Eyes in the Water (24 page)

Colette drew her gaze down from the glowing
moon and settled it over the waters. Ziel glistened with a gentle
movement but seemed to simultaneously hold an eerie stillness. She
thought again of the maralane girl, the kiss, the whisper. A new
fear struck her:
What if they haven’t all died yet?
What
if the prophesy of falling lights was wrong?

She looked to Arman, and as though reading
her thoughts, he nodded and replied with conviction, “They would
have surfaced, even if they were weak. No, they truly have passed.
The maralane are no more.”

Colette could feel the harsh storm of grief
bubbling within but would not allow it control. She forced
composure and tucked the maelstrom away for later.
Not here. I
came here for Veronia, for Massada, for us all.

She drew her cloak—long since removed during
the tedious hours of labor—to her lap and shakily removed a small
parcel from its deep pocket. The glass was cool within her fingers
as she unwrapped it from its soft white cloth.

What am I supposed to do now?
she
wondered.

The opal eyes glinted in the moon’s glimmer,
and she cupped it close to scrutinize it.

“Little hos,” she said. She drew in a sharp
breath as it began to glow.

“What? It’s never done that before.”
Colette’s wide eyes shot up to Arman.

He smiled again. “It seems you’ve lost the
hatred you once carried.” Met with a confused stare, he continued.
“Bren was concerned that you could not make the hos glow and spoke
with me about it
.
I never told him why, but I guessed that
the hos was enchanted to only light for those with pure intent. For
how else could it be a secret from those who sought to harm?”

She breathed again, delighted with herself as
well as the simple lighting of the toy. It glowed a beautiful teal
and shot ribbons of light out upon the waters.

Colette gingerly cupped the hos and stared
incredulously at the juile. “So he knew I couldn’t make it light
up?” She thought back to the morning in Veronia—the only other time
she had handled the piece. There seemed little Brenol did not see
anymore. Colette held her vision upon the glass piece. She spoke
again, quietly. “Why didn’t you tell him?”

Arman selected his words cautiously. “Bren
has been burdened with fear. He didn’t know why it remained dead in
your hands. I thought it best for him to focus on what he could
control and do—not the hatred for Jerem that seared inside you…
Although, in hindsight, perhaps mystery is harder to grapple with
than truth.”

Colette found her heart warming as she
thought of Brenol, and without even her breath upon it, the hos
suddenly glowed a gold that shone like treasure from her palms. It
continued to glimmer and grow more brilliant, until by instinct she
knew what must be done.

The lunitata raised the hos up to her face
and spoke softly to it. Streaks of teal shot out as her breath
fell. “Please, take your serum to all the terrisdans. Heal them.
Save Massada.” A soft tear streamed down her cheek, and her voice
dropped to barely a whisper. “
All
of the terrisdans. All of
them.” She drew the glass to her lips and kissed the figure
gently.

Her intention to lob the piece into the open
water was thwarted, for the glass maralane suddenly came to life.
Colette gaped as the golden figure nodded her tiny braided head,
flapped her tails, and jumped from the lunitata’s palms into the
dark depths. The radiance of her glassy body could be seen as she
careened down. Colette stared until the light was lost in the cover
of the cold waters.

Colette suddenly seemed to wake from the
magic and recall where she was. She drew her hands to her mouth in
wonder and looked to Arman. His straight face was marked by sincere
relief—a solace that soaked into both countenance and frame. He
closed his lids for a brief moment and bathed in the soft light of
Stronta. When he opened his eyes again, she saw that they were
brimming with joy. She breathed in sharply; never had she witnessed
such emotion from him.

“Thank you, Colette. Thank you for saving our
world.”

The words filled her with warmth and a
soaring joy. The light of her own countenance burst forth, and her
lips parted in genuine elation. She bowed her head graciously. “In
good accord, Arman.”

“I believe we are finished here,” he said
easily.

She felt like dancing. “I would agree.”

Their laughter leaped out over the water with
force and unrestrained delight.

~

It was but a breath after dawn when Arman
quiveringly rowed their craft to shore. He stepped from the
vessel—oars thrown into the water, no concern for tying her
down—and strode purposefully away. It was unlike him to be reckless
with anything, but his meaning was clear: this war was done, it was
time for rest.

