The Land's Whisper (25 page)

Brenol whispered to his companion, “Darsey,
I’m not scared of him…but he sure does make my spine do a little
dance.” He shivered and fell silent.

“Mmmm,” Darse assented. This land felt
somehow askew, though the sensation was hard to pinpoint. And the
cloaked man was as Selet: uncanny, arcane, foreboding.

“I do think it would’ve been wise,
regardless, to have asked Duke Robes for directions,” Darse said
uneasily, and Brenol snorted in amusement. The man glanced back
toward the stranger, pondering if he should return for this
purpose. “Well, that is strange,” he muttered.

The black bridge was devoid of life, and the
white keeper was nowhere along the bank.

Darse furrowed his brow and turned forward
to resume walking. He jerked to a stop with a sharp inhale. The
stranger stood no more than an arm’s length before him. Brenol’s
face paled considerably, and his heart leaped alive.

“You require information? It is available
for a price,” the man said. He spoke simply, as though it were
entirely normal for him to appear out of nowhere.

“H-how?” Brenol stammered. He slid a step
backwards. And another.

The man considered Brenol for a moment
before speaking. “Selet is the land of visibility…but rules can be
bent.” As though that settled matters, he returned to business.
“You are searching for a place?”

Brenol looked to Darse for an answer.

Darse shifted uncomfortably, wondering if he
cared now to speak.

Dark eyebrows rose at his reticence, yet the
stranger lingered. Finally, Darse sighed, saying, “We are looking
for a person called Arman.”

At the name, the stranger’s vacant face
assumed a decided air of amusement. His eyes opened and glittered
in silent laughter. It was enough to cause Darse to tilt his head
sideways in wonder.

“You know him?” Darse asked.
Please
don’t
be
him,
he prayed.

The stranger smiled thinly without parting
his lips. “More
of
than personally. He lives in Graft—when
he chooses to be in Selet.”

“He’s not here?” Brenol asked
dejectedly.

“That I cannot answer—but to Graft…” He
gingerly, and with a familiarity that piqued Darse, plucked the map
from where it had been tucked into a small pocket on Brenol’s pack.
He smoothed it open with clean palms and began pointing with an
elongated index finger. The man indicated the eastern realm of the
terrisdan.

“You hardly need my directions with this
map. It is very fine… I would however, if you have the ability,” he
gave another fleeting glance at their garments, “buy passage down
the Barn
.
It is doubtful you could navigate the rapids
yourselves. And here—avoid the southern reaches.” He traced the
lower sections with an almost loving caress. “Move instead through
these forests and curve along this path. The city here is Trilau.”
He tapped the paper lightly with fingertip. “You will find
directions, supplies, lodging. Whatever you require. The Songra
will not be difficult to cross. Many fishing villages line the land
there, and the waters are not as dangerous as the Garz’s
.
”
He extended his hand to indicate the rushing flood beneath them
without lifting his eyes from the map.
“
From there it will
be a day’s march to Graft, more if you are weak.” He gazed
expectantly at the two.

Darse perceived the hint and again retrieved
his wallet. He gave an additional two freg to the the man, who,
upon receiving it, bowed his head slightly and said, “It has been
bountiful.”

Without another word, he swept down the
bridge. Darse had the impression that even without the roar of the
water to mask them, the man’s movements would have been as soft as
snow falling.

~

The forest thinned after the crossing and
the two walked briskly across a grassy field. It was speckled with
lavender-colored daisy-like flowers that smelled sickly sweet. The
afternoon sun was hot upon their tired bodies, and sweat puddled on
their backs, necks, and behind their knees.

“Bending rules? I really am missing
something here. He can’t fly, can he? Is it some kind of eye
trick?” Brenol asked, with the air of one thinking aloud.

Darse wiped his glistening forehead with the
back of his hand, groping in the corners of his memory. “Well, I’ve
been thinking about that… Remember the visnati mentioning something
about Selet being the place where invisible are seen?”

Brenol nodded slowly.

“I don’t know, but I imagine that he,” Darse
bobbed his head west in the direction of the white-robed stranger,
“has figured out how to be invisible anyway…at least to a
degree.”

