Eyes in the Water (17 page)

They continued on, pausing briefly for
refreshment at a stream, and then strode together in silence until
the shadows fell long. They made camp, settled before a golden
brazier, and sat with hands laced together to watch the stars and
moons emerge.

~

Colette awoke gently. She opened her eyes,
for a moment disoriented as to where she was, and soon found her
mind align. She breathed in softly. Darse lay about a stride away,
deep in slumber. The simple clearing was cool with night, and the
fire had long ago died. The stars twinkled lightly, and the sky
seemed to extend out eternally.

Colette remained quiet and unmoving. The
reality of the passing of the maralane ached in every recess of her
soul, but she rested and allowed the sorrow to simply be. She felt
peaceful and was glad she had not spoken of her underwater
encounter to Darse. She wanted a few moments to let the grief air
in her.

But yes, I will tell Bren when we
arrive.
Her memory tugged her back to the delicate, graceful
hand, the girl’s kiss upon her cheek. A silent tear slid down her
face.
He will understand.

Darse stirred and shifted in his blankets,
and as though the sound were a trigger, she felt the greed for the
nuresti connection slowly creep into her.

No,
she panicked.
It can’t be. I
can’t want these things after seeing the maralane. After knowing
their fate. I can’t.

Yet her body refused to relent. Her blood
burned hot, and her skin slicked to a sheen. “
Get the
antidote,”
the addiction within ordered. “
No one else needs
it like Veronia. Get it.”

Colette grit her teeth as her mind swam. For
a brief moment, she considered the suggestion and, in this
allowance, found her will sink under its duress. Her hands slowly
pushed her body aright, and she found herself sliding from the fire
into the darkness. Her body moved stealthily into the woods. She
did not stop, but kept gracing the forest with swift steps.

About an hour passed before the hunger lost
its sure grip. She still pulsed with desire, but her body was
exhausted, and its limitations worked to wake her clouded mind.

“What am I doing?” she asked aloud, and she
blushed to her ears. Her triumph and healing at Ziel now seemed
pitifully shadowed by the corruption that clearly reigned in her.
“What am I doing?”

In answer, the voice within spoke:
“If
you’re quiet, you might have a chance to get it. Just wait. Don’t
tell anyone.”

Colette pressed her lips together, perturbed,
and about-faced to make the return journey to camp. As she went,
she stumbled and fell regularly, and her bare feet became raw with
cuts. Several times the lunitata stopped to sit and weep, but there
was little else to do but continue on in the dark.

Eventually, after nearly missing the small
clearing, Colette came upon Darse still deep in sleep. She wiped
away the silent tears that stained her cheeks and collapsed into
her blankets.

I’m a monster,
she thought.

As if in response, the inner darkness
whispered back,
“Just bide your time.”

~

The morning dawned, and Darse groaned to
life. His limbs still held rebellious aches from the hours of grave
digging. He rubbed his legs and stretched his shoulders while
pondering Colette’s words yet again. His heart jittered with
anticipation, and his mind arched forward in both apprehension and
longing.

The man prepared a simple breakfast, and with
the newfound clarity that comes with food in the belly, he resolved
to tuck away his musings. Too much time lay until the next
encounter with Isvelle to be flittering about full of school-boy
angst. There was much to be accomplished, and he needed a sharp
mind.

They cleared camp and extended their weary
limbs east for a day of travel. Darse went slowly, for Colette
appeared strangely beaten and fatigued. They crossed into Selenia
but then curved farther north out of the lugazzi to avoid the rough
and exhausting mountains hugging Ziel. Still, the air reaching
their lungs felt thin and left them with rasping breaths. At midday
they paused to rest, settling among the smooth grasses. Darse’s
eyes repeatedly rose up to the slate-blue southern peaks thrusting
up in stupefying majesty.

Glancing to Colette, he saw the lunitata
staring vacantly at the soft green turf.
What is bothering
her?

Darse parted his lips to ask but was stopped
before he could even draw breath. A startlingly close voice jolted
him from his seat.

