Safety Assured Leaving East of Medicetti

The next day was Holy Day, and before they were to go to their congregational meeting, the Shin family had something to do first. The five of them stood that early morning in front of the small stone building.

  No one dared knock on the door.

  “Are you sure this is it?” Peto squinted at the simple wood door, the plain stone structure, and the unadorned peaked roof.

  Perrin shrugged. “It’s where the Guide said to be—”

  The door swung open and a man in his forties smiled in greeting. “Thought I heard someone out here. Come in, they’ll be ready for you in just a moment.”

  Perrin glanced at his wife and led the way, Mahrree following with Peto, Jaytsy, and Deck behind. They found themselves in a small room where wooden benches had been set along the sides next to the windows, cushioned with simple brown pillows.

  “Please sit down,” the man said genially. “I’ll let them know you’re here. Just wrapping up. Holy Days are our busiest, you know. This won’t take but a minute.” He slipped through double doors across from them, and the sounds of a quiet conversation leaked out before the doors shut solidly.

  “I’m assuming,” Jaytsy said, looking around her as she sat, “that this is nothing like the Administrative Headquarters.”

  “Not at all!” Mahrree chuckled softly. “First, I’m not so nervous in the waiting room that I’m trying to think of ways to pass out. And second, while the sofas were far more elaborate, they actually felt firmer than this bench.”

  Everyone sat and stared at the walls, waiting.

  “So,” Deck started, attempting to break the uncomfortable silence, “what was involved in installing a High General in Idumea?”

  Perrin exhaled and rolled his eyes. “What’s involved is about a thousand bored soldiers from the garrison and surrounding areas forced to put on their dress uniforms, all of the Administrators showing up in their fancy red coats with tails, plus several musicians—trumpeters, drummers, and the like—doing whatever it is they do, then the family of the new High General dressed in suits and silks and walking down a ridiculously long procession to the playing of the aforementioned trumpeters and drummers while the new High General does this odd slow march to some pavilion—” he gestured a grand structure in the air, “while wearing all his pomp and finery and medals and tries to look distinguished without clanking.

  “Then he stands in front of Nicko Mal, recites some long, dull speech that they call the oath while all of the unfortunate soldiers stand at attention for what feels like an hour, then Mal does something—I can’t remember what—and the High General glides back down again between all of the soldiers with their swords out and raised high, probably wishing someone would drop one accidentally—since it’s Qayin Thorne, there may be a lot of accidents—and all the while they’re quietly praying, even though they’d never prayed before, that it could just end already. Oh, and there’s a stuffy dinner afterward.”

  Seeing the sneers on everyone’s faces, Deck said, “So, this will be better then?”

  “I don’t know what’s about to happen, Deck,” Perrin admitted. “I was just told to come this morning, bring the family, and . . . ?”

  Mahrree smoothed her skirt. “I’m not sure I’m dressed for the occasion.”

  Peto scoffed. “What else would you wear, Mother? No one here has even heard of silk!”

  “Of course, of course. How silly of me—”

  The doors swung open to reveal the same man, smiling broadly. “We’re ready for you.”

  Perrin took a deep breath and stood up with his family. He headed for the doors, absently patting his left side for his sword—

  Forgetting again just a moment too late that it wasn’t there, he clenched his fist briefly instead. Anything formal made him tense, especially when he didn’t know the level of formality expected.

  But quickly he began to relax, because before him was a room not much larger than his new eating room. A long, plain table ran down the center of it, and on each side of the table were six men, twelve in total, dressed in the same simple tunics and trousers as Perrin. They ranged in ages from middle-aged to quite elderly, and they quickly rose—well, some of the older ones weren’t exactly quick, and used the table and in one case a neighbor to get to his feet—to greet the Shins with enthusiastic smiles.

  At the very end stood Guide Gleace, grinning, his empty chair in front of him.

  The Creator’s Assistants were a far more friendly sight than the world’s Administrators, Perrin thought to himself. Mahrree wouldn’t be passing out today.

  Salem’s new general smiled back, until his eyes fell on the assistant closest to him and positioned at the most junior spot at the table.

  He was considerably younger than the rest, and also appeared a bit surprised to be there.

  Perrin didn’t mean to, but it had been gnawing at him all night and morning, and it just happened: he glowered at Shem.

  Shem’s smile fell and he swallowed nervously.

  Just how much did Shem think one man could take? How many more secrets and surprises? What else would Shem spring on him, with his feigned innocence? “Oh, I forgot to tell you, but . . .”

  Shem shifted from one foot to the other, knowing full well by Perrin’s squint precisely how frustrated he was.

  That was the man Perrin was supposed to report to.

  That being of lies, that withholder of information. Never—not once—in his past few days of full disclosure had Shem bothered to disclose that his so-called claimed brother was supposed to be Salem’s general. Not in the barn at Deck’s when he professed to be honest about everything. Not in the cavern of the First Resting Station, not even during their first night in Salem. Shem was an endless supply of surprises.

