The Land's Whisper

by Monica Lee Kennedy

  Brenol began to protest but then stopped. He turned his head to the side and looked at Darse sardonically. He nodded to himself and took a deep breath.

  Then Brenol surprised Darse. He lit up, smiled genuinely, and laughed. “All right. I’m coming. Darse, will you please stay here if you can?” The boy asked gently, but the desire in his voice was unmistakable.

  It was a plea Darse was not about to deny. He nodded. Pride in the boy turning into a man welled up in him. He reached over to place a hand on Brenol’s shoulder.

  Brenol nodded and then followed the umbu obediently.

  CHAPTER 30

  The sacrifice of blood is indeed the greatest sign of love.

  -Genesifin

  Darse waited beside Colette. For hours he divided his time between the small pane of window, pressing his nose close to the cool glass, and the chair by Colette’s bed, gazing down on the young woman. Beauty limned her person just as it did her mother’s, but she was as delicate as a wilting flower, pale and obscenely thin. He doubted he could have discerned her sum of orbits had he not already known it. Emaciation has a way of turning every face into a sad mixture of age and youth.

  I can’t believe we found her.

  It still seemed impossible. So much time had passed, and so many people have died.

  He placed his hand upon her cheek and welled with an affection similar to his fatherly love for Brenol, yet it tinged with an even greater urge to protect.

  “I will look after you, Colette. I will.”

  Several hours elapsed before Darse was shaken from his thoughts by an opening door. A man clicked in with two attendants fast upon his heels. Tall and orderly, he was dressed in simple clothing—khaki pants and shirt with a light blue cloak buttoned securely up to his neck—and his skin was the color of a bronzed half-grenio. He had a confident and youthful demeanor, with a lean body and oval face. His discerning blue eyes suggested a keen mind as they took in the room and Darse with a swift glance and finally rested down upon the young woman. From that moment on, he was engrossed wholly in her care.

  Darse immediately liked him.

  It was intriguing to watch his labors. The man’s movements were sure, and his hands worked with the skillful agility that comes with time. He gently stroked Colette’s hand and forehead, opening her eyelids and caressing her cheeks faintly with his long fingers. It took several minutes, but Darse finally noticed it: the man had a glow. He was illuminated with a light similar to the Queen’s, a light that Darse had not noticed at first because the cobalt cloak had muted the sheen. His light did not elicit the same wonder as Isvelle’s had but rather comfort and ease. Darse’s chest suddenly lifted; to look upon this stranger lightened the heart.

  The healer called his attendants, gesticulating and muttering hushed orders for teas to be brewed and medicines to be concocted. The youngest, with skin as pale as ivory, hastily set to work.

  After all was in order, the man exhaled deeply and raised his glance to Darse. He clicked lightly over and peered at him with interested eyes.

  Standing face to face, Darse saw that the man was much older than he had initially believed. Smile wrinkles crinkled around his eyes, and his sandy hair was dappled gray.

  “The girl… you found Colette, yes?”

  Much lurked within the deep blue eyes that Darse could not decipher.

  “Yes. I am Darse.”

  “Darse. Well met. I am Dresden.” He allowed himself a somber smile. “Darse, I find it’s best to be honest in these matters. Colette is deeply ill. She will die if we do not find her cure. It will take much to save her, but we shall know our chances of success by morning.”

  “How? I don’t understand.”

  Dresden’s face fell into a grimace. “She has endured much. But the lunitata are strong. We shall see… I must work now.” He patted Darse’s arm kindly and returned to the attendants who had begun trickling back with their prepared medicines and salves.

  ~

  Throughout the day and into the evening, Darse watched the skilled hands of Dresden work upon the unconscious Colette. It was agony to watch, and had he not promised Brenol, he would have gladly taken his leave. A strong love had nestled into his heart for the girl, and he could endure no thoughts of her demise, let alone of carrying such tidings back to her mother. The hours scratched by until, in the late shadows of night, sleep snatched him.

