by Sharon Hinck
Harba fingered a similar cord around his neck and nodded. “Our babe isn’t being forgotten.”
I hissed in a breath. “Tokens aren’t enough. To protect your family, you need to stay away from the convening.” Once again, I shared all I’d seen, begging them to turn back before the Gardener arrived.
Now Harba shot a worried glance around us to be sure no one overheard me. “The Every says we must be here.”
My temples throbbed. “The Every isn’t always right.” The baby pulled one tiny fist free from her swaddling, and I touched it, marveling as perfect little fingers flexed and then encircled my thumb. Longing pulsed with each beat of my heart. Longing to protect my friends and their fragile family. And longing for something more . . .
Brantley joined me. At the sight of the infant, light sparked in his eyes, and he reached forward. Wimmo surrendered her trustingly. And why not? Brantley accepted the infant with the easy confidence of a man who had treasured his niece since her birth. He blew teasingly into the baby’s face, and when the tiny face puckered, Brantley chuckled. “A fine child, this one. Congratulations.”
Wimmo and Harba beamed. They could create a beautiful, long-lasting family if not for the Gardener’s harm. The space between my ribs contracted and ached. I wanted that joy for them. For everyone on this world.
Buzzing rose from the trail that led to the blue village. A few men emerged carrying tall poles with spinning paddles mounted to the top. They caught the wind and spun, causing the strange sound. More people followed, most wearing the ridiculous talking tools I’d learned about in their village.
Trilia aimed for them and spoke through one of the speaking tools to another woman. It was clear she’d interacted with their culture before. As I cast my gaze around the lakeside, people from different villages as well as the outcasts called remnants all mingled. Morra had pointed out the yellow, purple, and orange villages as they arrived, and, though somewhat smaller than the other groups, each village had added its unique cultural flavor to the mix. Some folk pulled items from packs and traded for goods from other towns.
In the midst of the party atmosphere, I wandered slowly around the lake, speaking to any who would listen. Brantley stayed by my side but said little. Most people were dazed from lack of sleep and massive amounts of punch. Some laughed at me, others shoved me aside. As the primary sun arced toward the treetops, casting long shadows across the daygrass on the hill, I limped partway up the hill and looked at the mass of people. Creative, gifted, energetic. We each contained the touch of the Maker. Yet without Him, we fell apart.
“You’re whistling into the wind,” Brantley said, wrapping an arm over my shoulder.
I offered a sad smile. “I think the more they insist on not caring for others, the more I care about them. It’s like I can feel the pulse of the Maker’s heart. And I wonder how long it will be before these convenings wipe out every bit of their humanity.”
“Sit for a minute.” Brantley helped lower me, and I stretched out my legs, too weary to argue. “And explain something.”
I tilted my head his direction.
He rubbed the back of his neck, and the clench of his jaw drew hard lines across his face. His gaze skimmed the people around the lake and then cast upward, as if seeking answers in scattered clouds.
After a long pause, he finally met my eyes. “Why are you so desperate to earn His love?”
I blinked. “Is that what you think?”
“Look at you. He let the High Saltar cripple you. He trapped us on this miserable world. Yet you’re willing to throw your life away because He told you to prepare the way for Him. You must be desperate to earn His love. Why else would you do it?”
My chest squeezed, and I wrapped my arms around my stomach. “No. Oh, Brantley. That’s not it at all.”
His clear eyes continued to pierce me, waiting.
I struggled to find words. “No sacrifice I could make would earn me His love.”
Gaze still locked on me, his eyebrows drew together. “Then why?”
My fists clenched against my breast. Maker, help him see. I drew a breath. “He already loves me. So much that it’s . . . well, it’s everything. Sky, sea, life, breath. Nothing I can do will make Him love me more. Or could cause Him to love me less.”
“If you believe that, then why can’t we leave? You tried. You warned people. Let’s go. We can try to break through the barrier again. And if that doesn’t work, we’ll find a safe place to build a home.”
