The Forest at the Edge of the World (17 page)

“I know, and I’m sorry. Please understand that’s not my way. I just wanted to let you know that. And these are for you.”

He stopped and thrust the flowers in her face.

She remembered that they looked much fuller and fresher when she first saw him. Their collision and his jog after her had decimated their blooms.

He blinked at them, perplexed.

“Presenting flowers to a woman when you meet her—that
is
a very proper thing to do.” She smiled at the haggard stems. “You’re learning. Next time you’ll remember to keep the flowers wrapped in the scrap paper the sellers put them in, so that they don’t lose their petals as you go.”

“But the flowers were wrapped in an old Administrative n
otice,” he said, his voice curiously hardening.

“Yes,” Mahrree acknowledged, wondering if he was offended by the notice’s second life. “We use them for flowers, for kindling, and even for emergencies in washing rooms when the wiping cloth hasn’t been cleaned.” Even as she said the words, she wondered why she bothered to add that last unpleasant detail.

But the captain wasn’t offended. His face relaxed to a smile.

“This village just becomes more interesting every day. Ever
ything here astonishes me. No wonder I can’t get anything right.”

Mahrree laughed, surprising herself. “You like flat bread, Ca
ptain Shin. That must mean something!”

Politeness. She should always be polite. That’s what her mother drilled into her head when Mahrree was younger and said all kinds of things Hycymum didn’t approve of to scare off young men. The young men that stopped trying to present her flowers many years ago.

Then she thought of what her father would do at a moment like this.

Before she knew it she heard herself saying, “Would you like to
join me in eating my flattened bread? My home isn’t too far from here. And I won’t be serving blob. I had to bury it this morning in the back garden. It was becoming . . . a little more than I could handle.” 

It was the only way she could think of describing the stench and the fact that it was beginning to eat away the kiln-fired platter at an alarming rate.

“Didn’t look like your brother,” she added impulsively. “Wasn’t attractive at all.” She was wincing before she even finished the sentence, realizing she should have stopped talking half a minute ago.

“Really?” He smiled. “I’m sorry. About the blob, that is, and . . . I’m afraid I already have an appointment elsewhere tonight.” He held up the jug as an explanation.

Relief and disappointment simultaneously surged through Mahrree.

“Besides,” he continued, “Edge would have a great deal to talk about if I was seen going to your home, wouldn’t they?”

“Oh, oh, of course, Captain!” Mahrree blustered in embarrassment. “Until tomorrow, then. And I thank you for the flowers.”

“I
am
sorry,” he repeated. He gripped her shoulder clumsily and stared deep into her eyes. “But can I make it up to you some time?”

Mahrree waxed eloquent again in his dark brown gaze. “
Uhhh, sometime I am available should be fine, when we, uh you, can make it.”

He squinted as he deciphered what she tried to say. “Then ‘sometime’ it is. And please, call me Perrin.” Then he was gone back down the road.

Father would like him, but Mahrree didn’t know why.

She turned back around and tried to diagram her last sentence all the way home. Once she got there, she put the haggard stems in a tall mug and tenderly watered them, smiling at the handful of wilting petals.

Her first flowers, ever.

---

At the fort that evening, the new spyglass that arrived was being tested. It wasn’t sighted on the forest where the Guarders may be hiding and planning their attacks, but on a small house on the northern side of Edge.

---

It was going to be easy—the return of the Guarders—if this young woman was any indication. The man in black had been watching her ever since the first debate, and she didn’t notice anything beyond her books. Except for maybe the captain.

He’d already searched her house—no one in Edge seemed to know how to work their locks—and found she wasn’t hiding an
ything interesting. Oh sure, she had slips of gold and silver in her cellar, predictably stored under a bag of flour and a crock of oats. Everyone in the world thought their savings were secure in their cellars. They’d be shoving the hammered metals under their straw mattresses next. Every Guarder knew where to find the goods.

But thieving wasn’t the point. If it were, they could leave every village destitute within a couple of quiet evenings.

No, the point was to leave
messages
.

That was
always
the point, although the messages changed frequently over the generations. He really didn’t care what the message was now, so long as he got to be the deliverer. He’d been waiting a  long time for such an opportunity, fearing that when the reign of kings died, so had everything else.

Instead, it was all reborn, just like the return of Planting Season. Except it was reborn with such calculation and planning that the man had been stunned. There’s plundering and murdering, and then there’s
this
. He hadn’t quite worked out what all of
this
was yet, but it was certainly better than nothing.

