Colette crept closer and closer in pained stretches. As she neared the girl, her voice rasped out in a perpetual echo of the girl’s name. Mari granted a brief glance to the strained face, smiled, and again lifted her tiny hand. Colette dove forward to grasp her, but she was not nearly close enough. The toddler proudly raised a hand toward the dark sphere and slapped it loudly. She giggled at the effect and plopped onto her bottom before tumbling over awkwardly onto her side.
“No!” screamed Colette in horror. “No, no, no!” She wormed the remaining strides forward and scooped the tiny body into her arms. “No, not you. Not you,” she cried, cradling the girl close.
Mari opened her eyes, and all the beautiful color and life of them peered up into her mother’s face. Colette gasped. Tenderly, slowly, the lunitata ran her fingers across the child’s features and limbs. She was shocked.
“You’re alive,” she whispered. Silent tears slid down her cheeks, and she embraced Mari with unmatched fervor. “How can it be?” She kissed the soft head again and again and breathed in the lovely scents of her hair and person. “You’re alive.”
Colette pulled the child back slightly to again scrutinize her. She was hale and happy, and squirming to get free yet again.
“How can it—”
Colette’s voice halted abruptly as she peered up at the spherisol, and the rush of relief drained from her. The giant orb was unquestionably ruined. Where Mari had touched, the globe was pressed in like soft clay, and with a telling imprint of a tiny hand. The place was warped and ominously black.
“They will know,” she whispered with wide eyes. Her arms circled about Mari, and her lips again met scalp in a kiss.
“We must fly,” Colette said, though she knew it would be impossible. “Fly.”
CHAPTER 21
The terrisdans shall shudder; Massada nears its Final Breath.
-Genesifin
The gertali came upon Colette the following day after twilight. The sun had just dipped her bright face down under the perideta, but a soft gray light had poured across the lonely sky, and a stroke of pink had streaked out for a few moments before the heavens turned black. The pinch of color had held her heart with a squeeze of hope, but like all moments of beauty on the perideta, it lasted but a breath and left behind a tremendous emptiness and longing.
For a second, it was like a sign. Like I could make it back.
Her ankle throbbed and her leg was little more than a useless log as she dragged it along in a soft whisper of movement. The cold, while brutal, was no match for the swelling, and her ankle ballooned out above the flaps and boot laces. The constant motion only intensified the pain, yet there was little choice before her. Sitting would certainly not solve her predicament.
The sling supporting Mari’s limp and sleeping body dug into her shoulders. Colette’s eyes streamed with the effort of each step, but she brushed the moisture away with a swipe of her glove. As her gaze returned to the perideta, a mirage of Tindel swept around her. Their cobalt cloaks, boots, and face wraps blended with sky and earth and made them mere ripples upon the open sea of ice.
Oh no, she thought. They discovered the spherisol so quickly.
Her arm flew instinctively to her back where the child was strapped. The sudden movement disrupted her already tenuous balance, and she dropped hard upon the icy crust. Rock would have been kinder to her tailbone, but Colette nonetheless remained frozen and mute, staring fearfully up at the seven figures. Mari was still heavy with sleep and did not stir.
The lunitata waited for them to speak.
“You left without taking farewells.” The soft voice issued from a short man near the center of the group. It was instantly familiar, and her heart quaked within her. Gere.
“There was nothing that remained to be said,” Colette replied with effort. The pain mounted, and she clenched her teeth until they screeched.
A glance among the clansmen was followed by a few brief hand signals. A sharp sweep of a palm from the tallest of the seven turned Gere’s eyes to the ground in embarrassed submission, and he retreated several strides from the lunitata.
A figure lowered to his haunches before her and his faded hazel eyes peered out in interest. “May I attend to your injuries?” he asked. The voice was a gravelly bass, muffled beneath layers of protection.
