Eyes in the Water (3 page)

How’ve I never thought to read it here?

He would have smacked himself had the mystery
not yanked him from every other thought and inclination.

He delved in.

~

Preifest had been right. It was all here. It
was the Genesifin. It was the beginning and the end. He shuddered,
finally seeing how fate would grip the people and lands of Massada.
No control, no power, they were just blind and sealed to their
doom. The world would change. The maralane would die. The cold and
icy surroundings would encroach on the terrisdans. Many peoples
would suffer. While the writings did not detail everything, it was
clear that this destiny—and growing winter—had been at work for
generations.

It was nearly dawn when Brenol decided to
return home. He closed the Genesifin reluctantly and pushed his
frozen limbs weakly through the water until he remembered the
aurenal.

I need to tell Colette,
he thought,
sliding the case out again.
And before she leaves the
river.

He had unlatched it and opened his mouth to
speak when he was greeted by Colette’s musical voice. It was
strained, but gentle and understanding. “Tell her it is time. Tell
her you know your place and you must take it. Tell her you know
it’s not easy, but growing and loving never are. It’s time to let
go, but your love will always be with her. Tell her you’re not
thinking of yourself, but of your loyalty to a promise. You may
return, you may not…but she is not unloved or alone.”

His face flushed. He had caught glimpses of
this woman during their time in Selenia. She had still been much a
child then—as was he—but when that regal strength had shown
through, it had left him stammering. So despite the strange
reticence he had experienced from her here on Alatrice, he could
see that the Colette from his past had only grown wiser and
stronger. He forgave all in that instant, amazed at the mature
woman whose mind was awake and seeing.

She’s so good.

He had no comparably elegant words to share,
so he spoke simply into the silver case: “I’m coming. I’ll be there
soon.” He clapped it shut with pruned fingers and sloshed up the
steps.

His heart glowed alive with excitement as the
words resounded in his mind:
I’m coming. I’ll be there
soon.

And yes, my gortei
.
Even Colette
hints at it, though she doesn’t know what it means.

The forces of fate were gearing vigorously to
life. He must move with haste.

~

“Where are you going?” she asked.

Brenol gazed at his mother, who stared back
at him with a clamped jaw and narrowed eyes. Mousy brown hair hung
limply against her face.

“I cannot say,” he replied, fidgeting. He
towered over her, and could have easily plucked the wispy woman up
into his arms, but she somehow still made him feel like a grammar
school sprout.

“Is this about the traitor?”

“He has a name,” Brenol replied.

“Is it about him?”

Brenol sighed. “Somewhat,” he added
reluctantly.

“Is that all you have to say?” Her voice was
not angry.

The young man’s eyes widened in surprise.
“You expected this,” he said.
How?

His mother’s features slackened suddenly, and
she peered at him with uncharacteristic understanding. “Bren,
you’re my child. I see. You have a hole.”

Brenol raised his brow.

Her face twitched as she fought anxiously for
the words. “Since you came back. And Darse left. There’s been a
hole.”

The young man regarded his mother
quietly.

She tugged at her sleeves. “You’re more adult
than before—more grown—and I don’t know, but there’s something
you’ve been waiting on… I-I didn’t know what.” Her fingers found a
loose string and twirled it between thumb and finger over and over
again. “And the itch has been growing—to leave, to move…something.”
Her amber eyes locked onto his, and her thin lips pinched together
while she waited for his response. When it did not come, she
discarded the string with an exaggerated swipe of the hand and
spoke with a strength he had never before heard from her. “I’m not
going to cage you. You’re not my pet.”

The word made him grimace, his memory
shooting back to Darse’s horrific experience with Fingers, but
still he was stunned. Her lucidity, her insights, her words. It had
taken him eighteen orbits to glimpse it behind all the angst and
awkward behavior, but there was more to this broken woman than he
could imagine. Brenol stared in disbelief.

The fullness of her words suddenly struck
him.

She’s letting me go.

It was without charge, without explanation.
It was more love than he had ever expected from her—or ever before
received. He stared into her eyes and sensed the world around him
continuing despite his efforts to stand still. This was his first
moment of connection with her, and he felt the bitter irony that it
was also his last. Eventually he choked out the words that Colette
had shared through the aurenal. Flowing from his lips, though, they
seemed inane and meager.

