Eyes in the Water Page 10

  “When was the water poisoned?”

  “Around the time Jerem went out to the island.”

  “Why then?”

  Brenol shook his head. “Can we ever understand his madness? Maybe he knew he’d never be able to leave the island unless he did it. Maybe he poisoned the waters before heading out to the island. But it seems to be around that time… Regardless, he was fixated on owning Massada. And he knew the maralane would never be idle if he succeeded.”

  Darse shook his head, muttering. “He cared only for power. Plucked away those who had any, one by one.”

  “Yes.” Brenol spoke softly, but the word’s import was hard and cold.

  “Do you think he was trying to kill the land too?” Darse asked.

  “I don’t. He wanted to be a nurest, not destroy his source of power. But in the end, does it matter?” Brenol replied. “He was trying to spread death. And he succeeded.”

  Colette’s fists clenched tightly at her sides. Quiet as a breath, she whispered to herself, “I hate him.” Her face was ugly in its pinched loathing.

  Brenol closed his eyes, but in his mind the picture still lingered.

  Darse’s words tugged the young man back to the conversation. “And the hos—you said it now contains the antidote?”

  The coppery head nodded. “Yes, or at least that is the word Preifest used. The maralane made it.”

  “But you said the maralane are dying. Why don’t they use it for themselves?” Darse asked.

  “Arman thinks the maralane began dying before the poison. And that maybe this just sped things along. But as for the antidote? I think it is more specifically for the terrisdans, not the maralane—Preifest’s writing suggests it would be harmful to them. I imagine land and creature do not work or heal in the same manner.”

  “Wait. Preifest didn’t say anything when he gave it to you?” Darse’s worn features were incredulous. “The world depends upon this, and he sprinkles riddles in your food?”

  “You know, I don’t think to a maralane this is a riddle. He assumed I would know.” Brenol’s brow furrowed in remembrance. “When I saw Preifest at our last meeting, he was changed—and not simply physically failing. He was genuinely grateful for the upper-world’s kindness during this…” Brenol’s lips jumped sideways in displeasure, “extinction. He must’ve seen this as a small way of giving back.”

  “Why didn’t they give the antidote to us before if they knew so much?” Colette asked bitterly.

  Brenol shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t find the hos ’til recently. Or maybe they didn’t know how badly hurt the terrisdans are. Maybe they can hardly cope with their own fate, and so the antidote has been a slow response.” In his mind, the grim words he refused to speak echoed: Or maybe they waited because of that ridiculous book.

  “Can the poison affect us?” Darse asked.

  “I can’t say, but I’d guess no—Massadans seem fine. Maralane and terrisdan alone were touched. If it affected us, we would have seen signs of it long ago. No, something protected us, or we were simply immune.”

  “I suppose it’s all dispersed by now anyway,” Darse mused.

  “And I would guess,” Brenol began, after seeing Darse open his mouth to follow the thought, “that the antidote will be harmless to us too. The maralane are anything but short-sighted.”

  “Why not give it now, then?” Colette asked.

  Brenol tightened his jaw but did not respond.

  “What is it, Bren?” asked Darse. His golden eyes were filled with concern as he took in the tall frame sagging under the hos’s paltry weight.

  The young man exhaled. “I don’t know how to give the antidote. Is there a serum within the hos? Do I crack it open like an egg? Divide what’s inside? Or is the antidote the object itself? And how would it be administered to the terrisdans? I don’t know. Preifest was clear about one thing in his writing though. His exact words were: Do not bring it to the water. It will only cause death. They must be too weak to withstand it… Preifest had told me he accepted his fate, but there must be something truly terrible that could happen if the hos goes into the lake. I can only follow his wishes.”

  Comprehension and awe mingled in Darse’s gaze. “Preifest handed over the power to save us, but it’s powerful enough to destroy as well?”

  Brenol’s words came out hollow and scratchy. “It would seem so.” He left me with more power than I care to hold…

  Colette seemed not to have heard. “Veronia drank its death,” she whispered.

