And so he began.
~
Colette paled to an ashy gray. Her lips trembled as if they wanted to speak, but no sound escaped. She pulled the bed’s pillow to her chest and wrapped her arms around it fiercely, finally burying her face in the soft cushion. The young woman practically dripped with shame.
A soft whisper came from the pillow. “I understand now. I think I remember some of…” Her voice trailed away.
“Can I tell you a story?” Brenol asked.
Green eyes poked out from the cloud of white.
“I’m kind of embarrassed by it,” Brenol said reluctantly. “But I think it might help.”
Colette settled the pillow across her chest, resting her chin atop it. Brenol accepted it as assent.
“There was a woman back in my world. She was…” Brenol’s eyes met hers with an abashed glance. “She was hurt too, like you. Her name was Revna. And the kids in the area talked about her. Nasty talk. One day, as a group of us were walking back from the school yard, she was out on the path. She raised chickens and was delivering eggs. Her arms were full of these braided baskets she used to carry the eggs around in.
“Well, one of the boys had a really mean streak in him and was as wild as a boar. He started taunting her and calling her names, spitting on her. The others joined in—me too—and soon enough we all were pushing her a bit, and the baskets fell to the ground.” Brenol inhaled, still feeling the sharp tinge of regret. “Eggs broke everywhere, but some were still whole. Those boys swooped down on those eggs fast, and within moments Revna was covered. They pelted her as she ran away weeping.”
Colette mouth opened in dismay.
“I never threw any of the eggs—my ma and I rarely had enough to eat, and seeing the waste of that food kinda jolted me. Or maybe I did have a flicker of shame in me. Regardless, I still stood by and watched. I didn’t stop a thing.
“The next couple days I walked around quiet as a mouse. I couldn’t stop thinking about those eggs. And that look on her face. I just kept seeing it over and over. It was like the secret was rotting inside me and getting worse.
“Well, Darse found out about it somehow and that I’d been there. I’ve never seen him so mad. He whipped me red and sent me to apologize and made me do her chores for three septspan. I wanted to die—first ’cause it was so embarrassing, but then ’cause I realized how awful I was. Somewhere in there I realized Revna was real. And I even liked her—she was really nice. She made me a basket of my favorite rolls to take home on my last day. I retched for an hour by the pond because I was so shook up.” Brenol’s face twitched up into a small, crooked grin. “My stomach can’t take much. Never could. And that day I heaved until my insides were dry.”
Colette’s face softened and almost hinted at a smile.
“I’d been such a fool. She’d never done a thing to deserve to be hurt. And I only made things worse.” He shrugged slowly, releasing a long exhale.
“What happened to her?”
“Nothing. She kept selling eggs, being a nice lady.”
“And you?”
Brenol’s ears pinked.
“What?”
“Well… I never told Darse, but the boys spied her another day during her deliveries. I stopped them from bothering her, but they beat me to the bone for it.” Again he shrugged. “I guess Darse probably knew. He always did.”
Brenol bit his lip as he tried to find the right words. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that you’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. You didn’t do anything wrong. There’s something wrong with anyone who thinks you did.”
Her pale face sagged in perceptible relief. Even her shoulders seemed to sigh into the space of acceptance he had offered. Brenol turned his eyes to the floor, uncomfortable; he had no more words.
“Even still, what do I have to live for now?” she finally whispered. Her voice was raspy and cracked with pain.
He weighed it all for a moment, then responded thoughtfully, “I don’t know. I really don’t.” He met her glance guiltily. “But I don’t think that life really works like that.”
Her eyes narrowed, yet not entirely in harshness. “What do you mean?”
She thinks I’m stupid, he thought, but spoke anyway. “Life isn’t always about yourself and what you can get out if it… I think life’s sometimes more about what you can give to someone else.”
The words felt sticky in his hypocritical mouth; they had only felt true to him in the last few septspan. He took a deep breath, turning his hands over to look at their palms. “I came here thinking I knew everything, and I didn’t want to miss out on seeing a whole other world…but that was all wrong. I was wrong. So wrong… Deniel—,” he paused for the briefest second, searching her face for a violent reaction. Seeing only sadness, he continued his thought, “Deniel has been showing me that it isn’t always about me.”
He lifted his eyes again to hers. She stared back.
“I think being good is about doing what’s right even if things aren’t right.”
“What about when you lose your father? And your brother?” she asked.
Brenol shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. I don’t understand it all myself. I suppose there’s meaning even then. Suffering can’t change the fact that life is more. There’s more than what you feel at the moment.”
Her hands lay limp in her lap. “You almost sound like Deniel when you talk like that.”
“I certainly don’t sound like myself,” he acknowledged. “He was a very good man.”
Brenol’s tenderness sliced straight to the core of her grief. She nodded and dropped her face, letting the sobbing rock her into a soft silence. Unassumingly, he placed his hand upon her knee, wanting only to ease her pain. Instead of pushing him away, she slid her own hand into his warm palm.
Brenol’s heart thudded to life, but he worked to quiet it again. She doesn’t need my silly puppy adoration, he scolded himself, yet still felt joy creep into his soul. Her hand was so soft, so gentle. He never wanted to release it.