How can one actually say goodbye to one’s
mother?

The experience was too sour, too bitter.
Without meaning to, he blurted out, “Come. Come with me.”

Her face jumped in suspicion. “You want me to
come?”

Brenol nodded, surprised himself, for he
did
want her to come. He would take care of her, and she
could be with him. The idea, however, had barely germinated before
being uprooted.

“No, no.” She shook her head emphatically.
Her hands danced in agitation, and she began to wander around the
small room in jerky strides. “I-I-I just… No.” She swung her head
back violently and stared venomously at her son. “You mean nothing
to me. Just like your traitor friend. Be gone.”

Brenol frowned, wishing things could somehow
be different. His mother was not whole—would likely never be—and
there was little he could do to mend the strange brokenness within
her. He could force her to accompany him, but a foreign world would
only aggravate whatever ailed her; the mere mention of leaving had
caused her anxiety to rise. His remaining here also would be of
little use. She had refused his help from the beginning and would
do so to the close.

He bobbed his head in agreement, hoping to
calm her, though he still stung with regret for a future that could
never be.

“Ma, it’s okay, it’s okay.” Brenol approached
and met her, forcing her body to a still. He cupped her hands in
his large palms and dipped his head to meet her eye to eye. She
shook free but remained before him as he spoke.

“I do love you. You’ll be fine here. You
always have been, right?” He smiled gently, and her thin head
bobbed back in fitful agreement.

“Go join your traitor friend,” she said
without emotion.

Brenol winced. “It isn’t like that.”

“I don’t care if it is or isn’t,” she replied
steadily.

Brenol sighed. Delaying his departure was not
serving either, so he attempted to embrace her for the final time.
Her arms batted him back, and again he released her.

The young man dipped down to kiss the crown
of her head lightly, and her brown tresses stuck to his salty lips.
He wiped his face clean and strode out the door. He wondered if he
would ever retrace those steps again.

She waited for the sound of his heels to
recede and then returned to her washing.

~

Brenol rapped lightly on the weathered door.
The sound seemed to echo through the small residence. He glanced
around restlessly, wondering where he could find Mager if she was
not here, and then sighed quietly as he caught the sounds of
muttering from within.

A creamy brown face topped with shortly
cropped hair the hue of snow poked out. Two bushy white eyebrows
raised in question, but the woman made no move to speak.

“Mager,” Brenol began. “I—”

The woman held up a wrinkled hand. “Be gone.
I’ve got nothing baked. You can be on your way.”

Brenol smiled, amused despite the rebuttal,
and felt his impatience dissipate. “I haven’t pestered you for food
for orbits,” he teased her.

Mager’s pink lips pursed tightly. “Yes, but
now you’re twice the size you used to be. You’re probably here to
make up for all the lost meals.”

Brenol dipped his head, as if in
acquiescence. “I
am
always hungry. But I came with another
purpose. I brought you a gift.”

Mager’s face lit with joy, like a child
discovering it was a holiday, then shifted swiftly into a
suspicious, sidelong gaze. She crept the door forward a few digits
but did not make a move to exit. “A gift?”

“A gift,” he repeated, smiling
enticingly.

Mager hesitated, and the man could see both
uneasiness and curiosity in her wide brown eyes. She allowed
herself one step, and that was enough for Brenol. He collected her
hand and tugged her gently forward.

“Come, come,” Brenol said.

At his touch, all hesitation vanished. She
brightened and took his arm, as if he were a suitor calling upon
her, and Brenol led the little woman around to the back of her
house. Her steps were springy, and a smile tugged at Brenol’s lips.
Mager had always been a tad eccentric.

The woman whistled as she spied the fence.
There, roped to her splintering fence, were Brenol’s two cows.
Daisy, the dark brown heifer heavy with calf, ignored their
presence and bent greedily for the tufts of grass by her hooves.
Clover, though, raised her large, black head to peer genially at
the two. Her eyes were a velvety chocolate brown and carried a
sweetness, even if they lacked any spark of wit.

