by Jan Harman
“To the misfortune of our clan, we established a settlement in an area fraught with border skirmishes between several individuals discontent with their lot, or should I say, lack of wealth and power. Betrayed by a greedy counselor, a young man about your age was abducted by his father’s arch enemy, thus beginning several brutal years. During this time of raids and counter raids, many of our people lost their lives when swatches of the forest were burned or our crops trampled beneath mighty war machines. Desperate to feed the population, teams of three to five individuals were sent into our enemies’ camps and villages to steal supplies. Although many cried for revenge, our elders refused to allow any retaliation for past grievances. They condoned no mission that could lead to the discovery of the clan or the loss of a soul to the old ways.”
As Shade spoke, he guided me past the first panel depicting scenes of parents huddled over tiny earthen mounds, of fires raging through the woods, and of soldiers executing entire families. Poised now before the second panel, I wondered what had happened to that young man abducted from his home, for there had been no depiction of him in the relief work. I was about to inquire when Aunt Claire pointed to a marble bust on a spot-lit shelf over the center most panel.
“Roland Pepperdine,” she said in a hushed tone. “A visionary.”
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” Shade said respectfully. “Back to the history lesson. Just because these teams weren’t allowed to retaliate, that didn’t mean they weren’t above mischief. Most of it was harmless. On occasion a full quiver of arrows would go missing, a soldier’s water sack would spring a leak, or saddlebags would mysteriously come untied. Over time, they grew bolder and ventured further into their enemies’ strongholds, causing minor disruptions enough to sour the local population towards their lords or cause dissention in the ranks. On our side, the cohesive structure of the clan—that was always shaky—began to unravel. Sadly, we lost several members to the rages of grief.”
“Three years of languishing in a cell not much bigger than a shower stall had weakened Roland Pepperdine to the point where he’d lost most of his muscle mass. It is said that he so despaired of being rescued that he began a lament to his beloved homeland. Deprivation had made Roland’s once beautiful voice rough and gritty and he began to cough sometimes for several minutes at a time. Still, he struggled to sing, and in doing so rediscovered those memories of home and loved ones that his torturers had tried to beat out of him.”
“With each repetition the tragic tone of the lament became less a story of loss but one of personal triumph and the indomitable will of one man. Such unbearable sorrow entwined with so fierce of a devotion to life transfixed a clansman, contemplating surrendering to practices best left in the before time. Moved to tears by Roland Pepperdine’s Soul Spell, as the clan calls powerful, poignant releases of the heart, the chief’s eldest son refused to leave the stone prison. Fearing for his safety, his teammates were forced to choose between removing him by force, certain to draw the guard’s attention and quite possibly trap them as well, or obeying the young man’s strange request, a bold gamble that could potentially decimate the clan.”
“That night under the cover of darkness, Roland Pepperdine in his delirium mistook the clan chief’s son and his elite warriors for angels come to carry him to heaven. Deep into the heart of what his enemies fearfully called the Forest of Whispers, he was carried and laid out beneath the weeping branches of an ancient tree. The clan chief’s son and his closest companions stood sentinel, taking up the lament while Roland Pepperdine was tended by the most senior of clan healers, the clan chief’s own mother.”
Shade stepped closer to the intricate carving of a woman bent over a body hidden behind a curtain of branches. Head inclined, he spoke so softly that I couldn’t make out his words. Solemn eyes nearly overflowed with tears as he looked upon the bust of Roland Pepperdine immortalized in stone. I had no words, no comfort to offer this complex man. I looked to my aunt for guidance, but she’d moved on to the next frame. A look of impatience vanished behind anxious eyes when she caught me staring at her. A heavy sigh blew across my face. An embarrassed half smile graced Shade’s face. When he glided over to the next frame, his expression looked as anxious as my aunt’s.
“We’ll skip the interim part where Roland Pepperdine’s presence amongst the clan fueled bitter debates. I will say that his trust was valiantly earned, and in time he was given leave to return to his homeland. Roland, as a brother of the Whisper Clan, and a specialized unit made their way through enemy territory at great personal risk to a clan that was clinging to existence.”
