by Sharon Hinck
“Satisfied?” Brantley sounded like I had stretched his patience to the frayed edge.
No. I wasn’t satisfied. I’d done all I could to prepare the people for the Maker’s promised arrival, but it hadn’t been enough. The Maker had told me He would deal with the Gardener. But what better way could I serve Him than to chase away His enemy? I wouldn’t tell Brantley, but I had every intention of remaining until the Gardener appeared. Hiding in the forest wouldn’t help these people. In the meantime, perhaps I could still do more.
I stepped ashore and lifted a tiny, battered child from the red village in my arms, carrying her away from the edge of the water. Even if that wasn’t enough to protect her from the Gardener’s vines, at least it would keep her from tumbling into the water and drowning. No one else seemed to care for the little ones.
I scanned for another child and hurried toward a boy, expecting Brantley to protest. When I glanced back at him, he saw my intent and grabbed Trilia under the arms and pulled her some distance away from the pile of bodies.
Even in the cool of the evening, sweat soon ran down my back as I limped along the rows of bodies, moving anyone I could to what I hoped would be a safe distance. Why wouldn’t the Maker heal my injury? My dancer body was lithe and strong, and I could have carried more people to safety if I had both good legs. Frustration seeped from my pores along with the sweat. The mound of people seemed endless. Despite Brantley’s help, we had made only a small dent before our strength gave out. Navar chittered unhappily, and he waved a signal to her. She sank beneath the surface. I hoped he’d somehow asked her to stay near.
“This isn’t working.” Brantley doubled over near me, hands resting on his thighs, panting.
“I know. I need to wake them somehow.”
He waited, watching me, willing to let me determine our next plan. A warm flush touched my skin in spite of the cool night air. He respected my ideas. Brantley—the impulsive, the confident, the leader—had begun to treat me with patience. With trust. Like a true partner. For a moment the dire sight of bodies sprawled along the lake lost the power to bring me to despair. I limped into his arms and hugged him.
He squeezed, but then held me at arm’s length and furrowed his brow at me. “What was that for?”
My lips twitched at his confusion. “Thank you. For helping me even when my ideas seem ridiculous.”
“If I only helped you when your ideas made sense, I’d never join you.”
I didn’t know whether to punch him or kiss him, so instead I looked back at the child closest to us. Drawing up the memory of drums and patterns and fellow dancers, I set a rhythm in my head. Brantley eased back to give me room and I began a sunrise pattern. Perhaps it could stir wakefulness in one or more of the sleepers.
My eyes closed as I lost myself in the movement. Maker, wake them. Save them, please.
“Stop!”
My eyes opened. Standing out against the dark background of the hillside, an even darker shadow loomed far too close. The voice was creaky with unnatural age, yet deep as a crack of thunder. A voice I’d hoped never to hear again. “Do not wake the sleepers.”
There have been times I’ve longed with every fiber of my being to turn back time, even if only by a fraction. If only I could have hidden the day the soldiers tore me from my family’s arms and took me to the Order. If only I could have stopped the High Saltar’s blade before it sliced my tendon. And now, if only I could go back a few precious hours and retreat to the forest.
In a flash of recognition, I understood my hubris. The Maker had given me a message to share. When the results weren’t as grand and complete as I’d hoped, I’d decided for myself to do more. Instead of trusting His purposes, I had determined to fight the Gardener in my own power—through the physical effort of dragging bodies away from the lake’s edge, through the tools of my dance, through any means.
“Offworlder, it is time for your interference to end.” His words grated like two heavy branches rubbing together. He moved closer, not quite floating, not quite walking. He was just suddenly closer to me. Close enough that I smelled decay like rotting leaves.
“Brantley, run!” I tried to shout but barely gasped. And of course, he ignored my plea.
He drew his longknife and stepped beside me. “I won’t leave you.”
Even as my lungs quaked, even as I needed him to listen to me and flee, the reminder of Brantley’s love gave strength to my bones. And the Maker loved me even more. That truth firmed my spine.
Help us, Maker! Help Your people! I stretched my arms out, blocking Brantley from advancing, trying to protect him. I glared into the murky eyes of the Gardener. “Leave us alone.”
