The Forest at the Edge of the World (8 page)

“But, perhaps,” he said with a growing smile that warmed his features and began to warm the audience as well, much to Mahrree’s disappointment, “the Creator
did
influence that woman to do her wash under the mulberry bushes so that the silk cocoons would fall into her hot water and make such an absurd but useful mess. And it wasn’t because of the guides that men discovered ways to combine different soils, gravel, and water to create mortar to hold rock together. Our ancestors discovered that themselves. They also learned how to turn the pines north of Quake and to the west of Trades into pulp and thin paper, allowing us to print far more books than if we had only costly parchment.
We
did all that!

“Miss Peto,” he continued earnestly, “I believe the Creator gave us minds and choices so that we could become creators ourselves. He wants us to experiment, try, fail, and try again until we succeed. That’s progress, Miss Peto, and I submit that the Creator is pleased with us when we experiment. In that light, the Creator is pleased with the Administrators when they experiment. These changes in education? Just experiments to see if we can progress to something even greater.”

Mahrree couldn’t do anything while the crowd whole-heartedly applauded the captain, except plot against him. In one little speech the captain, who was now smiling in triumph to the villagers, had taken her accusation of dismissing the death of the last guide to suggesting that the Creator would be pleased with the Administrators. She hadn’t anticipated he could twist the argument so quickly.

She’d just have to twist it back.

“Captain Shin,” she started loudly, “what year is this?”

The audience immediately silenced at the obvious question.

The captain blinked. “It’s 319.”

“What year is it in Idumea?”

Now he squinted. “Still 319. Has been for the last six days.”

“But it will instead be 313, if some professors at the University of Idumea have their way. Correct?”

The amphitheater waited silently.

The captain swallowed. “Perhaps.”

The members of the audience looked at each other in surprise. No one had heard this before, but Mahrree had, from another teacher she knew from her university days in Mountseen.

“You see,” Mahrree turned to the villagers, “a few professors, one of them a brother to the Administrator of Culture, believe that our history should begin with the foundation of Idumea, and that the six years preceding that, when the first five hundred families were under the tutelage of the Creator for three years, then under the go
vernance of His chosen Guide Hieram, be eliminated from our children’s education. The Administrator of Culture wants our history to be taught that we began with the organization of Idumea, and that no mention should be made that the six men who founded it also
murdered
Guide Hieram.”

Captain Shin paled slightly. “No changes can be made unless the majority of Administrators agree to it, Miss Peto,” he said firmly. “That’s why there are twenty-three. Had such a suggestion been made to King Oren, he would have foolishly enacted it and changed all the books the next day. But that can’t happen under the Admini
strators. The suggestion is currently dying in a committee. That’s
progress,
Miss Peto.”

Mahrree couldn’t help but smile slightly at him in admiration. He twisted that argument masterfully, too, judging by the applause of the villagers. He was nothing like the way she had imagined army officers. He was thoughtful, articulate, and hadn’t once drawn the large sword he wore strapped to his side. If he weren’t in a uniform, Mahrree would have thought him to just be an intelligent, insightful man.

“I’m glad to hear that suggestion is dying, Captain. And I strongly suspect it won’t go anywhere because it would be most difficult to change the dating throughout the world. But I wonder if the question first arose because children in Idumea
struggled
with some ideas. Perhaps the Administrator of Culture was trying to simplify our children’s education. But here in Edge, our children are intelligent enough to learn all the truth, including how the world changed after the foundation of Idumea. I still question how any of those changes were progressive!”

Captain Shin slowly shook his head as the crowd once again cheered, this time for Mahrree. “Indeed, Miss Peto, they grow them remarkably loud and brave in Edge. I suspect if you shouted, they could hear you in Mountseen.”

Mahrree didn’t know why the villagers laughed. Maybe it was the way he looked her small frame up and down.

It wasn’t the first time an opponent tried to demean her. Back in upper school, before she went to Mountseen, many debaters—males, usually—would make some biting comment about her size in rel
ation to her volume.

