The Forest at the Edge of the World (25 page)

Perrin’s eyebrows furrowed. “On second thought, just keep it in the drawer for me to use. Maybe I should place guards at the house instead, until the fort’s smith can finish the iron reinforcements for your doors and windows—”

“Oh, please don’t! I’d be too embarrassed to have such attention. You said yourself there have been no more sightings of Guarders, and that they made off with plenty of gold. Except,” she paused, her forehead wrinkled in thought, “what do they
do
with it? Not as if they can saunter into Quake and buy a loaf of bread with it. So do they trade among themselves? Use it for jewelry? Set it on their shelves and say, ‘Wished I’d stolen that in a different color—’”

Per
rin shrugged and noiselessly slid the drawer shut.

“Perhaps that will be the only incident for the year,” she deci
ded. “What more could they want?”

He
merely smiled at her and said, “Let’s eat and get to negotiations.”

Mahrree was quickly learning not to keep a hungry soldier wai
ting for dinner.

The first on her list was: Will we have to someday move to Idumea? Soon after she accepted his proposal she began to worry about having to leave Edge where she’d spent almost her entire life. The two years she was away at Mountseen for college, her mother sent so many messages in worry that Mahrree walked home nearly every week to prove she was fine and to ask her to stop writing.

Perrin’s face contorted as he answered her question. “Yes, someday I may need to return to Idumea. You should know,” his face turned into a genuine grimace, “it’s expected that I become the next High General.” Then he added in a hurry, “But not for many years. Still want to marry me?”

Mahrree chuckled at his pitifully desperate look, and also out of her own apprehension. “How
many
years?”

“My father doesn’t retire until seventy. He’s only fifty-three now.”

“Whew,” Mahrree breathed.

“
Unless
,” Perrin added slowly, “something happens to him. My grandfather Pere died suddenly of a heart attack at sixty-five. That pushed my father’s promotion up rather faster than we anticipated. He was only thirty-nine at the time.”

Mahrree did the math and gave Perrin her best brave face: lips pressed together in a weak smile, chin held high, eyes strong and proud.

“That’s still a few years,” she said optimistically.

He grinned and pointed at her face. “Not bad. The smile is a li
ttle forced, though. Try to relax it more. You’ll need to pull that face out frequently in the next few years if negotiations tonight go well.” He sighed. “I really should have told you this before, but I just assumed you knew. I thought
everybody
knows about the Shins and High Generals. But Mahrree, High General is my parents’ wish for me. They think it’s a tradition now. My grandfather Pere was appointed in 280, then my father in 306 . . . It’s not my wish, though. My great grandfather Ricolfus was the first Shin officer, and he earned only the rank of Lieutenant Colonel.

“Of course,” Perrin’s face darkened, “he didn’t make it to ge
neral because he died from a fever. Not the most distinguished way for an officer to go.”

His voice trailed off and he stared at the fire in the hearth.

Mahrree squinted, wondering what kind of death would be considered “distinguished.” Probably something involving sharpened metal, shouting, and blood.

Perrin shook away the thought. “It doesn’t
have
to happen. I don’t
want
to become the next High General. I love the army, I’ve enjoyed organizing the fort, training the men and preparing for what may come. I can’t imagine doing anything else. But to be honest, I hate Idumea!”

Mahrree blinked in surprise. “Really? Why? I mean, not that I want to live there
right now
, but I’ve heard lots about it—”

He was shaking his head as she spoke. “I used to like it when I was younger, but over the years I’ve changed my mind. That’s why I didn’t defend it at our last debate. I agree with you—Edge is far be
tter.
Anywhere
is better than Idumea. Imagine: two hundred thousand people all living in the same confined area. The village of Pools where I was born will soon be engulfed by Idumea. Singles like you don’t live in their own houses. They share buildings, up to four levels high, and each have their own little compartment. Children can’t run on the roads like they do here or they’ll be hit by the hundreds of wagons, horses, and carts that pack every road. It’s far too crowded. And the entertainments they have! Well, some are interesting, like the acrobats and the bear tamers, but some of the things they put on the stage . . . ” He rolled his eyes.

Mahrree pondered his critique. “I’ve heard the pools are quite beautiful—”

“When they don’t erupt!”

“They erupt?!”

“Last year one of the larger pools boiled until a huge amount of water erupted out of it. Destroyed three of the most expensive homes in the area.”

“I had no idea!”

“And don’t get me started on the shops.”

Mahrree paused, trying to understand how they jumped from the erupting pools to shops in one breath. But as she looked at Perrin she saw irritation that she decided she better let him express.

“You want a hat—” he started.

“Actually, no. I don’t really wear hats.”

He stared at her perplexed, then smiled. “I meant,
if
you want a hat.
If
you want a hat, there isn’t just one shop in the region; you have your choice of over a dozen shops.”

“And how many hats do you buy each year?” Mahrree squirmed. The question wasn’t on her list, but then again, she didn’t think something like that
would
be.

His irritation slipped away, replaced by amusement. “I
don’t buy the hats.” He started to chuckle. “My
mother
does.”

“Ah!” Mahrree understood. “You’ve suffered having to be her porter one too many times?”

He nodded. “Yes. On my father’s command. And, Mahrree, I want to thank you now for not wanting to buy hats. That means I can cross off number eight on my list.”

He started to do so but stopped.

“I mean, my mother would try on one, ask me what I think, then try on another that looks just the same . . . I tell her they all look fine, but does she believe me?”

Mahrree giggled. “How long ago was that?”

