The Land's Whisper (48 page)

“What makes you so sure?”

“At first it was just a hunch, you know? The
look Deniel gave me before I blacked out just made me wonder and
wonder. If someone could have put a hundred messages into a single
look… But then…then I saw it. I saw the memory of him in the cave.
Because I
was
him.”

Darse was quiet for a moment,
considering.

Brenol’s hand reached out as if to caress
Colette’s, but he yanked it back in a sudden wave of
self-consciousness. He stared at both his palms. “I understand a
lot more…and it’s hard to say out loud. I feel like the words are
just stuck in me.”

“Ok,” Darse replied gently. “Take your
time.”

After several minutes, Brenol finally spoke.
“Jerem stole some of Deniel’s memories.”

Darse’s lips parted in unease. He heard
Jerem’s words in the cave again—yes, he had feared as much. His
thoughts prodded through these queer ideas, but there seemed too
great a multitude to truly wade through at the moment. He focused
his attention again on the youth. Brenol was pale and looked close
to squirming out of his very skin.

“Deniel killed Jerem,” Brenol blurted.

“You know this?”

“I was Deniel.”

“But how? And how did he die too?”

Brenol dismissed the questions with a swipe
of the hand, and his eyes hovered back over the wisp of a woman.
“Will you stay with her if I have another memory take me? I don’t
want her to be alone.”

Darse hesitantly bobbed his head in assent.
“Yes, I will…” Again, he stared at his friend. Finally, he spoke,
“What are you thinking about?”

“I…” Brenol’s lip quivered slightly. Several
minutes passed. The boy then sighed softly, and words floated out
with it. “I’m ashamed.”

Darse waited for Brenol to go on of his own
accord. When he did not, he nudged him mildly. “Ashamed?”

He nodded again. His eyes refused to move
from the floor, and his voice was strained. “I haven’t done a
single thing to help anyone. I came over here because I wanted to
come. I made us take the path in Selet that led to Fingers. I
didn’t save you from Fingers. I didn’t even want to save this girl
because it might mean I’d have to give up power… I failed on the
island. I didn’t do a thing. And what I
did
do was all
wrong.

“And now this man, Deniel, he saved me, he
saved Colette, he saved you… He actually thought good thoughts and
felt good things and…and…he died to save her! He cared about
strangers! I’m nothing compared to him. I thought I was better.
I
thought I was better.” He laughed bitterly as he spoke the
final sentence.

Darse’s face was grim but understanding.
There was truth there, certainly, but it was framed in the wrong
manner.

“So is pitying yourself going to change
that?”

His words had the effect of a shove into an
icy pond. Brenol gasped softly. His eyes met Darse’s golden
stare.

“Yes. Yes, you cheated your way here. You’ve
pushed for what you wanted. You couldn’t save me from Fingers. You
couldn’t fight Jerem in the cave. You’ve been self-focused. These
things are true.” He softened his gaze. “But it doesn’t mean you’re
worthless. It doesn’t mean you’re evil. You’re simply growing and
learning that you’re a mere person in this world among worlds… And
Bren, recognizing the goodness in another doesn’t take away from
what you have.”

“But he
was
better.”

“So?”

“So? Now he’s dead! He died to save me, and
I didn’t deserve it.” The boy’s head sank down. “I don’t deserve
it.”

Darse spoke firmly. “Bren, this wasn’t your
decision. You don’t get to choose who lives. It was just what
happened. What you
do
have control of is what happens now
and what you choose to do. Are you going to pity yourself for the
rest of your days? Are you going to continue to make this about
yourself or finally stop and work for something better? Bren, he
gave you something. He gave you a good look at who you are and a
good look at who you’d prefer to be.” The two locked eyes across
Colette’s bed. “So do something about it.”

Brenol felt all his firmly held tenets
collapse inside him.
Is it really that simple? I can choose who
I want to be?

A gentle tap on the door broke the intensity
of the moment, and a smiling umbu scuffled into the room. His voice
was kind but authoritative. “Time to get back to your room. I’ve
got some special tea and medicine for you, as well as a good rest.”
He beckoned for Brenol to follow.

Brenol began to protest but then stopped. He
turned his head to the side and looked at Darse sardonically. He
nodded to himself and took a deep breath.