“Bending the rules. Huh… Can that be done in
each terrisdan?” Brenol asked. “For whatever the properties of the
land are?”

“That’s a thought.” Darse mulled it over
like a cow chewing cud. “Doesn’t make me too comfortable, to be
honest.”

“Duke Robes,” Brenol repeated from earlier.
“Ha.”

Darse inhaled deeply, working to loosen his
nerves. “At least we have a path for our Arman.”

“Arman!” Brenol laughed scornfully. “If he
is even here. Next time we send a letter.” He grimaced as he
thought of the blisters he would tend in a few hours’ time, and
likely all for naught. He refused to attend to the other fears that
rumbled in his core.

Darse smiled ruefully. “Well, let’s not quit
before we even get there…” He poked Brenol playfully with his
elbow. “Vacation of the worlds, eh?” he said with a twinkling eye.
“Ordah most certainly knows how to plan them.”

Brenol, surprised, chuckled in genuine
laughter, revealing teeth and dimples. Darse always knew how to
draw him back to the present.

And on they went.

~

If Brenol and Darse had not sensed it
before, they soon did; Selet was indomitable. It was reluctant to
let any come or go easily, painting the earth with crags, steep
cliffs, rocky ravines, dunes, and impenetrable woods. It was
hopeless, or at least would have been without the map. With the
map, they were frustrated and exhausted but managed to eke through.
By dusk the two had yet to reach the Barn
,
so they settled
into making camp in the misty chill of the rocky expanse. They ate
in silence and huddled together beneath their thick blankets,
wishing the cold away. The dawn brought little heat, the sun rising
slowly in the sullen gray sky. They again ate in silence and
trudged forward.

Within an hour, they had set eyes on the
Barn and were astounded by her fury. The robed stranger had not
lied: she was indeed more than they could handle. White foam, sharp
rocks, pounding rapids. It seemed impossible that any would dare to
navigate her wildness.

Darse and Brenol followed the river on the
northwestern banks, which held a nicely trodden path. This seemed
completely out of character for Selet, and for this they rejoiced.
The turn of luck brought greater spirits and lighter hearts. They
carried hopes of finding a crossing before lunch.

Selet, however, had other plans. As the two
came around a bend, the path cut directly into a wooded glade,
leaving the water crashing along its own thunderous way. They
halted.

Darse sighed. “I guess it was too much to
hope it would continue on. Where does the map say this leads?”

Brenol shook his head. “Didn’t you hear me
before? This trail isn’t on the map.”

Darse winced as if he had stepped on glass.
“Really? I went deaf in my joy over finding it.” He gazed at the
river lines on the map, as though wishing could materialize a hint
as to what lay in the wood north of them.

“I say we follow the path.” Brenol’s eyes
shot up to Darse, almost pleading. “Darsey, it’s got to lead
somewhere
that has a bunch of people.” They both slid their
eyes to the river’s edge. It was a daunting sight. “And those rocks
are close to impassable. Just
look
at them.”

He did. Sharp and cold, they would make it
very difficult to make any real progress along the side of the
waterway. It would be a slow, arduous, and notably dangerous
route.

Darse sighed. He could feel all the muscles
in his body revolting against his decision. Still, he spoke, “No.
Bren, we need to stay by the river. We have to make sure to not
miss the crossing. I don’t think we should go wandering down this
path…” He let his eyes snake up the smooth trail into the wood. It
looked so inviting, so calm, so
easy.
It enticed him down to
the marrow.

The boy’s face turned sour. “There’s no
sense in wandering by the river when it’s faster by the road.
And
we were told to stay on the paths.” Brenol puffed out
his chest slightly with the last statement, recognizing the power
of the argument. He glanced sideways at Darse to determine if it
had brought about any effect.

Darse sighed again. He looked down uneasily
at his friend.

Brenol perceived his wavering resolve.
“Darse. The
path
is the safe way. Let’s follow the
path
.” Brenol’s index finger extended out vehemently to the
worn turf. It was so smooth and worn it was a wonder the masses
were not frequenting it at that moment.

