The Land's Whisper

by Monica Lee Kennedy

  I couldn’t even fight Jerem…

  “Will you appear again?” Brenol asked pleadingly. “To help?”

  “Perhaps, but unlikely.”

  Brenol’s stomach fell.

  A murmuring among the people lifted his eyes. The frawnite nodded, gleaning its meaning. She focused her large gray eyes upon his young face again. “It seems you have been granted a visit. You may call upon one of us in your moment of need, but you must choose now who it will be. Pick wisely.”

  Brenol pressed his lips together and looked around with new eyes.

  The crowd parted and he walked among them. They stood silently as he passed, following him with intense eyes. He was unsure what he should even be looking for, let alone selecting. He felt lost before the sea of souls. His feet eventually led him back to the mottled-gray frawnite.

  “Have you selected?” she asked.

  “I don’t know what I will need,” he responded lamely.

  “As is the nature of life.” Her look was amused. Somehow, it reminded him of Arman.

  “I choose you.”

  She bowed graciously. In a blink, the regiment was gone, and she alone remained. Brenol gaped at the emptiness and breathed deeply in relief.

  “My name is Pearl,” she said. “You may call upon me anytime, but it is advised you wait until it is dire. I may be granted a single visit, but perhaps more. I am pleased to assist you, Brenol Tilted-Ash.” She bent her body into a deep bow.

  “Thank you,” he responded, returning the gesture. “How do I find whatever it is that’s wrong here?” A new thought dawned upon him. “Does this mean I am not supposed to return to Alatrice?”

  Pearl gave a knowing nod. “The danger may not need to be faced for many orbits. But a gortei is a pledge for life. Just remember your life is in the service of this land. Whether you go, stay, sit, you must fulfill your oath or you will live to regret it—in this life and the next.”

  Her talk of death made his spine tingle uncomfortably. She bowed again, as if preparing to leave, but Brenol interrupted her. “What’s the difference between cartess and gortei?”

  Pearl’s silver eyes examined him. “All have cartess. Cartess is a fate flowing in your blood. It is written upon your fingertips and courses through your being. It is your purpose in this life, and the only way in which you will fully live. Gortei is rarer. It is a pledge, a choice. It is the giving of whatever life path you might have had for the sake of the world around you. Gortei is a forfeit of freedom. It is honorable, but truly formidable.”

  Brenol breathed. Have I really just given away my life? he wondered, yet even in the fearful realization, he found that his dread never touched upon regret. His gortei was made without full knowledge, but it would stand; he would choose it again.

  “How? How do I call you?”

  Pearl smiled, extending out a finger to draw his attention. In his own hands, unnoticed until this moment, lay a tiny whistle, silver as her hair, thin as a pencil, and smaller than his palm. There were no finger holes, just a miniscule reed to mark the mouthpiece. He lifted it in examination. “How long will it take you to come?”

  Brenol glanced up expectantly, but the room was empty. A pressing loneliness filled him, acute after the surge of revelation. The teeming horde had been overwhelming, but somehow preferable to this moment of utter solitude. No one was here to help him. It was only him and the land’s eye. Him, the boy-man.

  “Pearl,” he said, forming her name with a roll of his tongue. “Pearl.”

  He caressed the smooth instrument. He hesitated, then lifted it to his lips to feel the cool luster upon them before pocketing the piece.

  Brenol paused for one last look at Selenia through the luminous glass and then wound his way back to the main floors and rooms of the soladrome. He quietly crept into his own small quarters and crawled into bed, his chest and head aching with exhaustion.

  He slept until Darse roused him. He followed Darse to breakfast but held his secret behind closed lips. There would be a time to speak of this, but the moment was much too green. He fought his flagging fatigue and prepared for the upcoming travels.

  CHAPTER 38

  Time cannot be pried apart. It is a force which itself pries.

  -Genesifin

  “I have something for you,” Colette said.

