return. “I hope it takes you a very long time to do that, Young Pere.”

  “Now that I know what to do, I don’t think it’ll be that difficult at all. I really wish I could see a falcon up close, though,” he mused. “Maybe find a wounded one somewhere.”

  Mahrree tried to pretend his choice of words didn’t hit her upside the head with such dizzying force.

  Her grandson was watching her closely again.

  He knew. Somehow, he knew. She’d never written about it, never discussed Qayin Thorne’s attitude toward Perrin as a wounded falcon in a barn, but her grandson knew.

  And the most likely person to have told him would have been Eltana Yordin, who, through her husband, would have known just about everything.

  “Young Pere, even a wounded bird of prey is very dangerous,” she told him. “Probably even more so, because it’s hurt. It still has sharp talons and a beak. Please don’t try it.”

  Young Pere gaze softened as he grinned, suddenly easy. “Don’t worry, Muggah. What are my chances of finding a wounded falcon? I’d have a better shot at finding a dead one.”

  “There you go!” Mahrree said with forced brightness. Maybe it was all just a mistake, an unfortunate coincidence that he referred to a wounded falcon.

  Why would he be talking with Eltana Yordin anyway?

  “Examine a plucked chicken before it’s cooked for dinner,” she suggested.

  He scoffed. “A chicken? Muggah, they have wings all right, but they can’t fly more than a couple of feet before flopping to the ground.”

  “Precisely. Just like you.”

  “Thanks, Muggah. Thanks a lot.”

  ---

  That night Peto sat on the edge of his bed. He stared at the wardrobe and thought about the old parchment envelope hidden under the sweaters.

  His wife came into the room, got into bed, and watched her husband.

  “You’re still thinking about what she said, aren’t you?”

  Peto nodded once.

  Lilla sighed. “I couldn’t imagine leaving these houses. Sending our children in different directions around the world? Not living next door to your sister, or down the road from my sister? None of this sounds right to me at all, Peto.”

  Peto nodded again.

  “So why are you still thinking about it?”

  “Why did she use those words, Lilla? ‘Greatest general the world ever saw’? What if this is the way it’s supposed to happen? Sometimes the right thing doesn’t sound right at the beginning. That’s what I thought about our coming to Salem.” He sighed heavily. “What if our time here was just for now, and not forever?”

  Lilla pondered that. “Then Relf would have to remake that sign above the road. He wouldn’t be too happy about it.”

  She leaned toward him when she realized that it was one of those rare evenings when her husband had no sense of humor.

  “Peto, think about it—do you really think Mrs. Yordin was receiving a revelation when she used those words? You said yourself she knew very little about the Creator. She hadn’t looked at The Writings since she was a child. She just happened to choose words that echoed your grandfather. That’s all. Not really a lot of different ways to say ‘greatest general in the world’ now is there?”

  “No, I suppose not.” He was quiet for a moment. “I just hadn’t realized until today that my father thinks he’s old. I was a boy when Grandfather Shin died, and I thought then that he was an old man. I just realized that my father is four years older than High General Shin was when he died. And now I’m the same age my father was then.” He paused again. “There really isn??
?t a lot of time left for him to . . .”

  Lilla crawled over to Peto and put her arms around him. “To become the greatest general the world ever saw? Wasn’t it you who told me that often we put our own interpretations upon the Creator’s words? That we force our ideas onto His plans? Nothing ever works out the way we hope when we do that. But if we surrender to the Creator, then we see how much better His will and plans are. Does any of this sound familiar, Rector Shin?”

  He kissed his wife’s arm. “Yes, and you’re right, as usual. I couldn’t imagine leaving here for Edge or anywhere else. I’ve been thinking about it all day and have felt very uneasy. That’s always the Creator’s way of telling me to forget the idea. I was positively agitated all afternoon. Tomorrow I’ll have to ask Shem how Mrs. Yordin took the news there would be no invasion. He was planning to have a little chat with her.” Peto chuckled. “Do you think Mrs. Yordin’s related to your family? She and Calla could’ve probably planned the offensive all by themselves.”

  Lilla laughed. “We’ll have to look in the family lines.”

