The Forest at the Edge of the World (19 page)

Captain Shin.

He did the same as she did the last two Holy Days: slipped into a back bench unnoticed just as the meeting started. They were always on opposite sides of the hall, and she glanced over at him only three or four times each Holy Day.   

But she never caught him looking at her.

One afternoon Mahrree stared at The Writings, her entertainment every night for the past two and half weeks. She tried to imagine a way to approach the captain and ask him a question or two, but she couldn’t think of anything that wouldn’t have sounded contrived. She came to a depressing conclusion that day.

Her first real romance was over before it had even started.

-
--

Captain Shin stared at the smashed nib of his quill and winced. It was the third quill he’d destroyed that afternoon. He looked down at the parchment and made a face. He’d have to rewrite the entire second page of his report. The huge blotted out section, and the ferocity with which he had blotted it out, gouged a hole through the thick parchment and stained his large oak desk underneath.

It was the word “armory” that did it.

He
started
writing “armory,” but embarrassingly it turned into something else. That’s when he set out to obliterate the mistake to make sure no one saw that
her
name had leaked into his writing.

Again.

He rubbed his forehead in frustration and looked out the large windows of the command tower to the west. The sun wouldn’t be setting for at least another hour. He had to eliminate the distraction. Commanders of forts facing dangers of invasion couldn’t afford to be so preoccupied.

He tossed the ruined quill on the desk, put on his cap, and hea
ded out of the command office into the large forward office.

“Lieutenant, I’m just—” He stopped short when he realized Karna wasn’t alone. He was looking over some pages with Sergeant Major Wiles. That Captain Shin didn’t hear the slender old man, newly assigned to the fort, come up the stairs was also evidence that he was far too unfocused.

“Captain,” the sergeant major nodded with a sly smile revealing a few missing teeth in his craggy mouth.

“We’re just going over the progress reports, sir,” Karna held them out to him. “Did you want to review them?”

“Later, men. I, uh, there’s some business that I need to attend to in the village. I’ll finish the report to Idumea in the morning. I know I said I’d be here all evening, but there being pressing matters . . .” He didn’t know how to end his rambling.

Wiles smiled
gappily. “We’re on schedule, Captain. The High General will be pleased with our progress. Go on, take care of those
matters
.”

Karna smirked and looked down at the pages in his hand.

“Yes, thank you. Hold down the fort, men.” Captain Shin started down the stairs.

“Sir,” the sergeant major called down after him. “Would you like me to get someone to repair the two holes in your office wall, or do you suspect there may be a third joining them tonight?”

Shin stopped halfway down the stairwell and closed his eyes. He’d forgotten both of the soldiers had been at that last debate, his new sergeant major arriving just the evening before. Then both of them had been in the forward command office to hear when his frustration with the results of that last debate manifested itself with another fist through the planking.

He massaged his left hand, the gashes finally healed over.

The sounds of Karna snorting a laugh into his sleeve travelled down to him.

Shin answered nothing, but continued down the stairs.

“Good luck, son!” Wiles called after him. “He’s gonna need it,” he muttered loudly to the lieutenant who snorted again.

Shin marched out of the receiving area of the command tower and out into the busy compound of the fort. He automatically r
eturned the salutes of several soldiers making their ways from the mess hall to their evening shifts. Shin headed straight for his quarters, taking off his cap as he entered his room.

“Not in the uniform,” he murmured as he unbuttoned his blue jacket.

-
--

It was the 39
th
Day of Planting, just before the weeklong school break, and Mahrree saw she had only four pages left in The Writings. That filled her with satisfaction at completing her goal, and disappointment that the end had come so quickly.

Tonight she would read about the decision of Guide Pax and King Querul to divide the people to establish peace—which didn’t happen—and she would read Pax’s last prophecies recorded just b
efore he disappeared. One of the assistants of Guide Pax left some notes in a bag that was found when the king’s search parties went looking for them. The notes mentioned traitors among them, but little else to describe what happened.

Mahrree knew it was useless to guess, but she couldn’t help wonder what happened to the Guarders once they left. Where exactly did they
go?

To the north, the violent forests and the massive mountains were impassable—everyone knew that.

To the east and south was the great salty sea as far as the eye could see. Only a few brave men ventured into those waters in their canoes to fish.

To the west were yet more dense forests, and beyond, in the northwest, a massive desert that bordered the village of Sands.

As vast as the sphere where the Creator placed them may have been, it was obvious only one small segment of it could be inhabited. The rest was just there for . . .?

Mahrree shrugged, the thought too big for her mind to compr
ehend.

And why had
the Guarders been quiet for so long? Why were they now attacking? It seemed reasonable that they needed the livestock and goods and perhaps even the gold and silver they stole, but where did it all
go?

A sudden thought entered her mind, bearing the mark of her f
ather. She pondered it for a moment, until her chest grew hot and her breathing increased. A new understanding began to form in her mind.

She shoved back her chair and raced to the bookshelf to pull down several texts of history she used to teach her students. She plopped them on the eating table and flipped the pages, already knowing where to find the information. On a piece of paper she made two columns, and under the heading of the first column she wrote a number. Then she turned a few more pages and wrote anot
her number under the second column. For ten minutes she did that, flipping pages, double-checking the dates, and skimming the text for additional insights. She found a few more, made additional notations, then sat down heavily on a chair.