The Gardener laughed. Brantley and I edged back a few steps, moving closer to the lake. The evil before us stretched taller, his talon-like fingers weaving strange patterns in the air. “Those who convene are mine.”
“No! We are the Maker’s children. You have no right.”
“This island is mine. These people gave me the right.” Malice burned in the green-gray eyes set deep in his bark-like face.
Balancing on the tangleroot, Brantley let out a sharp whistle.
The Gardener’s arms froze in place. He bent his head to one side. Then he chuckled again, a sound that made the daygrass wither beneath him. “Everything on this island does my bidding.”
“We made no bargain with you. We don’t belong to you.” Brantley crouched, brandishing his longknife and ready to fight. The Gardener flicked one hand, and vines shot from the rim, wrapped the blade, and yanked it from Brantley’s hand. Spores rose around our ankles. Putrid dust as in my nightmare.
I held my breath, desperation squeezing my lungs. We had nowhere to run. I couldn’t bear to see Brantley’s soul numbed again. Or would the Gardener’s curse take us both this time? I would lose Brantley and not even care.
“The water!” I gasped.
Brantley squeezed my shoulder, then turned and dove cleanly into the lake. His head broke the surface, and he beckoned. “Carya! Hurry!”
I wavered. I had no raft to hold, no stenella to carry me. Under the night sky, the water was black, and the reflected stars held no comfort for me. My fears roared back. My leg throbbed.
The Gardener loomed over me. His gaze traveled to the tattered bandage on my ankle. “Serve me, and the pain will be gone.”
His taunt had the opposite effect than he’d hoped. I squared my jaw. “There is only One that I will serve. With my last breath.”
One bony shoulder hitched upward in a shrug. “So be it. Take your last breath.” The Gardener reached for my throat.
I flung myself backward into space.
I hit the water as if I’d taken a bad fall in a leaping pattern drill. The wind left my lungs. Darkness surrounded me, and I sank and sank and sank. I flailed, but every direction held only blackness with pinpricks of stars. I didn’t know where the surface was. I couldn’t find Brantley.
The sweetness of the ocean flavored my lips, but soon it would invade my lungs. Oh, Brantley, I’m so sorry for all my mistakes. For holding you away for so long. For insisting on my own plans.
The darkness swallowed me. Oh, Maker, carry me to Your arms. Save the people here in spite of my failures.
My lips parted, ready to draw in the water that would take my life.
Something bumped against my spine. I fought back a gasp, squeezing my mouth tight. Terror warred with hope. Then I was propelled—whether toward precious air or toward the bottomless depths, I didn’t know. My ears ached. My lungs burned.
“Carya!” The muffled cry reached my ears, and my face broke the surface. My scrambling hands found the soft hide of Navar beneath me. Air exploded into my lungs. I choked, coughed, collapsed across Navar.
Warm hands rubbed my back. Brantley treaded water beside the stenella. “Don’t scare me like that.”
His scolding made me laugh along with my wheezing cough. “Sorry.”
“I tried to catch you, but you sank like a stone. I taught you be
tter than that.”
I let his ire lap over me, then pulled myself up to straddle Navar’s back. I patted the stenella. Her neck stretched fully, she twisted her head to look at me, her eyes glistening in the starlight. She chirped and whistled a scolding every bit as fierce as Brantley’s.
“I said I was sorry.” We were still close to the shore. Vines and moss had begun to carpet the bodies sleeping on the tangleroot. But something had changed.
The Gardener stood stock still, facing us, mouth open. Even in the darkness, his surprise was evident. Was that because of our escape? I hoped his vines couldn’t reach us in the water. I squinted at him and realized his focus zeroed in on Navar.
“You brought the harbinger!” His roar seemed exultant. “While the harbinger lives, I will be free to traverse the whole world.”
Except I knew the Maker had another plan—a way He hadn’t yet revealed to me—to rescue His people. I drew a shaking breath, praying the creature’s glee would be short lived. Surely the Maker would stop the Gardener from being fully loosed. Otherwise even deeper darkness would consume this island before the Maker walked the land as promised.
