The Land's Whisper (23 page)

The two found they could no longer pole in
Cabel’s depths, so they both disrobed, jumped in, and tugged the
light craft forward by her ropes. They spied a dock, but as it
would have added to their swim, they headed for the closer bank
instead. Their arms and legs ached by the time they arrived upon
shore, and they advanced with faltering steps. They abandoned their
efforts to lug her further and left
Hula
to sway and grind
upon the stony beach as she met the soft kiss of current.

Darse rescued their packs and threw them
upon the dry land before slumping in a sodden heap beside Brenol.
The sun was sinking, and cool breezes played upon their damp skin,
but still they did not move, choosing instead to stare off in a
daze of exhaustion. Finally, Darse could no longer ignore the goose
bumps clothing his skin. He roused them both, knowing it would only
grow colder—and quickly.

They donned their packs, and tripped up the
slope. As they reached the top of the rise, they walked along the
water’s edge until the dock became more focused. The darkening pier
had on first sight appeared deserted, but now it was evident that a
figure rested amongst the boating gear and posts. He was the first
person they had seen in Stonia, and they peered at him with a wary
curiosity. He was an aged man, bronze and wrinkled, with matching
white hair and eyebrows, seated upon an upended bucket and drinking
steaming coffee out of a tin cup while eating bread. His eyes
sparkled in amusement.

“What’s funny?” asked Brenol defensively.
The sharp sensation of powerlessness still pricked his nerves.

The man casually spread his lips into a
smile. His teeth—what were left of them—were jagged and white.
“
Hula,
right?” He extended a finger to their beached raft.
Even in the growing darkness, it was clear upon the shore.
“
Hula
makes her path down every moon, sometimes more.” His
eyes slid to Darse, sparkling. “One would think that the old fool
would tire of naming each raft he made after his mother.”

Darse shrugged his shoulders and pushed out
his bottom lip. “Maybe he really loves her.”

White eyebrows bounced up in laughter. “I’ve
met her once,” he said, face glowing. “I can’t be sure, but I bet
he likes to think of people downriver burning her every few
septspan.”

Darse chuckled despite himself. “Is there an
inn in the area?” He glanced around to the forest surrounding
Cabel. The scenery was far from hopeful.

Nonetheless, the man assented with a gentle
nod of his head. He puckered his lips slightly, squinted, and
raised a hand clothed in a blanket of white hair as thick as moss
to point east into the dark woods.

They thanked him, and he bobbed his white
brow again, returning to his loaf with a lingering smile.

The two entered the wood, where the dipping
sun was blocked by trees, and Brenol shivered as the evening breeze
whipped upon his clinging garments. They hastily pushed into the
woods, heading northeast, hoping to get the blood flowing
again.

After some time, Brenol spoke, “At least
we’re going in the right direction for Selet, even if…”

His speech trailed as he caught sight of
little houses peeking out from the gray-green forest. They were the
same brown-red of the woods, and several had cheery trails of gray
smoke billowing from their chimneys. As they drew nearer, the build
of the homes became evident: single story, simple, sturdy.

“I wonder who lives way out here,” Brenol
muttered, but the trees muffled his words. The woods seemed a world
away from the visnati in Coltair and even the castle at
Sleockna.

Separate, almost hidden,
he
thought.

They found the building easily enough, for
it had a sign reading “INN” staked into the earth outside. The
house itself was a worn cabin, solidly built with red logs and
boasting two windows and a chimney from which white smoke snaked
out lazily into the evening sky. Bougainvillea bushes lined the
base of the home and stood out vibrantly in red and pink against
the dull red wood.

The two dragged themselves wearily up the
dirt path to the door, and while the shutters were closed to keep
out the evening cool, there was a pie on the doorstep. It smelled
of apples. Darse rapped lightly upon the door.

“A moment!” yelled a female contralto. The
door swung open to reveal a woman of about fifty orbits, lean as a
pipe, wiping her damp hands on her apron. Her auburn-gold hair,
beginning to gray, was pinned up loosely, strands fighting their
way free after a day of labor. Her face was motherly and gentle and
without trace of weakness. She had dark chocolate eyes that hinted
at fatigue, a curved jaw that complemented her high cheekbones, and
a face traced with laugh and worry lines. The woman’s attire was a
simple brown pantsuit, faded and covered with a soft blue apron.
She was attractive, but in an unassuming way.