  Peto finally pulled his eyes away from the wardrobe and turned to his wife. “Deck set up for the night?”

  “Yes. Your father’s asleep already so he didn’t hear him come in. Deck put together the two armchairs.”

  “He’s not alone, is he?”

  “No, he brought Viddrow with him. He’s sleeping on their sofa.”

  “Good,” Peto said. “The only one better at calf wrestling and hog tying is Bubba, but Viddrow’s eighteen now, and should be up to the challenge.”

  “Do you really think Papa Pere will have another problem tonight?” she asked. “I never remember two nights in a row.”

  Peto shrugged. “There never was a visitor bringing back so many memories before. Shem offered to come over tomorrow night with Zaddick if we think there’s a need.”

  Lilla leaned against her husband. “I don’t know how your mother did it. How you and Jaytsy handled it when he first was like this. He terrified me last night, and he was armed only with an iron poker. I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you at Kew’s age.”

  “He was terrifying,” he admitted quietly. “And he had that sword. At the time I didn’t think much of it, but now I have even more respect for my mother. Going to bed each night knowing there was a disturbed man sleeping next to her with an affinity for blades? If Shem hadn’t been there some of those nights, I’m not sure if we’d all be here now.”

  Peto sat lost in thought, Lilla waiting, before he continued.

  “There was one night when I heard him come down the stairs, before we had Shem staying at night. Father went to Jaytsy’s room. By the time I got there he was holding Grandfather’s sword over her. He heard me and turned around. I could tell by his stance that he didn’t recognize me as his son. Lilla, I was so scared. He took one step toward me . . .” Peto shook his head. “My mother moved right in front of me and ordered him to lower his weapon. I don’t know what he heard in her voice, but he put down the sword. I think he would’ve killed me if my mother hadn’t been there.”

  Lilla squeezed her husband tighter.

  “I knew how deadly he could be. I had watched him just weeks before defending our coach and caravan of food on our way back to Edge. Lilla, he was amazing! Even as much as you hate violence, you would’ve been impressed. Sixteen men. He seemed to barely touch them and they fell to the ground. One swipe, one thrust, one pass-by and they were dead. I was so proud of him. Then a few weeks later I was so scared of him.

  “My mother took to hiding Grandfather’s sword each evening when he came home from the fort. A few times she hid it under my bed, and I never slept well those nights, even when Father was sedated. A teenager’s imagination can be overly active, Lilla. It was as if I could feel something coming from that sword through my bed. I thought it had a life of its own.”

  Lilla kissed his cheek and snuggled up to his chest. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she whispered.

  He kissed the top of her head. “I’m sorry the Briters and our children have to see it as well. But it served a purpose for our family then. We learned to not focus so much on what the world thought, and worried mostly about getting Father well. And staying out of his way!” he scoffed sadly. “I think all our children handle it better, though. It’s been good for them to be of service to him once in a while. At least we have a good idea when another incident may be coming. He just feels so badly that it still happens. He pulled Young Pere and me aside to apologize to us this morning. He said he wishes he could be released from this trial.”

  “What did you say to him?”

  “I told him I thought the trial was for a reason. He certainly didn’t feel like leading an army to Idumea now, did he? Perhaps this was the Creator’s way of warning him against doing something rash. Maybe he needs such vivid reminders as to what he left behind, so he keeps it behind. He seemed to appreciate that answer.”

  “I thought he would, especially since some of that insight was mine,” Lilla reminded him.

  Peto chuckled. “Then Young Pere told him he was so used to waking up to see Puggah’s face over his bed that he simply thought he had been in another accident he didn’t remember.”

  Lilla laughed softly. After a moment she said, “So you don’t believe your father is to be a general in Idumea.”

  “No.”

  “Does that make you worry about your grandfather’s dream?”

  “Slightly,” he admitted. “But I keep reminding myself that my mother had dreams of a large home and a dozen children. Our families have actually doubled her dreams. I couldn’t figure out my calling in the world and certainly didn’t want to be the fourth General Shin. Then I came here, met you, discovered my love of mountains, and now I work part of the time with my father and part of the time with Shem. When I was a teenager I simply didn’t have enough imagination—all right, I had a very active imagination I’ll admit, just not in the correct directions—to see what my future could hold. How can I now assume to imagine how my grandfather’s dream will be fulfilled?”

