by Sharon Hinck
Eventually his eyes lit with hope. “If I keep her from the lake, she’ll remember she cares about me?”
I nodded. “There are others who aren’t firmly in the Gardener’s grasp. A pony tender in the red village was injured and missed a few convenings. Now she’s begun to care for others. She even took in the abandoned baby we found. And there’s Chanic, an elderly woman outside the blue village. She knows the truth.”
Morra rubbed the back of his neck and looked at Brantley. “And you? What be you saying of this?”
Brantley’s crooked grin in my direction warmed me to my toes. “She always speaks the truth. Even to her own cost. You can trust her.”
The young man glanced back to the darkening void of the lake. “If the two of you don’t seek the Gardener, why are you remaining here?”
Brantley pulled out his whistle and trilled a quick melody. “I was calling my stenella.”
Morra bounced like a youngling. “Will she return?”
“That’s our hope.”
My eyelids dragged downward, and I stifled a yawn.
“I’ll take first watch,” Brantley said quietly. I longed to be the unselfish and heroic sort who would volunteer, but exhaustion won out. I gratefully agreed, then burrowed into my cloak and let sleep capture me.
The next morning, Morra joined us in our vigil at the shore. I sat a little distance from the edge, while Morra whittled a branch and dangled his feet in the milky blue lake. Brantley whistled his call into the water several more times. As the subsun chased its bigger companion across the sky, dread began to chase my hope away. If Navar didn’t return, it meant our world had drifted too far from this one. Would I ever again see the beloved people of Windswell, or the familiar shops of Middlemost, or the unified dancers creating beauty in the center ground? My chest contracted, and I suppressed a whimper.
“What’s wrong?” Brantley left the shoreline and settled next to me. He was far too alert to my shifting moods. I wanted to remain strong for his sake. Still, the offer to unburden my heavy thoughts was too alluring.
“If Navar doesn’t return, we’ll probably never see our world again.” My voice tightened with the despair I attempted to squeeze back into my throat.
He pressed his lips together, worry etching his brow. Then he leaned back on his elbows. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that. With the task the Maker gave you, I was guessing we’d both die soon anyway.”
My jaw gaped, until I saw the twinkle in his eye. A nervous chuckle rose from my chest, then a deeper laugh welled up. Soon we were both laughing, rolling on the soft daygrass. I clutched my stomach, gasping for breath. “You’re right.”
Nearby, Morra stood and stared down at us. “And you be claiming that the Gardener addles our minds? Mayhap you be the addled ones.”
Somehow that struck me as funny, and I collapsed into more peals of laughter. When I caught my breath, I patted the earth beside me. “I’m sorry. When everything is uncertain, sometimes it helps to laugh.”
Morra sank down and showed me the results of his woodwork. He’d shaped the thick branch and hollowed it into a bowl. The lip carried precise scallops, and the outside was decorated with a carving of a man and a woman.
My fingers traced the images. “This is beautiful.”
He shrugged one shoulder. “A pledging bowl. One of the elders be telling us they once used these in the village. But that was in the time before—long before my remembering. Even before the Gardener.”
I passed the bowl to Brantley, who examined the handiwork with a raised brow. “I’ve never seen the like. You have a gift, youngling.”
Morra shrugged again, but color rose on his face. “Needs oil from a persea skin to give it polish.” He retrieved his bowl and strode up the hill to the trees.
“I’ll be right back,” Brantley said. He sprang to his feet and followed Morra. The men talked earnestly for a few minutes, then Brantley returned and played his signal into the water again.
I continued staring at the surface, willing something to happen. A splash sounded, but it was only a curious copper fish that quickly submerged again. Across from where we sat, a ripple stirred the surface, but as reeds near the shore bent, I realized it was only the wind.
My somber mood returned.
When Brantley settled beside me again, I swallowed back my worried sigh and forced a smile. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
He stared hard at my face, then narrowed his eyes. “You’re worrying.”
“Aren’t you?”