Mager, while refusing to relinquish Brenol’s
arm, pulled her chin back and turned to face him distrustfully.
“Your gift is to clear my lawn?”

Brenol patted the thin arm. “I need a favor
from you.”

“That much is obvious,” she said with a
guffaw. She waited with interested expectation.

Brenol inhaled, allowing the rehearsed words
to flow from his lips. “I’m going away on a trip, probably for a
long time. And I want you to have my ladies.” He extended a finger
to the nearest. “Daisy will be lifing in the next moon with her
first, and Clover, the black one, is a solid milker. Should you
need to, the calf will likely make a fine price at Smalter’s Fest,
and then you’d have two good dairy cows.”

Brenol peered at Mager. Her demeanor was
still reserved, but he perceived a smile in her eyes. “The favor,
though…” he began.

“The favor, indeed,” Mager repeated with a
laugh. The aging woman squeezed Brenol’s arm slightly, again
reminding him of a gleeful child.

“I need you to look after Ma. Bring her some
milk every day. You’ll have more than you need. And if you sell
any, maybe buy her some food every now and then.” He straightened
and met her gaze squarely. “I’m giving you more than I am asking.
We both know that.”

Mager shook her head. “Why not sell them,
then? You’d get more money for her that way.”

Brenol’s face grew somber. “I can’t give her
the money, and you know it.” He sighed. “And I can’t trust anyone
else to give her the money as she needs it. No, this is better. You
are both helped, and I know you will honor our agreement. You
watched over Darse’s cow, Button, when we were gone that time.”

Mager smiled, revealing a long line of
crooked teeth. “That’s only because I was thirsty.”

Brenol laughed. “I think there was more to it
than that. But regardless, I trust you, and there are not many
people I can say that of. Would you please help me? Would you look
after her?”

The old woman patted his arm with gentle
understanding. “You aren’t coming back, are you?”

Brenol flinched, but answered anyway. “No.
I’m not.”

“Will you be needing your chickens, then?”
she asked with a full-toothed grin.

Brenol chuckled, surprised at her reaction.
“They’re yours if you agree.”

Mager retracted her arm, then placed her hand
out flat, palm up. Brenol set his hand palm down on top of hers.
After the brief touch, the two nodded and retracted their
hands.

“There is one other thing,” Brenol said after
a moment.

Mager sighed. “Now to buy the loaf.”

Brenol laughed. “No, no. I just want you to
make sure no one goes in Darse’s house. I’ll board it up, but I
don’t want anyone in there.”

“Why?” she asked with sudden curiously.

He pressed his lips together, searching for
an excuse. “It is what Darse would have wanted. I need to honor
that,” he finally said.

Mager surveyed the man for a few moments,
then finally nodded. “I’ll do what I can… Do you mind me using his
land, though?”

“It’s yours,” Brenol said, relieved.

Suddenly, Brenol lurched forward as Mager
slapped him excitedly on the back. She offered a surprising amount
of force for such a slight person.

“Gah!” she yelped gleefully. She rubbed her
palms together slowly, her face eager. “Milk for my old bones! This
is even better than nipping from Darse’s stores.”

Brenol laughed, thinking of his friend. Darse
had always known when the woman had been foraging through his food,
but he had spared her any harsh words. “Thank you, Mager. I
appreciate it.”

She narrowed her glance for a moment. “I
still didn’t bake anything for you. I’m clean out.” Her face
extended again into a smooth smile, unable to hide her pleasure
over their dealings. “Clean out.”

~

The stairs were still damp. It had only been
a handful of hours since he had emerged with the knowledge that he
was returning to Massada. He removed his sandals carefully and
stowed them in his pack. The bag did not contain much, just enough
to ensure that he wouldn’t again find himself unshod and hungry on
the banks of Ziel.

Sloshing his way in, he shivered and jumped
as he adjusted to the water and darkness. After a few minutes, the
pricks of ice receded, and his skin was cool to the touch. He gazed
forward, seeing dim lights along the canal—a crude tallow ensconced
every twenty paces or so. He began to shudder but stopped himself,
opting to find hope in them instead of fear.