The Mansions of Idumea (Book 3 Forest at the Edge series) (72 page)

Or rather, facing Perrin’s sword, which was
raised and hovered just inches away from Shem’s chest.

“Go home,” Perrin commanded. It was the look
in his eyes that caught Shem’s breath. He’d never seen such fierce
resolve, such murderous intent.

Shem couldn’t let anyone else in the world
try to deal with him, so he shook his head. “No, I’m going with
you. Whatever you’re planning.”

He was aware that two young stable hands
stood to the right of him, frozen in place with pitchforks full of
straw. They slowly looked at each other. With his hand, Shem made
little waving motions to get them to leave, but the boys merely
turned to stare at Perrin’s sword.

A messenger in bright red ran into the
stable. “What’s going on in—” was as much as he could say before he
stopped right next to Shem. He found himself also staring at the
tip of Perrin’s sword, which now bobbed between the two men.

The only sound was of two pitchforks dropping
and boys scrambling out the door.

“Just leave,” Shem whispered to the little
man who began to tremble.

“But, but,” he whispered back, “no one’s
supposed to—”

“GO!” Perrin bellowed.

The little man jumped nearly as tall as Shem
and ran out, slamming the wooden doors behind him.

“I meant that ‘go’ for you as well, Zenos!”
Perrin snarled.

Shem firmed his stance. “I’m not leaving you.
What’re you planning to do?”

“Get justice!”

Shem tried to keep his voice steady. “You
don’t want justice, you want revenge. Neither will bring them back,
Perrin.”

It was the first time Shem was faster than
Perrin in anything, as if something told him what to do the moment
before he was to do it.

Perrin lunged with his sword, but Shem was
already stepping to the side. He grabbed Perrin’s hand, wrested the
sword away from him, and flung it into an empty stall where it
buried itself in the straw.

Infuriated, Perrin started to go for Shem’s
sword, but Shem drew it faster and pitched it into the straw as
well.

“Idiot!” Perrin yelled and swung at Shem,
connecting with his jaw.

Shem hadn’t seen that coming, and had never
before felt the full force of Perrin’s rage. They’d wrestled dozens
of times and sparred with each other for years, but never to any
degree of viciousness. The jaw-numbing blow awakened something in
Shem, something primal and raw.

He found himself on all fours in the straw
with an unfamiliar anger boiling in him, and the anger said, I
didn’t spend hours chasing you down just for a fight, but if that’s
what you want, Shin, that’s what you’re going to get!

Perrin was striding past Shem to the stall
where he had thrown the swords when Shem pushed up and lunged for
Perrin’s middle, knocking some of the air out of him and shoving
him against the wall. Shem struggled to his feet to punch him, but
Perrin caught him first with a hit to his kidney before Perrin fell
to the ground, gasping. He was down only for a moment before he
righted himself and charged at Shem, who was holding his side and
trying to stand back up.

Shem stepped out of the way at the last
moment and kicked Perrin as he tried to turn to catch Shem. Perrin
stumbled into a stable, frightening the horse in it, and stood back
up, seething.

Shem readied himself. “Come on!” he beckoned.
“You’ve got to have more in you than that, Colonel!”

Perrin, his eyes black and impenetrable,
stood his full height.

Shem felt a twinge of fear, but he pushed it
aside. As Perrin rushed him, Shem stepped forward and planted his
fist squarely on his jaw.

Perrin only stumbled backward a bit, shook
out his head, and came at Shem again like an agitated bear.

Shem tried to brace himself for the impact,
but Perrin was too strong. He plowed into Shem and kept going until
the wooden rail of a stall stopped them momentarily, then gave way
under their combined weight. Shem groaned as the splintered wood
dug into his back, and kept groaning as the full weight of Perrin
sandwiched him.

Shem let his rage work for him. Perrin sat
up, straddling Shem’s chest, and made a fist. But before he could
hit him, Shem swiftly raised his leg and kneed Perrin in the back
where he knew he was still sore from the long ride a few days
ago.

For the first time, Shem saw something else
besides murder in Perrin’s face. He saw a glint of agony as his
friend arched and writhed.

