The Land's Whisper (47 page)

“Bren, what? What is it that you keep
remembering? What’s going on?”

Brenol’s heart sank within him. “I think
they are Deniel’s memories.”

“Deniel?”

“The guy in the cave.”

Darse’s voice was impatient. “Yes, I know
who Deniel was. But why do you think you have his memories? How do
you know it’s not just a dream? How do you know they’re his?”

“I don’t know! I don’t know anything! I just
keep seeing his eyes, weird and golden, so intense, peering into
mine like he could see my soul. He was giving me a message, I am
almost sure of it. I don’t know what, but I think these flashes are
part of it.”

Darse’s already taut face grew pale.
“Golden?”

“Like yours.”

Darse shook his head in disbelief and
frustration. “Ok, ok. Rest now, just rest. We’ll figure it
out.”

Brenol laid his head down. Sleep stole him
again.

~

Brenol slept restlessly, his dreams changing
constantly as he tried to discover where Colette was and escape the
wiry fingers of Crayton. The terrible gold eyes bore cold holes
into him, and when he sought to run, it turned out that he was
chained to the bottom of Ziel. He could not breathe and fought and
struggled until death choked him. He then watched the ground, as if
floating above, detached from what was happening. It rained and
stormed—so much so that when he awoke, he was surprised to see
daylight streaming in through the window. The sky was perfectly
clear.

Brenol again rose, washed, and dressed.
Though a heavy cloud still hovered over his heart, he felt
refreshed, with no signs of fatigue or headache. When no one came
to check on him, he ventured out the door by himself.

The hall was bustling with unfamiliar faces,
but no one deterred his meandering. Men walked briskly by, often
carrying bowls of hot water or salves and medicines in ornate jars.
It finally became clear why the healer from his room had seemed
strange to him. These men, or umburquin
,
as Darse had called
them, looked reminiscently like furless primates. They were
short-statured, with chubby faces, thick chests, and arms that
extended to their ankles.

Brenol shuffled down the next corridor,
peering through doorways as he passed. The enormity of the place
surprised him, the vast system of workers and people astir made his
eyes widen and head reel. Several times he paused and leaned
against a wall, yet he always resumed his journey, for restlessness
gripped him down to his very bones.

The rooms varied. Some had patients, some
were empty. Then one caught his eye, and something about it drew
him. He stepped ahead cautiously. The door was slightly ajar, but
he could not see in. The inexpressible desire to knock or enter
overcame him. Brenol ground his feet to a halt, trying to shake the
sensation, but his limbs lurched forward as though independent of
his will. He entered slowly and found—
oh!—
Colette sleeping,
still as death and possibly even paler than her bleached-white
sheets.

What he thought and what he felt in that
instant were extraordinarily opposed. His thoughts raged over her
betrayal, but his heart… Oh, his heart! Tenderness and compassion
welled up like a spring, a living and free-flowing spring. All he
longed to do was scoop her up into his arms and protect her with
all that he was. Nothing could hurt her ever again because he would
be there.

“My cartess
,
” he whispered, although
he did not know why.

He quietly seated himself next to her bed
and allowed his eyes to drink in her beauty. He found himself
stroking her cheek, brushing the dark silky locks back from her
smooth face.

It took little time before all bitterness
melted from him. Even his memories from the cave faded into wispy
fragments of a story as the overwhelming tide of affection drew him
out to sea.

The memory of carrying her through the woods
replayed in his head. The details and sensations were like his own
memories, somehow, as though he were remembering an experience that
he had himself corporeally lived.

Flash!

He was in a dimly lit room. It was
unfurnished, and the floors were made of dirt. He was with Colette.
They sat upon the soft, worn ground, and he had wrapped her in his
heavy cloak to fight the penetrating cold. He gently poured warm
broth into her mouth from a rounded cup. It was smooth in his
fingertips and pleasant in his palm. She smiled up at him, and her
green eyes were alight with tenderness.

She spoke in a whisper, “Thank you. I knew
you’d come for me…”

A smile spread upon his face. “Shhhh. Just
rest now, Zette. Sleep.”

