Eyes in the Water (6 page)

“What has been wrong, Veronia?” she
whispered.

“
You are here,
” the land replied.

Colette laughed, delighted. “Of course I am!”
Her face radiated joy as she thrust her mind forward to probe the
connection. Her blood thrummed in satisfaction. She could see! She
could know anything! She could do anything!

A doubt snagged within her mind, and she
paused. This moment felt like it would last forever, but would it?
Could it? Every other time, the power had been snatched away from
her abruptly and without mercy.

“Where did you go?” she finally asked. “Why
do you keep leaving me?” Her voice was sullen, as if she had been
spurned. “Why does this always happen?”

Veronia did not reply. Instead, the land
purred through her, and she felt the potency of its love. Colette
sighed in stupefied bliss, more than mollified.

But in a blink, the connection broke, and she
felt like a blanket had been ripped from her in the midst of a
storm. Her vision went black, and she quivered in fury.

“Where are you, Veronia?” she yelled
heatedly. She stood, looking around frantically. “What is
happening?”

With a rushing flood of emotion, the land
swept into her mind anew. She sighed in pleasure, but as the land’s
emotions dissipated, she glanced about, crazed at the possibility
that the power might be yanked from her again. The jerking rise and
release of the nuresti connection was enough to send her clawing up
the hedgerow.

“Is everything all right, my lady?” a small
voice asked.

Colette spun around. There before her was
Marnet, the gardener’s daughter. She was eight orbits old and still
carried the round cheeks of youth and wore her light brown hair in
braids. Her gentle eyes peered at the princess with concern.

Colette could feel the connection slipping
from her, and she bore cold eyes into the child. “Get away from
me,” she snarled.

The girl paled and fled without a word.

Colette focused again, but yes, the
connection was gone. She was blind. She could see solely with her
eyes. She knew only what was in her own mind. Desperation flooded
her, and she felt like screaming. She began to sprint aimlessly
away, but she slipped in the first two strides and stumbled down to
the gravel. Her hands burned, and her dress tore at her knee.

It took many long, painful breaths before
Colette could recall herself and perceive her behavior. Shame
rouged her cheeks and pinked her ears. The poor child was a friend
to her, and she had likely tainted their relationship forever.

What is wrong with me? Why must this longing
grip me so strongly?

Colette cupped her face and wept. Finally,
she stood, wiped the dirt from her ruined dress, and went to seek
the girl.

I won’t lose myself. I won’t.

~

Brenol washed in Ziel before setting out
again. It was late afternoon, and his insides were gnawed by
hunger, but he pressed forward, pausing only for a brief bite from
his stores, for Colette’s needs were far more urgent than his
belly’s. By evening, he had reached what must be the Pleoner, where
she emptied out into Ziel
.
He carefully hopped across the
large stones that extended across the river’s girth, but about ten
strides from the bank, he tripped and soaked himself to the neck
anyway. Knowing he could go no further now, Brenol coaxed up a
fire, aired out his drenched attire, and slept deeply, waking only
once to tend the flames.

At dawn, Brenol ate the remainder of his food
but still felt weak from hunger. There was nothing else to do, so
resolutely, he kicked the graying embers cool and restored his
possessions to his pack. As he straightened his back, he spied a
man emerging from the folds of the forest. The stranger was robust,
but with a left leg that dragged lifelessly behind him through the
mud and pine needles. His handsome, rounded face was punctuated by
angular features and topped by a full head of brown locks. He
gripped an obsidian cane and allowed it to steady his weak leg. The
white runes along the dark wood were worn but clearly visible.

The man grinned and raised a hand in
greeting. He had yellowing teeth but a friendly smile. As he
approached, all Brenol could think of was Pearl’s whistle in his
pocket. It was so close, but not in hand. Somehow, that bothered
him.

The man continued to hobble toward him, and
goose bumps jumped to life upon Brenol’s spine.

Why does this guy disturb me? There’s no
reason.

The stranger maneuvered forward and spoke in
a genial voice, “May I join you?”