  ~

  Darse opened his golden eyes to find that dawn had already made an entrance. Dresden peacefully slumbered in a chair by the window, securely wrapped in his cobalt cloak. Colette was not awake, but color now flushed her cheeks, and her breathing was slow and even.

  A young woman in green attended to her. She dipped a cloth into a steaming bowl of eggshell-white liquid, wrung the towel of excess, and rubbed the damp fabric upon Colette’s chest. The scent of the steaming mixture was unfamiliar, although pleasantly musky. Darse inhaled deeply, rose, and approached the attendant.

  “My name is Darse.”

  She smiled easily, now applying the soft cloth to Colette’s neck and forehead. “I’m Marion.” She was plump, likely thirty orbits, and her nimble fingers moved about her work naturally. With her light hair and big blue eyes, she looked like a doll—rosy cheeks and all.

  “She seems a bit better this morning… What did Dresden say?”

  She glanced over to the resting man with sun warming his features. “Much. She is healing. I’ll let him explain the details when he rises, but the treatments appear to be working.”

  Darse exhaled in relief yet felt his knees soften unexpectedly. He stepped sideways to lean against the wall and allow the cool surface to steady him. He took in a full breath, bewildered. How can I love this girl so much? I don’t even know her… He straightened as his strength returned, and he hesitantly tried his feet. She’s going to be ok. She’ll live.

  Marion went about her business, perfectly at ease; attending Dresden, she had witnessed far worse. As Darse stepped forward, she resumed the conversation as though there had never been an interruption. “He’s a great doctor. I don’t think that most understand the fullness of his skill.” Marion’s cheeks flushed warmly with pride.

  “Where’s he from?” Darse asked softly. It was strange to be talking about a man only five strides away, but curiosity pushed aside his social unease.

  Marion’s lips curled up into a light smile. “The legend is that he has no home but the water. Many say he’s really a maralane who can grow legs at will. It is silliness of course, but people will say just about anything when they witness someone or something they don’t understand… No,” she said, shaking her head, “Dresden is not from Ziel, at least no more than the rest of us are.” Marion’s eyes sparkled. “He is a lugazzi baby. Extraordinary, but still a lugazzi baby.” Her face wrinkled suddenly as if recalling something. “Or maybe you refer to the light?”

  “I did notice that. It’s like the queen in Veronia. But different.”

  Her head nodded vehemently. “He is the same kind. Lunitata.”

  Darse’s brows raised in curiosity. She laughed happily. “Then you don’t know. The lunitata are a race. It’s almost as if a light within them shines out, and it can grow or lessen. Brighter as they become more alive. Although many will argue how a person can possibly do such a thing.”

  “Become more alive?”

  “Yes. I don’t claim to understand it myself. But the great ones are the brightest. Dresden, Syril, Isvelle. The ones who are lost are mere glimmers.” Her eyes traced back to the sleeping young woman. “I do not know.” She tossed her hands up in an expression of surrender.

  “Will she grow brighter?” Darse asked, peering at Colette.

  Marion face fell in pity. “We can hope.”

  “I didn’t notice Dresden’s light until after he took off his coat,” Darse said after a moment.

  “Ah,” she said, smiling. “They claim it an immodesty to show their chest. It would be like baring their souls. Or so they say,” she adde
d with a lift of her shoulder.

  Darse reviewed his memories with this new information. Yes, Isvelle had done the same. Always fabric to the neck, although little could hide the glow that emanated from every bare span of her fair skin.

  “How long has Dresden been a doctor?”

  “Oh, forever.” Marion poured boiling water into a small silver bowl. The steam danced up in the air above, and she let fall a shower of red leaves that crunched between her two moving palms. The room flooded with the fragrance of rich, sharp, flowery tea.

  “Dresden studied under his father and anyone who knew any art in healing. They say he wanted to make his own mother well the day he came out of her womb.” Her laugh sounded like the merry tinkling of a bell. “But really, Dresden has studied for orbits and orbits and orbits. He labored with books and teachers and patients since childhood. From what I know, he decided very early to make this work an art.”