I reached for his hands. The soft scrape of his calluses provided a distraction from the temptation to agree with him. To flee. Daygrass tickled my ankles. A breeze brushed hair across my eyes. Currents deep beneath us lifted and lowered the earth the slightest fraction, every moment of reality a gift from the One who loved me completely. I absorbed each sensation, drawing strength, searching for a way to explain.
“When I served the Order, I was willing to give my entire life. I was willing to spend every moment in training. To forego family, friends, rest. And the Order wasn’t even serving the truth. I was chasing the approval of the saltars, and their demands were never satisfied.
“After I felt the touch of truth, my new longing was to love Him. Not to earn His favor, like I’d once tried to win the approval of my saltars, but simply because my whole spirit filled with joy to know Him. If I once gave the Order my whole being, how could I give the Maker of my soul any less?”
Brantley drew a deep breath. Conflict churned in his eyes like opposing currents, and a tendon flexed along his neck. With one finger, I rubbed away the frown lines on his forehead. That coaxed a crooked grin from him. “Pity they aren’t listening. You do have a way with words, dancer.” Then he sobered. “What next?”
While Brantley and I regrouped partway up the slope, a smattering of men and women staked their places at the water’s edge. With the suns lower in the sky, their shadows stretched and danced like ghouls as the tangleroot rippled. I shuddered, then pushed to my feet. “We’re running out of time. I have to do something so they’ll hear me.” But what?
Their backs were turned, ready to begin the ritual to welcome the Gardener and once again surrender their spirits. Later, Wimmo would wake with a baby in her arms that she wouldn’t remember loving. Perhaps she’d carry her back to their village, or perhaps she’d cast her aside. Harba would stare at Wimmo vacantly. Their carved tokens would be no more than a curiosity.
Not far from them, Morra tussled with a man from the red village who threw him down with a force that wavered the ground. The youth sprawled, the wind knocked out of him. What would happen to Morra after the Grand Convening? He’d stop pining after the girl he loved, and perhaps this time his longing for Crillo would be eradicated for good. He might try to catch the attention of another, which would only last until the next convening, and so on. He’d continue to visit the other villages, searching for a place to fit. His restless roaming would never be satisfied.
Now those of the remnant stood separated from the others. Disdained for some long-forgotten reason, they glanced nervously around and edged into a place by the lake. They could still think, still care, yet were scorned by the majority of this world. And soon that would cease to matter to them.
Maker, do something!
A copper fish splashed in the middle of the lake, sending ripples across the surface. A new idea sparked into my mind. I gasped and gripped Brantley’s arm. “Call Navar.”
He frowned. “That’s not a good—”
“Hurry! While there’s still time. I need her.”
“You need her?” Caution filled his tone, protective of his bond with her, their years of working as a team.
I dragged him toward a spot by the lake that was still unoccupied. “No one is listening to me, and they’re all staring at the lake. Don’t you see? Please. You have to signal her.”
Brantley’s frown deepened as he worked out my plan. He squinted at the subsun. “There’s not much time.”
“That’s wh
y I asked you to hurry!”
His sigh was heavy, but he pulled out his whistle and blew the calling signal. The sound barely carried over the hubbub of the crowd. He also flung himself down on the tangleroot and sent the notes into the water.
“If she’s near, she’ll come. But we can’t wait long.”
Already, a few people settled cross-legged, swaying slightly. More and more of those still milling about pulled away from conversations, tossed aside lenka pits and jugs, stuffed new possessions into packs, and found a spot near the lake. Soon all places on the water’s edge were filled, and men and women formed a line two deep in places. In my vision by Chanic’s tree, I’d seen the early convenings, where villagers formed concentric circles four or five deep. The Gardener’s interference hadn’t only corrupted the hearts of this island, it had cut a swath through their population. A few children were held on laps. Others wandered, noticed their isolation, and toddled toward the crowd. But there were so few little ones. How could children survive when no one committed to caring for them?
