Hidden Current

by Sharon Hinck

  “Please free Meriel.” I whispered the prayer. “You can do that. I know it’s Your will. And You are stronger than the Order.”

  It is My will, and I am able. But I have invited you to be part of the unfolding. Are you willing?

  I looked behind me at the blossoming village and the people who had become dear to me already. Part of me had hoped the Maker had forgotten that He’d told me to confront the Order. Regret drew a sigh from my chest. “Must I leave already?”

  He waited. Every sound muffled, as if the world stilled in holy silence.

  I gathered my feeble faith and looked back out to the vast unknown. “I am Your empty bowl. Fill me with Your task.”

  I will fill you with Myself.

  Stars twinkled by the time Brantley found me where I was still resting in the presence of the One who would never leave me. This quiet communion built strength in me for the painful choices ahead.

  “I asked again,” he said, dropping down beside me, “but no parchment survived the attack and the fires.”

  I was touched that he understood my desire to write out copies of the letter for each village we visited. This village needed His words more than most.

  “I could travel back to Windswell and get supplies,” he said.

  The eagerness in his tone made my stomach tighten. “Is that what you want to do?”

  “We’ve made good progress on rebuilding Undertow’s supplies here. And I promised Reena that when Navar next births, we’ll bring the calf to them so they can train up a herder. I’ve done all I can here for now.”

  He shifted his position, then drummed his fingers on his leg. He was restless. Ready to return to his life. I’d commandeered him for far too long.

  Another wrench of loss twisted under my heart. I fought to sound cheerful and accommodating. “Well then, I think you should return to Windswell. Although you don’t need to send parchment back. I won’t be staying here long enough.”

  I rose and dusted my hands against my leggings.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “It’s time for me to head inland. The Maker made clear that it’s time for me to bring His truth to the Order.”

  He stood and blocked my path. “Just like that?”

  Even in the darkness I could see the lines of his brow, the clench of his jaw. What was he upset about now? I had done all I could to make things easier for him, yet he was still irritated.

  “You only offered to help me reach my village, and you’ve done that and more. It’s time for you to return to your life. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “What do you want?”

  I wanted him to stay with me, to help me with this last most frightening task, but that wasn’t fair to him. He would only resent all the sacrifices he’d made to help me.

  Trying to be brave, I raised my chin. “It’s time for me to continue this quest alone.”

  He took a step back. “So now that you’ve gotten what you want, I’m dismissed?”

  “Brantley, I appreciate all you’ve—”

  “You appreciate me?” His voice had turned flat and cold.

  I reached out to touch his arm. “I only mean that—”

  “You’ve made yourself clear.” He pulled away. “I’ll leave in the morning.”

  And he walked away.

  The next morning, I stood near the now-empty clearing where the village had camped after their attack. Enough structures had been rebuilt for the people of Undertow to reclaim their location near the sea. Inland, shadows of deep forest murmured of danger. I stared into their depths, into the uncertainties of my next journey. In the past weeks I’d visited many midrange and rim villages, shared the Maker’s letter with hundreds of people. I would have been content to continue that pilgrimage for the rest of my days. But no matter how many times I suggested that to Him, the Maker’s answer was resolute. It was time to complete my mission. Time to confront the Order.

  Footsteps crunched behind me. Reena approached and crossed her arms. Her long tunic was tattered, and dark crescents rimmed her eyes from days of relentless work. Yet she carried herself with the regal bearing of a saltar. “Why is Brantley packing all his gear?”

  I pressed my lips together, then managed a neutral tone. “He’s needed back home. He believes your village is well on the way to sustaining itself again.”

  She frowned. “It’s not our village I’m worried about. Are you leaving too? I thought you were staying for another few days.”

  “Oh, I am. I still want to try our plan.” Reena and I had discussed a way to allow Undertow to keep the Maker’s letter alive. We would assign various villagers one paragraph each of the letter to memorize, so their people could keep the words with them even without parchment. Two days should be sufficient, and then I’d head to Middlemost.

