The Land's Whisper (9 page)

Darse paused, considering. “If no one can
get back through, then what about letters?”

“Ah. You mean the wolves. Yes, the portals
open for
them
. There are a few who bring seals between
worlds.” Rook’s tone was saturated with displeasure. “The maralane
teach them how. But only them.”

“The wolves are like the ignalli,” said
Spence. “From another world.”

“Would the wolves ever help us get back?”
Darse asked.

Spence snorted. “No.”

“What about the maralane?”

“Never.”

Darse felt the hope that had been rising
within sputter out.

“The real question is why you have a portal
under your home.” The voice issued from the youngest
visnat—sprawled and working on another stem—and seemed to echo
eerily in the shaded wood. Colvin’s eyes glinted strangely as they
settled upon Darse, not matching his posture of cool
indifference.

“It is a question, isn’t it?” replied
Darse.

The tension turned them silent, but Brenol
screwed his face up and spoke, “Just tell them. They aren’t going
to hurt us.” The boy carefully tucked his hands under him, for he
had narrowly escaped indicating their heights with what would have
been a mere flick of his fingers.

Darse inhaled purposefully, realizing Brenol
was more correct than not. He dipped his head down in a manner of
apology, and explained, “My mother was from Massada.”

The four could not feign indifference; their
eyes snapped up and locked upon Darse in astonishment. Colvin even
sat up from his supine laze, grass stem forgotten.

“How?” asked Spence, but all the faces
silently resounded the question.

Darse spoke slowly, as one who does not know
the full meaning of his words. “My father came many orbits ago from
Alatrice. He never explained how or why—I don’t know if he even
knew. He met my mother and they had me. She died not long after.
Some strange illness. Afterwards, he just wanted to leave. He
arranged some kind of return to Alatrice with the lake people, with
the allowance of a portal for me, should I ever wish to return.” He
frowned. “I guess they were willing to let people leave at one
point.”

Spence gripped his knife anew, in a pensive,
not defensive, manner.

“And Bren?” Colvin asked.

Brenol flushed a bright pink, and his tongue
cleaved to the dry roof of his mouth.

Darse’s smile spread in a thick grimace,
more ugly than inviting. “There was an issue. But we will sort it
out shortly.”

“What was your father’s name?” Colvin asked,
stretching back into his loll.

“Sim,” he replied hesitantly. Darse felt off
balance in the conversation. He was beginning to realize that the
recumbent visnat might actually be the one in control.

Colvin did not flinch, but peered knowingly
at Darse. It was as though he had perceived the answer before Darse
had even spoken.

“Sim,” Murphy repeated and swallowed
hard.

“Sim,” whispered Spence. His bronzed face
had paled.

“Does that mean something?” Darse asked.

“We really have no more time to discuss it.”
Rook quickly began to stash items back into his ruck. “We’ve got to
get moving.”

Brenol’s eyes widened at the sudden haste.
“Wait. Where?”

Rook inhaled slowly, as if willing himself
calm. “We are visiting the maralane.”

“But what do we do? Where should we go?”
protested Brenol.

Rook glanced back to his companions.
Following some kind of silent communication, he spoke, but a
strange edginess continued to control his demeanor. “It is
difficult.” He pointed up the steep slope. He peered at the boy,
finally nodding. “If you wish, you may come.” Rook’s face was grim,
but his tone was genuine in invitation.

Brenol and Darse looked at each other and
nodded their assent.

Darse knew they had few alternatives. This
at least
seemed
safe, despite the strange reactions to his
lineage. They all brushed away any grass and returned to the path.
As they moved forward, Darse observed Colvin with a wary
appreciation: here was a creature who missed little.

~

The path the visnati took was one that
curved up and aside from their earlier trail. The ascent was
demanding, but after some time, the visnati found their breath
again and began to tell the two about Massada.

“The maralane have lived in the spring-lake
since the lands joined together in the beginning.”

“When was the beginning?” queried
Brenol.

Spence’s nose wrinkled. “They’re not likely
to tell us.”

