Soldier at the Door (64 page)

Mahrree smiled stiffly and patted The Writings. “Definitely not the Last Day yet, is it Guide Hierum!” A land tremor in early Wee
ding Season was much stronger, allowing everyone in Edge, Moorland, and Quake the opportunity to rearrange their shelves and wipe up the dust shaken down.

But in the back of her mind a sense of immediacy gripped her, just as it had when she read Guide Pax’s words about the Last Day on the morning after Perrin had proposed to her, more than three and a half years ago. The words from that later prophecy bounced around her mind again, committed to her memory despite her effort to not remember.

Before the Last Day even the aged of my people will strike terror in the deadened hearts of the fiercest soldiers.

On the Last Day those who have no power shall discover the greatest power is all around them.

On the Last Day those who stayed true to The Plan will be delivered as the destroyer comes.

And, even more tragically:

On that day be one of the many standing with the guide . . .

There were no guides, not anymore.

And Mahrree didn’t know what to do with that terrible truth. Maybe it meant to stand by their words, what they’d said in the past, to remain faithful to their memories—

She sighed. Why did the Creator allow the last guide to die at Mt. Deceit? What was the purpose of that? Surely they still needed guidance, didn’t they? Why would the Creator suddenly decide, “I’ve said enough. Go figure out the rest on your own”?

They still needed guidance, and protection, and . . .

For some strange reason she found herself remembering the old stooped man from last year, the one who caught Jaytsy as she ran past him at the village green, and patted Peto to sleep in a way she and Perrin could never replicate. His dark skin was faded, his curly gray hair was thinning, but there was something bright and lively and intense in his eyes. And he said . . . what was it? Something about the Creator preserving their family?

The ground shifted abruptly again, sloshing a bit of water on to Mahrree’s new book. Growling under her breath, she snatched up Jaytsy’s dirty dress from yesterday, still lying on the floor, and quickly mopped up the spill.

“Will wrinkle the pages,” she mumbled in aggravation. “Only thing worse than complicated math problems are wrinkled pages!” She looked outside her window and towards Mt. Deceit in the west, pretending her view wasn’t obscured by the Hershs’ house. “Any more little quivers and quakes this morning?” she asked crossly. “Because I have a few things to do today, and I’d like to get all of this trembling over with!”

The ground remained still for one minute, two, three.

Mahrree nodded. “Thank you,” she said curtly to the west, set her new and still empty book down where the pages could dry flat, and headed to the kitchen. It wasn’t the Last Day yet, so it was time to make breakfast.

As she pushed through the kitchen door, she tried to leave b
ehind a new thought, bearing the distinct mark of coming from her father. Try as she might she couldn’t ignore the impression.

Just know, Mahrree, that the Last Day is not thousands of years away. It’s far sooner than you think.

And Mahrree, you ARE on the right side.

For now.

Mahrree stood in stunned silence for at least a minute until she heard the early morning whimpers of her son waking up.

---

There was one good thing about Barker, Mahrree decided that afternoon as she watched the dog plod along pulling the wagon containing her two children and a stack of ten slate boards. He was exceptionally mellow. Or ridiculously exhausted, she wasn’t sure which. But each day he lounged around, as if he’d been up all night wandering the world.

             
Or meeting pretty little female dogs who didn’t get a good look at him in the daylight to realize he wasn’t much to pant after.

             
Whatever it was, Barker always seemed tired, which made him slow enough to not turn over the wagon which he dutifully pulled.

             
But there were times like this that Mahrree wished Barker could go just a tad faster. She had to catch up to her After School Care boys who charged ahead noisily on their way back to their schoolhouse. At least it was for now. The Administrators had already sent builders and wagons of bland block to begin construction on a new gray, dull, square building. Mahrree had refused to go see it.

             
She reached the school house grounds just in time. The orchard that filled the side property and surrounded Mr. Hegek’s office-shack was heavy with apples, and the boys were already snacking.

             
And Mr. Hegek was standing in the door of his shack, puzzled. When he saw Mahrree approach with Barker and her children, he smiled.

             
“Ah, thought I was being overrun at first . . .” His face paled. “I heard rumors about an incident up at the fort?”

             
Mahrree smiled back. “Everything’s fine, Mr. Hegek.”

             
“It’s only that the word was that your in-laws—”

             
“—are now safely on their way back to Idumea. No threat to the village,” she said confidently and tried to change the subject before she got dragged into any more rumors.

She
often worried that maybe she accidentally started some in her conversations, but she was sure the village knew all about the incident last week from Hycymum and Joriana’s tour of the market.

“We’re here for one of our projects, Mr.
Hegek. These apples used to be sold each Harvest Season, and the money went to improving our school house and purchasing supplies for the next year. The money from these apples will now go to you—”

             
“That won’t be necessary,” he said brightly. “Because all funding comes from the Administrators now!”

             
“And where do the Administrators get that funding?” she asked as sweetly as she could.

             
Hegek faltered. “Uh, I suppose they get the funding from . . . careful management of gold and silver slips—”

“Taxes,” she cut him off, but kept her tone from going nasty. Almost too late she remembered that’s how Hegek was paid, as well as her husband.

“Now,” she said kindly, “If you’ll excuse me for a moment?” She clapped her hands and the boys immediately lined up in front of her. “Take your slates from the wagon,” she directed, “set them over by Mr. Hegek’s office so we can check your estimates when you’re finished—”

She waited for them to stop shoving each other for prime pla
cing position, while Mr. Hegek watched, amused.