  And that was the man he was supposed to report to?

  Perrin pointed at him, wishing his finger could somehow be sharper. “You!”

  The expressions on the faces of the assistants froze as their new general eyed their newest assistant.

  “Perrin—” Mahrree said gently, taking his arm.

  Shem firmed his stance, but also cowered ever so slightly. “Something wrong, General Shin?”

  Because he possessed nothing more threatening, Perrin pointed again, as aggressively as possible. “I want the truth from you, the entire truth with no more little parts hiding to jump out at me later: how long did you know?”

  Shem chuckled nervously and looked around the table. If he was expecting support, he wasn’t getting it, since the older men tensing in worry weren’t sure what to say either.

  Guide Gleace folded his arms and watched.

  “Uh,” Shem began with a grin that bordered on the inane, “since the very beginning, Perrin. The only reason I was sent to you was because . . . we thought you were the one. Our future general. Guide Hifadhi wanted to be sure.”

  Perrin pulled back his finger to make a fist that he still held up.

  “We discussed this last night, Perrin,” Gleace said steadily from the other side of the table. “Shem could never have told you anything. He wanted to, but it was my calling to explain it all and to issue you the call to be our general. Shem was merely following orders. First Guide Hifadhi’s, then my orders,” he emphasized. “Which, Perrin, outranked any of yours.”

  Gleace’s expression was kind yet admonishing at the same time. A mixture which, Perrin realized, had he been able to perfect would have caused all of the thieving youth of Edge to feel as contrite and humble as he felt right then.

  When Mahrree again tugged on his arm, a bit more urgently, he knew he had no other option but to drop his fist and attempt a smile.

  “Sorry, Shem . . . everyone. It’s just that . . . so many secrets. So many revelations.” He shrugged helplessly. “My head’s been swirling so much that this morning I wasn’t even sure if I had my boots on the right feet.”

  The men at the table laughed too earnestly, relieved that they weren’t about to witness their first fist fight in Salem, and on a Holy Day
at that.

  Throwing all caution to the wind, Shem caught Perrin in a big hug. “I’m sorry too, General. But we’ve waited so long for this day. Isn’t this amazing? Say it with me: amazing! Come on—your favorite word?”

  Perrin’s glare turned pitiful. It was difficult to stay stern when everyone around him was laughing. “All right, Shem. Maybe later, once everything’s out of the way,” he said, not sure what ‘everything’ was about to be.

  “Guide,” Mahrree said, “I hope we’re dressed appropriately?”

  Gleace smiled. “Just fine, Mrs. Shin. This isn’t Idumea, you know. The Creator has no need for shows and demonstrations. He doesn’t need to establish His power; He just wants to share it.”

  “So, what happens now?” Perrin asked.

  “Simple,” Gleace said, pulling his chair out from the table. “You sit here, I put my hands on your shoulders, and in front of your family and these witnesses, I—by the authority of the Creator—proclaim and bless you to be Salem’s general. I may ask for the Creator to help inspire you in ways to fulfill your calling, grant you the health and strength you need to defend this land, and probably thank the Creator for sending us such a capable soldier. I might even remind you to be nice to Shem, since he was just doing his duty, after all.”

  Everyone chuckled at that, even Perrin.

  “But perhaps I can leave that out. Then you stand up, shake my hand, and we all go our separate directions since Holy Day is the busiest day for all of us.” He raised his eyebrows expectantly and gestured to the chair.

  Perrin nodded and started to make his way past the assistants to the head of the table. The men sat down and slid their chairs in to make room for him to get by.

  “Hmm,” Peto muttered as his father squeezed between the old men and the wall, “not even one trumpet.”

  One of the assistants heard him. “I’ve got a small flute in my pocket,” and he fished it out to show him.

  Peto waved that off. “I’m sorry,” he smiled, slightly embarrassed. “Just . . . never mind.”

  “Would you like flute lessons?”

  Mahrree, Jaytsy, and Deck tried not to snort.

  “No, no!” Peto exclaimed, blushing. “I was just being—Really, please. Just never mind.”

  Perrin shot Peto a warning look.

  “Because I’m a very good teacher—”

  “I believe, Gull,” Gleace said as Perrin, who finally made it to the other end, sat down, “that young Mr. Shin was referring to some of the more bombastic displays in Idumea. Usually an event such as appointing a new leader would be accompanied by trumpets.”

  “Ah,” the assistant said, slipping the flute back into his pocket, much to the relief and embarrassment of Peto.

  Another assistant patted the flute-toting assistant on the back. “Young Mr. Shin was displaying a subtle example of sarcasm, Gull. Since you never spent time as a scout, you never learned that affectation from the world. Mr. Shin is well-versed in the techniques, I’m sure.”