Then Brenol surprised Darse. He lit up,
smiled genuinely, and laughed. “All right. I’m coming. Darse, will
you please stay here if you can?” The boy asked gently, but the
desire in his voice was unmistakable.

It was a plea Darse was not about to deny.
He nodded. Pride in the boy turning into a man welled up in him. He
reached over to place a hand on Brenol’s shoulder.

Brenol nodded and then followed the umbu
obediently.

The sacrifice of blood is indeed the greatest sign
of love.

-Genesifin

Darse waited beside Colette. For hours he
divided his time between the small pane of window, pressing his
nose close to the cool glass, and the chair by Colette’s bed,
gazing down on the young woman. Beauty limned her person just as it
did her mother’s, but she was as delicate as a wilting flower, pale
and obscenely thin. He doubted he could have discerned her sum of
orbits had he not already known it. Emaciation has a way of turning
every face into a sad mixture of age and youth.

I can’t believe we found her.

It still seemed impossible.
So much time
had passed, and so many people have died.

He placed his hand upon her cheek and welled
with an affection similar to his fatherly love for Brenol, yet it
tinged with an even greater urge to protect.

“I will look after you, Colette. I
will.”

Several hours elapsed before Darse was
shaken from his thoughts by an opening door. A man clicked in with
two attendants fast upon his heels. Tall and orderly, he was
dressed in simple clothing—khaki pants and shirt with a light blue
cloak buttoned securely up to his neck—and his skin was the color
of a bronzed half-grenio. He had a confident and youthful demeanor,
with a lean body and oval face. His discerning blue eyes suggested
a keen mind as they took in the room and Darse with a swift glance
and finally rested down upon the young woman. From that moment on,
he was engrossed wholly in her care.

Darse immediately liked him.

It was intriguing to watch his labors. The
man’s movements were sure, and his hands worked with the skillful
agility that comes with time. He gently stroked Colette’s hand and
forehead, opening her eyelids and caressing her cheeks faintly with
his long fingers. It took several minutes, but Darse finally
noticed it: the man had a glow. He was illuminated with a light
similar to the Queen’s, a light that Darse had not noticed at first
because the cobalt cloak had muted the sheen. His light did not
elicit the same wonder as Isvelle’s had but rather comfort and
ease. Darse’s chest suddenly lifted; to look upon this stranger
lightened the heart.

The healer called his attendants,
gesticulating and muttering hushed orders for teas to be brewed and
medicines to be concocted. The youngest, with skin as pale as
ivory, hastily set to work.

After all was in order, the man exhaled
deeply and raised his glance to Darse. He clicked lightly over and
peered at him with interested eyes.

Standing face to face, Darse saw that the
man was much older than he had initially believed. Smile wrinkles
crinkled around his eyes, and his sandy hair was dappled gray.

“The girl… you found Colette, yes?”

Much lurked within the deep blue eyes that
Darse could not decipher.

“Yes. I am Darse.”

“Darse. Well met. I am Dresden.” He allowed
himself a somber smile. “Darse, I find it’s best to be honest in
these matters. Colette is deeply ill. She will die if we do not
find her cure. It will take much to save her, but we shall know our
chances of success by morning.”

“How? I don’t understand.”

Dresden’s face fell into a grimace. “She has
endured much. But the lunitata are strong. We shall see… I must
work now.” He patted Darse’s arm kindly and returned to the
attendants who had begun trickling back with their prepared
medicines and salves.

~

Throughout the day and into the evening,
Darse watched the skilled hands of Dresden work upon the
unconscious Colette. It was agony to watch, and had he not promised
Brenol, he would have gladly taken his leave. A strong love had
nestled into his heart for the girl, and he could endure no
thoughts of her demise, let alone of carrying such tidings back to
her mother. The hours scratched by until, in the late shadows of
night, sleep snatched him.

~

Darse opened his golden eyes to find that
dawn had already made an entrance. Dresden peacefully slumbered in
a chair by the window, securely wrapped in his cobalt cloak.
Colette was not awake, but color now flushed her cheeks, and her
breathing was slow and even.

