The Land's Whisper (8 page)

“Oh,” Brenol sighed and stepped back,
sinking into the soft mud by the bank. His feet were barely visible
beneath the layers of burgundy soil. He felt like crying, but his
pride already stung from the memory of his betrayal.

“I’ll go back,” Brenol said softly. He
swallowed the lump in his throat and straightened. “I’ll go back
now.” He had turned to make his way back to the cave when Darse
grabbed his forearm. Brenol raised his subdued gaze to see Darse’s
tense face.

“I don’t think they work both ways,” Darse
said grimly.

“What do you mean?”

Darse released Brenol. “I met someone. I
don’t think he was human, at least not exactly. He said there was
no return.”

Brenol stared. “What do you mean not exactly
human?”

Darse shook his head, ignoring the question.
“Did you not hear me?”

Brenol’s face lightened. “Why are we arguing
then? If we can’t go back, why are you telling me I have to?”

Darse felt like grinding his teeth. “Bren,
your mother is in serious danger. She can’t even manage to pay your
pass when you are present. How could she do so when you aren’t
there?”

Brenol’s face clouded. “But won’t the
inquiry show I’m not around? And that she has a hole in her
glass?”

“Bren, when are you going to see it isn’t
this simple? People on Alatrice are ugly about the kingdoms. How
often has my door been lettered? How often have I been called a
traitor? And all because my father got sucked into another world
and couldn’t whisper a word about it to anyone?” Darse spoke with
force. “Bren, she will be dead or wishing she were by the time next
orbit’s conscription man arrives. She doesn’t know how to shut her
lips, and they don’t know how to use their wits.”

Brenol gulped, chastened. “Is it really that
bad back home?”

Darse nodded brusquely, uninterested in
continuing the topic.

“So what do we do?”

Darse tilted his head toward the cave. “We
go make sure, to start. I don’t trust that man I met, and we need
to know with certitude it’s closed.”

Brenol nodded and tarried for a step so he
could follow Darse. The cave was nothing like it had been the
previous night. It sat in ominous darkness, its mouth open and
stifling all light. The boy prickled with goosebumps.

Darse held out a hand in gesture to pause
and stepped forward into the darkness. Brenol barely had to suck in
two fitful breaths before Darse emerged again.

“We are trapped,” he attested gravely,
glancing around the wood as if it were a cage. “I think we’re both
in serious danger, so let’s try and be cautious?”

Darse’s intensity elicited a nod, but the
youth felt a rising exuberance in him. He was free to remain, at
least for the time being, and explore a new world.

“Have you seen anything we could manage for
breakfast? I’m famished from all that swimming last night.” Brenol
held his stomach with eager expression before shrugging both
shoulders. “But I’m sure we will find something… Where are we
going?” He surveyed the land and pointed to a walkway slicing
through the dense foliage. “There’s something.”

Brenol’s nonchalance chafed Darse’s ill
mood, but he agreed to pursue the forest path. It was smooth and
well-worn, with bushes broken back to allow travelers to pass side
by side.

Brenol could not stop his wagging tongue as
they meandered. Guilt no longer clawed, and his heart kindled with
gaiety and life. He pointed to every sight and scene they passed.
Darse chewed his lip, absorbed in silent worry.

Bracken and dead logs littered the forest
floor, but growth also sprouted up from the soil like fountains
splashing out green: moss, lichen, bush, leaf, flower, tree.
Sunlight trickled down in patches through the dense life and
patterned the ground with moving light. The air was uncomfortably
warm, though a gentle breeze occasionally sought an avenue through,
bringing a moment of delicious relief from the swelter. Brenol
found himself breathing with unusual exertion; his home in Alatrice
was at a much lower elevation.

It was not long before their bellies began
to churn in emptiness. Even Brenol grew quiet and troubled. The
path hooked sideways and dove its way steeply downhill in a grassy
descent. It seemed unusual for a well-tended path to dive at such
an incline, but as it appeared to be the only option, they
continued on without remark.

The two attempted a handful of other
methods, but since their bare feet lacked traction, they eventually
succumbed to scooting down slowly on their backsides with palms out
to brace. Once the slope evened, they lifted their sore rears and
continued on. They came upon several new footpaths branching away.
After a short deliberation, they agreed to continue in the
direction they believed—from the sun’s course—to be west.