  “Sorry,” Peto mumbled again.

  “And as you can tell,” Shem said, smirking, “several of our assistants are also well-versed in the techniques.”

  Perrin glanced around at the assistants. “Just how many of you served as scouts?”

  Eight hands went up.

  So did Perrin’s eyebrows. Then he rubbed his forehead. The surprises weren’t about to end anytime soon.

  “I remember that move,” an elderly assistant pointed at him. “You massaged your forehead even as a teenager.”

  Perrin’s hand stopped moving.

  “You must have been about sixteen or seventeen,” the assistant went on, clearly enjoying his reminiscing. “I was working under your father Relf at the time. You came in to the stable where he was, asking your father for something. I don’t remember what it was, but when he denied you, you started massaging your forehead.”

  Perrin’s hand dropped to his lap as he stared at the old man.

  “It’s quite all right,” he continued. “Rather an endearing trait. Helped us to identify you.”

  “He hasn’t seen his file yet,” Gleace said.

  Perrin sighed. “My file?”

  “To make sure we were watching the right people,” Gleace told him, “we not only recorded physical descriptions, but also quirks and mannerisms.”

  The elderly man grinned. “I was the first to record you were a head rubber. Whenever the world went contrary to what you expected, that’s when your fingers met your forehead.”

  Perrin clenched his fists to keep from rubbing his head.

  The elderly man craned his neck to see Perrin’s lap. “Yep. Recorded you did that too. Fists. To keep from massaging your forehead.”

  Mahrree was shaking so hard at the other side of the room that she couldn’t contain it anymore. Her snort escaped, and her daughter, who was also giggling, elbowed her.

  “It was my son who noticed that,” the man smiled at Mahrree. “Mrs. Shin’s a snorter,” he said. “His descriptions helped your sister Galena to identify her in the forest, didn’t they, Hew?”

  “I never snorted in the forest!” Mahrree declared, to the amusement of the room.

  “No, but you snorted in the village.”

  Even Perrin began to chuckle. “I think I’ll have to take a look at those files. All of them,” he said, looking up at Gleace.

  “Once you’re General Shin, those files will belong to you. Now, if we may?”

  Four minutes later Perrin became General Shin, with Guide Gleace saying exactly what he predicted he would, without the reminder to be nice the Shem.

  General Shin and his family left the small stone structure a few minutes later, after each of the assistants insisted on hugging him, and walked home for breakfast before the congregational meeting, as if extraordinary things happened like that every day.

  In Salem, it seemed that they actually did.

  ---

  Two hours later, the Shins and Briters realized that the guide wasn’t exaggerating the night before about the congregation meeting. Their neighborhood congregation hall was packed, with more children and young adults than any of them had seen before at a Holy Day service. Even though they were early, they sat near the back because of the crowd.

  At the front of the congregation hall stood a couple of men talking to Shem. He had been watching the door and when he saw the Shins come in, he nodded a quick goodbye and made his way through the aisles to them. It took him a few minutes to get there because of the number of people wanting to shake his hand and share a word, but when he finally made it to the back, Perrin was smirking.

  “Is everyone here to see you?”

  Shem shook his head. “This is how it is every week. Not like Edge, right?”

  “It’s a lot noisier than Edge, too,” Mahrree said, watching a family of small boys in front of her try to sit down on top of each other.

  “And who went to the services there? Old people, one bachelor, and your family,” Shem reminded her.

  “That’s true,” Mahrree agreed, watching the boys rearrange themselves. “I think the noise of children is better than—”

  “—the snores of old women,” Peto finished for her. “That old Mrs. Vits drove me crazy every week. Always sat behind us, too.”

  “Peto, that’s not nice,” Jaytsy said. But her attention was drawn to a little girl wandering down their row, eyeing Deck. She stopped at his knee, leaned on it, and looked up at him with adoring eyes.

  Deck sat back nervously and scanned the area searching for anyone missing a child. No nearby adults seemed to belong to her.

  Unable to ignore her puppy dog eyes any longer, Deck looked down. “Hi.”

  She smiled.

  He squirmed. “Time to find your parents, don’t you think?”

  “You have a nose.”

  Deck looked around him again, growing desperate. “Yes I do.”

  “It’s right there.”

  Deck leaned over. “Jaytsy,??
? he said through clenched teeth, “why is she talking to me?”

  “Because apparently you have a nose,” Jaytsy whispered.

  Peto shook with silent laughter.

  Deck prodded his brother-in-law next to him. “Talk to him. He’s looking for single women. Are you practical?”

  The girl shook her head. “I like you. I like your nose.”

  Deck’s face went mushy, either from trying to see his nose or trying to figure out what to say next. Suddenly struck with brilliance, he said, “I hear your mother calling you.”

  “No you don’t. She’s back there talking. I see her.”