“I pray it has been bountiful,” the voice
said, although in the openness of the mountainside, it was
experienced more as a terrible booming.

“Bounty forgotten, Arman! You could warn us
before making my stomach jump out of my very body,” Darse
cried.

Colette gave a small smile but could not hide
her shaking hands.

“I am here, as Bren promised.”

“Promised?” Darse asked the air.

“I—”

Colette quickly regained her composure. She
interrupted Arman. “I used the aurenal. I told Bren to come or send
someone to meet and take me on to Limbartina.” She paused, weighing
her words for a moment, but continued after a breath. “I knew you’d
not leave me to travel alone, but your path lies to the south.
There’s nothing for you here. Or east to Granoile.”

Arman had not been privy to the previous
conversation, but he caught Darse’s crimson blush. While he guessed
as to its cause, he thought it best to respect the man’s privacy.
The juile instead stood silently, his mind brimming with
deliberations of his own.

Darse fidgeted with his coat pockets and
answered her. “That’s not true. Bren needs—”

“Bren needs nothing” she interrupted swiftly.
“And he’d agree with me if I spoke with him.”

“I—”

“Darse, I
ask
this of you. It’s not
something to delay. Please.”

The man nodded, but the thought of heading to
Veronia—to Isvelle—made his insides as soft as pudding. “I-I—” His
voice choked in his throat. He peered out at the lofty
mountains.

Can I really do this? I—

Arman finally found he could not wait any
longer and severed Darse’s weaving thoughts. “Darse, pardon me for
interrupting, but I must ask you something. Did any see Arista give
you the jekob nut in Caladia?”

Darse blinked his golden eyes to steady his
swirling mind. “Oh…” He pushed his memory back in recall. “I don’t
think so. She came to my home. It was the first time.”

Silence ensued for a moment before Arman
spoke. “Do not mention it again, please.” It was not a request.

“I had not planned to.” A strange
discomposure lined Darse’s voice; he felt a fool. His time with the
frawnish had been exactly as Colette had said: separate.

Colette stepped forward and laced his fingers
with hers. Her hands were warm and delicate, and her eyes tugged at
him. Again, his stomach swirled as he recalled the new purpose
ahead.

“I’ll see you soon. You need have no fear. I
know
.” She toed herself a few digits higher and gently
kissed his cheek, rough from the wind and his salted beard.

He granted her a weak smile and faced west.
He strode forward a pace, halted, and turned back. “Thank you,
Colette,” Darse said genuinely.

She nodded and watched him head toward the
vale.

She took a deep breath, wishing her own
troubles could be solved as simply, and followed Arman’s pedasse to
Limbartina.

A foreigner shall call the great of the lands. They
shall come, obedient as never before.

-Genesifin

Brenol sent out seals across Massada. He requested
keepers, cartontz, and kings alike to join him at Limbartina. The
nuresti had never before met together in council, and likely would
have refused under other circumstances, but Brenol had won an
element of respect from them orbits ago. The black coffins of Jerem
were not so easily forgotten, even by those who had not personally
lived the horror. The rumors that Brenol was part nurest were
argued and defended, and whether due to curiosity or fate, the
keepers were tugged from their borders and soon trickled their way
into Selenia. The royalty also came, but they proved neither as
patient nor as prone to respect; Brenol’s legends meant little to
them. Representatives from varying races were also invited, but
many of these were missing; time and circumstance—and frawnish
obstinacy—did not allow for every species to attend.

Colette, seemingly one of the last to arrive,
entered into the midst of the chaos with bewildered eyes set in a
solemn face. The group was nearly pawing the ground in their
impatience to learn why they had been requested. Brenol had refused
to convene until the majority of those summoned were present.

“Called. Like a serving boy with a platter,”
muttered a short, balding man with a beard as thick and red as a
setter’s coat. His eyes burned as he turned them upon Colette.

She let his words fall from her without
effect and approached Brenol.

Brenol spied her and stared, taking in her
new radiance with awe. The glow was lovely and fitting, as if
somehow the light was a shining picture of the intricate goodness
within her. He felt like he was gazing at her soul, and it was
breathtaking.

