The Falcon in the Barn (Book 4 Forest at the Edge series) (13 page)

Not really knowing much about reviving
orchards before the past year when he spent more time in Yung’s
orchard than he did playing kickball, Peto shrugged as he chewed on
another leathery piece.

Yung regarded him for a moment. “How’s that
taste?”

“
Like a dried up
peach.”

“
Remember the ones we
pulled off the trees fresh?”

Peto grinned. “Juiciest things. I was sticky
all day.”

Yung matched his grin. “What would have
happened to those peaches had we not given them a chance?”

Peto shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe . . . not
get juicy?”

“
Not enough sun, not enough
water, and they would not have matured. But if they did, they would
have been dry and small.”

“
There’s another Holy Day
talk in here, isn’t there?”

Yung chuckled. “There is. Now you tell me
what it is.”

Peto sighed. “I swear you’re trying to turn
me into a rector. All right. Peaches deserve to live and . . .
sometimes others have to help them have their best shot at living,
even if not a whole lot of them respond, or even if there’s not
even a lot to harvest.”

Yung cocked his head. “Inarticulate, but
you’re on the right path.”

“
So you would have gone
through all this work even if there was only one peach this
year?”

“
Peto, I would have been
out there every day trimming branches and pulling weeds and
watering roots all season even if there were
no
peaches this
year, just to let the trees know I was there and willing to help,
so that next year they’d have a bit more faith to put out a few
more fruits.”

Peto stared at the little tree in front of
him which he’d been trimming. “You say that as if the trees
actually know you’re there.”

“
Peto,” Yung whispered,
“that’s because they do. Everything’s alive. We have a stewardship
from the Creator to care for all living things. And yes, I believe
they do know I care,” Yung said, a bit bashfully. “They just need
to know they’re not alone. The harvest will come, but we can’t
force it. All we can do is encourage the trees until they’re ready
to dare.”

Peto examined his tiny tree, turned from a
gnarled bush into a small piece of living art. “When will my father
finally dare, Rector?” he whispered.

Yung sighed. “I don’t know. But Peto, he’s
lasted much longer than many others like him. Without so much
faith, he wouldn’t have made it this far. That gives me hope.
Should give you some as well. Never give up. The Creator never
does, so neither should we. I still have a few tricks up my
sleeve.”

Peto frowned. “What’s that supposed to
mean?”

Yung smiled and slid the box of peach rings
over to Peto. “For your father, from me.”

---

Perrin sat on the sofa before dawn, waiting
for the morning to come. He wasn’t going back into that bed. Not
after what he dreamed happened there.

On the side table was a small box of dried
peach rings that Peto had brought home, from Rector Yung who Peto
saw on his way home from kickball.

Feeling guilty for his neglect of the old man
the past year, Perrin picked up a ring and nibbled dutifully on it,
even though peaches weren’t his favorite fruit—that would be
bacon—and felt a twinge of guilt that others gave him things, but
he never reciprocated.

Perrin looked at the books lining the
shelves. Useless as distractions, since he’d read most of them
already. There were The Writings, but he had he neglected them too,
along with his daily discussions with the Creator.

That’s when he saw them. Reluctantly he got
up, retrieved the stack of messages the fort had been receiving for
several moons now, and sat down. He pulled out the message from the
boy at the Stable of Pools and reread it. Roak was likely
fulfilling some dreary school assignment to write a letter to
someone. Perrin was the recipient, now doomed to return the
favor—

No. Roak had been sincere. He didn’t know the
depth of Perrin’s pain, but he had thought of the Shin family.

Perrin opened another message and read it.
Gizzada was worried about him. Another message. Another citizen.
And again.

And then another that sank his heart.

Sergeant Major Grandpy Neeks had sent a long
letter full of reminiscing about Relf Shin that twice made Perrin
smile, and at the bottom of it was a note from now Corporal
Qualipoe Hili, stating how sorry he was, and that he hadn’t caused
any new trouble.