Shem used that moment. He brought his elbow
down hard on Perrin’s stomach, and as Perrin began to lean, Shem
pushed himself out from underneath him, flipping Perrin on to his
back. In one smooth movement he snatched Neeks’s knife from his
boot, straddled Perrin, and held the knife at his throat.

“No more, Colonel!” Shem told him. He sat
heavily on Perrin’s chest, knowing full well what his weight must
have been doing to his back.

Perrin winced in pain. “Zenos,” he gasped,
“we both know you can’t kill me. You can’t kill anything. Never
could.”

Shem shook his head. “Don’t make me surprise
you, Colonel. And I don’t need to kill you, just need to give you
something to remember me by. Remember your advice?” He pressed the
sharp tip of the knife into Perrin’s flesh to prick it.

Perrin didn’t even flinch, but as a trickle
of blood began to slide down to his neck, he knew Shem was
serious.

“What are you intending to do, Colonel
Shin?”

Perrin closed his eyes and his breathing
became shallower. “I want to get justice.”

“This isn’t the way, Colonel.”

Perrin’s breathing became more rapid and Shem
noticed his shoulders start to quiver. Something around the hard
lines of his face began to soften, and Perrin raised an arm to
cover his eyes.

Sensing a change in him, Shem slid off his
chest, but kept his leg on top of him and the knife next to his
throat.

Perrin’s entire body began to shake and Shem
finally understood. He scrambled off and tried to lift Perrin to a
sitting position, but Perrin had no strength left as he began to
sob. Shem sat in the straw next to him, put the knife under his leg
just in case, and wrapped both arms around his stricken friend.

Perrin leaned against his chest, dampening
his jacket. “Shem, Shem . . . they’re taking all I love,” he wept.
“If I can’t stop them— They’re taking them by age. The Densals. My
parents. Then me. Then there’ll be no one left to protect Mahrree,
Jaytsy, and Peto. They’ll be next—I know it.”

Shem held him and rocked. “No, no, Perrin!
They’re not.
You’re
not. We’re watching them, always. We’re
protecting. We’re keeping them safe.”

Perrin shook his head and trembled like a
child. “They’ll be gone. No matter what I do, Shem, it doesn’t make
any difference.”

“Everything you do makes a difference!” Shem
tightened his embrace as if that could somehow make Perrin believe
him. “And you won’t be alone. Not now, not ever. I’m here. The
Creator sent me to you. You’ll always have your brother. You’re
protected! I’ll get you through this, I promise. You’ll be all
right, Perrin.” Shem was almost frantic now, trying to get him to
feel the reality of his words. “All of you will be, I
know
it. Trust me!”

Tears streaked down Shem’s face, too. He’d
never seen another man so distraught, and if what Shem was feeling
right now for him was just a fraction of Perrin’s grief, he didn’t
know how Perrin was surviving it. Shem prayed fervently for
guidance to know what to do and say as he firmly held Perrin’s
shuddering body.

---

Outside of the stable the full staff of the
messenger station cautiously peered into the windows, wondering
when it was safe to open the doors. They’d inserted lengths of wood
through the door handles on both exits as barricades. No one could
see what happened after the two fighting men had broken through the
stall, and all had been quiet for several minutes.

The supervisor looked at his employees and
came to a conclusion. “We unbarricade the doors in an hour. If
they’re alive, they’ll be calmer—most likely from large losses of
blood. If they’re dead, then an hour won’t make any difference. In
either case, it’ll be easier to remove them if we wait. Anyone
feeling a bit peckish?”

Everyone agreed a bit of cake would be most
welcome right now. As the men were settling down to a well-earned
snack, a messenger arrived, winded and frantic, to warn them about
huge soldiers stealing their horses. But when he heard the soldiers
were subdued and contained in the stables, he too pulled up a chair
and realized that the urgency of his warning wasn’t as urgent as
the last piece of cake.

Forty-five minutes later the stable doors
burst open, to the shock of the willowy riders who thought the
pitchfork handle would hold, likely because it would’ve held
them
.