Colette, still fearful of vengeful hands
finding her, avoided her own room. She stole into Brenol’s empty
quarters and climbed into the soft folds of his blankets. The place
smelled of him, and it comforted her as she sank into the welcome
arms of sleep.

All will be well,
she thought. And
smiled.

~

Brenol abandoned the idea of discovering any
trace of Colette, especially as the matroles between him and
soladrome lessened. The day granted him sufficient light, but the
ground was heavily trodden and scuffed by the parties that had quit
town in dogged pursuit. So instead, he threw himself into hard
travel. By early afternoon he dragged himself into Limbartina.

The area was hushed and somber, quiet after
the stark chaos of the mob, but the people went about their usual
tasks. Brenol acknowledged the miller and his son with a weary dip
of the head before turning to his own quarters in the housing that
circled the soladrome. He pushed back the canvas flap without
ceremony and froze. A rounded mound in his bedding betrayed a
sleeping intruder. Fury gripping his spine, he crept his way
carefully to his cot.

Colette awoke to a knife point upon her
back.

“Who are you?” Brenol growled.

Colette’s shoulders eased as she recognized
the voice, and she rolled over to face him. Her cropped hair poked
up in unruly cowlicks. Brenol gasped.

“Wait—Colette?”

Random patches of skin were still smeared
with the concealing oil, but on the whole her face beamed out in
brilliance. He gaped in confusion and tried to draw sense into his
strained mind. She giggled like a child at his expression, and also
because of her giddiness at the night’s success that still played
its lovely song within her. She had chosen benere. The greed had
not won.

Brenol sighed, nearly melting into a puddle
from the relief. It was short-lived, though, for he remembered the
fiery glances and unnerving speech of the hunting parties. “We have
to get you out of here. Where’s the hos?” His eyes darted around
desperately, seeing only his own meager possessions.

Colette shook her head. Notwithstanding her
garb and haircut, her features were gentle and angular—entirely
feminine. “I used it already.”

“Used it?” Brenol’s face drained to the color
of milk.

How did she move so—

Brenol peered at her, and in the space of a
breath, he felt his shoulders loosen. Her face was not drawn and
sickly with the greed of a nurest addict, nor did she fidget in
angst. No, if anything, her lunitata glow had grown brighter. She
was more herself, more free, more beautiful—even with the awkwardly
chopped hair and smudged face.

“Tell me,” he said, his expression now
soft.

Colette slid over in the bed, offering him a
seat. Brenol took it readily, curious for answers. His lips parted
in rapt wonder as she told of the hos and how it had lit teal and
then gold, how it had come to life at her bidding and kiss.

Finally, he leaned back, a queasy jumble of
emotions. “How do you know that it worked?”

Colette’s lips compressed to a thin line. “I
don’t. Not yet.” She sighed. “I did what I could and did not
withhold life. If Veronia dies, or if any of the terrisdans die,
we’ll have to face that as it comes.” Her eyes were unclouded and
peaceful, even though she still clearly experienced grief at the
thought.

Brenol played it through in his mind, turning
the pieces over and over like a puzzle. He hesitated, as he wanted
to ignore it for Colette’s sake, but found that the question
weighed too heavily. “When you went out on the lake, did the
marala—” Brenol stopped, for in that instant he saw her face
plummet in desolation.

Oh. So it really is over, then,
he
thought. “They’re no more?” he asked gently.

“I’d hoped, when I’d gotten that flooding of
intuit, that the hos would save the maralane too in the end. Bring
them back. But it truly wasn’t for them.” She drew in a slow
breath. “I saw the shower of stars. It was like you said. The skies
wept light for them… Arman found me, and we went out together on
Ziel. The maralane never came up. Arman confirmed that they were
gone.”

Spying her hand trembling, he scooped it up
in his and tenderly caressed it. “They’re more than a memory.
They’ll be known as saviors of the world.”

“Yes,” she said softly, recalling the soft
touch of the girl. The pain at the memory seemed too acute to
examine presently; it would have to wait for the waters.

