Eyes in the Water

by Monica Lee Kennedy

  I’ve been so blind, he berated himself. Love has rotted my judgment. I— But he could not follow any train of thought for long, for the possibility of her death soured his insides like lemon meeting milk.

  “My cartess,” he found himself mumbling over and over like a madman. Finally, Brenol ran back to his room, threw items haphazardly into a pack, and thrust the bag upon his shoulders.

  The words echoed within with the repetition of a metronome: day of death, day of death, day of death. He clenched his jaw tightly.

  “No,” Brenol said firmly. “Today is the day I fly.”

  ~

  Brenol was not the only traveler of the morning. As he moved hard along Ziel, he spied groups with weapons in hand and glances full of ire. He suppressed a shudder and spurred his legs faster.

  How far could she have gotten? How many hours has she been gone? He flung himself forward in angst, for there were no assurances of anything—direction, time, distance.

  Colette. Oh, Colette!

  He ached as he thought of her slinking away in the night to save her precious terrisdan. Hiding in the shadows, hands curled greedily around the tiny hos. He chewed his cheek until it was bleeding and torn. Her surrender to desire would almost certainly mean her end.

  ~

  The house was silent in its frosty chill, deserted the previous season after its residents had died from the black fever. It sat tucked behind the protective black-limbed arms of several massive seritz trees that almost concealed it from sight. Shadows encased and filled it, and the place seemed ghosted and lonely.

  The night entered with freezing fingers and pressed its breath upon the woman huddled inside. Colette shivered, but she refused to aid her stiff limbs with movement; she would be dead in moments if the mob’s greedy eyes found her. Dread beat in her temples and gut, and she shuddered silently. She felt the vulnerability of her flesh, the openness of the vacant house. There was nothing to be done now but wait, just as she had waited for the lethal voices to trickle out of town.

  They’re hunting me.

  Colette cowered back from the memory. Their angry tones had wafted in to her as they searched the roads and fields. No cold had caused the trembling that had ensued from hearing her name called out in taunt to her, wherever she might be. She could almost feel their fingers upon her, their wrathful hands meeting her neck. She tugged her cloak more tightly around her, her knees tucked up against her chest. Her glow was dim and fading.

  It will be worth it once I use the hos.

  I will have the power again.

  Colette winced at the thought, whispering aloud as if to justify it, “And Veronia. The land will be healthy again.”

  The night wore on, and her nerves ached from the prolonged tension. Even the articles of the house spoke to her of snatching death, for they lay dusty in mid-use: a kettle before three cups, an iron resting beside a linen shirt, a doll face-down amidst ruffled sheets. She averted her eyes and stared determinedly at the shadows.

  Hours passed, and dawn’s light began to ease the stifling dark around her. She sighed, a sorrowful exhale that brought no relief.

  Soon I will be able to travel. I will go a longer route, but I will get to Veronia without them seeing me.

  Colette felt deflated as she considered the journey. She stood with effort and, wincing, rubbed life back into her legs. With the new movement, her whole body suddenly seemed to droop in exhaustion.

  Can I really think to do this? she wondered suddenly. Do I truly only care about being a nurest?

  The thought rolled about uncomfortably in her gut, but she found too many conflicting emotions to contend with in her state. She glanced around and spied a small pallet whose size was as diminutive as the person it must have once held. Colette curled into the tiny bed and the rumpled blankets. Her hands and entire body cupped the hos, and she fell into scattered dreams.

  ~

  Brenol traveled through Selenia but did not find her. The following day, he pushed hard and finally broke past the lugazzi into Brovingbune. He paused briefly to greet the terrisdan. Its eye hovered, but the land itself was frustratingly silent to his words, his questions, his pleadings. It was like a play yard after the children had been summoned back to class: eerily quiet and reflecting a pale image of the life once there.

  The young man felt lost. He had found no sign of Colette’s soft tread, but he wondered if his speed had caused him to trample over smaller clues. He shook his head in exasperation. Certainly not all hints of Colette could have been lost. But his instincts were dry, and he had nothing other than strained reason to follow—and there was no reason when it came to a nurest.

  Had she taken a boat? How could she have found one in Limbartina? The maralane are so protective about their waters—no boats are allowed.

  Unless they’ve all died.

  Resting his hand upon the rough trunk of a tree, he bent to vomit. His entire body shook with the violent heaves, and for several minutes he was at their mercy. Finally, Brenol wiped his mouth with his sleeve and raised his eyes. His harsh, hot breath met the cold chill of twilight in a cloud, and his shoulders slumped forward in exhaustion.

  He gave a nearly imperceptible nod to himself; he could go no further tonight. He was stretching himself beyond any safe limit; the mere thought of the maralane ending had sent him tumbling.

  He lowered his body to the ground in acceptance, but in an instant, with the clarity that comes with surrender, he knew there was no point to pressing ahead anyway; Colette was not here. She had either been captured or had chosen a different route, but he would not find her this way. Brenol cared somewhere in his depths, but he could muster little response. He sighed and sank into the leaves.