She gave another weak smile and said, “I do
what I want, when I want.”

He chuckled. “You certainly do.”

He feared he might faint from happiness. It
was so wonderful to see her, to have found her. She was safe. He
felt warmed to the soul.

My cartess. I won’t fail again
. His heart
wrenched as he recalled the house, the cabinets.
So much more
is at stake. I must not fail.

“
Zen…” she sighed softly, and her limbs
went heavy with sleep.

Brenol opened his eyes. The memory did not
bite or ache. It had simply opened in his mind like a box’s lid.
The others had been more comparable to bombs.

He ruminated over the pictures and scenes.
Not a piece made sense.
Zen?
He had begun to believe that he
was unpacking Deniel’s memories, but the names were strange.
Zen? Who is Zen? Why am I Zen? Is it a nickname?

Brenol reached down again to touch Colette’s
soft, dark tresses. She was so lovely. How she had smiled in that
memory! And looked at him! It was as though he were her best
friend.

Flash!

His eyes were closed.

He was chained, yet something was different.
He could smell the earth and the same rankness of Jerem, but there
were new scents too.

He heard scuffling and movements and then
Jerem heaving in effort. He discerned labored breathing that seemed
to be coming from somewhere else. He felt utter disgust at
Jerem.

Leech.

It quieted again. He opened his eyes a slit.
Jerem was facing away. He opened them fully. They lay in a cave. He
probed his mind to determine which terrisdan they were in and
nearly choked.

We are in no terrisdan. But there is power
here. Real power.

His mind roved through the possibilities.
There was only this kind of power in the water—and even that was
secret to most—but he had never known of any isle… But still it
must be. It was the only explanation.

But there was no time for speculation.
Two people were on the ground: a man, unconscious—or
dead?
—
but unbound, and a boy bleeding in a trap. The boy
stared at him.

Don’t betray my advantage!

He closed his eyes again, forcing his body
into a sagging limpness.

Nothing will ruin this chance,
he
promised
. Nothing.

Jerem began speaking to the boy. The voice
was a colony of ants on his skin, but he pricked his attention to
capture every detail. He must know the circumstances. He must save
Colette.

Jerem is going to kill the boy,
he
realized.

He ached inwardly at the choice. He was
thankful for the power of the waters but felt the sharp bite of
resentment snag in his heart. Yes, this would save Colette, but he
had hoped for so much more. He had wanted to see her return, to see
her find love and know joy. He had wanted to be her brother as
before.

Enough,
he ordered his quavering
heart.
Enough.

This is the only possibility for her escape.
This is it… This is my cartess. I will not flounder.

He mustered up his strength and purpose. He
gave one last fleeting look at the woman. His eyes lingered upon
her little nose that had once known freckles, her eyelids that hid
her shining eyes, her cheeks that were all too lean. Regret stung
for the loss of himself but was washed away by the force of his
resolve.

Nothing. Nothing will stop me.

His heart surged with emotion.

He locked eyes with the boy. He had to make
him understand!

Tell Colette I love her. This was the only
way. This was the only way. It is my cartess.

He opened up his mind and unharnessed his
power. It surged in fierce triumph as if the waters around him had
hungered for it.

And then all went black.

~

Darse paced the room. It seemed he was
destined to eke out his time here in incessant stalking. When they
had first arrived, he had trod the hallway between the rooms of
Brenol and Colette, waiting for them to find consciousness. He
could easily have tallied the breaths that filled each passing
minute.

And now, after Brenol had briefly woken, the
boy was missing.

His heels paused at the sound of a light
rap. He turned, and a genial face poked in. It was round and plump
and topped with a generous mop of sandy hair.

“We found him,” the umbu said gently. “He’s
with the girl—Colette—and has been there for some time. You may
come if you like.” He beckoned with a large hand.

Darse followed, and his mind slid nervously
back to the resentment he had seen lurking in Brenol’s eyes. He
knew the boy would never injure her, but the situation nonetheless
stirred unease in him.

“Is she all right?” he finally asked.

