Soldier at the Door(214)

“Yes, Mrs. Yung,” Zenos said obediently. No one would dare disobey that tone of voice. “You just get him out of here!”

“That’s always been the plan, Shem, but this past week—it’s been unlike anything we’ve ever experienced. How I’m going to explain any of this to my brother Hew, I—” She stopped short and pointed to a clearing beyond them.

Four figures in black were jogging quietly towards their general direction, weaving through the underbrush and dodging pine trees.

Without another word, Mrs. Yung jabbed Shem. He nodded, the long knife still in his hands, and headed straight towards them, noiseless hurtling shrubs in his way. Mrs. Yung grabbed Dormin’s arm and pulled him back towards the boulders.

“What’s he doing?” Dormin whispered.

“Saving your life, Dormin. When I say three, head towards the stand of pines. One . . . three!”

Dormin followed her up to the trees several paces away. He slipped into the middle of them, learning earlier that night that complaining about their poking needles wouldn’t earn him any sympathy since Mrs. Yung was already quite scratched up herself.

“Hold still and you’ll become the shadows,” Mrs. Yung breathed. “That’s the best way to see what’s happening.”

Dormin nodded, but felt a sharp jab from Mrs. Yung. “I said hold still. Talk in breaths.”

“Sorry,” he breathed. He kept his shoulders from shrugging another apology, but his eyes widened with dismay that the gentle, kind woman who had been acting as his mother for more than a year had become as pointed and threatening as the blade she wore concealed under her cloak. With considerable dread, he fretted that maybe that his great grandmother, the originator of the killing squads, was distantly related to Mrs. Yung.

His first night in the trees was definitely different than what he was used to.

Dormin squinted between the boughs to see where Zenos had jogged off to. A moment later he appeared in the moons’ light directly in front of the four men. They stopped in surprise and blinked, as if unsure that the man was really in front of them.

“Who are you?!” one of the men asked, not concerned about keeping his voice low.

Zenos answered them nothing, but stood motionless.

“Wait a minute,” one of the four said slowly. He took a few steps closer. “Look at his trousers. Hey, I know who you are! What are you do—”

That’s all he got out.

Shem lunged unexpectedly, thrusting his knife into the man’s heart. His three companions immediately reacted by pulling their jagged daggers, but the man in the black jacket took off running.

Dormin, in the safety of the shadow of the trees, gasped.

Mrs. Yung covered his mouth with her hand. “Hush, Dormin. We’re safe now,” she said in the familiar gentle tone Dormin had known over the past year. “That was the last four we were trying to flush out. The other three will likely survive. We save people, Dormin. All we do is to save lives.”

She took her hand off his mouth and exhaled deeply as if to rid herself of her previously sharp demeanor. When she spoke again, she was once again an ideal rector’s wife.

“That one died to save you, and Shem will wrestle with his conscience as mightily as he did the night he killed your brother. But you, and the others, are now safe. My husband, however, isn’t. The poor man gets lost when he can’t see the mountains. Come on.” She tugged on his arm.

Dormin nodded, but took one more glance back at the still body with the long knife protruding out of his heart. Maybe it happened that quickly for Sonoforen, so fast that he didn’t even know what hit him before the ground did. That’s the way he’d want to go, Dormin thought—suddenly, like their father. He remembered telling his brother he loved him, and how ridiculously that went over. But the Yungs told him someday he would be grateful he did. And he was.

Dormin nodded once to the body. “I’m sorry, Sonoforen. Good-bye.”

Then he dashed through a clearing behind Mrs. Yung and into a stand of scrubby oaks.



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As Shem sprinted, he glanced behind him and saw the three men in close pursuit, but none of them could catch the dark figure that ran with greater speed and agility than a deer. Through trees, through meadows, through a river, and even through a shallow patch of steaming water they chased him, heading west.

If only the Strongest Soldier race could have been run in here at night, Shem thought wistfully.

Sometimes he slowed his gait, only enough for the men behind him to think they could finally catch him, but then he pulled out ahead, tantalizingly out of their reach. He headed down a ravine, stumbled, and struggled to recover his footing.