  It was mid-morning, and the sun’s soft amber light covered her like a shawl. She placed a piece of fruit in his hand and uncurled her wet fingers from it. Two bite marks marred the flesh, and the juices dripped in a sticky river down his hand. The meaning of the gift was lost. Regardless, he drew it to his mouth and savored the sweet bite and ambrosial scent that rose and clung to the moment.

  Colette’s laugh rang through the glade. “Oh, not that. This.” Anticipation danced upon her lovely face, and her dark hair sparkled in the sun.

  “What is it?” Brenol asked. The princess seemed peaceful today, but even more, she was playful. It was a rarity, and Brenol wanted to relish every moment. He dropped the fruit to the ground in a moist thud, wiped his hands upon his clothes, and stickily examined the object she held out to him.

  It was about the size of a lady’s bar of soap, less than half a digit in width, and its lustrous silver surface was exquisitely engraved with flourishes and flora. Almost imperceptible hinges edged one side while a delicate latch opened at the other. It weighed close to nothing and would fit easily in a breast pocket.

  “Open it,” she breathed, leaning in closely as he probed the tiny latch. She smelled of honey and peach. Brenol felt dizzy.

  “Hmph,” he breathed out in confusion, for as he clicked open the smooth sides, the inside stared up at him with the same, lustrous shine. The piece held nothing. He gave her a friendly, quizzical look.

  “I know, I know. But wait!” Her hand leaped forward, closing the lid. She then drew out an identical case from her other pocket, waved it mischievously in the air, and lunged out eagerly into the Davoc. Several strides in, she bent down in the current, allowing the water to soak her as she dropped, and rested her mouth and case not more than a breath above the flow. She spoke his name, and with a tiny snip closed her silver case. The lunitata placed it back in her wet pocket and rose to a stand. She looked across at him expectantly, holding out her hand in invitation.

  Smiling in confusion, he stepped gingerly into the Davoc. “Open it,” she instructed, “and hold it to your ear.” He did so, shaking his head in wonder as her voice whispered to him.

  It’s as clear as the Songra, he thought. “How does it work?”

  She beamed at his obvious wonder. “Ordah had them. Aurenals. I’d never seen one before, but I remember learning about them as a girl.” Her expression clouded momentarily before she continued. “There are several in Massada, although I don’t know how many are still around—they work through the waters’ power. Well, the springs’ power, really. Any water connected to Ziel—feeding or flowing from. The aurenals have been used to send messages to other terrisdans.” Her eyes sparked mischievously. “The Three only know what he did to get them for me.”

  Brenol shook his head in disbelief, staring at the treasure in hand.

  “I don’t know if it’ll work all the way to your world and that pool…” Her eyes glittered at him as she smiled. They betrayed no hint of sadness about their upcoming departures. He wondered if she felt any.

  He clambered out of the water to join her on the bank. They stared at each other, dripping.

  The whole scene—the light, her face, the wonder of the aurenal, and the lingering scent of peach—crowded upon Brenol and softened his legs. He forgot all else but her. Like a bee driven by instinct, he leaned in and felt her tresses fall upon his cheeks. He kissed her smooth cheek tenderly, and his heart thrummed for more. A cool, sudden breeze awakened him to reality, and with an awkward abruptness he stopped.

  Not this way. Not now, he scolded himself. He gently pulled back and straightened. Colette glanced back at him with soft eyes, her lips curved into a tiny
smile. His face flushed in embarrassment.

  She thinks I’m young and stupid, he thought. His eyes dropped to the ground and he felt a deafening silence. When he looked up to her again, her face was solemn.

  Here I am forgetting myself again, he thought. He reached out timidly and squeezed her hand. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “In good accord,” she replied in the Massada tradition.