After this day, they spent much of their time together, even if only in silence.
CHAPTER 33
The accepting of a gift is just as crucial as the bestowing.
-Genesifin
Brenol awaited Arman’s return daily. He trod the grounds around the soladrome, looking down the plains and toward the hills where he pictured the invisible figure tromping. Finally, after days of anticipation, the boy heard a stout bass behind him.
“Bren.”
He turned to face the seemingly empty space with a grin. “Arman.”
“You always have the expression as if you expect to visibly see me, even when you know you cannot,” he replied mildly.
“Yeah, I just feel like I’ll see you someday.”
Silence filled the space between them.
“Arman? You still there?”
“Yes.”
“Is everything ok?” Brenol asked, suddenly concerned.
“Yes. I’m probably perceiving more than is actually there.” He cleared his throat. Taking in the deep lines on the youth’s face, he asked, “Perhaps I should ask the same of you. Are you well?
“Oh,” Brenol began hesitantly. He hated to voice his thoughts but wondered if he could find peace if he did not. “Ar?”
“Yes?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Certainly,” the juile replied.
“Is the nuresti connection good? Can it be good?” Brenol screwed up his face. “Was it just me who felt so addicted?”
Arman responded thoughtfully. “You are not the first to ask this.”
“I’m not?” Brenol asked.
“No. When you were a nurest, what did you experience? What could you do?”
Brenol thought. “I felt confident. I felt like I could do anything. I was so full. Veronia flooded me so I didn’t feel like anyone else really mattered… I didn’t have to learn new tasks, the connection would just help me do them. I didn’t
have to see with my eyes, because I could see people and places matroles away. And I knew their history. I didn’t feel afraid. I knew I could stop anything from hurting me when I was with Veronia. Or the land itself would take action.”
“That is a typical experience, although some nuresti master their connection to such a degree that they are capable of the impossible. Language, stealth, skills, manipulating others’ minds, invisibility, the power to grow vegetation in uncanny ways. The list is extensive.”
“Vegetation?”
“A fortress grown up overnight, composed entirely of forest and plant, is not a sight that elicits a sense of calm in one’s neighbors,” Arman replied.
Brenol sighed. “But can it be good?”
“I think it is like many things: good for some, corrupting for others. In the beginning, from what I have read and learned, the connection was less one-sided. It was more about relationship. I do not know what has changed with time, but there is less control on the creature’s side of the connection now. I think that is why the cartontz are so crucial.”
“Their protectors?”
“Yes. The love of a cartontz grounds a nurest in a way nothing else can. Love softens the greed and addiction.”
“I didn’t have one,” Brenol said softly.
Arman laughed. “Didn’t you? You had Darse.”
Brenol’s face loosened, and a small smile warmed his lips. “You’re right. I guess I did.” He nodded, suddenly feeling far more peace. Darse had been his steady hand. He had provided a fatherly, grounding love in the midst of blinding desire.
“Oh!” Brenol said, brought back suddenly to the present moment. “What did you learn on your travels?”
“I’ve not been able to discover much. However, I have several places where I think I might be able to find something to clear up my thoughts.”
Brenol frowned at the words. “So you’re leaving again?”
“For the time being… I wanted to meet with you as I had promised, before the journey.”
Brenol drew in a weak inhale. “Where to?”
“I like to leave room for surprise,” Arman said, obviously with a smile.
The youth grinned, despite himself. His heart brimmed with gratitude for the juile, even though it was coupled with the bitterness of departure.
“Ordah will make his way down here to see you. He was ready to head to Callup, but I reminded him of a promise.”
Brenol nodded, not eager for the reunion and what it would bring.
“You are a good man, Bren.”
Brenol exhaled slowly. He extended both hands, holding the code beads in one of his palms. “Arman? Thanks… Thanks for everything… And good luck.” Brenol did not need to see Arman’s face to know the idea of luck escaped him. The words seemed appropriate, regardless.
“It has been bountiful,” Arman said. His voice was powerful, rich.
Brenol bowed. “It has been bountiful.”
And he was gone.
~
“Colette?”
The young woman looked up from her seat, granting a genuine smile of greeting. “What is it?” she asked, observing Brenol’s expression.
Do I ask her?
Her face was open and inquisitive, but he feared how his words might alter that. He did not want to return to the stony eyes, the cold aloofness, the bitter tongue.
Couldn’t I just let it go?
He knew he could not. The mystery hung so heavily on him. I need to do it, he realized. Just do it.
“What exactly is your cartess?” Brenol asked hesitantly.
The clay cup in hand tumbled into her lap and soaked her clothes, and her too-thin cheeks drained to the color of milk. She stood, water issuing from her garments.
“Should I call for help?”
“No, no,” she said hastily. “I’m walking better now. Just give me a moment.”
Brenol excused himself so she might change. When she called him back, she stood in a gown like liquid cinnamon. It flowed down and hugged her frame with vibrant color but did nothing to hide the deathly pallor of her face.
“Bren, why’d you ask this?”
