The Land's Whisper

by Monica Lee Kennedy

  He waited for what felt like hours, eyes stretching toward the light. Then, he heard a small clanking, and the murmuring returned. Darse gulped in a large but silent breath and wormed his body through the narrow passage. The tunnel opened up, and he drew his body to a grateful stand. He pressed his lips together, steeled his purpose, and plunged forward around the bend, knife clutched in white-fisted courage.

  Darse’s adrenaline shot his body forward with a speed he was not anticipating, but the scene before him made his stomach sink even faster. The room was a small cavern with low-ceilings, about six paces long in each direction, and connected to three additional cave tunnels that snaked out in eerie darkness. The area was lighted dimly by a lantern hanging on the wall farthest from him. Its low, eerie beam painted the area with a quiet orange glow that Darse’s eyes took in hungrily; they had only known canata light for too long. He swept his anxious vision around for the source of the noise. There were three people in the room, all bound upon the floor. Darse’s jaw dropped.

  One was Brenol.

  The boy clawed frantically at his bindings, whimpering in desperation and fear like a trapped, wild animal. He yelped at the sight of the Darse, until he recognized the filthy figure. “Thank goodness. Darsey, I’ve never been so happy to see you. I could cry.” He pointed at the closest of the bodies. The person was limp and unmoving. “Darse, I found her. It’s really her! Look!”

  He tore his eyes from Brenol. It was surreal to fill his vision with the girl they had been seeking. He stooped to brush a strand of hair from the white face, and his jaw clenched with a click. There was no denying the resemblance to Isvelle. Her face was lovely—although skin hugged her bones tightly from lack of sustenance—and her cheek bones were high and evenly framed beneath closed almond eyes. Her hair was a shade darker than her mother’s, a chocolate-coffee to Isvelle’s chestnut, but thick and undoubtedly luxurious when clean and groomed. The young woman slept, but far too deeply for it to be natural, and her breathing echoed through the cavern in its heavy evenness. She was held by a different sort of chain than Brenol.

  Darse was unable to speak, so he turned and knelt to examine Brenol’s bonds. It was unlike any trap he had ever used or seen. It was a delicate but strong little thing, with a sinister snap of metal clamped fast around Brenol’s foot. The trigger system was entirely unfamiliar. He teased his fingers carefully along the thin metal, urgently seeking the release.

  The dark entryways to the tunnels stared at Brenol. The boy swept his vision between them and his trap in a frenzy until his eyes met Darse’s, and Darse saw it: the animal fear, the desperation.

  “We’re not to gnawing off limbs yet, Bren,” he said, although his voice could not fully muster a jovial tone. It echoed out lifeless and grim.

  Brenol let him work for a moment but then spoke through clenched teeth. “Nothing works, old man. I’ve been at it for ages. It hurts too.”

  “Looks it,” Darse replied with a grimace. The sturdy metal bit into boy’s flesh with merciless tenacity. Blood had soaked through and stained his pants, dripping dark crimson onto the stony floor. Darse refused defeat, though, and traced the trap with his fingertips yet again.

  “You didn’t see it?” he asked softly.

  Brenol whimpered. “It was covered in dirt. He hid it really well. And all I was looking at was her.”

  “Ah,” Darse said, exhaling softly. His movements had been achingly slow but deliberate, and he had been rewarded. What Brenol could not see was a keyhole hidden underneath the piercing metal. It was no larger than a half greno.

  “Bren, I’m going to look for a key. Look around the room, too, and try and think of ideas.”

  “A key? Why would you want a key for a trap?” Brenol asked.

  Darse began rustling though the bags along the wall, making sure to watch closely for any other traps he might encounter. “Keys make capturing smarter creatures possible. No easy releas—Ah ha!” He held up a small circlet of keys. The dim light danced off the metallic ring and jumped happily across the cave walls.

  “Quick! This is killing me.” Brenol glanced furtively at the limp girl beside him. She was so silent, so still, so beautiful.

  Darse lit down and gingerly tilted the trap to expose the keyhole. Brenol sucked in air but did not speak. Darse attempted the keys, one after the other, yet nothing gave way. Not a single one fit. The man’s chest shook as his heart pounded in fear and frustration.