She never put up with that. Years ago she came up with a retort that was as sudden and sharp as, as . . . well as the captain’s two-edged sword which seemed to be about as long as Mahrree’s leg.

She firmed her stance and yanked out her response. “The Writings, Captain Shin, tell us we waited eons for our chance on the world. Since this is my only shot, I decided long ago to go bold, or don’t go at all!”

Oh yes, others rarely had a response for that. She sounded ed
ucated, enlightened, and patronizing all in one fell swish. It was a line she perfected when she was fifteen, and it always—

Captain Shin took a step closer, his brown-black eyes staring so deeply into hers that even her thoughts paused. He arched an ey
ebrow—which had the effect of making Mahrree’s chest tighten and her tongue forget to move—then said, “Go bold . . .
where
?”

She swallowed.

No one had ever asked her that. 

She didn’t even realize until then that it was a potential que
stion.

The audience tittered in anticipation while Mahrree blinked in sudden self-doubt, until the captain suddenly spoke again.

“And now, Miss Peto, how does one end the debates here?”

As grateful as she was to not have to review the logic of her life’s motto just then, Mahrree fought the urge to bite her lip. She
wasn’t quite finished with him yet, but at least she found her words again.

“Against me? Usually one gives up and storms off the platform. You may do so now.”

Everyone laughed.

The captain just smiled, making her wonder if he
could
laugh. “How else?”

“It depends. Either the rector overseeing the debate declares a winner or a draw, or the audience decides.”

With that, Rector Densal stood up and turned to the audience. “Our debaters have given us much to consider tonight. Too many new ideas to consider further before we declare a winner.” He turned to the two of them. “And with that, I bid you a fair evening.” He pounded his walking stick on the ground which signaled the end of the debate.

Shouts of “Declare a winner!” arose, but the rector held his hand up to his ear as if he’d gone deaf. The shouts dissolved into laughter and finally applause.

Mahrree waved politely, then turned and rushed down the back steps of the platform to the bench that sat under her tree. Usually she enjoyed meeting the audience after a debate, but not tonight. She felt oddly shaken, as if something was approaching to disrupt all that she knew. She remembered her father’s words: “Sometimes the world really
is
out to get you.”

Maybe the world was there in the form of Captain Shin.

She had to think carefully about him. Her mind was split in two: one half influenced by girls that giggled about his features, the other half worried about his ideas of education and progress.

“An interesting evening, wouldn’t you agree?” Rector Densal broke into her thoughts, and he placed a wrinkled hand on her shou
lder.

She stood up to greet him. “Oh, Rector, he seems to be a . . . a dangerous man, doesn’t he? And he’s our hope against the Guar
ders? If the rumors are true about their return, we might as well surrender now!”

Rector Densal’s white eyebrows rose. “Actually, I thought him a pleasant-looking fellow and quite good-natured. And I thought for a few moments you considered him pleasant as well. Was I mista
ken?”

Mahrree froze. She’d never been attracted to a man before, so
she wasn’t sure if she did. “But his arguments . . .”

“Consider this for a moment, my dear: did Captain Shin, at any time, state that the arguments he presented were his own ideas?”

She ran the debate quickly over in her head, but irritatingly found herself remembering only how he’d smiled at her. “I, I . . . honestly don’t remember.”

“Well I do. And no, he never said those were his ideas. He came for a debate, right? And he gave you an interesting time, correct?” he teased her.

“Interesting or aggravating?” she snapped.

He smiled in unexplained satisfaction. “I look forward to three nights’ time from now. Captain Shin asked to meet you again in d
ebate, and I agreed. I hope that’s all right.”

He patted her arm without waiting for an answer—probably suspecting it would be “No!”—and slowly ambled away, leaving Mahrree standing under the tree still trying to formulate a way out of it. 

A faint movement from the platform above caused her to look up . . . into the eyes of the captain. Each time she looked at him the world seemed to change, and it was most irksome.

He crouched to reduce the span that the ten steps created b
etween them.