Can she take it? Maybe I shouldn’t have asked…
There was no room for escape now, so he continued, even if unsurely. “Deniel seemed pretty intent on his own… But it really was more because of yours, I think.”
“My cartess, my cartess.” Her frail voice was faraway, but then her head jerked upright in a flash of anger.
Brenol cringed.
“My cartess! I told him that he was wrong! Did he do this because of my cartess?” The last word held a venom Brenol had never known before, and he had spent many days as the target of her ire.
“Colette?”
Her body shook suddenly with sobs, racking back and forth in bitter emotion. She looked like a vulnerable child, convulsing with labored breathing and tears. She finally whispered to Brenol, voice hoarse from crying, “He once told me—You don’t have this memory?”
He shook his head.
“He once told me,” she repeated, “that he knew his fate.” She shook her head and rubbed her blotchy face. “But I shouldn’t use that word, it’s not enough. No, no. His cartess. He knew his cartess. It was written on his very soul to protect me.” She breathed in short spurts, afraid to continue. “Because of my cartess.”
Brenol sensed his body tighten. Somehow his nerves knew this was crucial.
“He believed I was destined for something…” She covered her face in shame, recalling the memory.
“What are you worried about?”
The voice was Deniel—high in the hubris of youth—and he laughed at her angst, that her mind flitted in every direction other than where it should go.
She stopped and stared into his round, gray eyes. She loved the shape of them and his oval face. Her brother. His grin filled her with warmth.
“Just let it come,” he said simply.
“How would you know?” she retorted.
His light eyebrows lifted, and the insinuation startled her.
“Really? You’re a nurest too?” Colette asked. “Or do you just know things sometimes?”
He smiled slyly, his eyes dancing. It was answer, though not a full one.
“Oh… I didn’t know.” She felt foolish having never perceived this, even if they had never traveled to the terrisdan of his connection.
Deniel shrugged his shoulders and touched her elbow gently to ease her embarrassment. “You know, you don’t have to endure this—the moons of restlessness—before your intuition finally breaks though. It doesn’t have to be like that at all.”
She stared at him blankly.
Deniel’s face softened and he reached over and scooped her hand into his. “I’ll help. Here.”
Suddenly, she felt an overwhelming sensation of peace, issuing mysteriously from Deniel, and flooding through her, first from her palm cupped in his, but then sweetly into every corner of her being. There was no drive or ability to fight it, for it was like sinking into a lake without limbs. It was delicious.
“Open your eyes,” Deniel’s voice whispered in her mind.
She opened them and found herself beneath a tree. It was soaringly tall, its trunk the girth of a slender man, and spread with variously shaped leaves rustling in a beautiful movement. At first glance, the leaves appeared pure gold, but as light reflected from them in their dance, Colette inhaled in surprise: they were all the colors of the rainbow. The wind stirred, and the shimmer of color was so gorgeous that it nearly drew tears to her eyes.
“Your tree is much more captivating than mine,” his voice said softly, awed.
“My tree?” She found she did not speak as much as let her thoughts float out of her mind. It was a foreign sensation but not alarming.
“Your tree. It is you—your mind, your heart.”
Colette sighed in the wonder of it; this tree was perfect.
“Let me show you.”
At first she felt reluctance
to leave this moment of paradise, but the peace again issued into her, and she collapsed before the flood of it. Her mind was then directed to the leaves themselves.
“Look.”
A maple-like golden leaf dangled before her. It was motionless, but she could see it glinted red in the light. A scent rose like mist, and she inhaled the perfumes of green grass and daffodils. As her eyes focused upon it, it became less a leaf and more a series of pictures. She gasped in delight.
“A memory!”
Deniel laughed. “Yes, but more. It is a piece of you. A part of what makes this tree lovely. It is only a small piece, but when you step back and look at it in its entirety? It’s something big, something grand.”
She reached her small, childish fingers up and caressed the leaf. The memory of that summer day ran through her veins and sent shivers of ecstasy down her spine. She smiled. Beneath the tree, everything was right. A soft sigh passed her lips.
Colette did not want to ask but found herself incapable of holding it in. “But what about the thing I can’t figure out yet?”
Deniel’s voice was close to a whisper. “Let the breeze show you.”
Colette waited, happy to have more time to gaze up at the brilliant rainbow. After a few moments, a light wind swept through the tree and gently rattled everything to life. She began to feel a twinge of anxiety yet was soon awash with the peace that Deniel poured into her.
The wind again brushed up and through the boughs in a gentle breath. She felt her lips curl into a contented smile while she watched a feather float down to the moss-clothed ground. She bent and picked it up, smelling the rich loam that nestled under the vibrant green.
The feather was a solid black, down to the calamus, and darker than a juile’s eyes. It was about the size of her father’s palm and shaped like a pelican’s primary. She allowed her fingers to sweep across the smooth vanes with closed eyes. It thrilled her in a different way; she found her mind opening up and awakening.
Deniel was silent, allowing her to see without pressure. She opened her eyes and gazed down at the plume. The truth of it settled into her with a surprising clarity. She lifted and examined every velvety angle, but the knowledge continued to resound in her like a gong.
The Land's Whisper Page 38