  Deck craned his neck to see several rows of happily chatting women, all of whom could have been the right age to be her mother.

  “Your father’s calling you, then.”

  “No he’s not. He’s talking to those mans over there.”

  Down the row Deck saw a man talking to his in-laws and Shem.

  “So I can stay here and look at your nose. Are you a papa yet?”

  “Almost.”

  Jaytsy and Peto giggled next to him.

  “You won’t be very good at it,” the girl decided.

  “Wha . . .?” Deck exclaimed open as Jaytsy held her belly and laughed. Peto nearly fell off the bench.

  The girl’s father was working his way down the row. “I’m sorry, is she insulting you? She tends to do that. Can’t really control the tongue of a three-year-old. I know—we’ve been trying. Come on, Troublemaker. It’s time to say awkward things to your mama.”

  The girl smiled sweetly at Deck and batted her eyelashes. “Bye!”

  Deck frowned. “Our child will never be like that.”

  “Oh, now you’ve done it, Deckett Briter,” Mahrree sighed. “You’ve doomed yourself to have a daughter just like her. That’s how it works, you know. The Creator hears you criticizing, then He sends you the same challenge to see how well you’ll handle it. I know—that’s how we ended up with Peto.”

  “Hey!” Peto exclaimed before being shushed by his family as the service started.

  At the beginning of the service Rector Bustani, whom they had met the day before, invited the Shins and Briters to stand so he could introduce them. The congregation had become surprisingly quiet and reverent as soon as the rector stood up, which meant everyone there heard clearly who it was that had just moved in.

  It was unnerving to face several hundred heads swiveling to gawk at them, especially since Perrin suspected what they were all thinking about him. It didn’t help that Rector Bustani had announced that earlier in the morning, Perrin had accepted the call to be Salem’s general.

  He knew he was going pink when one of the little boys in the row in front of them whispered loudly, “He chased bad men with Shem Zenos.”

  His mother quickly covered his mouth as several rows of people chuckled. The mother smiled an apology to Perrin and he nodded forgivingly at her.

  “Can we see your sword later?” one of the older brothers whispered enthusiastically.

  When they sat back down, Perrin leaned over to Mahrree. “So much for living in anonymity.”

  “They’ll forget,” she whispered.

  But by the time the service ended, no one had forgotten. There was a line to greet the Shins and Briters nearly as long as there was to catch a few minutes with the rector. It was forty-five minutes later before they started to make their way home.

  Accompanied, of course.

  “I’m really sorry,” the boys’ mother said to Mahrree as they walked together back to the Shins’ home. “We should rescue him.”

  But Mahrree laughed. “Don’t you dare. This is the best entertainment I’ve seen in weeks.”

  Peto, Jaytsy, and Deck chuckled in agreement.

  Ahead of them on the road, Perrin looked back briefly. Mahrree waved to him to continue.

  “Really,” the boys’ father said, “he doesn’t deserve—”

  “Oh, yes he does,” Peto declared.

  The string of five boys that had sat in front of them during the service were knotted around Perrin, asking him so many questions that he never had a chance to answer them.

  “So if a Guarder is coming from the left, and another from the right—”

  “Well, that really didn’t happen—”

  “What if you lost your horse? What if you were running, and then—”

  “Actually, that did happen. You see—”

  “They really made you leave your sword? That’s so mean!”

  “Not really. I turned in my sword because I—”

  “How do you hold one? Here, show me with this stick.”

  “I don’t think your mother would approve—”

  “No, this stick! It’s bigger.”

  “Salem’s supposed to be a place of peace, so I don’t think—”

  “He’s holding it wrong, isn’t he, Mr. Shin? He’s always doing it wrong!”

  Mahrree was giggling so hard she was shaking.

  The boys’ mother glanced over at her. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re nothing like I expected. Neither is your husband.”

  The boys’ father nodded. “He’s remarkably patient.”

  Their youngest son grabbed Perrin’s hand and held it firmly as they walked. Perrin glanced back again at Mahrree, with pleading in his eyes, but she just beamed at him.

  “Everyone gets the wrong idea about him,” Mahrree said. “But we know he’s a big softy. Especially when someone puts an infant in his arms.”

  Jaytsy ran her hand over her belly and smiled.

  “I’ll admit,” the boys’ father said, “that I was a little worried to hear General Shin would be our neighbor, but now I’m more worried for him.”

  The Shins, Briters, and the boys’ parents laughed, and Perrin glanced back one more time, seeking deliverance. By now each boy had a large stick in his hand, hoping for a lesson. Knowing there was no way around it, he stopped.

  “Men,” he announced formally, and each boy stood immediately at attention. He smiled at their obedience, which was snappier than many of his new recruits. “Well done. Men, hand me those ‘swords’. It’s time to teach you a thing or two.”

