The Land's Whisper (38 page)

“Why wouldn’t the people care about their
nurest?” Brenol asked, but the known answer already bit like acid;
he could not forget the looks of disquiet from the people of
Veronia. It was not easy to live near one so powerful, so foreign.
He had often found himself too bizarre for comfort, and he had trod
with the power coursing through his own veins.

“Other-ness. I believe you know that.
Indifference. But most commonly they do not know who their nurest
is.”

“How?” Darse asked, eyebrows drawn nearly
together.

“Not every nurest is royalty. Colette just
happened to be, and young enough to be noticed when she
disappeared. Some terrisdans connect more frequently with royalty,
but there is no order to their choices. The terrisdan connects with
whom the terrisdan wishes.”

“Huh,” said Brenol.
Sometimes even
skipping worlds to find one…

“So how many do you think have disappeared?”
Darse asked again.

Arman fell quiet for several moments. It was
difficult to discern his thoughts without seeing his face and
posture, but when he spoke, his tone betrayed deep apprehension.
“Fifteen, I believe.”

“Cartontz, too?” Darse asked. The numbers
staggered him.
Thirty people.

“Cartontz
,
too,” Arman replied. “I
have long feared the person behind it. He would be calculating,
careful, intelligent—a villain indeed.”

“Ordah’s brother,” Brenol said, thinking
aloud.

“Ordah’s brother.”

“And these papers?” Darse indicated the
clutter disgorged from the table leg.

“A mystery.”

Brenol picked up several, fingering them for
the twentieth time. “How so?”

Arman sighed. It was the first sign of
weariness either of them had heard from him. “It is a riddle I do
not understand… Jerem wrote in his journals about attempting
various locations—namely other terrisdans—to solve the transference
problem. He thought moving around might affect his chances of
stealing the nuresti power.” A small, curled notepad dropped onto
the table. “He said in this that he believed the answer might be
water or neutrality, perhaps both.”

“He took Colette to Ziel? Or just the
lugazzi?” Brenol asked.

“Either. And I think you realize this is no
small distance. He could be anywhere surrounding Ziel. Or between
terrisdans. This is not a clue; I could have told you she was in
Massada.”

“What about the island?” Brenol asked.

A sharp screech sounded as Arman shoved back
his chair. “What do you speak of?”

“You know. A piece of land surrounded by
water.” The youth brushed one hand in a sweeping circle around the
other one.

“No. Where do you think the island
is
?” Arman’s voice was controlled but incredibly taut, like
a snake coiled and ready to strike.

“Oh. Ziel. I remember it from Darse’s map
back at home… Somewhat north, a little east. Tiny, but there. I
noticed it because I was trying to figure out what ki—”

“This map is from your father, Darse?”

Darse nodded, lips parted in
bewilderment.

“Draw it for me.”

A pen and paper appeared before Brenol. He
collected the materials with a doubting glance before crudely
sketching from memory, thinking aloud as he formed the lines. “I
don’t really remember the shape of the lake that well…but it was
kind of like this. Here.” He tapped the rough image with an index
finger.

“You are certain?”

Brenol paused. He closed his eyes and willed
his mind back to that night, that night when Darse told him he was
leaving.
So long ago…
But still, the memory was as clear as
glass.

“Yes,” he said decidedly. Then a thought
struck him. “But maybe it has changed with time? Who knows how long
ago that map—”

“No. Massada has not altered in that way, at
least not yet.” The papers flew together into a heap and were
collected up into air.

“But how do we know that—”

Arman cut in with a resounding voice, “I’m
no prophet, but Ordah is not the only one with intuit. This is it…
I don’t know how or why, but this is where he went. Pack your
things. We must hasten.”

Before Brenol had even stirred, a strong
hand came to rest on his shoulder, and Darse spoke softly in his
calm manner, “Good one, Bren. Never noticed that—and I had the map
for orbits.” His yellow eyes were proud, alight. They expressed
more than any words.

Arman’s baritone boomed in agreement from
across the room. “You have likely saved her with this.”

As a cartontz, he knows her face and his own purpose
as simply as he inhales and exhales: without deliberation.