  Her small smile helped to quell his discomposure as they began to snake their way back to the soladrome. Brenol twitched with the urge to scoop her hand into his but instead spoke of the banalities of their upcoming travels. Darse would escort her back to Veronia and Isvelle. The journey would take no longer than three septspan, although Darse had allowed for more time in case her health required it. Brenol himself would hike to the cave with Ordah.

  To Darse’s house and the life of another boy.

  Thoughts of his own mother flooded him. He stopped and turned to Colette, finally perceiving something askew. “Has your mother sent seal, Colette?”

  “Just the one,” she said with a faint shake of the head. Several strands of hair fell forward to hide her features. “I think she’s nervous.”

  “Nervous?”

  “I am too.”

  Brenol brushed her forearm lightly with his fingers. He waited for her to continue.

  Colette shrugged. “So much has happened… I don’t know if she blames me for Da. I don’t know… It’s been so long. And she hasn’t come…”

  Brenol cursed silently, feeling the hot shame of his oversight. He had given little thought to what she must be experiencing, for his own mind had been preoccupied with the sorrow of leaving her. He sighed silently and pushed the wisps of hair from her face. “I’m sorry.”

  Colette took it gracefully, thinking he meant something else. “Bren, we’re friends. You can always ask. I’ll be fine,” she added with a lighthearted tone. “I know it. And Bren?”

  “Yes?”

  “Here.” She thrust a perfectly folded paper triangle into his hand. “If the aurenals don’t work.”

  Brenol smiled, clicked open his case, and tucked the paper safely into it. As they resumed their walk, Colette collected his hand in a friendly gesture.

  If only this meant more in Massada, he thought weakly, holding the hand as if it were his lifeline. Brenol felt his heels grow heavy as they approached the soladrome. Finally, his trudging ceased altogether. Colette looked to him questioningly.

  “I don’t want to go, but I know I have to.”

  “I know,” she replied easily. “You don’t have to explain it to me.”

  But I do. I do. If you loved me, you’d know that I do.

  “But I’m coming back. I made a promise… It, well… I’m coming back.”

  Her eyes brightened with this revelation. “Good,” she said.

  They continued their walk in pensive silence.

  Ordah and Darse were waiting outside of the soladrome. The prophet’s eyes brushed over them, and his mouth curled in the typical scowl. “Ready?” he growled.

  Brenol held up a finger and, turning to Colette, with his free hand pushed a strand of her coffee-dark hair behind her ear. He patted his pocket with a significant glance, feeling the aurenal resting soundly. She smiled at him gently.

  Could she be more perfect?

  Brenol’s heart thrummed as he turned to Darse. They embraced briefly and, as promised, did not speak a word. Darse handed off the small travel bag with a wink, and the two parted.

  ~

  Brenol stood dripping upon the basement staircase, trying to hold onto his last moments in Massada. He had approached the cave with both anguish and resolution. He had felt driven in his purpose but sorrow had gripped his heart.

  Remember Arman’s words. Remember.

  He had gathered a small stone on the shore. Its tiny clink in his pocket gave him a childish hope that his treasures might help him maintain a grasping hold on his life in the other world. But it was slipping away already. He could feel it.

  Remember Arman’s words. Remember.

  Ordah’s face had been tight and grim, and he had spoken in a voice that echoed even when whispered. “You will return. And the time will be ripe. You will learn that ‘Blood shall bring new life.’”

  Brenol had shuddered at the words, more from hope than fear, and plunged into darkness and damp to press his body through the never-ending canal.

  And now Alatrice.

  It had been so long since he had been here. He was caught between the life he could not yet lead and the life he no longer wanted to live. His fingertips traced the silver gift, naturally working the tiny contraption in his absent pondering.

  Oh no! The note, he thought gloomily, sadly extracting the sodden mess from its case.

  He knelt down and delicately opened the mush of pulp. It tore in several places, but he could still make out the message.

  Thank you. For everything. See you soon, Bren Zen.

  He looked again. It certainly said it.

  Flash!