“Sure, but with you, I don’t understand it.”
What was he thinking? That I didn’t have a right to be worried?
He tapped my nose with one light finger. “After what I saw you do when you confronted the Order, I’m surprised you’d have any room for doubts. If the Maker can conquer the High Saltar and cleave the island, He can certainly get us back home.”
Shame heated my cheeks. How quickly I forgot. “You’re right. He’s shown Himself faithful so many times. If I could stay in His presence, maybe the fear and doubt wouldn’t return.”
Brantley drew a slow breath, and his gaze took in the forest, the smooth hillside, the lake, the suns above. “Isn’t He present here?”
“Of course. It’s just—” I straightened my spine. “Wait. I thought you doubted.”
He took my hand and drew aimless circles on my palm. “I’ve been angry at the Maker. Confused by the turns life has taken. But Carya, I’m a herder.”
I tilted my head. What did that have to do with the Maker? “I know that.”
He smiled. “Not really. Not what it fully means. I’ve spent days alone at sea. Do you think I haven’t had to grapple with One who is big enough to set the currents in motion? I didn’t doubt He rode the skies and the waves. I only doubted He cared for me.”
Squeezing his hand, I leaned closer. “He does.”
“Maybe. I’ve seen Him care for you, so that’s something. I do have a question, though.”
“About the Maker?” I wished again I had the Maker’s letter with me. I longed to offer Brantley reassurance, but felt little qualified to explain anything about lofty truths.
He shook his head. “About the Gardener. I’ve been thinking about what you saw in your vision. You said that the people here made a bargain with the Gardener.”
I nodded, warmed to know he’d been listening. “That’s how he’s had the right to control them.”
“But I didn’t. I didn’t give him permission to numb me or change me.”
I sank back, reliving the night of the convening. A flurry of fighting, of fear, of desperate dancing. The horror of Brantley’s cold and still body.
“He meant to kill you,” I said, forming tentative thoughts. “But the Maker limited the damage.”
Brantley’s lips swished side to side as if tasting the notion. “Then why didn’t the Maker stop the Gardener from doing any harm?”
I blinked. “I don’t know.” At first my voice was small and apologetic, but then a giddy realization flooded through me. “I don’t know. There is so much my little dancer brain doesn’t understand about the Maker. But He’s let me know Him enough to know He’s good. He’s wise. He’s powerful. So I think”—I met Brantley’s searching gaze—“I can be at peace not knowing.”
Brantley’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t look away. He seemed to see into my soul. Then his lips quirked. “You’re almost making sense, dancer.”
I snorted. “Go catch us some fish.”
He sobered. “Would be easier with Navar’s help.”
As shadows darkened under his eyes, I regretted mentioning fishing. Brantley and Navar had been trusted partners for much of his life. I squinted at the water where the two suns shot glare into my eyes. Something stirred. My breath caught in my throat. “Look!”
The disturbance on the lake’s surface made my insides churn as much as the water. Friend or foe?
I lurched to my feet, gripping my cane like a weapon. Brantley didn’t
indulge in my level of caution. He raced to the shoreline.
“Wait!” That man was far too eager to race into danger. And he knew I wasn’t fast enough to pull him back.
He ignored my call and kept running.
A long neck stretched out of the water and scanned in all directions. I’d know those floppy ears and limpid eyes anywhere. Navar! My lungs filled, and I let out a whoop as she surged into full view, splashing her fins in a joyful welcome. A school of copper fish shaded the water around her as if she wore a sparkling cape.
Brantley dove cleanly from the tangleroot and swam with strong strokes. In seconds, he clambered onto her back. She chirped and chittered and spun in happy circles. Morra heard the commotion and ran closer but hesitated just behind me. He rocked forward and back like a toddler seeing a puppy for the first time, unsure whether to give in to fear or delight, and hovering somewhere between both impulses.
I squeezed his arm. “She won’t hurt you. Come on.”
