Free The Land's Whisper by Monica Lee Kennedy

each visnat produced from his sack several sandwiches and
pieces of fruit, extending them out in offering. Brenol nodded with
vigor, and Darse could hardly resist; his mouth salivated at the
mere sight of a meal.
    They found a patch of cool, oak-shaded
grass. The visnati plopped down, bantering amongst themselves, and
distributed sandwiches. Colvin observed the strangers’ movements
with a reserved eye and leaned back with ankles crossed to chew on
a long stem of grass.
    “Is this chicken?” asked Brenol. He greedily
reached for a second sandwich, even though he had not particularly
liked the first.
    Rook’s eyes passed slowly between Darse and
Brenol.
    “It’s a bird,” Brenol added.
    The conversing visnati halted mid-sentence.
Spence’s hand slid down in a fluid motion to rest upon the blade
that hung at his side. A silent communication clearly passed,
serious concern evident. Rook finally held Brenol’s gaze. His look
was not kind.
    “I…I…” Brenol stumbled into silence.
    Rook’s face soon released its taut lines,
and the visnat settled back again into his cross-ankled position.
He spoke now in an explaining tone, as one might to a small child.
“Bren, we don’t eat birds. Here in Massada we only eat flesh if it
comes from the water. You must be further from home than we
guessed, eh?” He nodded to himself, as if fully assured now.
    “The creatures of the land don’t have
awareness like us, but only a wild man would consume them. Humans,
visnati, maralane—we all eat solely from the water.” Rook’s gaze
narrowed as if to dare the two to defy him . “It’s a sign of
civility. Of order.”
    Silence wrapped the party.
    “Why?” Darse finally asked hesitantly.
    Rook met the man’s gaze. “It’s respect. I’d
never eat my brother, make a stew out of my sister. No. It’d be a
nasty piece of work to eat a creature with a soul . Nasty,
indeed. So we abstain from the baser of the meats, even if the
animals don’t have sense like we do.” Rook’s chin raised in pride.
“Anyone can eat, but one who selects food with purpose is something
else.” His lips pinched in disgust at the evident alternative.
    “But what makes fish different?” Darse
insisted. He was not eager to add new inconsistent social practices
to his life.
    Colvin’s lips quirked at the edges, but the
motion went unnoticed by the rest of his party.
    Rook grumbled incomprehensibly, and his face
reddened in irritation.
    Darse took a bite of his sandwich.
    “It wasn’t always so,” Spence conceded. “For
a time no man ate flesh of any kind. But after land dwellers
discovered the maralane? Well, we all simply followed their way.
Fish and other water life became acceptable as food.” Spence
straightened his spine and pushed out his stout shoulders. “But
everyone knows it’s vulgar to eat land animals.”
    “Everyone?”
    “Well, the majority,” Rook conceded with a
scowl. “There’s not much drive within a wolf towards propriety,
even if they somehow managed to find speech.”
    “Wolves are the only animals with sense?”
Brenol asked.
    The visnati muttered and nodded. It was so,
although they clearly disliked the fact.
    Darse recalled the cold quivering of
vulnerability that had snaked across his chest at his first
encounter with a wolf. He could certainly agree that the wolves
were a different sort indeed, even if the distinction between meats
was still unclear to him.
    “Where is your world?” asked Spence, whose
hand no longer cradled his weapon. “Do you really eat animals?” His
face screwed up in abhorrent fascination.
    Brenol, ignoring the last, lifted a hand to
point in the direction of the cave. Suddenly, he realized he no
longer possessed any sense of their location, and beyond that, a
direction toward the cave would not clarify anything. He sat and
looked to Darse, speechless.
    Darse met their gazes. They aren’t
seeking to harm us , he reassured himself, and he felt the
truthfulness of it ease—at