The Forest at the Edge of the World (43 page)

“So what is he doing?”

“Moving rubbish, sir.”

“Moving rubbish,” Mal repeated tonelessly. “Where?”

Heth hesitated. “He didn’t reveal that, sir,” realizing that he shouldn’t add,
Because I forgot to ask
.

Mal analyzed him.

Heth shifted again, perceiving that the Chairman didn’t have too high of expectations for him. For some reason that made him feel guilty. It took him a moment to recognize the emotion, because it wasn’t one he’d experienced often.

“Did your brother say
anything
useful? Any suggestion of what he might be up to, or who he might be working with?”

Heth eagerly answered, knowing it would make his brother seem more foolish than him. “A rector. He’s been working with a rector.”

“Hmm,” was all that Mal answered.

Heth was disappointed.

“I’m disappointed,” Mal said.

Heth began to smile, until Mal finished his sentence.

“—in you. I expected more. If you’re going to get what you want, I need to get what I want, too.”

“But sir, he’s not doing anything!” Heth protested. “He’s us
eless!”

“According to
your
evaluation, which, unfortunately, is all I have to go on,” Mal griped. “You’re going to have to do better. The next time I require something of you, I expect to be impressed. I’m investing a great deal in you, and when the world gives you something, it wants something
in return
.”

Heth had never heard that before, but he nodded anyway. “Yes, sir.”

“I need you to be ready for when the moment is right,” Mal said.

“When will the time be right, sir?”

“Well, that’s the issue—the time may come up tomorrow, or not for five more years. Whenever I feel it. I need to reach our target while he’s still vulnerable, at some moment when he’s least expecting it.”

“I think I’ll be ready, sir.”

Mal scoffed. “Think? I’m not training you to
think
, Heth. I’m training you to
react!
And you better be ready to react at a moment’s notice.”

Chapter 21 ~ “Something like this shouldn’t happen for quite a while

considering . . .”

S
everal moons later, by the middle of Planting Season, 320, Mahrree had had
more
than enough.

Enough of the over-sized tunics and skirts that only emphasized how enormous she was.

Enough of the cringes of sympathy she received as she waddled like a stuffed duck through the market place.

Enough of inane questions such as, “Haven’t you had that baby
yet?
” as if it was her fault, and making her feel badly would somehow change the situation.

Even enough of her husband smiling as sweetly as he could and reminding her how
beautiful
she looked as he gingerly patted her swollen belly.

He was supposed to do that, Mahrree knew. She found it on Joriana Shin’s list to her son.

“Number two: remind her how beautiful she looks carrying
your
child.”

Mahrree loved the wording of that, almost as much as she loved number seven:

“Accept the blame for everything, and don’t aggravate her. Remember that this is, after all,
your
fault.”

And Mahrree reminded him of that fact, frequently. Maybe if he had been a bit smaller in frame, she wouldn’t have been double her size for the past ten weeks. Now, in the middle of Planting Season, while everything else in the world was bursting in new color and
life, Mahrree was just bursting.

Oh it had been sweet and exciting a season and a half ago, once she finally got over feeling ill each morning and saw the small bulge beginning in her belly. They had to only tell her mother, and Hycymum squealed so loud the entire village knew within five minutes. Joriana Shin had even come to Edge in the dreary middle of Raining Season to bring baby blankets, clothing, changing cloths, and a new list for her son which he kept secured in his wardrobe for referral.

That was where Mahrree found it one day while rearranging his clothing in a fit of needing to organize things which, interestingly, she saw as number ten on the list:

“She will feel the need to reorganize everything. Help her. R
emember, all of this is
your
fault.”

Mahrree loved her mother-in-law.

All in all the waiting had been fine, and even the forest had been quiet, allowing her to have her husband home every night. But for the past two weeks Mahrree had been “growing irrationally testy”—number one on her mother-in-law’s list. Everything was ready. The addition next to the study was completed and outfitted with the cradle she’d used as a baby, and the wardrobe was stocked with blankets, gowns, and stacks of changing cloths which Mahrree was delighted to see Perrin eyeing suspiciously one evening. She was sure he heard him mumble, “Isn’t there a better design for these? Maybe something to bury in the ground instead of
washing
afterwards?”

