Eyes in the Water (14 page)

“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?

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.

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.

Carn contemplated Dierdre’s eyes, the dark
pools that had once boasted a hue of light amber. There were still
patches of color, but the black shot out from the pupil like the
dark streaks left from a fire’s kiss. Over the last few hours with
her, it had progressed. Soon there would be only darkness.

Like she was being burned from within…

Dierdre’s lips pressed together, and suddenly
her face opened in a new thought. “I imagine there must be
something you desire.” She spread her features into a cunning and
evil grin, which disappeared almost as quickly as it emerged. “You
will die regardless, but if you acquiesce, I will make certain
allowances.” Dierdre’s eyes flashed perilously.

Carn pondered the words but found he could
not see past that awful loathing in those eyes.

She really is gone.

He had known it, but facing the stark truth
squarely was like a brick to his gut. Carn gasped in pain. And now
his own mortality was leaking away with each passing moment. It was
only a matter of time.

I must do something,
he thought, his
mind scrambling.

Finally, he nodded to her, shoulders slumped
down in defeat. Dierdre smiled widely. The loathing within the
gesture sent goose bumps down his spine.

“I knew we could manage this problem somehow.
What is it you want?”

Carn lifted his chin and looked up into her
eyes. “I want to write a letter to my son. I want to say
goodbye.”

Dierdre’s lip curled in disgust.
These
creatures and their young.

“Fine. Do it.” She indicated the ivory desk
in the corner with a flip of her index finger. Her cuticles, and
the beginnings of the nail bed, were the startling hue of soot.
Carn noted this with blank expression and followed directions
meekly, settling down to the paper and pen before him.

Dierdre stood over him.

This will not do,
Carn thought. He
leaned forward with a quavering hand and scrawled
My Son
across the top. He bent over and shook with sobs. It was only
partly contrived.

Dierdre backed away in disgust. “Write your
letter. I will read it when you are done.”

Her feet padded softly out of the room. The
movements were bizarre; his soumme had always been agile, but now
her grace was more akin to the quiet stalk of a predator.

Carn lifted a second sheet, made several
quick notations, creased it into a tiny square, and began to work
its folds into the underside of the desk until it was lodged
securely.

Please, Three, let this work.

He spent the next few minutes penning a
letter to a son he did not have. He was nearing the end of the page
when hot breath touched his neck and caused his spine to
recoil.

“Are you done, dearest soumme?” Dierdre
whispered.

“Almost,” Carn replied softly, his mouth
dry.

“Give it to me,” she demanded, swiping the
paper from under him. Her eyes took in the simple lines, and her
lips pinched in disgust. She thrust the page into his face. “Seal
it.”

He had not finished, but he did not argue.
Slowly, he melted the purple wax and dripped it onto the envelope
flap. He extracted a seal from the white desk and stamped it upon
the warm lavender. It imprinted the familial crest, but with the
flora reserved for death announcements. Carn scribbled the outside
with both name and location before drawing the letter to his chest
and clutching it with trembling fingers.

Dierdre peered at him suspiciously.
“Arman?”

“It’s his name. It’s a common name.”

She pursed her lips in further speculation.
“Your son lives in Selet?”

He nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his
fate approaching. The lies tasted bitter, even if they were in
defiance of this strange entity. “Yes. Selet. He took a juile as
soumme
.
I’ve not seen him in thirteen orbits.”

She laughed mockingly. “Do not seek my pity,
you fool… Ask me in,
now
.”

Carn shook his head vehemently. “No. No. Not
until I see the seal gone.”

An enraged growl rumbled in the woman’s
throat. She yanked him roughly from the desk by the collar of his
shirt and stared into his gray eyes, her hot breath reeking across
his face. Carn quivered under the remarkably powerful grip.

“You
will
ask me now.”

He gazed at Dierdre with weak and glassy
eyes. “Do you think that your torture will suddenly work on me now?
You’ve already seen how far it gets you.”

Her lips tightened and cheeks retracted in a
swift movement of contempt. Dierdre released his body like it was a
sack of manure, and he toppled down face first into the
floorboards. His entire body screamed in pain, for he was already a
sore mess of burns and lacerations. It took a minute before Carn
could muster any motion from his old limbs. His tongue met the
metallic taste of blood, and he hesitantly spit out a chip of
tooth. The splash of blood upon the floor was a vibrant red against
the worn pine.

“Get up. Cover your wounds with a coat. We’ll
move, then.”

Carn dressed and dragged himself the
five-minute walk to the local sealtoz. It was a small bricked
structure with a rooming house above for the chief of seal. An
outdated canvas hung loosely from the eaves, inviting all to a fair
that had taken place two moons previously. Carn allowed the dirty,
rough fabric to graze his face as they passed beneath. It was such
a physical experience, and every moment of the concrete now seemed
precious.

The single room was full of workers sorting
seal, and the chief of seal, Gregory, stood behind a counter
consulting a ledger. He was a thick man, with bulging arms covered
with black hair and a round face housing narrow and calculating
gray eyes. His cheeks were pocked but well shaven, and his jowls
hung as loosely as a turkey’s. The workers bustled forward to make
room and nodded cordially to the couple; they were both known and
respected in the community.

Carn fished out a few coins from his pocket,
pausing as he heard their clink and felt the cool metal in his
fingers, and handed one to the man. Dierdre set the letter beside
it with the softness of a leaf dropping. Gregory looked up from his
ledger, and his fleshy cheeks smiled in greeting.

The chief of seal drew the letter forward and
opened his mouth slightly as his eyes caught the address. “Selet,
it is,” he said with a casual glance to the man. A question nearly
formed upon his lips, but he let his curiosity slide away.

Professionalism,
Gregory reminded
himself.

“When will this be sent out, Gregory?” Carn
asked with forced lightness.

The chief of seal pushed his lips out in
thought. “By nightfall. The sealtors are on break for another hour,
but several wolves are in the area and heading through Stonia. They
could leave earlier, but one never knows with wolves.” Gregory
snorted slightly.

Carn nodded. “Thank you, Gregory. Always
knowing your business.”

The man grinned. “Arman will get your letter
before you can warm your feet.”

Carn smiled grimly and squeezed past the
waiting customers, ducking below the old sign. Dierdre led him by
his elbow, and he felt every bone within his body sag. It was
coming. He had only a few moments left, though he planned on
fighting to the last breath. He would die, and this was it.

But maybe this can be the end of this
monster. Maybe…

He would rest his hopes in Arman.

~

Not more than an hour later, Dierdre
re-entered the sealtoz and swatted away the canvas like it was a
pestering insect. Her eyes were barely amber, with streaks of black
singe overtaking both irises. She smiled apologetically to Gregory
and approached the counter.

“I don’t suppose that the seal to Arman has
gone out yet?”

Gregory lifted his bulging hands in surprise.
“Actually, no. Decide to add something? A parcel?”

She shook her head amiably, but there was a
strange flavor to the motion. Gregory tilted his head fractionally
as he examined the woman.

“No, no. My soumme decided he didn’t want me
to send it after all. Carn is funny sometimes, especially about
family.”

Gregory peered across the counter, his
features expressionless upon his meaty cheek bones. Finally, he
nodded and bent down to pilfer through a box.