  “What about the terrisdans that didn’t directly take in Ziel’s water?” Darse asked. “I imagine that the most damage has been done to those fed by the Pearia or surrounding Ziel, but what about Callup? Bergin? Granallat?”

  Brenol grimaced. He did not want to utter his most feared conjecture: Are the lives of the terrisdans connected? If you take down one, will they all topple like a tower of blocks?

  Darse rubbed his face wearily. “Bren?”

  The young man closed his eyes and concentrated his strength. Remember that your gortei comes first… He opened his eyes and rolled his words out cautiously, “I don’t know if we can save every terrisdan.”

  “Goodness. Does it ever end?” Colette spoke quietly to herself.

  Never, Brenol thought in answer, yet in that moment of despair, Arman’s face appeared in a memory. He said we will do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes. The young man clung to those words.

  “So now?” Darse asked.

  “Now. Well, now we go to Limbartina. Meet Arman. Get some additional answers. Talk to the maralane. Talk to the umbus.”

  “Is there any hope?”

  Brenol gave a careful nod. “We have the hos… So yes, I think so.” His fingers slid into his pocket and curled around the tiny figurine.

  “What if there are no answers in Limbartina?” Colette asked, her wild eyes darting between them.

  “We pray it doesn’t come to that,” Darse said.

  Colette persisted. “But if it does?”

  Brenol sighed quietly, almost imperceptibly, beneath the cover of his controlled and authoritative face. His sturdy voice rang out into the cool evening air. “Then we save what terrisdans we can.”

  “And who decides?” Her voice was as cracked as an addict’s, strained and desperate. He could imagine the clawing greed she felt to save Veronia, even at the cost of the rest of the world.

  Brenol leaned over to gaze steadily into her savage eyes. “Massada does.”

  He placed a large hand upon her shoulder. His touch was warm and tender, but she shivered and shook out from underneath it; comfort was not what she wanted.

  Colette frowned and stiffly turned away. A thought resounded in her mind: If I were in Veronia with the connection, I could make him give me the antidote.

  She shuddered but at the same time felt the greed pulsing up and taking her.

  You still could, her blood sang. You still could.

  ~

  The dark skies curved over them, and stars glowed brilliantly, their tiny beams seemingly within grasp. The ruby fire crackled happily, and in the chill air the three huddled silently around the heat. Colette, not granting even a glance to her companions, stared through the flames until darkness fully settled, and finally wrapped herself tightly in her blankets and curled on her side like a scared child.

  Brenol watched her with a frown.

  Darse waited until he was sure Colette was asleep and then slowly motioned for Brenol to follow him into a thicket of trees to the west of their camp.

  The young man stood, his hair bright before the firelight, and breathed a reluctant acceptance. His breath frosted the air before him, but his goose bumps were not entirely due to the penetrating freeze. He craned his neck back and peered up at the celestial lights.

  He felt lost as to what to do about Colette. She was an enigma, and he could see as well as any that holding her hand would never heal the desolation within her. She needed someone to save her, and he felt he was very fa
r from being that person.

  Guide me now, Brenol pleaded to the heavens. If you were ever there. Guide me now.

  His face was grim and taut as he padded softly from the fire. He approached Darse in the grove of trilant. The air was drenched with their honeycomb-pine scent. Tiny cones littered the forest floor and crunched softly beneath his heels. Brenol positioned his back to the deep woods, unwilling to allow the lunitata out of his sight. Her small form was but a rounded lump before the bright cherry flames.

  “She cannot come,” Darse said. “Travel is slow enough, and her mind is as tangled as a brier.”

  Brenol’s frown turned into a grimace. “She’ll not let us leave her. Nor should we.”

  “I will escort her back.”

  Brenol breathed out a wry laugh, soft as a whisper. “She’ll not have it, Darse. You know the iron will in that woman. I barely know her anymore, but I know that still remains.”

  Darse sighed in resignation. “What then?”