-Genesifin

Arman, Darse, and Brenol made ready with
speed, not even attempting to return portiere and drapes to their
original positions. Arman did throw the curled sod back over the
hatch of the hellish underground laboratory, but solely to prevent
any walking through the area from investigating. Jerem, should he
ever return, would recognize the place had known visitors. There
was little point in attempting to conceal it.

“What about Ordah? Isn’t he supposed to meet
us here?” asked Brenol.

“I left a note,” Arman replied, continuing
when he saw Brenol opening his mouth, “attached to the underside of
the table. It’s a joke we have. He will know to look there. I told
him to meet us at Ziel. I gave him instructions.”

“Joke?”

Arman spoke without inflection or emotion.
“He says I am dumb and that is why I devote my time to studies. I
say he is fat and devotes all his time to food. Hence, the
table.”

“Huh,” Brenol said.
Juile humor. Just not
funny.

~

The group pushed their way through Callup’s
western meadows, soon following the Crasai upriver toward Conch. It
was a quick little waterway, and her roar filled their ears for
matroles. They camped beside her with a low fire and reserved
hearts. The perilous nature of the journey was taking hold of their
insides and clamping down with a fearful disquiet. Jerem was
slippery and lethal and must be caught without error. He would not
hesitate to harm them; he certainly had not paused with any of his
previous victims. It was a chilling thought and one that never
abandoned them.

Darse was the most affected. Dreams or no
dreams, nuresti connections or not, they were walking into serious
danger. He wished Brenol was a thousand matroles away, but he could
do nothing. This current challenge was like a riptide meeting weary
muscles at the end of a taxing swim. Staring at the flames, he felt
himself tugged out into the open sea of fear, and the vulnerability
was nauseating.

The following morning they woke to a cold
sun. She shone down on them palely, without warmth or fervor. It
seemed a strident reminder of the icy terror that clenched their
interiors. And they did not need reminding.

They crossed into Conch, and Brenol sucked
air fitfully through his teeth. He had not anticipated animosity,
for their initial journey through the terrisdan had been unpleasant
but practically ignored. Now, however, Conch’s eye was heavy on him
and rife with aggravation. It played upon Brenol’s spine
uncomfortably.

“Conch?” Brenol asked, hoping the land did
not perceive his pounding heart. “We’re back. May we please
pass?”

He crouched until his calves grew numb and
thighs burned. He flicked a glance up to Darse, who considered him
quietly.

Finally, when Brenol had almost abandoned
the pursuit, the boy sighed, and his shoulders relaxed. “Thank
you,” he whispered and groaned his body erect, stamping life back
into his lower limbs.

Darse leaned in and rested his palm upon
Brenol’s hand, questioning. Brenol smiled, and his voice was loose
with relief. “It’s fine. Conch is a friend,” he said, not uttering
the word that hung unspoken in the air:
now.

~

They trailed the Crasai upstream along its
southern bank until the land began to ascend toward the towering
cliffs of the west. They camped again and then the following day
marched south to circumvent the range until they met the
Choali.

The Choali was a short-girthed river, but
deep and deceptive. She had cut her snaking path for so many orbits
that she was now depressed from the bank and flowed east as a
ravine. Both banks were rough with slate and shale, and the
southern side slanted in a deep descent of rock so smooth it looked
like an iron sheet. The trees crowded the soil meeting the ravine
wall and made travel challenging.

The three trailed the winding route, waiting
to spy the crossing Arman termed the Stone Belt. Eventually they
were rewarded with its sight, but neither Brenol nor Darse felt it
to be a fine prize. The Belt was a series of jagged rocks that
thrust up from the dark water like terrible monuments. The
monoliths themselves were a rusty gray, yet little of the hue was
visible beneath the thick moss and lichen that clothed them.

Arman led the three across, and they clung
to the stones like frogs gripping tree faces. The foaming water
churned against the rocks and shot up to sting skin and clothing.
Their numb fingers fumbled for holds amidst the tufts of green, and
their eyes were blinded by the frigid splash. The other side could
not come fast enough, and when it did, Brenol and Darse panted on
the bank with soaked and blue skin and disheartened spirits.