  “Uh-oh,” Deck mumbled to Peto. “If he takes them to the barn for wrestling practice, they’re just going to giggle.”

  “Like we did?”

  Perrin stood at command in front of his short troops. “Do you men want to become the strongest soldiers?”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Their mother cleared her throat, uncertain about what the new general may be intending, but Perrin winked reassuringly at her.

  “Back in the world we judged the strongest soldier—” he tossed away the sticks, much to the boys’ dismay, “—by having a race. Yes, I realize you don’t really have races in Salem,” he sent a sidelong glance to his family, “but you don’t have swords either, yet boys being boys you seem to know how to fashion them anyway. So men, we’ll have a race. But not just any race—an obstacle race like we had in Edge. Shem Zenos and I had to run through gardens, orchards, from one house to another, and once, I even had to run carrying a chicken for a mile. And guess what? Chickens don’t enjoy running.”

  The boys burst into giggles.

  “And in one race, Shem had to kiss a girl!” Perrin pulled a face which the boys all matched.

  “Eww, yuck!”

  “So, men—who’s ready to start becoming the strongest soldier? Your first task is to run home, when I say.”

  The boys jumped up and down, clapping their hands.

  Their mother relaxed. “He’s a clever one, isn’t he?”

  Mahrree chuckled. “That he is.”

  “Line up, men,” Perrin ordered. He waved over to the children’s father to come stand next to them. “Your father will run behind you to make sure none of you cheat. We always had chasers on our races. Now, line up here. When I say ‘go,’ you run as fast as you can for home, right?”

  The boys n
odded and got into position, waiting for the word.

  “Ready . . . go!”

  Four boys took off running with their father behind, but the youngest, three years old, burst into tears.

  Perrin picked him up. “Want to be my chicken?”

  “Yes!”

  Perrin tucked him under his arm and started in a sprint after the older brothers, quickly catching up to them.

  Their mother’s jaw dropped to see General Shin loping past her sons, her youngest tucked under his arm like a laughing bale of hay.

  Mahrree patted the boy’s mother. “He may be jiggled up a bit, but Perrin never dropped a chicken.”

  The mother chuckled. “Yes, nothing at all as I imagined. I think you’re going to do just fine in Salem.”

  After the race, which the three-year-old won with a little help, the Shins and Briters finished their midday meal consisting of offerings left by Salemites the day before. They were just cleaning up when a knock came at the front door.

  “And so it begins,” Peto grumbled as Deck went to answer it.

  “Oh, I don’t mind,” Mahrree smiled as she carried plates into the kitchen. After several weeks of no contact with people in Edge, she was hungry for friends.

  “Just us,” a familiar voice called, and Shem and Yudit came into the large gathering room.

  “I’m sure you’ve been visited near to death,” Yudit said, “but we have something for you.” She held a large wrapped package.

  Perrin picked up the last of the plates from the table. “You’re always welcome. Come sit down.”

  Yudit motioned to the family. “This is for all of you.” She sat the bundle on the table and waited for Mahrree and Perrin to come back into the room. Then she unwrapped a large book. The Writings, Updated Version. “I understand your version was a bit thinner.”

  Mahrree started bouncing when she saw it. “Does it have the family lines?”

  Yudit opened the thick leather binding and thumbed through the new crisp pages to the back to reveal charts and diagrams full of names and dates. “There it is. The first five hundred families, then their descendants. Takes up a big part of the text, but we’ve developed a rather efficient numbering system. Now Mahrree . . . Mahrree? Where did she go?”

  Everyone heard Mahrree running up the stairs. They shrugged to each other and waited, because a moment later she came rushing back down. Pressed to her chest were papers, and she regarded Perrin with edgy excitement.

  “I have something I wasn’t supposed to let the commander of Edge know I had. But since he had Terryp’s map all this time—” Mahrree laid down the pages and smoothed them on the table.

  “Family lines!” Jaytsy squealed. “How did you get them?”

  “This is your handwriting,” Perrin said, picking up one copy.

  Peto took the copy underneath. “But I don’t know this writing.”

  “That’s because your great-great-great-grandmother Kanthi made that copy, just as the king was asking for the lines,” Mahrree told them. “Her husband Viddrow told her make a copy, and it was handed down our line through the women. My mother had it hidden in her recipe collection. I made a copy of it right after Peto was born.”

  Perrin narrowed his eyes at her. “Before or after?” he asked.

  Mahrree thought for a moment, trying to understand what he meant before she remembered their argument on their second wedding anniversary. “After. And I was going to give a copy to Jaytsy in a few years to stash in her recipe collection, but now?” She grinned at Yudit. “Can we find my line?”

  “Of course,” said Yudit. “Let’s start with the names before the division, and see if your names are the same we have recorded.”

  “Mahrree Peto Shin,” Shem said slowly. “You are a traitor.”

