The Land's Whisper (22 page)

What do I do?
he asked himself. His
body quivered in the great impasse. Brenol glanced to Darse, who
remained focused on the mountains to their left, flexing only to
respond to the river’s gentle movements with a dip of his pole.

Veronia. You haven’t spoken in so— Wait.
Stop. This has to stop,
he thought in shame. He could not deny
it, though: He longed to hear the voice, to know Veronia’s
thoughts.

“
You will go?
”

Yes… No! Just stop. I won’t do this
anymore.

The picture of the girl again played before
his vision. She haunted him with every breath he took, reminding
him of the darkness inside. Veronia’s affection for the child
plowed through him and stole his breath. As it dissipated, he was
left with the darker emotions that originated only from
himself.

How can I be such a monster?

“
Remember your dreams. I
tried to show you. Something is wrong.
”

Brenol’s mind reluctantly—but almost
lovingly—sifted through images and pictures, but between the nurest
connection and the haziness of the dream world, he felt the meaning
of the images being washed away, like grains of sand by the tide.
There was no way to recapture it.

“
You must help us, Brenol.
All of Massada.
”

A barrage of new pictures flooded his mind.
His hands flew to his head as the scenes crashed in painfully. The
images were too quick to grasp, but they left a wrenching sensation
of the obscene. Only one lingered long enough to sink into his
mind’s sight: a young woman taking a knife determinedly to her dark
hair. Veronia—and in turn, Brenol—swelled with pride.

What does it mean Veronia? Why did you show
me this? What is it about?

“
There is an evil. And a
Change.
”

I have to leave. You are wrecking me.

“
You do not
understand.
”

And Colette! I have to break free to help
her…to help myself!

“
Yes
.
You must go. You must save her. But there is more.
”

Stop!

“
If you will not help, then
who?
”

You don’t even care about Colette! You
just choose whoever’s convenient for you,
he yelled accusingly
in his mind.

Hot ire rumbled and poured into him.
“
Like you? From another world?
” The voice
brimmed with bitterness. “
You know nothing of what I
have done for her.
”

Brenol shook his head, bewildered.
You
never speak of her… I don’t know what you want.
His thoughts
seemed like tiny flickers in the face of Veronia’s volcano of fury:
insignificant and unheeded.

“
She is the most
important.
”

Most? How? Why?

Brenol met silence.
Most important?
he asked.
Most? How is she so special? Why do you never speak of
her? Why?

As quickly as the connection had flooded
him, it left, and he was alone.

He opened his eyes and, despite seeing, was
utterly blind. Desolation blackened his soul. He did not know if he
could ever live again. They had crossed into the neutral land
between terrisdans, the lugazzi
,
and no map was needed to
tell him so. He had no connection, no power. Ordinariness slapped
his insides with its vapid flavor, and the vulnerability of
mortality stung fiercely. He was without knowledge, without skill.
He was alone and weak. He felt crippled, rent.

And yet…walking hand in hand with this
terror he discovered relief. His mind was entirely his own: no
invaders, no voices—just Brenol.

He breathed freely, stupidly.

Brenol started in his seat as he glanced up,
for Darse was peering at him with his strikingly blue eyes. They
were concerned but careful and drew a lump in Brenol’s throat.

“We are in the lugazzi now?”

Brenol nodded.

“What was it like, Bren?” Darse asked
cautiously.

Brenol smiled, hoping to put his friend at
ease, for the realization of what the man had been enduring
suddenly came into nauseating focus. The smile looked as awkward as
it felt. “Which part?” he asked. His voice sounded so small.

Darse raised his eyebrows and lowered his
chin.

“I…I…” Brenol sighed.

Darse leaned in and placed his hand on
Brenol’s own. It was strong and warm and solid. It felt good after
all the cold mystery within his mind. It grounded him and eased the
knotted tension in his shoulders. He realized in the midst of the
connection, it was as though he had forgotten love even
existed.

“Take your time. You don’t need to rush. I’m
not going anywhere.”

