“Torgot,” Arman said, bowing. “I pray it will be bountiful.”
The ignazzi dipped his head, and raised his face to reveal a wide smile. It was not an expression of joy, but of mocking merriment.
Arman did not speak, glancing around again for the wolf.
“The portals have been destroyed,” Torgot said. His voice was liquid and soft despite the cold.
Arman’s face tightened in concern. “Where is Heax?”
“He is not coming. He did not help.”
Arman’s onyx eyes flashed in surprise at the ignalli’s words. “What happened?”
Torgot shrugged his shoulders, making his tall frame appear even longer. “He did not appreciate the ignalli’s help.”
The juile’s face was stern. “The ignalli burned the caves then?”
“Every one.” Torgot’s eyes danced.
Arman fell silent for a moment. He did not display it, but the circumstances disturbed him. “What of my friend?” he asked finally. “What happened to Bren?”
The ignalli’s lips tugged up again in humor. “He left. He went into the portal.”
Arman froze. “You speak truly?”
Torgot pressed his thin lips together and met Arman’s gaze. “He returned to his world. Barely gave a breath of hesitation.”
The pain that thrust into the juile was no less than a spear into his side, yet he did not flinch. I never would have guessed, he thought. He had the strange sensation of toppling, although the world remained upright.
Would that we had parted differently.
The last moments with Brenol still clung to Arman’s mind with all the vividness of the present. The trees had huddled silently around, shrouded in their quiet white, hardly letting a whisper echo out through the clearing. The conference and plans to destroy the portals had fallen before the hushed forest like a secret mistakenly released before a crowd. At the time, his chest had choked with an eerie premonition, yet how could he have paused? He did not trust his emotions, for sentiments were often weak and prone to waver before decisions such as these. Portals could not simply be bricked back together.
I didn’t speak my fears to him. Nor my hopes…
He winced internally, cursing his silence. For over several moons, the surreal wisps of dreams had blown before him, hinting of the future as if there were still a future for Massada. They came in flashes as fast as the blink of an eye, were as tangible as smoke trailing up from a snuffed candle, and disappeared with as much haste. Visions of lush green. Pale Tindel hands touching his own olive. Colette. Laughter. A baby—so crucial somehow—birthed in the cold blue perideta. Snow. Death. Yet there had always been glimpses of Brenol, too. Ruddy face flushed in pleasure as he bent in labor among gardens of green. Shock of red hair as he turned and clicked in code to a small carrot-headed child.
But I didn’t tell him for a reason, he reminded himself, drawing his mind back to the logical. I know the visions must be false.
No, I have lost what little I held in seeing ahead. I’m merely dreaming now. And have been. Wishing for hope. Missing Colette.
It was a disquieting understanding, even if he had been gradually approaching this moment of recognition for moons. He did not believe in living in fantasy, and now the future—already hazy—loomed with an ominous uncertainty. My little piece of intuit has fallen from me like the invisibility that once wrapped my skin.
Yet the thought meant little before the loss of his friend.
Would that we had parted differently.
Brenol’s freckled face and sturdy frame filled his vision. The man’s features had grown gaunt from sleepless nights and an encumbered heart. The green eyes, too, were dark and hard, as though his insides were gradually turning to stone. His lips were drawn together, the flash of a smile a dream of the past…yet Arman had believed that the man would push through it all. Brenol was capable of more than most. His heart was still genuine, still good. He ever lived for benere.
It was no easy matter letting someone choose. Especially when they chose poorly.
I wish you much bounty, good friend, he prayed sincerely. May the Three hold you fast.
The juile straightened his frame and felt the wind whip at his long robes as if hungry for his person. There is much bounty still for him. For us all, he thought. The prospect steadied him. Much work, as well.
Arman swept his attention back to the ignalli. The man had not once unglued his vision from the juile. His eyes sparkled and danced, as if finding pleasure in the bizarre moment. Everything about the creature was deceptive: lanky figure hiding immense strength, laughing eyes under a motto of honor. From behind the safety of his own stoic features, Arman found the snaky smirk before him grating.
As if perceiving the juile’s thoughts, Torgot released a soft sigh from his nostrils. It clouded his long, creamy face for a brief moment, but even that hinted of diversion.
“And the portal?” Arman asked gruffly.
“Black and gone.”
Arman locked eyes with him. “And the others?”
A grin spread on Torgot’s face. His lips were a soft pink and his tongue flickered slightly as he spoke. “It’s done. The wolves went through yesterday and the day before to ensure all were secured.” He spoke the final word with a soft, sarcastic relish.
Out of habit, Arman ran his hand across the beads in his pocket, pondering. The tasks ahead had not altered, even with Brenol’s absence. He must seek the Tindel. He must attempt to relay the truth of the sword, and hope for mercy. He must work.
His path and Brenol’s now parted, but each certainly continued on. Blind as he was to it, there was a purpose, a bounty, still before him.
He bowed sharply, saying, “It has been bountiful. Please thank your people and the wolves for me. I shall make haste to the deserts.”
Torgot pursed his lips, but the corners of his mouth still held a simper. He bowed in turn and waited as Arman swished away.