  “Do you ever doubt what your grandfather dreamed?”

  “No, Lilla, I don’t.”

  Lilla smiled. “Nor do I. From the first time you showed me the parchment before we married, I knew it was a gift from the Creator. I could feel it. Somehow, someday, the world will still know Perrin Shin the General. Just . . . not this season.”

  ---

  In the morning Deck and Viddrow slowly walked home, exhausted from wrangling the orneriest bull they had ever dealt with.

  “I don’t remember any of the other nights being so violent,” Deck told his son as he stretched out a kink in his back. “I hope no one else comes from the world for at least another year.”

  “Maybe next time we should bring your whip,” Viddrow suggested.

  “I doubt it would help. The rope barely held. I just hope I’m that strong when I’m an old man,” he confided, “because clearly I’m not that strong now. The two of us could hardly contain him.”

  “So do Uncle Shem and Zaddick have Perrin-wrestling duty tonight?” Viddrow asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Better give them your whip.”

  ---

  Perrin sat in his office going over lists of supplies and maps for the trip. Tucked in his left arm was Jaysie Briter, the six moons’ old daughter of Holling and Eraliz Briter. Eraliz had brought her over so that she could visit the storehouse for supplies without additional “help.”

  Perrin was used to it; he counted on cradling someone small nearly every day. Little Jaysie had immediately cuddled into the favorite sleeping position of every baby born to the families: nestled into Puggah’s strong arm and chest. She’d sleep soundly until her mother returned. Even then, Perrin wouldn’t readily surrender the infant unless pressed.

  He heard the knock at the door. “Come in,” he called, quietly so as to not wake the little girl.

  The door op
ened. “Do you know how much I get a kick out of hearing you say that? ‘Come in!’ As if nothing’s changed in the forty-two years I’ve known you.”

  Perrin smiled. “What can I do for you, Shem?”

  Shem walked in and sat in a chair opposite of the desk. “Is that Jaysie?” He nodded to the bundle in his arm. “She’s getting big, isn’t she? I think every baby we get somehow grows faster than the last.”

  Perrin gazed down at his softly snoring great-granddaughter and ran his other hand gently over her wispy brown hair. “That’s why there’s always a replacement around the corner. Jaysie will be getting too big for this when Salema’s third is born. I guess I’ll have to fight you for that one, though.”

  Shem chuckled softly. “You will. So, planning the trip?”

  “Yes. I’m a little worried about that steep section approaching the ridge. But we’ll see how the little boys handle it this year.”

  “That’s not what I’m worried about, Perrin.”

  Perrin exhaled. “So I repeat my previous question—what can I do for you, Shem?”

  “The question should be, what can I do for you?”

  Perrin leaned back in his chair, patting the baby unnecessarily. “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t give me that blank look, Perrin. I can see it in your eyes. Your tired, baggy, eyes that haven’t seen sleep in the last two nights.”

  Perrin’s face twitched. “Who told you?”

  “A few worried people. But I already knew.”

  A smirk developed around Perrin’s mouth. “That Creator is one nosy Being, isn’t He.”

  Shem didn’t smile. “Yes, He is. He’s greatly concerned that you’re not getting rid of these ideas planted by Mrs. Yordin. That’s why I’m here.”

  Perrin sighed and let his gaze drift to the desk.

  “Perrin, she doesn’t know what she’s talking about,” Shem said. “She’s had a very difficult life. She’s seen her husband wounded over and over again battling for villages. Nothing in her life has ever been secure. She’s witnessed the betrayal of her son and then had to endure the loss of her husband. To have him die on the battlefield is one thing, but to have him stabbed to death by Thorne’s spies while he sat at his desk—”

  Perrin fidgeted uncomfortably behind his.

  “—that’s just too much for any woman to take. That’s why we brought her here. But Perrin, she’s unstable. Both Honri and Woodson noticed it as they prepared her, concerned that she’s not yet ready for Salem life.”

