The Land's Whisper (14 page)

The wolf breathed in with agony, but with
the rush of pain, a new clarity came. Yes, he could perceive it
now. The black fingernail beds, the darkening irises, the stench of
fire, the strange agility and strength. This was not the woman from
the village, but something else entirely.

Lador paused, considering.
I could send
her to any world. And be done with it. At least have her out of
here.

He did not even have the energy to shake his
head at these tempting thoughts. Instead, he bared his teeth and,
knowing what it would cost him, still spoke truth. “That portal was
destroyed long ago. There is no exit.”

It is true then,
the spirit thought.
I have no hope. No future.

Sefi’s face fell, but swiftly her eyes bore
into him with cold fury. “That is what they have all said. Every
one of them. You will tell me something else, or you will die like
they did.”

With the clarity that comes with approaching
death, he drew courage. His previous sealtors had remained strong.
Whatever her evil purpose was, he also would not give in.

“I told you. The maralane decided the world
was trash. They destroyed your portal.”

She roared in fury, sending her head back in
a dramatic show. She looked vicious and wild.

Three, send someone to vanquish this
evil,
he prayed, and he waited for her to finish him.

~

Departure day for Brenol and Darse arrived
inevitably. The misty air blanketed the dawn, and Darse rose and
gazed out again upon the Gardenia. It was rich with pollen and
spring’s morning dew. An unpredicted nostalgia wrapped him and
nearly drew him to upend both pack and plans.

This place…there’s something about
it,
he mused.
The land, the people, the work, the sun…I feel
grounded somehow. The labor doesn’t age me like it always did on
Alatrice.

I could almost stay here forever.

He gathered up the memories of their time
here as if scooping up loose flowers into a nosegay and felt his
chest tighten at the prospect of leaving. It was no longer due to
fear—he blushed again at the picture of his gut-wrenching
conversation with Colvin—but simply due to love for this people and
their way of life. Slowly, he straightened his spine and gathered
his resolve.

“Time,” he muttered. “I need to get Bren
back somehow.”

Darse brushed at a few stray pieces of straw
that clung to him from the night’s slumber. He wore his gardening
clothes, as they protected well from the afternoon rays and would
be far less conspicuous than the foreign styles of Alatrice. He
hefted the burlap pack to his shoulders and stretched his back. The
visnati had proven to be as generous as ever, providing provisions,
gifts, and clothing with weight and travel in mind. He silently
praised their foresight. Even his pockets tinkled comfortingly with
currency.

The goodness of the visnati was more than he
could have ever imagined that first day on the path.
Did I
really think my dreams prophetic?
He shook his head derisively
as he recalled perceiving malevolence in every eye and corner.
I’m just an old man, nearing the end of a hard life, wishing to
resolve these long-held secrets.

The land here seems no more alive than on
Alatrice. Why would Veronia be different?

He let the thought trickle away and trod
forward with a somber confidence.

The river’s bank was lined with color and
movement. The entire town had woken with the dawn to bid farewell
and now tramped along the water’s edge with laughter and food and
music. It could have been a festival. Darse’s blue eyes twinkled as
he moved to join Brenol, already amongst the people. The youthful
face was filled with emotion. Darse wondered at the cause, but
there was barely a moment for a silent breath let alone private
conversation, so he held his tongue and briefly rested his hand
upon the boy’s shoulder with the hope it was nothing severe.

Brenol barely glanced up before returning
his eyes to the crowd. Darse observed him carefully, yet whatever
the boy sought, he did not find, for the youth’s gaze continued to
sweep the lines of people for the remainder of the festivities.

The party entered into the heat of morning,
and breakfast pressed against belts, but finally the duo was
ushered onto their raft. It was a small and simple craft, yet
constructed with the meticulous attention the visnati gave all
their labors. Made from deep-red lumber, it smelled sharply of
fresh wood and sap and was a shock of color upon the dark blue
river. The two shuffled carefully aboard, and waved and shouted
their farewells.

“Colvin isn’t here,” Darse mentioned
wistfully.

Brenol scanned the bank as he had for the
morning’s duration. “I know.”