“After I finished upper school. My mother wanted to spend some time with me before I left the house. She really needed a daughter.”

“Wait, so it’s been more than
ten years
?” Mahrree asked. “And you still haven’t gotten over it?”

He gave her a playful glare. “I was
eighteen
, Mahrree. How many eighteen-year-old young men do you see enjoying women’s hat shops with their mothers? Some things just stay with you.”

She kept laughing. “So I need to worry about your mother wan
ting to go shopping?” she hedged, finally relieved to hear something about her, number three on her list.

“Oh, no. Not here in Edge. Everything is several years out of date, so she says. But don’t worry about her. She’s great.”

“That’s the fourth time,” she pointed out, “that you’ve said that about your parents. I’ve been counting since you arrived. You can express your opinion on anything—even hat shops!—but you can’t tell me anything more about your parents other than, ‘They’re great?’”

He squinted. “I don’t think we’ve reached that number on your list yet, have we? We were talking about Idumea, remember?”

“You like to do things in order, don’t you?” she probed. “Make your list, have your plan, stick with it. No deviations?”

“Something wrong with that?” he asked stiffly.

“Only if you’re inflexible when you shouldn’t be. As a teacher I often take the lesson plan and toss it for the day when a student comes up with a really good question. Plans need to be flexible.”

“I’m not inflexible.” His shoulder twitched.

Mahrree smirked. “Really.”

“Go ahead. Ask me anything. Deviate from your ordered list.” He fought the twitch, almost successfully.

“All right . . . but first, anything else about Idumea I should know about? Or any more opinions about Edge?”

Perrin’s face softened. “Only that I think Edge is the most pe
rfect place in the world. I’ve already told my father that I want to serve here as long as possible. I could probably be promoted up to colonel without having to transfer. We can be in this house for many years. And I’ve found
everything
I could wish for here.”

“
Mmm, really?” Mahrree leaned against his arm.

“Oh yes.” He put his arm around her and kissed her head. “I’ve been to every village in the world, and I have to say that I’ve never been as happy as I am here.” He sighed in satisfaction. “The fishing is
absolutely
amazing.”

She slowly pulled away to look at him.

“Must be something about being the first village the river runs through,” he continued with a faraway look in his eyes. “Or maybe it’s the way the warm waters from the springs feed into it. Must help with the growing the fish to such enormous sizes.”

Mahrree put her hands on her waist.

Something glinted in his eyes.

She
pursed her lips and pouted.

He grinned and pointed at her face. “Oh I like
that
look. You don’t have to practice that one at all.” He gave her pout a quick kiss.

She laughed. “And I assure you I will remember
that
look in your eyes! You won’t fool me again.”

“What look?” he said, confused.

“That one, right there. I’m on to you, Perrin Shin!”

“Good. You’re paying attention. My father always says more is expressed with the eyes than anything else. You could have been trained as the first female officer.”

She snuggled into him. “Would be a disaster
for men
. If I were an officer, no soldiers would ever listen to anyone else but me forevermore. My logic and intelligence are simply overwhelming.”

Perrin snorted.

“Yes,” she sniffed in feigned arrogance, “every woman knows the reason we’re not allowed any power is because we’d take over the world. I’d be High General in less than a year, Chairwoman Mahrree a season later.”

Perrin chuckled. “You may be right. You can certainly exagge
rate like an officer.”

Mahrree giggled. “Speaking of the High General, tell me more about your father,” she said. “That’s my number two question.”

Perrin’s jaw moved a little and she thought she heard a small groan.

“He’s the general—”

“Something I
don’t know.”

“Uh, he’s fifty-three. Oh. You know that as well. Uh . . . he’s a good man. I’m told I look a bit like him. He’s very honest. Trustwo
rthy. Um . . .”

She chuckled. “This is really hard for you, isn’t it?”

Perrin shifted uncomfortably. “I respect him, Mahrree, more than any other man. But he’s always been . . . Let me put it this way: my first words were ‘ma’ and ‘sir.’  He’s always been ‘sir.’ Kind of hard to describe a man like that. ‘General’ pretty much sums it up.”

“So” Mahrree began, “if
we
have a child . . .” She skipped to number five on her list and braced for the response.

“I will not be ‘sir’! I want to be a different kind of father. I like children. I think that’s what I first found attractive about you. If you’re a teacher you have to like children, right?”

Mahrree laughed. “Usually. Then there are days you’re grateful you don’t have to spend any more time with
that
boy or
that
girl anymore! But yes, I do want to have our own child. Maybe even two?”

He hugged her. “Sounds great to me.”

Mahrree grinned in delight, until another thought came to her.

“Uh,” she hesitated, “I see a pattern in the naming in your fam
ily. Your grandfather Pere’s name became Perrin for you. I understand that—I was named for my paternal grandmother Morah. But I’m just wondering, um, I see potential for Relf, but . . . how
important
a family name is Ricolfus?”

Perrin smiled, understanding her concern. “You can see why Pere shortened Ricolfus to Relf. Don’t worry—there need not be a
Ricolfusin in our future, or even a Relfette. I don’t hold with traditions just for tradition’s sake.”

“Thank you!”

He chuckled. “We can come up with names that our grandchildren will cringe at. And actually, the question of children was my first one, so I can scratch that off. About being a father, though, I have to warn you—”

“I know, I know,” Mahrree said. “You won’t change cloths, you won’t give them baths, and if the baby spits up on you, I clean you up first. When the child finally has something interesting to say, that’s when you’ll become involved. I’ve heard plenty of men at the congregational midday meals state the rules of fatherhood.”