“Overjoyed to have the return of their son, brother, and uncle, Roland’s family invited the clan to take up residence on a large tract of land that, while not the best for farming, was far richer than anything the clan had farmed in years. With the stipulation that they be allowed to govern themselves, the clan agreed to this arrangement.”
“Sadly, things didn’t progress smoothly. The war had left Roland’s people in dire straits. They resented the newcomers who they believed Roland favored overmuch, and they were openly afraid of their strange ways. Tensions mounted. Rumors abounded as did unfounded allegations that spurred more talk of witchcraft and other dark arts.”
“In the spring of the fourth year since Roland’s return with the strangers, a man accused the clan’s herb woman of sickening his herd of cows. He set fire to the woman’s home. Her child died asleep in her bed, and the woman died several days later from her wounds. Upon returning home from a hunt and hearing the news, the woman’s mate became so enraged by grief that he went after the man responsible. The clan tried to stop him, but he turned aside from their touch. Alone and filled with rage, he took up the old ways. Fearing for the innocent, the clan eventually had no choice but to end his life.”
“The damage to the tenuous alliance forced Roland to make a fateful decision. When he stood by the clan’s request for justice, his father banished him for his betrayal. The clan with Brother Roland, as he was affectionately called, vanished during the evening’s storms.”
“Homeless and wary, the clan hugged the edges of civilization, always a step ahead of those who found their ways unsettling. But they weren’t unaffected by the heartache of those, like themselves, in need of home and family. The clan’s membership swelled as outsiders were brought into the fold. But the heart of the Whisperers had not yet healed. Fear of betrayal marred the collective consciousness. Discord arose out of cultural and physical differences. Afraid of seeing his fragile community fractured, Roland crafted guidelines for the preservation of cultures and rights that eventually became clan law called The Pact.”
“His community lived and worked together for their mutual good until outside human wars drove them to find a new homeland. Pepperdine’s clan traveled to Ireland where a settlement of Whisperers with distant ties to the clan welcomed them uneasily as brethren. Over time, Roland negotiated coexistence treaties between the two clans and neighboring villages. As the years past, first Roland and then his children located more clans. Several came to Ireland to establish new homes near their brethren.”
“Inevitably questions and problems arose out of circumstances and differences in customs. To resolve these matters, Roland formed the Elder’s Council from senior members of each clan. Diverse backgrounds combined with dynamic personalities resulted in little, if any, significant progress. Frustrated, they approached Roland as the one individual all sides respected. Well into his eighties at this point, Roland, sharp as ever, knew that what each side sought was his private backing. Instead, he manipulated them into creating a new position, called the Warden of the Pact. The Warden, our arbitrator, facilitator, administrator of the Pact, is required to be a direct descendent of Roland Pepperdine and chosen by the council based on character and skill in communicating with the Whisperers. These days, the primary purpose of the council and the Warden is to protect the Whisperers, be it the people or its culture, from discovery.”
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nbsp; “Hold on,” I said, shrugging out of Shade’s light restraint and backing away. “You speak like there is a difference. Like the name Whisperer implies something that is not human. That’s just a weird way of speaking to keep an old culture alive. You don’t honestly believe that Whisperers and humans are different, do you? What sort of twisted cult is this?” I demanded my voice angry and confused. I rounded on my aunt, stepping onto the strip of carpet behind the pulpit. “Nice, tell the unstable girl a bizarre tale that she’ll repeat. A guaranteed plan to get me locked up and out of your way. Do you hate me that much?”
“Ethan should’ve done his duty and prepared his daughter,” an angry male voice echoed coldly from the back of the meeting room. “This is what will lead us? This quivering, frail being you would put in a position to safeguard us?”
I watched Shadow, standing there in the darkness at the edge of the door. His name fit.
“Go home, Shadow. We’re handling this,” Shade ordered without so much as turning to face his brother.