“Colette?” His fingers released her hand, and
Colette’s emerald eyes met his abashed green. “I’m sorry I didn’t
trust you. I assumed you’d gone to Veronia.”

The princess’s face spread open in a smile,
and laughter bubbled out of her freely—lovely music after so many
hours of gnarling worry and agonizing thoughts. He sat back, more
at ease, but still raised his brow at her questioningly.

“I should apologize as well. I
did
steal it for myself.” She blushed slightly but then laughed again
and squeezed his hand in assurance. “In the end I chose something
else, but I set out differently.”

Brenol considered her words. “Had you been
planning to steal it for some time?”

Colette shrugged. “It had been on my mind…
The nuresti hunger always lurks and waits.” She paused, as if
tempted to wallow in shame, but then met his eyes with a straight
resolve. “I knew it would happen eventually. The impulse had been
building, and I kept choosing to be silent about it.”

Brenol’s eyes widened at her naked honesty.
“But I still could’ve trusted you.”

“No,” she said with a determined shake of her
head. “I don’t think you could. Just like none of the others could,
and especially the nuresti.” She gestured to the canvas flap with a
flick of her finger. “The hunt for my blood still rages because
they fear exactly what’s hiding in each nurest. The greed. It’s
nearly impossible to master alone.” Her eyes bored into him as
though she could read his soul. “I’m not wrong—you knew the
darkness to some degree?”

Brenol nodded grimly. He would never voice to
her what he had been tempted with those orbits previously.
Never.

“It’s so dark, so treacherous, so constant…
How could any possibly emerge victorious?”

“
You
came out victorious,” Brenol
replied.

The sentence held a magic to it, and at its
sound Colette smiled broadly.

“Yes. Yes, I did,” she said. “Well, at least
this time.” Her smile disappeared as she thought of Restar and
Derpa. “I don’t know if the council will see it as we do, but if
Massada is healed because I moved quickly, then there will be no
place for arguments. Hopefully.”

A fear slid down his spine as a new thought
occurred to him, setting his hair upright.
Can this really be
the end of the poison? I still have Pearl’s whistle. Could Colette
be wrong? So much of the Genesifin hasn’t come to pass.

Brenol grimly pressed his lips together but
then chose to let the moment be what it was. He did not want to mar
Colette’s triumph with useless words.
Just wait and see. Let
today be for joy.

His eyes met hers and the lovely, lively
spark that shone in them helped to settle the rest of his
angst.

“I
do
hope all the terrisdans are
healed,” Colette said sincerely. “Not just Veronia.”

“Yes. I think we all do.” Brenol paused, then
continued offhandedly. “It’s such an impossible matter. The desire
for the connection but the repugnance one feels towards oneself for
desiring it. Is it even a good thing? Can it ever be good?”

Colette did not answer. It was still too
great an addiction to cast off, and Veronia’s life was not
guaranteed. She did not know if she would ever be removed enough to
discern with an indifferent heart. For now, all she could do was
live and choke for breath in the midst of the gripping and burning
drive.

She looked up and decisively brushed away the
uncertainties that still drained her. The longing for sleep had
dissolved.

She stood, pulling Brenol up with both hands.
“Come, I’m ravenous.”

“
To choose life, one cannot cling to the
dead.”

-Genesifin

The day was not long, having only really begun for
Colette and Arman after midday. The three friends ate heartily,
although all remained watchful for the hordes still seeking
Colette. They need not have feared. The meal passed with barely a
second glance given to the handsome bronzed gentleman who
accompanied Brenol and the invisible juile
,
and that look
was merely one of feminine appraisal.

After dining, the group remained sitting,
allowing the late afternoon sun to warm their features. Arman
silently sipped his tea, his mind churning in both relief and
grief. His thoughts were interrupted by Brenol.

“I still do not understand,” the man began.
“It seems so clear that Colette used the hos in the right way. It
came alive and jumped into the water at her direction. The maralane
must have enchanted the piece to do as much… So why didn’t Preifest
tell us? Why didn’t he tell us to wait until they had passed? Why
did he make it seem as though only terrible things would come if
the hos went into Ziel?”