We walked to the shore, and I dropped onto the edge, dangling my feet in the water. Navar swam giddy dashes across the lake, while Brantley stood astride, glorying in her speed. As they turned our direction, I waved. Navar chirruped and zoomed toward us. She butted a few fish as she approached, tossing them over our heads and onto the land.
The youth squeaked and stumbled back. When Navar pulled to a stop inches away, her wake splashed me, and I tasted the sweet citrus of the sea. I laughed. “It’s good to see you too.”
She lowered her muzzle, pressing her leathery skin against my chest. I hugged her neck, breathing in the clean scent of vast ocean currents, running my hands over her wet hide. The frayed leather harness still surrounded her chest, but I couldn’t see the jar we had carefully attached days—or was it years?—ago. My heartbeat caught and fluttered. Had our message made it to Meriel? Was the missing jar a sign they’d noticed it and taken it?
Brantley crouched and ran his fingers along the leather strap, then plunged into the lake and swam under Navar. He stayed beneath the surface too long for my comfort. When he emerged, he shook his hair back and lifted the jar.
My pulse caught again. Oh no! No one had seen our letter. Even though I had braced myself for that possibility, I really hadn’t believed we’d be trapped here for the rest of our lives. The fear had been too huge to fully confront.
Dearest Maker, please tell me we’ll see our world again one day. The pain of loss twisted so hard in my gut that I couldn’t breathe.
Brantley tossed me the jar and levered himself onto the shore. “I’ll need to redo the harness, it’s tangled and chafing her skin.” But he waited, watching me.
I turned the clay vessel in my hands. Fine cracks scored the sides.
“I wonder how far away Meriel is now. If Navar couldn’t reach it—” I pressed my lips together, pushing back words of doubt that crashed against my teeth.
Brantley snatched the jar from my hands and pried open the lid. “You’re mighty quick to jump to conclusions.” He upended the jar. Water poured out.
Perhaps the jar was empty after all, and an empty jar meant hope. Someone had read our message. Even now, the dancers could be hard at work, their bare feet guiding our world with their patterns and keeping this island in view. If we ever found a way through the barrier trees at the rim, our home might be in reach.
Then a soggy parchment fell to the tangleroot. I stifled a gasp before picking up the paper.
“Is it our message?” Brantley asked.
I hated hearing the low note of despair in his normally determined voice. When I unrolled the parchment, ink smeared across the page, but a few words stood out. “. . . hurry . . . can’t . . . farewell.”
My pulse thundered in my ears, and vertigo made me sway. “It’s not our message to the saltars. They received our note. They answered.”
“What do they say?” Brantley blotted seawater from his face and torso with his woven tunic, muscles coiled as if ready for action.
I spread the page in my lap, then my shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. Water ruined the ink. I think they answered that we should hurry home, that they can’t fight the currents any longer.”
“What?” Brantley snatched the paper from me and glared at it, demanding it offer up its mysteries. One callused finger traced the few legible words. His jaw flexed, and he turned away. “Well, then. At least we know.”
My fingers crept into his hand, and he squeezed. Our message to Meriel had been the last fragile tether to our old world, to our hope. Now even that was lost. Brantley’s response was matter-of-fact and calm—at least outwardly. I couldn’t allow my spirit to shatter. He would not be the only strong person in our partnership. I leaned my head against his shoulder. “We still have each other. And the Maker.”
A low growl rumbled in his chest. “Seems He sends us on some odd paths.” But there was no real hostility in the statement.
I managed a watery smile. “You told me once that the less traveled trails lead to the most interesting treasures.”
“I believe I was referring to hidden berry bushes or undiscovered flint deposits. Not new worlds and murky quests.”
I patted his arm. “I know.”
Morra strolled along the shoreline, watching Navar glide around the lake. In spite of her glee in seeing us again, she seemed agitated. A breeze stirred overhead and made its way down toward the water. The stenella spread her side fins and leapt, but the wind was too weak to hold her airborne. Still, the sight of her full graceful body above the surface made Morra fall to his knees and clasp a hand over his mouth. As the light hit her fins, they shimmered with iridescent shades of pink.