  She paused, allowing her gaze to rest upon the doctor. Her eyes glowed with admiration. “The difference between him and many other competent healers is that he has the gift… When he sees an illness, he knows intuitively what the treatment must be. It’s all very simple to him, as though he sees the missing puzzle piece and knows its corners and curves precisely. Others are left groping for what they have seen work in the past, but Dresden can approach new diseases and know what will heal them.”

  “Why then did he tell me it would take great skill to heal Colette?” Darse asked.

  “Ah, well, just because one knows the cure does not mean there’ll be time to obtain or administer it properly. He can sense what would heal the malady, but if the disease has grown stronger than the person, it is sometimes too late. It’s true that even then, Dresden has brought people to health again, but he’ll not deceive if he fears the worst will come. He’s honest to the quick of his fingernails and believes people ought to prepare for what’s before ’em, regardless of the difficulty.”

  Marion’s stirring of the brewing leaves halted, and her arms hung suspended. She spoke in a faraway voice, “He did the same for my father.”

  She blushed, suddenly remembering herself. “I’m not used to all these questions,” she said with an embarrassed laugh. Her deft hands began straining the tea while her tongue sped through a rushing wave of explanation. “He was very ill—my da. Dresden was still working the Healers’ Track, but more to help others than to sustain himself. He came to our village in the heat of hitze, but my father had been sick for many seasons already. Dresden merely had to glance at him to know he was beyond cure. Really, it surprised us all. We knew he was sick, but he’d hidden much of his pain from us—always trying to spare us, the silly man. Dresden told us all the blunt truth, and it allowed us all to say our parts.” Her rosy cheeks pinked into a soft smile. “And with that honesty, the fear vanished. My father spoke candidly from that moment on. Some of my best memories are from that time, even though he was slipping away. He’d call me to his bedside and rattle away the most bizarre tales I’ve ever heard, and we’d be shaking in laughter down to our toes by the end.” She shook her head. “And if Dresden had concealed? No, his way is right, even if hard.”

  Marion brushed a hair from her face. “I was old enough to leave home after his death, and so I followed Dresden like a chick after her mama hen. I wanted to learn from him. We walked the Track for a bit more than three orbits together. And I’ve been with him now, oh, eight orbits, but have only learned thimblefuls of the knowledge he has, and that is with grueling study too! But it’s been good work, and I like the way he treats the people he heals.”

  “How so?”

  Marion smiled broadly. “He looks at them and simply wants what’s best for them… I think that’s terrifying for most doctors who encounter him; they think curing the disease is always what’s best. No, Dresden seems to see more than the physical malady.” She laughed, and her cheeks pinked again in embarrassment. “But now we’re just reaching into my own funny musings!” She waved off her wandering ideas with a smooth slash of the hand. Her eyes turned and settled upon the slumbering man. “Just know that you’re standing in the presence of the greatest healer of our time.”

  ~

  The conversation closed, Darse took the other bedside chair and joined Dresden again in slumber. He awoke to warm sunlight caressing his cheeks and a strange hum soothing his ears. The sound was rich and fair, bringing images of Ziel to his mind. He lazily lifted his eyelids and arched his back into a stretch. He ached from sleeping aright, but his discomfort was forgotten in the blossoming of his curiosity. Before him, in coppery glow, Dresden drew music from a shell, lightly tapping it with a hammer. The hammer glinted silver and was no larger than a woman’s hand. The shell was about the size of a tomato, but with the hue of a pearl, and without spot or blemish. Its smooth beauty gave Darse a childlike urge to reach out and explore every surface.

  Dresden struck the shell again—and continued to whenever the song grew weak—to produce an unexpectedly deep and strong noise from so small an instrument and so light a rap. It pealed as fully as a bell, yet longer and sweeter: a low and deep note, flowing into a higher and richer tone, which tapered off in a vibrato hum. All the while, Darse was lost in memories of Ziel, filled with the melody of the waters he heard that first dawn in Massada.

  When the note stopped, his heart ached for more, but he shook himself into the present. Dresden’s eyes were upon him, and had probably rested there for some time.

