The Land's Whisper (7 page)

Once he had progressed about twenty strokes,
Brenol discovered the presence of a mild current. He lifted his
legs in curiosity and allowed the water to tug him with gentle
motions, smiling at the effect. As he righted his body to continue
the swim, he spied a multitude of fish. They swam about, dodging
between his legs and sliding their sleek bodies through the
rippling clear.

The dance of the schools was mesmerizing.
There were stops, turns, dips, and flips, all worked into a
synchronized body of movement. It was beautiful, especially as
their fins and scales caught the lights. The promenade led on and
on, and the current conveyed Brenol and the fish in the same
direction.

The lights brightened—appearing now more
like lanterns or posts guiding the underwater way. Brenol caught
glimpses of writings and images upon the walls above, yet when he
paused to examine them, the pictures disappeared as chalk does when
meeting rain. He swam for another hour, becoming more and more
intrigued, for now, in place of drawings, were doors with sturdy
iron hinges upon them. These too vanished when he swam closer in
curiosity.

See. I deserve to be here. I’d be missing
out on all this. Darse was trying to keep me out.

“
Come, come. I am waiting for
you.
”

Astonished by the voice, Brenol gasped and
flailed around, looking for the source and finding that he was
alone. Warily, he faced forward again, with the uncanny sensation
that he was being watched.

There were several turns in the cave, and
with each shift, light throughout the canal brightened and the
current slowed. He seemed to be moving towards the light, and he
looked forward to getting out of the cavern and into open sunlight.
As he rounded the final curve, however, his heart shrank within his
chest.

The canal contained a wall of fire.

The fire extended across the entire
thoroughfare like a sheet, burning hot as it flowed down and up
again in a waterfall of hungry crimson. The flames plunged under
the water but did not extinguish. They were strikingly scarlet,
soundless, terrifying. Steam emanated from the flames and water,
and the vapors rose in shades of gold and crimson.

Some of the fish continued in their dance
through the flames, but many darted away in fear, returning back
down the canal passageway. He floated closer, but the heat burned
his cheeks. He peered into the swelter and saw nothing; licking
fire obscured all vision, and he involuntarily drew his arm up over
his eyes. There could be matroles of flame for all he knew, but
there was no way to continue on unless he passed through. Finally,
he pushed his way to the side of the cave, hoisted himself, and
scrambled up to sit on the smooth shelf of rock.

Darse had never said anything about a wall
of fire. Brenol wondered if Darse’s father had known about it.

Maybe it’s meant to stop me.

His betrayal stared at him squarely, and
Darse’s face loomed before his vision. Sweat trickled down his
forehead, and he squirmed in discomfort.

You deserve this,
his conscience
hissed.

Brenol sighed and wiped away the steamy
beads with a dripping hand. With determination, he pushed aside the
guilt and allowed the sting of fury to bubble up within.

I will not let this wretched wall stand
in my way,
he thought.
I took the key, and I am going. I
will not be left behind.

“I’m going through,” he said aloud. “I want
to know about this other world. I want to see it and enjoy
it
.
I’m going through. I don’t care if I die.”

I must go on. I must. No turning back.

There was little point in diving under the
water, for the flames reached to the bottom of the pool floor, but
he decided he would feel better attempting to pass that way. He
lowered his dripping body into the water, shook his head as if to
wash it from fear and voices, inhaled deeply, and ducked below.

~

Both Brenol and Darse underwent the same
experience as they drove themselves through the fire, although
Darse swam in fear for Brenol, and Brenol swam in fear for himself.
The underwater flames were a dark and deep crimson, licking at
their bodies with a scorching heat. It hurt tremendously, and
Brenol yearned to scream out in the water, afraid his skin was
melting. They fought for their passages like infants through the
birth canal: finger breadths were matroles, hand spans were
leagues.

Finally, when it seemed they could endure no
more, the biting fires ended. They simply ceased. The water grew
shallow, and they found they could stand.