Two men walked out, side by side, swords
sheathed, and horses’ reins in their hands. The lantern light
behind them shadowed them dramatically, making them look even
larger than they were, which meant they appeared to be roughly the
size of wood sheds. They strode calmly up to the office where the
entire staff was now staring out the open door as if seeing two
ghosts with horses. A mug crashed to the floor.

“We’ll be taking these two horses. Do you
have a problem with that?” the colonel asked through the
doorway.

The entire messenger staff gave their answer
to the supervisor in the form of uniformly shaking heads.

The supervisor hadn’t reached this level by
not knowing how to work the rules. Especially when those requesting
the rules to be broken just destroyed half his stables and not only
lived to tell about it, but walked out serenely, oblivious to the
blood and cuts and bruises and straw that covered them.

The supervisor shook his head erratically, as
if unable to decide if nodding or shaking it was more appropriate.
So he did both. “No, no, no, no problem. Whatever you gentlemen
need.”

The colonel nodded at him, then the two men
mounted and rode off into the darkness.

---

Rector Yung looked around the forest and knew
he was in trouble.

Actually, he knew long before he slipped
unnoticed into the trees at the fresh spring that soon he’d be in
trouble. But there was no other choice. A message had to be
delivered, and he was the only one left to do it.

That’s what he’d been trying to do for the
last hour, but it was maddening how each tree looks exactly like
another, especially at night. He couldn’t come any earlier, but not
because he didn’t dare; no soldier ever stopped lowly little
rectors, or questioned why they were wandering near the forest.

He couldn’t come earlier because he was
actually busy. For the first time since he came to Edge a year ago,
he was needed all day and all night.

People always wanted a rector when tragedy
struck. Distraught, they suddenly remembered snippets of The
Writings, warm feelings, and the notion of a Creator that they’d
encountered long ago when a grandmother dragged them to Holy Day
meetings as children. Suddenly they needed that comfort and a
shoulder to cry on. Rector Yung had the dampest shoulders in all of
Edge.

He knew exactly what they were experiencing,
the realization that someone they were used to waking up to each
morning was no longer there, and never would be again. It’d been
seven years since he lost his wife who simply didn’t wake up one
morning. He knew what to say to someone in that same distressing
position and, more importantly, what
not
to say. He was
happy to be so needed, but equally discouraged as to the reasons
why. Yung didn’t know the majority of the people he was asked to
comfort, but each embraced him as a dear friend when he finally
departed.

Yung had just left the home of an elderly man
who feared the pains in his chest were a sign he was about die. The
rector patted his hand and listened to the man’s regrets until he
finally fell asleep. A doctor confided to Yung that the man was
merely suffering from the stresses of the past several weeks, but
he seemed much calmer once he unloaded all of the past misdeeds
that weighed down his mind and heart for too many years.

But before that, Yung had been at the
Shins.

Word of what happened to the High General and
Mrs. Shin flew through the village like mosquitoes from the
marshes, and Yung hastened to the Shins to find the family
predictably in anguish. Mrs. Shin had asked him to offer a prayer
for them, and for her husband, and for Shem who was trying to chase
him down—

That’s when Yung knew he’d have to go back
into the forest. It was now the middle of the night, but already
he’d delayed delivering the news.

It was at moments like this that he missed
his wife even more. While the rector had a knack for seeing into a
person’s heart and guiding them out of their worries, his wife had
the ability to see into the forest and find the fastest way through
it. He never understood how she did it, and she didn’t understand
how he couldn’t. Perhaps it because he was so much at home in the
world it was almost as if he’d been born there.

Rector Yung sat down on a log and sighed.
Hopeless. He couldn’t even see the stars above him to discern where
he might be. Not that he’d know how to even if he
could
see
the stars . . .

He looked down at the ground, peered closer
to what was next to his boot, and chuckled.

“Of course!” he said out loud. “Everything’s
changed! You, my friend,” he pointed to the hole in the ground,
“are supposed to be venting right now. I’m only a few dozen paces
away.” He looked up at the sky, nodded a thanks, and headed up the
slope and over a gentle ridge.

“Well, hello boys!”