  “I know!” Mahrree squealed.

  Yudit flipped several pages in The Writings, glanced at Mahrree’s notes, then turned another few pages. “No!” she whispered, and Mahrree had never realized before that the word could sound happy. “Shem, look!” She handed him Mahrree’s copy and pointed to a name.

  “Hey, that looks like . . .” Shem checked the pages and said a happy, “No!” just like his sister.

  “What? What?” Mahrree cried.

  “My father’s line!” Shem said. “Mahrree, we share the same great-great-great-grandfather Boskos! My father was named after him. Five generations back, but we’re cousins!”

  Yudit clapped her hands. “I love doing family lines. See? You do belong here!”

  “Really?” Mahrree said tears welling in her eyes. “Are you sure? But I don’t have a Boskos.”

  “Actually, you do. Look,” Yudit said, taking Mahrree’s pages and laying them next to the Zenos family lines. “In our records there were a couple of sons who went missing during the Great War. We don’t know what happened to them. We have birth dates, but no deaths. Either they died in battle or were separated from their families or severed contact. Right here—your great-great-grandfather Barnos was one who was considered lost.”

  “But his last name was Eno,” Mahrree said.

  “That was common then. When adult children disagreed with their parents, they often cut off part of their last names to designate a break with the family. We have him recorded as having changed his name to Eno as well,” Yudit pointed to his name on the line.

  “That’s right. Professor Kopersee told us about that practice,” Mahrree said.

  “He must have chopped his name before his father Boskos came to Salem, bringing what family he had left with him,” Yudit decided. “There were a few adult children left behind. Look at your copy, Mahrree. See, even though Barnos’s parents’ names are recorded as Osko and Huld Eno, there were no other Eno families in the world. I have the records to prove it. When Barnos registered his name and his parents’ names, as was required at the time when someone moved into a new village, he probably changed their identities to protect himself from suspicion. Boskos became Osko, and Huldah became Huld. He likely didn’t want anyone to know his family were Guarders who escaped. We think that’s part of the reason why all the records were eventually destroyed. Who knows, maybe even King Querul had Guarder blood he didn’t want anyone to discover.”

  “That’s what Graeson Fadh’s ancestors did, too,” Shem said. “Hifadhi was cut down to Fadh.”

  Mahrree ran her hand reverently over the names. “I never would have guessed,” she said softly. “I never considered that Zenos might have been the same as Eno,” she said quietly, looking at her family lines next to the Zenos lines. Once they reached Boskos Zenos, the names were identical back to the First Families. “Had I known, Shem, I might have risked asking you about it.”

  Shem exhaled. “Good thing you didn’t, Mahrree. I wouldn’t have known what to answer. ‘Yes, you’re my fourth cousin.

  That’s why we have the same color hair. Now, want to guess how I know that and where I really come from?’”

  The family chuckled, and Mahrree put an arm around her cousin and squeezed him.

  “That’s amazing,” Perrin said, shaking his head as the family leaned over to read the names on the Zenos family line page. “I know, Shem, I said ‘amazing’ again. I think I’m entitled. Well Peto, what do you think? He’s almost your real uncle. Peto? Where did he go?”

  ---

  Peto was upstairs in his room, pulling the thick parchment envelope out from under his new tunics. With his hands shaking in excitement, he opened the envelope, pulled out the document, and thought he could smell Relf Shin. He unfolded it and smiled at the two names on the top of the page.

  “Begin with the names I told you. Some day you will want to know them again.”

  “I’ll remember, Grandfather.”

  “Not good enough! You must write it down, boy! Then write down what I told you. Neater than that, Peto! I can see the scribbles from here.”

  Peto grinned as he pulled out his new pocketknife, laid the parchment on the desk, and using a book as a straigh
tedge, carefully sliced off the top strip.

  It contained two names and the signature of his grandfather.

  Peto chuckled as he folded the larger piece of parchment, put it back in the envelope, and slid it back into its hiding place.

  “Now watch, Grandfather!”

  He walked as casually as possible down the stairs, the thin slip of paper hiding in his shirt pocket, to see the inquisitive look of his father.

  “Everything all right, Peto?”

  “Yes, sure. I was just thinking, Yudit, if you still have that page open . . . Oh good, you do. What can you tell me about a name I saw on your family’s line.” He leaned over the book and pointed. “Lorixania? That looked like an interesting name.”

  Yudit rolled her eyes. “Lorixania Eriniki! Well now, she was a character.” She pointed to the name on the opposite page, an ancestor on their mother’s line.

  “With a name like Lorixania,” Perrin chuckled, “I imagine she should be.”

  “We know only a little bit about her,” Shem said. “Such as that she was the most outspoken woman in our mother’s line.”

  “And that’s saying something,” Yudit chuckled. “Our mother’s line was an unbroken string of loud women for six generations until Shem disrupted the pattern.”

