A love Colette had never known rushed upon her, drowning and yet enlivening her. It was intoxicating. It was a high that pushed aside every other sensation and emotion. All that hummed within was love.
With it, deep in her soul, she suddenly awakened to a new realization: She was truly past the insatiable greed for the nuresti connection. Brenol had tamed it within her, but miraculously, by the birthing of this squirming little child, she knew she would never again sweat and pant and hunger for it. Her soul was alive in a manner she had never thought possible. Colette breathed in the sensation with awe.
The child watched her mother, with eyes wide and pupils as green as Veronian meadows in summer. She wiggled her soft limbs and without preamble belted out another furious scream as the wind beat upon the makeshift tent with terrible force.
Now’s no time to lose yourself, Colette.
Her entire body quivered and shook, but not from the icy world surrounding her. She snuggled the babe and wrapped them both anew, slightly unsure what would result from this next step. She bore down again, and breathed in thanksgiving as the afterlifing slid down to the blue ground in all its ugliness. It was complete. She finally felt empty. Colette drew a blade from her pack, slicing through the cord that had held them together, and trimmed it to about three digits from the child’s belly.
Colette, in the awkward fumbling of fingers attempting a new task, diapered the babe in some of the rags provided by Pearl. She then lay the thick cape upon the ice with awkward fingers, blue upon blue, and lovingly set the child in its center, wrapping her carefully in the soft fabric. The babe screamed for a moment—as if to remind her mother that it was still unbearably cold—before she closed her pasture-green eyes to the world and fell quickly into the deep slumbers of the new. It was strange: wrapped tightly in her cape, the girl blended into the blue of the ice world, all save the tiny face. The babe had already become one with her surroundings.
Not I, thought Colette.
Leaving the soiled under-skirt upon the cobalt crust, Colette endeavored to cleanse herself and don the trousers and second skirt again. She worked a long cloth from the pack into a sling of sorts, plastering the child against her chest before wrapping them both into the sweaters and warm coats. She unpitched her tent and donned her cloak, then wearily lifted the pack to her back and secured Heart Render too. The infant slept soundly, a lovely warmth against her chest.
A dark grief bubbled up—a would-be image of Darse cradling his grand-daughter, smiling behind his salted beard—but Colette throttled the emotion swiftly; there was no time for grief in this bitter climate. None at all.
Instead, she whispered softly into the wind, “This is for you Darse: Mari.” Colette smiled faintly as she peered down to her chest. The name fit perfectly. “So you can be free of the shame of death in your line. May this Mari be a blessing, a sign of life instead of curse.”
And then, somehow, Colette moved on. She pushed herself forward and kept walking. Her mind was dulled by the monochrome vista, but her heart thrummed alive with love for her little girl. It did not seem peculiar that she continue on; she merely knew it was what must be done. It was her cartess.
“My little Mari,” she said, reaching her lips down again and again to kiss into the azure wrappings where the little one slumbered. “I wish your da could see you.”
She stopped only to diaper or position the babe to suckle. She knew she must move for the sake of them both.
~
Twilight soon covered the perideta. It turned the bright, deep cobalt of the land to a dark and sparkling navy. Colette paused to take a mouthful of water but suddenly felt her heart pounding. Her eyes widened in shock.
How’d I not see it before?
There, probably fifteen steps from her, was an enormous, foreboding sphere. It was a deep silver-black and reflective like a body of dark water, but certainly denser. It rested upon a simple, raised triangular dais about an arm’s length long and towered above her by at least the height of another man. It was an ominous object to witness on the blue crust, and Colette experienced her vulnerability with acute discomfort.
She tentatively shuffled toward it, gazing at the stranger reflected in its surface. Her face was taut and drawn, determined and fierce, and already strangely weathered by the harsh elements.
Enough, she said to herself with a sigh. I must keep moving. Perhaps this thing is a sign I’m drawing near. Perhaps…
Yet the thought brought little comfort to her. Whatever its purpose, the black metallic monstrosity was certainly not there to welcome wanderers.
CHAPTER 15
A few shall perceive the signs, but even they will know doubt.
-Genesifin
Colette’s feet plodded forward. She permitted her weary body little rest, eventually even abandoning attempts to cleanse the unending crimson seeping through her layers. Her only respite was the pause to position the infant to nurse and the sorry attempt to keep the babe clean and dry. She feared that if she halted long, she would not be capable of beginning again.
Her mind was in disorder from the blue world of ice, and as if seeking solace, it retreated back to the last memories leading up to her solitary trek. She played them over and over—ever with a bizarre clarity—but despite the relentless churning, she failed to perceive their full significance. And so Pearl’s face hovered before her with a mocking vividness.
She’s never coming back, Colette thought morosely.
“There’s greater woe here than that fact,” Colette scolded herself softly with a puff of breath. She hugged her sleeping bundle and dipped her cracking lips to kiss the layers of blue fabric. “Greater than me, greater than Mari, greater than Bren.” Without energy to argue, she merely dragged her body forward.
It was but a moment before the monotony of the perideta had coaxed the memory of the frawnite’s face forward again. She did not have the spirit to even grant it a sigh.