She nodded, despite her qualms—for what real choice do I have?—and within seconds was whisked up into several sure arms. They carried her as if she were a frail elder of the Tindel, with fingers laced beneath her as a seat. Mari went undisturbed, but the pain shooting from her tailbone shocked tears to Colette’s eyes.
It was not a great distance before the gertali brushed aside some chunks of ice and revealed a nearly invisible sapphire door. They removed the lock, issued the call, and waited for the internal bars to be unlatched. An arm wrapped in blue thrust the door up, and a lovely wave of heat steamed out with it. The team did not idle, somehow maneuvering her thin body down the tiny entrance to the brick-brown tunnels below in mere moments.
She could almost hear the words repeated in her ears—for they had been drilled into her to the point of nausea: Heat is not to be wasted.
The underground world, while being a different bethaida, was dizzyingly familiar in color and style.
“She’s not to leave me,” Colette said through gritted teeth.
The Tindel ignored her as they conveyed her carefully and swiftly through the passages.
“Mari’s not to leave me,” the lunitata repeated, this time with shrill volume.
A pale head paused and nodded at her. It was enough to soothe her momentarily, and as the tunnels swept on, she began to see the scene from a detached perspective.
I’ll never escape the Tindel. Or the bethaidas.
Or Gere.
The thought shuddered her to reality. She trembled within about what might happen to her resolve under the softness of a long convalescence. I’ll have the willpower of a child.
Help me not to lose myself. Oh, help.
~
The chimes of the bethaida morning call resounded, echoing through the corridors. Another clan, another day on the blue. Colette opened her eyes. The healing room in which she lay was a large space, still dimly lit for the night, containing at least a dozen pallets that lined two of the walls in parallel fashion. It was a clean area, swept and re-clayed regularly to ensure proper heating and insulation for the invalids.
There were no other people here, save Mari. Her little hands tugged at the bedding pinning her tiny body, and she grunted in frustration. Colette sat up with a wince, brushed off the warm linens covering her legs, and attempted to subdue a scream; the brief motion had been as terrible as taking a hatchet to an open wound. Her injured ankle and foot were grotesquely swollen and black as death. She shuddered, collected Mari, and collapsed back onto her pallet.
It’ll be ok. They’ll help me. They will…
Mari smacked her lips and snuggled in to nurse as Colette stared hard at the dark foot. It appeared as if it had already begun to decay.
Don’t look, she urged herself, but her eyes could not be pried from it.
“Colette?” a sturdy feminine voice called.
Colette looked up to see a pale, stick-thin woman in Tindellan browns. The garb hung loosely upon her tiny frame, as did the skin on her elderly face. Her faded hair was braided in a single tight strand falling to mid-back. The woman had a jutting jaw, upturned nose, and rugose cheeks. A spark of power in her light hazel eyes stilled Colette; it was the same unnerving flare she had encountered in every clansman.
“You should not have moved.”
The wrinkled fingers swept across to the lengths of white linen that had fallen from Colette’s limbs. The woman examined the flesh and covered the distance of the room with swift strides, disappearing into the hall. She returned within a minute with fresh cloths and laid them with sure strokes upon Colette’s searing skin. They were warm and must have held a measure of narcotic, for the salve num
bed the pain until Colette breathed and sighed back in gratitude. Mari only nestled in further, giving little attention to anything but her breakfast.
“Thank you,” Colette whispered.
The wrinkled fingertips raised to touch wrinkled cheek. “I am Brandi. I’m a healer here in Trente.”
“You told me your name,” Colette said, surprised.
The clanswoman scrutinized her with sharp eyes. “It is customary for healers to do so.”
Colette turned her eyes down for a moment, wishing herself away. Her gaze fell upon the white fabric covering her limbs.
“Is it going to be ok?” she asked. The drugs continued to climb up her legs, but nothing could remove from her mind the terrible black image of her once delicate foot. She had a strange itch to peel off the cloths simply to stare at it again.
“I believe so. It was fortunate that you found the gertali when you did. You would’ve either died or been without a foot with just another hour on the peri.” Her tone was quiet and formal.
