The Land's Whisper by Monica Lee Kennedy Page B

Gardenia to find Brenol and Darse
resting in the afternoon shade after a long day of harvesting.
Their faces were smeared with dark brown loam, and their
clothes—loose pants and long sleeves gifted by their hosts—were
stained knee down and elbow out. Their feet were as bare as every
other pair in Coltair. The two alternated ladling the cool bucket
water to their lips and watched tiredly as Colvin ambled up,
similarly drenched in sweat and clothed in soil. He wore a straw
hat to shield his head from the sun, and worn work gloves hung
lazily from his trouser pocket.
    “Hey, Colvin,” said Brenol after a large
gulp. “It feels like ages since we saw you.”
    I could have gone longer, thought
Darse. He was unable to perceive Colvin’s intentions behind the
casual demeanor, and he peevishly found it grating.
    Colvin raised an eyebrow, allowing a brief
twitch of his lips to play on his face. “Enough time to shake the
skinny off of you,” he remarked. The twitch turned into a full
grin.
    Brenol looked down and laughed. Indeed, he
was not as scrawny as when he had arrived, despite the brevity of
their stay. Food here was plentiful.
    Colvin’s voice was low and fell only upon
their ears. “Will you join me this evening? I’ve a few things to
discuss with you.” His face betrayed nothing. “I imagine you have
supper plans, but come over after and we shall have a good talk. My
house is the one across from Guntar’s.” He turned and pointed in
the general direction. “You will recognize it because I’m the only
one who uses his side plot for flowers.” There was no hint of
embarrassment, it was just straightforward Colvin.
    After they nodded their assent, Colvin
sipped a ladle of water and wiped away the sweat from cheek and
brow. He left with his characteristically sober expression,
stepping softly with gloves a-flap.
    ~
    They dined that evening with the Colburns, a
genial couple with three rosy-cheeked daughters. The conversation
was warm and full of laughter, but before the meal had even
commenced, Brenol found his spine clenching and his neck tingling
to life in a now-familiar way.
    After dinner, instruments were procured, and
the girls padded about in light dance to their father’s fiddling.
Brenol remained seated. He itched to be free and walking the bare
countryside.
    Garnoble’s eye, he thought. It is
so strongly on me.
    Eventually the party spoke farewells. Brenol
tugged his light jacket on and smiled his thanks but could barely
hide his impatience. There was much of the night ahead before he
would meet the consolation of solitude.
    As they walked to Colvin’s house, Darse
glanced at the quiet Brenol but did not interrupt his musings, and
they soon came upon a plot dense with flowers and fruit. It was a
beautiful garden, even in the dusk. The scents mingled in a citrusy
sweetness and accompanied them down the winding path to the
doorway. Their knocks produced Colvin, attired in a tide of blue.
He had washed from the day’s work and stood before them with an
unusual spark in his eyes. Darse peered at him curiously. Yes, the
visnat’s cloak of quiet detachment had been shed, and his face was
open and relaxed. Either Colvin was a creature of home, or he had
deemed the two trustworthy enough to reveal his true air.
    They entered, and the low ceilings forced
Darse’s back into an aching arch, but the wonders of the tiny home
helped distract the man from his discomfort. It was furnished
sensibly, but decorated far differently than the quarters of the
other visnati who softened their habitations with rugs, drapes, and
art. This house was as much a garden as the plot outdoors, for
Colvin had flooded it with greenery and flowers. Artfully placed
trellises of blue climbing roses, pots of alabaster orchids and
lavender azaleas, vines of crimson blossoms. All splashed color
across the room, and the scents soothed rather than clashed
together. To have planned the sunlight necessary for each was in
itself a feat, and