“And now it’s sunk in,” Perrin smiled. He put his other hand on her belly. “So at any moment . . . any moment . . . remarkable. Nothing. I thought for sure the truth would start birthing pains, but no tightening, no—”
“THE FOURTEEN GUARDERS WERE AFTER ME?!”
“Uh, yes. I think I just told you that. Mahrree, please blink. Your eyes will dry out—”
“PERRIN! THEY WERE AFTER—”
He put a finger on her lips. “You, yes. And Jaytsy, but don’t wake her up,” he added quietly. “The fourteen Guarders were actually after my family, not me. Hogal still has the message if you want to see it. I decided it was best left in his hands until now. Ah, well at least you blinked. Now let’s see if we can’t get the stubborn little kicker here to—”
“Oh, Perrin!” Mahrree exclaimed, and started to weep. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He sighed. “I thought it was obvious—to keep you from birthing too early. But now that you’re ready it doesn’t seem to have any effect. Why are you crying?”
“You’ve had three moons to get over this, but I’m barely learning about it now!” she wailed.
He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. Well, as close as her bulging middle would allow.
“You’re right,” he sighed. “I didn’t think about it that way. My back’s been healed for several weeks now, so in my mind it’s all well in the past.”
At least his back felt fine. He was even able to finish the new baby’s addition on the house last week, and before that erected a fence around the front yard when Jaytsy discovered how to walk shortly after her first birthday.
But how his back looked was another matter. He saw the scar only a few times in the surgery, when the surgeon positioned mirrors for him to admire it. He thought the jagged raw line was an ideal badge of honor.
But it took Mahrree weeks to stop whimpering whenever he undressed. Occasionally he noticed her biting her lip when she saw the thick white scar that would forever mark him.
“You did it all for me?” she asked quietly. “The long nights, the bow and arrows and long knives, your slashed back—my scarf!” she suddenly remembered.
“Of course,” he chuckled. “And your scarf is somewhere in the middle of the forest. I got too hot. Sorry. It was truly Guarder snatched.”
“What’s a silly old scarf, anyway!” she blubbered.
He put a hand back on her belly. “You’re really not feeling any pain at all?”
She sighed. “No, nothing, I’m afraid. In fact, maybe now you’ve scared the baby into wanting to stay inside permanently. Why come into a world that’s out to get him?”
“Because he has a father that can conquer the world!” Perrin declared. “With a little help, that is,” he admitted.
Mahrree finally smiled. “Yes, he does.” She kissed her husband. “So, have you told your father the truth?”
Perrin groaned. “Sent the confession this morning. Should reach him by tomorrow. And then . . . we’ll likely hear him bellowing all the way from Idumea.”
“If not him, then probably your mother.”
Perrin shut his eyes momentarily.
“My mother! Please, little one,” he said to his wife’s expecting bulge, “Come out now and be a distraction to your grandparents’ wrath.”
“Oh great,” Mahrree sighed. “Now it’ll never be born.”
---
It was near the end of Planting Season, in the new year of 321, when Relf Shin opened the envelope with the familiar writing on the outside.
“So am I a grandfather again, Perrin?” the High General smiled as he opened the message. He pushed aside the other messages on his desk to pay full attention to this one. His smile diminished as he read. His left hand clenched into a fist, he pressed his lips tightly together, and he closed his eyes to stop seeing the words.
“Son, son—you stupid boy!” he whispered.
The General opened his eyes again and continued to read, the faint smile reforming on his lips.
“But fantastic, Perrin!” he said a few minutes later. “Why did I know you went further into that forest than a few paces? But now,” he sighed heavily, “what to do with you? What will Mal—”
Relf Shin pondered.
“Fourteen Guarders dead, no soldiers or citizens hurt, your wife preserved, and you were the only one injured, and not by a tree branch . . . Sounds to me as if your twenty stitches were punishment enough. And since this is an army matter,” he said with a sly smile, tossing the message into the fireplace where the flames consumed the confession, “the head of the army will take care of it.”