World Whisperer

by Rachel Devenish Ford

  This tunic was deep purple, woven with gold thread. It had a sash that Auntie tied high, on Isika's rib cage. She looked at the mirror and saw a transformed person, a girl, really, not someone who looked like a ranger or seeker. She took a deep breath, looking at her face. She saw her mother's face in it, and also, she supposed, her grandmother's, the woman whose portrait hung on the wall in the palace. She saw the face of the queen in her own. And she bent her head then, because she realized how undeserving she was, how undeserving they must think her, to be the daughter of the daughter of the queen when she had spent her life as a Worker, feeding the poison of the goddesses. The Maweel had spent their lives living in the way of the Shaper, fighting the Great Waste. For a minute, she didn't know how she could walk before them, but she dared a glance at herself again and saw Auntie behind her, smiling at her with glistening eyes, and her spine straightened. She was Isika. She deserved to be herself, no more, no less.

  They went out to the living space, joined later by Ben, who was bathed and fresh as well, in a white shirt and blue pants.

  His face was so different from Isika's, with his straight nose and light brown eyes. She wondered whether they would ever find out who their father was.

  "Ready?" she asked her brother.

  "Do we have to walk?" he asked. "Because it's breaking my former rule against walking. But yes, I guess I'm ready." He looked longingly at the other two children, who had been given a free pass for the day and were curled up on cushions in the sunlight, playing with the kittens that seemed to be everywhere.

  They walked out to the road, and Isika gazed back at the little house once more, then turned her face toward the palace. At the steps, she nodded at the guards, who stood aside and bowed a short bow as they passed. Isika was startled; they hadn't done that before. The palace hummed at her again when she entered. She put a hand on the wall briefly, looking up at the tall ceiling, but she didn't feel anything else, only the faint humming. When she and Ben reached the great room, she heard loud voices, which quieted the moment they were announced.

  They entered the room. This time Andar and Laylit sat on wide thrones that were elevated above the rest of the room. They were tall and imposing, wearing heavily embroidered robes, the thin circlets of the regents on their heads. Ivram stood beside them, and nearby, Karah sat with Ivy. Jabari was slouched on one of the couches and Gavi paced on one side of the great room. Ben and Isika bowed to the regents as they entered the room, the long bow of the Maweel, where one knee was bent and a hand raised, palm up.

  "Brother, wouldn't it be better if we all sat?" Ivram said, and Andar looked at him for a long moment, then inclined his head.

  "Let us be comfortable," he said, gesturing at the sitting area. The others waited until the regents were seated on the largest cushion, then seated themselves. Ben and Isika sat together, and she reached out and gripped his hand. Jabari sat to the left of his father, and Ivram, Karah, and Ivy sat together. Ivy winked at Isika. She looked breathtaking in her robes, but she also looked as though she wanted to leap out of her chair and run around the room. Her hands and feet were never still. Gavi paced for a moment longer, then settled on a cushion next to Ben.

  Isika frowned. "Where is Aria?" she asked. "Shouldn't she be here as well?"

  "Aria is resting," Andar said. "She has been excused."

  Isika looked down at her lap, intimidated but annoyed. It didn't seem right that Aria wasn't there.

  "Ivram has told us," Andar began, "of the events of your journey. Some surprising, some shocking. We know who Ivram believes your mother to be," Ivram shifted in his seat, his face cloudy, and the regent held his hand out. "Wait, Ivram, let me finish. I understand we are in your debt for returning everyone safely," he went on. "But apparently you led us into a trap made by a demon, which put our people in danger, so that we even lost one of our rangers," he added, and Isika felt the color leave her face.

  "She is our people!" Ivram interjected, and Isika saw that Jabari's face was troubled.

  "Ivram would like to install you as our queen immediately," Laylit said, and the coldness in her voice sent chills down Isika's back.

  "Laylit, I didn't say anything like that," Ivram said.

  "Regent Mother, respectfully, without Isika, I would have been carried back into the city on a pyre," Ivy said, her eyes flashing.

  "But what is this in her?" Jabari asked. "Is it gift or demon magic?"

  Isika flinched and stared at him again. He wouldn't meet her eyes, but he went on.

  "I consider Isika a friend," he said more softly. "And Ben too. But they were raised in demon temples and I don't understand how that hasn't left a mark."

  Andar held his hands out in a supplication for quiet.

  "We have many questions," he said. "We can see that you have a strong gift, perhaps the strongest we have seen in some time. But because of where you come from, we cannot be certain of it being a gift we can trust—"

  Ivram interrupted, his voice like steel. "Andar, Mugunta doesn't gift in this way, he steals from others and feeds power only." He threw up his hands. "It's as though you haven't read the stories."

  Andar frowned at his advisor and Isika shrank into her seat. She didn't want to be at the center of an argument between the leaders of this beautiful country.

  "I know as much as you do about Maween," Andar said. "And I know things can emerge from the Great Waste that are as beautiful as they are poisonous, things we have never before imagined. Therefore I declare what will be."

  They all sat up a little straighter.