“No.” The word escaped Brenol’s lips before
he had a moment to think. He grappled to amend his social
awkwardness, saying, “I’m actually leaving right now. Sorry. No
time.”

The man smiled, but his eyes narrowed into a
chilling glare. They were even blacker than Arman’s onyx pools,
with no iris discernable. “Another time?”

“No.” Again, Brenol was shocked.
What’s
wrong with me?

Wordlessly, he scooped up his bag and made
his way around the stranger.

The man stood unmoving. Only his eyes slid
sideways to track Brenol as he trotted off through the trees.

“We shall see,” he said when Brenol was
beyond hearing range. His glance was stony and cold, harboring a
lethal anger. “We shall certainly see.”

~

Brenol dismissed the bizarre encounter and
worked his way west; there were far more crucial things to consider
and accomplish in the following hours. He paused briefly at a
sealtoz in a humble lugazzi town, leaving a letter for Arman and
promising, with an apology, that the juile would reimburse the
sealtor.

Brenol next followed the sharp jut of Ziel
until it met the Pearia
.
He remained on the western banks
and pushed himself a few additional matroles through the
lugazzi
,
itching to feel the terrisdan land beneath his toes
before nightfall.

The young man could feel the line approaching
as he moved through the neutral land. His senses seemed only to
have heightened in his time away, and his arms tingled as if from
static electricity as he drew nearer. He smiled, breathed deeply,
and strode forward into Garnoble.

But then he paused, confused, and again
surveyed the terrain. In the dim light of evening things were
obscure, but he had entered the terrisdan; he was certain of it.
His lips pressed together tightly. His skin tickled with the
knowledge of the land, but the terrisdan was as quiet and still as
a coma.

Bewildered, he bent down, placed an open palm
upon the soil, and spoke softly, “Garnoble, it is Bren from so long
ago. May I pass, old friend?”

There was no reply, nor did the eye of the
land bear down upon him as it previously had. It was there, but it
was as if it were closed. The soil crumbled from his palm as he
retracted his hand.

It’s like you’re asleep…

Brenol went through the motions of setting up
camp and preparing for night but knew rest was unlikely. His mind
churned with all that was upon and before him. He lay awake for
hours, gazing pensively into the sky. Eventually, even his
engrossed mind could not withstand the exhaustion, and slumber took
him. He slept past dawn.

Fate is not merely a matter for kings.

-Genesifin

Day arrived, and Brenol knew he must find food. His
head ached and his thoughts were muddled. He scavenged about and
was eventually rewarded with a vined gourd. He plopped it in the
fire, cooked it for a time, and, despite its bland flavor, consumed
every edible piece of its pulpy flesh.

Renewed, he began again. Walking was
pleasant, but monotonous and time consuming. Though he trod at a
brisk pace, he refused to push himself too hard in order to
preserve his stamina. After several hours, he flirted with the idea
of throwing himself into the rushing waterway and praying he did
not meet sharp rock, but in the end the temperature deterred
him.

The day wore on, and he found himself yet
again wishing for a raft. He paused to wash and drink by the water
and realized that across the waterway was the road that split and
led into the visnati village of Coltair. The ghosted lanes
whispered to him of the past and of the massacre that had been the
visnati’s fate. Brenol speedily abandoned his efforts for
refreshment and hastened past, seeking distraction from the
gruesome thoughts. He did not want to see what remained, or did
not, of the town.

“Bren,” a familiar voice called from behind
him.

He jumped at the sound, but after the initial
shock, his face stretched into a grin.

“Arman!” Brenol turned joyfully but gasped
when he saw his friend. For indeed, the juile was visible even
though they stood in Garnoble. He gaped at the transparent image of
Arman, working to make sense of it all. “How?” he muttered, half to
himself.

Arman smiled gently at Brenol’s confusion.
“It seems we both have something we do not understand… I pray it
will be bountiful.” As graceful as ever, he bowed, his robes
flowing smoothly down.

Brenol bowed in turn. “Bountiful indeed. But
truly, Arman. What—Wait, is this part of the Change? You’re losing
your invisibility?”