I didn’t want Bren to die, Torgot thought. But some things are too amusing to not toy with.
“And a juile is always one of those things,” he whispered aloud to himself, and sidled his long form back through the trees.
CHAPTER 24
Malitas shall meet its end, but more forces are at play than mere evil.
-Genesifin
Colette itched to return to the terrisdans, but it was proving impossible. The swift recovery of health originally promised by Brandi was not to be. Her impatience mounted as the days joined together, and she pined constantly for movement. Her foot was no longer the sickly black, or even the drab gray that had followed, but the pink skin was now splotched with spidery webs of purple and blue and ached terribly. She did not shudder when she gazed at the ugliness, just pressed her lips together in frustration. There was nothing to do but wait.
Colette passed much of her time playing with Mari on her pallet—legs stationary and the child bringing all sorts of trinkets into the blankets and sheets. She would giggle and nuzzle into her mother’s arms with the abandon of the innocent and untainted. In the night, Colette would regularly awaken to find a tiny whistle, hair clip, or carved animal jutting into her side.
Mari was growing so quickly. She ran about with her tiny legs and would not be deterred from anything. Her smiles and laughs were frequent, and her tinny little voice babbled out “mama” with the regularity of breathing. She had grown attached to her nursemaid Vere, and the two explored and played as though they were not separated by the greater part of a lifetime. The green, lush eyes met Vere’s gray gaze with love and trust. Colette observed and found comfort in it. She could not give everything to Mari, especially here and now, so it was a relief to have someone else show affection for the daughter she loved so tremendously.
Gere visited frequently. He came whether she asked or not, like a bee unable to escape the scent of nectar in the air. He watched her progress with veiled eyes and spoke comforting words, but his hands said more. They twitched, fidgeted, quirked. As loathe as
Colette was to create any opening for intimacy, she eventually could not ignore it any longer.
“Tell me what is wrong, Gere.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me,” she insisted.
He lowered his head, puzzled. “How is it you can guess? I’ve revealed nothing.”
Colette waved her hand dismissively. “Just speak. Have the Tindel chosen not to help?”
Gere shook his head vehemently. “Oh no. Nothing of the sort… A gertali arrived this morning from Tera. They’ll scout the terrisdans, examine the portals for destruction, and then see what preliminary work is to be done. They’re leaving at dawn.”
Colette exhaled at the positive turn. “I’d wanted to go, but it’s the way of things. I will send seal to Bren. And follow in a few days.”
Gere remained silent.
A fear suddenly iced her heart. “I shall follow,” she said again, but a question lay in the words regardless.
He met her gaze, pity clear in his eyes. “Your body will not allow it.”
Her anger flashed hot before she even realized a flush had come upon her. “My body or yours?”
Gere pulled his neck back in repugnance. “I’ve spoken my part. I’m no gaoler.”
He stood up and began to pace the length of the ward. His boots barely issued sound despite the swift movements.
Colette bit her tongue, humbled. “I’m sorry, Gere. Tell me. Please.”
Gere gave no indication he had heard, save that his steps increased in speed and force. Finally, the clansman halted and reluctantly faced her.
The silence of the now-still space crowded upon Colette, and her heart thundered in alarm. As their eyes locked, Colette perceived him anew. His weathered face looked older, more mature. She was suddenly unsure of his age. He held the memory of youth in his frame, yet his face was as weary as those who had watched death claim every friend and loved one ever known.
“You will walk again.”
The pause he left was deafening.
“But?”
“There can be no more crossing of the peri. Your body would collapse. It nearly killed you, and it would not miss if you tried again.”
“How can any know that?”
“We’ve seen the symptoms. It’s the same for the Tindel. The blue eventually eats away the body’s ability to preserve itself. It is its way.”
“I haven’t seen any of these people. Who are they?” Colette asked defiantly.
“The elderly mostly. Sometimes those who have spent too much time traveling the peri. But it is the same. The legs, arms,” Gere glanced down to the floor. “And chest.”
Colette flushed and hugged her forearms around her thickly clothed bosom. She had not shown any the bruises that painted her chest with a sickly green pallor, guarding them even when nursing. Somehow, they had still been guessed. Warm tears filled her eyes. “What do you do with these weaklings?”
Gere squatted at her side and extended his arm out to console but then withdrew in a sudden wave of self-consciousness. “Nothing. They live freely in the bethaidas. They live long lives. They’re respected and loved. But just as you guard poison from a babe’s mouth, it’s unthinkable to allow those who have sefent marks to walk the peri again.”
“What about changing bethaidas?” Colette asked softly.
“It’s usually not permitted, although there have been a few exceptions. But for you, yes. You will move. Jurl has requested it.”
“Why me?”
Gere rubbed his creased face with his thin fingers. “There are many reasons. Mari, for one. We want her more centrally located among the clans. But also we want to move you back to Iret because the clinic there is more equipped. Your condition isn’t as severe as most. And you’re still young. Perhaps…” He did not finish.
“Is there any hope?”
Gere looked at her with full eyes. They held a different kind of hope than she wanted to see. He burned with the hope that the wild bird might one day be tamed. It made her stomach lurch.