A precious handful of people on our side of the lake stood back. Harba and Wimmo and their baby. Morra, who was still sulking and scarring the daygrass with his kicks. Several remnant people, looking uncertain.
I spotted Trilia sitting close to the water. She seemed to be respected by most in the green village. If I could get her to agree to stay away from the lake, more would follow her. I edged around a few people and tapped her shoulder. “Thank you for the assistance you’ve given us.”
She looked up at me, one black eyebrow arching under the white fringe of her bangs. “I have no herbs with me if that be what you seek.”
I shook my head. “I only want to give you a gift in return. The Maker of this world loves you. He is coming to walk among you and free you. Everything the Gardener offers is a bondage.”
She held up a hand and turned away, directing her gaze at the water. “Cease. The Every must prepare.”
Although Brantley kept an eye on me and continued to check the lake for signs of Navar, he also jogged between clusters of those standing apart from the lakeshore. Some nodded, others moved further up the slope to the woods.
I left Trilia and continued limping along the edge, speaking to any who would listen. With each rejection, the wound above my heel burned more deeply. I refused to look at the bandage, but I felt as if all the blood in my body were draining away.
A hum rose from the throats of the gathered villagers. They began to rock in unison. A few raised their arms, twirling their hands in small circles. Brantley’s touch on my shoulder made me jump. “We should head up to the forest now,” he said.
“Navar might still come.”
“Or she could be miles away with her pod.”
“I don’t believe that. She’d stay close to you. She seemed worried when she was here before.”
Brantley stared out at the water. “She wasn’t herself. Almost as if she sensed . . .”
A gasp rose from someone near us. Then a scream carried from across the lake. Some people skittered back from the edge, colliding with those behind them. Most, deep into their ritual, continued to sway with eyes closed, ignoring the rising hubbub.
Navar’s head poked up from the surface, shyly peeping at the faces lining the shore. She remained mostly submerged, searching for us.
Brantley shoved through the crowd and whistled. Her head snapped around so quickly, her dangling ears wobbled. I waved, and she swam our direction. By now, most of the people had backed away from the edge. Some fell on their faces, trembling.
“That got a reaction,” Brantley said dryly.
He guided me through a gap in the villagers, right to the tangleroot that rocked gently up and down. Navar glided toward us, stretching her long neck fully, tilting her head to gaze at the strange sight of the crowd ringing the lake. I wondered if she was calculating how long it would take to scoop and toss enough fish for this crowd.
Her broad leathery back slid close. Brantley leaped aboard and reached for my hand. I stepped beside him, and with his arm to support me, I remained standing. A wave lapped over my bare feet. Like a caretaker’s hands working a poultice into my wound, the water welcomed me and comforted me. I glanced down at the murky depths, and the sense of comfort faded. The sea—even this small inland portion of it—continued to unsettle me with nightmares of the endless deep that could pull me down toward whatever lurked beneath.
A breathless hush surrounded us. We floated outward from the shore, Navar as steady as a village street. Even when a hint of current shifted, she seemed to adjust her body to compensate, making it extra easy for me.
Brantley squeezed my arm and bent toward my ear. “Whatever you plan to say, do it now,” he whispered.
I looked out at the people, some clutching each other, many with hands over their mouths, most wide-eyed. Overlaying their faces, I saw the vision of this world as it was meant to be. Joyous creating, playing, serving, loving. In harmony with the Maker and each other.
The longing that had kindled in me several times before now flared like a blacksmith’s forge. My chest could hardly hold the swelling ache.
“This is Navar. A stenella. You’ve seen her image.” My words burst out. In the bowl-shaped hills surrounding the lake, my voice carried clear as birdsong.
Trilia stepped forward. “The harbinger has come! The legends tell us the Gardener will now roam free, able to help us everywhere. We be awaiting this day. Imagine the Gardener in our villages!”