Brantley traced a tight shape in the air, and Navar spun and raced to the far side of the lake. He leapt to the shore, nearly stepping on one of the men curled unconscious at the edge. “Come on. This is our chance.”
I clambered after him, picking my way around the bodies two layers deep. If only I could run, perhaps we’d reach the safety of the forest. Or did the Gardener already have the right to pursue us away from the lake?
But after only a few steps on the tangleroot, as we reached the daygrass, the Gardener rose before us like a weed sprouting from runners. He blocked our path toward the hill. “You brought the creature! The sign that my power is at hand.”
When he snarled, he exposed teeth like sharp chips of bark. A cloud of fetid rot burned my eyes, but I squared my shoulders and confronted him. After all, we could always retreat to Navar again. “Leave these people alone. You’ve done enough harm.”
“What do you foolish mortals understand of my work?”
“I know the Maker is coming. Your time on this world is ending.”
The Gardener raised his head and howled an unearthly cry. The earth rumbled and tore near his feet. A narrow sapling sprang from the ground.
Brantley reacted before I could make sense of our enemy’s plan. “Retreat!” He barked the order.
The Gardener grabbed the sapling and hefted it like a spear.
I stumbled back across the tangleroot and leapt onto the stenella with Brantley a whisper’s space behind me. Navar spun, and her powerful tail fin propelled us toward the middle of the lake. Brantley’s arms surrounded me as the frantic speed nearly cast me off. The spear flew past us and disappeared into the depths. In her urgency, Navar had stretched out just below the surface, leaving water lapping our feet. But now she rose to her normal riding position, and I gratefully sank to her back, shaking.
Navar twisted her head quizzically toward Brantley. He reached past me and patted her neck. “Clever girl.” Then he scanned the shoreline in all directions before settling beside me. “Are you all right?”
The stars glistened on the black surface, reminding me how fragile our lives were. One tumble into the darkness, and he would lose me. One aim of the spear, and I could lose him.
“I’m fine,” I lied. “Where did he go? Do you think he can swim?”
“He didn’t follow us into the water before. He seems to lurk along the edge.” Navar spun in a tight, nervous circle, chittering. “Sorry, girl. We need to wait him out.” Brantley’s hand moved to his belt, but his longknife had been snatched from him earlier. We had no weapons.
I searched the sky, but dawn was an eternity away. I drew my feet up, suddenly cold. What slimy tangles could the Gardener conjure beneath us? “He just appears out of nowhere.”
Brantley squeezed my shoulder. “Can you hide us?”
Weariness cramped my muscles, and I couldn’t dance very effectively teetering on Navar’s back. But at least it was a way I could contribute.
I crouched, afraid to rise all the way. But after waiting several cautious minutes, I stood, toes gripping Navar’s hide. The swirling rhythm of fog played through my memory. My arms moved side to side. Then I circled, my feet finding tentative purchase on the wet surface beneath me. Balanced on my good foot, my other leg rose in front of me, stretching to eye level. I ignored the dangling edges of my bandage and continued the dance, carrying my leg around to the side and then forward again. Bending my standing leg, I pushed off and spun in a smooth rotation, my free leg drawing a low circle around me. I had to adjust the movements so I wouldn’t knock Brantley into the water as my leg flung outward. My hands painted the air around us.
Brantley eased as far away on Navar’s spine as he could, giving me room. “It’s working.”
A soft cloud of mist stirred around us, coalescing and rising. I continued the movements, the memory of drums beating with my pulse. Gently, softly, the fog glowed in the darkness and covered us. We could no longer see the shoreline. The reflection of stars disappeared beneath us. Then the pinpoints of light above vanished, coated by a blanket of pale mist. We were so cocooned I could almost believe the sky no longer existed; but the stars gave a comforting light to the fog, reassuring us of their presence.
I finished the pattern, sweat beading my skin. Strength fled my bones, and I sank onto Navar, letting Brantley’s arms catch me. He smoothed hair back from my face, then rested his chin on my head. “You did it,” he whispered.
