The Forest at the Edge of the World (6 page)

What students thought of it, that didn’t matter as long as they learned to think.

Tonight a sizable crowd was gathered already, at least six hundred. Word had spread that there was a new debater “Just for Mahrree,” Rector Densal, her father’s old friend, had told everyone that day.  Not only did the debater bring ideas from Idumea, he was
from
there.

“And I’ll warn you now, Miss Mahrree—he’s an officer,” he i
nformed her three days ago when he suggested the debate.

“In the army?” Mahrree asked the obvious to give herself time to think about this man whom no one in the village had been happy to hear had arrived. While he seemed to keep well enough to himself up at the forest edge, it was only a matter of time before he wa
ndered down among them and did something . . .
official
.

Rector Densal smiled warmly. “Miss Mahrree, the army is not what it once was. A great many changes have occurred since Querul the Third’s reign.”

“I know.” Although the thought of standing face to face with a member of the army filled her with momentary angst.

She still felt unsettled by the news, and now the size of the crowd unsettled her further. As she walked to the front she saw her favorite old rector coming from the front row to meet her.

“I hope you’re ready, Miss Mahrree,” he smiled as he shook her hand.

“I fear no one,” Mahrree told him more confidently than she felt.

“Oh, I know you don’t fear,” Rector Densal said, and something a little bit too lively happening in his eyes put Mahrree on guard. “I invited him to our debate for your entertainment. I hope you will find him
engaging
. I think he’s precisely what you need!”

Mahrree looked at him, puzzled. “I didn’t know I was in need of anything or anyone.” She had a thought and sighed. “Have you been speaking to my mother
again?”

Rector Densal laughed. “Not lately, but I do owe her a visit! Well then, maybe he’s in need of you.” His wrinkled face added new ones as he grinned and slowly climbed the steps to the top of the platform to make general announcements before the debate.

Mahrree chuckled; everyone needed a bit of her.

She walked to the back of the platform and readied to take one of the sets of stairs that led up to it. She stooped to soak the tension out of her hands in the warm bubbling spring that gurgled next to her favorite young oak tree. This spring wasn’t as hot as some of the
others that were tapped and pumped into homes to be used as bathing and washing water. She’d heard that in Idumea some of the houses had water that was near boiling. But even though the ground was much more active near Edge, the springs that fed Mahrree’s home were just pleasantly warm.

She went through her pre-debate routine: she stood back up, shook out her hands, rubbed her cheeks with her fingers, tucked her hair behind her ears again, smoothed down her skirt, and waited for the rector to introduce her. When she heard her name called she marched confidently up the steps and on to the platform, to the a
pplause of the crowd. She waved genially to them as she had dozens of times before and waited for the next introduction.

“Today we have a newcomer to our community,” Hogal Densal said to the crowd. “He’s been educated in the university at Idumea, has been a member of the army for six years, and was recently a
ssigned to the new fort being built in our village. I’m sure you’re all just as eager to get to know him as he is to get to know you. He’s heard of our debates and wants a chance at taking on our one of our favorite daughters, Mahrree Peto.”

Mahrree saw a movement to her right and glanced over just in time to see a large and muscular man bound up the stairs on the side of the platform. He wore the uniform of the army—dark blue jacket with silver buttons fastened appropriately up to his throat, blue tro
users, and, tucked formally under his arm, was a cap with brim.

He stepped on to the platform and paused in mid-stride when he saw Mahrree. He glanced over at the rector, then back at her. A small smile—or maybe a smirk—crept across his face.

Mahrree took a deep breath she hoped no one noticed and firmed her stance. She told herself she would not be intimidated. However, she was unnerved that what she was feeling was not intimidation. And oddly, she suddenly wondered what her hair looked like. She tried to force herself to concentrate, but it wasn’t easy since she couldn’t stop staring at him.

He was considerably taller than her, but then so was everyone over age thirteen. His uniform was smartly pressed, as was Mahrree’s best cotton dress. His black hair was neat and short and would probably feel thick if she ran her fingers through—

Mahrree blinked in surprise. Where had
that
thought come from?! It was as if the influence of her three teenage students had rushed into the amphitheater and overwhelmed her reason. Had they been standing next to her they would have pointed out his straight nose, his dark eyes, and even the tiny scar on the side of his mouth. One of them probably would have nudged her to notice his penetrating gaze. When she did, she was alarmed to realize he was studying her. He cocked his head as if trying to interpret the expression on her face. Mahrree shook herself a bit, not daring to guess how long she stared at him. He smiled broader and took a few more steps towards her.

From somewhere she heard the rector’s voice. “Let us see how our children’s teacher will handle our new captain!”

Our new captain!

Had her students been standing next to her, that’s what they would have been cheering. Mahrree felt strangely weak before r
emembering she hadn’t breathed for the past minute. She filled her lungs and smiled at her challenger.

“Well,
Mr. Captain
,” she began, “What’s the newest belief in Idumea? I understand ideas are emerging each day. In the 319 years of our existence in the world, we have heard many strange things, but I’m sure what you will present to us will simply amaze us.”

Her voice was sweet and stinging at the same time, and she felt her confidence return. Mahrree always saw the debates as two boys fighting for possession of a boulder. She pictured herself starting on the top, with her opponent down below where she could throw bits of gravel at his eyes—his unexpectedly dark eyes—which she chose not to look at. Instead she focused on a scar above his left eye and tried to imagine how it got there. A stick seemed to be involved.

