The Land's Whisper (51 page)

Colette settled the pillow across her chest,
resting her chin atop it. Brenol accepted it as assent.

“There was a woman back in my world. She
was…” Brenol’s eyes met hers with an abashed glance. “She was hurt
too, like you. Her name was Revna. And the kids in the area talked
about her. Nasty talk. One day, as a group of us were walking back
from the school yard, she was out on the path. She raised chickens
and was delivering eggs. Her arms were full of these braided
baskets she used to carry the eggs around in.

“Well, one of the boys had a really mean
streak in him and was as wild as a boar. He started taunting her
and calling her names, spitting on her. The others joined in—me
too—and soon enough we all were pushing her a bit, and the baskets
fell to the ground.” Brenol inhaled, still feeling the sharp tinge
of regret. “Eggs broke everywhere, but some were still whole. Those
boys swooped down on those eggs fast, and within moments Revna was
covered. They pelted her as she ran away weeping.”

Colette mouth opened in dismay.

“I never threw any of the eggs—my ma and I
rarely had enough to eat, and seeing the waste of that food kinda
jolted me. Or maybe I did have a flicker of shame in me.
Regardless, I still stood by and watched. I didn’t stop a
thing.

“The next couple days I walked around quiet
as a mouse. I couldn’t stop thinking about those eggs. And that
look on her face. I just kept seeing it over and over. It was like
the secret was rotting inside me and getting worse.

“Well, Darse found out about it somehow and
that I’d been there. I’ve never seen him so mad. He whipped me red
and sent me to apologize and made me do her chores for three
septspan. I wanted to die—first ’cause it was so embarrassing, but
then ’cause I realized how awful I was. Somewhere in there I
realized Revna was real. And I even liked her—she was really nice.
She made me a basket of my favorite rolls to take home on my last
day. I retched for an hour by the pond because I was so shook up.”
Brenol’s face twitched up into a small, crooked grin. “My stomach
can’t take much. Never could. And that day I heaved until my
insides were dry.”

Colette’s face softened and almost hinted at
a smile.

“I’d been such a fool. She’d never done a
thing to deserve to be hurt. And I only made things worse.” He
shrugged slowly, releasing a long exhale.

“What happened to her?”

“Nothing. She kept selling eggs, being a
nice lady.”

“And you?”

Brenol’s ears pinked.

“What?”

“Well… I never told Darse, but the boys
spied her another day during her deliveries. I stopped them from
bothering her, but they beat me to the bone for it.” Again he
shrugged. “I guess Darse probably knew. He always did.”

Brenol bit his lip as he tried to find the
right words. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’ve got
nothing to be embarrassed about. You didn’t do anything wrong.
There’s something wrong with anyone who thinks you did.”

Her pale face sagged in perceptible relief.
Even her shoulders seemed to sigh into the space of acceptance he
had offered. Brenol turned his eyes to the floor, uncomfortable; he
had no more words.

“Even still, what do I have to live for
now?” she finally whispered. Her voice was raspy and cracked with
pain.

He weighed it all for a moment, then
responded thoughtfully, “I don’t know. I really don’t.” He met her
glance guiltily. “But I don’t think that life really works like
that.”

Her eyes narrowed, yet not entirely in
harshness. “What do you mean?”

She thinks I’m stupid,
he thought,
but spoke anyway. “Life isn’t always about yourself and what you
can get out if it… I think life’s sometimes more about what you can
give to someone else.”

The words felt sticky in his hypocritical
mouth; they had only felt true to him in the last few septspan. He
took a deep breath, turning his hands over to look at their palms.
“I came here thinking I knew everything, and I didn’t want to miss
out on seeing a whole other world…but that was all wrong. I was
wrong. So wrong… Deniel—,” he paused for the briefest second,
searching her face for a violent reaction. Seeing only sadness, he
continued his thought, “Deniel has been showing me that it isn’t
always about me.”

He lifted his eyes again to hers. She stared
back.

“I think being good is about doing what’s
right even if things aren’t right.”

“What about when you lose your father? And
your brother?” she asked.