  She ran a hand over her forehead. “I don’t understand. Is Brantley coming back for you?”

  Why did she have to probe this vulnerable wound? A bee circled overhead, then aimed for a wildflower peeking from the composting leaves at the edge of the clearing. I watched it to avoid meeting Reena’s gaze. “No, he has his own life to lead.”

  “He won’t protect you as you travel inland? What happened?”

  “Nothing.” I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Perhaps continuing alone will help me trust the Maker more deeply.”

  She snorted. “Maybe you think suffering alone is noble. But making sacrifices the Maker hasn’t asked you to make isn’t noble. It’s playing the martyr.”

  Her words stung, and my vision swam as I stubbornly focused on the bee and its lonely quest to draw a bit of sweetness from the dank forest. “I’m not trying to be noble. I’m terrified of what lies ahead. But he . . . but I . . .”

  She stepped closer and I braced myself against her tender concern. Instead, she grasped my upper arms. “I thought you had a splash of sense, even for one so young.”

  My mouth gaped.

  She gave me a sharp shake. “Go talk to him. Now.”

  I shook my head. “I’ve kept him from his people too long. I can’t ask him to follow where I’m going next.”

  “Then don’t ask. But don’t push him away, either. Do you reject the light of the suns or the nourishment of the rains when the Maker grants them?”

  “But I only—”

  “Brantley doesn’t want to leave any more than you want him to go.”

  Could she be right? Brantley had been a gift from the Maker ever since I’d left the Order. But did Brantley want to be included in the next step of my calling? A plan he didn’t even believe in?

  Reena turned me toward the village by my shoulders and gave a small shove. “Go. Now. Before you are left standing alone with regret as your only companion.”

  Her words propelled me to walk with hesitant steps down the path and past the longhouse. The odor of smoke still lingered from the ash-strewn ground and burnt timbers of destroyed cottages. But the breeze carried honeyed sweetness from the sea. Had I been wrong? Had I pushed away a friend, a dear ally? I couldn’t be sure. But I hated to have him leave when we were on bad terms. At least we could part as friends. My steps hastened, until I was running past the newly repaired seaward cottages.

  Too late. Far out in the ocean, Navar’s long neck stretched upward, a figure silhouetted on her back.

  I whistled and waved, but the stenella continued on her way. The enormity of my loss choked me. A small whimper of dismay escaped my throat, and I curled forward, hugging my stomach.

  “What’s wrong? Are you ill?” Brantley’s deep voice sounded behind me.

  I swung around and rubbed my eyes, but I wasn’t hallucinating. He stood two paces from me, frowning with equal parts concern and irritation. A smudge of dirt lined his unshaved jawline, and his fair hair was wet and tangled.

  I pointed out to the waves. “Who’s riding Navar?”

  “The lad I’ve been training. Their future herder. Why? Did you need me?”

  Did I need him? If he only
knew. “I . . . I . . .” How many times had I stood so near him during our travels, his hair tousled from a morning swim, soft bristles dusting his face, eyes alight with colors of sky and sea? He had become a comfortable friend, yet now a new awareness had grown in me, leaving me awkward and unable to find simple words.

  He sighed. “Have you changed your mind about the parchment? Do you need me to return to Windswell?”

  I shook my head.

  “So this is a guessing game?” His annoyed growl finally returned my ability to speak.

  “Why are you mad at me?” I said.

  His head pulled back. “I’m not.”

  “Yes, you are. Last night when I told you to go back to your life, I only—”

  “Oh, please.” He stiffened. “Let’s not go over that again.”

  And then I saw it. His irritation hid a flicker of hurt. I’d used his help and then dismissed him like a High Saltar waving away an attendant. He deserved so much more from me. He deserved truth.

  “It’s time for me to go to the Order.” I didn’t hide the quaver in my voice. “And I’m terrified. And I don’t want to go alone. I don’t even know how to find my way back.” I tried to laugh, but it came out as a tiny sob.

