Kaelen and the Garden of Petrified Wind Part 1

More about Kaelen and the Garden of Petrified Wind Part 1

The path led them to a cliff that jutted out over the sea like an outstretched tongue. Below, the waves churned in a cold green, but the spray never reached the height. The storm had risen here days ago and, it seemed, had decided to stay. Kaelen stopped. Before her grew plants whose stems looked like frozen swirls of air. The leaves were smooth and transparent; one could see the sky through them, yet they refracted the light as if they were glass. Between them, clusters of fruit curled into spirals, clinging to fine dust that glowed at the slightest breath. Varaan cautiously placed a claw between two of these plants. The pack on his back rocked, the leather straps creaking. He lowered his head and snorted softly, as if testing the strange silence. "It smells like a thunderstorm that's dissipated," Kaelen said, placing her hand on the nearest leaf edge. A chill ran up her arm, and at the same time something vibrated, a barely audible note that only began to resonate when she held her breath. She tried again. Inhale. Exhale. Pause. In the silence, the sound opened like a thread: a short laugh, broken by the wind. "There are voices in here," she whispered. Varaan raised his eyelids, his lizard-like pupils narrowing to slits. He, too, listened, his head turning only millimeters. Kaelen moved among the stony plants. Some were frozen in clumps, as if the storm had caught them in a final spasm. Others stood in rows of arches, so regular you'd think someone had planted them. The longer she remained silent, the clearer the sounds became: shouts, songs, a curse word, a prayer. Once, she heard the soft whimper of an animal, and next to it, very close, the sharp hiss of a tendon being released. The garden was an archive, but not for things—for moments. She stopped before a taller plant. The stem had a crack, a fine fissure, as if from within. In the crack hung a voice, pale and brittle: "Wait..." A single word, not finished. Kaelen felt something inside her answer, even though she didn't recognize the voice. "Sometimes the only thing missing is time," she murmured. She placed her fingers in the crack. The leaf vibrated more strongly, but it didn't break. Instead, a gossamer veil lifted, emerging from the stone like breath, and the "wait" became complete, soft and round, as if it had finally been spoken. It no longer had a direction and blew away, a small, finished thing. The stem tensed itself anew; the crack remained, but it stopped hurting. "Perhaps not all voices have to stay," Kaelen said. "Some want to go." Varaan grumbled in agreement and poked the tip of his horn against a thick knot of petrified wind. A deep note filled the air, so warm that the cold of the cliff briefly receded.