by Sharon Hinck
Longknife at the ready, Brantley bounded down the rise. He took in the green-covered shapes and the gaunt Gardener. He placed himself in front of me, facing the man, but spoke in an undertone to me. “Are you all right? What’s happening?”
“I’m not sure. He says he’s repairing them, but I—” Another root crept toward me, and I shoved it back with my walking stick. How to explain the murky darkness that emanated from the man; the frissons of fear that kept running through me; the worry I felt for Morra, Trilia, and all the rest?
As if conducting music, the Gardener waved his arms and guided the progress of the vines. Then he stalked back toward us.
Brantley’s shoulders tensed; perhaps he felt the same dark impressions that frightened me. He stomped on a weed that wriggled toward him. “Who are you?” he asked in the same voice that had once confronted the past High Saltar. No reverence. No awe. No fear. Admiration muted my dread for a few heartbeats, until I peered around Brantley and gazed on the contorted features of the Gardener.
The odd creature rolled his eyes. “This grows tedious.” He flicked a hand, and vines uncoiled from the ground and wrapped Brantley’s ankles.
Brantley’s knife flashed, and he cut himself free. Instead of backing away, he strode closer to the man.
The Gardener seemed to grow taller like the foliage, chest lifting and wrath stretching his face. “This is my island. Do not interfere.”
“Looks like you’re the one interfering.” Brantley had to lift his chin to address the man, but nothing in his posture showed retreat. “Are you the one who kept the barrier from letting us out?”
I’d always resisted Brantley’s attempts to teach me how to use a knife for hunting or fighting, but now I longed for a weapon. I gripped my cane like a cudgel, as if my slim presence could add power to his defiance.
The Gardener’s eyes narrowed. Then a sneer curved his lips. He pointed a long-nailed finger toward the earth and the moss coating the ground. Green spores exploded in a cloud around Brantley. He choked, crumbled to the ground, and fell to his back, a look of surprise on his face. In the moment it took for me to crouch beside him, the moss spread and blanketed him.
“No!” I tore at the greenery, pulling off layers that immediately grew back. “Let him go.”
Brantley groaned and writhed, resisting the plants. I tried to help, tugging at each vine, my palms soon blistered and raw. He freed one arm and began to rip off the binding moss. The Gardener grimaced, effort appearing on his face for the first time. Then a thorn shot up from the earth, curled, and pierced Brantley’s chest. His struggle stopped, and he went limp. Choking out a cry, I dug at the root of the thorn and yanked it away.
The Gardener’s jaw clenched. With another wave of his hand, vines left the bodies near the water and trailed toward me. One wrapped around my bad ankle. I hopped away, trying to tug myself free. Another creeper wriggled toward me. I flailed out with my stick. Nothing held back the tide. The earth rose and fell, and I lost my grip on the walking stick. This was a nightmare. I was drowning. Drowning in waves of green instead of the ocean waves I’d always feared. My only ally was already trapped in the eddy, and I would be next.
Dance.
The whispered word swirled in my heart. I wrenched my leg free and spun in place on my good foot, whipping my weak leg to help me turn again and again. My arms opened over my head. I was a cyclone, a child’s top, a vortex of opposition. The vines near me fell back. Loving Maker, this is Your battle. My heart cried out as I continued to dance. Help me! Help Brantley! Guide my steps.
Fragments of patterns played through my mind. Would rainclouds inhibit the plants or only cause them to grow faster? Could a fog protect us all from the Gardener? I settled on movements that urged the wind to surge across the land. After my spins forced the vines to draw back, I turned to confront the Gardener, trying to block Brantley from him.
Rage contorted his features. He raised an arm, pointing one gnarled finger at me. “You have no right.” He spared a glance at all the unconscious villagers, and then Brantley’s inert body behind me, as if reassuring himself of his control over them.
Cold chills shook my bones, but I squared my shoulders and stood firm, fighting to hide my terror. Whatever he was doing to these people, I’d resist him with every ounce of my being.