Brenol smiled again, this time in earnest,
and it came out upon his freckled face much more naturally. His
wrinkles of concentration disappeared.

“Thanks.” He breathed and slowly took in the
world like a newborn.

~

Brenol finally found his speech some time
later. “Amazing and terrifying…” he said, shaking his coppery head.
“I don’t know how the nuresti live with that kind of connection
from childhood. It’s…it’s… just a lot.”

Darse’s eyebrows furrowed.
And wrong. It
consumed him.

“When I crossed the border, it was like
fireworks exploded in my head. Pictures and information were just
there. And I knew anything I needed to know. When I had to do
something new, I didn’t have to practice. I just
knew
how to
do it. It was like I controlled the world almost. I felt so
good
.” He looked sheepish, a little guilty. “I forgot what
it felt like to live without it—it was so amazing.”

“And terrifying?” Darse nudged.

“The feelings. It was a lot. They just kind
of shook me and I could hardly think…” He noticed his fists
tightening and fought to consciously loosen them. “Plus nothing
seemed to fit together. I trusted Veronia, but I couldn’t always
get clear answers. Like the princess. And Deniel. It just doesn’t
make sense.” He shook his head in frustration. It was agony to long
for something that tormented him at the same time.

The edge of Darse’s mouth turned down.
Even now? He still trusts it? Is he so naive?

Darse worked to smooth his face.

“Right now I can remember the pictures I
saw—just like memories—but they aren’t as clear as the connection.
All I ever had to do was sort through it in my mind… That kind of
ability… To be special without trying… It was amazing. Amazing…”
Brenol’s voice trailed off in wistful reverie.

Darse broke the silence after several
minutes. “Now that you’re out, do you see anything more clearly?”
He wondered if the hope was as thick in his voice as it was in his
heart.
We can never go back. Never. I won’t let him. It will
destroy him.

“No… I mean… Well, I miss it,” Brenol said
faintly. His head slumped down with a hint of shame.

The man’s chest loosened and he sighed
softly.
Like an addict. He longs, but hates his desire… Maybe
time will help… maybe.
He did not feel assured.

Brenol raised his face to peer at Darse. It
was sincere and scared. “What do I do, Darse?”

Darse’s heart swelled. He suddenly perceived
how difficult it must be for Brenol to reconcile all that was
playing out within him.
He really is good. Always trying to do
the right thing.
“Let’s figure it out as we go.”

Darse smiled, pushing away the fear and
suspicion. He did not want Brenol to be burdened by his own
turmoil, and they had much ahead of them anyway. Darse embraced the
boy awkwardly, careful in the small craft. It teetered a bit but
maintained balance.

We will figure out how to stay level in
this world ourselves,
he thought.
We must.

The Three made all. Every terrisdan is the work of
their fingertips.

-Genesifin

Inest altered and Darse and Brenol left the
lugazzi and advanced through Stonia. Her current turned rough, and
the river snaked tortuously so that constant maneuvering was
required to keep
Hula
from meeting the rocky banks. Their
arms ached from guiding the raft with the awkward pole, but it was
faster than walking, and that alone was cause for perseverance.

Presently, the river pulled away from the
northern range, granting the two a greater scope of vision. The
mountain bases jolted up in steep, rocky gray expanses, but their
impassibility contrasted with the almost whimsical appearance of
their rounded crowns that swept the skyline, looking like green
dollops of cream. The afternoon sky burned a hazy pink in the
cloudless sky. Brenol felt the grandeur keenly in his rediscovered
and vulnerable smallness; the world continued whether he was here
or there. It was humbling but concurrently exhilarating.

“What made you say you’d help the Queen?”
Brenol asked after a pensive silence.

Darse looked up. He knew the boy meant more
than simply the promise of the portal.

“What made you?” Darse returned.

Brenol blushed. They spent the remainder of
the afternoon in silence.

