by Sharon Hinck
A wind gust stirred the branches overhead, and leaves gave a warning rustle. A second later, clouds scudded together, blocking out the light of both suns.
“Let’s keep moving.” Brantley sprang to his feet.
We headed inland all day, our journey punctuated by short bursts of rain. We were both weary and bedraggled before Brantley decided we could safely set up camp.
Was this to be my new destiny? Fleeing one village after another, never knowing whom I could trust, staying one step ahead of Tiarel’s soldiers? No wonder Brantley had tried to dissuade me.
“You were right.” I pushed aside soggy underbrush, searching for dry sticks for our fire.
“About?” Brantley struck his firestone with the back of a knife and blew on the timid spark.
“This mission. I didn’t fully realize what obeying the Maker would mean.”
He reached for the bits of kindling I was gathering. “So you’ve changed your mind?” No hint of expression colored his tone. I couldn’t tell if he was hopeful I’d give up my plans, or irritated at the trouble I’d caused so far.
After a slow breath, I drew back my shoulder blades. “I can’t turn back. I won’t. But now I understand why you fought me.”
Crouching by the feeble blaze, his mouth quirked in a crooked grin. “It’s a start.”
Heat flushed my skin. Our tiny fire must be sending out more warmth than I’d realized.
I once believed my destiny was measured in inches. Each tiny movement scrutinized and judged. Each step imbued with the potential of success or failure as I strove to be accepted into the Order.
My new destiny was measured in miles. Long days of travel, weaving among midrim villages, cautiously skirting rim towns. Following a haphazard path. Now my goal was to read the Maker’s letter to as many people as I could and to leave copies behind in any village where we lingered a few days. I discovered my heart savored this new calling even more than I’d once dreamed of dancing in the center ground; this new passion was broader, taller, deeper.
I was surprised that Brantley went along with this plan. I’d expected him to hurry us to Undertow so he could be free of me. Instead, he insisted we stay clear of the rim until he was sure there were no more soldiers on our trail, and then he intended to check on his family in Windswell.
While we traveled, I’d also expected him to protest any contact with villages along our route. But he, too, seemed to have a new agenda, one that he didn’t discuss with me. Since I couldn’t find my way to Undertow without him, I had to trust him. Whatever he was up to, our goals for the moment ran a parallel course.
We often slipped into a village and found someone who remembered the Maker and had prayed for help. Eager welcomes, grateful meals, and rapt attention seemed to await us in each new place. I took that as a sign I was squarely in the center of the Maker’s plan. Everything was going better than I could have dreamed.
There were always some who scoffed, who argued, who turned away, but overall I marveled at the way the Maker had prepared a way for me.
Brantley embraced my cause . . . to a point. But while I focused on unveiling truth that had been lost, he held whispered conversations with clusters of village leaders. Whenever I saw him in the distance, my unease grew.
One morning, after we left a town that had provided refuge, I stopped on the trail and confronted him. “What are all these meetings you’re having while I’m reading the letter to gatherings?”
“Finding out what they know. How many bands of soldiers Tiarel has patrolling, and where they were last seen.” He fidgeted with a tie on his pack and turned away.
He was hiding something. “And?”
He eased his heavy pack from his shoulders and sighed. “Look. We agree the Order must be stopped, right?”
“Or reformed. Returned to what the Maker intended.” I waved an arm back the way we’d come. “As more people of Meriel hear the truth, eventually the Order will have to change.”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “Eventually? And in the meantime how many children will be stolen? How many fathers murdered? How many villages will starve? There’s no time for ‘eventually.’”
“We have to trust the Maker’s plan—”
“No, that’s your path. I won’t interfere. But in the meantime, the village leaders have their own plans.”
My stomach churned as if copper fish writhed inside. “What . . . what have you been doing?”
He faced me squarely, resolutely. “Raising an army. If all the villages unite and send men to confront the Order, they’ll have to stop.”
“But—”
“Look at it this way. If your Maker’s plan succeeds, a rebellion will never be needed. The herders have a saying: ‘Ride the current, but watch the winds.’ I’ll help you with your reforms, but if it doesn’t work, we’ll have a backup plan.” He hitched up his pack and set out again.
I stared after him for a long moment. If I could have stopped his conspiring, I would have. But I knew better. Even the determination of a dancer couldn’t match this man’s resolve. The best way for me to prevent violence was to keep following the path the Maker had set for me. His truth would change everything. I jogged ahead to catch up. Brantley cast me a sideways glance. When I didn’t argue with him, he offered me a grateful nod.
Day after day, we maintained our uneasy alliance. When he warned me to be more covert in my reading of the letter to villages, I listened to his advice and met with smaller gatherings hidden by the walls of longhouses. In turn, he stayed nearby while I read and waited until I finished before having discussions with the men about weapons and defense strategies and whatever battle plans he was stirring.
Between villages, Brantley and I shared quiet conversations on the trail by day and beside the campfire in the evenings. Despite my misgivings about his militant approach to stopping the Order, our talks forged a stronger bond and a growing trust.