  "For the next year, Isika and Benayeem will live with us in our city. They will learn our ways and apprentice with our masters. They will attend school and learn the gifts and magic of the Uncreated One. At the end of a year, we will reconvene to discuss their future."

  There was silence. Isika felt as though she could finally breathe. What he had just described was exactly what she wanted to do. She lifted her head a little higher. She would be able to read the books she wanted to read.

  "May I say something?" she asked, her voice quavering a little. She sat up straighter again, determined that not to break down in front of them.

  "Please speak," Andar answered.

  "Thank you," she said, and went on. "I have no desire to be a queen. I doubt I ever will. I want to live here with Auntie and learn how to make cups so thin you can measure them against the moons on your fingernails. I want to eat at her table and take care of my brother and sister. But I want you all to know," and she made her back as tall as she could, "that my gift is not from Mugunta. I have dreamed of the Shaper, and I will never bow down to a demon again. That is all I take exception to, and Jabari," he looked up, startled, "how could you? You know me. That is all. May we be excused?"

  Andar bowed his head to her. Ivram looked troubled as she turned and walked away from them, Benayeem just behind her. But she couldn't leave that place fast enough and she didn't have any desire to go there again.

  Outside, the air was clean and sweet, the flowers were bright, and they had nothing to do except be children in this beautiful place. Isika felt happier than she ever had, and she looked up and whispered to her mother, telling her that they had come to a good place, finally, and Amani could rest knowing it. Isika reached out for Ben's hand and squeezed it, and together they walked home.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  I can't even take a step into a page about acknowledgments without talking about my incredible, patient, supportive, long-suffering husband. His encouragement for this book has propelled it from the beginning. Thank you Chinua. I am in love with you forever.

  Thanks as well to Kai and Kenya, my kids and best, most enthusiastic beta readers. Kenya gushed about the book, while Kai merely keeps pressuring me about the next one. (It's on its way, I promise!)

  Thank you, Sara J. Henry, for your astute, sharp-eyed editing skills and for your support, and thanks Adam Heine for reading and giving me great input.

  Thank you, Rowan Maximil
ian for reading and loving this book. Thank you, Leaf and Naomi, for the crazy support you show a girl who likes to write. Thanks, Mom and Dad for being so encouraging about my writing for so many years.

  And thanks most of all to the readers of my blog, for being so kind and full of awesome. I really, really love you!

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Newsletter

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  Bio

  Rachel Devenish Ford is the wife of one Superstar Husband and the mother of five incredible children. Originally from British Columbia, Canada, she spent seven years working with street youth in California before moving to India to help start a meditation center in the Christian tradition. She can be found eating street food or smelling flowers in many cities in Asia. She currently lives in Northern Thailand, inhaling books, morning air, and seasonal fruit.

  Other works by Rachel Devenish Ford:

  The Eve Tree

  A Traveler's Guide to Belonging

  Trees Tall As Mountains: The Journey Mama Writings- Book One

  Oceans Bright With Stars: The Journey Mama Writings- Book Two

  A Home as Wide as the Earth: The Journey Mama Writings: Book Three

  Path of Springs (World Whisperer Book 2)

  Reviews

  Recommendations and reviews are such an important part of the success of a book. If you enjoyed this book, please take the time to leave a review.

  Don't be afraid of leaving a short review! Even a couple lines will help and will overwhelm the author with waves of gratitude.

  Contact

  Email: racheldevenishford@gmail.com

  Blog: http://journeymama.com

  Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/racheldevenishford

  Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/journeymama

  Instagram: http://instagram.com/journeymama

  OTHER WORKS

  Path of Springs is the Second book in the World Whisperer series, available on December 15, 2016. Read on for a sneak peek!

  Rachel Devenish Ford has spent ten years writing about life on her blog, Journey Mama. She has collected the best of these posts in the Journey Mama Writings series. If you love to know everything you wanted to know about authors and their children, you might like The Journey Mama Writing Series.

  Book One: Trees Tall as Mountains

  Book Two: Oceans Bright with Stars

  Book Three: A Home as Wide as the Earth

  If you like literary fiction, you might like A Traveler's Guide to Belonging.

  "A beautiful, beautiful book." -Sara J. Henry, Award-winning author of Learning to Swim

  Twenty-four-year-old Timothy is far from his home country of Canada when his new wife dies in childbirth. Stunned, he finds himself alone with his newborn son in the mountains of North India and no idea of what it means to be a father. He begins a journey through India with his baby, seeking understanding for loss and life and the way the two intertwine.

  Set among the stunning landscapes, train tracks, and winding alleys of India, A Traveler's Guide to Belonging is a story about fathers and sons, losing and finding love, and a traveler's quest for meaning.

  Path of Springs

  World Whisperer, Book Two

  Chapter 1

  Western Worker village, Shore of the Great Sea

  The first time she saw the giant bird was the day she gave birth to her baby boy. Jerutha paced, gasping for air, while pain like hot knives spread from the lowest part of her belly to the very tips of her fingers. She walked the small birthing room wildly, shoulders held against the pain, and took a deep breath.