They had not gone five minutes on the new
path before they heard voices. Every muscle in Darse tightened. He
clamped onto Brenol’s arm and pulled him to the road’s side behind
a clump of bushes. “Bren,
quiet.
”

A party of four men ambled around the bend.
They were stocky but not overweight, muscular and bronzed, and each
could not have reached the height of half a man. Their voices
boomed in the previous still, and they strode with steps
surprisingly fleet for their small frames. One was clearly younger
than the rest of the party—face as smooth as a baby’s belly—while
the other three sported smartly trimmed beards dappled in the gray
of many orbits. Each hefted a wooden bucket brimming with blossoms
over one shoulder, while the opposite was laden with a cloth sack.
Each also bore a musical instrument, either in hand or strapped
upon back.

Darse exhaled in surprise, quietly peering
between bushes. Brenol, though, straightened in his awe, leaving
behind all chance of concealment. Darse cursed softly as the men’s
eyes jumped up to the open-mouthed youth. He then emerged and
firmly grasped the boy’s shoulder.

The men’s gazes carried a peculiar
expression as they surveyed the two, but they finally rested their
vision squarely upon Brenol.

They see something there,
Darse
realized.
Like I am barely here, beside him.
The thought
knotted his insides.
What does this place want with him? Why
him?

Brenol clambered forward—with Darse in
pursuit—and asked softly, with childlike curiosity, “What
are
you?” He held his hands behind him, for the compulsion
to poke the men itched in his fingers.

The men jutted their chins out in
indignation. The darkest of the group, tanned a swarthy copper,
arched his head to the side and eyed the two strangers.

“Foreigners, eh?” He did not pause long
enough for a reply. “Lugazzi babes not taught anything.” He gave
Darse a sideways glance, but just as quickly spread his face into
an easy expression. “Ah, but where are
my
manners? My name
is Rook.” He bent his sunned head in greeting. “And here are Spence
and Murphy. Colvin right there is the baby.” Spence and Murphy
bowed their heads, and Colvin nodded casually.

“We,” continued Rook, “are
visnati
.
Of the terrisdan Garnoble. Fullness and joy.”

“Fullness and joy,” the other visnati
intoned.

“I am Darse, this is Bren,” said Darse. His
voice was strained despite their apparent geniality.

Murphy asked, “Where are you going? What
terrisdan do you belong to? Or
are
you of the
lugazzi
?
” He was about a hand span taller than the others
and wore black suspenders atop blue trousers and thin, round
glasses upon a hook nose. His eyes glinted in amusement but carried
a sharpness that Darse perceived warily.

Darse replied reluctantly, “We have no idea
where we are going.”

Rook’s amber eyes narrowed, but his tone
remained courteous. “That’s fine. Your business, you know. Please
speak if there is anything we can assist you with.” He bowed to
them respectfully and gestured to his companions that they should
continue on their journey.

“Wait!” yelped Brenol. “Wait. We really
don’t know. Please. Do you have food?”

Rook gave a large, toothy grin. Without a
word, each visnat produced from his sack several sandwiches and
pieces of fruit, extending them out in offering. Brenol nodded with
vigor, and Darse could hardly resist; his mouth salivated at the
mere sight of a meal.

They found a patch of cool, oak-shaded
grass. The visnati plopped down, bantering amongst themselves, and
distributed sandwiches. Colvin observed the strangers’ movements
with a reserved eye and leaned back with ankles crossed to chew on
a long stem of grass.

“Is this chicken?” asked Brenol. He greedily
reached for a second sandwich, even though he had not particularly
liked the first.

Rook’s eyes passed slowly between Darse and
Brenol.

“It’s a bird,” Brenol added.

The conversing visnati halted mid-sentence.
Spence’s hand slid down in a fluid motion to rest upon the blade
that hung at his side. A silent communication clearly passed,
serious concern evident. Rook finally held Brenol’s gaze. His look
was not kind.

“I…I…” Brenol stumbled into silence.