  A sudden explosion of light drew his eyes to the sky. The heavens were aglow. Dozens of stars streaked across the dark blue backdrop in a silent, beautiful sweep. More followed, and still more. Brenol had seen shooting stars before, but these seemed far closer, as if a frawnite might be able to fly up and catch them with a mere flick of a hand.

  His cheeks streamed as meaning dawned upon him. It was as Preifest and the Genesifin had stated. The maralane were no more.

  It’s like the sky is weeping, he thought. Weeping for our loss.

  The shower of light continued. He watched somberly, placing a hand quietly to the air to honor the fallen people. When the racing stars ceased, he lowered his hand. The sky appeared desolate after the surge, and he wished the beauty back; the sadness of the spectacle was better than the hollow rawness that followed in its wake.

  Colette’s betrayal appeared even more glaring before the tragic fate of the maralane. They had given Massada a chance for life even while facing their own death, and she had stolen that chance for her own gain. Brenol’s face wrenched in knotted grief.

  Colette, why’d you do this? Can’t you see what you’ve done? You’ll be lost forever now.

  He closed his eyes and waited for dawn to wake him.

  ~

  Colette woke in the night. It was a gentle awakening, as if her mother had quietly caressed her cheek and hair to rouse her. She breathed in softly, tucked the hos into her pocket, and rose. The room was chilly, and her skin felt uncomfortably cool. She drew up the bed’s blanket, wrapped it securely around herself, and padded to the window.

  Cautiously, the lunitata peeled back the window coverings and peeked out. The forest was black and foreboding. No movement, no sounds.

  She stared, fondling the hos in her pocket. She knew she was not a good traveler. It would take all her wits to get to Veronia without being found, but she would do it. She must.

  A sweep of white suddenly filled Colette’s vision, and a shower of stars burned across the sky. Silver rockets blossomed through the night and turned the whole forest bright. They looked so close. Colette gasped at the startling power and beauty.

  She released the hos and rose to touch the glass.

  “It’s like you said, Bren,” she whispered. “The heavens will shower li
ght.”

  The deluge ebbed until finally a single burning blast streaked down, leaving the sky empty and black.

  She recalled the small maralane girl, and tears spilled down her cheeks in streams.

  “I will remember you,” she whispered. “I will.”

  ~

  Colette slept most of the day. The emotional toll of the maralane’s passing had drained her. That, and the idea of the terrible eyes and faces hunting for her made her eager to wait another day to ensure that she was alone in Limbartina.

  When she woke, Colette nibbled anxiously at some of the stores she had swiped from the soladrome cafeteria. An apple and one small cake were all that remained. She stripped and donned new garments from the house. They hung upon her frame with a foreign looseness but warmed her with surprising speed.

  Would that I’d changed earlier, she thought, but greed and fear and grief had driven reason from her the previous day. It felt like several septspan since she had last seen Brenol.

  Bren, she thought with an ache. Am I giving him up now too? For this?

  She peered into the small looking glass on the wall. Her emerald eyes stared back. They no longer housed the hard determination that had driven her from the soladrome. No, they held grief. Her vision swam with images of the maralane girl, and her mind swirled with memories of Brenol’s kindnesses to her.

  “But I can’t go back now,” she said desperately.

  In the glass, a strange image replaced her own reflection. The lunitata gasped, and it vanished.

  It had been a frawnite—without any doubt—and the winged woman with a short crop of mottled silver hair had stared at her with large gray eyes. It had been the briefest of moments—a breath—but she had pierced Colette’s vision with a terrifying glare.

  Colette shook her head, attempting to dispel the image, and returned her eyes to the mirror. The picture flickered once more. The frawnite’s wings extended out to where the lunitata could no longer see them in the glass. The image of power, menacing power, rattled Colette to her toes. The image disappeared, and the reflection did not alter again.

  One thought filled her: Bren.

  She glanced down to the stolen hos, resting warm in her palm. Self-loathing filled her.

  “What have I done?” she whispered.

  ~

  The lunitata paced for several minutes, but she knew she must abandon her original intentions. Somehow, the startling reflection in the glass had reinforced her musings over her relationship with Brenol and dispelled the greed’s dark hold. Colette’s lips whispered his name, her face beamed out in light, and she knew what she would do.

  “I will give it back,” she said quietly. The resolution was both terrifying and galvanizing, and in those words, a sweep of knowledge rushed upon her.

  Her entire frame quivered as the intuit filled her. It took no longer than a second, but awareness coursed in every span of her and left her stammering.

  “The hos… It must go in Ziel,” she whispered. “It must.”

  Colette paused, perplexed. Taking the hos to the lake had been so clearly forbidden, so expressly opposed to the maralane’s instructions. Attempting to make sense of it, she closed her eyes and sought to breathe in deliberate slowness. The silence only filled her with more surety.

  I am supposed to take it out on Ziel. I am.

  The sense was one of peace and enlightenment. It was nothing like the voice of greed that had been choking her will and mind.

  Armed with the certitude of her intuit, she exhaled slowly, accepting the truth. The lake-people could no longer be hurt. They were no more. Those previous directives must have only been intended to be followed while the maralane lived.

  I will. I will do it.