Emerging, they stumbled out onto a sandy
shore, panting and heaving in exhaustion. They collapsed on the
cool ground several strides from the cave. It was night, and the
darkness was soothing after the fiery brightness. They each
intended only to rest for a few moments and recover their breath,
but sleep claimed them irresistibly.

~

Many hours later, the warm morning sun awoke
Darse, and he sat up, blinking at the scene around him. His heart
jumped as he remembered the missing key, the watery canal, the
fire.

Bren!

His eyes darted about as he clambered
aright. There, on the sandy clay bar, not fifteen strides from him,
lay Brenol sleeping soundly. His chest rose and fell slowly in the
soft rhythm of unconsciousness. Darse sighed in relief.

He is okay, he is okay…

The sudden assurance of the boy’s safety
broke the dam of pent-up fury. Darse’s eyes flashed with a
dangerous glint.

He stepped toward the youth and felt the
crunch of pine needles beneath his feet and a soft breeze tickling
his cheeks. The flare of anger sputtered, at least momentarily, as
the immensity of their circumstance hit Darse. He let the fire
cool, knowing Brenol could experience his ire later.

I’m in Massada. I’m finally here.

His lips parted in amazement as he took in
the strange new world.

They were high up, that much was evident.
Mountains of purple, black, and gray jutted up in merciless power
all around. The cave from which they had emerged stood behind him.
It did not appear fiery—just dark and ominous and far from
welcoming. A rivulet snaked its way out for approximately twenty
strides before kissing a massive body of water. The two had climbed
out in this shallow section after their respective swims, stumbling
out upon the red clay shore. Darse glanced down at his clothes, now
noticing the burgundy caked on them.

A thick forest ringed the shore, and the air
was heavy with the scent of sap. A single tree arched out over the
water like a ballerina in arabesque, pointing with its entire frame
toward the stretch of blue. If they had been lower, Darse might
have mistaken the matroles and matroles of clear water for the sea,
but his lungs stung and attested to the truth.

His father’s bass tones beat upon him, even
though Darse had read his scrawled description rather than heard
it:
Lake Ziel lies high in the mountains, with belts surrounding
and feeding her. But the springs at her floor are the true mystery.
She is the life of Massada and has power I can’t begin to guess
at.

“Ziel,” he whispered, tasting the word on
his tongue. “Ziel.”

Darse crouched in thought, absently plucking
up two smooth stones as he stared out. He blinked, for suddenly
music rose from the clear as soft as steam. He cocked his head and
strained his ears forward, puzzling over whether it was his
imagination or if he truly heard the remarkable sound. The waves
gently lapping upon the red shore seemed to intensify the music,
which came from the depths and reverberated in his own person.

The melody was soft and gentle, beautiful
and moving. He had never heard anything like it. It was ordered and
soothing and put his heart at ease. Darse barely breathed as he
soaked in each note, his skin and soul suddenly refreshed.

As the song dissipated, Darse stood. He
recalled the stones and, naturally, arched his body back to skip
one across the screen.

“You would do well not to disturb the
waters,” a voice snaked nonchalantly in his ear.

Darse started and the rocks tumbled from his
hands. He turned to face the arrival, his expression grim and
tight.

The stranger stood casually before him. He
was a thin, tall figure with elongated features and a lithe frame.
He wore loose trousers and a tan jacket, and his face was smeared
by a long smirk. He had an unusual quality Darse could not
pinpoint.

“You have come through the portals, I see,”
the man said. “Where, I must ask, have you come from?” He peered
with interested blue eyes from Darse to the slumbering boy.

Darse felt his vulnerability keenly. He
stepped between the stranger and Brenol and widened his stance.
“Who are you?”

The smirk broadened at his response. “You
are nervous. Perhaps that is wise.”

Darse spoke through a clenched jaw. “What do
you want?”

Calmly, the man opened his fist in gesture.
“To know where you came from. And your purpose.” His voice was
serene and smooth, though anything but soothing.

“And if I do not tell you?”

The stranger swiped his hands together as if
brushing Darse and all away. “Then I cannot help you.” His eyes
danced in apparent diversion.