As if he read my thoughts, a thin smile stretched his lips. “You’ve accomplished nothing here. You are too late for them. As for you, you’ll pay for your interference.”
My eyes widened. This was no empty threat.
Malice poured from him in waves. “Until now my power has been leashed, but the signs have shown my fulfillment approaches. Did you think I wouldn’t sense the brief break in the barrier? Soon there will be nowhere in my world for you to hide.” The hills rocked and moaned as if acknowledging his rule. Then he glanced at the sky, where a hint of dawn’s light bled into the deep darkness of night.
He crouched and pulled up twining creepers, wrapping them around his arms. It seemed his evil bled through the vines and into the essence of the world. An ugly cackle burst from his throat. He turned, enrobing himself in the vines as they surged into leaves and thorns. Mossy spores exploded around him, and then all the plant life collapsed inward.
He had disappeared, but the danger had not. The foliage crept toward me again, so I began a limping run with wide sweeps of my arms. Too bad I didn’t have all the dancers of the Order to join in the pattern. Yet even with only one hobbled dancer, the steps were effective. The gale buffeted any plants that stretched upward so they shrank and withdrew. The greenery closer to the ground clung to the bodies it covered until wisps of wind slipped under and fought it.
I closed my eyes and listened to the breath of the island, felt the struggle, and coaxed the plants to withdraw. I reached for the moss that coated Brantley, but as soon as I stopped dancing, the plants surged forward again. As much as I longed to free him, I needed to continue the pattern for wind.
I resumed a series of turns, wobbling when the earth shifted underfoot. My training served me well, allowing me to regain my footing and increase the pace of my frenzied dance. The wind grew in power. Light sparked at the sides of my vision. In the midst of my furious movements, it took some time to realize that the first fingers of the primary sun tickled the sky.
I gathered strength from the beauty, stretching my arms to welcome the many-hued light tinting the sky above the tree line. Hope helped me ignore the pain in my ankle and the exhaustion in my bones. The night was almost over. My dance shifted to passionate thanks for protection and rescue. I would dance as long as I needed to, to hold back whatever dark purpose the Gardener had been shaping.
In the growing light, the last of the smothering vines withdrew. Once again the lakeshore was rimmed only with sleeping villagers. I sank to my knees.
I drew in several deep breaths until I could still the trembles that quaked through my body. I crawled over to Brantley. “It’s over,” I whispered. “Wake up.”
I smiled at the stray curl that once again rested across his brow. This time I brushed it gently to the side and replaced it with a soft kiss. “The moss is gone. You’re free now.”
Still he didn’t move. I pressed a hand to his chest. Was his heart beating? Was he breathing? Fresh panic flared hot in my chest. Was I too late?
I grabbed his shoulders and shook them. “Brantley. Come back. Please—” A sob cut off the rest of my words. He remained lifeless, silent, rocked gently by waves coursing beneath the land. Loving Maker, was I wrong to love him? Have You taken him from me because I turned from the Order?
No. The Maker Himself had called me to challenge the Order. But perhaps I’d failed in some other way. If I were to blame, perhaps this could still be reversed. Forgive me for whatever I did wrong. Please, don’t take him. Whatever the Gardener did to him, You are stronger. You can wake him. Do something! Hot tears stung my eyes.
A blush of dawn passed over Brantley’s cheeks. A trick of light. But I grab
bed at the slim hope and shook him again. With his muscles slack, his face no longer held the humor and determination that were so much a part of his nature. My heart ached to see his smile again. Or even his frown. I’d never before appreciated how much fun it was to quarrel with him. “You can win our next argument. I promise. And don’t forget, we’re going to fix up a cottage in Windswell. Think of it. I’ll help your mother with her garden, and your village will never go hungry again.” I stroked his cheeks, pressed my face against his, begged for a sign of breath. “We can build our home near the rim, so you can see Navar first thing every morning. We have to find a way home. Meriel is waiting for supplies.”
