The Land's Whisper (17 page)

Brenol’s lips curled back in distaste, but
he laughed nonetheless. “I’m done. Done, done, done.” He stood,
dabbed at his shirt without much success, and pushed out his chair.
He strode to the inviting fire and positioned himself in one of the
seats. Despite the banter, he could not disguise his growing
unease. He required no nurest connection to notice Darse’s looks or
perceive his tone throughout dinner. Darse was not likely to endure
any more reticence.

“Bren?”

“Yes?” His voice did not convey
innocence.

“It is time to tell an old man what he is
missing. Between you and Isvelle, I am dizzy enough to topple.” His
bass voice was gentle but entirely firm. There would be no more
evasion.

He sighed, “Darse…it isn’t like I am trying
to keep
you
out in particular. I, uh, just don’t really get
it…” He wrung his fingers together. Veronia’s eye hovered hotly
upon his neck.

“Bren.”

The boy peered up from his hands and met
Darse’s eyes. He started; instead of seeing the prying greed that
he had anticipated, he saw his friend Darse. The clear, deep-sea
eyes of Darse. They were open, concerned.

“Bren, it’s time to let it go. What’s going
on?” His voice was steady and gentle.

“Well…so this is going to sound
strange.”

Darse looked around him incredulously, palms
uplifted, as if to illustrate that their lives were anything but
ordinary. He met the boy’s gaze again. “Try anyway,” he
suggested.

Brenol sighed. The words came awkwardly at
first, like spurts from a well’s spigot, but finally poured out in
relief. He told him everything—the voice, his experience in the
cave, talking with Garnoble, the nurest connection with Veronia.
Any intention at withholding information washed away as each secret
successively met the light. Veronia whipped him with a wash of
disapproval, but he clung with tight fingers to the peace he found
with his friend.

Darse rubbed his chin and let out a heavy
exhale. “You sure have a lot to figure out for a person of fourteen
orbits.” He gazed thoughtfully at his thumbs. “All right.” He met
Brenol’s gaze squarely. “I have something to tell you as well…”

Brenol drew his jaw back in surprise as
Darse poured out his own secret about his dream and the voice
calling for Brenol—and about the terror he had experienced.

“I wanted to protect you, even from fear. So
I never said anything at home…and then, well, I began to think it
was nothing while we were in Garnoble.”

“Darse…” Brenol began. His face was blanched
and serious. “I…I’m sorry. I really shouldn’t have taken that
key.”

The man nodded solemnly. There were many
things that should not have been.

“But Darse?”

“Yeah?”

“I just know. I
know
the voice isn’t
going to hurt me. I know you must think it’s a trick or something
because it’s in my head, but it won’t. I just know it.”

“We don’t know anything about this voice,
Bren. Not a thing.”

“The Queen does.” Brenol replied, but his
tone acknowledged the weakness of the argument.

“She didn’t seem pleased to discover your
ability.”

Brenol nodded reluctantly. “Well, I’ll tell
you everything from now on.” He gasped slightly as Veronia pounded
his interior with anger and irritation. It eased, and he inhaled
slowly. “I’m not scared…it is really just amazing.”

Darse shook his head in bewilderment.

“I don’t want to give it up. It’s the best
thing that’s ever happened to me. I…I’ve never felt so capable, so
strong, so smart… I feel
alive
.”

Darse took in a deep breath and muttered,
“That’s what I’m worried about.” His concerned eyes hovered over
Brenol. “We’ll figure it out though, Bren, we’ll figure it all
out.”

I can’t give it up. I just can’t,
Brenol repeated to himself.

His mind answered back, taunting,
And
what of your promise to Colvin?

The memory of the vow pressed into the boy,
and he gripped the sides of his armchair. His youthful knuckles
turned milk-white.

I can’t. I just can’t.

~

“Forgive my intrusion.”

The two jumped and turned in their seats. A
middle-aged man stood before them bedecked in tan pants. His chest
was bare and robust, curving into a rounded gut. His left pectoral
was pierced with a series of descending silver rings, and the
largest centered on the nipple. His brown hair was smoothed back
evenly, and his almond-shaped eyes were a cat-like green. The man’s
nose protruded sharply, giving his chin the appearance of being
entirely too small for his face. Both his expression and stance
evinced professional disinterest. “Queen Isvelle,” he bowed his
head slightly, “has arranged for rooms for you both.” The servant’s
bright eyes rested upon them, anticipating a response.