They pushed off with the supplied oars and
allowed Pearia to carry them from what had quickly become their
home.

~

Rafting proved to be nearly as simple as the
visnati had described. The water cut its path smoothly and with an
easy pace, allowing the travelers to accustom themselves to their
oars and balance. They slipped into the water when the sun beat
hottest, clambering back aboard to dry in the breeze, and meals
were either simple stores of dried fruit from their packs or fish
caught on the bank during rests. Darse had glimpsed such moments of
mirth and companionship on Alatrice, but the drudgery and tension
that had marked his life there had always overwhelmed them. Here
all seemed plain, and Pearia gave him a further grounding he had
not expected, for even the unsettling history of his parents
trickled away in the continually gliding waters. He swelled with a
peace, an ease, and soaked in the cobalt Massadan sky with the
relish of an imprisoned man set free.

And I still get Bren here, too,
he
thought with guilty pleasure.

It was not the first time Darse had harbored
a secret gratitude over Brenol’s presence, for it seemed only right
to share all that was good with the son of his heart. Massada was a
new home, and he needed Brenol with him. Darse would face the
difficulties of returning the boy to his mother when he could, but
he planned to enjoy his companionship until that point.

“Darse?”

The man blinked, coming out of his reverie.
“What is it?”

“Tell me about Alatrice,” Brenol said
quietly.

Darse raised his brow and peered over at the
boy. Brenol held his paddle idly upon his lap, and his expression
was clouded.

“What part?”

Brenol frowned. “All of it?”

“Are you thinking about our conversation
when we first arrived?”

Brenol nodded.

Darse sighed. “I guess I should’ve talked to
you about this before. I don’t know what I was trying to accomplish
with silence.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Except that the less a
kid knows, the less likely he’s going to draw attention.”
But
he’s not really a kid anymore,
he reminded himself.

Darse inhaled, trying to order his words.
“There are the kingdoms, yes?”

“Five.”

“Right,” Darse continued. “And conscription
works the same for the whole of Alatrice, save the isle of Trest.
There enrollment is not mandatory, but most still do it. They seem
to have a strong cultural sense of patriotism.”

“But it’s the same in Paraff where we live,”
the boy argued.

Darse looked at Brenol incredulously. “Have
you really thought that this entire time?”

Brenol nodded sheepishly.

Darse shook his head, muttering, “I thought
all their propaganda was ridiculous, but it really works.” He sat
up straighter, and quizzed the boy. “In our kingdom, Paraff, what
happens when a baby boy is born?”

“The family gets a boon.”

“Yes. Three hundred drales. It is an
enormous sum. And then every orbit following the birth, there is a
stipend of fifteen drales until the child turns eight, right? After
that begins the taxation or apprenticing period until the boy comes
of age. Baby girls receive a half boon, and pay half the
conscription tax usually.”

Brenol nodded.

“Why do you think the king would offer a
boon so great?”

Brenol hesitated, as if about to speak, but
then shrugged.

“Kings—and really most people—don’t give out
gifts without some motivator.”

Brenol considered briefly. “The taxes later
are greater than the boon.”

Darse nodded in agreement. “Yes. The boon is
only the carrot to keep the horse plodding. It is dangled before
every starving farmer so that each person is tracked and tallied
for taxes and service.” He inhaled deeply. “Have you ever known
anyone who tried to skip the boon?”

“I don’t think so.” Brenol’s face clouded in
confusion. “Why would you? It is so much.”

“To not live under the hammer of the king,
Bren. You know how much it costs to buy a conscription pass every
orbit. It is nearly impossible to eat and save as much. Families
know that they’ll be sending their children off to the royal guard
as soon as they are ten if they don’t hide them. And the scrutarni
are everywhere. They don’t just collect taxes and distribute boons,
they pay off snitches. A snitch can earn the same three hundred if
he catches an untallied child. The kings have made even our
neighbors greedy enough to send us to hang.”

Brenol gnawed on his lip in thought.

Darse’s face grew especially sober. “And
hang they will. When your mother is found to have a missing child,
an inquiry will come. And she will likely meet unpleasant
things.”