I picked up his hand, rubbing warmth into it. “You aren’t going to leave me here alone, are you? Not that I need your protection.” I forced a gurgle of laughter. “Dancers are every bit as tough as herders. You’ve said so yourself. But I’ve gotten used to you. Come on. Stop idling about.”
My fingers clenched around his cold hand, and I squeezed back tears. I would not cry. I would not grieve. That would be allowing for the possibility that he was gone, and I would not do that. The Order believed we could create our own reality. If I wished it enough, if I pictured his eyes opening and his lips lifting in a crooked grin, if I imagined his rumbling chuckle—I could bring him back.
Except I couldn’t.
My body sagged, powerless against whatever held Brantley. I wasn’t the Creator of life nor the Overcomer of death. But there lived a Creator and an Overcomer. He had shown Himself to me. Maker, I need You. Help him.
Along the lake, the other people remained in a strange torpor. Alive or dead, I couldn’t say. A bird called a greeting from deep in the nearby forest. How dare he sing on such a dark dawning? The primary sun crested the treetops, blazing more warmth on the sparkling lake, the vibrant daygrass, the dozens of bodies. How dare it shine when the man I loved rested lifeless beside me?
Something inside me broke, and tears flowed hot and furious down my cheeks. I loosened my desperate grip on Brantley’s fingers and bent forward, resting my head on his chest, letting sob after sob shudder through me.
One of the Order’s teachings was accurate. The attachment of love could lead to pain beyond imagining. “It’s worth it,” I whispered. “I’m still glad I love you. Every minute we spent together was a treasure.”
I strained to hear the reassuring drumming of his heart, but his chest was motionless beneath my ear.
A breeze shook the distant trees. Ripples scudded across the lake. The whole world pulsed with life. The whole world but for the man I loved.
Was he truly gone? Lost to me forever? This wound cut more deeply than the High Saltar’s knife. My entire body clenched against the pain. My heart contracted into a tight fist that hardly dared beat.
Maker, Maker, do not abandon me. Not here. Not now. Not like this. Breathe life into him. Please. I beg You. Help him wake.
I pressed my ear more firmly against his chest.
Thu-thump. Thu-thump.
I tensed. Was I imagining the sound? My fingers felt for a sign of life along his neck. Yes! A pulse beat against my touch—frail, but better than nothing.
“Brantley. Wake up.” I sat back and willed him to respond with every ounce of my being. His features were lax and pale, as if all his vitality had bled from an invisible wound. I’d do anything to see the piercing light of his eyes, the lively quirk of his eyebrow, even the tight line of his lips when he frowned. “It’s morning. Stop lazing about. I . . .” My voice broke, and I swallowed back the bitterness of my fear. “I need you.”
Cupping my trembling hand against his face, I prayed the warmth would coax him out of this unnatural slumber. When he still didn’t move, I grasped his shoulders and shook him. “Brantley. Wake up . . . please.”
At last, he stirred. Lashes lifted, and eddies of blue and green swirled in his unfocused eyes. He squinted, then met my gaze and cleared his throat. “What are you doing?”
Relief poured through me. “Only waiting for you to wake up. Are you all right?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” His voice held a curt edge as he propped up on his elbows.
I eased away and sat on my heels to give him room to stand. He stood but didn’t offer a hand to help me up.
“What happened last night?” he asked. This wasn’t his familiar grumbly tone, the one I could always provoke with a bit of teasing. This morning he sounded cold and distant. Not annoyed, but coolly disinterested.
“I met the Gardener. Remember?” I struggled to my feet, suddenly embarrassed at how I wobbled. He didn’t reach out a steadying hand, so I found my footing and faced him.
Frown lines pulled together on his forehead. “The what?”
“A strange man. He made the plants cover everyone. Consume them. I tried to beat them off. You collapsed. I was afraid—” I caught my breath. Fear knocked the wind from me again at the memory of Brantley’s lifeless body on the ground. I clasped my hands together to still their shaking.
His expression cleared. “The convening. I understand now.”
“You do?” I wanted to run into his arms, feel the reassuring warmth of his muscles—alive and moving. Yet his stance was remote and held me at a distance.