“Of course,” Darse replied.

They hastily rose and followed the man
through the winding castle. He swept along with a confident gait,
heavy body rocking with his quick strides.

“What’s your name?” Brenol asked.

The man flashed a handsome smile, cat eyes
suddenly alight. “Gerard.”

Gerard glanced at Darse, whose face had
tightened at the abrupt change in demeanor. “It is our custom to
respect privacy until invited,” Gerard explained, and dipped his
head with the flavor of a cultural gesture. Darse returned the nod
politely, although his inexperience with Massadan social cues made
him feel off balance.

“What do you do?” Brenol asked.

“I’m the Queen’s personal attendant.”

Brenol wrinkled his nose. “But what do you
do
?”

Gerard laughed easily. “Whatever she asks. I
serve her.”

“Do you like it?”

“I do. It is one of the most honored
positions in the land.” His rounded belly jumped as he laughed.
“You talk more than most foreigners.”

“Are there a lot of them?” Brenol asked
curiously.

“We have a handful every moon, coming to
talk with the Queen, and of course the ambassadors…” A bemused
expression flicked across Gerard’s face before he scrutinized them
both with a sideways glance. “Where are you from?”

Brenol shifted his feet. “Alatrice.”

“I don’t know it… What terrisdan is it in?
Or is that a newer lugazzi town?”

Brenol shook his head.

The cat-like eyes widened. “Did you cross
the deserts?”

“No. We came through a doo—”

“A portal,” interrupted Darse. “We’re from a
different world.”

Gerard exhaled sharply and regarded them
with wary expression. “It has been a long time since any have come
through. I’d almost believed the maralane had stopped it,
finally.”

“You want them closed?” Brenol asked.

Gerard surveyed the boy incredulously. “I do
not intend to offend. You appear far safer than many who have come
through. But would you appreciate caves that drew other-worlders
into your home?” He shook his head. “I don’t mean humans. I mean
monsters.
Would you like that? To have creatures clawing out
to come live amongst you?”

Brenol paled in sudden understanding.
Anything could come through. Absolutely anything.
He wet his
lips. “Like a nightmare that could become real at any moment.”

“Yes,” Gerard agreed soberly. “And long ago,
there were some.”

Brenol’s lips parted in question.

“Hush. It is night. We don’t speak of the
Children of Death but in broad daylight.”

The boy swallowed. “Why aren’t the portals
closed, then?”

Gerard grimaced. “The maralane are
adamant…”

They continued trailing the servant. The
tension of the previous topic hung between them, and Darse still
itched with questions. Finally, he interrupted the silence.

“Please, what deserts were you talking
about?” Darse asked.

“Ah,” Gerard said. “From what we know,
Massada is a world of ice. If you crossed the entire place, you’d
see there’s only this small pocket where you can live—the
terrisdans.”

“A single patch of warmth? Just one on an
entire planet?”

Gerard pinched his lips in amusement. “You
are warm, are you not? Why shouldn’t it be the same for the
terrisdans? They’re alive like you or I…” He turned a corner but
tarried so their steps might catch his. “Really, Massada is a world
of winter. The terrisdans are the only habitable section. It’s the
warmest by Ziel, and the farther you go out, the colder it
becomes.”

“So Ziel is like the heart?” Brenol
asked.

Gerard nodded with the air of knowing the
metaphor well. “Ziel doesn’t freeze. I’m told it becomes warmer the
deeper it gets, and the maralane live in the hottest parts. I guess
their bodies don’t make heat as well as other creatures. They can
come to the surface for stretches but need the warmth from the
depths to thrive.”

“What are the ice deserts like?” asked
Darse. He was surprised his father had never mentioned them.

“Lifeless. No one can survive, from what I
know. There are few who manage even on the terrisdan borders.”

Brenol’s mind opened to scenes of ice and
snow that he knew were the edges of Veronia. It was mysterious,
barren, harsh. The world resembled nothing of what he had already
seen of Massada.