“You said something earlier about a place
called the lugazzi
?
”

“You’re standing on it right now. Anything
that is neutral land is lugazzi. There is neutral land surrounding
Ziel and at the borderlines of every terrisdan. Think of it like
the rind of a fruit. The rind surrounds the fruit, but isn’t the
important part. So it is with the lugazzi.” He moved his arm around
in a strange gesture. “The lugazzi is usually several matroles
wide. It is the only space where the land does not see you,” Spence
answered.

Brenol’s eyes widened. “The land sees?”

Colvin nodded, his lips pursed tightly.

“Where is the ocean?” Darse asked,
pondering.

It was Rook’s turn to furrow his brow.
“Salt, right?”

Darse nodded.

“Well, we have a salt lake in the
southeast…but Ziel is our largest body of water nearby. I’ve heard
rumors, tales, of strange waters. Moving waters that roared. They
say they are out east in the frozen lands past the terrisdans.” He
glanced amusedly to his friends, seeming to not hold faith in such
things.

Brenol had seen the sea once, but it was not
an experience he felt adept at framing with words. He merely
smiled. “What are they like? The maralane.”

“Serious. Don’t come up much. Stay to
themselves and live down deep. Not interested in our world—the
‘upper banks’ or ‘upper world’ or whatever they’ve named us for the
season. No, not so keen on us. They are just…well, free.”

“Then why do you go see them? How do you
know they’ll even come up?”

Rook glanced to Colvin. “There’s been a
forging between our people. Colvin’s kin saved one of ‘em a long
while ago, and gratitude is enduring in their people.” He wrinkled
his forehead. “Or at least something like it.”

“That’s really the only reason why they keep
coming up?” asked Darse.

Spence nodded, but his face flickered with a
momentary shadow. “They’re a good people. They may not seem
interested in all that goes on up here, but everything in ‘em is
about protecting Massada. They’d die for the world if they had to.
They’re honorable, honest, loyal. Can’t say I know all the reasons
for them coming up, but I can know it isn’t for evil.”

Spence peered around as if to ensure their
ears were the only in the vicinity and whispered, “You’ll realize
in a breath that they’re dangerous.” He patted Brenol’s arm to
alleviate any concern. “But they are good. They…well, you’ll see
with your own eyes. They’re good.”

~

The men trekked the lane and eventually
turned off on a grassy patch. Brenol’s feet sank into the soft
green turf, and he wiggled his toes gratefully. His bare heels were
unaccustomed to such long journeys. They strode for several minutes
across the smooth knoll, which soon curved gently downward and came
upon a new section of Ziel’s glistening shore.

The air was thin, but sweeter here than in
the wooden thick, and Darse drew in the lovely scents as he gazed
out upon the blue. The waters coruscated under the midday sun, but
that was the only hint of movement. No waves lapped at this section
of the rocky shore.

The visnati paused along the beach and
pointed to a thin strip of land. It was a narrow cut, about an arm
span across, and extended out into the still like a long finger
resting upon a table of blue glass. After about two hundred
strides, the strip ended in a rounded tip that swelled out in a
circle. The water was dark and very deep, and the visnati urged
them earnestly to have caution while walking the peninsula.

As they spoke and made ready, Brenol
disinterestedly scooped up a few flat stones sparkling amidst the
sand. Half listening, he arched his body sideways to achieve the
right motion for skipping them across the surface. His face jolted
with sudden surprise; Spence had snapped the boy’s arm into his own
small grip with alarming speed.

“No need to disturb the water,” Spence spoke
mildly, but his glance was severe.

Brenol dropped the stones into the soft,
warm sand. Only then did the visnat remove his fingers from the
boy’s arm. Brenol rubbed the abused site and glanced in
bewilderment at Darse. Tendrils of unease snaked up the older man’s
back at this second warning regarding the water, but he felt
silenced before Spence’s strangely hard eyes.

The visnati left the beach and trod across
the finger of land with enviable ease. They had clearly maneuvered
the strip numerous times before, and their short legs swept the
small walkway in near nonchalance. Rook had already crossed the
halfway point before Brenol even stepped onto the strip, but the
boy bounded after in hot pursuit, copper hair bouncing. Darse
inhaled and followed cautiously, wondering what truly lay under
that screen of deep black-blue.