The juile drew his friend in for a strong
embrace. “You have not lost your inquisitiveness, I see. Although I
think that might be the only aspect to have remained as it was.”
Arman’s dark eyes peered down—although not as far as they once
had—into Brenol’s, examining him with patient care.

While Brenol’s face spread into a warm smile,
the juile hesitated for a breath. He pondered yet again over his
conjectures, the signs he had seen.
Do I speak of my thoughts to
Bren? Do I tell him of this strange, hidden evil?
Unsure, he
finally drew the man close again, and with a few clicks, coded out,
You have been missed.

Brenol nodded and looked at Arman. Something
about the juile’s expression seemed awry. “What is it, Ar?”

“Come, come. I’ll answer questions,” Arman
said, swiping away his thoughts. “But first, let’s eat!”

~

Over a sating luncheon of fish and bread and
vegetables, Arman listened to Brenol narrate his last four and a
half orbits. But the juile exhibited especial interest in the
recent encounter with Preifest.

“He has been waiting for your return,” the
juile said quietly. “I don’t think any of us believed you would be
gone as long as this.”

“No,” Brenol began, solemnly recalling the
long orbits of anticipation. “But I am here now.”

“Indeed.”

“I found a maralane body in Ziel,” Brenol
said softly, almost reluctantly.

Arman’s eyebrows tilted up. “One, or
more?”

The young man’s face was incredulous. “This
has become a common thing?” The images from his dream suddenly
burst alive again: beached maralane corpses everywhere. He
shuddered. The tiny girl had been in his arms but two days
previously.

“They are dying, Bren. How can they care for
their dead when they cannot care for their living?”

“What—”

Arman held up a transparent hand, begging for
patience. “Their corpses began washing up on shore about an orbit
ago. It did not take long for creatures to notice—the stench was
unbearable. Especially after storms. I’ve seen it myself. Water
lapping against their frail bodies spit up on the sand.” His face
was ugly with pity. “The people of the lugazzi surrounding Ziel
have established some kind of watch and burial system. Maralane do
not rest long now when they come ashore.”

Is this what Preifest meant? About the
upper-world showing unexpected kindness?
Brenol wondered. “What
does Ordah say?” he asked.

Arman’s face pinched. “He doesn’t say
anything. He lives out in the wilderness. And refuses to talk to or
see anyone.”

“Why?” Brenol asked.
He never had a
problem spinning his speech before,
he thought.

Arman flicked out his fingers—the juile
equivalent of a shrug. “The maralane dying? His shame at not having
the intuit to perceive the true nature of his brother? His familial
disgrace? There are numerous reasons I can think of, but he will
not confirm or deny any of them. He chooses silence and
isolation.”

Brenol shook his head. The prophet rarely
made sense to him.

“And your invisibility?” the young man asked.
“Where does that fit in?”

“You’re on the right pattern,” Arman replied.
“I do not know. In fact, I had hoped you would know more. But time
will reveal all. It appears as though both land and water are
changing, and with it the creatures themselves.”

“Some survive, some do not.”

“It is provocative,” Arman agreed.

A dark thought seized Brenol. “The juile
aren’t dying, are they?”

The black eyes looked upon him kindly. “You
need not fear. We are not. But I do appreciate the concern.”

“Then why the fading invisibility?”

“It is not everywhere. It seems that the
neutral lands are extending further in.”

Brenol scrunched up his face, trying to make
sense of it all. “As if the lands are dying? This place is not
neutral,” he said, waving a hand around him. “It
is
off
though…”

The juile laughed. It caused his face to jump
into an attractive alignment. Brenol’s chest loosened at the sight.
He had sorely missed that smile.

“And here I thought you would be bringing
me
the answers!” Arman joked. “What does that book of yours
say?”

“You knew about it?” Brenol asked. “The
Genesifin?”

Arman’s glance narrowed in response. Brenol’s
lips curled in a small smile.

Preifest was right,
Brenol thought.
Juile find out many things they aren’t given privilege to
know.

Brenol dug out the manuscript and placed it
in his lap. The book was strikingly clean atop his muddied
clothing. At the sight of it, all amusement drained from his heart
and face.