The juile hastened their cold limbs forward
through the forest without a complaint. Brenol could not confirm,
but he thought it impossible for even Arman to out-step the
splattering chestnut mud that caked his and Darse’s clothing and
skin.

~

That evening, Brenol welcomed sleep eagerly.
His breathing slowed before the fire had begun to settle, and Darse
eyed the boy thoughtfully, watching his chest rise and fall in its
smooth, even rhythm. He brooded and finally moused his way over to
Arman. The juile listened to the man’s hushed and cracked voice,
himself occasionally stealing a glance at the boy in question.

The fire popped as Arman silently chewed
Darse’s words. It was not that the juile was surprised; Darse’s
reticence had spoken volumes to him in the matroles and leagues of
their travel. He had seen the sharp curve of the jaw as Darse had
clamped down in fear and the piercing gold eyes glinting with a
hardness only known to fathers.

“What do you propose?” Arman asked
finally.

The fire’s frequent crackling appeared to
agitate Darse more. His eyes shot back to the flames with each new
sound.

“I don’t know. I just don’t want him
anywhere near Jerem. I’ve been burdened by worry ever since I
tripped my way out of that cave. Veronia, Fingers, Jerem,” he said.
He sighed in desperation and gazed across at the boy, who lay
curled in peace. “I can’t let anything happen to him.”

“Tell me, Darse. How did you and Bren find
each other?”

“I…” Darse paused, ruminating. He wondered
if he should speak, but surely telling Arman in this entirely other
world was no breach of integrity. He breathed and began. “Bren’s
mother moved into town when he was still small. She was scorned for
toting a child without a partner, and any could see she would
barely meet the dues for the province once he became of age.
Tariffs for children in our kingdom are especially strict.”

“There are taxes for having children?” Arman
asked, surprised.

“Yes, and double for a boy.”

Arman ruminated upon the fact silently.

“No stranger fits into a small place at
first, but she was especially controversial.” The sentence lingered
before them as he struggled to find the appropriate words.
“Everyone whispered about her mind.” Darse lifted up his palms in
gesture. “I’ve rarely been concerned with the town gossip. My eye
was always more on the portal than on my neighbors, but still
something in me worried.”

Darse drew a slow breath. “I could see after
a time that the gossip was not entirely ridiculous. She was
unsocial and removed. She functioned enough to work for her bread,
but I doubted she was capable of much more.

“Labor on Alatrice is grueling, and my time
is stolen away by it. Even between seasons I work, making sure I
have enough to live and buy my conscription pass. I didn’t have
many spare moments, but that little boy kept worming away at my
heart. I just couldn’t leave it. I don’t know why, but one rainy
day I simply showed up dripping at her doorstep.”

“Bren’s mother’s?”

“Yes.” Darse shook his head at the memory.
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“What did you do?” Arman asked.

Darse shook his head. “I stood there staring
at her. She stared back with this empty look. It was like she was
hollow inside. Finally I realized I wanted to at least try to help
her with the few extra coins I had saved. I pulled out my leather
pocket. In it I kept my money, but I also had a small picture. It
was just a little slip with an image my mother had drawn. My father
had kept it and given it to me. I used to look at it every
day.”

“What was the image?”

“A little redheaded girl. She was surrounded
by blue like she was walking across the ocean, and her eyes were so
green.” He shrugged. “I don’t know who it was, maybe a friend or
family member, but it was nice to have a piece of my mother like
that. I stared at that little scrap every day. It is a wonder I
could even see the colors by that point… So anyway, I opened up my
pocket, and the picture slipped out. The wind swept it forward into
the house and to her feet. It was a little wet from the rain but
undamaged. She bent to pick it up and didn’t even hesitate. She
ripped it like it was fuel for kindling.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing. She didn’t look at me. She just
left me at the doorway and went right back to sewing up a pair of
trousers she had for a job. I could have shaken the woman, but I
suddenly realized she was even more lost than I had believed. And
it made my concern for Bren even greater.”