The Land's Whisper

by Monica Lee Kennedy

  “Bren, what? What is it that you keep remembering? What’s going on?”

  Brenol’s heart sank within him. “I think they are Deniel’s memories.”

  “Deniel?”

  “The guy in the cave.”

  Darse’s voice was impatient. “Yes, I know who Deniel was. But why do you think you have his memories? How do you know it’s not just a dream? How do you know they’re his?”

  “I don’t know! I don’t know anything! I just keep seeing his eyes, weird and golden, so intense, peering into mine like he could see my soul. He was giving me a message, I am almost sure of it. I don’t know what, but I think these flashes are part of it.”

  Darse’s already taut face grew pale. “Golden?”

  “Like yours.”

  Darse shook his head in disbelief and frustration. “Ok, ok. Rest now, just rest. We’ll figure it out.”

  Brenol laid his head down. Sleep stole him again.

  ~

  Brenol slept restlessly, his dreams changing constantly as he tried to discover where Colette was and escape the wiry fingers of Crayton. The terrible gold eyes bore cold holes into him, and when he sought to run, it turned out that he was chained to the bottom of Ziel. He could not breathe and fought and struggled until death choked him. He then watched the ground, as if floating above, detached from what was happening. It rained and stormed—so much so that when he awoke, he was surprised to see daylight streaming in through the window. The sky was perfectly clear.

  Brenol again rose, washed, and dressed. Though a heavy cloud still hovered over his heart, he felt refreshed, with no signs of fatigue or headache. When no one came to check on him, he ventured out the door by himself.

  The hall was bustling with unfamiliar faces, but no one deterred his meandering. Men walked briskly by, often carrying bowls of hot water or salves and medicines in ornate jars. It finally became clear why the healer from his room had seemed strange to him. These men, or umburquin, as Darse had called them, looked reminiscently like furless primates. They were short-statured, with chubby faces, thick chests, and arms that extended to their ankles.

  Brenol shuffled down the next corridor, peering through doorways as he passed. The enormity of the place surprised him, the vast system of workers and people astir made his eyes widen and head reel. Several times he paused and leaned against a wall, yet he always resumed his journey, for restlessness gripped him down to his very bones.

  The rooms varied. Some had patients, some were empty. Then one caught his eye, and something about it drew him. He stepped ahead cautiously. The door was slightly ajar, but he could not see in. The inexpressible desire to knock or enter overcame him. Brenol ground his feet to a halt, trying to shake the sensation, but his limbs lurched forward as though independent of his will. He entered slowly and found—oh!—Colette sleeping, still as death and possibly even paler than her bleached-white sheets.

  What he thought and what he felt in that instant were extraordinarily opposed. His thoughts raged over her betrayal, but his heart… Oh, his heart! Tenderness and compassion welled up like a spring, a living and free-flowing spring. All he longed to do was scoop her up into his arms and protect her with all that he was. Nothing could hurt her ever again because he would be there.

  “My cartess,” he whispered, although he did not know why.

  He quietly seated himself next to her bed and allowed his eyes to drink in her beauty. He found himself stroking her cheek, brushing the dark silky locks back from her smooth face.

  It took little time before all bitterness melted from him. Even his memories from the cave faded into wispy fragments of a story as the overwhelming tide of affection drew him out to sea.

  The memory of carrying her through the woods replayed in his head. The details and sensations were like his own memories, somehow, as though he were remembering an experience that he had himself corporeally lived.

  Flash!

  He was in a dimly lit room. It was unfurnished, and the floors were made of dirt. He was with Colette. They sat upon the soft, worn ground, and he had wrapped her in his heavy cloak to fight the penetrating cold. He gently poured warm broth into her mouth from a rounded cup. It was smooth in his fingertips and pleasant in his palm. She smiled up at him, and her green eyes were alight with tenderness.

  She spoke in a whisper, “Thank you. I knew you’d come for me…”

  A smile spread upon his face. “Shhhh. Just rest now, Zette. Sleep.”