Everything was in place, except the massive creature that rolled slowly like a land tremor in Mahrree’s belly. There was nothing else she could do each day, especially since she had quit teaching, but grumble as she straightened up the house, did the laundry, and washed the dishes. Loudly.

“I’m going to break rule number eleven,” Perrin said, peeking his head around the door at a safe distance. He came home for his midday meal every day for the past few weeks, just to check on her.

“And what is rule number eleven?” she asked crossly as she leaned across the washing basin, straining to reach a plate. “No ma
tter how tempting, don’t use my belly as a shelf?!”

He stepped into the kitchen and slid the plate over to her.

“No, that’s number nine. And I
have
resisted the temptation.” He gently took her by the shoulders and turned her, the massive belly bumping into his sheathed sword. “Sorry,” he murmured as he tried to hide his amusement. “My mother said I should never tell you that it
will
end, because at this point you simply won’t believe me, and may want to hurt me.”

“She’s right,” Mahrree agreed, “because—”

“I know, I know—this is all my fault. But I love you for enduring it.”

Mahrree was about to reemphasize his point, but only got as far as opening her mouth.

“What’s wrong?” Perrin asked, looking down. “Did your belly actually get nicked?”

She shook her head.

He squinted at her. “See a mouse?”

She let out a low moan and gripped his arms.

His eyebrows shot upwards. “Pain?”

She nodded.

“
That
kind of pain?!”

“
Yes!
” She gripped his arms tighter.

“It’s about time!” He sighed in relief.

“It’s not over
yet
, Perrin!” she gasped again.

He stayed loyally by her side that afternoon, the 46
th
Day of Planting, uselessly rubbing her back and pointlessly promising her that everything would be all right.

Hycymum and the midwives—retrieved by a messenger from the fort wondering where the captain was—tried to encourage Perrin to pace outside once Mahrree felt like someone was whacking her back with a timber.

It wasn’t until he saw a midwife strewing a bale of hay across the wooden floor by the hearth in the gathering room—“Makes it easier to clean up the messes,” she explained—that he willingly left.

Two hours later an exhausted Mahrree, drenched with sweat and tears and shocked that so much could change so quickly, stared at the bundle in her arms. Her mother and the midwives were surprised that the baby was so small. Mahrree’s seeming enormity must have been a trick of the eye, they decided, magnified by her slight frame. The baby probably came early.

But she didn’t know what they were talking about; nothing about the newborn she spent the last hour and a half birthing seemed small.

Downstairs in the kitchen Hycymum was busily stirring up a
late dinner, while upstairs one of the midwives helped Mahrree get comfortable in the bed where they had moved her.

“It will be all right,” she assured. “Just give him some time. They almost always come around.”

Mahrree shrugged. “Thank you again.”

The midwife nodded. “I’ll be back later tonight to check on—” She stopped when she heard the door slam downstairs.

“Mahrree?!” Perrin’s deep voice boomed throughout the house.

The midwife picked up a bag of bloodied cloths, smiled in e
ncouragement, and headed down the stairs. She nodded a greeting to the captain as Perrin bounded up to his bedroom.

“Mahrree!” He stopped at the door and looked at her worriedly. “The other midwife said only that the baby was birthed, and that it’s a bit small, and your mother wouldn’t tell me anything so is it, is it . . .?”

“It’s all right,” Mahrree smiled at him. “All the fingers and toes, cried, breathing.”

He took another step closer, his broad shoulders tense with co
ncern. “So what’s wrong?”

She practiced her brave face. “Perrin, you have a daughter.” Then she braced for his response.

He stood motionless. “But?”

Mahrree bit her lower lip. “Well . . .”

His shoulders dropped in relief and a grin spread across his face. “So she’s all right? Healthy and everything?” He took another cautious step closer.

“Yes.” Mahrree began to smile more genuinely.

“Mahrree,” he said slowly, “did you think I would be upset about a baby girl?”

“Umm . . .”

His face softened and he sat carefully on the bed next to her. “I don’t care what we have, as long as we get to have a child.”

“But are you sure about that?” she pressed. “Four generations of Shins have produced sons!
Officers!
Perrin Shin’s daughter can’t even join the army.”