“Why’s it black?”
Brandi’s face emptied of all but bewilderment. “The cold. Your muscles and skin were dying from exposure.”
She stares at me like I’m stupid.
“I didn’t suffer this on my journey into the peri. Why now?”
Brandi pressed her lips together briefly as she deliberated. “Your will was not as strong.”
Her words made Colette’s back sink deep into the bedding. The nurse must have read the gesture, for she softened her voice. “You shall be well soon. I can mend your foot in two to three septspan, and you’ll be able to travel again if you like—although the tailbone is likely to bother you for several more.”
Colette clenched her jaw but did not speak. She feared what might come with being bedridden for so long.
“You will need help with the child,” Brandi said.
Colette sighed; she knew as much, but allowing Mari to leave her sight scared her. She did not know what to expect from the Tindel after they discovered the spherisol—if they had not already.
Brandi misread her expression. “Vere should be here soon. She is very skilled. She cares for all the children of the clinic.”
“Thank you,” Colette replied eventually.
“Someone from Iret wants to see you.” Brandi glanced down at Mari. The child had been concealed beneath Colette’s shirt while eating, but asleep now, the lunitata held her loosely before her on her lap. Milk droplets rested upon the girl’s tiny chin. “Would you prefer another time?”
Colette nodded, yet dread still itched within her, and she could not resist asking, “Did he say what he needed to speak to me about?”
Brandi gave a small shake of the head. “Although he did mention it was crucial he be able to see you soon. He was loathe to wait even for me to ask you.”
Colette mused upon the statement. Had he sought her in love? Or because of the spherisol? If she postponed seeing Gere long enough, perhaps her strength would return, and she could flee.
Brandi peered down again at Mari, pinched her eyes together in an odd expression, and hastened to leave the room to attend to other duties. Before ducking through the low doorway, she paused briefly to scold. “Under no circumstances—none—should you walk on either foot. One may appear worse, but the other was a fingernail’s breadth from coloring too.”
Colette nodded and watched the woman exit. She bent down to Mari and kissed the soft head. Just breathing in the child’s scent warmed her heart. She smoothed the soft red locks curling around the girl’s pink forehead.
“I may be scared of what all this will bring, but I am thankful they saved us. You’re alive, my little love. You’re alive. And right now you’re all that matters.”
But Colette’s face drew long as she considered what was coming. “They must know about the spherisol. They must.”
~
Brenol pushed past the bracken and lowered his head to escape the scraping branches. There were no leaves dangling as there used to be this time of the season. Now, only snow and ice and soil were meshed together in an ugly state of ochre and gray. A grating sound screeched from his boots as they met the surface.
I never thought I’d hate this place.
He and Arman had traveled south from Selenia’s town of Critel—a sad attempt at reestablishing a center of healing in the terrisdan—to the lugazzi north of Ziel. It was somehow even colder as they drew near the waters, and it only served to stir his irritation further.
Arman glanced sideways at his friend but did not speak. He had said little since Brenol had voiced his intentions. His stride was long, and Brenol struggled to match it.
Brenol finally spoke. “What?”
Arman’s eyebrows arched up over his swarthy face. His voice was as collected as ever. “What is it you wish to ask?”
“Why are you so quiet?” Brenol kicked at some snow in front of his foot, not caring how puerile it appeared.
The juile suddenly felt a tickle of doubt. A wisp of a dream floated before him like a tendril of steam and was gone with his next inhalation.
The images were without foundation, yet markedly vivid and full. He breathed in quietly to make sense of it all and pondered finally telling Brenol about them.
He hesitated, but then allowed the strange pictures—children running through green gardens, Tindel faces unnaturally tan, Colette stooping in harvest, laughter pouring from her chest—to slide away ungrasped.
No, I’ll not tell him. They cannot be, he rationalized. He collected his thoughts to respond to Brenol. “I thought it considerate to give you the space to ponder your decision.”