One night, we sat near each other for warmth as stars emerged from the darkness, dotting the sky with light. “There!” I pointed upward over the center of the island, tracing an outline of stars. “See the shape of petals in bloom?”
“Nah. That’s the ripple after a fish leaps and lands back in the water.”
“No, it’s definitely a flower. I always used to look for that pattern of stars when I’d sneak outside at night.” Because of the turning of our world, the pictures were often in different quadrants, making it a challenge to identify my favorite constellations.
“Sneaking out? So you weren’t the perfect rule follower after all?”
I smiled. “I tried. But there were nights I needed to hear myself think. And you? Did you ever follow any rules?”
He chuckled. “Oh, I tried for a while when I was young.” He trailed off and tossed a twig into the flames. We watched sparks float in the silence before he continued. “Where did all the rule following get you, anyway?”
“It wasn’t all bad. I loved learning patterns. They made sense. And I thought I could serve my people.”
“You don’t need the Order to do that.”
I stared into the flames. He was right. I no longer needed the Order, but I did need the Maker. Now that I’d met Him, I felt more free to experiment with dance, using movements to help a berry bush to fruit when our supplies were low, or to bring rain on a bit of parched farmland in a village that needed our help. However, even those ways of helping didn’t alleviate my impatience.
At last Brantley believed the soldiers had lost our trail completely, and he set our course for the coast near Windswell where he could signal for Navar. One morning he tossed me a saltcake covered with lint from his pack. “We’ll be back at the ocean before you know it. Maybe even today.”
I brushed off the hard biscuit and nibbled a bite. Grit scraped my teeth. I frowned. He’d been promising our imminent return to Windswell for days. “Stop doing that.”
“Now what?”
“Being overly optimistic. Promising things you have no right to p
romise.”
He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “I thought you wanted an estimate of when we’d reach Windswell.”
“But you told me we were a day away before. And that was over a week ago.”
“Life doesn’t always run according to the Order bells. You can’t schedule everything.”
Was he right? Had my years of training made my temperament inflexible even while it taught my body to stretch and bend?
“Relax. We’ll get there eventually.” He hefted his pack and strode away from our campsite.
I glared at his back but grabbed my cloak and followed.
This time, his estimates were accurate. That same afternoon the breeze kicked up the sweet scent of the ocean, and my pulse quickened. As we broke through the trees, the view of the vast horizon stretched before us and I threw my arms wide in welcome.
Brantley laughed at my childlike glee, then flopped onto his stomach near the edge and blew a unique call on his whistle. He even dipped the end into the water and played more notes.
“Is Navar close enough to hear?” I settled cross-legged beside him, scanning the waves.
He sat up and put away his whistle. “Stenella can hear from vast distances, and even better underwater. Now we wait. She may be out with my apprentice and need to bring him home before she can answer the call. Or she may be a half-day’s journey away from the island, visiting her pack.”
A wistful longing brushed across my heart. “Do you think she misses her family when she’s away?”
Brantley’s eyes deepened to a darker blue as they reflected the sifting waves. “You’ll find family soon. We’ll reach Undertow any day now.”
I threw him a teasing grin. “I’ve heard that before.”
“I keep my promises.” Light played against the surface and sparkled in his gaze.
We sat in companionable silence as the primary sun set behind us. During our journeys, the island had rotated so this coastline now faced the sunrise instead of the sunset.
“Do you ever wonder what’s out beyond the horizon?” I asked softly.
Brantley chuckled. “I once determined to find out. I loaded a pack with food and took Navar out for much more than a day of fishing.”
A cool breeze touched my neck, and I shivered. “How far did you go?”
“So far that the emptiness made me fear for my sanity. Days and days. I’d always wondered if there were other worlds adrift on the sea, but all I found was the vast sky and lonely waves.”
What courage it must have taken to venture so far from the entire known world! “And then?”
“I ran out of food and turned back. Navar got me safely home. A little thinner, and no wiser about what lies beyond.” He stood, frowning out to sea, the fading glow of the subsun lighting his curls and casting his face in shadow. “It’s not like her to leave my call unanswered. Looks like one more night of camping.”
Draping our cloaks over low pine boughs, we created a small shelter where we huddled. I’d grown used to makeshift beds and slept soundly. A feeling of absence woke me, along with the cool air of a vacant space. The glow of primary sunrise barely lit the sky as I crawled out of our tent.
Brantley stood a few yards away, one hand propped against a willow sapling, the other resting on the knife hilt tucked in his belt. Tight cords stood out on his neck, and his fingers flexed.
“Is something wrong?”
He spun on his heels and forced a smile. “No. Just watching for Navar.” He turned back to scan the ocean again.
Combing my fingers through my tangled hair, I walked up to stand beside him. “I’m sure she’ll be here soon.”
“Of course.” He rubbed the juncture where his neck met his collarbone.
“But you’re worried.” I touched his arm, willing him to be honest with me, to share whatever weight he was carrying.
He frowned at the horizon. “Even if she was working with a herder, they wouldn’t stay out overnight. She’s had time to answer my call five times over. Unless something happened to her.”