“She’s still unconscious. We have done
everything we know, but—” The umbu’s eyes met Darse’s
hesitantly.

“What is it? Please speak.”
Please.

The sandy head bobbed in silent acceptance.
“We’ve called in Dresden. We hope he will arrive soon, but it’s
already been many days since seal was sent.”

Darse raised an eyebrow.

“If he gets here in time, and if she is able
to be cured, he will cure her.” His long anthropoid arms swung near
the ground as his short legs shuffled forward.

Darse reeled at this revelation. “Wait. She
might never awake? The drugs?”

The umbu glanced sideways at him, assessing
with wide eyes. “The narcotics have washed away now. They were
powerful and enduring, and she has been on them for what appears
orbits and orbits, but no. No… She battles much more.”

“More?”

“Shock, kidnapping, loss of orbits of her
life.”

“But could she really die?” Darse frowned;
Isvelle could not endure much more.

“It is no imaginary disease. She’s lost her
very childhood. If she wakes, and not just for a convoluted spurt,
it won’t be a simple recovery. The body manifests much of what it
experiences in the mind, especially in the nuresti.”

“Was she experimented on too?” asked
Darse.

The umbu shook his head. His face contorted
in disgust. “No. Jerem had other uses for the child.”

Darse felt ill. He trailed the umbu for a
moment in silence. Finally, he spoke. “When does her mother
arrive?”

“I am not certain she has been
informed.”

Darse stopped. “She hasn—”

The umbu halted his steps and patiently
turned to him. “Darse, it falls not to the umburquin to send seal
to kin. The people who come to this place know this. It is the
nature of the soladrome.” He gave Darse the lightest touch upon his
hand. “You may do as you feel inclined.”

The umbu continued forward yet again, and
Darse was left to chase after him. Several lefts and a hallway
later, he was ushered into Colette’s room. His heart tangled in his
throat in confusion at what he beheld.

He’s holding her hand.

Brenol was perched beside Colette and, upon
seeing Darse, granted a nervous nod. The boy pulled his hands back
to fidget in his lap.

“You ok?” Darse asked. “I was worried when
you disappeared from your room.”

“Yeah. I… I got another memory.” Brenol
breathed with effort.

“Yeah?”

“Mmmm.”

Brenol pondered the greed that had gripped
him for so long and had made him pant with weakness and sweat until
he shone. The experience seemed a mere shadow, a painting once seen
and barely recalled. Those feelings were far away. They were lost
before the stronger emotions claiming his heart.

“Well?” Darse asked.

Brenol chewed his lower lip. “Darse, they’re
as real as my own. It’s really…different.” He peered down at her,
speaking with a strange tenderness. “She was there again.” His eyes
came up to meet Darse’s. “I think I know what’s happening.” His
voice was low and somber. “No… I
know
what’s happening.”

Darse waited tensely.

“I have Deniel’s memories.”

He smiled, shoulders loosening. “Well I
suppose there are worse things… I thought it was much more
serious.” He felt like laughing at the ridiculousness of it all.
First Veronia and now this? Madness.

Brenol did not return the smile. “Darse, if
Deniel gave me some of his memories… Why? And what am I going to do
about them? They… I mean… I
feel
what he felt in them.
They’ve made me… I don’t know.”

The scene suddenly held a new clarity for
Darse—the tenderness, the soft eyes that hovered over the young
woman, the hand cradling hers.
Could it all really stem from
Deniel?

“Wait. How do you know for sure? Do you
think it could be a remnant or piece of the nurest connection with
Veronia?” Darse asked.

“No. The connection didn’t work like that…
It was like having a book—a book that knew everything—that I could
just flip through in my head. But when we left the terrisdan, the
pages,” Brenol motioned throwing sheets into the sky, “no more. No…
This is
real.
These pictures happened. I feel the sweat in
my hands, and I shake a bit when I see myself approaching these
weird cupboards. I feel Colette’s heartbeat when I hold her. My
stomach gets all hard whenever I hear Jerem’s voice. I know the way
he smells… It’s all much different. It’s like being in another
person’s head—not like another being in mine.”