“Is Bren all right?” Colette asked Pearl. The two had barely set out, and warmth still lingered upon her skin.
“He destroyed it—the malitas.”
Colette’s eyes flashed; Pearl had not answered her question. “How?”
“Heart Render.”
“What’s making your wings twitch?”
Pearl smiled sheepishly. “I may be dead, but my gestures are as part of me as ever… There were some complications with the deed.”
Colette nearly throttled the frawnite for answers, but she forced herself to wait. The alate woman still did not continue, so she gritted her teeth and asked with shaking control, “What complications?”
“The spirit entered Selet.”
The fury in her soul deflated as sudden comprehension flooded her. “Bren’s connections,” Colette said softly.
The way he could communicate with the land, the unity of stride and soil, the respect and relationship between terrisdan and man—the once intriguing gift now repulsed her. If she could have, she would have sliced through his terrisdan ties with Heart Render itself.
“Did he die?” the lunitata asked hollowly.
Pearl’s owl eyes penetrated her own. “Not before I left. Arman has him now.”
“Then—”
“He slew the spirit in the terrisdan. The blade sliced into the land.”
Colette bit her lip, pondering the many implications. “But if it had entered Selet, wasn’t Selet already dead? Why would it kill Bren to destroy it?”
The frawnite pressed her hands together in an unintelligible gesture. “Perhaps it’s just shock, then.”
Colette heard the unspoken; whatever Pearl knew, she believed Brenol to be in danger. She took a deep breath and shook her head. She would choose hope. “Arman will help him,” she said confidently.
Pearl strode on wordlessly.
“He always does,” Colette added, jutting out her chin in irritation and defiance.
Somewhere within, the lunitata felt a flicker, as though her soul were attesting to the statement. Yes, she
would choose hope. She nodded to herself.
Silence wrapped them for a time.
Colette’s stomach suddenly wrenched as a new thought emerged. “What does this mean for Massada?”
Pearl did not even hesitate to answer. “You know yourself that the terrisdans are more connected to each other than it would appear.”
Do I? she asked herself. She felt a chill circling her insides. “What’re you saying?”
Pearl turned and gripped Colette’s arms with her small hands. It was a tight hold—her arms would still carry black bruising nearly a septspan later. Her voice was firm and terrible. “Massada’s more dead than alive. It was failing before. The icing shows as much. But now…? Now it will unravel faster than a lifing day ribbon.”
The image of children dancing around the teralic sprang before Colette’s mind. The colors dipped and bowed as the ribbons rippled from the pole in a splash of movement. Young faces flushed in laughter as they tumbled to the ground in song.
“How long?” Colette asked.
“The lands—”
“How long?” she insisted.
Pearl sighed, her chest sinking. “An orbit? Two? Possibly more if the damage isn’t as great as I fear.”
Colette’s feet ceased to move under her. “We’re all doomed, then. There’s no hope.” The babe within squirmed, but nothing could undo the stinging reality.
“Not entirely,” Pearl replied. “Massada is only a piece of this world, although the people of the terrisdans have spoken as though they were the entire. No, the green is just a piece—the heart. And the Tindel… Long ago they left Massada over a disagreement and eked out a life in the ice worlds. They’ve found a way to survive. They could teach the remnant of people living in Massada, if so compelled… Their help is the only way now.” Pearl’s eyes flashed with power. She repeated the words with an emphatic jut of her chin, “The only way.”
“And if they will not?” Colette asked, despite herself.
“They shall be alone on this world in but a short while.”
~
Colette blinked but knew she was not hallucinating. Her eyes were sound, and her mind was at least clear enough to be trusted. Four—no, five—figures wrapped in sapphire cloaks blended into the scenery before her with a strange blur, but yes, they were there.
The figures appeared thick, yet she could see from the thin, almost gaunt, features that this was a result of apparel and not true physical form. Their faces—what parts were visible—peeked out from blue hoods, with skin the starkly white hue of a lily and covered in lines that twisted strangely in streaks like burns. Their mouths, foreheads, and necks remained covered, protected from the elements with a strip of cleverly secured blue fabric. Their eyes varied in color, although they too were faded and without luster. She guessed their locks—as was the case of their eyebrows—were as blanched as an article left in the sun for several seasons.
Instinctively, Colette wrapped her arms across her chest to protect the babe, although Mari was not visible. The gesture was met with inquisitive glances, and a single pair of pale brown eyes regarded her curiously. The facial coverings concealed any other emotion.
“You seek us?” The voice was masculine and low, rumbling along with the smoothness of a stream. It did not harbor aggression or contempt, yet it was a voice of power.
Colette nodded, wrestling through her memory to recall all that Pearl had spoken, yet no words would come. Her cheeks flushed red, and exhaustion fell upon her like a sack of stones. There was so much that needed to be said, but her lips would not comply.
“Help me,” she finally whispered, and the world turned black.
~
Colette woke, and her hands immediately clutched toward the sling, except it was not there. Foreign clothing hugged her body, and her babe was missing. Panic filled her.