  Shem grinned. “When our father was courting our mother she warned him that no sons had been born in her family for generations, and if he was serious about her, he better expect daughters. That’s why my father was so proud of himself when I was born.”

  “Well, now Lorixania Eriniki—we don’t have her married name recorded,” Yudit explained, “Lorixania was rebellious, loud, and a shockingly large woman with a deep voice. She had her own ideas about everything, questioned everything anyone told her, and never followed expectations. During the Great War she tried a few times to follow her husband, who was an officer in the army, into battle. He kept sending her back, along with her long knives. Apparently she had several stashed around the house.”

  Perrin chuckled. “Sounds like my kind of woman.”

  “You think so, Father?” Peto asked.

  “When the time for the division came,” Yudit continued, “and Lorixania’s parents got the message of ‘Salem,’ her father told her she needed to escape with them. But Lorixania decided he was making a mistake, and she didn’t want to leave her husband, who refused to go.”

  “Baba Eriniki, her father, wasn’t too happy about the idea of an army,” Shem told them. “The idea of men organized specifically to fight? He thought that was the most horrific thing he’d ever heard of.”

  Perrin scoffed lightly. “Can you imagine his reaction to realize his great-great—” He paused to count the generations, shrugged as he gave up, then said, “his descendant grandson Shem Zenos was one of the highest ranked soldiers in the world?”

  “Yes,” Peto said slyly. “Can you imagine?”

  Yudit grimaced. “I’m sure he’s seen the need now. But back then there was a huge family argument, and Lorixania’s parents couldn’t convince her to join them. Her mother Mitera was devastated. We have a few pages of her writings describing her grief. Lorixania stayed behind, never to be heard from again. Broke her parents’ hearts. What was her husband’s name?” Yudit looked back at the line.

  “Right there,” Shem pointed. “We have only a first name. He was called Lek.”

  No one noticed Peto developing wetness around his eyes. No one had ever seen that before so no one even bothered to look.

  “Lek?” Jaytsy made a face. “Sounds like something you do when you’re sick.”

  “Now be nice,” Mahrree said. “Don’t make fun of people’s names. It’s Shem’s family, and he might be insulted.”

  “It’s not just Shem’s family,” said a quiet voice.

  Everyone turned to Peto.

  He removed a slip of paper from his pocket and laid it down on the chart of family lines.

  Lek and Lorixania Shin.

  Signed, Relf Shin.

  “Dear Creator!” Mahrree whispered.

  That was the only sound for a full minute. Seven pairs of eyes stared at the names scrawled by a younger Peto, accompanied by the verifying signature of Relf Shin, trying to let the weight of the names sink in. It was like trying to absorb mushrooms.

  Finally Peto broke the silence. He knew that since he caused it, he best end it.

  “Lek Shin was a general in Idumea,” he said softly to the stunned family. “One of the first five generals ever appointed. General Pere Shin wasn’t the first Shin general, nor was Lieutenant Colonel Ricolfus Shin the first in our family to be an officer. Lek Shin was to have been the first High General, but it seems he failed in his most important commission given to him by the king: to retrieve the rebellious Guarder family of his wife. That’s what the last High General Shin of Idumea told me, days after they pulled him from the rubble, and days before he died. That’s why Relf was there when the tremor hit. He’d accidentally found family histories in that old storage room, and went back early in the morning to read them in private. It was probably the box you thought you saw, Father, where you found the maps when you were a lieutenant. Someone moved the cabinet in front of it, but Grandfather moved it away. We’re Guarders, on both sides of our family. Always have been. Baba Eriniki actually had several descendant grandsons who ranked as the highest soldiers in the world. And this morning, one was installed as the general of Salem.”

  Peto watched the other six people to see who would break their frozen silence next. It was Shem. Peto thought he could have been a betting man. He picked that one right off.

  “We’re family, Perrin!” Shem cried as he gave Perrin a big bear hug that lifted him off the ground.

  Perrin still stared, transfixed, at the names.

  “That’s why my family needed a son! To come get you! To bring our families together again! This is amazing!” he shook Perrin, his arms still wrapped around him. “Say it with me, Perrin! Amazing!”

  Deck chuckled at Shem’s enthusiasm and Perrin’s continued shock. “By my count,” he said, “this is the third time in four days we’ve stared at a document in surprise. How many more might we expect?”

  Mahrree sniffled. “Why, that’s not fair. The children are related to Shem on both sides.”

  Yudit counted the generations. “We’re fourth cousins to them, once removed, twice!”

  “Say something, Father,” Jaytsy shook his arm that Shem just released. “Look at this. You really do belong in Salem.”

  Perrin slowly sat down.

  Peto shoved a chair underneath him just in time.

  Picking up the strip of parchment, Perrin ran a finger across his father’s signature. “Why didn’t he tell me?” he whispered.