  The tight cast of his frame softened, but he still looked wary. “Then why are you sending me away?”

  I dug my toes into the thin layer of dirt, misery sweeping over me. “You sounded so eager to go home, and you’ve done so much already.” Now that I’d begun, I couldn’t stem the flow of words. “And I can’t ask you to take these risks, and I thought I was relying on you too much, and I know you don’t believe in this cause . . .”

  His bark of laughter drowned me out. “I suggested returning to Windswell to get some parchments for you, remember? You’re the one who grabbed at the chance to be rid of me for good.”

  I dared to meet his gaze. “I can’t ask you to do more.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Dancer, don’t you know by now that I can make my own choices?” He lightly tapped my nose.

  I was relieved to see his playful good humor return; however, I was still reluctant to draw him into my dangers. I stepped toward the rim, where the dirt gave way to a mat of tangleroot. Small waves played with the woven vines. I stared out toward the horizon and the dance of seabirds over the frothy waves. “You aren’t even sure there is a Maker.”

  “I’m not sure there isn’t. Can’t that be enough for now?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He shrugged, as if his shoulders could throw off any fear or risk. “We share the desire to end the Order’s power over our world. I’ve asked those with weapons to meet me inland in three weeks’ time. You and I both plan to confront the Order. We may as well do it together.”

  The Maker hadn’t told me to raise an army against the Order. True, I’d watched as Brantley had followed his own agenda when we’d visited villages, but I hadn’t known he’d made such concrete plans already. The man was a rogue.

  My brow puckered. “I don’t think—”

  Water splashed us both, drenching our clothes. Navar gurgled at the shoreline as if pleased, then dipped her head and tossed fat fish with glimmering scales onto the land.

  Brantley laughed and bounded toward the closest. He gave a whistle, and a handful of children raced from the cottages to help gather the catch. After the bounty was collected, Navar stretched her neck over the lip of land where we stood. Brantley fed her one of the choicest fish heads and stroked her neck. “Guess we won’t be traveling back to Windswell after all, my girl.” Then he turned to me. “When will you be ready to head inland?”

  “Two days,” I said hesitantly, still worried that we were at cross-purposes. His efforts to raise an army would only interfere with my task to speak to the saltars and show them the Maker’s letter. “How long will it take to reach Middlemost?”

  He gave Navar a last pat before she swam off, her tail fin showering us with one more splash for good measure. “Depends. If we have to avoid patrols or deal with other hazards, it could take longer, but if we take a direct route, I’d guess about two weeks.”

  I nodded. That would give me time to approach the Order and carry out the Maker’s wishes before the rimmers mounted a civil war.

  “At least learn to use a knife.” Brantley strode along beside me on the tamped earth forming a path toward the next village. We’d been on the road for several days, and his irritation was as well-worn and comfortable to me as soft-soled shoes.

  I smiled at him. “That’s not the sort of battle the Maker has asked of me.”

  He adjusted his wide leather belt that held a sword. He no longer looked the part of a carefree herder. His purposeful strides and alert demeanor seemed more like that of a soldier or protector.

  “We’ll likely encounter soldiers before we reach the Order. What if you’re attacked? Besides, there are other dangers in the wilds. Forest hounds and . . .”

  I raised a brow.

  He rolled his eyes. “Never mind. But using a knife is still a basic skill every rimmer learns.” He stopped by a fallen tree coated with moss. “Let’s rest a few minutes.”

  Grateful, I sank onto the soft surface, hugging one knee to my chest. I stretched my foot up to the sky, lowered it, and hugged my other knee.

  Brantley kept running a finger around the collar of his tunic and checking the knots on his knife hilt.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  He shifted his weight, but still couldn’t seem to settle. “I hate going inland.”

  I drew a deep breath. The air was heavy with vegetation instead of the citrusy sweetness of ocean. We were already too far from the shore.