“What is this?” she whispered to him, looking
around her.

Brenol suddenly blinked, recalling the moment
and the crowd around them. His expression grew austere and he shook
his head, for there was no time to delve into the last few days, no
matter how much he longed to. The mystery of her light would have
to wait.

He led her to a chair and breathed into her
ear, “I’m glad you’re here. And safe.”

Colette took her place as proffered and
lifted her wondering eyes. The room surrounding them was a grand
hall with vaulted ceilings and intricately painted murals running
down the walls. Carpets and thick rugs clothed the tiled floors,
and fires crackled kindly to combat the chill attempting to press
its way inside. Colored banners flowed in silken rivers, and art
splashed the space in a manner uncustomary to umburquin fashion;
this was a place created and reserved for grand occasions and royal
visits.

There were about forty seats set in three
rows ringing an empty wooden dais. She was stunned to see so many,
but at the same time, in that vast space, their party felt
trifling. It was comprised mainly of humans, but an umburquin stood
to the side, a lanky ignalli lounged nonchalantly, and several
empty seats betrayed the presence of juile.

As Colette gazed about, she choked in a
startled breath as she realized that she recognized several
attendees. They were changed, but yes, she knew them. Colette had
seen their hollow eyes after they had emerged from Jerem’s black
boxes, heard their shrieks in the sterile hallways, felt their
shrill sobbing in her veins. They had been more dead than
alive—inside and out. It was a wonder to see them, but their
still-sickly glances wrested her heart with pity.

Their faces were volatile and twisted with
loathing. Jerem had ruined them both in life and from the grave. It
was as her mother had said—Jerem owned them through their hate.

As if they haven’t experienced enough,
she thought sadly.

She watched one elderly man specifically, and
his expression suddenly tightened her gut with an even graver
understanding. Every nurest present, every one, shared the guilty
glance, the clenched features, the doubt in the eyes. These people
experienced the same clawing greed for the nuresti connection. They
would likely be tempted with just as much treachery as she. It was
a sobering reality.

Brenol came, poised himself on the dais,
raised his palms up, and begged for quiet. He shuffled his
feet—this was a new experience for him—but his face remained
purposeful and direct. “I know you’re not accustomed to meetings or
being summoned, and I apologize for the inconvenience. But we must
face what’s before us. And as we must make a choice, I want it to
be together, as one.”

While the words themselves fell upon the room
without igniting interest, Brenol himself caused all to pause. His
whole person commanded attention, and even the royalty found a
strange stirring within them at his presence.

Soon all fidgets and murmurings ceased, and
the audience barely breathed as he unfolded the story of Jerem, the
poison, and the hos
.

“The umbus have examined the hos and tested
it… While we must take care not to waste it, I think there is only
one way to truly show you its power.”

At a brief flicking gesture of his hand, an
elderly woman approached the dais nervously. Her hair was white and
thinning, and her skin drooped loosely from her features. The
woman’s eyes darted around, and she hugged her bandaged left arm to
her chest.

Brenol gave her a reassuring nod and slowly
removed the lengths of cloth wrapping the wounded limb. He was slow
and careful, for her face had screwed up and exposed her teeth in a
show of pain.

When he was done, exclamations and mutterings
carried through the room. All could see the severe gash running up
the length of her arm.

Brenol extracted the hos and with simple care
touched the piece to the injured limb. She cringed but did not
retract her arm. The whole room seemed to hold its breath.

The clear glass of the hos suddenly clouded.
It swirled inside as though a storm churned through it, dark and
chaotic. As the gray sweep whirled, the woman’s countenance
abruptly altered. Her face sagged in relief, and her eyes softened
from their hardened stare. She sighed in a near whimper, her
shoulders loosening.

Every back arched forward to see, and when
Brenol raised the hos from her arm, the woman’s skin was entirely
whole. Not a scratch was present, not even a scar to mark the
terrible wound that had been present but moments previously. Awed
exhalations fell from many lips. The woman ran her right hand
across the site, both amazed and relieved. She seemed almost in a
trance as she stepped down and hobbled from the room.