Brenol shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t
know. I don’t understand it all myself. I suppose there’s meaning
even then. Suffering can’t change the fact that life is more.
There’s more than what you feel at the moment.”

Her hands lay limp in her lap. “You almost
sound like Deniel when you talk like that.”

“I certainly don’t sound like myself,” he
acknowledged. “He was a very good man.”

Brenol’s tenderness sliced straight to the
core of her grief. She nodded and dropped her face, letting the
sobbing rock her into a soft silence. Unassumingly, he placed his
hand upon her knee, wanting only to ease her pain. Instead of
pushing him away, she slid her own hand into his warm palm.

Brenol’s heart thudded to life, but he
worked to quiet it again.
She doesn’t need my silly puppy
adoration,
he scolded himself, yet still felt joy creep into
his soul. Her hand was so soft, so gentle. He never wanted to
release it.

After this day, they spent much of their
time together, even if only in silence.

The accepting of a gift is just as crucial as the
bestowing.

-Genesifin

Brenol awaited Arman’s return daily. He trod
the grounds around the soladrome, looking down the plains and
toward the hills where he pictured the invisible figure tromping.
Finally, after days of anticipation, the boy heard a stout bass
behind him.

“Bren.”

He turned to face the seemingly empty space
with a grin. “Arman.”

“You always have the expression as if you
expect to visibly see me, even when you know you cannot,” he
replied mildly.

“Yeah, I just feel like I’ll see you
someday.”

Silence filled the space between them.

“Arman? You still there?”

“Yes.”

“Is everything ok?” Brenol asked, suddenly
concerned.

“Yes. I’m probably perceiving more than is
actually there.” He cleared his throat. Taking in the deep lines on
the youth’s face, he asked, “Perhaps I should ask the same of you.
Are you well?

“Oh,” Brenol began hesitantly. He hated to
voice his thoughts but wondered if he could find peace if he did
not. “Ar?”

“Yes?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Certainly,” the juile replied.

“Is the nuresti connection good? Can it be
good?” Brenol screwed up his face. “Was it just me who felt so
addicted?”

Arman responded thoughtfully. “You are not
the first to ask this.”

“I’m not?” Brenol asked.

“No. When you were a nurest, what did you
experience? What could you do?”

Brenol thought. “I felt confident. I felt
like I could do anything. I was so
full.
Veronia flooded me
so I didn’t feel like anyone else really mattered… I didn’t have to
learn new tasks, the connection would just help me do them. I
didn’t have to see with my eyes, because I could see people and
places matroles away. And I knew their history. I didn’t feel
afraid. I knew I could stop anything from hurting me when I was
with Veronia. Or the land itself would take action.”

“That is a typical experience, although some
nuresti master their connection to such a degree that they are
capable of the impossible. Language, stealth, skills, manipulating
others’ minds, invisibility, the power to grow vegetation in
uncanny ways. The list is extensive.”

“Vegetation?”

“A fortress grown up overnight, composed
entirely of forest and plant, is not a sight that elicits a sense
of calm in one’s neighbors,” Arman replied.

Brenol sighed. “But can it be good?”

“I think it is like many things: good for
some, corrupting for others. In the beginning, from what I have
read and learned, the connection was less one-sided. It was more
about relationship. I do not know what has changed with time, but
there is less control on the creature’s side of the connection now.
I think that is why the cartontz are so crucial.”

“Their protectors?”

“Yes. The love of a cartontz grounds a
nurest in a way nothing else can. Love softens the greed and
addiction.”

“I didn’t have one,” Brenol said softly.

Arman laughed. “Didn’t you? You had
Darse.”

Brenol’s face loosened, and a small smile
warmed his lips. “You’re right. I guess I did.” He nodded, suddenly
feeling far more peace. Darse had been his steady hand. He had
provided a fatherly, grounding love in the midst of blinding
desire.

“Oh!” Brenol said, brought back suddenly to
the present moment. “What did you learn on your travels?”

“I’ve not been able to discover much.
However, I have several places where I think I might be able to
find something to clear up my thoughts.”

Brenol frowned at the words. “So you’re
leaving again?”