Excited murmurs responded to her. Faces lit with eagerness, then turned toward me again. I shook my head. “In the time before, your people saw these creatures often. Before the barrier trees blocked your view of the wide sea. Before you sold your souls to the Gardener.”
A man lurched to his feet, fists clenched. A burly woman sprang up nearby. “She be defying the Every.” The mood shifted, but their awe of Navar restrained the rising anger.
“You believe the Gardener eases your pain, but your people are dying. Try to remember. Your villages were once larger. Your children filled your homes with love and laughter. You faced the future with hope and longing.”
I spotted Wimmo and Harba partway up the hillside. Their babe offered a mewling cry as if in agreement.
“The Maker gave you life so you could live in freedom, using your gifts with Him. Your bargain with the Gardener has destroyed that.”
One imposing giant from the red village drew an axe and raised it over his head. “Lies! The Gardener made us stronger.”
I shook my head. “Test my words. Leave this convening. Let your minds clear. The Maker plans to walk among you. How will you know Him if you let the Gardener dull your heart?”
Harba nodded and guided Wimmo and his baby up toward the forest. My heart lifted. One family saved. And I could count more. The tender at the red village whose injuries kept her from the lake. The isolated woman outside the blue village. The young remnant couple with two children, who even now were pulling back, talking to each other, casting worried glances toward those assembled at the lake. A handful of others from the remnant.
“Your art carries reminders of the sea that you’ve never seen and no longer believe in. Pictures of stenella.” I stroked Navar’s long neck. “She is a sign that what I’m telling you is true. There is a wide ocean beyond the rim. And a Maker who set the currents in motion.”
A few more backed away from the edge. Trilia stood and faced those from her village. Perhaps we’d found a strong ally.
She tossed her head, the white fringe of her hair flying back like feathers of an angry hen. “Don’t be deceived. She disrupts the convening. Not just any convening but the Grand Convening.”
One of the men from the red village shook a spear over his head. “Shall we destroy them?”
Brantley’s grip on me tightened. Others along the shore gasped. “But the creature!” one shouted. “Don’t harm the harbinger of legend!”
“At least they don’t want to hurt Navar,” Bra
ntley breathed against my ear. “But how am I going to get you to safety from here?”
I leaned against him, my bare toes gripping Navar’s hide as she traced a circle around the center of the lake. Her side fins stretched partially open, then closed again rapidly, showing her nerves. “Don’t be afraid.” I was speaking to myself as much as to Navar and Brantley.
Trilia raised her arms and twirled her hands overhead. “Call the Gardener and let him deal with this!”
Only a handful had left the lake. The rest settled and began to sway and hum. Hands circled overhead.
“Wait!” I shouted. But the hum built to a crescendo.
“Now.” Brantley pointed to a small gap along the shoreline. “Time for us to leave.” Navar responded to his movement and eased that direction.
The swaying bodies shifted to a forward and backward movement. The humming grew frantic, the groaning buzz of a thousand insects. I had to find a way to shake them out of their trance. “Can you signal Navar to splash them?”
Brantley shifted his stance to face me. “Splash them? Have you lost your senses?”
“To wake them.”
“Carya, you’ve told them what you wanted to tell them. A few people listened to you. Time for us to go.”
“We have to try. The Gardener didn’t come until the middle of the night at the other convening.” I scanned the dusky sky where thin stars had begun to appear.
Navar twisted her neck and nuzzled Brantley. She probably didn’t like to hear us argue. Or perhaps she hated the humming voices and hypnotic movement as much as I did.
In unison, the people around reached upward one more inch, then collapsed and fell into the deep, unnatural sleep I’d observed at the last convening.
Quirking an eyebrow, Brantley whistled a code of notes. Navar chirped a complaint, then nearly upended us into the lake as her body rippled. But she dipped her head and tossed water over the nearest bodies. No one moved.