“Would it truly be awful to live out your days in my bethaida? You’ll have to live in one somewhere, whether here or in the ones on the terrisdans, once they are built.”
Colette shook her head. Her dark braid whipped upon her back forcefully. “I want to be free.”
The man raised himself up wearily. “I only seek your good, Colette. Not to trap you or harm you. You make it seem as if…” His voice trailed into silence, but the implication hung in the air.
He strode the length of the room and bent his frame to duck through the doorway. He paused and leaned back in for a moment. “I can tell the gertali to send a message. Is there anything you wish to tell your people?”
The question was too much for a mere sentence. Everything. It was impossible to convey the need to work with the Tindel, the abrasiveness of the culture, how much the people of the terrisdans relied upon this crucial moment.
She floundered helplessly for words and finally said simply, “Tell Bren to come for me.” She turned her back to the door and curled up on her pallet.
~
Vere entered later, Mari’s heavy limbs drooping from her elderly arms. She laid the child upon her bedding gently, brushed the small forehead with her lips, and stretched her aged back up with a creak. Vere peered at Colette and walked with quiet steps to the door.
“You are good with her,” Colette said faintly.
The white-haired woman paused and twisted around to face her. “She’s easy to love.” Her voice was melodious and soft, like a matured and worked over symphony. “Those eyes…”
The eyes, indeed. Mari missed little, and her pasture-green orbs held much behind them.
“There is hope, you know.”
Colette looked up in surprise. Her thoughts had been so absorbed by Mari that suddenly seeing the elderly woman crouched before her nearly caused her to jump. “Excuse me?”
“Your legs. There is hope.”
“How did y—”
“It’s in your glance. And his too… He hopes one way, you hope the other. But I can tell, there’s a great chance for the sefent to heal. You’re so young. Are they transferring you to Iret?” Her pale amber eyes peered out, foreign but kind.
“What does he hope for?” Colette asked unnecessarily.
“You.”
Her stomach pawed at her with unease. “When’s the soonest I can be moved?”
“May I?”
Colette nodded. “Please.”
Vere lifted the blankets from the lunitata’s legs and slowly moved her soft, wrinkled hands across them. Colette eased into her seat despite her anxiety. These were adept hands. Healing hands.
Vere puckered her lips in thought and continued to caress her worn fingers over the spidery bruises. “In a septspan, the pain will ease. In two, they will move you.”
Colette’s eyes asked the question before her voice could.
Vere nodded. “You will know either way within a moon and a half. Not long. The young—especially in the hands of Iret’s healers—mend speedily. Do not be anxious. Just rest. That is what you can do to help.”
“Will you come with us?”
Vere’s face beamed. She lifted her fingertips to her cheek and let them fall. “That is a compliment indeed. But this is my place. I remain.”
“Mari will miss you.” Colette hesitated and then spoke anyway. “I will miss you.”
Vere dipped her head in acknowledgment but said nothing. She stepped from the room, the creak of her bones sounding as she moved across the hard clay.
~
Vere was correct about the timing of the transfer. The Tindel moved Colette and Mari after two septspan, carrying them in a litter across the perideta. Colette hugged her daughter and pressed her lips together tightly, for she feared what awaited. Her mobility was still lacking, and Vere’s encouraging words now seemed as dust blowing away with the wind.
I am their pet. And my daughter, too.
Colette set her jaw and re
fused to let the tender emotion bubble out.
My life is no longer my own.
~
Colette stiffened, and her sleep fell like a heavy drape to the ground. A hand, warm and large, had slipped into her own. It had felt good, welcome somehow, but her mind registered suspicion—she did not trust anything peaceful in her life among the Tindel. The lunitata breathed in cautiously, but in doing so she caught a familiar scent. It all but caused her to cry out. She opened her emerald eyes and choked as her lips spread into a smile.
“Arman.” The word tasted like ripe cherries bursting on her tongue.
His thin face opened up in a broad grin.
That smile. That disarming smile, she thought.
He wore shadowy gray robes that bulged over the layers beneath them. Black boots poked out from the bottom folds, and a sapphire cloak rested in the crook of his elbow. Dark eyebrows furrowed over eyes that carried a mixture of emotions. She tried to discern them, but his inner workings remained hidden.
“It has been some time, Colette.” The voice held relief.
And fear?
“More than some,” she replied, feeling the space of its duration with a bitter reluctance. Massada was a lifetime away. Her family, the land, the culture. It was surreal to think the world had continued in her absence without a stutter.
“Your child?” Arman asked.
Her gaze automatically ran to the side of her room where Mari’s pallet lay. The girl was playing elsewhere with the Tindellan youth, but her little trinkets lay in an arrow-straight line across the floor, easily half a man long. She smiled. “You will meet Mari.”
Arman’s voice was controlled, revealing nothing. “She lifed well?”
Colette could not help laughing haughtily. “Birth on the blue is its own ilk.”
He blinked, but in a fraction the long face disappeared again into a smile. Still, while his expression was genuine, there was something else too. Colette could not place it.
“I imagine it is… I have heard strange things, rumors.” He let the sentence trail off, waiting for her to pick it up.
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