She smiled. “Suzae. You can just call me
Suz.” Her quick eyes took in their hunger and fatigue. “Well come
in, come in,” she said, bustling them forward with a wave of her
hands. “This is the closest thing you are going to get to an inn in
this part of Stonia. Set your packs in the room at the back there,
and I’ll get to work on supper. Should be about twenty minutes.”
She bent to pick up her cooled pastry and blew a wisp of hair out
of her eyes as she stood.

They peered around. The house had the air
and feel of a place that was scoured with the regularity of
breathing. It was clean and homey and good.

In the room she had gestured them to, they
stripped off and hung their drenched garments, changed into dry
clothes, and scrubbed their hands and faces. They then returned to
the main room of the house, where Suzae had roused the hearth fire
to a comfortable crackle, and they thankfully sank into the offered
chairs. Their hands soon held earthen mugs of steaming hot toddies
that warmed and soothed them to their toes. There was no speaking.
They merely let the fire and drink do their work.

Once Suzae laid out supper, and the two had
torn through baked bread, steamed vegetables, and sautéed fish,
Darse grew aware of her eyes upon him. He glanced up to find the
woman surveying them from her place at the stove. Her velvety eyes
were curious and quiet.

He spoke apologetically, “I’m sorry. I lost
my manners somewhere in Cabel. I’m Darse and this is Bren. We’re
traveling to meet someone in Selet.”

She granted the understanding smile of an
innkeeper who has seen all. “Mouths can’t speak before bellies are
filled. You da and son?” she asked casually, while flipping some
kind of hot cake in a pan. The rich honeyed aroma caused saliva to
puddle in their mouths.

“Not exactly…long friends more like,”
answered Darse.

She flipped the next cake. “Cabel then? You
come down Inest?”

The two nodded.

“Hmmm… Can be a bumpy ride, although spring
isn’t so bad.” She gave them a warm grin and wave of the head.
Darse was unsure if the movement was for them or to sweep the
straying hair from her face.

“We get a traveler or two through this way
about once every few septspan. Not a lot of people heading into
Selet, though.” Her eyes lingered upon Brenol before falling to the
ground. Her tone implied more than her words.

Darse frowned. He was not pleased with the
insinuation about Selet. “I hear it is pretty rough,” he replied,
leading.

“That is saying it nicely. Like calling our
mountains out there skipping stones.”

“You been there before?” Brenol asked
through a mouthful. It surprised him to think of this little woman
traipsing across Massada.

She waved her free hand in a swipe of
dismissal. “Brother did, soumme did. Not I. But I have had enough
of it through them.” A strange bitterness resonated in her voice
and expression. Brenol failed to perceive it, but Darse did
not.

“Any advice?” Brenol asked.

“Don’t go, or if you must, take a guide and
stick to the paths.” Her voice was steady and straight. She wiped
her hands again on her apron, picked up the cakes with a spatula,
and deposited them on a plate in a sweep. “Sweet pansies. My
specialty.” She smiled broadly. Her small chest seemed to swell in
delighted anticipation.

The two ate the thin cakes eagerly. They
were honey-sweet with a crispy exterior, yet the inside was soft
and spongy and practically melted when it touched the tongue. She
beamed in pleasure as they devoured the pile.

“Your mountains sure are something else,”
Darse said conversationally.

“Indeed. Not a soul can get up ’em.”

Brenol’s head lifted in interest. “No
one?”

She conceded a little, “Well, not the
average.”

Abruptly, Suzae slapped her cooking-scarred
hands down upon her thighs. “Well, I might as well be out with it.
Here…hold a minute.” She left the stove top and began rummaging in
a worn, wooden cupboard. Wiping an imaginary layer of dust from
some papers, Suzae strode over to their table and laid down the
pile of variously sized sheets and posters. She rifled through
until she found a specific paper, which she unfolded carefully and
placed neatly atop the pile.

“Selet,” she said matter-of-factly.