  Brenol trembled but tried to disguise it, pointing instead to the two on the ground. “Why don’t you try the keys on them? They look like different locks. At least they aren’t losing a bucket of blood over there.”

  Darse stepped carefully over to Colette, bent, and smoothed the hair back from her forehead and cheeks. She stirred slightly but did not wake. Darse’s heart melted in the small motion, and swelled alive with renewed purpose; he would never quit until he had saved her.

  He tenderly lifted the braces on her hands and feet and attempted the locks but met no success. Without hope, he shuffled to the next body. It was a young man whom he guessed to be a little older than twenty orbits. He was littered with cuts and markings and bruises. Again, Darse worked through his keys. The shackles held doggedly.

  “What about something to break them?” Brenol asked. His voice floundered out in a betraying croak.

  “Thinking the same thing, Bren. I’ll look.” Darse scanned about, trying vainly to not return his gaze back to the boy’s foot. There was little hope of breaking that iron monster apart without smashing his bones in the process.

  Brenol waited quietly, listening with perked ears to the dark holes before him. The blackness promised nightmares to come, and he could hardly glance away.

  Jerem. Any moment. Any moment.

  As if in answer to his thoughts, scuffling began to sound through one of the dark corridors. Brenol’s whole body quivered, and his face paled to the color of cream. He glanced frantically to Darse, who shot a finger to his lips and slid into a shadowy corner. If he was motionless, he almost blended into the walls. Almost.

  Darse waited silently, straining to calm his nerves and quiet his breathing. There would be little time to overpower or outsmart Jerem—or whatever was coming through the tunnel. I must have my wits. Breathe, Darse thought. Breathe.

  They were only waiting for thirty seconds or so, but an entire lifetime could have been lived in those moments. Brenol’s heart threatened to fly from his chest. Cold sweat soaked his shirt, and his stomach clenched into a tight stone.

  We’re lost. We failed, Brenol thought, yet even in the realization he was struck by a surprise: he was crushed by the finality of the moment not so much for himself, but for the lovely creature shackled beside him. If only…

  Light trickled its way in until it grew steadily at the tunnel’s entrance. The scraping rock clattered under foot, and a man entered. His height immediately startled Darse; his face, Brenol.

  The man was tall but carried himself well for having to bend and maneuver through the low caves. Entering the room, he straightened his back with pleasure, sighing deliciously, and allowed his shouldered pack to slide to the stone floor with a gentle thud. He scanned the room briefly, somehow, mercifully, missing the shadowed figure frozen against the wall. He wore traditional Massadan attire: tan shirt and trousers, precisely tailored and undeniably expensive—an odd sight amongst cavern and stone.

  He had an even and handsome face, light sandy hair, and an underlying air of confidence. His features resembled Ordah’s, but this man was far more attractive. His square jaw was shaped by softer angles, and his eyes did not sink in under his brows to shadow his glance. There was, however, another element about the man that differed from his brother. The cockiness of the head tilt, the pressing together of the thin lips, the soft blink of the eyelids—this man was notably intelligent, but there was a quality of something unpredictable, something unnerving. Darse felt his teeth clench together in a silent grind.

  Jerem inhaled deeply a
nd settled his eyes upon Brenol. A lurid grin spread across his face. His teeth shone, and his attractive face could not hide the nastiness in his smile.

  “I see we have a guest, Colette. Did you invite him, Deniel?” He spoke to each in turn, never moving his hard eyes from his prey, although he managed to kick Deniel solidly in the ribs during the address. His voice was as smooth as ice, and the quality of his articulation and manners indicated education.

  Brenol shuddered involuntarily.

  “Oh, you didn’t invite him? Not even you, Deniel?” Again, he booted the young man a powerful blow. “That is surprising. You do have a knack for this kind of awkward and unwanted presence. I wonder then where he received an invitation to our little gathering… Hmmm…” Jerem cocked his head to the side and smiled broadly. “Do you want to tell us then?” He opened his arms wide with his palms up as if offering the world to Brenol. “Or shall we play a game to discover where you came from, and for what purpose?” He strode toward the boy, and as the cavern was so small, the man was nearly upon him in three steps.