  Three help me, Brenol thought wryly, recalling Darse’s words of several hours earlier. He raised his eyes to meet Darse’s gaze—barely visible in the dark of the forest—and claimed the only choice they had. “You follow with Colette. I will push fast into the north and meet Arman. If we need each other, there are the aurenals.”

  Darse considered the young man’s words. Yes, this was the best of their options. He was thankful not to have to shoulder a protesting woman across a terrisdan to bar her in her rooms, even if there seemed little purpose to her presence at the soladrome.

  “You seem to have figured it all out,” Darse said finally, his face falling into a grim smile.

  “I’ll let you know when that day comes,” Brenol replied with a soft exhale-laugh. He moved to turn but then stopped abruptly and faced Darse. He placed a sturdy hand upon the older man’s shoulder and locked green eyes with gold. “Darse, take care of her. She’s important. More than we could ever guess.”

  “Wha—”

  Brenol waved his hand to stop the query. “I don’t know.”

  I don’t even know if I can trust the thoughts and memories in my own head, he thought. He glanced again to the stars and nodded, more to himself than to Darse. “But I’m leaving tonight.”

  Darse’s eyes widened. “Tonight?” Massada weighs heavily upon him…

  “Tonight,” Brenol replied firmly. His voice was a hushed rumble.

  Another thought occurred to Darse. “Wait! I nearly forgot.” He fished through his pockets and extended an object to his companion. Brenol drew it close for inspection. It was a nut no larger than a peach stone, entirely smooth and a striking strawberry red hue—evident even in the heavy shadows.

  “What is it?” Brenol scrutinized every side as if it housed a deep mystery.

  Darse’s voice carried a puzzled tone. “Some nut from Caladia. Arista gave it to me to deliver to Arman. She tried to act like it didn’t matter at all, but the whole thing was heavily contrived. I think it must be important. So since you’ll see him first…” The sentence lingered in the air like a question.

  “Of course, Darsey. I’ll bring it to him. Massada shall make a sealtor out of me yet.”

  The logistics of traveling with Colette for the next few days spun through Darse’s mind. He exhaled slowly in thought, wondering how she would react to Brenol’s abrupt departure.

  “And Colette?” Brenol voice held a hesitant desperation. “She is capable of anything, Darse. The nurest desire is a terrible thing.”

  Darse turned firm. “I’ll guard her. She’s like a daughter. I’ll guard her with my life.”

  Brenol nodded, as comforted as he could be. “See you soon, old man,” he whispered. He crept back to collect his gear, and in just a few moments, he swept from the campsite, agile and silent.

  Darse watched him fold into the shadows. I almost don’t know him…but no, he’s Bren. Just kingly now.

  ~

  Colette accepted Brenol’s parting with composure—just a brief flicker of fury mixed with disappointment washed her features when Darse revealed it. Then the young woman adeptly hooded her eyes and face with stoic emptiness. Darse’s insides stirred anxiously; he wished he had not witnessed the masking.

  They walked north, taking the soft paths of the terrisdan that wound eventually to the mouth of the Pearia. Five days elapsed in their crossing of Garnoble, but the scenes were pleasant and the weather only slightly chilled. Darse brushed aside the lunitata’s cool demeanor and sought to speak amiably, if only to help ease her tired mind.

  “It’s been over three orbits since I’ve seen you. I’m sorry I didn’t come to visit before this.”

  She shrugged, but curiosity won. “Where have you been living? Wasn’t it Selenia?”

  He said the word slowly, as if unsure of its taste. “Granoile.”

  Her eyes jumped in surprise. “Granoile? Why did I think Selenia? My sealtor found you, anyway.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t know much of Granoile.”

  Darse chuckled. “Most do not. It’s the place of the frawnish.”

  “Well, of course. But where do you live?”

  Darse raised his eyebrows in a friendly motion.

  “You live with them?” Her face opened in surprise. It was a welcome change from her usual scowl.

  “As much as they let anyone. They’re a private people, but they’ve accepted me in their own way.” The corners of his lips curled up wryly in memory.