~

The two decided to stop for lunch, and Darse
poled
Hula
to the shallows before both hopped out and tugged
her toward the shore. They emerged dripping, but grateful to
stretch and move about, and set to collecting wood for a fire. As
Brenol stooped to pick up some kindling, his neck prickled. He
straightened and glanced about, but there were no signs of
life.

It took a moment, but then the boy nodded
with comprehension. It was the once-familiar twinge of having an
eye ever upon his person. Now that his feet touched soil, he
realized he had sensed the terrisdan’s eye on the river, although
in a more muted manner.

Darse noticed nothing, continuing to load
his arms with branches.

Brenol moved to follow, but then a rustle of
a word caught at his ears: “—
me?
”

He stopped and, spurred by some instinct,
reached down to touch the dirt with finger and palm, as one would
stroke the side of a frightened mare. He waited.

After several minutes, the rustle came
again.

“
You hear me?
”

Brenol caressed the earth, speaking in a
hush that was hardly audible to Darse, standing but a stride away
with a look of mingled worry and wonder on his face. “Yes. I am
Bren.”

“
Stonia.
”

A thought occurred to the boy. “May we pass
through?”

The ground rumbled in a soft acceptance, and
the world suddenly bore welcome. Darse had not heard the voice, but
the quake he felt. His eyes grew wide as the land around him
emanated invitation, opening like a flower.

Darse peered at the boy warily, yet he could
not deny the truth: he was impressed.

Brenol mouthed his thanks, and the two
resumed their pursuit of firewood.

Once lunch was cooking, Darse met Brenol’s
eyes. “That was incredible,” the man said softly.

Brenol smiled. “A little different than
Veronia.”

“That was more
right.
I…I am…” Darse
shook his head in wonder. There was something astounding about what
had occurred so naturally in that moment… It seemed nothing like
the nurest connection. Brenol’s eyes had remained clear and
unclouded. Not once did he shudder under the duress of ecstasy or
emotion as he had so frequently in Veronia. Instead, the
communication appeared to be a natural skill. A respect blossomed
in Darse’s chest.
Is this really a boy
, he mused.
Can I
truly call him a child?

“Colvin thought it might be because I’m from
Alatrice,” Brenol suggested.

Darse pondered briefly. “And maybe my da had
it too?”

“Yeah,” confirmed Brenol, “And you don’t
have it because you’re part Massadan.”

“It’s an interesting thought,” Darse
mused.

“But for what purpose?” Brenol asked. He
shrugged and turned, unable to pair words to the complexity of what
he felt. He bent and began to rummage in his pack.

Suddenly his insides flared with hot,
impulsive greed. Desire surged and poured through him, ripping
through rational thought and resolve. His eyes darted about the
campsite frantically.
Go back,
everything in his person
seemed to scream.
Go back.

The intensity of the sensation brought a
sheen of sweat upon his young forehead, neck, spine.

Go back to Veronia,
his blood
boiled
. Go back.

Brenol bit his tongue until it bled. Shame
burned hot in his heart as he fought the desire to sprint toward
Veronia. Tears silently seared his cheeks, and the boy felt utterly
incapable of resistance.

Slowly, slowly, the clawing hunger eased,
and the pack in hand returned to focus. He could no longer recall
what he had been seeking. He wiped his face dry and inhaled
slowly.

Darse, busy with the meal preparations, did
not perceive anything askew. He handed over Brenol’s steaming
portion a moment later, and the boy took it without a word.

After lunch, Brenol silently boarded the
raft and felt the river whisk him further away from the only thing
he craved. He said nothing to Darse. The monster of his heart could
not be revealed to the light.

~

The river was gradually joined by several
tributaries trickling down the mountainsides. They had been told
the flow would end in Lake Cabel, and by evening the following day
the two were poling their way through the muddy rush. The delta
came into view within an hour, and Cabel opened up to their
vision.

It was a decently sized lake—several
matroles across its girth—but it could not compare with the massive
body of Ziel. It rippled and shook with light, tiny waves lapping
at the shore. The water was a deep gray-blue, like a stormy sky,
and the banks were rocky and spotted with trees.