He chuckled. “Perrin Shin’s
son
might not want to join the army, either. You know I don’t care about tradition. I’m rather
progressive
that way.” He winked at her and peered over into the bundle of blankets she held close to her chest.

She held the bundle out to him. “Would you like to hold your daughter?”

To her surprise, his eyes grew wet. “Absolutely,” he whispered, and took his newborn.

In his massive hands she really did look small.
He could have held her with one hand, which he did. He slid back the blanket covering her head to see her hair. When she first emerged, Mahrree thought her matted hair was black, but after the midwives washed her, the newborn’s hair was lighter and fuzzy.

Perrin smiled as he ran his hand over it. “Your hair, so far,” he said to Mahrree. “What color are her eyes?”

The newborn squinted to see what was making the noise, but she didn’t open her eyes more than a crack.

Mahrree felt her own eyes blurring to see how tenderly her hu
sband held their daughter. “Grayish, for now. One of the midwives said newborns she’s seen with that eye color tend to go very dark. Your eyes then, later.”

Perrin softly kissed her tiny lips, and she squirmed and grunted. “She’s beautiful, Mahrree!” he beamed. “Perfect. Welcome to Edge, my little
Relfikin.”

“Uh . . .” Mahrree grimaced.

Perrin looked at her with mock sobriety. “Not Relfikin then?”

“Please no?”

He gazed at his daughter, inspecting her features. “Well then, what if we take two letters from your mother’s name, and two letters from my mother’s name, and toss in a couple other letters, then mix them all up for something new?”

“Sounds like you’ve been watching my mother cook.”

“So, my tiny daughter,” he whispered to her, “how do you feel about . . . Jaytsy?”

Mahrree blinked. “You came up with that rather quickly.”

“Jaytsy,” he said again, trying out her name. “Jaytsy . . . Well Mahrree, what else should I have been doing for the last two hours while pacing between here and the fort? I wasn’t worrying about Guarders.”

“You were coming up with baby names?”

“I should be doing something useful, don’t you think?” He smiled at his baby.

Mahrree grinned. “I like it—Jaytsy Shin. Just out of curiosity, what boy names did you come up with?”

He looked at her. “I didn’t think of any boy names. Only girls’.”

That’s when Mahrree started to cry.

Perrin smiled at his tiny girl. “Don’t be alarmed by your mother’s behavior, little Jaytsy. Your Grandmother Shin left me another list for what to expect
after
you were birthed. Crying is on top. It means she’s happy you’re finally here. And so am I.”

Mahrree sobbed loudly.

-
--

Two men sat in the dark office of an unlit building.

“A
girl?
” the second man said, concerned.

Mal chuckled mirthlessly. “I’m curious to see what happens next. I could tell Relf was trying to make the most of it, but in his eyes I could see his disappointment. Such a manly son, and all he can produce is a female? Ha!”

His partner waved that off. “Oh, I’m sure High General Shin isn’t that perturbed
by a granddaughter. Without women, there would be no more men, after all. She could still be the mother of another general someday—”

“But Joriana Shin is apparently quite pleased,” Mal said, na
rrowing his eyes. “You sure there isn’t some way women can’t
influence
the kind of baby they birth? Some way they sleep, or eat, or carry it—”

The second man laughed. “If there is, every woman would want to know the secret! Granted, men have suspected since the beginning that women communicated things we’ll never understand, but knowledge as to how give birth to a girl rather than a boy?”

Mal’s shoulder twitched at his companion’s continued laughter. “It was a legitimate question.”

His companion wiped his eyes. “So what do you think will ‘happen next,’ as you so ominously put it?”

“He can’t be happy with this,” said Mal with a developing sneer. “What if having a baby wasn’t even his idea? What if it was hers?”

“So what?”

Mal sighed impatiently. “Sometimes you’re so slow. Of what use is a girl to a man like him?”

“Many men actually enjoy their daughters,” the other man e
xplained. “Find them not as disappointing as their sons.”

“Speculation,” Mal clasped his hands in front of him. “We will soon see evidence that he is disappointed by having a daughter.”

“Such as?”

Mal shrugged. “Some male animals neglect their young. Some leave the mate to raise the offspring herself. Bears have
been known to destroy cubs to reduce competition.”