  She tried humming as the spasm subsided. The birthing room she had prepared was peaceful at least. The herbs she had tied to the doorway released their gentle scent into the air. The walls were white and clean, and a few squares of sunshine fell across the simple mattress on the floor. She breathed. The ache in her heart hurt more than anything. She wanted her stepdaughter, Isika. She wanted her mother.

  She couldn't have either of them, and the old midwife wouldn't be much comfort, coming only at the end of her labor to help the baby into the world. Focus on the baby, she told herself. When she had her child in her arms, she wouldn't be so lonely. Now, though, she had no one except her husband, Nirloth, the old village priest. Not so long ago, the house had been full of life. But Nirloth's stepchildren—Isika, Benayeem, Ibba, and Kital—were gone, and she missed them desperately. Since they left, a gray haze had covered the house as Nirloth grew sicker. His death seemed imminent. He skipped many days of temple work, and the villagers grew nervous that the goddesses would retaliate in anger.

  Jerutha paced and swung her arms, preparing herself for the next wave of pain. What she would really like was to go into the forest to have her baby. Or to the sea. She could sit on its shores and let the pain drift out into the water. But she must stay in this room, alone until the midwife came. Another pain ripped through her and she gasped. She fumbled for the birthing ropes she had tied to the rafters, gripping them until her knuckles were white. The pain subsided, and she exhaled. The spasms were coming more quickly now. She whimpered, afraid. How could she do this alone? No one had ever told her just how much it would hurt.

  Just when her terror felt unbearable, there was a breath of sweet-smelling air and a bird landed in the birthing room doorway. Jerutha froze. The bird was massive, as black as midnight, though when it lifted its wings, its feathers gleamed like jewels, purple and red in the light. She couldn't move from fear. A strange sound, a hum overlaid with words, came from the bird, though Jerutha could not say how.

  "Don't be afraid," the bird said. "Rest."

  It sang a low, quiet song, and Jerutha's terror and loneliness eased until she was filled with warmth and comfort. She lay on the mattress and dozed between pains. When she woke, the bird was gone. The midwife arrived and she rose to grasp the birthing ropes and deliver her son into the world.

  The midwife checked the baby over silently. She bathed him, then Jerutha held her baby in her arms for the first time. A son. He moved his little mouth, searching for food, so she held him to her breast and he moved his face back and forth until he found her and latched on. She nursed him a long time, and when he seemed satisfied, she held him out in front of her. He opened his eyes and looked at her—a little mouse-bright creature, soft and new. She kissed him all over his face and marveled over his tiny body, his miniature hands and feet. A fleeting thought drifted through her mind. Who was the bird? How had he granted her this strange peace?

  Jerutha and her newborn son lay curled together for hours, feeding and sleeping. The old midwife went home after she brought Jerutha the day's food; a weak porridge, filled today with chopped green vegetables for strength. She was staring at the baby's perfect, sleeping face again when a shadow fell over her. She looked up, expecting to see Nirloth, but was startled to see four strange men, dressed in the robes of priests, standing on the ground of their courtyard. It was unspeakably rude to tread on another family's grounds except for extreme circumstances. Jerutha's heart beat rapidly as she covered herself.

  "Woman," one of the men said, and she shivered at the sound of his voice. "Dress yourself and attend us."

  "Lord," she said, because though she didn't know who he was, he was clearly a man of great power. "I have given birth to a new son, not five hours ago."

  "We have grave business with your husband and it cannot wait," the man said.

  "Oh, but he is very sick," Jerutha replied, her heart still tapping a rapid, terrified rhythm.

  "We know, and that is why it cannot wait. Please dress and attend us."

  They turned and walked toward the house, and Jerutha knew they would go to Nirloth whether or not she was there. Wanting to spare him, she sat up and pulled her heavy outer dress over her head, wincing at the stiffness in her muscles, the pain in her abdomen. She may not have felt much love for the old
man, but pity twisted in her gut as she thought of him lying alone in his bed. She picked up her baby and held him close, tucking his soft head under her chin. She felt the fierceness of her love for the tiny creature, the way it was already forming her, shaping her into something stronger than she had ever been, yet helpless to save them from whatever would happen next.

  The men stood around Nirloth's sleeping pallet in the dim room. Their faces looked repulsed as they stared down at the old man. He sat up and shifted so his back leaned against the wall.

  "Jerutha," he said, as she entered. "Prepare some tea for these men." His voice was weak.

  She stared at him, but he didn't look at her again. Surely he hadn't missed seeing the baby in her arms. She bowed her head and went to the kitchen, anger sparking deep within her. Who were these other priests? She wouldn't have lost her stepchildren if it wasn't for the ways of priest and goddess.

  Isika, Ben, Ibba and Kital were considered outsiders because they had walked out of the desert from an unknown place with skin as richly black as the losh trees that surrounded the Worker village. The Workers had finally succeeded in driving the children away, even if by accident. Jerutha felt her anger flame higher, remembering. Isika and Ben had fled to rescue their brother when Nirloth, in the way of the Workers, had sacrificed him to the goddesses, sending him out to the deep ocean in a tiny boat. Had they succeeded in rescuing him? Where were they now? Were they safe? She laid her baby in a nest of blankets and bent to revive the fire, then filled the kettle and put it over the flames for tea.