Eyes in the Water (22 page)

I know what I must do.

I know.

~

“Colette?” Brenol found her in the dining
hall in the soladrome, curled forward before an empty table. It was
well into the night, and he had almost not noticed her in the
dimmed corner.

“Yes?” She angled her face toward him, but
her eyes were focused elsewhere.

He lowered himself down to take a seat across
from her, although he yearned to be closer. A heavy sigh left his
lips—much weighed upon him. He fingered the silver whistle through
the fabric of his pocket. It did not seem time to call Pearl, but
it never did.

What could she possibly do?
he
wondered again.
Watch the world die with me?

“I don’t know what’s right anymore,” Brenol
began. “What do you think we should do?”

Startled, she was glad he could not read her
mind. Her thoughts had been wrapped around the hos. The unguarded
hos
.

Colette mustered her focus and settled her
vision squarely on Brenol. The gauntness of his face startled
her.

He isn’t sleeping,
she realized,
finding the truth sobering.
He doesn’t have a solution.
He can’t help me.
The thought only sent her weak will
spiraling further.

Brenol waited upon her with patient
expectation.

“I don’t have any answers for you,” Colette
said softly. She turned her eyes down to her hands.

Brenol leaned nearer, concerned. “Are you
well?”

“Leave me, Bren. I want to be alone right
now.”

The man exhaled softly, feeling slighted. He
began to rise but then paused as he examined her face. There was an
element in her expressions that jolted him. It reminded him of a
time—not as long past as he would have liked—when he would have
been willing to let Colette meet death, all so he might retain the
powerful nuresti connection. He felt his cheeks flush.

Not wanting to believe his perception was
accurate, he asked, “What is bothering you, Colette?”

She glanced over at him, her features creased
with tension and her hands rolled tightly into fists. “It is just a
lot. That’s all. The maralane…”

Brenol sighed, relieved that he had discerned
poorly. “You’re still thinking of the maralane?” he asked.

Colette smiled weakly at him and then clamped
her jaw shut. Already, she could feel sweat slicking her hands and
neck as greed rumbled to life within her. Her mind swam with the
image of the hos, and the terrible inner voice practically sang her
forward in purpose.

Brenol berated himself.
Why do I always
assume she is battling with nuresti greed when she is simply
mourning? She is better than me. Why do I continually doubt
her?

“We will know when they have passed,” he said
softly. “The Genesifin says so. The heavens will shower light.” He
met her eyes with compassion; they swirled with a mess of emotion.
“It will be good to at least know.”

Colette shook her head slowly. “Leave me
alone, Bren,” she said, the words leaving her lips like a
secret.

He rose and peered down at the lunitata.
“Please let me help you. You don’t have to do this alone.”

She drew her arms around herself tightly,
turning her frame away from him. It was plain she wished him
gone.

“You don’t know what I need,” she said
bitterly. The pounding desire burned through her veins, and she
hardly even perceived what she said.

Brenol swallowed, surprised.
She’s
right,
Brenol thought.
I don’t. I can’t do anything for
her.
His mouth could not form any more words.
She doesn’t
want my help or my consolation. She doesn’t want me.

I’m a fool. I’ve blinded myself with
emotion.

He abandoned the hall with a stomach wrung
raw. When he arrived in his room, he flung his articles at the
walls in frustration. Clothing and papers soon lay strewn across
the white tile.

I don’t even know her anymore
, he
thought.

And she certainly doesn’t want me to.

A grimace stretched itself across his
features.
You think this is really love? You can’t love a
stranger.

He clenched his hands until they were the hue
of bone.
You can’t love a stranger.

Malitas, no matter how obscured by the other
trials of the time,
must never be deemed
insignificant.

-Genesifin

Rough hands jerked Brenol from unconsciousness and
threw his sleep-heavy body to the tile with a stinging jolt. His
elbow smarted from the impact, and the cold shocked his warm skin.
Harsh words reverberated in his ears.