“Doing an excellent job of it too. Look at her face; we’ve no place in her limited mind. She thinks were monsters!” Shadow’s unfounded accusations drew a rumble of protest from his brother. Ignoring the outburst, Shadow advanced into the room, stopping next to the back pew. “No wonder Ethan kept her away. She’s a pitiful reflection of what was once a proud lineage. I’ll prove it. O-liv-i-a. O-liv-i-a, come to me.”
Shadow’s enticing, sing-song voice robbed me of my will while drawing me to its owner on a trail of promises. It blotted out sensations, depriving me of connections to the physical world.
“Shadow!”
A thunderclap punctuated Shade’s warning. I clasped my hands over my ears and watched, mouth slack as the artwork nearest Shadow swung on its hook.
“Just testing.” Shadow said with little concern as echoing rumbles chased about the room.
Freed from the compulsion, I drew my foot back and spun towards Shade, counting on him for a rational explanation. A breeze ruffled my neck. My head pivoted as though I was moving in slow motion. The brothers stood nose-to-nose with Shade gesturing wildly, backing his twin towards the doors.
“Press Olivia again and I will retaliate,” Shade threatened.
A low rumble of an approaching storm resounded up the length of the chamber from the double doors to the carvings behind the pulpit. Wind swooped and scattered my hair into my face. The part of me clinging to normal wanted a window to have been left open. Lemon-fresh air filled each ragged breath, forcing me to face the truth that we were under ground.
“I did it for us,” Shadow replied, unrepentant.
Shade pointed to the doors. “Us? Don’t include me in this reprehensible behavior.”
“Tell me you haven’t been burning to try? Deep down, you’re relieved that I’ve saved you from compromising your overly rigid values. Now that I’ve demonstrated how pitifully easy she is to breach, tell me that nothing can change. Whatever greatness once resided in the Pepperdine line has been watered down with the passage of generations. Look at her quaking. You would follow that? You would have the clan acquiesce to her!”
“Careful, brother,” Shade cautioned.
Shadow shook his head. “I told you she’s not resilient. We could settle this now with a simple change over. I guarantee you that she’ll fold. What more proof do you need?”
Shade shifted forward, forcing his twin to lean back. “Try it.”
Shadow grimaced, although I could not tell from what. He glared in my direction. The hair on my arms stood on end. I tried to pass it off as a cool breeze from a vent. Beneath the soles of my feet, I felt a tremor. Thunder cracked its sound reverberating inside my skull. I jumped and clutched my head, certain the chamber was collapsing.
“Shade. Shadow, stop this,” Aunt Claire ordered. “Calm yourselves. Remember where we are. This is a place of peace. Must I remind a Grisland to honor the legacy?”
Shadow stumbled backwards. Shade grabbed his arm and shoved him across the threshold. “Stay out of this.”
“Don’t say I didn’t give you and the clan a chance when everything comes crashing down. Claire Pepperdine, let this be on your head as well,” Shadow shouted.
The doors slammed against the walls and whipped back together. I barely noticed. My eyes were fixed upon Shade’s livid expression as he strode purposefully back to the dais and to my side.
“I think Olivia has had enough this morning,” Aunt Claire said, hurrying to join us.
Shade’s quelling look stopped her cold in the middle of the platform. Icebergs had broken through the surface of ice-crusted seas and were massing along the edges of his irises. “I just stood in conflict with my twin. Don’t fail me.”
His lips had hardly moved, but I felt each word propelled out of his mouth. They knocked against my shoulders as if they had shape and substance. I leaned away from his ferociousness. Where was the Shade who’d been so kind to me at the church? Where was the man who had teased Hattie and me in the shop until I laughed so hard that I knew it was possible to get through an hour without feeling pain? Moisture beaded at the corner of my eyes, and still he glared down at me as though he, like his twin, found me inadequate in every way.
“Shade, control yourself,” my aunt yelled. “This isn’t Olivia’s doing.”