  A flicker of optimism jolted her heart. But wait! Could there be hope for the maralane now? Health from the hos after death? Was that their plan all along?

  Fortified in her purpose, Colette found her discarded clothing in a shadowed corner, collected Brenol’s knife, and raised it in the air. She blinked with hesitation at its evident sharpness.

  I will make this right.

  She inhaled shakily, her whole body dancing with adrenaline. Nothing can stop me, she thought as she raised the knife. She barely had to exert any pressure but still cringed as her luxurious dark plaits fell softly to her feet. Her vision was obscured by the night, but her sorrow in parting with them seemed to almost illuminate their presence on the floor.

  Soon I will move in the darkness. There’ll only be the half crescent to reveal me, and then they will see a man.

  I will make this—

  The knife clattered to the ground as a strong pair of hands descended upon both her shoulders. She felt her insides sag in cold despair. Her whimper emerged with the immediacy of a reflex, and just as readily her mouth was covered with one firm hand while the other wrapped tightly around her chest.

  She fainted, for the realization that all was lost was a reality too heavy to bear.

  CHAPTER 12

  The waters shall fall still; the maralane will be no more.

  -Genesifin

  The morning light woke Brenol, trickling in through the trees and casting its warm beams upon him. His skin and clothes were damp from the night’s fog and morning’s dew, but despite his discomfort and the present circumstances, he found that his dark mood had mysteriously lifted. He drank and ate and utilized the shift to drive him back over the trails of Brovingbune and Selenia. He progressed with less haste and more care, searching more meticulously for any clues as to Colette’s whereabouts.

  When other travelers approached, Brenol concealed himself in silence. He did not want to draw any others back to the soladrome if the princess was somehow there. Listening with pricked ears, he found a small comfort in realizing that the search parties held no news of her, although his jaw clenched into stone when they boasted of their plans for the missing nurest.

  By nightfall he had covered much of Selenia but was still hours from Limbartina. He was amazed by how much ground he had covered on his flight from the city.

  But now he could go no further. He sunk into a cold bed of leaves, too tired to seek further shelter. He wrapped his heart in hope and prayed.

  I will find her. She’s safe yet. She must be…

  ~

  Colette shivered under her cloak despite the heavy layer. The night was cold, and the wind careened through the woods with a fierce, bitter edge. Her breath rose in tiny clouds, and she had to squint to discern the trail before her, often unable to make out Arman’s pedasse in the dense shadows.

  Her cropped head rested under a thick hood, and she sought to convey a masculine stride within loose pants and heavy boots. Her face, neck, and hands had been smeared with a dark oil to subdue their glow, and while it could not be erased entirely, now the lunitata beam appeared more as a ruddy tan—however out of season.

  Her disguise was far from perfect, but she breathed easier the closer she drew to the lugazzi. The half-moon of Stronta hung as a tiny guide in the black expanse, and night seemed to embrace her with its concealing curtain. Soon, Arman would be visible, or at least transparent, and it soothed her angst knowing that the masses sought a single woman—not two men.

  After another fifteen minutes, the juile came into her vision, although the clarity of his person made him seem like a dream. He slid smoothly across the terrain and, with a quick gesture back, beckoned her to continue. His stride was long, and for every step he made, Colette panted hard to manage three. She was, however, loath to beg him to hold back. The juile had made their great need for haste more than clear—as if she did not sense the pressing fate of the world upon her already. Colette gasped for air, hugged her arms tightly against her body, and continued to attempt to match the grueling pace.

  The looming figure slowed at last. He led her to a boat moored in a tiny alcove beneath a waterside oak. The recessed area provided the perfect pocket for a small craft, and he cautiously stepped into the murky waters to unlace
its bonds. The juile tugged the rickety boat behind him, and Colette peered at it with skeptical but resigned eyes. It was weathered and worn and had seen many orbits, but it would have to suffice.

  “You are certain, then?” Arman asked in a low voice. His eyes caught hers questioningly. She saw the spark of calculating discernment flash in them.

  “Yes,” Colette said with a small nod. “I don’t understand it, but yes. I am supposed to take the hos out upon the lake… I want to doubt it, but I cannot. My blood practically screams it.”

  Arman pressed his lips together in silent consideration, then answered decisively, “I trust your intuit. I have no insight myself in this, but I trust yours.”

  A warm comfort filled her stomach at the words. Arman did not bestow trust flippantly. She nodded gratefully.

  The juile assisted Colette with a transparent hand, and the lunitata stepped softly into the small craft. Her feet echoed lightly upon the boards. She paused to look about with darting eyes, but no other noises stirred alive in response. Colette placed herself on the seat before the bow and looked expectantly to the juile. He did not move. He merely peered back at her with his strange, mismatched face.

  “Are you not coming?” Colette whispered. Her voice was barely audible but still noticeably cracked with tension. She thrummed with adrenaline at the thought of completing this task alone. No, not like this. I’ll cringe with every dip of the paddle.

  Arman stared back blankly. “It is your journey,” he stated simply.

  “Please,” Colette said. She wrung her dark cloak between tensed fingers. “Come with me?”