  “But I insisted she be brought here, anyway,” Perrin said, apologetically.

  Shem nodded. “And that’s all right. I agreed, if you remember, and so did the Creator. We can handle her, and she needed to get out of Sands. But she’s likely never going to be one of us,” he warned. “I went to check on her last night, to see how she’s adjusting. She wasn’t interested yet in talking about baptism, and again, that’s all right. But I was struck by something else. She still wants revenge, as if that will somehow restore her family, and she seemed very calm as we talked, as if she’s already planning something.”

  Perrin tried to shrug that off. “Oh, I doubt that. Sometimes you can be a little too cynical.” But Perrin’s tone wasn’t nearly as sure as his words.

  And Shem noticed. “That cynicism I learned from serving by your side for so many years,” he reminded. “And I know I need to pull it out every time someone from the world shows up in Salem.”

  “Salem would be surprised to see this side of you, Guide Zenos,” Perrin chided. “The ever hopeful, ever cheerful guide of the Creator—”

  “General, quit trying to change the subject,” Guide Zenos said in that tone that always made his general go quiet. “Look, I don’t want you to get caught up in whatever she’s plotting. In time I’m sure she’ll give it up after she learns how to grieve for all that she’s lost. But until then . . .”

  Perrin stared at his desk again. “All that she’s lost,” he repeated quietly. “And what have I lost, Shem? She was right, you know. I live in luxury. She lived in misery.”

  “Well,” Shem said, “you did have a few trials in the world yourself, you know. Parents killed, Mal’s Guarders out to destroy you and your family—”

  “And then twenty-five years of easy living in Paradise.” Perrin sighed and kissed the baby’s forehead.

  “Perrin,” Shem said quietly, “that’s no reason to feel guilty for anything. You’ve had your share of trials here, too. And remember, Salem’s not a place of comparison or competition. Don’t compare yourself to Eltana, or to anyone. Will you let go of this guilt and stop thinking about Mrs. Yordin’s ideas?”

  Perrin ran his hand over the baby’s head again.

  “Look at me, General,” Guide Zenos said in a commanding, yet quiet, voice.

  Perrin’s head snapped up.

  “Will you lose these ideas, Perrin?” he asked more gently.

  “Shem, I want to. I really do, but—”

  Guide Zenos leaned forward onto the desk. “When I came in I said it was as if nothing has changed in forty-two years, but everything has changed. You know it as well as I do. You have a duty to the Creator and to your family. Not to Idumea and what’s left of it. What happened to Eltana is tragic. We can’t change her past, we can only help her build a new future. You owe her nothing. It’s not your fault that you’re still alive and Gari Yordin isn’t.”

  “I’m the last one, Shem,” he said quietly. “The last of the commanders of the Moorland offensive. Do you know what a weight that is?”

  “Why are you here, Perrin?”

  “What?”

  “Why are you here? Do you remember?”

  Perrin waved his hand at the maps on his walls marked with routes and trails and tower placements and warehouses for emergency rations and supplies. “How could I forget?”

  “Then tell me. What is your duty . . . to the Creator?”

  “To secure Salem and to mark the path for His people’s safety.” He easily paraphrased the words of Guide Pax’s prophecy from more than 160 years ago. He could have quoted them because they were seared into his mind and heart.

  “And General, have you done that?”

  “I suppose—”

  “Not suppose, Perrin. Have you secured Salem?”

  Perrin sighed. “Yes, Guide. I have done all that I know how to secure Salem.”

  “I agree. You have. Then, General Shin, why wish for anything else?”

  “I . . . I don’t wish . . .” he faltered.

  “Yes you do, Shin! You wish for more.”

  “No one wishes for more in Salem, Guide,” Perrin said smartly. “We all have more than enough.”

  “But you don’t believe it, Perrin.”

  Perrin looked at his great-granddaughter, then, feeling the penetrating gaze, finally looked up into the eyes of the guide. It was no use trying to hide it. Guide Zenos could read him like a book.