“I want to thank you for a fascinating evening,” he said with a smile that made the ground seem to shift under her feet. “We must do this again. And I understand we will be, very soon.” He seemed different somehow. More agreeable.

Mahrree slowly nodded, desperately searching her mind for some retort or comment besides the anemic, “Uh-huh,” that she could manage. She shouldn’t have been staring into his dark eyes.

“My great-uncle said my time here would be interesting. He was right, but he usually is. Good evening, Miss Peto.”

And with that Captain Shin righted himself, turned, and walked out of Mahrree’s view.

She didn’t mean to whimper. It just leaked out.

Chapter 4 ~ “All science is about

proving a bias.”

“
I
heard the debate was interesting tonight. I now wished I could’ve attended,” Hycymum Peto said as her daughter sat down at her kitchen table to a mug of warm milk.

Mahrree fidgeted. She wasn’t sure if it was because of what her mother said, or because of the new sheepskin coverings for the chairs that were dyed pink to match the window coverings, tabl
ecloth, dish cloths, and pink dye rubbed on the wooden cabinets.

“But you see, new linen arrived for my ladies’ sewing night, and—”

“What did you hear about it?” Mahrree stared at the simple mug her mother gave her. It wasn’t one of her expensive kiln-fired cups. Mahrree didn’t mind being treated like a child that night; she felt more at ease holding the mug that cost fewer slips of silver, since she wasn’t sure of her grip on anything.

“I heard the linens came from a dyer near Coast and—”

“No, Mother,” Mahrree said patiently. “I meant, what did you hear about the debate?”

“Oh. Ahh! Well, I heard,” began her mother, pulling up a chair across from her daughter, “that a very handsome young man has come to the village!” Her voice was filled with the glee of a teena
ger, despite her forty-eight years. She began to wiggle excitedly, and the wiggle rolled through her round body up to her plump face and to her brown and gray curls. “And that he took you on very handily.”

Mahrree’s head snapped up. “No one won!
I
should have, because he pretty much quit before I could finish him off, but he didn’t ‘take me on’!”

Her mother sat back and giggled. “My! So there
is
something there.”

“Who told you that?”

“The Densals left just before you arrived. Hogal told me you did very well, but that he’d never seen you turn red so often. I told him you did that when you were little and looked at a boy, or you needed to relieve yourself.” Hycymum took a sip from her shiny cup.

Her mother was often a rich source of information. The most embarrassing kind, unfortunately.

Mahrree buried her face in her hands. “Mother—you didn’t!”

“Well, it’s true,” she said, unsure of why her daughter was so upset. “So, was he handsome?”

“How should I know?” Mahrree wasn’t really lying, she was just asking another question. She reached for a piece of bread from the basket and noticed a layer of herbs encrusted on it. She never understood her mother’s need to embellish everything, from her head to her food. Hycymum also insisted everything should be a
meal
.
That meant taking three extra hours and twelve extra ingredients and stirring them into something no one would recognize anymore, then giving it a made up name like la-zhan-ya. 

Then again, it was her job as the head cook for Edge’s Inn, the finest establishment north of Mountseen, as its sign proclaimed. There wasn’t much competition; Edge was the
only
village north of Mountseen, and the other inn—misleadingly named Inn at Edge—served food that they culled from Edge’s Inn’s trash heap. Or so Hycymum claimed.

“You know, the rector said the new officer comes from an army family. Something like that,” Edge’s finest cook vaguely waved her thick hand. “His father did something with someone . . . with the new administrators. Maybe.” 

Mahrree sighed. The only way her mother would become interested in politics was if they started taxing polka dots or cucumber slices.  “Is he related to a general?” she suggested. During the walk from the amphitheater to her mother’s, Mahrree tried to remember where she had heard the name Shin before. There was only one man she thought of, but the captain certainly couldn’t be
his
son.

Her mother looked up at the wood-planked ceiling for an a
nswer. “General? Maybe . . . that’s the highest rank, right?”