He stepped out of the shadows of the kitchen and over to the mug of flowers on her work table. He squinted at it, amused. Usually the first blooms of Planting Season were hearty things, able to take a dumping of late, wet snow. They’d just shake it off and rise defiant from the cold ground. But these—these were just stems, with only a hint of “
flowerness.” What
did
the captain do to them?

The man in black glanced over to the door that led to the co
mbined eating and gathering room. He heard her turn a page in some old book, oblivious to his presence.

He’d leave her a message, but it wouldn’t be noticed.

He snapped off one of the traumatized flower tops and placed it deliberately on the other side of the table. But he knew what her reaction would be. She’d assume she had dropped it over there and simply forgot.

That was the thing about villagers—they saw only what they expected to see. It was said that Guarders left no signs, but that wasn’t true. They left their messages everywhere, but like a soiled rag on the ground that everyone in a crowded stable feels is someone else’s responsibility, it’s bypassed, stepped over, or completely i
gnored.

Guarders never attacked without first leaving a warning. That would be unfair.

It was the villagers’ faults for not noticing the warnings.

He noiselessly slipped out the back kitchen door, down the back porch, and into the night.

-
--

Mahrree went to admire her stems again before blowing out the kitchen candle, and noticed one of the flower tops on the other side of the table.

She smirked to herself as she picked it up, and immediately thought of what her father would say.

Guarder snatched! Or rather, Guarder snapped.

Mahrree chuckled quietly. “Oh yes, Father,” she murmured. “Guarders are now interested in rearranging half-dead flowers. How unpredictable of them.”

But something heavy lingered in the air, and she felt her father more distinctly. He was more than memory. When it was important, it was as if he had never left her side.

Remember, my daughter—Guarders
are
unpredictable.

Mahrree bit her lower lip. It wasn’t as if someone in black had suddenly taken an odd interest in the stems. She knew what he really meant: she needed to be cautious. There was no cowardice in ca
ution. It’s not like she had anything of interest to the Guarders, but still—

She swallowed hard and glanced at her back door. Just to be safe, she latched the lock. But she was not about to needlessly burn a candle in the window to ward away any intruders.

“What else should I do?” she whispered to the quiet kitchen.

Nothing for now. Just . . . be aware.

Mahrree nodded. “Father? I was just wondering, what do you think of Captain Shin?”

The mood in the room lightened.

Perhaps a more important question is, what do
you
think of the captain?

“I don’t know what to think,” she answered automatically.

Oh, I’m sure you do, or you wouldn’t have bothered to try to revive those stems. You just haven’t admitted it to yourself yet.

Mahrree shrugged, a smile of embarrassment lurking around her mouth. “So what do
you
think of him?” she asked again.

Good man. I like him. Doesn’t know beans from flowers, but that’s all right—he’s not a farmer.

Mahrree chuckled as the influence of her father faded away. She floated the broken flower top in the water of the mug, blew out the candle, then went to bed.

Chapter 9 ~ “Debate the merits of Perrin and
Mahrree continuing the debates--”

M
ahrree had felt flustered ever since last evening’s encounter when she was alone with him for barely five minutes, but now she was about to face Captain Shin again on the platform. She paced nervously before the young oak tree and warm spring, doubting that she could go through with it. Tonight there was a huge crowd, near capacity at four thousand, with more coming in.

She tried to calm her breathing. Rector Densal was reading an announcement from Idumea about an improved messaging system, but she couldn’t concentrate on what he said. She considered ru
nning off or faking a sudden illness, but then she heard the rector call her name.

It was too late now. She took a deep breath and bounded up the steps as usual to wave to the crowd. Their typically polite applause was punctuated with cheers and some whoops. She’d never before heard them that enthusiastic.

She didn’t have any time to worry as to what it might mean, because Rector Densal was now introducing Captain Shin. The loud greeting rose up again. As he emerged from the other side, with his creased blue uniform and polished boots, the captain appeared surprised too. He gave Mahrree a concerned look, then walked over to her and stood uncomfortably close and a little in front of her, as if trying to shield her from the raucous crowd.

She felt a rush of gratitude at his gesture and wondered if it was a soldier’s instinct.

“Tonight, we will do something different!” cried Rector Densal to the rowdy villagers. “Neither of our debaters knows what the topic will be for tonight, so there will be no unpleasant surprises left on a table. And, Miss Mahrree,” he said turning slightly to the platform, “I am truly sorry to hear of the demise of your blob.”

Mahrree chuckled nervously. “It hadn’t been looking well for a while. Nice addition to my back garden.” She wondered how he knew about the end of the mass. Only her students, who begged her to get rid of it after the fourth debate, and Captain Shin knew it was gone. 