  She gave another weak smile and said, “I do what I want, when I want.”

  He chuckled. “You certainly do.”

  He feared he might faint from happiness. It was so wonderful to see her, to have found her. She was safe. He felt warmed to the soul.

  My cartess. I won’t fail again. His heart wrenched as he recalled the house, the cabinets. So much more is at stake. I must not fail.

  “Zen…” she sighed softly, and her limbs went heavy with sleep.

  Brenol opened his eyes. The memory did not bite or ache. It had simply opened in his mind like a box’s lid. The others had been more comparable to bombs.

  He ruminated over the pictures and scenes. Not a piece made sense. Zen? He had begun to believe that he was unpacking Deniel’s memories, but the names were strange. Zen? Who is Zen? Why am I Zen? Is it a nickname?

  Brenol reached down again to touch Colette’s soft, dark tresses. She was so lovely. How she had smiled in that memory! And looked at him! It was as though he were her best friend.

  Flash!

  His eyes were closed.

  He was chained, yet something was different. He could smell the earth and the same rankness of Jerem, but there were new scents too.

  He heard scuffling and movements and then Jerem heaving in effort. He discerned labored breathing that seemed to be coming from somewhere else. He felt utter disgust at Jerem.

  Leech.

  It quieted again. He opened his eyes a slit. Jerem was facing away. He opened them fully. They lay in a cave. He probed his mind to determine which terrisdan they were in and nearly choked.

  We are in no terrisdan. But there is power here. Real power.

  His mind roved through the possibilities. There was only this kind of power in the water—and even that was secret to most—but he had never known of any isle… But still it must be. It was the only explanation.

  But there was no time for speculation. Two people were on the ground: a man, unconscious—or dead?—but unbound, and a boy bleeding in a trap. The boy stared at him.

  Don’t betray my advantage!

  He closed his eyes again, forcing his body into a sagging limpness.

  Nothing will ruin this chance, he promised. Nothing.

  Jerem began speaking to the boy. The voice was a colony of ants on his skin, but he pricked his attention to capture every detail. He must know the circumstances. He must save Colette.

  Jerem is going to kill the boy, he realized.

  He ached inwardly at the choice. He was thankful for the power of the waters but felt the sharp bite of resentment snag in his heart. Yes, this would save Colette, but he had hoped for so much more. He had wanted to see her return, to see her find love and know joy. He had wanted to be her brother as before.

  Enough, he ordered his quavering heart. Enough.

  This is the only possibility for her escape. This is it… This is my cartess. I will not flounder.

  He mustered up his strength and purpose. He gave one last fleeting look at the woman. His eyes lingered upon her little nose that had once known freckles, her eyelids that hid her shining eyes, her cheeks that were all too lean. Regret stung for the loss of himself but was washed away by the force of his resolve.

  Nothing. Nothing will stop me.

  His heart surged with emotion.

  He locked eyes with the boy. He had to make him understand!

  Tell Colette I love her. This was the only way. This was the only way. It is my cartess.

  He opened up his mind and unharnessed his
power. It surged in fierce triumph as if the waters around him had hungered for it.

  And then all went black.

  ~

  Darse paced the room. It seemed he was destined to eke out his time here in incessant stalking. When they had first arrived, he had trod the hallway between the rooms of Brenol and Colette, waiting for them to find consciousness. He could easily have tallied the breaths that filled each passing minute.

  And now, after Brenol had briefly woken, the boy was missing.

  His heels paused at the sound of a light rap. He turned, and a genial face poked in. It was round and plump and topped with a generous mop of sandy hair.

  “We found him,” the umbu said gently. “He’s with the girl—Colette—and has been there for some time. You may come if you like.” He beckoned with a large hand.

  Darse followed, and his mind slid nervously back to the resentment he had seen lurking in Brenol’s eyes. He knew the boy would never injure her, but the situation nonetheless stirred unease in him.

  “Is she all right?” he finally asked.