Now that he’d revealed a glimpse of his raw fear, I almost wished he’d kept it hidden. Was Navar injured? Lost?
“I’m sure she’s fine.” But my words sounded vacuous, even to me.
Throughout the morning, Brantley lowered his whistle more times and put out the call only his stenella responded to. When Navar didn’t appear after several hours, he strode away with a sudden sense of purpose. “Wait here,” he called over his shoulder.
I scanned the ocean for Navar until my eyes burned. Every slight ripple on the surface quickened my heartbeat with hope, which sank when no stenella appeared.
Rustling noise pulled my gaze inland. Brantley dragged several long saplings into the clearing, where he whacked branches away with his knife. The vigorous work gave him an outlet for his worry, but why was he constructing a permanent shelter? We’d detoured long enough. We had to set our course toward a quick check on Windswell, and then finally on to Undertow.
I kept watch, saving my questions.
At last, Brantley paused in his work. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and he knelt at the water’s edge and drank deeply of the sweet seawater. After splashing handfuls over his hair, he shook his head. His wet curls splattered water on me.
“Hey!” I laughed and backed away.
“Sorry.”
It was a relief to see his grin again after all the hours of tension.
“Brantley, I think we should keep moving.”
“I agree.”
“Really?” I’d braced for an argument. “Then what are you building?”
He took my hand and settled on the edge, tugging me down beside him. I knew the signal. He was about to tell me something I didn’t want to hear.
“We can’t walk the rim from here to reach Windswell. The underbrush is too thick, and the tangleroot too narrow in most places.”
Discouragement pressed me, even as light waves rolled me up and back. The conflicting sensations made me queasy. “You mean we’ll head inland again?” I fought to keep my tone level, but couldn’t hide my dismay.
“No. There’s another way. We’ll follow the coastline in the water.”
“But Navar hasn’t answered.”
“So we’ll swim.”
I pulled away, panic squeezing my chest. “The Order was right. Drinking sweet water makes you touched in the head.” My voice rose, tight and shrill. “You know I can’t swim.”
“You’ll learn.” His expression held calm resolve, and his tone brooked no arguments.
“But the Maker’s letter . . . we can’t leave it here. Besides I—”
He tipped his head toward the building project. “That’s what the raft is for. It will hold our gear, and you can grab the edge for support.”
A raft? I stared at the flimsy saplings, and slid my gaze to the limitless ocean and its cloudy depths. “No.”
He stood and resumed his work. “Gather some reeds and braid them. We’ll need to lash everything securely.”
I gathered materials and began creating a rope, but all the while I kept up a stream of arguments and alternative ideas.
His only response was silence as he continued lining up slender branches.
Eventually I ran out of words.
Far too quickly, the tiny raft took shape, uneven branches lashed together with clumsy knots.
“Could I ride on it?”
He shook his head. “It’s too unstable. You’ll be safer in the water.”
The words safe and water did not belong together.
A hint of compassion warmed his eyes. “There’s more chance of the raft capsizing if you’re on it. Then what would happen to the letter?”
He was playing dirty. He knew I’d do anything to protect the letter.
“Why can’t we go back inland?” I tried one last time.
He sent a worried gaze toward the horizon. “We need to get to Windswell fast. I have to find out what’s happened to Navar.”
My oppo
sition softened. I didn’t fully understand the implications of Navar’s absence, but I understood how much Brantley cared about her. My affection for her had grown every day I’d ridden. I wanted to find her too.
I pulled off the pouch with the letter, then shed my cloak, shoes, and outer tunic. In my leggings and small undertunic, I could almost pass as a herder. “All right. Teach me.”
His approving smile coaxed me to the edge.
When water lapped over my toes, I backed away a few steps. Was there a dance to turn the water solid? Maker, couldn’t you guide me on the surface, as You did the night I met You?
“Slide into the water and hold this strand of tangleroot.” He demonstrated, easing into the water without a splash. “I’ll be right here.”
I floundered into the water, scraping my chest in my desperate efforts to keep my upper body on land. I grappled for images of my early childhood when I’d perhaps enjoyed swimming, but the memories were deeply buried. My knuckles whitened as my fingers locked around a sturdy root. “Now what?” I squeaked.
To his credit, he didn’t laugh.
“Kick your legs. That should be easy for you, dancer.”
I convinced my legs to stop their frantic thrashing, and began to copy Brantley’s actions. Slow, strong kicks supported me with surprising effectiveness. Once he was sure I could keep my head above water at the edge, he pulled the empty raft in beside me.
“Now try holding this.”
I couldn’t convince my hands to release the relative security of tangleroot to hold the fragile, untethered island Brantley had created. It bobbed and dipped with each ripple of the waves.
Brantley’s patience shone as he helped me transfer my grip. “I’m right here. I’ll hold you.”
He treaded water behind me, not needing tangleroot or raft to stay afloat. His arms found my waist and the comfort of his reliable presence eased my hiccupping gasps. As my muscles softened, the water—and Brantley’s arms—supported me. If I leaned too heavily on the edge of the raft, it tipped alarmingly. But as I learned to stretch out and allow the ocean to hold me, it steadied.