The crowd laughed and Rector Densal nodded his sympathies. He turned back to address the amphitheater.

“For tonight, I’ve asked our good teacher’s students for sugge
stions of what they should debate.”

Mahrree cringed. Rector Densal had been talking to her st
udents. That, at least, would explain his knowledge of the loss of the blob. Her stomach churned as she imagined what her students might have suggested as topics.

“Some of those debate ideas are here in this basket,” he held it up high. “I will now ask Captain Shin to draw the first debate su
ggestion.”

Mahrree searched the crowd as Captain Shin reached over to draw first. Her eyes finally settled on her teenaged students, all eight of them sitting together in a row. Grins and giggles burst across the girls’ faces, and Mahrree grew hot with worry.

This could be a very,
very
long evening.

Captain Shin unfolded the small paper and his eyebrows rose. Mahrree began to panic.

He cleared his throat and began, “Please prove that dogs are better than cats.”

Mahrree relaxed and rubbed her hands. “I’ll take cats!” she pr
oclaimed with a grin and strode to her side of the platform to plan a strategy.

“I guess I’m dogs,” the captain said to the audience.

A little boy named Poe in Mahrree’s morning class clapped his hands. It must have been his suggestion.

The debate was won by Mahrree since she was convinced of the superiority of cats. Their independence, self-cleaning, and
mousing abilities hedged out dogs’ abilities to guard the house, be a companion, and come in a variety of sizes and colors. What tipped the argument her way was that the shedding and shredding of cats was slightly less annoying than the drooling, barking, and, worst of all, inappropriate sniffing of dogs.

Mahrree pulled out the next topic. “Resolve who is better: boys or girls.”

As the audience “oohed” in eagerness, the captain bravely stepped up and said, “I’ll start that one.”

Mahrree’s curiosity was piqued. “I await this opening line with GREAT anticipation.”

He nodded at her, turned to the crowd and said, “To the young man or woman who suggested that topic I say, there is no woman without a man, and no man without a woman. Therefore, neither can be better than the other. They are, however, different, and each difference is necessary and complementary.” Then he stepped back.

“Ah, come now, sir!” Teeria called out, disappointed her su
ggestion didn’t elicit more of a response from the captain. “You can do better than
that!
”

The crowd teasingly repeated her complaint.

“Come now!”

“More!”

Mahrree stared at the captain. She didn’t expect his response. Actually, she didn’t know what to expect. But how could she take on what he said or even debate it?

He looked to her, waiting for her retort.

She smiled at him. Not a baiting, teasing, or chiding smile, but a genuine look of appreciation. He returned it.

She probably
could
find herself calling him Perrin, if the situation was right.

The crowd was calling her name, so she turned to the villagers. “All I want to say is, first there is no
man
without the woman. I rather prefer that order of words.” Then she too stepped back.

The captain winked at her. Mahrree hoped she wasn’t changing colors.

The rector stood up, much to the good-natured whistles of protest from the audience. “Next topic is for the captain to select,” he called.

The captain pulled out the slip of paper, read it, then looked around. “All right, who put this in here?”

Mahrree held her breath. Not the girls, not the girls, she silently begged.

“It states,” he announced, “Debate the merits of the
Jor house being painted that sickly shade of blue.”

Mahrree exhaled and grinned. “Next!”

“Hey,” someone yelled from the front. “I like that blue. What’s wrong with it?”

“It looks like the cheese in my cooler when I forgot about it for a season!” someone else shouted.

“Next, please!” called Captain Shin over the laughter.

The rector held up the basket again.

Mahrree took out the next slip and shook her head. “People, come now. ‘Debate the merits of Mr. Arky being allowed to eat his dinner in any room of the house.’ Is this
really
from the children?”

The captain took the paper. “I think we can handle this one.”

Mahrree shook her head and said in a loud stage whisper, “You obviously haven’t met
Mrs.
Arky yet.”

“Let it be heard!” called a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mr. Arky, followed by howls of laughter from his neighbors.

The debaters looked at each other with small smiles and together called, “Next!”

Something in that moment made Mahrree’s chest burn again. She didn’t have time to think about it because Captain Shin was pul
ling out another topic.

They spent the next fifteen minutes discussing the qualities of stone versus wood in home construction. He defended stone and ea
sily took that round, describing some of the ruins Terryp found in the deserted areas to the west that survived untold ages.

He won over the children, however, with a ridiculous explan
ation involving three talking and industrious sheep, and a wolf with an unusual lung capacity. Clearly, building with straw was the worst option of all.