Brenol flushed in anger. “I told you I knew for certain. I’m leaving, so long as the portals allow it.” I hate this place. I can hardly stand it anymore. It just makes me angry…
Arman nodded, flicking out his fingers, but held his pace. It did not take observant eyes to perceive the gaping wound in Brenol’s soul and the fiery temper that guarded it.
Brenol struggled to keep up, until he finally yelled out again, “What makes you so sure I need to think about it? How would you know what’s going on in me? You don’t know anything!”
The juile stopped his stride and turned on his heel to face the man squarely. His jaw jutted out unattractively, and his dark eyes flashed, yet still his voice was controlled, vibrating out from his throat with precision. “I fail to see how a decision made in anger and pain could be a free decision. But it is, and will remain, your choice.”
“You think me a fool?”
Arman’s calm contrasted starkly with the storm before him. “I think you rash.”
“You don’t know how much I despise this place now,” Brenol said in a rush. “And it’s ending, Arman. I’ve nothing to hold me here. I might as well return… My mother needs me.” Yet even in saying it, he felt the hollowness of his argument; if his mother needed him so much, he never would have left her initially.
Arman flicked his fingers out again and gave a gentle smile. The ugliness all but vanished, and the intrigue of his person limned his face. “I shall miss you, then, friend.”
Brenol’s chest sagged, but he refused to speak. He set his teeth together and clenched hard. The idea of leaving Arman threatened to pry up grief he had pointedly tucked away, and if he faced one sorrow, he would have to confront them all; that was the nature of buried emotion. He steeled his eyes on a snow drift along the path and knew he had no choice. He must escape the hell he lived: remembering Colette, his baby, Darse, the terrisdans, his failure. No balm would ever be enough to heal that dark chasm.
I’ve failed. I have nothing left but to flee.
CHAPTER 22
Without hope, a soul will perish.
-Genesifin
“I will not be delayed any longer!” a voice boomed in the hallway.
Colette shuddered down into her sheets. The voice was nearly as familiar as Mari’s, but it filled her with dread.
After a moment of arguing, Brandi led the p
ale clansman into the sick ward. His white face was flushed a pale pink, and his eyes flashed with frustration. Brandi examined the new poultice upon Colette’s feet and then pattered out of the room with a sideways glance at the lunitata.
“Hello, Gere,” Colette said. Her voice was but a whisper.
He blinked and glanced around unsurely, suddenly taken aback by the quiet reality of the room. He paused in indecision, breathed, and lifted up his fingers into an extended claw.
Marking? Truly?
Her heart bucked within, yet she knew she could not refuse the gesture. She hesitated for a moment before raising her own fingers to light upon his. Their eyes locked, and Colette perceived much in his gray gaze. She trembled in the knowledge; there was more to this meeting than spurned hearts.
“Are you well?” he finally asked. His voice was cracked, likely from the strain of traveling on the perideta, and his face betrayed his time there as well. She fought the urge to stare at the ropes that suddenly knotted and swirled across his once-smooth features.
“Yes. My feet…but they will be well in a little while.”
Gere craned his neck forward to see her wrappings. After a moment, he spoke gently, “And…and Mari?”
“She is fine,” Colette responded hastily.
“Really? It’s true then? There’s nothing wrong with her?”
“She is fine.”
“But the spherisol…”
Colette winced. She had feared this was the real reason why he had sought her, and now Tindellan anger would be their deaths. She inhaled nervously, unable to maintain composure. “I’m sorry… I… She didn’t mean to.” The words poured out of her mouth in a rush. “I tried to keep her away, but I couldn’t get to her in time. She touched it, and then I saw. It was destroyed.”
Her memory filled with the bizarre sight on the perideta, and the sound echoed horror in her eardrums. Mari’s handprint on the spherisol was as visible as a footprint in the snow, marring the shape and reflection of the orb in a skewed stretch.
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