Reaching the peninsula’s rim, Darse
experienced the vulnerability of his position acutely; the water
encompassed his vision, making him feel small. This tiny finger of
mingled rock and earth rested mere digits from the surface of Ziel,
and any amount of flooding would swallow it from the world of air
and light. He twitched at the thought, realizing it would take
little effort to grasp them all now.

What are we doing?
Darse brooded,
staring back down the finger of land and pondering if he could
shoulder Brenol back to the shore without mishap.

He shook his head.
Calm, Darse. Calm,
he thought behind clenched jaw.

The party shuffled about on the tip, which
was roughly ten strides in each direction, circular, with several
sitting rocks and a carved stone table. The stones were better
suited to the height of visnati than to grown humans, so Brenol and
Darse stood.

“We don’t come often, maybe twice an orbit.
This is our way of telling ‘em we’re here.” Spence held up his
wooden bucket again in showcase, and then began to scoop handfuls
of blossoms carefully out onto the lake, somehow never touching the
water himself. The four visnati soon strewed the water’s surface
with the beauty of nasturtiums, daffodils, tulips, lilies, orchids,
hollyhocks, corn flowers, and other flowers unique to Massada. The
strong scents, especially of the white lilies, created a pocket of
perfume around the finger of land as the colors floated serenely
out before them.

The visnati waited silently, with still
frames and somber expressions, and Brenol could not help but peer
out upon the water with nervous expectation.

Darse pursed his lips and watched the party,
growing more uncomfortable as the moment built.

Brenol’s quick vision spied the eyes first.
Shudders played out in a dance upon his spine, and the boy was
brought back several orbits to a time on Alatrice.

Raptili.

After a particularly heavy winter, Darse had
taken him across the border for his annual purchase of feed. On the
eighth day’s march, the flooding had been so great along the canal
that the road was laden with stagnant water and thigh-high mud. He
had nearly bounded in to cross when Darse’s strong arm had lunged
forward and yanked him back with an unyielding grip. The boy had
looked up—annoyed more than anything—only to see Darse’s grim
expression. The man’s finger had flicked out in indication—one,
two, three, and yes, four. He had bent and quietly rummaged in his
pack, finally drawing out some leftover game from their previous
meal. His eyes had met Brenol’s in an intense flash of blue before
the boy’s gaze had followed the meat tossed to the road’s center.
Scales and teeth had flashed in terrifying speed. Brenol’s gut had
softened to pudding. He had not uttered a word as they had
attempted to circumvent the area, nor later, when they had been
waylaid for two septspan as the waters receded. And he certainly
had never forgotten those eyes. The raptili. Even still, they
haunted Brenol’s dreams, and he would wake smelling the odors of
the stagnant marsh.

Brenol blinked, yet the image did not
subside to mere memory. Slowly, so slowly, two foreheads emerged
from the glistening screen, and steely dark eyes bore into him.
Soft, concentric circles rippled out from the two heads, and soon a
third. Brenol heard a slight gasp as Darse finally spotted
them.

The maralane pressed through the sea of
color, the blossoms crowding their indifferent white faces. They
approached the land in a line, like a brood trailing their mother,
only fanning out at the last moment. Each maralane was the general
size of an adult human, but the fierce eyes were plainly alien.

The first maralane surfaced up to her chest,
and the others—a man and a smaller woman—followed suit in lithe,
slick movements. She had hair in several shades of green and blond,
as though tresses and seaweed both grew from her damp scalp. It was
regally braided in a crown upon her head, and her face was thin and
very beautiful. The maralane’s skin was beyond pale, yet it was
becoming on her. A pair of gills flashed at her neck. She had
slender arms and hands with webbing stretching between the fingers
from the knuckles up. Her form was shaped much like a human body,
though clothed with a thin layer of scales. The scales appeared
almost as attire, beginning on her chest and extending down her
frame, and were an iridescent hue of smoky green.

Darse sucked air between his teeth; beauty
and power and otherness all seemed to mingle in the creature past
the point of reconcile. Brenol simply stared.