Rook’s face soon released its taut lines,
and the visnat settled back again into his cross-ankled position.
He spoke now in an explaining tone, as one might to a small child.
“Bren, we don’t eat birds. Here in Massada we only eat flesh if it
comes from the water. You must be further from home than we
guessed, eh?” He nodded to himself, as if fully assured now.

“The creatures of the land don’t have
awareness like us, but only a wild man would consume them. Humans,
visnati, maralane—we all eat solely from the water.” Rook’s gaze
narrowed as if to dare the two to defy him
.
“It’s a sign of
civility. Of order.”

Silence wrapped the party.

“Why?” Darse finally asked hesitantly.

Rook met the man’s gaze. “It’s respect. I’d
never eat my brother, make a stew out of my sister. No. It’d be a
nasty piece of work to eat a creature with a soul
.
Nasty,
indeed. So we abstain from the baser of the meats, even if the
animals don’t have sense like we do.” Rook’s chin raised in pride.
“Anyone can eat, but one who selects food with purpose is something
else.” His lips pinched in disgust at the evident alternative.

“But what makes fish different?” Darse
insisted. He was not eager to add new inconsistent social practices
to his life.

Colvin’s lips quirked at the edges, but the
motion went unnoticed by the rest of his party.

Rook grumbled incomprehensibly, and his face
reddened in irritation.

Darse took a bite of his sandwich.

“It wasn’t always so,” Spence conceded. “For
a time no man ate flesh of any kind. But after land dwellers
discovered the maralane? Well, we all simply followed their way.
Fish and other water life became acceptable as food.” Spence
straightened his spine and pushed out his stout shoulders. “But
everyone knows it’s vulgar to eat land animals.”

“Everyone?”

“Well, the majority,” Rook conceded with a
scowl. “There’s not much drive within a wolf towards propriety,
even if they somehow managed to find speech.”

“Wolves are the only animals with sense?”
Brenol asked.

The visnati muttered and nodded. It was so,
although they clearly disliked the fact.

Darse recalled the cold quivering of
vulnerability that had snaked across his chest at his first
encounter with a wolf. He could certainly agree that the wolves
were a different sort indeed, even if the distinction between meats
was still unclear to him.

“Where is your world?” asked Spence, whose
hand no longer cradled his weapon. “Do you really eat animals?” His
face screwed up in abhorrent fascination.

Brenol, ignoring the last, lifted a hand to
point in the direction of the cave. Suddenly, he realized he no
longer possessed any sense of their location, and beyond that, a
direction toward the cave would not clarify anything. He sat and
looked to Darse, speechless.

Darse met their gazes.
They aren’t
seeking to harm us
, he reassured himself, and he felt the
truthfulness of it ease—at least partially—his heart.

Darse shrugged and spoke with his customary
bluntness, “I don’t understand it entirely. We traveled through a
canal under my home, and we arrived outside in a cave by what I
assume is Lake Ziel.” He felt the keen sting of ludicrousness; the
visnati could never believe such a tale.

“Portal, eh?” Spence paused to scrutinize
the two. “The caves around Ziel have often been portals from other
worlds. Used to have all kinds of things coming through.” He
frowned, continuing. “Only one way through though—at least for most
of us. If you go in from this side, you will find moss and bugs and
bats. Ha! No, they are only good for getting
in
. Don’t know
if any ever got
out.
”

Brenol immediately nodded. “Yes, we tried
it.”

Rook chuckled, “Eager to get back now,
eh?”

Brenol blushed.

“I met someone on the shore,” Darse began
hesitantly.

“Yes?”

“He asked if I’d come through the portal,”
Darse continued. “He said I’d never get back through.”

Spence nodded. “Probably an ignalli. They
stay near the portals and tell the maralane who comes through.”

“Why?” asked Brenol.

“The ignalli once came through themselves,”
replied Spence. “They’re foreigners, and foreigners usually work
for the maralane.”

“The maralane consider the portals their
property,” added Murphy. “They never tell us anything.”

“Are there lots of different kinds of people
here?” Brenol asked.

Murphy shrugged. “Some. Human, juile,
lunitata,
ignalli. There are more. Each usually live with
their own kind. Pockets all around Massada. Although a few keep to
specific terrisdans.”