  Brenol fought to not look at Darse and to remain silent, although everything in him longed to scream and claw his way out of the tunnel. He drew his quaking eyes up to take in the terrible giant with the light looks and easy mannerisms. To see a devil shrouded in handsomeness was particularly unnerving.

  Darse stole along behind Jerem, knife unsheathed, and Brenol spied the movement through his peripheral vision. The boy shuffled his foot in the trap to provide cover noise and distraction, and whimpered authentically at the rush of pain that resulted. Jerem’s hazel eyes sparkled with amusement. Brenol forced down another shudder and drew his fist around the paltry handle of his own knife. It looked like a child’s toy before the towering figure of Jerem.

  A soft clink sounded as Darse jumped forward to attack.

  The keys! There had been no time to return them, and their clamoring presence in his pocket had erased all stealth.

  Jerem spun around on the balls of his feet, as swiftly as a cat.

  Darse blanched and froze.

  Jerem offered the man a casual smile. “Welcome, welcome. It impressed me as unlikely that our young friend here had come alone, but I also did not want to underestimate him.” His eyes summed up Darse, taking in every minute detail, all the way down to his bulging pocket. When they returned to Darse’s golden orbs, amazement flickered across his features before his smile stretched even wider in diversion.

  “I see you have been a busy ant. Your efforts, however, are meaningless. I am not so negligent as to leave keys about that are going to assist enemies in my very office.” He wagged his finger at Darse. “No, sir.” Jerem emphasized the “sir,” turning it in his mouth with a curved sneer.

  His lips curled up again as Darse lunged. He dodged easily aside with the smooth grace of a dancer. Thus began the game.

  Darse peered cautiously at his opponent with glinting golden eyes, searching out his weaknesses. Perhaps it was the need, perhaps it was his own steely grit, but his skills no longer felt lacking. The knife now seemed a deadly extension of his arm. He breathed carefully and continued their circling stalk.

  Smirking, Jerem remarked, “I see you have been getting forgetful recently.”

  Darse blinked once but continued to match the footfalls of his enemy.

  A long, thin finger swept up and tapped at the corner of his eye. “Or perhaps you were born with yellow eyes?” Jerem’s lips rounded up in a sneer, and he returned his hands out before him in their game of pursuit.

  Darse shuddered in confusion but pushed his shock over Jerem’s awareness down. He is toying with you. Just focus.

  The two circuited the room, gazes locked. Jerem knew the layout of the cave quite well, and his feet slid naturally and without deliberation. Darse, while slower and weaker, had the advantage of Brenol and his own knife. He sought to draw the man toward the boy so that Brenol could trip him or utilize his weapon. Jerem seemed aware of Darse’s thoughts and yet was uncannily indifferent. He maintained his distance as well as the placid, leering smile as he lunged and ducked in a counter rhythm to Darse.

  In the space of a breath, Jerem sprang forward in a feint, reining in the motion with precise agility to wait casually upon the balls of his feet. In reaction, Darse scrambled for footing and balance and hit the stone behind him with a jarring slam. The knife leaped from his hand under the impact and slid across the floor. Jerem grinned, stooped down, and with a dramatic air scooped up a large chain—likely two arm spans in length—resting along the wall.

  Darse sank at his error. He now realized Jerem had been working his way to the chain for some time. He floundered to scramble up but was far too slow. Jerem held the chain high, and with the full force and motion of his body brought it down upon Darse. The awful thud of metal meeting a bed of tissue was followed by the rasping tinkle of the links moving away to begin the motion anew. Darse howled, blinded momentarily by the wrenching pain.

  Colette stirred at his cries. Jerem froze and peered down at her indecisively. She rolled to her side and blinked slowly. Her eyes were a vibrant emerald. They stared forward blankly. She sat up and rubbed her cheeks and eyes.

  Darse awoke to the opportunity. His adrenaline numbed the fire in his back, and he palmed up rocks and sand while scrambling to his feet. He hurled the debris at Jerem’s face and leaped forward, tackling the giant to the ground. They both crashed in a heap, and the chain flew wildly from Jerem’s fingers to skid before the heels of the young woman. Darse, atop his opponent, could not extract himself enough to punch with much force, but he managed to strike with both arms as Jerem attempted to protect his face.