“For now.” The fog muffled our voices and every other sound—the lapping of water, the cooing of night birds, the whir of insects on the hillsides. The stillness didn’t calm me. My ears strained for a warning of the Gardener’s approach. “Is he coming for us?” While the bank of fog hid us from his sight, it also made it impossible for us to know what he was doing. All we could do was huddle in the white darkness.
The sound of a small splash penetrated our hiding place. I pulled my feet up and hugged my shins. Brantley’s warm breath brushed my ear. “We’ll be fine. Hope for the morning, Carya.”
My tight muscles loosened, and a slow breath calmed me. As a child newly brought to the Order, I’d huddled in a storage closet, locked in, lonely, afraid. But morning eventually came. As a renegade dancer I’d endured many nights curled by a tiny campfire listening for the heavy step of soldiers. But we’d survived. I found Brantley’s hand and squeezed it. We would endure this night as well, bobbing on the lake. The Maker had given me a call, and I’d done what I could to prepare the way for Him. Tomorrow we’d begin our new life on this world and hope for His arrival. Hope for the morning.
Behind me, Brantley’s chest rose and fell with enviable steadiness. I longed to talk with him more but didn’t dare draw the Gardener’s attention. For now the fog covered the entire lake, and Navar drifted aimlessly.
A tendril crept across my foot and I flinched, stifling a gasp. Had the tangleroot spread toward us? I brushed at it and realized it was only a trickle of water running from my soggy tunic. Still, the sensation triggered trembling that I couldn’t stop.
A louder splash sounded nearby. I chewed my lower lip, shivers wracking my frame. “He’s throwing more spears.”
“I’ve spent many a night on the sea with Navar.” Brantley’s murmur against my ear was softer than a whisper. “Much better with company.”
If he’d meant to distract me, it worked. Heat blushed across my skin and stopped the shakes. “Does Navar understand not to go near shore? Can she see where the shore is?”
“Trust her. Better yet, trust our Maker.”
His quiet faith shamed me. I’d dragged Brantley all over Meriel as I told villages about the lost letter from the Maker. He’d had no tangible encounter like mine. Yet he helped me, supported me. And now he was showing more trust in One whom he’d never seen than I was. I nodded, then rested my head against his chest. His arms cocooned
me like the fog. Hope for the morning. But the Gardener was out there. I feared morning would bring a dire reckoning.
Inhuman howls punctuated the long night. Navar shifted away from the sounds and occasional splashes. Each time, I tensed, my heart pounding out of my chest. Each time the threat came to nothing. There was nothing more draining on the human spirit than these surges of danger and then long stretches of waiting. I began to pray silently, asking the Maker if there was more He wanted me to do, reminding Him of the precious handful of people who were not in the Gardener’s thrall, asking Him to come soon to free everyone. I prayed for the man sitting behind me, recounting all his virtues as if the Maker didn’t already know them. The pattern repeated again and again. Sounds. Terror. Tension. Gradual realization that we were still safe. Prayer. Sounds. Terror. Tension . . .
And all the while, another fear throbbed through me. I hadn’t managed to stop the Grand Convening. I’d gathered that, according to the legends, the appearance of Navar marked a new era wherein the Gardener’s power over this island would be loosed more completely. What would that mean for the people of this island? How much pain would he cause before the Maker walked among the people and rescued them? And since Brantley and I were trapped on this world, what would our lives become now?
The silhouettes of treetops at the crest of the hill were the first image to pierce the murky air. I straightened and tapped Brantley’s arm. His chin came up. “Do I need to dance more fog?” I whispered.
He pointed toward the other side of the lake. “Look.” Threads of color unspooled over the clouds. The primary sun was waking.
I shifted position so I could see Brantley’s face, my muscles stiff from the long night.
Even in the dim early light, his eyes were alive and bright, and his teeth flashed a smile. “G’morn.”
I clasped his hand, grateful for our survival. After this dire night, I promised myself that I’d never again take for granted all the simple blessings of life. The tart flavor of lenka. The patter of rain on a cottage roof. A beloved’s smile. “We made it.”