  “You have heard it before, then?” He did not smile, yet his face was soft and lips pursed in interest. “When did you hear it?”

  Darse shook his head. “No. No, I’ve never heard that before.”

  “What was it you heard, Darse?” Dresden settled the hammer and shell carefully into his lap.

  “I heard a song… It sounds crazy, but it came from Ziel.” Darse saw no surprise upon his companion’s face. “We washed up on the shore from the portal’s cave. Bren, my companion, was still asleep, and I was looking out at the water. I guess it was just the song of the lake… It made me feel…” Darse shook his head, trying to find the accurate description. “Whatever I heard, I felt right when it played, and the contentment carried…” He looked up from the floor, where his eyes had hovered while he grasped towards the memory. “What does it mean? What was it I heard?”

  Dresden smiled now. “My friend, you have heard her voice. It’s the water’s voice. She sings a lovely song, but not all can hear—or care to hear.”

  “Why would someone not want to hear that? To feel alive and new like that?”

  “The same reason why you desire to.”

  Darse shook his head. Meaning escaped him. He looked expectantly at the doctor.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t intend to confuse,” Dresden explained. “You seek life, happiness, joy—yes? Well, that is no different than every other creature that walks and breathes and has a soul here in Massada. Except some do not quite understand what will bring about these treasures. And so they seek what brings, well, quite the opposite… It isn’t a hatred of life so much as it is a confusion about it.”

  Darse sat silently. He was beginning to see, or at least glimpse, the healer’s reasoning. “What’s the water singing about? Why does she sing?”

  A mischievous smile spread across Dresden’s lips, and his blue eyes twinkled. He looked every bit a man, every bit a boy. “She sings about creation. Granted, only the maralane know her speech, but I have gotten that much out of them. And as to why? Well, I imagine she sings simply because she cannot help it. Why do any of us do the things we do? It is just nature, I think.”

  “And your shell?” Darse pointed to Dresden’s lap.

  “Ah, yes. This is from the water. I caught an aria from her in it.” He winked. “Well, it was a bit more complicated than that, but yes, it is a piece of her song from one cool autumn dawn.”

  “What does it do?”

  Dresden laughed. It was a low and contagious sound, shaking his thin frame. “You shall
be my apprentice yet! Honestly, though, it is just water’s song. It doesn’t do anything. I simply could see Colette needed to hear it. That is often the case with those who have forgotten the meaning of creation.”

  Darse was silent. He did not know how to respond. It seemed like such a philosophical answer to the problem of a girl who had been kidnapped. But was it really so absurd? He himself had heard the song…

  Dresden smiled and stood, pocketing the shell and mallet in his front two pockets. He brushed his hands against his pants and began to pack items into their respective cases. Darse looked down at Colette, and when he glanced back up to Dresden to say something, the lunitata had already slipped from the room.

  CHAPTER 31

  Strength shall rise from suffering.

  -Genesifin

  Brenol slouched beside Colette, gnawing his lower lip. He had been told she had woken a few hours previously, but only for long enough to discover the truth.

  He could not help but stare. Her smooth face was flawless, dark coffee hair softly cascaded down the pillow, and each gentle hand rested tranquilly by her side. The perfection of her exterior was a wrenching sight, for he knew what lay within must be broken and rent. Too much had happened to her—kidnapped, shifted from location to location, drugged. And more.

  There were images from Deniel that he shuddered away from, knowledge that caused ripples of grief to rip down his spine. Suffice it to say that neither Colette’s body nor mind had known peace. And now she was deprived of her best friend, her brother. How could she endure Deniel’s death? He had seen her eyes looking up into his in those memories. He knew the love she carried for him. He knew.

  He longed to right her life, right her heart. He sighed, “Zette…”

  It was only a whisper, but she stirred at the sound.

  Brenol stood up anxiously. He bent over her, hand resting gently upon her arm.

  She smiled before opening her eyes, and her hand reached out and squeezed his. But when she did raise her vision to take in the room, her face clouded and grew distraught. “Where is Deniel? Wasn’t he here?”