  He sat on a cool rock overlooking a lovely valley. The leaves below caught the sun and tossed the light back up as if playing a game of beltor. He brimmed with contentment. It flowed in him as naturally as his own blood.

  Colette sat beside him, happily surveying the afternoon’s revelry.

  “This is where I come,” she said simply, her voice tinny with youth. She tilted her palm out to the scene before them, as if the vista itself was not enough to clarify. Her eyes, sparkling and filled with trust, looked toward him for his reaction.

  “Thank you.” He meant it.

  “In good accord, Den Zen.”

  He laughed. “Den Zen,” he repeated, “Well then, you can be Lette Zette.”

  “Zette. I like it.” She laughed at their new joke.

  They peered out upon the expanse of Veronia. It was lovely.

  The memory released its hold on him, sinking into Brenol’s mind like honey into warm tea.

  She’s let go. She’s ok with Deniel in me.

  He sighed. Colette’s acceptance called for his own, but still he felt that cold stone lodged in his chest. The water flickered before his eyes accusingly. He sighed again, this time in surrender.

  He mustered up his courage and closed his eyes, speaking out over the waters in a whisper, “I stole the key… I hate myself for wanting to be a nurest forever… Wanting to abandon Darse and Colette… Darse’s torture… I killed a man… Jerem in the cave. I was so scared… I had to say goodbye to Darse… to Arman… to Colette…”

  And the pang loosened in his heart. Peace came as delicately as the dawn. The solace he had experienced when Colette spoke out over the waters was a mere shadow of the warmth he felt now. His heart glowed and burned, alive and at rest. He was more whole than he had thought possible. All seemed right somehow—with the world, with himself, with what would come.

  I will return. I will return when it’s right.

  He stooped, collected his worn shoes—well dried and stiff—and trudged his muddy way up the stairway into the house that was now his own.

  Dearest readers,

  Thank you for your time and readership. Please take a moment and post a review!

  The next book in the series is Eyes in the Water. It will be released in the spring of 2016.

  It has been a pleasure,

  Monica Lee Kennedy

  GLOSSARY

  Alatrice- Sim’s home world

  Bethaida- underground home of the Tindel

  Cartess- fate of a person

  Cartontz- protector of nurest

  Benere- goodwill, goodness, seeking betterment for self and others

  Digit- unit of measurement the width of a finger

  Drale- currency in Alatrice

  Frawnish- winged race in Granoile

  Freg- unit of currency

  Genesifin- book of fate

  Gertali- group that travels together in the desert

  Gortei- oath of protection
for Massada, the person becomes a guardian

  Greno- unit of currency

  Hete- first summer

  Hitze- second summer

  Juile- race typically found in Selet

  Lunavidola- lights in Selet

  Lunitata- race, a people of light

  Lugazzi- neutral land between terrisdans and surrounding Lake Ziel

  Malitas- evil spirit attacking Massada

  Maralane- people of Lake Ziel, lake men

  Marking- joining fingers, as sign of union amongst Tindel

  Matrole- unit measuring distance

  Nurest- person w special connection to a particular terrisdan

  Orbit- unit of time

  Pedasse- juile footprints

  Perideta (peri)- blue frozen desert

  Polina- law enforcement

  Raptili- reptiles in Alatrice

  Sealtor- mail deliverer

  Sealtoz- post office

  Sefent- markings of degeneration from the perideta

  Septspan- 7 days

  Soumme- spouse

  Spherisol- ball used for heating & light by the Tindel

  Stronta, Veri- two moons of Massada

  Tenralily- flower with fabled pods of healing

  Terrisdan- tract of land, 13 total

  Teritra- mosaic picture in public juile houses

  The Three- Abriged (Eye), Tofinaol (Hand), Ceriton (Voice)

  Tindel- people living in the ice desert

  Umburquin- race, typically found in Selenia

  Visnati- race, typically found in Garnoble

  Wind's kiss- weathering of the face from the desert’s elements