  “She’s still unconscious. We have done everything we know, but—” The umbu’s eyes met Darse’s hesitantly.

  “What is it? Please speak.” Please.

  The sandy head bobbed in silent acceptance. “We’ve called in Dresden. We hope he will arrive soon, but it’s already been many days since seal was sent.”

  Darse raised an eyebrow.

  “If he gets here in time, and if she is able to be cured, he will cure her.” His long anthropoid arms swung near the ground as his short legs shuffled forward.

  Darse reeled at this revelation. “Wait. She might never awake? The drugs?”

  The umbu glanced sideways at him, assessing with wide eyes. “The narcotics have washed away now. They were powerful and enduring, and she has been on them for what appears orbits and orbits, but no. No… She battles much more.”

  “More?”

  “Shock, kidnapping, loss of orbits of her life.”

  “But could she really die?” Darse frowned; Isvelle could not endure much more.

  “It is no imaginary disease. She’s lost her very childhood. If she wakes, and not just for a convoluted spurt, it won’t be a simple recovery. The body manifests much of what it experiences in the mind, especially in the nuresti.”

  “Was she experimented on too?” asked Darse.

  The umbu shook his head. His face contorted in disgust. “No. Jerem had other uses for the child.”

  Darse felt ill. He trailed the umbu for a moment in silence. Finally, he spoke. “When does her mother arrive?”

  “I am not certain she has been informed.”

  Darse stopped. “She hasn—”

  The umbu halted his steps and patiently turned to him. “Darse, it falls not to the umburquin to send seal to kin. The people who come to this place know this. It is the nature of the soladrome.” He gave Darse the lightest touch upon his hand. “You may do as you feel inclined.”

  The umbu continued forward yet again, and Darse was left to chase after him. Several lefts and a hallway later, he was ushered into Colette’s room. His heart tangled in his throat in confusion at what he beheld.

  He’s holding her hand.

  Brenol was perched beside Colette and, upon seeing Darse, granted a nervous nod. The boy pulled his hands back to fidget in his lap.

  “You ok?” Darse asked. “I was worried when you disappeared from your room.”

  “Yeah. I… I got another memory.” Brenol breathed with effort.

  “Yeah?”

  “Mmmm.”

  Brenol pondered the greed that had gripped him for so long and had made him pant with weakness and sweat until he shone. The experience seemed a mere shadow, a painting once seen and barely recalled. Those feelings were far away. They were lost before the stronger emotions claiming his heart.

  “Well?” Darse asked.

  Brenol chewed his lower lip. “Darse, they’re as real as my own. It’s really…different.” He peered down at her, speaking with a strange tenderness. “She was there again.” His eyes came up to meet Darse’s. “I think I know what’s happening.” His voice was low and somber. “No… I know what’s happening.”

  Darse waited tensely.

  “I have Deniel’s memories.”

  He smiled, shoulders loosening. “Well I suppose there are worse things… I thought it was much more serious.” He felt like laughing at the ridiculousness of it all. First Veronia and now this? Madness.

  Brenol did not return the smile. “Darse, if Deniel gave me some of his memories… Why? And what am I going to do about them? They… I mean… I feel what he felt in them. They’ve made me… I don’t know.”

  The scene suddenly held a new clarity for Darse—the tenderness, the soft eyes that hovered over the young woman, the hand cradling hers. Could it all really stem from Deniel?

  “Wait. How do you know for sure? Do you think it could be a remnant or piece of the nurest connection with Veronia?” Darse asked.

  “No. The connection didn’t work like that… It was like having a book—a book that knew everything—that I could just flip through in my head. But when we left the terrisdan, the pages,” Brenol motioned throwing sheets into the sky, “no more. No… This is real. These pictures happened. I feel the sweat in my hands, and I shake a bit when I see myself approaching these weird cupboards. I feel Colette’s heartbeat when I hold her. My stomach gets all hard whenever I hear Jerem’s voice. I know the way he smells… It’s all much different. It’s like being in another person’s head—not like another being in mine.”