Darse paused but realized he had little
reason to withhold this piece of information; it was plain he was a
foreigner. “Alatrice. We are from Alatrice.”

“And your purpose?

“I don’t have one.”

The man’s face expressed mocking
incredulity.

“My mother is from this world. I came to see
if I wanted to live here,” Darse said.

“And the boy?” He raised a long index finger
in indication.

Darse frowned. “He is going back.”

At this, the stranger chuckled. The sound
billowed up and rolled out of his lanky frame, and amusement limned
every feature. “There is no going back,” he replied.

“What?” Darse nearly choked. “What do you
mean?”

“Doesn’t work that way, at least usually.
Portals are for drawing people, not for sending.”

“But he cannot stay. He cannot. It isn’t
safe and then his mother will be—” He stopped, not wishing to
disclose more. “How can I get him back?”

The stranger shrugged lazily. “Perhaps you
never can.”

Darse closed his eyes, picturing the events
that would ensue back on Alatrice. When he opened them again, the
figure had disappeared. He stared about the glade, but no one was
there.

Darse again scanned the area and, in the
sweep, locked eyes with Brenol. The boy had just woken, and his
face was red and creased. He rose fidgeting, evidently
uncomfortable.

“I…” Brenol fumbled over his words. “I don’t
know what to say.”

Darse was not an impetuous man, but he still
found it difficult to not erupt in exasperation. There the youth
stood, barefoot, with maroon clay caked on face and copper hair
matted upon head. He had not given a single thought to anyone but
himself. Now, the consequences would be greater than either of them
could bear.

“You could apologize, son,” Darse said
behind gritted teeth.

“But I…” Brenol halted as quickly as he had
begun. He was fourteen and rash, but he loved Darse more than
anyone. Shame-faced, he flushed. “I’m…sorry.” He stared at his
soiled feet and felt the sharp inadequacy of words. The guilt that
had dogged his heels in the canal was nothing compared to the
torture of this moment.

“I forgive you,” Darse replied, but there
was no relief in his voice. He found Brenol’s eyes. “It’s not safe
here.” He glanced around for the sly figure. “We have to find a way
to get you back.” The menacing dream-voice resounded in his ears.
It had sought the boy. It had known his
name.

Brenol’s spine twitched as he recalled his
own brush with a strange voice in the cave, but he quickly shook it
away as nonsense. “Darsey. I don’t know what you’re talking about,”
the boy insisted. “Look at this place! No one is around!
And
I am with you. There is nothing wrong. You’ve been invited! Let me
stay with you.”

Darse’s fingers gripped his belt. “Bren… I
know you don’t understand right now, but I need you to trust me.
I’m not just trying to get rid of you. I’m not. I need to know this
place is safe before I can bring you here. And I couldn’t just slip
you away from your mother to leave her to face the scrutarni and an
inquiry.” Darse’s eyes narrowed on him solemnly. “It will not go
well for her. No, Bren. It isn’t time yet. I have to take you back.
I have to.”

“No.”

“No?” Darse raised his eyebrows, felt the
surge of emotion rising, and braced himself for the fight.

“She doesn’t care about me. You know it.
You
say you love me, but then why are you so willing to
leave me?” Brenol had begun with the intention of using a new
argument, but saying the words out loud brought the truth of them
to his core. The boy felt raw, as if his soul had been dragged
behind a horse’s plow for the space of a day’s labor.

Darse thought back to the previous night.
Can Brenol not see that this is about more than him? That this
is my heritage and life? And still—that I even go
for
him?
To hopefully make a place for him?

Orbits of weariness seemed to sink deep into
Darse’s bones. When he spoke, his words came out with a shudder
that could not be concealed. “Bren, I’ll come back to Alatrice with
you. I won’t stay here in Massada if we can find a way back.” His
back slumped in acceptance. Yes, he felt old indeed.

Brenol stilled. “You’d do that?” he asked.
His stomach suddenly soured at the thought of this man living out
his days atop the portal that would likely close forever with his
death.

“Of course. I don’t think that I
should
, but yes, I would.”