Beside me, Brantley stared hard at the tangleroot rimming the lake, his whole body bent like an old man’s. Our world was gone. Our families and villages and everything familiar. Emptiness gnawed like hunger, and even Brantley’s warmth beside me couldn’t soothe. “All right,” I said. “Let’s get it out of our systems. What will you miss the most?”
He pulled away and frowned at me. “Is this a good idea?”
“One time only. We need to grieve so we can move forward.” I thrust my chin forward in challenge.
His gaze moved upward, unfocused, as he gathered memories. “The low bush berries that grow by the river. Orianna, Bri, my mother. The meeting house at my village. Riding in after a successful day of herding and watching the children laugh as they gather copper fish.” His throat clogged. “The cottage I planned to build us on the creek under the willows.” He squeezed my hand. “And you?”
My breath hitched. I should never have suggested this stupid memorial to all we had lost. But now that he’d shared, I would too. “I know it’s crazy, but I’ll miss the smooth white floors of the Order. The rhythm of the drums. But I’ll also miss the sea. Standing on the edge of the world and seeing the ocean stretch into forever as the suns rise.” My eyes stung. How could I possibly cope with losing my friends, my village, my entire world? “You’re right, this was a bad idea.”
He gently held my chin and turned my face toward him. “You had the courage to leave everything you knew in the Order and start a new life. This is our world now, and we’ll build a life here. We can do this.”
I blinked back my tears, determined to match his bravery. “Whatever happens, I’m glad you’re here. That we’re together. You’re right. We will build a new life here.”
He pressed his forehead against mine. “Now and forever.”
Our forever might not last very long. But it existed in this precious moment, and I savored the warmth of Brantley’s skin, the strength of his arms, the wet curls at his temples.
“What’s she doing?” Morra called from a short distance away on the shoreline, pointing to Navar.
We pulled apart. The stenella was diving and reemerging, bobbing and making anxious chittering sounds.
“I don’t know.” Brantley stood and whistled to her. “She does this when a storm is near, but the sky is clear. Some other danger approaching?”
She surfaced near us, her head weaving a subtle dance even as she floated beside the tangleroot.
“I’ll fix the harness.” Brantley plunged into the water again. It took several minutes to struggle with wet knots in the leather harness. He also ran his hands over every part of her hide, checking for injuries. From what I could see, her smooth skin was unmarred, except for the scar from an old wound inflicted by a soldier of the Order.
Brantley climbed onto her back and leaned into her neck, whispering something to her.
I bit my lip. “Is she all right?”
She flipped a fin and eased along the shore. Brantley stepped off, his forehead wrinkled. “I don’t know. I’ve never seen her like this.”
The mat of tangleroot bobbed, and I stretched my arms out for balance. As we watched, Navar strained her neck as tall as she could, her floppy ears dangling above our heads. She gave another squeaky call, then dove.
The splash of her tail fin was the last thing we saw.
“Where is she going?”
Brantley rubbed the back of his neck. “I have no idea.”
“Are you going to call her back?”
He glanced at the sky where the primary sun had already lowered past the tree line. “Not right now. Let’s head back to our campsite before nightfall. Unless you plan to confront the Gardener.”
I shivered. “We have to keep Morra away from him.” And I didn’t want Brantley anywhere near that danger again. If I had to see his eyes vacant and hear cold and uncaring rejection from his lips again, I would never survive.
Morra sat cross-legged close to the water, chin resting on his fists. He focused on the water, gaze darting toward any bubble caused by an insect’s passage. “Will she be returning?”
Brantley sat beside Morra and clapped him on the back. He pulled on his tunic and boots. “She’ll come if I signal her, but I don’t plan to for now. Let’s go cook the fish she gave us.”
The promise of a roasted dinner made coaxing Morra away from the lake much easier. We settled into camp again and watched the subsun brush its last strokes of color throughout the basin of the hills and lake.