She stood in a rush, and a small child sprang to life from the room’s corner. He was a white and lanky creature, likely around ten orbits old, with a bed of ashy blond curls sitting atop his heart-shaped face. He regarded her with eyes that were a light gray, like that of dawn’s mist before it meets the breeze. He was the palest person Colette had ever beheld.
Colette swallowed, surging with the power of adrenaline rushing through every muscle. She felt she could climb up walls and hang from the ceiling if it meant finding Mari again.
“You’re awake,” he said. “I’m to tell you the nanias have your baby. She’ll be back.” His voice was still a boyish soprano, and he spoke with the tone of issuing out a list. He beamed in pride, but his face was still no pinker than cream.
“I want her now.”
He opened his mouth to respond, but something in her eyes startled his resolve, and he closed it cautiously. He slid from the room without turning his back to her, his face locked and serious.
A scream sang silently inside her, throttling her ability to think. Desperation strained every muscle, and her eyes were alert and wild. She swung her head around in a frenzy, hoping to gain her bearings. There were no windows, and the rich scent of earth clung to the air, yet without feeling stifling. The ground underfoot was a smooth red-brown akin to dried clay, and the ceiling above was low and flowed roundly with the same material. The room was small and lit by lanterns in sconces. The lone exit was an arched doorway that reached the height of her shoulders. Only a child could pass under without requiring a duck of the head.
Trapped.
Colette forced her excited breathing to slow. She consciously drew her attention to the freshness of the air, however odd, and the kindness of the urchin who had bounded off to find assistance.
No. This is different, she intoned. Different than Jerem. Yet even in the thought, she keenly felt the futility of convincing herself she was safe from peril.
Her belongings lay piecemeal upon the floor, rifled through. She did not have to look twice to see what was missing: Heart Render. A cold dread crept over her. She had been entrusted with it. It was her treaty, or at least her starting point of conversation. She had not been strong enough to make it through the ice desert on her own, and now it was missing.
My Mari is missing.
Colette’s fingers quivered, and she pressed them against her body as if this futile effort would rectify things. The material meeting her palms was soft and warm and served as an awakening to the care received. She was clean, dry, and no longer rank with humanness. Despite her histrionics, it was unlikely she was encountering her end when they had taken pains to tend to and dress her so well.
Be calm. Be calm. They are helping. They have rescued me, left a child to ensure I wasn’t scared…
Colette ran her hands up to her face and winced at the sensation. Her face was no longer smooth. Sharp, worn creases teased across her features in rough lines like ropes.
What’s happened to me? What?
After a moment, several women entered the small room, dipping their frames as they passed through the arch. They were all strikingly pale, with hair as white and faded as the aged.
Colette had eyes for only one: a short slip of a woman with a square jaw and almond eyes carrying a slumbering babe. She did not speak but merely passed the infant securely to Colette and waited.
Colette cradled Mari with hungry arms, nearly weeping as the child’s fragrance met her nostrils. She fought the impulse to back away from the others with a snarl, although her eyes roved upon them with a savage and uncontrollable maternal flash.
Their faces unsettled her. She had been too focused upon Mari to initially notice, but their features were as gnarled and weathered as ancient trees. The skin flowed up in lines like moving current, and while each was unique in design, a harsh swirl surrounding the eyes was strangely characteristic in them all. Colette repressed a gasp and hugged her hand tightly around Mari. It was all she could manage to not cup her own face and wonder if she were now the same.
Careful, Colette, an interior voice said. What happens now is not just about you or Mari. This is about Massada
. Remember your cartess.
While the voice reminded her irritatingly of Arman, she could not deny its wisdom. She inhaled with purpose and thought of Brenol, of Mari. She clutched at the chilling words of Pearl regarding the failing of the terrisdans. And breathed again.
The lunitata, now steadied as much as the moment would allow, bobbed her head briefly in greeting. When she raised it, a faint smile painted her features, and she spoke gently, “Thank you for bringing her back to me. I apologize for my surprise at finding her absent. It’s the first time we’ve been apart.” She marveled at the calm in her voice, for her hands itched to claw the walls and dig her way to the sky.
Two of the clanswomen eased their spines back into the peace that Colette had provided, granting understanding nods for the first-time mother. They were adults but still youthful—how young Colette could not begin to guess—and regarded her curiously. The third, a middle-aged creature with a haggard face, perceived Colette’s effort and wordlessly contemplated the foreigner with mingled regard and suspicion.
“I’m Colette. I’m of the terrisdan Veronia.” Her voice held strong, and she found her interior purpose strengthened. She dipped her head slightly in respect and watched with hawk-like eyes to pick up any social cues. She discerned none. The response of silence reverberated in the tiny space, but there was no room to cower. Too much was at stake.
“I came to return Heart Render.”
“It has been secured,” the older woman replied without inflection.
Colette sighed in relief at the words—the sword is safe—and turned her attention to the woman. The serious face was veiled in indifference, yet the pale gray eyes were hard and penetrating. The clanswoman could have been hundreds of orbits old for all the potency that reigned there.
“Thank you for guarding it for these many orbits,” Colette added.
The women moved in synchronization, each placing fingertips upon contorted cheeks with somber expressions. Then the hands dropped to their sides, and again three pairs of eyes regarded her silently.
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