“—then, when I give the word, you know what to do. Now . . . Ready . . . Start!”

The boys exploded off the line and rushed to the side of the shack, snatched up baskets that sat there neglected all year, ran to the trees, climbed them expertly, and started grabbing apples as quickly as possible.

“Remember,” Mahrree called to them, “no bruises! Apples don’t heal like boys do.”

Mr. Hegek grinned and stood next to Mahrree. “They’ll have the orchard cleared in an hour, I dare say! I was wondering what to do with these apples . . .” His voice trailed off as he likely hoped the conversation wouldn’t go back to taxes and Administrators.

But Mahrree just chuckled as she undid the ropes securing her toddlers. Barker had already plopped to the ground for a nap.

“Turn everything into a competition, Mr. Hegek—that’s the key to working with males, I’ve discovered.”

Jaytsy climbed out of the wagon and claimed an apple dropped by a careless 11-year-old. Peto wailed to join her, and Mahrree set him out on the brown grass as well. Another boy purposefully dropped an apple near him, and Mahrree pretended it didn’t bounce and bruise before Peto picked up the shiny red ball to gnaw.

Mr. Hegek winced a little, but didn’t comment. “So the purpose of this activity today is . . .?”

“Take a look at their slates,” Mahrree suggested.

He squinted as he tried to make out their scribbles and numbers. “Looks like . . . bets? You’re teaching them
betting
?”

Mahrree shook her head.
“While some fathers might approve of that, what we’re really doing is
estimates
,” she whispered the last word.

Mr. Hegek frowned. “You say that as if it’s
a bad thing. They are
supposed
to be learning about estimating right now. The objective—”

“Shhh!” she hushed him, and pulled him out of earshot of the boys. “Don’t say ‘objective’ in front of them! They don’t know this is
a lesson
,” she hissed.

“I don’t understand.”

Mahrree smiled. “Nothing kills a lesson faster than thinking you have to
learn
something from it, Mr. Hegek. Look, they’ve made guesses—bets, if you want to go that far—about how many baskets each of them can fill, and how quickly. There are rewards for the boys who fill the most, have the most accurate
estimates
, and who demonstrated the most thought in arriving at his guess. Bet. Estimate.”

Hegek nodded thoughtfully. “Interesting, interesting . . . what’s the reward?”

“The winning boys get to ride with Corporal Zenos along the forest’s edge at dusk.”

Hegek’s mouth dropped open. “That sounds terrifying!”

Mahrree shrugged. “That’s what they’re hoping. Don’t worry—there’ll be several other soldiers, full of scary stories—and all of the parents have already given permission. I think a couple of fathers are hoping to go along as well.”

Hegek chuckled and shook his head. “So how is this teaching estimating?”

“When we get back to my house later, with our counts completed, then we’ll discuss how some estimates were way off, and why others were more accurate. Timing, loads, effort—none of that’s important to them right now, but later? When they see who wins?
That’s
when the boys will really be interested to know how to better estimate next time. That’s when they’ll learn the lesson, and quite quickly.”

Mr. Hegek grinned. “That’s slightly brilliant, isn’t it?”

“What, applying principles to actual activities? That’s not brilliant; that’s simply life,” she declared.

“So what are the girls doing? Don’t you have an associate ta
king care of girls?”

Mahrree nodded. “Miss
Alrick. Right now my mother’s over at her place teaching the girls the secrets of her cake recipe.”

“The, uh . . . the cake at the Strongest Soldier Race?” Hegek almost seemed to drool the words.

Mahrree hid her smirk. “Yes, it is! The girls will each make a number of smaller versions, then bring them to the market tomorrow and make guesses as to whose will be most successful, who will sell more, who will bring home the biggest profit—”

“Wait,” the director of school
s said, alarmed, “that’s basic business practices. They won’t be learning that for another moon or two, and the
objective
—”

“Would you please stop using that word?” she snapped
pleasantly. “And so what if they learn concepts out of order? That ‘order’ is randomly decided anyway. Everything in the world connects, Mr. Hegek. Like the spokes on a massive wheel. You can’t see one spoke properly without seeing how it connects to the wheel, so why pretend it’s not part of it? They’ll still understand it all. Really.”

Mr. Hegek tilted his head and pondered that. “I suppose . . . I suppose you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” she said dismissively. “And by the way—the key to working with females is to show them they’re appreciated. My husband’s already planning to send a couple of soldiers to the girls’ cake stand tomorrow to buy out whatever doesn’t sell until the end. Girls this age need to feel success in order to realize they can be much more than merely something pretty to look at. And soldiers will buy and eat just about anything, especially if their commander’s given them the silver for it.”

Mr. Hegek laughed. “Both of you are brilliant.” 

He was about to say something else when Mahrree shouted, “Oy! No bruises, remember? On the apples OR each other! Sticks DOWN!” Then she held up one finger, remarkably threatening.

The boys stabbing each other in the treetops hung their heads and reluctantly dropped the dead branches they were using on each other.

Mahrree nodded, smiled forgivingly, then pointed at the sun—they were still being timed. They hurried back to picking apples.

“I’m impressed,” Hegek said quietly. “You
only held up a finger, and they stopped fighting?”

“The finger was a warning,” she told him. “First warning. If I get to a third warning, joy is lost.”

Hegek frowned. “Joy is lost?”

“That’s how to discipline boys,” Mahrree explained. “No sense in keeping them after school, or making them write lines—what does that accomplish? But temporarily take away something they love, and they remember. They discover that their behavior doesn’t earn them punishments, but decreases their joy.”