“Your precious princess has stolen the
hos.”

My princess?
Brenol shook his head to
dispel the confusion of slumber and looked up at the uninvited
guest.

Belane, a stocky man from Granoile, stood
before him with a scowl. He seemed unconcerned with the sprawled
Brenol and cast his eyes around the room, taking in the strewn
belongings. From his stout paunch rose a deep grunt of disgust.

“What are you talking about?” Brenol asked.
He rubbed his face, as if he expected the moment to fade like a
dream.

“Colette. She took it.”

Brenol gaped, finally understanding.
Colette! No! Was it possible?

Belane shook his head at the man, muttering,
“We’re doomed if she gets far.”

If.
The word danced needles upon
Brenol’s spine, for death was carried in his tone.
They’re going
to kill her if they find her.
The reality splashed him alert,
and he rose with a jump.

Belane glowered and thrust a coarse finger in
Brenol’s face. “Where’s your confidence now?” he spat, eyebrows
narrowed. “I hope you know what she’s chosen. And what we have to
choose now. You’d better not’ve been a part of this.”

Belane threw his hands up, flung the canvas
door flap open, and carried his fury in grandiose exhalations out
into the dawn. “She’s not in there,” he bellowed. His words were
answered by the roar of a mob.

Brenol’s skin raised with goose bumps as the
flap fell back into place; the gray morning chill had crept in with
icy hands. He dressed in haste and fought back the stammering
emotion that throttled his throat.

He felt it deeply—a dread lingered in the
very fabric of his cells:
Today is a day of death
. He choked
in a breath and refused to let fear paralyze his racing heart.

Outside, he searched for Arman, but the juile
had still not returned. He paced and scoured the hallways of the
soladrome and the outer housing units but knew Colette was not
there; the chaos would have been calmed long before had she been
within the city limits. The song of fear thrummed louder, and he
lost the ability to mute it.

I knew last night that she was struggling,
but I thought it was because she was mourning,
he brooded, yet
even in thinking it he shuddered at his blunder. The reality of the
nuresti was one he knew too keenly, but he had naively chosen to
ignore it. It was close to impossible that Colette—or any of the
keepers—would
not
succumb to such measures. He himself had
experienced the gripping enticement, the luring power. He knew it
more intimately than he cared to recollect. He shook his head at
his foolishness. He had left temptation at the fingertips of every
nurest. It was a wonder that none had taken it before this.

I’ve been so blind,
he berated
himself.
Love has rotted my judgment. I—
But he could not
follow any train of thought for long, for the possibility of her
death soured his insides like lemon meeting milk.

“My cartess,” he found himself mumbling over
and over like a madman. Finally, Brenol ran back to his room, threw
items haphazardly into a pack, and thrust the bag upon his
shoulders.

The words echoed within with the repetition
of a metronome:
day of death, day of death, day of death.
He
clenched his jaw tightly.

“No,” Brenol said firmly. “Today is the day I
fly.”

~

Brenol was not the only traveler of the
morning. As he moved hard along Ziel, he spied groups with weapons
in hand and glances full of ire. He suppressed a shudder and
spurred his legs faster.

How far could she have gotten? How many
hours has she been gone?
He flung himself forward in angst, for
there were no assurances of anything—direction, time, distance.

Colette. Oh, Colette!

He ached as he thought of her slinking away
in the night to save her precious terrisdan. Hiding in the shadows,
hands curled greedily around the tiny hos
.
He chewed his
cheek until it was bleeding and torn. Her surrender to desire would
almost certainly mean her end.

~

The house was silent in its frosty chill,
deserted the previous season after its residents had died from the
black fever. It sat tucked behind the protective black-limbed arms
of several massive
seritz
trees that almost concealed it
from sight. Shadows encased and filled it, and the place seemed
ghosted and lonely.