It was so obvious that she was stunned that she—and no one else—had never noticed it before. But there it was: the Guarder a
ttacks had two distinct patterns. The first were their major attacks on the villages,
always
just one year and a season minus a week after a new king took power. Just after he rearranged his advisors and told the world that he could, indeed, keep them safe. And always, the Guarders were repulsed and the new king appreciated for his ability to stop a full-out invasion.

Then there was a second pattern, more subtle, but still amazin
gly
coincidental.
Outbreaks of rebellion in the world were few and far between, especially since the terror-filled days of Querul the Second and Third. But they did happen, seven recorded times since the Great War. Each time the village or region was complaining about poor treatment by the king, always—
always
—they were hit by Guarders within six weeks of their uprisings.

About eleven years ago, when Mahrree was a student in Mountseen, a riot occurred in Sands after King Oren levied a high tax on glass sold from there. A Guarder raid hit the large desert vi
llage, destroying much of the glass-making shops.

The professor of her history class speculated that the Guarders may have thought that Sands wanted to further rebel against the king, so likely they were coming to join with them. But the villagers mistook the Guarders’ intentions and attacked them instead, resul
ting in so much violence.

But Mahrree had been suspicious, even then. To her the attack seemed more like a vengeful act, rather than a mere misunderstan
ding. And now, as she traced the timing of subsequent and earlier attacks, the pattern was clear, albeit completely unbelievable.

“A new king. A show of Guarder force just over a year later,” she murmured at the numbers on the page. “The king and the army put it down. An uprising by the citizenry, then a Guarder attack . . .”

She bit her lip in concentration and disgust.

“Not
at all
coincidental, is it? Guarders weren’t coming to show their support for the rebellious citizenry. They were coming to
punish
. Because they were
sent
.”

As soon as she muttered the words out loud, it felt as if all warmth in the room was sucked out.

“And who sent them?” she asked the coldness around her.

I’ll give you one guess.

Mahrree closed her eyes in fury. “The kings! Somehow they controlled the Guarders, all this time!” She looked around, panicked, as if anyone might have been able to hear her words. Her house was quiet, but still a heavy lump grew in her belly.

“Father, might that be true?”

Remember, my darling daughter, sometimes the world really is out to get you.

She couldn’t do anything but stare at the dates and notations on the paper in front of her. The possibility of kings staging the attacks on their own people was simply overwhelming.

“But why?”

You’ve already pieced most of it together.

Mahrree nodded slowly. “To show they were in power, that no one could prevail against them. To remind the citizenry who’s really in charge.”

Very good.

Another thought came to her, in a sideways motion slamming against her mind, and it truly confused her.

“But . . . not
all
of them.
Not all of the Guarders?
So what does that mean? Some are entrepreneurial thugs? Setting up their own independent raids at discount rates?” she asked with mystified sarcasm.

She felt her father smile, but he answered her nothing. There were no more answers to give her, yet. She wasn’t sure she could have handled any more anyway.

“So the attacks
were
convenient,” she whispered to the air. “But now, the kings are gone. We have the Administrators, who have improved and changed so many things . . .”

The air around her developed a cynical quality. Her father was still there, creating a distinct edginess in Mahrree.

Cephas Peto was the most thoughtful, gentle, intelligent man she’d ever known, but he also had a strong skeptical side to him that occasionally arose when he told his daughter that things were just
not quite right,
but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

The air around her now was thicker and heavier than a humid Weeding day afternoon, filled with his doubt.

“Father, what do I do?”

Nothing now. Just know. Just watch. But do nothing.

Mahrree wrung her hands with worry, fury, and fascination.

“It was you, wasn’t it? Placing those suspicious thoughts about the Administrators in my mind during the debates? Making me say such things? Antagonizing Captain Shin?”

The cynical heaviness in the room lifted slightly, replaced by an apologetic yet amused air.

“Why did you do that? Do you realize how much trouble I could have caused?” She couldn’t help but smile. Her father must have completely enjoyed those debates. Nothing as scandalous had o
ccurred since he argued that the sky was intrinsically black, and that all other color was merely an illusion.

“But you would never influence me beyond what would be sane and safe, would you?”

The feeling came closer together until it was a warm presence just above her heart, where she frequently felt him.

“Father, I thought you liked Captain Shin. But if you do,” Mahrree whispered to her gathering room just beyond her eating t
able, “then why did you let me say such awful things to him? About the Administrators?”

If the cosmos could chuckle, it did.

Slowly the presence of her father slipped away, and the air in the room returned to its normal dry, cool Planting Season feel.

Mahrree stared down again at the dangerous page of dates and numbers. Maybe . . . maybe she
wasn’t
the only person who looked at their history and made those connections. Others may have too, but didn’t dare say anything. Or maybe they tried to, but someone like the Administrator of Loyalty knocked on the door and—

She picked up her notes and tossed them into warm ashes of the fireplace. A small fire flared up to consume the evidence. There was
nothing—absolutely nothing—a simple teacher in Edge could do about any of that. Except to know, wait, and watch.