Darse shrugged wearily. His eyes wrinkled at
the edges, as though his mind were wincing in reluctance. “Don’t
misunderstand me, Bren. I certainly think that way is nicer…but
that honestly is part of the problem. I see easy in Selet, and it
immediately makes me wary. It’s unnatural here…” His voice trailed;
they both knew to speak further would be foolish.

Darse palmed his eyes, leaving smears of
dirt across his features. “But we shall go.” His voice was tired,
like that of a much older man.

Brenol paused—hesitation passing over his
heart like a shadow—but it dissipated in the blink of an eye, for
he quickly shook away Darse’s words, groping instead for the
comfort of the lane. They left the thundering roar and shuffled
into the muffled thick of the woods. The path was smooth and soft,
rolling peacefully before them, granting a wary reassurance against
the dense surrounding growth.

To live is not merely to evade pain.

-Genesifin

The road loped north and ambled along for a
matrole before settling into a more easterly direction, much to
Brenol and Darse’s relief. It appeared that this was, as hoped, the
route for following the river, just not in its sight. The thick of
the woods engulfed the two in a stifling softness, but the path
helped to push away the threatening sense of claustrophobia. They
barely spoke, and when they did it was always in whispers; the
forest’s silence was imposing without reason.

Feet were rested and stores were nibbled on
a large, lichen-riddled stone, at what they guessed was late
morning. They judged their approximate location on the map and
continued forward determinedly, not displeased with their
progress.

Less than an hour after their stop, the path
began to narrow. Neither spoke of it, although both noticed, and
fear suddenly laced the edges of their thoughts. Within a hundred
strides, the road tapered until it was no more. It simply stopped.
As mysteriously as it had begun, it ended. Woods now encompassed
the travelers.

Brenol sighed, and his shoulders sagged
forward in defeat. “You were right. You’re always right.” He
glanced around irritably, kicking some bracken at his feet in
frustration. Pieces flew in every direction. “Let’s turn around,”
he said, resigned and sapped.

Darse glanced at the boy and then back down
the path. His jaw dropped; even the tapering path no longer
remained. He ran back to what should have been the clearing,
kneeling down to examine the earth with desperate fingers. The path
had slipped away like a deck of cards behind a cuff. Darse cursed
softly under his breath, hating Selet and its games.

“Where’d it go?” Brenol asked, walking the
distance to his friend.

Darse ignored the boy and stood. “We’re
being toyed with. I am done. Done.” The finality in his voice could
have cracked stone.

He stood for a moment, and eventually turned
to Brenol. “What if we tried to simply work our way back to the
river without backtracking? Just head southeast?” He was not really
asking. Darse leaned over the thin paper of the map.

Whether the trick was Selet or another,
we’ll keep our eyes focused and get out.
Darse’s face was stern
and creased. “We have a map…it isn’t like we are really going to
get lost…”

Brenol nodded in agreement; they did not
have many alternatives. Plus, if he pondered the missing path for
long, it could only lead to fear. The land’s eye hovered on his
back hotly.
Like it thinks this is funny…
Goosebumps played
up his spine.

Darse pointed ahead, solidifying the
direction in his mind.
I refuse to be a joke to this
terrisdan.

“So much for sticking to paths, huh?” Brenol
replied.

“Hmmph,” snorted Darse. Cynicism elongated
his face. “It’s time to nip the nonsense and forget the scary
stories. Let’s be practical… I don’t know why I let this place
cloud my mind.” Darse’s lip curled in disgust, whether at himself
or Selet, Brenol was left to guess.

“We go northeast,” he said stoutly. “This
place isn’t going to decide where I go, and this place isn’t going
to terrify me. If we hit Trilau, we hit Trilau. If we decide to
circle the entire land like a cat before arriving in Graft, then we
will do that.”

Darse’s words had the effect of smelling
salts, and the two shook to life, marching off through underbrush
and tree. The land gave no indication of hearing Darse’s speech,
and so Brenol, instead of fearing, fought to suppress a smile;
Darse was bent forward in attention, with teeth a-grit and eyes
defiantly enraged.

He doesn’t get angry easily,
he
thought.
But it isn’t pretty when he does. I’ve been the coon in
front of that hound nose before. And I hope never again.