The night entered with freezing fingers and
pressed its breath upon the woman huddled inside. Colette shivered,
but she refused to aid her stiff limbs with movement; she would be
dead in moments if the mob’s greedy eyes found her. Dread beat in
her temples and gut, and she shuddered silently. She felt the
vulnerability of her flesh, the openness of the vacant house. There
was nothing to be done now but wait, just as she had waited for the
lethal voices to trickle out of town.

They’re hunting me.

Colette cowered back from the memory. Their
angry tones had wafted in to her as they searched the roads and
fields. No cold had caused the trembling that had ensued from
hearing her name called out in taunt to her, wherever she might be.
She could almost feel their fingers upon her, their wrathful hands
meeting her neck. She tugged her cloak more tightly around her, her
knees tucked up against her chest. Her glow was dim and fading.

It will be worth it once I use the hos.

I will have the power again.

Colette winced at the thought, whispering
aloud as if to justify it, “And Veronia. The land will be healthy
again.”

The night wore on, and her nerves ached from
the prolonged tension. Even the articles of the house spoke to her
of snatching death, for they lay dusty in mid-use: a kettle before
three cups, an iron resting beside a linen shirt, a doll face-down
amidst ruffled sheets. She averted her eyes and stared determinedly
at the shadows.

Hours passed, and dawn’s light began to ease
the stifling dark around her. She sighed, a sorrowful exhale that
brought no relief.

Soon I will be able to travel. I will go a
longer route, but I will get to Veronia without them seeing me.

Colette felt deflated as she considered the
journey. She stood with effort and, wincing, rubbed life back into
her legs. With the new movement, her whole body suddenly seemed to
droop in exhaustion.

Can I really think to do this?
she
wondered suddenly.
Do I truly only care about being a
nurest?

The thought rolled about uncomfortably in her
gut, but she found too many conflicting emotions to contend with in
her state. She glanced around and spied a small pallet whose size
was as diminutive as the person it must have once held. Colette
curled into the tiny bed and the rumpled blankets. Her hands and
entire body cupped the hos, and she fell into scattered dreams.

~

Brenol traveled through Selenia but did not
find her. The following day, he pushed hard and finally broke past
the lugazzi into Brovingbune. He paused briefly to greet the
terrisdan. Its eye hovered, but the land itself was frustratingly
silent to his words, his questions, his pleadings. It was like a
play yard after the children had been summoned back to class:
eerily quiet and reflecting a pale image of the life once
there.

The young man felt lost. He had found no sign
of Colette’s soft tread, but he wondered if his speed had caused
him to trample over smaller clues. He shook his head in
exasperation. Certainly not all hints of Colette could have been
lost. But his instincts were dry, and he had nothing other than
strained reason to follow—and there was no reason when it came to a
nurest.

Had she taken a boat? How could she have
found one in Limbartina? The maralane are so protective about their
waters—no boats are allowed.

Unless they’ve all died.

Resting his hand upon the rough trunk of a
tree, he bent to vomit. His entire body shook with the violent
heaves, and for several minutes he was at their mercy. Finally,
Brenol wiped his mouth with his sleeve and raised his eyes. His
harsh, hot breath met the cold chill of twilight in a cloud, and
his shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion.

He gave a nearly imperceptible nod to
himself; he could go no further tonight. He was stretching himself
beyond any safe limit; the mere thought of the maralane ending had
sent him tumbling.

He lowered his body to the ground in
acceptance, but in an instant, with the clarity that comes with
surrender, he knew there was no point to pressing ahead anyway;
Colette was not here. She had either been captured or had chosen a
different route, but he would not find her this way. Brenol cared
somewhere in his depths, but he could muster little response. He
sighed and sank into the leaves.

A sudden explosion of light drew his eyes to
the sky. The heavens were aglow. Dozens of stars streaked across
the dark blue backdrop in a silent, beautiful sweep. More followed,
and still more. Brenol had seen shooting stars before, but these
seemed far closer, as if a frawnite might be able to fly up and
catch them with a mere flick of a hand.