  “What makes you so sure?”

  “At first it was just a hunch, you know? The look Deniel gave me before I blacked out just made me wonder and wonder. If someone could have put a hundred messages into a single look… But then…then I saw it. I saw the memory of him in the cave. Because I was him.”

  Darse was quiet for a moment, considering.

  Brenol’s hand reached out as if to caress Colette’s, but he yanked it back in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. He stared at both his palms. “I understand a lot more…and it’s hard to say out loud. I feel like the words are just stuck in me.”

  “Ok,” Darse replied gently. “Take your time.”

  After several minutes, Brenol finally spoke. “Jerem stole some of Deniel’s memories.”

  Darse’s lips parted in unease. He heard Jerem’s words in the cave again—yes, he had feared as much. His thoughts prodded through these queer ideas, but there seemed too great a multitude to truly wade through at the moment. He focused his attention again on the youth. Brenol was pale and looked close to squirming out of his very skin.

  “Deniel killed Jerem,” Brenol blurted.

  “You know this?”

  “I was Deniel.”

  “But how? And how did he die too?”

  Brenol dismissed the questions with a swipe of the hand, and his eyes hovered back over the wisp of a woman. “Will you stay with her if I have another memory take me? I don’t want her to be alone.”

  Darse hesitantly bobbed his head in assent. “Yes, I will…” Again, he stared at his friend. Finally, he spoke, “What are you thinking about?”

  “I…” Brenol’s lip quivered slightly. Several minutes passed. The boy then sighed softly, and words floated out with it. “I’m ashamed.”

  Darse waited for Brenol to go on of his own accord. When he did not, he nudged him mildly. “Ashamed?”

  He nodded again. His eyes refused to move from the floor, and his voice was strained. “I haven’t done a single thing to help anyone. I came over here because I wanted to come. I made us take the path in Selet that led to Fingers. I didn’t save you from Fingers. I didn’t even want to save this girl because it might mean I’d have to give up power… I failed on the island. I didn’t do a thing. And what I did do was all wrong.

  “And now this man, Deniel, he saved me, he saved Colette, he saved you… He actually thought good though
ts and felt good things and…and…he died to save her! He cared about strangers! I’m nothing compared to him. I thought I was better. I thought I was better.” He laughed bitterly as he spoke the final sentence.

  Darse’s face was grim but understanding. There was truth there, certainly, but it was framed in the wrong manner.

  “So is pitying yourself going to change that?”

  His words had the effect of a shove into an icy pond. Brenol gasped softly. His eyes met Darse’s golden stare.

  “Yes. Yes, you cheated your way here. You’ve pushed for what you wanted. You couldn’t save me from Fingers. You couldn’t fight Jerem in the cave. You’ve been self-focused. These things are true.” He softened his gaze. “But it doesn’t mean you’re worthless. It doesn’t mean you’re evil. You’re simply growing and learning that you’re a mere person in this world among worlds… And Bren, recognizing the goodness in another doesn’t take away from what you have.”

  “But he was better.”

  “So?”

  “So? Now he’s dead! He died to save me, and I didn’t deserve it.” The boy’s head sank down. “I don’t deserve it.”

  Darse spoke firmly. “Bren, this wasn’t your decision. You don’t get to choose who lives. It was just what happened. What you do have control of is what happens now and what you choose to do. Are you going to pity yourself for the rest of your days? Are you going to continue to make this about yourself or finally stop and work for something better? Bren, he gave you something. He gave you a good look at who you are and a good look at who you’d prefer to be.” The two locked eyes across Colette’s bed. “So do something about it.”

  Brenol felt all his firmly held tenets collapse inside him. Is it really that simple? I can choose who I want to be?

  A gentle tap on the door broke the intensity of the moment, and a smiling umbu scuffled into the room. His voice was kind but authoritative. “Time to get back to your room. I’ve got some special tea and medicine for you, as well as a good rest.” He beckoned for Brenol to follow.