I tore my gaze away from Shade’s to search out my aunt’s for answers. Expecting more of her conflict avoidance responses, I cringed, nearly undone by her seething anger.
Her eyes were locked onto Shade’s. “My niece will have time to adjust, no matter what your brother or anyone else says. If you raise voice to her again, I will bar you from her presence. Do not think to test the limits I set forth.”
Like he had done to his twin, Shade pressed Aunt Claire back, towering over her. Fisted hands shook at his sides. I tried to go to my aunt, but I collided with nothing . . . a wall of air? I stumbled back against the pulpit, my thoughts spinning as were the cold-air currents swirling about the room, raising goose bumps along my arms.
“Stop!” I yelled not even certain that what I was experiencing was real.
Shade snapped around. I squeaked and ducked around the pulpit on mushy legs.
Aunt Claire put a hand on his shoulder and said, sounding troubled, “Maybe you should leave.”
“Not with this impression tainting her opinion. Olivia, don’t tremble,” he said harshly. His face scrunched up. He formed a steeple with his fingers and tapped it against his furrowed brow. After several deep breaths, he lowered his hands and began to speak again in a calm and respectful voice. “It would seem that I’m constantly telling you that you’re not crazy; I expect you find little comfort in my words. Unlike most folks, my bite is far worse than my temper. But I swear it will never be unleashed upon either of you. Please believe me, Olivia.” He scrubbed a hand across his face. “It would appear that even I’m not above foolish, emotional displays fueled by the clans’ need to feel secure.” He broke off and stared towards the door.
Aunt Claire touched his arm. “He’ll come around.”
“I’m used to us being a united front. Ladies, forgive my reprehensible behavior and forgive Shad’s as well. Forgive him first for he hasn’t the benefit of the truth to which I’ve been privy,” he said earnestly. Puffs of warmed air tapped my chin. “Olivia, I would have your understanding and in time your acceptance.”
His desperation confused me more. Sane people didn’t believe in— Bang! The doors to the chamber crashed open. Instinctively I turned.
“His face!” I screamed. Ghostly features dissolved. The triangle of tan skin ended at the top of the tidy collar of Shadow’s blue polo shirt. A rush of wind knocked me back, followed by the sound of enraged male voices rolling from one end of the chamber to the other.
Chapter 8
The door to my room squeaked as it eased open. “Wow, you could open your own carnival booth. You must have over a hundred stuffed animals in that pile,” Trent said, speaking just above a whisper
as though he wasn’t sure of the reaction he was going to get. When I didn’t respond, he shrugged out of his varsity jacket and strolled across the floor, scooping up a spotted puppy with a heart in its mouth as it rolled off the top.
I flipped off the lid of the box next to me. “Three hundred sixty-two actually. My folks had a lot of friends from every corner of the globe. Aunt Claire donated the larger ones to the children’s ward and the rest were boxed up and mailed here.” My voice faded as Trent squeezed in between me and the closet door, causing a small avalanche of toys.
“I heard you had a hard morning and thought you could use a friend.”
“Word spreads fast in a small town.” Nothing about his attitude indicated that he thought I was ready for the loony bin. I breathed easier.
“Freaking weird around here,” he said, while balancing the dog on the top of the pile.
My mouth fell open. The stuffed koala bear I’d just picked up dangled from limp fingers.
“Hard to believe postcard perfect Spring Valley harbors dark secrets, well not exactly dark secrets. But as weirdness goes, the mercury gushes clear off the scale, know what I mean? Not the sort of thing you needed right now so soon after your parents’ deaths. We get that. Nobody wants to rush you.”
It was my turn to stare at him, to search his face carefully for signs that he was just playing along with my dementia. I’d even settle for an elaborate joke.
“I tried to get them to let me tell you. Kind of peer to peer, but your aunt was dead set against you knowing. If it hadn’t been for the storm and you getting sick, you’d have stayed in the dark about things until you were ready. Folks would’ve been impatient, but they’d have done it for you.”