“Yes,” Mahrree said slowly.

Her mother shook her head. “Doesn’t sound familiar. Anyway, he’s supposed to come from a good family. There!” 

Mahrree gave her a weak smile and took a taste of the bread. She couldn’t define any one flavor in it. Not that it was bad, just
complicated
. Everything seemed unnecessarily complicated tonight.

“Anyway,” Hycymum said again, “Rector Densal said the col
onel—”

“Captain,” Mahrree corrected.

“Whatever—was the kind of man your father would approve of.” Hycymum put her hand on top of Mahrree’s. “When you decide you want to marry him, I will help you pick your linens.”

“
Wha—, marr—, I—, MOTHER!” Mahrree spluttered. “What ARE you doing?! I debated the man just once and you already have me, me . . . ?” She stood and circled her chair like a disoriented fly. Why was it that she could debate anyone in the village but could rarely get her mother to understand anything?

Hycymum looked at her sadly. “It’s just that you aren’t that young of a woman anymore. To find a man not intimidated by you is . . . wait. Oh no. What did you say at that debate? Oh, Mahrree! You didn’t ruin your chances with a corporal by being
smart
, did you?”

“Mother!” Mahrree exclaimed and tried to calm down by taking a deep breath. She chose not to correct the rank mistake again and looked at her mother with her kindest face. “I came to visit you t
onight because I wanted to be comforted. And I wanted to, to, oh I don’t know anymore . . . What’s so wrong about being smart? That’s what Father wanted.”

“And he was much better at listening to you than I ever was.” Her mother sighed. “You have a question about what to put on the table for a formal dinner, I’m your woman,” she said with a happy smile that dimmed. “But you have a question about why something is right or wrong, you needed to talk to your father. He kept me ba
lanced.”

Mahrree had often wondered why her parents got together. Then she remembered her father loved all kinds of foods. And he really did seem to adore her, her silliness and everything.

Mahrree took her chair again and the women sat in silence.

Eventually her mother spoke. “You would do well with a man to help you keep your balance. Yes, I know—you’re very balanced. But a good man will help you
improve
the balance. I miss Cephas’s knowledge, his always wanting to do right. Sometimes when I hear you speak it’s like I’m hearing him. Maybe that’s why I don’t go to the debates too often.”

And she had adored him, Mahrree thought. He could explain anything to her, and she absorbed it all. Mahrree seemed only to sloppily splash words against her mother. Of course she would miss him when she listened to her debate . . .

Mrs. Peto sighed. “Ah, that’s not the reason I didn’t go. I’d just rather look at cloth with my friends! I
am
sorry,” she admitted with an apologetic grin.

Mahrree chuckled. Hycymum sometimes acted as if her head was full of bubbles, but at least they were honest bubbles.

“I’m sorry, Mahrree,” she repeated. “I didn’t mean to marry you off tonight. I just worry. I wasn’t lonely for the sixteen years I had your father. I hate to think of you lonely for your whole life.”

“As long as I have my students and you, Mother, I’ll never be lonely!” Mahrree declared. But tonight, those words and her life suddenly seemed empty.

-
--

Several roads away the old rector and his wife wearily entered their back door after a long evening of visits. Mrs. Densal lit a candle on their eating table, and her husband gasped.

The flickering light revealed a large figure in dark clothing fil
ling the doorway between the kitchen and gathering room. Mrs. Densal whimpered.

“It’s unsafe to leave your doors unlocked now that Guarder a
ctivity has increased.”

Hogal Densal released a large breath and shook his head. “Pe
rrin Shin! Have you ever heard of knocking and waiting for a response?” He shook his head and chuckled nervously, then pulled out a chair and gestured for the captain to join him at the table.

“Truly, Perrin! Frightening an old woman like this!” Mrs. Densal scolded with a broad smile as the captain sat down. She turned to a cabinet, took out a plate with a large piece of berry pie, and placed it in front of him.

The captain started to shake his head, thought twice about it, and accepted the fork she offered.