Brenol balked. “I knew she could get in
trouble if I disappeared. Every kid knows that. But hang?”

Darse nodded. “She’s responsible for you
after accepting boon and stipend. It is the oath taken.”

“What about you? You never got the boon if
you were born here in Massada.”

“Exactly. And it is just one more way da
looked suspicious. Originally, before Massada, da used to attend
court in Karano, with King Siles. From his journals, he loved the
game, the politics, the intrigue. But when a portal pulled him
away, all of Karano believed he had been part of an assassination
attempt on the king.”

“Really?” Brenol’s eyes were wide, seeing
Darse in an entirely new light.

“Yes. But when da returned to Alatrice, the
portal plopped him back in another kingdom entirely. Our Paraff.
With a portal to guard, and a baby boy at that. He was forced to
stay and register us—for who can evade the eyes and notice of every
neighbor in the hills?—and all assumed the rumors were right: he
was a traitor. Even if da hadn’t tried to murder the king of
Karano, he’d deserted to a new ruler.” Darse shook his head in
memory. “I spent more time as a kid trying to clean our door after
being lettered than I did eating.”

“But aside from all the dumb farmers,”
Brenol began slowly, “why is it so bad? Kings collect taxes. Kings
take armies. Isn’t that the way?”

Darse puckered his lips sternly. “Do you
feel free? Are you able to live without fear? Do you starve half of
your days?” He shook his head. “I know it’s the way things’ve
always been, but as to if it’s right? No, I can’t see that this
tyranny and the jealousy and tug between kings and the kingdoms is
good. One just forgets to ask if the order of life is really right
or wrong sometimes.”

“Why?”

Darse looked down the river. “Because what
if it cannot be changed?”

Brenol swallowed. “I knew it wasn’t good,
but it really is bad, isn’t it?”

Darse nodded. “Yes. But as most things, it
isn’t entirely broken either. I just don’t know what the answer is.
I know it isn’t the ‘highest honor of conscription’ though.”

“If I go back to Alatrice,” Brenol asked
carefully, “Ma won’t get into trouble once I am sixteen if I leave,
will she?”

Darse considered. “They usually heckle the
family a bit, but no, even the scrutarni don’t go so far as to hang
families for adult deserters.”

Brenol turned his gaze to the waterway and
allowed himself to sit with his thoughts. After a few minutes, he
spoke. “Darse?”

“Yes?”

“I don’t want to go back, but I will… Thanks
for helping me. Thanks for always helping me.”

Darse smiled in answer.

Brenol grinned too and felt his chest swell
with warmth. There were no words to pair with the bursting
gratitude, with the love, he carried for his friend. Darse had
saved him from so much.

“We will figure it out. We will,” Darse
said.

The two camped under the stars that evening
with a crackling fire and warm visnati blankets. Brenol soaked in
the pleasure of it all and gazed up with dumbfounded awe at the
dual moons. There was no need to speak, for all was well, and the
two curled silently before the popping flames and sank into the
world of dreams.

~

Its pleasure mounted as the spirit dipped
the small body through the clouds.

Perhaps the physical does have its
advantages,
the spirit thought.

It unfurled the smoky wings and dove
unflinchingly through the dark. The sky opened up before it as it
emerged from the cumulous brume, and the stars shimmered as
diamonds under light.

It was exhilarating. It hoped that it was
not growing dependent upon the physical but shrugged the fear away;
it owned this world. It had essentially taken it orbits and orbits
ago, and while there were times of fleshly tedium, the rush of
power still drugged it in a bizarre ecstasy.

I cannot return home, but nothing can stop
me. I am greater than any of these gnats could imagine.

After a few more twists and dives, it lit
down beside a glassy pool under the lantern of Stronta
.
Its
reflection was clear enough: silver hair, thin, wiry figure of
youth, small, heart-shaped face. And of course there were its
wings. It stretched out its coverts to examine the wings lazily
with its chocolate child-eyes. They were powerful, mottled in gray
and white, and the span of five strides easily.