It was a map detailing the great forest and
river systems, as well as the dunes and barren lands. It was penned
in thin, clean strokes with precise lettering and black ink. The
edges had turned up slightly with age, but otherwise the thin sheet
showed few signs of wear.

Suzae pursed her lips together before
speaking, “My brother became quite interested in the area—the
people, the land, the mystery, everything—a few orbits back. Well,
really it was, oh, fifteen orbits ago that he started exploring and
mapping and such. Loved the place. Loved it more than anything.”
She fingered the map with gentleness. The gesture was a strange
contrast to her harsh tone.

“The map might be a bit outdated depending
on how the towns have grown or receded, but it’s better than
nothing.” She opened her hands out, gesturing it as gift.

“Thank you!” Brenol said with enthusiasm.
“But will he miss it, though? I don’t know if we can return it.” He
stuffed his mouth with more cakes. Darse winced.

She frowned, bit her lip, and spoke in a
tone contriving to be casual, “Afraid not. He never returned from
his last trip out there.” She wiped her clean hands on the drab
apron and the room filled with tense quiet.

Suzae raised her eyes to meet Darse’s with
determination. “Take it,” she said with finality, pushing it
forward a few digits. “I certainly am never going there. Might as
well be of some use to good folks.” She smiled sincerely, yet her
face bore the tightness of long-held strain.

He returned the smile. “Thank you,
Suzae.”

“Suz,” she said firmly.

“Suz,” he conceded.

She scooped up the other maps, deposited
them neatly in the cupboard, and returned to a kettle of tea she
had been brewing. “Ah, you’ll be getting tired now.” She poured and
handed them each a steaming mug. “Here’s something hot to calm your
thoughts. Pie?”

Darse shook his head firmly before Brenol
could respond; the boy’s mouth was full enough.

“The two cots in that room are yours. And
breakfast?” she inquired with elevated eyebrows.

Darse took a sip that scalded his throat
pleasurably on the way down and filled his mouth with a sweet,
lemony taste. “Early,” he rasped.

She nodded before bustling them off to
bed.

As Darse sank into the good warmth of his
sheets, he nearly laughed aloud, for up bounded the memory of
Brenol’s dumbfounded expression as he had first bitten into one of
the visnat’s sandwiches.

That boy can talk to the ground, but he
can’t imagine a world without flesh on his plate.

He smiled until the dream world pulled him
into its comfortable arms.

~

Brenol awoke in the night, tense and alert
even in the first gasp of consciousness. He sat up in the darkness,
wrenched with emotion and desire.

Veronia,
his body screamed.
Veronia.

His forehead beaded and his shirt slicked
against his chest as he squinted around the room. The boy could see
nothing, but it did not matter; his soul was awake to only one
sensation.

I must get back. I must.

It was as if his entire person were iron
being drawn by the magnet of Veronia. He gripped the bedding to
cement his body in place, but everything in him demanded
flight.

The power,
his blood seemed to pulse.
The power. I need it.

Brenol found his feet shuffling to the door
before he had even formed the volition for it. The knob was cool in
his damp palm, and his wrist shook as he began to turn it.

Just leave him. Just leave Darse. Run.

The thought jolted him enough to shake out
from the mindless compulsion driving him, yet nothing could allay
his experience.

Easy,
he told himself. He felt his
teeth threaten to crack under the force of his clenching jaw. It
required a determined effort to finally release the door’s
handle.

Slowly, ever so slowly, he returned to his
cot and climbed in with rigid limbs. His chest thundered, but over
the course of an hour it slowed and evened. Brenol found his
reasoning return, but with it came shame that burned his face.

I really did think about leaving Darse.

The boy doubted this would be the last time
the greed would surface; already it had choked his guilty heart
twice, and they had barely left Veronia.

Brenol curled, vowed himself to silence, and
waited until sleep took his exhausted frame.

A terrisdan’s motivation can never be fully
discerned.

-Genesifin

Suzae had arranged for supplies, which lay
waiting on her doorstep before dawn. The two breakfasted, paid, and
thanked her. She gave them a brief jerk of the head that seemed
just as much intended to corral some straying hairs, and returned
to scouring a skillet. She was apparently not a woman for
farewells.