A new thought occurred to Brenol. “What are
the other terrisdans like?” he asked. “Not Garnoble, but the
others.”

Gerard raised his brow but then let it fall.
“Some are rocky, some mountainous, some barren, some lush.”

“No. I mean their personalities.” Brenol
flushed. He feared Gerard could see his heart and all that it
contained.

“As far as being alive…” He paused in stride
and the line of silver rings on his chest glinted in the light of
the hallway’s sconces. He regarded Brenol. “The lands are very
individual—as different as any person is from another. But this was
more evident in the beginning when the lands held a connection with
every man living in their boundaries.” He shook his head as if
recalling his purpose and set his feet to motion again. “But that
was the dawn of creation. Not a lot of nuresti running around these
days.”

Brenol’s spine tingled at the smug
expression that spread across Gerard’s face. Even with the power of
the connection, he felt a keen vulnerability before the large man.
“You don’t like the nuresti?”

“They are… removed from us.” Gerard stopped
outside a simple wooden door. “I think it is likely a combination
of both us and them,” he mused. “Too strange an experience for
either us or them to feel at ease together.”

Brenol thought of Gina, Colvin’s sister.
No one remembers her,
Colvin had said. Finally, the boy
found his voice again. “But what changed it all? Where’d they
go?”

“Lugazzi.”

“But why? Why would they want to leave the
connection?” Brenol asked, incredulously.
How could you not
crave this knowledge? This confidence? This power?
In his mind
he watched as men migrated across hill, mountain, and valley. They
did not return. A melancholy surged within from Veronia, and he
nearly collapsed under the staggering potency of it.

Gerard puffed his cheeks out in thought.
“It’s funny to put something like this to words. Like I’m teaching
you what it’s like to breathe… You really don’t know any of
this?”

Brenol shook his head.

Gerard continued. “Well, I suppose it was
freedom really. They wanted to live without having the terrisdan
inside their heads. So,” he lifted his palms in a sweep, “to the
neutral lands.”

He tapped the door before him lightly with
his index finger. “This one,” he said in indication and then
pointed to the one directly across the hall. “And here. Your
rooms.”

“Thank you,” Darse said.

Gerard dipped his head, and a ring of pink
skin on the tip of his crown lowered into view. “In good accord,”
he replied.

“But wouldn’t they miss the terrisdans?”

Darse closed his eyes slightly in
exasperation. He was ready to sleep and let the matter air in his
mind.

Gerard rubbed his chin in consideration. “I
think this also is a matter of love. Nuresti together is one thing,
but a keeper and commoner as soumme? No, it doesn’t work. A soumme
union is not likely to survive when one half holds such power. I
think the gap is just too wide for that level of intimacy.”

“Keeper?” Darse asked sharply, recalling
Isvelle’s words.

“Yes. It’s another term for a nurest. The
main idea is there’s only one nurest per terrisdan. They’re a rare
breed. Born into the connection and no other will come until the
death of the previous nurest. Even should that nurest leave to live
out every one of his days in the lugazzi
.
The terrisdans
just know somehow and wait.”

It doesn’t make sense. Why Bren?
Darse thought.
He wasn’t born with it. How?
It seemed as
though each question gave rise to more and, like an avalanche,
would only end in a swooping mass of terrible destruction.

“When did Veronia’s last keeper die?” Darse
asked, half lost in his own thoughts.

Gerard’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, and his
nose pointed out like an accusing finger. “She hasn’t.” His green
gaze glinted with fear. “At least, we don’t know that she has… The
keeper is the Queen’s daughter. Princess Colette.”

~

Gerard made his exit while Darse and Brenol
stole into the first room and spoke in tense and hushed voices.

“Did Veronia tell you anything about this?”
Darse asked.

“Nothing. I have only silence about her. It
doesn’t make sense… Why would Veronia keep it from me?” Brenol
asked. Wariness turned him dizzy, for his misgivings and desire
were impossible to reconcile.

Darse erupted in exasperation. “Bren. Open
your eyes! We don’t know anything about this land and what its
intentions and motives are. We don’t know a single thing about this
place! You can’t begin to tell me that it’s safe simply because you
feel
good about it.”