“Thank you,” he remembered to say before adding, “but I’m not here for your pie. I’m here for an explanation.” He took a bite and
stared accusatorily at the old man while he chewed.

The rector’s wife pulled out a chair to sit across from her hu
sband who was practicing his best ‘What have I done?’ look.

“An explanation about what, my boy?” Rector Densal sounded genuinely unsure.

Perrin swallowed. “About tonight! About . . . umm,” he waved his fork.

“Miss Mahrree Peto?”

Perrin took another bite. “Yes,” he mumbled, pointing his fork at the rector. “Some old school teacher! That’s what you said, Hogal. ‘The
old
school teacher.’”

Mrs. Densal looked down and tried to hide a smile.

Hogal put on a thoughtful expression. “Well, now, many of the younger children
think
of her as old. Perhaps that’s what I meant—”

“I know what you’re doing,” Perrin said, shifting his gaze b
etween the two of them. “And I’m not here to get married. I’m here to command the new fort. And to eat your pie. Delicious, as always.” He smiled at Mrs. Densal.

She beamed, adding more creases around her ever-twinkling eyes.

“My boy, no one said anything about marriage. Dear, did you say anything about marriage?” Hogal asked his wife.

“Just so you both understand: I’m not the marrying type.”

“Ah, Perrin,” said Mrs. Densal, patting his hand. “Everyone is the marrying type. They just don’t know it until they find their type!”

“And it’s my guess that Miss Mahrree may be your type!” Hogal winked.

Perrin ignored that comment and focused on the pie. “And you already scheduled another debate?”

“Oh, she suggested it, my boy,” the rector told him. “She’s quite thoughtful. Just like her father, one of the wisest men I ever knew. And she might be considered pretty, too.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Perrin muttered as he broke off another piece, but something in his voice suggested they were part of the equation.

“She reads a lot. Tends to get a little outspoken, but I think you saw that,” Hogal mused, trying to see any reaction on Perrin’s face.

But Perrin kept looking at his plate, pushing bits of berries around with his fork.

“But at least she thinks!” Mrs. Densal interjected. “It can be di
fficult to find young women who care for anything more than popular dress colors.”

When the captain didn’t respond, the elderly couple looked at each other and communicated silently.

The rector cleared his throat. “I’m intrigued about your presentation of the topics. First, you receive that message from Idumea—”

“He’s always sending me weather reports,” the captain said of
fhandedly.

“Curious that he should, considering that the weather we have in Edge one day is visiting Idumea the next. Reports should be going the
other
way, I would think. Or perhaps he’s just drawing your attention to the color of the sky?”

The captain didn’t answer, but took another bite of pie.

The rector smiled at the avoidance tactic. “You wanted her to choose the color of the sky debate, didn’t you? Did you decide that before or
after
you laid eyes on her?”

Perrin shrugged without looking up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Another bite of pie.

“Of course not,” Hogal said, with a slow nod. “She did rather well, I thought. Took you on quite handily. In about five more minutes, she would have humiliated you. Maybe that’s why you cut the debate short?”

Perrin suddenly stopped and stared at his plate.

“But you made great strides in proving to the village that you and the army are not lingering death tools of the kings,” Hogal assured him. “You even earned a few smiles, nods of approval, and one hearty round of applause. Excellent work tonight, my boy.”

Perrin just studied his nearly empty plate.

“You know,” the rector said with a chuckle as he rearranged some of the dishes set for their breakfast, “I was just thinking, she doesn’t live too far away from here. Just north and east. Rather along the way to the fort, I would think. It’s kind of funny, it’s easy to find her house. It’s the only one without a proper garden. The woman cares nothing for maintaining her yard. She cares only for her books—and her students, of course.”

When this failed to draw any kind of response from the captain, Mrs. Densal tried. “I was just wondering what color Mahrree’s hair could be described as. It’s too dark for blonde, and too light to be brown. I have the same question about her eyes. I’m not really sure
what color they are . . .”