Much to her chagrin, Mahrree found herself completely a
bsorbed by his outlandish story—complete with surprisingly high-pitched voices for the sheep, and an even deeper-than-normal-for-him voice for the wolf as he threatened to “sneeze their houses down.”

But even her chagrin faded rapidly as she watched him in a
ction, his booming wolf roar drawing squeals of terrified delight from the younger children, and laughter from their parents.

She was falling for him.

While the audience murmured amused doubt about the authenticity of the captain’s story, Mahrree pulled out the next slip. “Which is better, living in Idumea or living in Edge?” She burst into a grin. “I’ll take Edge!”

To her surprise, Captain Shin sighed heavily before saying, “I’ll take Idumea. If I must.”

Mahrree spent the next ten minutes detailing every quality and attribute of Edge as the greatest next-to-smallest village in the world. Only Moorland was more sparsely populated since it sat at the base of the largest mountain, Mt. Deceit, and no one in the world appreciated mountains. She carefully avoided saying anything antagonistic about Idumea or the Administrators as she gushed about Edge’s people, entertainments, music, food, rivers, schools, shops, services, houses, farms, orchards, and ranches. If she had time she would have gone on about each family she knew, but she could see the captain was waiting his turn.

At last she turned to him and said, “Now it’s your time to dazzle us with tales about Idumea.”

Instead he slowly shook his head. “Am I
really
supposed to follow your moving tribute of Edge with my feelings about Idumea? No, Miss Peto. You see, in Command School we took courses on diplomacy—”

“Is that something like Officers’ Charm School?” she interrup
ted. She wondered if teasing was considered flirting.

The audience laughed and the sudden rise of emotion came over the captain’s face again, just as in the last debate, as he fought back a laugh.

“Something like that.”

“And how often did you have to retake the course until you passed?” she asked sweetly.

He waited until the laughter died down before he answered.

“Just know that I passed.”

He had to wait another moment for the audience to quiet again before he could continue.

“And in those classes
we learned that sometimes no response is the best response of all. Look, Miss Mahrree,” he said in a loud stage whisper he fully intended the villagers to hear, “I’m trying to earn some credibility in Edge. It wouldn’t do me any good to regale you with reasons why Idumea may be considered superior. Let’s just say that I look forward to experiencing all the qualities of Edge for myself. I’ve already enjoyed many.”

The villagers laughed and applauded his non-argument, and Mahrree folded her arms smugly at her easiest victory over him yet.

“I see you’ve been rereading your notes from your tactfulness courses as well. Then let’s see how you deal with the next topic, shall we?”

He nodded. “I promise, you’ll not defeat me so easily in the next round. Our score tonight currently stands at two for you, one for me, not counting the topics we’ve rejected. I’m not the kind of man who walks away when he’s behind.”

Flashing a grin that made Mahrree feel unusually weak, he pulled out the next slip. He studied the scrap long enough for everyone to grow quiet with anticipation.

He gave Mahrree a quick glance before saying, a little coldly, to Rector Densal, “Any
other
requests?”

The rector shook his head as he peered into the basket. “I can’t seem to find any more, Captain. I’m afraid that’s the last one.”

“Next!” he called.

“Oh, come now,” Mahrree said, snatching the small paper out of his hands. “So sure you’re going to lose again? You already know there’s no more.”

“Mahrree, trust me,” he said. “Just don’t pursue it—”

She looked at him suspiciously, secretly thrilled with the way he said her first name. The night was going so well she didn’t want it to end yet. She flourished the paper and read in a booming voice, “D
ebate the merits of Perrin and Mahrree continuing the debates—”

The audience cheered.

“—forever as husband . . .” Mahrree’s voice faltered and she felt a wave of regret and nausea wash over her. The laughter was already beginning.

At that moment Mahrree found herself in the same battle she’d be in countless times before—her brain trying to force her mouth to stop moving. But the message wasn’t getting through quickly enough. Before she could stop herself, she was choking out the last words written on the paper. 

“. . . and wife.”

The crowd leaped to their feet with deafening applause and shouts.

Mahrree was too mortified to look up.
Worse
than mortified, if there were such a condition. What must Perrin—Captain Shin think? That she put someone up to this? Why else would she insist on him reading it?

She let the note drop out of her hand, glanced up quickly with a forced smile, waved, then turned and hurried towards the back of the platform and rushed down the stairs.

Several calls of, “No! Come back!” followed her, but there was no way she could allow anyone to see the condition of her face. Besides, what more could she say?