“Perrin,” was all the captain replied. 

“What?” Mahrree was startled too quickly out of her scenario of a girl whacking him across the forehead.

He stepped closer to Mahrree. “My name is Perrin Shin. And you are . . .?”

She knew that family name: Shin. She
should
know that name, but it escaped her for the moment.

As did, embarrassingly, her
own
.

“Uh, I’m . . .”

Maybe it was good her teenage students hadn’t joined her that evening.

“Uh, Mahrree. Peto. Yes. That’s me.”

Eloquent. Poised. Like as a hog trying to jump a fence.

She thought she heard chortling from the audience. In the space
just above her heart, a warmth filled her that she’d often felt before, and she immediately thought of her father. He would like this man, Perrin Shin.

“Well, Mrs. Peto—”

“Umm,” she interrupted. “I’m
Miss
Mahrree.”

Captain Shin sent a quick glance towards someone in the aud
ience. Then in a low deep voice only she could hear he said, “
I should have known
.”

Mahrree’s previous flightiness flew away as she put her hands on her waist. There was nothing wrong with her age and her single status. Oh, let that be the debate topic: the age at which a woman should marry! She’d won that argument many times with her mot
her. She eyed the captain and would have rolled up her sleeves of her linen tunic if they weren’t already short.

In a much louder voice he announced, “There is a great deal of talk in the Idumea. And the talk is, there’s too much talk.”

Mahrree smirked. How could she respect a man so unsuccessful at cleverness? People from Idumea,
especially
an officer, were supposed to be sophisticated and infallible. She watched him as if he was an infestation of approaching ants.

“There’s too much talk,” he repeated, “about issues we no lon
ger need to discuss; theories and facts that the Administrators are now suggesting have been decided and need no more debate.”

Mahrree was suspicious and intrigued. “What kinds of issues?”

“Things such as the color of the sky; which is better, cats or dogs; the origin of our civilization; why the western ruins exist; what really happens when a volcano explodes. Small, simple things.” He looked at her haughtily.

“I had no idea all these had been decided!” she exclaimed der
isively. “Now, I agree that one or two of those things need no discussion, but to say we know the exact color of the sky? We could argue that all night.”

One side of his mouth—the side with the scar—lifted into a half-hearted smile. “What color is it?”

“Blue. On some days. White on others. Blue with white, then white with blue. Gray. Black. Black with white dots—”

“Yes, yes, yes, the first debate many children engage in.” He sounded bored as he cut her off before she could begin describing sunrises and sunsets. “Of course you’d bring that up. I’ve been told you spend your time teaching the simplest ideas to the youngest
children.”

“The earliest lessons are the most important, Captain,” Mahrree pointed out, ignoring his insulting tone. “How children learn to think about ideas when they’re young influences their ability to reason when they’re adults. If they don’t learn to think beyond the simplic
ity of what seems to be an easy question, then they’ll fail to realize the deeper levels of every problem. That’s why we begin the six year-olds with the ‘what color is the sky’ debate. The obvious answer is blue. But ‘blue’ isn’t obvious; it’s just lazy. From the beginning children need to learn that there are no simple questions, and no simple answers, so they can discover the best answers for themselves.”

Many in the audience applauded, most likely the parents of her students.

She took a step towards the captain. “How have you begun to teach
your child
, Captain?”

The captain’s half smile returned. “I am not a father, nor am I married,
Miss
Mahrree.”

She gave him half a smile back and said quietly, in the same tone he had used, “
I should have known!
”

The captain only blinked at her insulting manner. “So,” he co
ntinued loudly, “I suppose I’m not in a good position to judge whether such discussions are still useful. But the Administrators have issued a suggestion to teachers in Idumea. Instead of spending time debating the difficult nature of the sky with the children—”

“But learning
is
difficult!” she interrupted. “It’s supposed to be! That’s what makes it rewarding—”

The captain held up his hand to stop her.

Surprising herself, she obeyed.

“The Administrators have suggested,” he repeated steadily, “that the children be
told
that the sky is blue, since it almost always is.”

Mahrree folded her arms. “Years ago I heard a revered scholar argue that the sky is not intrinsically blue. It’s actually
black
. The blue that we see is merely an illusion—a trick of the sun, since once the sunlight is gone, so is the blue.”

The captain squinted. “Blue is an illusion?”

“Very
much so
, Captain.”

“Fascinating, Miss Peto,” he said sincerely. “I’ll have to look further into that. But such a concept is too complex for young chi
ldren, and that’s what the Administrators believe. To avoid confusion, children will be taught that the sky is always blue. This way they need not worry about getting the answer wrong on a test.”

Mahrree’s insides twisted. So much the Administrators had done in the past two years had been of great benefit to the world. They lowered taxes significantly—eliminated them completely for the first two full seasons—and had made suggestions to the manner of food distribution, herd growth, and farm development. None of that really meant much to her, since she knew nothing about them.

But this?

For some reason, the idea that the Administrators were now tr
ying to influence the way parents and teachers taught their children filled her with traitorous thoughts of doubt.

“The s
ky is always blue? But that’s not accurate,” Mahrree protested.

“It’s accurate
enough,
” the captain said.

“Accurate
enough
?” she nearly wailed. “That answer simplifies the question inappropriately and fits only limited circumstances. This past Raining Season the sky was
rarely
blue. It was gray and depressing!”