  “I didn’t think they allowed anyone to even approach their towns.” She shuddered, thinking of talons and fangs. Massadan fables were rife with exaggerations of the mysterious fowl-folk of the east. Few had ever seen their kind, let alone lived among them.

  “They’re fierce, certainly. But no harm to those who wish them well. I’ve taken up carpentry work and live in the frieze of town. Really, it’s a little hovel in the town center. Initially, I think they wanted to keep an eye on me to make sure I was behaving, but now it’s simply allowed for the convenience of my legs.”

  They were not as kind in their choice of language, though, Darse recalled. “Cripple.” Yes, “cripple” had been their term.

  “Why? Why’d you choose it?”

  “Reminded me of home, in a way,” he smiled.

  “I didn’t know you had frawnish in your world.”

  “It was a joke, but I suppose only Bren would understand it.”

  “I see,” she said coolly.

  Darse face sagged. He opened his hands out to her in simple appeal. “I just like them. That’s all. They’re fascinating to me.”

  His deflated sincerity disarmed her. He sounded like a child explaining his favorite flavor of frozen cream. She bowed her head, blushing at her behavior. Yet I don’t know how to stop. I just… I just… I’m so bound inside. I wish I could leave it all behind. And run. And not have this pounding drive for power inside me. And never think about Jerem or any of this again… Just be free.

  Her eyes pooled with tears, but in a swift and determined rush, she bit down and refused to let them fall. Jerem will never get another tear from me. I hate him.

  Darse turned his gaze ahead. He could not discern the meaning behind the queer expression upon Colette’s features, but what he did see caused his insides to knot.

  And on they continued.

  ~

  Jerem’s eyes pored over her, hungry and leering. His fingers pried at her clothes and ripped them as she sought escape. He held her tight, his hot breath searing her slender neck. She was suddenly standing, and she ran and ran, but he was ever on her heels. Her dark hair whipped in the wind, blinding her from the path ahead. She turned to see if he was still in pursuit, but when she looked forward again his arms had encircled her, somehow already there. The sickly perfume of soil and spice filled her nostrils as he lifted her up. He stamped upon the ground, and she could hear Veronia wailing beneath her. And not just Veronia, the people too.

  All she wanted was to disappear. But how can you vanish from the world?

&
nbsp; Colette woke in the cold dawn with her flesh damp and heart pulsing madly. Darse was already kindling a fire for breakfast but had the courtesy to avert his attention as she stole from the darkness of her dreams. She shuddered, both from the present cool and the crawling fingers she had felt upon her body just moments before. Her face was as white as bone.

  I’ll never be free. Never.

  His fingers, his eyes.

  She gulped down breakfast without tasting it and walked numbly forward as they began the monotonous footfall of travel yet again. The glow of the lunitata was only a shimmer under her brooding eyes.

  Her light is dimming, Darse realized with angst. She was alive, but far from living.

  He scanned her face and was met with an aloof coldness. He sighed and continued walking, unsure how to reach her.

  Three help me, he pleaded.

  CHAPTER 7

  To battle evil, one must first accept and conquer the evil within.

  -Genesifin

  “You must ask,” the spirit said with a sneer.

  “I will not,” Carn replied heavily to his soumme, who was not his soumme.

  “I think you will.”

  Carn peered at her with pinched eyes. Dierdre, his bride, looked the same. She had the same square face, with pinched features and stick-straight blond hair. She had never been fair, save the beauty he had grown to see and love within her. And love her he did. Or had. For now that inner loveliness had vanished. There was the physiognomy of the one he adored, but malice currently reigned in the eyes that had previously been soft and gentle.

  She sneered. “I will keep hurting her.”

  Carn’s face soured in scorn. “She’s no more. I’ll not further your aims by allowing you to take me too.”

  Dierdre scowled with rage, for he had spoken truth.

  These foul incarnate creatures are unpredictable. I detest their stupid attempts to fight me, the spirit thought. All bugs. They are all bugs.