The Land's Whisper by Monica Lee Kennedy

nodded, but his face flickered with a
momentary shadow. “They’re a good people. They may not seem
interested in all that goes on up here, but everything in ‘em is
about protecting Massada. They’d die for the world if they had to.
They’re honorable, honest, loyal. Can’t say I know all the reasons
for them coming up, but I can know it isn’t for evil.”
    Spence peered around as if to ensure their
ears were the only in the vicinity and whispered, “You’ll realize
in a breath that they’re dangerous.” He patted Brenol’s arm to
alleviate any concern. “But they are good. They…well, you’ll see
with your own eyes. They’re good.”
    ~
    The men trekked the lane and eventually
turned off on a grassy patch. Brenol’s feet sank into the soft
green turf, and he wiggled his toes gratefully. His bare heels were
unaccustomed to such long journeys. They strode for several minutes
across the smooth knoll, which soon curved gently downward and came
upon a new section of Ziel’s glistening shore.
    The air was thin, but sweeter here than in
the wooden thick, and Darse drew in the lovely scents as he gazed
out upon the blue. The waters coruscated under the midday sun, but
that was the only hint of movement. No waves lapped at this section
of the rocky shore.
    The visnati paused along the beach and
pointed to a thin strip of land. It was a narrow cut, about an arm
span across, and extended out into the still like a long finger
resting upon a table of blue glass. After about two hundred
strides, the strip ended in a rounded tip that swelled out in a
circle. The water was dark and very deep, and the visnati urged
them earnestly to have caution while walking the peninsula.
    As they spoke and made ready, Brenol
disinterestedly scooped up a few flat stones sparkling amidst the
sand. Half listening, he arched his body sideways to achieve the
right motion for skipping them across the surface. His face jolted
with sudden surprise; Spence had snapped the boy’s arm into his own
small grip with alarming speed.
    “No need to disturb the water,” Spence spoke
mildly, but his glance was severe.
    Brenol dropped the stones into the soft,
warm sand. Only then did the visnat remove his fingers from the
boy’s arm. Brenol rubbed the abused site and glanced in
bewilderment at Darse. Tendrils of unease snaked up the older man’s
back at this second warning regarding the water, but he felt
silenced before Spence’s strangely hard eyes.
    The visnati left the beach and trod across
the finger of land with enviable ease. They had clearly maneuvered
the strip numerous times before, and their short legs swept the
small walkway in near nonchalance. Rook had already crossed the
halfway point before Brenol even stepped onto the strip, but the
boy bounded after in hot pursuit, copper hair bouncing. Darse
inhaled and followed cautiously, wondering what truly lay under
that screen of deep black-blue.
    Reaching the peninsula’s rim, Darse
experienced the vulnerability of his position acutely; the water
encompassed his vision, making him feel small. This tiny finger of
mingled rock and earth rested mere digits from the surface of Ziel,
and any amount of flooding would swallow it from the world of air
and light. He twitched at the thought, realizing it would take
little effort to grasp them all now.
    What are we doing? Darse brooded,
staring back down the finger of land and pondering if he could
shoulder Brenol back to the shore without mishap.
    He shook his head. Calm, Darse. Calm, he thought behind clenched jaw.
    The party shuffled about on the tip, which
was roughly ten strides in each direction, circular, with several
sitting rocks and a carved stone table. The stones were better
suited to the height of visnati than to grown humans, so Brenol and
Darse stood.
    “We don’t come often, maybe twice an orbit.
This is our way of telling ‘em we’re here.” Spence held up his
wooden bucket again in showcase, and then began to scoop handfuls
of