  Darse delivered several solid strokes before finally clouting him in the nose. Blood gushed out like a fountain, but still Darse did not cease. Jerem grunted under each blow and writhed in an astonished horror, as if pain had never before been inflicted upon him. Brenol watched his friend pummel the bloody man mercilessly. Darse was a gentle man, but a rage had been uncorked, and it etched his face in hard hatred. Brenol wondered if he even could stop.

  “Colette!” the man groaned between blows. “Help me, Colette.”

  Brenol squinted his eyes, dumbfounded, at Jerem. Does he really think that she’d save him? He is insane. Not even his own mother would rescue him.

  Colette tilted her head, listening to his voice. She was extremely close, for the brawl had brought both men to her side.

  “Give it to me, Colette!” Jerem begged.

  Brenol watched incredulously, as, with a weak motion, Colette pushed the chain from her feet toward Jerem’s grasping hand.

  “Darse, watch out!” Brenol yelled. He threw his own knife in pitiful desperation, but it merely joined the other in a clatter. Darse turned his head to stare at the anguished boy. Sweat dripped down his vacant face and collected under his chin before falling to the floor. He blinked as sense began to stream again through his consciousness, but returned his vision to Jerem too late. His golden eyes widened in alarm just before the iron drove into his face with a terrible crack. The second blow hit with even greater force. The sound of the heavy thud made Brenol’s stomach clench. He watched, unable to look away, even though all he wanted was to curl up and sleep through the nightmare.

  The third blow hit jaw bone, and Darse felt warmth gush across his mouth. The fourth struck, and the world grew dark.

  ~

  Jerem beat Darse until his chest racked from effort. Darse lay unconscious and limp, but that fact only seemed to spur him on. Jerem smiled through his mangled and bleeding face. “I am going to kill you for this, friend,” he said, and spat on him.

  Brenol felt anger rush to his heart and steel him. The fear that had been paralyzing him drained away. His entire being was fury and hatred. He even looked at Colette, who had slumped back into a fitful and mumbling sleep, with loathing for her part in it.

  Jerem hauled Darse by a leg to a corner of the room and released the limb with smug distaste and a final kick to t
he slack form. Turning his attention to a bag, he rummaged purposefully until he extracted a small kit. He seated himself gingerly, with a sharp inhale and wince, and began to methodically clean and treat his wounds. This continued for an unending span of minutes.

  The boy alternated his gaze between Jerem and Darse. He craned his neck forward and strained his eyes, yet could not determine if the man was breathing. A hollow sensation crept into his chest.

  Then he noticed the young man. Deniel did not stir a limb, but he opened his eyes and peered around the room with an intelligent glance. It lasted not three seconds before he closed them silently and again took on the state of drugged limpness. After several minutes, Brenol wondered if he had imagined it.

  Jerem finished attending to his wounds and replaced the kit. He fished through his bag and retrieved a small case. It reminded Brenol of a zippered manicure set he had seen once in a store, only this had a snap clasp and smooth straps that prevented the items from escaping. Jerem opened it and produced a needle before scooping up and opening a jar by his feet. It swirled with a foul, brown liquid. He filled the syringe quickly and, soft as a mosquito, lit down upon Colette and injected her shoulder.

  Her body sagged into deep unconsciousness. Brenol could not help but feel a tug of smug vindication as she sank back into her life as a rag doll. But as Jerem stood over her, staring intensely, Brenol felt contrite for his previous sentiments; no one deserved to be the recipient of that hard leer.

  Eventually, Jerem awoke from his thoughts and glanced about. Whether he forgot in the midst of everything or whether he deemed it unimportant, he did not drug Deniel again. Instead he returned the case to his bag.

  A faint hope rose in Brenol’s chest. But what can two bound men do against him?

  The hope flickered out entirely as he saw Jerem lift and belt a long knife. Its hilt rested on his hip, and the sheath dipped down to mid-thigh.

  He came and knelt before Brenol. He did not smile. He spoke in a low voice. It was calm and honeyed, yet even a senseless animal would cower back from him, for his face was taut and evil.