“For the time being… I wanted to meet with
you as I had promised, before the journey.”

Brenol drew in a weak inhale. “Where
to?”

“I like to leave room for surprise,” Arman
said, obviously with a smile.

The youth grinned, despite himself. His
heart brimmed with gratitude for the juile
,
even though it
was coupled with the bitterness of departure.

“Ordah will make his way down here to see
you. He was ready to head to Callup, but I reminded him of a
promise.”

Brenol nodded, not eager for the reunion and
what it would bring.

“You are a good man, Bren.”

Brenol exhaled slowly. He extended both
hands, holding the code beads in one of his palms. “Arman? Thanks…
Thanks for everything… And good luck.” Brenol did not need to see
Arman’s face to know the idea of luck escaped him. The words seemed
appropriate, regardless.

“It has been bountiful,” Arman said. His
voice was powerful, rich.

Brenol bowed. “It has been bountiful.”

And he was gone.

~

“Colette?”

The young woman looked up from her seat,
granting a genuine smile of greeting. “What is it?” she asked,
observing Brenol’s expression.

Do I ask her?

Her face was open and inquisitive, but he
feared how his words might alter that. He did not want to return to
the stony eyes, the cold aloofness, the bitter tongue.

Couldn’t I just let it go?

He knew he could not. The mystery hung so
heavily on him.
I need to do it,
he realized.
Just do
it.

“What exactly is your cartess?” Brenol asked
hesitantly.

The clay cup in hand tumbled into her lap
and soaked her clothes, and her too-thin cheeks drained to the
color of milk. She stood, water issuing from her garments.

“Should I call for help?”

“No, no,” she said hastily. “I’m walking
better now. Just give me a moment.”

Brenol excused himself so she might change.
When she called him back, she stood in a gown like liquid cinnamon.
It flowed down and hugged her frame with vibrant color but did
nothing to hide the deathly pallor of her face.

“Bren, why’d you ask this?”

Can she take it? Maybe I shouldn’t have
asked…

There was no room for escape now, so he
continued, even if unsurely. “Deniel seemed pretty intent on his
own… But it really was more because of yours, I think.”

“My cartess, my cartess.” Her frail voice
was faraway, but then her head jerked upright in a flash of
anger.

Brenol cringed.

“My cartess! I told him that he was wrong!
Did he do this because of my
cartess
?” The last word held a
venom Brenol had never known before, and he had spent many days as
the target of her ire.

“Colette?”

Her body shook suddenly with sobs, racking
back and forth in bitter emotion. She looked like a vulnerable
child, convulsing with labored breathing and tears. She finally
whispered to Brenol, voice hoarse from crying, “He once told me—You
don’t have this memory?”

He shook his head.

“He once told me,” she repeated, “that he
knew his fate.” She shook her head and rubbed her blotchy face.
“But I shouldn’t use that word, it’s not enough. No, no. His
cartess. He knew his cartess. It was written on his very soul to
protect me.” She breathed in short spurts, afraid to continue.
“Because of
my
cartess.”

Brenol sensed his body tighten. Somehow his
nerves knew this was crucial.

“He believed I was destined for something…”
She covered her face in shame, recalling the memory.

“
What are you worried about?”

The voice was Deniel—high in the hubris of
youth—and he laughed at her angst, that her mind flitted in every
direction other than where it should go.

She stopped and stared into his round, gray
eyes. She loved the shape of them and his oval face. Her brother.
His grin filled her with warmth.

“
Just let it come,” he said
simply.

“
How would you know?” she
retorted.

His light eyebrows lifted, and the
insinuation startled her.

“
Really? You’re a nurest
too?”
Colette asked. “Or do you just know things sometimes?”

He smiled slyly, his eyes dancing. It was
answer, though not a full one.

“
Oh… I didn’t know.” She felt foolish
having never perceived this, even if they had never traveled to the
terrisdan of his connection.

Deniel shrugged his shoulders and touched
her elbow gently to ease her embarrassment. “You know, you don’t
have to endure this—the moons of restlessness—before your intuition
finally breaks though. It doesn’t have to be like that at all.”