  “What have I done, really, Shem? I’m a general of nothing,” he whispered. “We both know Guide Gleace gave me that title just to make me feel better about coming to Salem. I’ve trained a few people in how to use farm implements against stray soldiers. I’ve put up a few towers with colorful banners. I’ve hacked out four trails in the forest. I’ve had a few emergency areas stocked. And the rest of the time I sit here staring out the window as a useless old man.”

  Shem’s mouth opened, stunned. “Perrin, is that all you really see?”

  His friend shrugged and caressed the cheek of the sleeping baby.

  “You’ve ensured the safety of the Creator’s people!” Shem exclaimed. “Your tower and banner system has allowed us to send messages to even the furthest reaches within half an hour! You’ve devised ways to evacuate tens of thousands of people within two days or less! You’re the patriarch of a fantastic family that grows every season! No one in Salem is more revered or respected than you!”

  Perrin looked out the window, as if not hearing any of that. “I know I shouldn?
??t feel this way, but I have to confess that I do: I’m a disappointment as a general. I haven’t fought a battle, haven’t trained an army, and the only time I held a real weapon I used it to kill one of my former lieutenants. You and I spar occasionally in the barn, and while I’m a bit slower than I used to be—”

  “Oh no, you’re not,” Shem interrupted him. “You’re still astonishingly quick.”

  Perrin licked his lips, almost hungrily. “See? I could still make a difference in the world. I’m still useful. I sometimes wonder why I was given such a natural ability if the Creator never wanted me to use it again. I sometimes wonder if . . . I’ve missed something,” he finished quietly.

  “You’ve never missed anything, Perrin,” Shem whispered earnestly. “The only men with more forethought and insight than you have been the guides. You learned how to use a sword to preserve your family and to get you safely to Salem. No one I know would accuse you of being useless, Perrin!”

  “Eltana would,” he reminded him. “What if I could have changed the shape of the world, Shem? What if there is some element of truth to what she said?”

  Shem exhaled heavily. “To be honest, I’ve wondered that as well. I even asked Him about it. You weren’t the only one who didn’t sleep well last night.” He paused. “I got an answer.”

  Perrin sat up taller, ready to do anything the guide was going to say.

  “Perrin, the powers that control the world are too great to conquer at this time, even if we tried together. We like to think we could change the world, but Perrin, the Creator made it very clear to me that the world would change us.”

  Perrin groaned softly. He’d suspected that answer. That was why he didn’t pray about it. Having the Creator verify it meant he had to abandon the possibility. But—

  “We were successful in Moorland, Shem.”

  “Because we had to be. It was the Creator’s will that we destroyed it. What they were developing there, that black powdery explosive? That was too dangerous for the world to have. It wasn’t the Creator’s will that they be successful in mastering those secrets, so He was working with us then.

  “But if we pursued going back to the world now, we’d be working without His assistance. There’s no success without Him. And Perrin, had we stayed in the world, we would’ve destroyed each other. We would’ve been no better than any other leaders there. We were simply wiser to leave an unwinnable situation. We did all we could for as long as we could. Sometimes getting out is the only solution.”

  Perrin nodded reluctantly.

  “This sounds,” Shem began carefully, “as if a bit of pride is involved, too. Your past twenty-five years of service haven’t been nearly as dramatic as Gari’s.”

  Perrin tipped his head in guilty acknowledgement. “Perhaps a tiny—very, very tiny,” he emphasized, “part of me is perhaps a little bit jealous. I have missed it, just a small part. But the vast majority of me has been much happier here,” he added in a hurry, as if eager to get away from his confession.

  “So will you please let go of these ideas?” Shem asked one more time. “Let go of the world and all you think is important in it?”

  “Yes, Guide Zenos. I will do my best,” he said humbly. “As Salem’s guard dog, I am accountable to you, the master of Salem—”

  “You know I hate it when you put it like that,” Shem said, irritated. “Guard dog, master . . . that’s not us, you know.”

  Perrin cracked a small smile. “But I need to remember us in that way, so I remember my place.”

  “But your place is as my best friend and brother, Perrin. Isn’t that enough?”

  “It is,” he said. “But you’re also my guide, and you issue the orders now.”