  “I miss it too.” I leaned forward and ran my palm against the earth. “It feels too solid underfoot. Less alive.”

  He offered an appreciative grin. “You’ve found your rim roots, have you?”

  “I’ve found a lot of things. My name. My family.” I sobered. “Although none are left.”

  He shifted again, this time facing me. “Carya, all of Undertow is your family now. Reena wanted to send their strongest men to accompany us.”

  I shook my head. “She needs every able-bodied person to rebuild Undertow and defend it.”

  “Leaving no one to defend you.”

  I tilted my head. “I have you. You’ve kept me safe this far.”

  Furrows drew brief shadows on Brantley’s forehead. He reached behind his back and drew his knife. “Here. Throw at that stump.” He slapped the hilt into my hand.

  I balanced the unfamiliar weight and imagined I could still see a soldier’s blood staining the blade. Cold tendrils wove up my back. I didn’t want to learn to use a weapon. I didn’t even want to touch it.

  I flung the knife toward the stump just to be rid of it.

  After a blurred spin, it sank precisely into the upper edge of the stump.

  Brantley pulled back from me. “How did you . . . ? Well, you are full of surprises, aren’t you?” He retrieved his knife. “Let me see that again.”

  I stood and crossed my arms. “No. Let’s keep moving. We have a long way to go.”

  He stared me down, but I met his gaze with equal determination. At last he put away the knife and gave a broad gesture with his arm. “Lead on, dancer.”

  As our feet ate up the rolling ground, I probed his plans. “Are you worried that the Order might know how you are inciting the villages? That someone will recognize you when we reach Middlemost?”

  He grinned. “Now you’re thinking like a strategist. Yes, the closer we get to the Order, the more power they control. But I made a lot of allies in Middlemost. Few are loyal to the Order. At least at heart. Some pay lip service because the High Saltar is a good customer. But they well know that the coin she spends comes from their own taxes. Their girls have also been coerced away or stolen.”

  “You think they’ll stand with you? If it comes to that?” I still held hope that the Maker’s plan would unfold long before Brantley’s rebellion.


  He squinted at me. “Some will hide in their homes at any signs of trouble. A few might try to betray us. But don’t worry. We have enough allies to make our point.”

  I could have told him that it would take more than a coalition of villagers to convince the High Saltar of anything.

  As we continued to walk inland, I was always alert to approaching danger, always aware that an impossible task lay ahead of me, always wrestling tormenting questions.

  Days and nights passed, too slowly and too rapidly. Each morning I’d slip away from our camp at first light and pray. I poured out my questions and doubts to the Maker. I begged for reassurance that I was on the correct path. Yet now I heard only silence. Did the Maker only speak to me on the rim? I’d heard His powerful voice in the center ground, though I hadn’t known Him then. So, no, He spoke when and where He willed.

  Why was He silent and invisible now?

  As we neared Middlemost, I took an early watch while Brantley slept. Coaxing a tiny bit of warmth from our campfire, I once again prayed.

  Holy Maker of all, I’m setting out on the task to which You’ve called me. But I’m small and afraid. I need to hear Your voice again. I want to be sure of my next step.

  I opened the letter and turned through the pages, tracing my fingers over the precious words. Like the dawning sunrise, I realized He was still speaking to me. His words were alive and met me with encouragement and truth. I still longed for an audible voice and a tangible touch, but if this was how He chose to speak to me, I would strive to be content.

  “Thank You for creating our world,” I whispered. “Thank You for loving Your children. Help me trust You even when I can’t see You.”

  “So He’s left you?” Brantley’s sleepy voice growled from his place beside the fire.

  “Never,” I said. Faith swelled a bit more in my heart as I gave my firm answer.

  Brantley stirred and sat, brushing his disheveled hair back from his face. “How can you be sure that what you experienced before wasn’t a fevered dream? If you can’t see Him, how do you know He’s even listening to you?”