“
Thank you,” he whispered
to the messages, thirty-two of them. But that wasn’t good enough,
and he knew it. He went to the study and returned with pieces of
parchment, ink, and quills.

He stared at the messages before he started
to write.

Roak, I’m sorry this note is coming to you
so late. I haven’t been well, but I wanted you to know that I was
grateful for your letter. At this difficult time in my life it
means a great deal to me that people throughout the world share my
pain . . .

---

Later that morning in the command tower,
Perrin heard the knock on the office door, a familiar and welcome
rhythm.

“
Come in, Zenos,” he
called.

“
Perrin?” he said
softly.

Perrin only glanced up from the dull reports
on his desk. “What?”

Shem tried to smile as he approached the desk
cluttered with piles. He managed to find a corner to sit on and
casually propped himself there. “I have something I want you to try
that might help with your nightmares.” He whispered the last words,
even though no one in the outer office could hear them over the
conversation going on out there.

Perrin sat back in his chair. “Is this really
the best time—” He stopped when he saw Shem holding up a length of
wool, knitted into a dense, thin chain. “Knitting? I should take up
knitting?”

Shem grinned—a rare sight these days—and
shook his head. “No, this is for your wrist. You wear it, like a
bracelet.” He held it out by both ends, but Perrin didn’t move. “On
your sword hand?” Shem shook the soft chain, but still Perrin
didn’t offer his arm.

“
A bracelet? To stop
nightmares? This is sounding desperate—”

Shem sighed and dropped his hands to his lap.
“You wear this, all the time. It’s your connection to reality. The
idea is, if you see this on your wrist, especially when you hold a
weapon, you’ll understand that at that moment you’re in reality.
But if you hold a weapon, look at your wrist, and see nothing, then
you can be assured it’s a dream. Then maybe you can start getting
control of it.”

“
But what if I dream that
I’m wearing the woolen chain?”

“
You won’t.”

“
How do you
know?”

“
I don’t know,” Shem
admitted. “It’s just a tool. Worth a try, isn’t it?” He held up the
length again, a pale cream color almost the same as Perrin’s skin.
“Just for you to see. To . . . to
ground
you.”

“
And who’s idea was this to
tie me up?”

“
The surgeon’s,” Shem
said.

“
Then why isn’t Stitch here
himself?” Perrin asked.

“
Because I knew you’d have
this attitude, and I thought I might be the best choice for getting
you to try it.”

“
So who knitted
it?”

Shem groaned. “I don’t know! Does it matter?
Please, Perrin?” He whispered earnestly.“You’ve . . . you’ve gone
darker. It’s due to the weather. The fewer hours of sunshine, the
bleak skies . . . we’re losing you.”

“
In know. But it won’t
work,” Perrin whispered back. “Nothing works.”

“
Please, just try it? For a
few weeks? Think of it, look at it.”

Reluctantly, Perrin raised his right arm to
allow Shem to tie the length of knotted yarn to his wrist. For good
measure, Shem slid it up to hide it under his jacket. “Consider it
a trick up your sleeve.”

“
Zenos,” Perrin said,
dropping his arm, “the only length of yarn that helped a man in my
situation was tied into a noose.”

Shem’s eyes flared. “Don’t even joke like
that, Perrin! Don’t even joke.”

“
Who said I was—” Perrin
stopped, realizing he was adding even more pain to his brother’s
already anguished eyes. “Thank you, Shem,” he said instead. “For
trying.”

---

Late that night Zenos trudged deep into the
forest to the hot steam vent and sat on the log next to the man
waiting for him.

“
Well? How did it
go?”

Shem sighed. “Took a bit of convincing, but I
finally tied it on to him. I guess I should have explained it
better, but—” He shook his head, closed his eyes, and went
silent.

The man squeezed his shoulder. “You’re doing
well.”

Shem scoffed. “If this stupid season would
just be over! We almost had him back, and then—” He clapped his
hands loudly and winced, forgetting the need to keep silent in the
woods. “Shin asked where it came from. Said I didn’t know. So
Jothan, who knitted it?”