  “Then I order you to remember how desperately Salem needs you, how important you are to all of us, and I order you to not forget your duty to us.”

  Perrin could only nod back to him, a lump in his throat not letting out any words.

  The men fell silent, lost in thought.

  After a moment, Perrin chuckled sadly. “We’re too old for this kind of nonsense anyway. Can you see us trying to sneak up on the fort in Edge through the forest? With your cracking knees and my stiff back?”

  Shem smiled. “They’d hear us coming a mile away. ‘Where’s my walking stick? Shem, I want that stick back!’”

  “Then there’s the hollering of the boys . . .”

  “And their singing . . .”

  They chuckled.

  Perrin looked out the window and watched two of his grandchildren running to the Briter house. A third child chased them. In his arms, Jaysie sighed loudly against his chest. He instinctively bent over and kissed her small head.

  Why would he want to have an office with any other kind of view?

  “Thank you, Shem. I needed that.”

  “The laugh or the straightening out?”

  “Both, as usual.”

  “So no more bad nights coming? Because I have to tell you, they wouldn’t be good on the trip.”

  “Agreed. No, I’m pretty sure you won’t need to spend the night at my house.”

  “Good. Then I’ll return Deck’s whip.”

  ---

  Peto peeked into the office.

  His father still sat behind the desk, staring out the window, mindlessly stroking the baby’s head.

  Shem had left a few minutes ago, but had given a meaningful look to his rector: Talk to your father.

  Peto cleared his throat quietly.

  Perrin shifted his gaze to his son. “Come on in. What do you need?”

  “Just . . . you know,” Peto said as he took a chair. “Eltana. Everything. Just wondering . . .”

  “What I’m thinking about her?”

  Peto raised his eyebrows.

  “Remember shortly after we came to Edge, and Guide Gleace took you, Shem, and me up to the ancient temple site?”

  Peto rolled his eyes. “And he saw a vision about the Last Day, a vision we watched him receive? Yes, I think I remember something about that.”

  Perrin smiled at his son’s sarcasm. “Gleace said something about the army being scared away.”

  “And that immediately worried you,” Peto remembered. “And it still does, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes,” he admitted. “How can we scare away a third of the attacking army? And remember in The Writings the passage about the aged striking fear in the hearts of the army?”

  Peto already saw where he was going with this. “Seeing you ‘come back from the dead’ surely could strike fear and scare away a great portion of the army. But they’re not attacking right now.”

  Perrin looked out the window again.

  “So what’s the problem, General?” Peto prodded.

  “Shem told me it wouldn’t work,” Perrin whispered. “The world’s too much for us now, the Creator told him. This isn’t our path.”

  “I agree,” Peto said.

  Perrin looked over at him quickly. “You do?”

  “Of course. Nothing Eltana suggested matches what’s in The Writings. That’s not the general you’re supposed to be.”

  “And how would you know what kind of general I’m supposed to be?” Perrin asked with a subtle sneer.

  Peto sighed. He really didn’t know either, despite his grandfather’s prophecy of sorts. But this wasn’t it, and Peto couldn’t explain why. Not to himself, not to his wife, and certainly not to his father who didn’t even know that the parchment detailing his own father’s dream existed.

  “All I know,” Peto decided, “is that Salem is our home, and Lilla would hate moving far away from Calla. We’ve simply got to stay here, General, to keep Lilla happy.”

  Perrin’s shoulders shook in a silent laugh. “They wouldn’t recognize me anyway. White hair, a little thicker—”

  Peto smiled back. “Not exactly the same man they’d remember, no.”

  Perrin sighed and went back to stroking Jaysie’s hair.

  ---

  Young Pere wa
s standing outside of the office with his fist raised in the air for the past several minutes. He’d been sent by his mother to give the men options for dinner, but he’d become too fascinated with the discussion inside to knock on the door.

  Instead, his mind reeled with the words of his father. Seeing you come back from the dead surely could strike fear . . .

  Perrin Shin might not look like the Perrin Shin of thirty years ago.

  But Young Perrin Shin certainly did.

  Chapter 6--“We leave at dawn, by the way.”