He glanced at me with something close to disdain. “Of course. Morra told us. You just didn’t understand. The convening removes the pain.”
“Pain? What pain?” I took a step back, my heart contracting at the stranger standing before me. He was Brantley, but Brantley without the warmth, the passion, the connection that had crackled between us.
He shrugged. “Longings unmet. Free of them all.” He stretched and grinned.
“Do you remember me? Remember why we’re here?” I watched closely for recognition to flare in his eyes.
Instead, he turned away. “To gather supplies and bring them back. But we can’t.”
His flat tone made me angry. “You’re acting like you don’t care. We have to find a way home.” A dull throb took up residence behind my eyes.
Instead of arguing, he walked closer to the lake edge. The people who had slumbered there and been covered by the Gardener’s vines were waking. Wimmo was still curled on the ground with her arms protecting her swollen belly. Beside her, Harba snorted, then sat up. He glanced at her, then shoved to his feet and wandered away. Morra sprang to standing, his auburn hair catching the rays of the subsun as it rose.
Brantley ignored them all and went to the shoreline. He pulled off his vest, tunic, and boots, tossed his longknife carelessly onto the clothes, and dove into the water. I knew he loved the water, but this was an odd time for a swim. We needed to make plans. Find a way home.
I limped over to Morra, hoping to glean helpful information. I executed the customary bob up and down, fighting to be civil and not take my frustration out on him. “How are you?”
He presented his leg and bowed. “All is being well.” He spotted a young raven-haired woman nearby and smoothed his tunic. “She looks in want of company.”
I pressed the heel of my hand against my forehead. “Morra, what changed? She’s not the girl you were pining after yesterday.”
“Pining?”
“Don’t you remember? Crillo. You gave her flowers.”
He chuckled. “But now I care not. Though flowers be a fine idea.” He plucked a few yellow blossoms scattered among the daygrass and carried them to the girl who had newly caught his fancy. I shook my head. Such a fickle nature didn’t bode well for his future relationships.
Wimmo woke, and I offered my hands to help her up. “Harba is around here somewhere.” Why wasn’t he hovering protectively near her as he had been?
“Who?” she asked.
“Harba. Your mate. The father of your babe.”
Her confusion cleared, replaced by the same strange disinterest the others wore. “It matters not. Be you hungry? I recollect some persea trees nearby.” She waddled toward the edge of the forest.
I stood watching the unnatural int
eractions as the rest of the people woke. They had seemed strangely disinterested before, but now their faces were vacant, empty of expression. Something inside them had changed in the night. I cast an uneasy glance toward Brantley, then back toward the others.
One small child toddled too close to the water’s edge. I hurried forward and scooped her into my arms. Looking back to those awakening on the shore, I expected to see the relieved faces of the child’s parents. Not one eye looked our way. All readied themselves for the day ahead. Strange people. “Who does she belong to?” I called.
No one answered. A shock of white hair caught my eye, and I carried the child to Trilia. “She almost fell in the water. Where are her parents?”
Trilia pulled her cloudy gaze from her feet and looked at me. “Any and all,” she said at last.
I bounced the girl on my hip, my frustration mounting. “Well the ‘any and all’ are doing a poor job of watching her.”
She tilted her head and stared at the child, then offered her arms. “She be pretty enough to show off designs. Perhaps a worker of fabric will take her.” The girl reached out in return, so I surrendered her to Trilia’s care. Trilia seemed to fill a sort of leadership role in the village. I hoped she’d be able to get the girl to the right people.
The atmosphere along the lake took on the spirit of another revel, though more subdued. Many men and women swam, paddling around along the lake’s edge. Considering they only encountered the ocean here in their world’s center, they all seemed comfortable in the water. Others gathered fruits and vegetables from the nearby forest. Still others constructed fire pits. One man pulled in a net of fish from the lake, and soon the scent of roasting filled the air. I wandered from one cluster to another, trying to have a sensible conversation. I received only blank stares, vague gestures, unhelpful shrugs.