  Peto wet his lips and tried to think of how to put it. “Relf didn’t know himself until just before the land tremor. He said he’d get into trouble for finding the crate and not telling anyone. He probably didn’t want you to get in trouble either, if anyone should find out. He had gone back that Holy Day morning to try to get more information when the tremor hit. The area collapsed on him before he reached it.”

  “Is that why you went back inside when we visited the site?” Jaytsy asked. “To try to find the crate?”

  Peto nodded. “I wanted to find the file of the family history Grandfather was trying to reach. But it’s all gone now. He said we had all we needed. He remembered those two names and had me write them down. He said someday I would want them again. I guess today is ‘someday.’”

  Perrin finally looked up at Peto. “I was the one who moved that cabinet, years ago. To hide the spot from where I stole Terryp’s map. It never occurred to me to go back again to see what was in the crate. But apparently it occurred to my father. He could have told me.”

  Peto shrugged. “I guess he thought you weren’t ready. I guess . . . we’re just a family of secrets, aren’t we?”

  Mahrree looked down guiltily, Jaytsy squirmed, Shem cleared his throat, and P
errin finally began to smile. “What was it I said to you, Shem, in Deck’s barn? I called you a lying, deceitful brother?”

  “Sneaky. You forgot sneaky.”

  “Yes, sneaky.”

  “Looks like it runs in the family, brother!”

  Perrin began to chuckle. “Family. All right, Shem, amazing!” He stared at slip of paper. “I simply can’t believe it. I thought Yordin’s situation was ironic, serving the king to avenge his lost grandparents, but I’ve been doing the same thing. Fadh didn’t know he had relatives here, and neither did I. One’s been serving with me for seventeen years. I guess there was a reason I always considered you my brother.”

  “Actually, Shem’s a fourth cousin to you,” Yudit clarified. “And to Mahrree. So for Jaytsy and Peto, since they’re related twice, their connection to us is doubled. I think instead of being fourth cousins once removed, twice, they should to be up to second cousins, like fractions. But no one will believe me it should work that way.”

  Perrin blinked at her. “Fractions don’t work that way, either. ‘Brother’ is just easier to remember. Peto, did your grandfather tell you when to show this to me?”

  “No, he didn’t. He just wanted me to know.”

  Perrin held up his hands in surrender. “Is there anything else anyone else feels I should know about, once and for all, because as Deck said, we’ve been doing this a lot and I really would like to try to get back to a normal life without any more surprises. If that’s possible.”

  “As if he would know what a normal life looks like,” Yudit murmured loudly to her brother.

  Perrin pointed at her. “Exactly! I want to start having a normal, quiet life. So, anything else? Please? Confession time, right now.” He beckoned at all of his family, including the two Zenos cousins.

  Mahrree shrugged. “I can’t think of anything else I should tell you about, I’m quite sure.”

  Shem narrowed his eyes at Mahrree, giving her a sedative glare, then turned to Perrin. “I’ve been keeping quiet about things for seventeen years, it’s kind of hard to remember what you don’t know. A few surprises may still pop up here and there, but I can’t think of anything right now.”

  “Fair enough,” Perrin said and turned to Jaytsy with a raised eyebrow.

  “You know everything, Father. I’m pretty sure you do.”

  Perrin nodded, and turned to Deck.

  “I just wonder every now and then what I’ve married into,” he said sheepishly. “Does that count?”

  Perrin chuckled. “Sure, Deck,” and turned to Peto.

  “Peaches.”

  “Peaches?” Perrin repeated.

  “Yes. Yudit, do they grow peaches around here?”

  “Why yes, we do, Peto. My sister has an orchard with four different varieties. But since your father’s now glaring at me, I’m not going to say anything more.”

  “Peto?” Perrin said steadily.

  “Hmm?”

  “Anything else, son?”

  “Oh, are we still doing that? I was thinking about dessert and cobblers and thought, how terrible if they don’t have peaches here in the Harvest Season, but four different varieties? I thought there was only one.”

  Perrin sighed. “You and your stomach.” He held up the slip of parchment. “May I keep this?”

  “Can I plant four different kinds of peach trees?”

  Perrin put the piece of paper into his pocket and nodded. “Do whatever you want with that back garden.”

  Peto internalized the biggest sigh of relief ever to not be uttered. He’d picked a bad time to decide to become totally honest in everything he said and did.

  Father had said, after all, anything the family felt he should know about. Peto didn’t feel Perrin should know anything more right now, especially what the rest of that parchment said. For some reason the time just didn’t feel right to tell him about the greatest general the world would ever see.

  Good thing he was sneaky, he decided, and he wondered what other traits ran in his family, his now very large, extensive family.

  And now he knew what to do with the peach pits, if only he hadn’t left them in Edge.

  Chapter 18--“You have a family?”