“
It came from Gleace
himself.”

Shem smiled. “That should carry something,
shouldn’t it?”

“
It may, but will he
recognize it? That’s the question, Shem.”

Chapter 5
~
“What did I
almost do?”

I
t was desperation
that was driving Mahrree right now. Desperation that her husband
was nearly gone, but she wasn’t about to give up.

She stood on her bed in the middle of the
night, grasping his wrist and holding it above her head in the
dark. In that hand was his long knife, trembling to find a
target.

“
Who are you?!” he shouted
at her.

“
Your wife!” she yelled
back.

“
No, you’re not! You killed
her!”

“
Perrin, just open your
eyes! Look at me. Look at your wrist.”

“
It’s a trick!” he shouted,
panicked.

Mahrree noticed a movement at her bedroom
door, but didn’t take her focus off of her husband. It was too much
to hope that it was Shem. He’d been suffering from a cold and
decided his coughing all night would disturb Perrin, so he stayed
at the fort.

Well it didn’t disturb Perrin, she realized
as she tensed her measly muscles to keep her husband’s strong arm
in the air and his long knife away from her neck. He was disturbed
all on his own.

“
Perrin Shin,” she said as
calmly as she could, “I order you to put down this knife and
command you to look at your wrist.”

“
There’s nothing there!” he
wailed.

“
That’s right. Nothing’s
there, so you’re in a dream.”

“
Mother?” said a whimper at
the door. It was Peto, and he was lighting a candle. “Will this
help?”

Without glancing his way, she nodded.
“Perrin, look for the candle. Open your eyes and come out of this
now, soldier!”

In the growing light Mahrree could tell his
eyes were still closed, but they cracked open a bit, squinting at
the flame.

Mahrree firmed her grip on his arm, making
sure the knitted chain was visible between her clenched
fingers.

“
Eyes open wider, Colonel.
Good. Now, look at your wrist. What do you see there?”

Perrin, blinking in confusion, scowled as he
looked at his arm. “The chain?” he whispered.

“
Good,” Mahrree said,
impressed with her ability to remain so composed. “Now look a
little higher and see what’s in your hand.”

His gaze crept up to his hand, and when he
saw what he was about to do, he gasped, dropping the long
knife.

Mahrree ducked out of the way, but the blade
tip jabbed into her shoulder before it tumbled onto the bed.

“
Mother!” Peto cried, but
didn’t dare come into the room.

“
I’m fine, I’m fine,” she
said, crawling off the bed while her husband collapsed onto it.
“Just a minor nick, I’m sure. No real pain.” She slipped her bed
dress off of her shoulder to inspect the now bleeding cut. “Doesn’t
even need resin. Peto, get me a clean rag, please. And leave the
candle. And don’t wake your sister.”

Peto obediently handed her the candle and
darted down the stairs. Mahrree set the candle on the dresser,
retrieved the long knife from the side of the bed, and slipped it
into her stocking drawer where she knew her husband wouldn’t find
it.

He remained curled up on the bed,
shaking.

She was surprised she’d reached this point.
The terror was gone, replaced by numbed acceptance. She wasn’t even
trembling as much as she expected for having been nearly
murdered.

Sitting down by her husband, she put a hand
experimentally on his shuddering shoulder. “Perrin?”

She didn’t expect him to suddenly sit up and
grab her, clumsily pulling her body next to his, clawing at her
almost with animal-like intensity as he tried to envelop her.
“Sorry . . . so sorry! What did I nearly do?!”

It was difficult to embrace him back, because
he was squeezing her too firmly for her to wriggle her arms free.
Instead she stroked his arm with one of her free fingers. “It’s all
right, it’s over now. Did you notice that looking at your wrist
worked? I think it helped wake you up.”

But he didn’t hear her over his mumbling of,
“What did I almost do? What did I almost do?”