A young woman in green attended to her. She
dipped a cloth into a steaming bowl of eggshell-white liquid, wrung
the towel of excess, and rubbed the damp fabric upon Colette’s
chest. The scent of the steaming mixture was unfamiliar, although
pleasantly musky. Darse inhaled deeply, rose, and approached the
attendant.

“My name is Darse.”

She smiled easily, now applying the soft
cloth to Colette’s neck and forehead. “I’m Marion.” She was plump,
likely thirty orbits, and her nimble fingers moved about her work
naturally. With her light hair and big blue eyes, she looked like a
doll—rosy cheeks and all.

“She seems a bit better this morning… What
did Dresden say?”

She glanced over to the resting man with sun
warming his features. “Much. She is healing. I’ll let him explain
the details when he rises, but the treatments appear to be
working.”

Darse exhaled in relief yet felt his knees
soften unexpectedly. He stepped sideways to lean against the wall
and allow the cool surface to steady him. He took in a full breath,
bewildered.
How can I love this girl so much? I don’t even know
her…
He straightened as his strength returned, and he
hesitantly tried his feet.
She’s going to be ok. She’ll
live.

Marion went about her business, perfectly at
ease; attending Dresden, she had witnessed far worse. As Darse
stepped forward, she resumed the conversation as though there had
never been an interruption. “He’s a great doctor. I don’t think
that most understand the fullness of his skill.” Marion’s cheeks
flushed warmly with pride.

“Where’s he from?” Darse asked softly. It
was strange to be talking about a man only five strides away, but
curiosity pushed aside his social unease.

Marion’s lips curled up into a light smile.
“The legend is that he has no home but the water. Many say he’s
really a maralane who can grow legs at will. It is silliness of
course, but people will say just about anything when they witness
someone or something they don’t understand… No,” she said, shaking
her head, “Dresden is not from Ziel, at least no more than the rest
of us are.” Marion’s eyes sparkled. “He is a lugazzi baby.
Extraordinary, but still a lugazzi baby.” Her face wrinkled
suddenly as if recalling something. “Or maybe you refer to the
light?”

“I did notice that. It’s like the queen in
Veronia. But different.”

Her head nodded vehemently. “He is the same
kind. Lunitata
.
”

Darse’s brows raised in curiosity. She
laughed happily. “Then you don’t know. The lunitata are a race.
It’s almost as if a light within them shines out, and it can grow
or lessen. Brighter as they become more alive. Although many will
argue how a person can possibly do such a thing.”

“Become more alive?”

“Yes. I don’t claim to understand it myself.
But the great ones are the brightest. Dresden, Syril, Isvelle. The
ones who are lost are mere glimmers.” Her eyes traced back to the
sleeping young woman. “I do not know.” She tossed her hands up in
an expression of surrender.

“Will she grow brighter?” Darse asked,
peering at Colette.

Marion face fell in pity. “We can hope.”

“I didn’t notice Dresden’s light until after
he took off his coat,” Darse said after a moment.

“Ah,” she said, smiling. “They claim it an
immodesty to show their chest. It would be like baring their souls.
Or so they say,” she added with a lift of her shoulder.

Darse reviewed his memories with this new
information. Yes, Isvelle had done the same. Always fabric to the
neck, although little could hide the glow that emanated from every
bare span of her fair skin.

“How long has Dresden been a doctor?”

“Oh, forever.” Marion poured boiling water
into a small silver bowl. The steam danced up in the air above, and
she let fall a shower of red leaves that crunched between her two
moving palms. The room flooded with the fragrance of rich, sharp,
flowery tea.

“Dresden studied under his father and anyone
who knew any art in healing. They say he wanted to make his own
mother well the day he came out of her womb.” Her laugh sounded
like the merry tinkling of a bell. “But really, Dresden has studied
for orbits and orbits and orbits. He labored with books and
teachers and patients since childhood. From what I know, he decided
very early to make this work an art.”

She paused, allowing her gaze to rest upon
the doctor. Her eyes glowed with admiration. “The difference
between him and many other competent healers is that he has the
gift… When he sees an illness, he knows intuitively what the
treatment must be. It’s all very simple to him, as though he sees
the missing puzzle piece and knows its corners and curves
precisely. Others are left groping for what they have seen work in
the past, but Dresden can approach new diseases and know what will
heal them.”