The Forbidding Blue

by Monica Lee Kennedy

  His chuckle startled her gaze upward. His eyes danced in his even and alive face. “You need not fear my handsomeness departing so early. I leave once I know whether you are well or not. I will not run off without your leave.”

  Relief flooded the lunitata. She smiled weakly. “Thank you.” She laid the bread aside and settled back into her pallet. She did not even remember closing her eyes before sleep snatched her with swift and gentle arms.

  CHAPTER 25

  To hold back life is a fool’s game.

  -Genesifin

  It had taken an additional two septspan before the Tindel—reluctantly, Colette thought—deemed her legs fit for movement, and eventually for travel if she so chose. In the days following, she worked to bring her weak legs back to life. It reminded her of another time, another life, in the soladrome when Brenol had visited her and given her hope in the aftermath of the kidnapping. Her weak muscles and soul had strengthened with his friendship and kindness, but there was no Brenol to aid her this time.

  And there never will be again.

  The spidery webs glistened a silvery-pink and ran across her skin with the texture of light scar tissue. She felt a numb indifference to the rivers that now flowed and twisted from feet to chest. It was the same sentiment she experienced when she caught a reflection of the severe pocking upon her features.

  I wonder if I’d have felt differently if Bren were here.

  The thought evoked a wincing throb. His absence was like a deep infection of the bone refusing to heal; she could pretend to live, but her emotions screamed with every step.

  “Colette?”

  She paused. She had been walking, working to ease her legs back into shape, and had attained a normal pace, even if her gait still felt forced. She turned to the well-known voice. This was her first encounter with Gere since learning of Brenol’s departure. She had expected to see him eventually but was surprised at her own eagerness. It struck her as a contradiction beside the marked pain of being abandoned by her soumme.

  “Gere?”

  He surveyed her with his own habitual hunger, but his tone was restrained and formal. He wet his lips and gripped his hands together. “May we talk?”

  “Of course. Here?”

  His eyes shifted uncomfortably under his white brows. “Would you mind my room?”

  She issued a small shake of the head before trailing his heels through the bethaida. She stared at the leading figure before her, wondering as to his reasons for seeking her out. Is this about me? Gere had not yet repeated his romantic pursuits of her, but she was unsure if he ever would after her blunt refusal in the healing ward. It could be about Mari… The Tindellan words from several days previously echoed in her mind with each step: the gift, the gift, the gift.

  Eventually, Gere slowed as he neared an entryway partitioned off with a navy canvas. He held the fabric back for her, but still she played her fingers—mere digits below his—against it as she brushed past. Gere let the sheet fall, and the space suddenly grew private. Colette lowered her face to hide her pink cheeks.

  The clansman’s quarters were of average size for a single person—five strides by four. There were few articles to mark the area as his own, although Colette recognized a picture Mari had drawn for him affixed to one earthen wall. His bed rested in the corner, with a single soft blanket of gold and black atop it, and a metal table, topped with a steaming canister, stood near the entryway. The room smelled rich and sharp, and the scent of the clansman lingered with a familiar hominess.

  “Tea?”

  “Please,” she responded.

  He poured, and she reached for her cup, relishing the heat traveling up her fingers.

  “I wanted to talk to you about Mari,” he said.

  Colette straightened her frame upon the bench. She was not sure what she had expected from him, but she was certainly not going to reveal as much. “Yes. Of course you do.”

  He exhaled in slight relief. “Thank you for letting us test her gift. We learned so much.”

  The gift, the gift, the gift.

  “Yes?” she finally asked.

  “Yes,” he said with a nod. “But first…” Gere unpocketed a scarf that had been carefully wrapped around a small object. The scarf was thin, azure, and as luxuriously soft as silk. He placed it on the table and looked at her expectantly.

  Colette arched forward with genuine curiosity. “What is it?” she whispered as Gere slid the extravagant folds away without touching the piece. She hovered closely in examination.

  Before her lay a perfect sphere the size of a small hen egg, black and reflective. It reminded Colette of a pupil, staring into her and seeing her depths. As she exhaled, the smooth surface clouded and cleared.

  Gere pressed near too. His enthusiasm could not be masked. “It is a miniature spherisol. It is how the makers have developed them over the orbits as it is far less dangerous to handle and test. It isn’t perfect, but it provides a way to understand the absorption of energy on a small scale.”

  “There is an energy pod in that?”

  Gere laughed. “Very small.”

  “And it won’t hurt me?”

  The clansman smiled sheepishly. “Well, there is that… It could cause a slight wound, but it is nothing like the large spherisol.”

  Nothing like death, she thought wryly.

  Her finger lingered in the air, pointing. “What happened when Mari touched this?”

  He grinned handsomely. “It turned green. Green, green, green.”

  “Green?”

  Gere bobbed his head excitedly. “Yes. It glowed green, at least for a few seconds, and then faded back to black.”

  Colette peered at the tiny orb. “On the peri, I didn’t see the spherisol right away. I was looking at Mari. I cannot say if it turned color. I only later saw the distortion from her hand.”

  “Yes. That too, of course. The little sphere softened with her touch. It was so warped that it’s now unusable.” He swiped his hand through the air and met her gaze with glittering eyes. “But that’s nothing. We’ll soon figure out how to absorb her light without destroying the actual sphere. But the real question now is—”

  “If this comes from me or…or Bren?”

  Gere nodded, wincing slightly at her soumme’s name.

  She gazed down at the orb. The suspended finger lowered back to her lap. “What kind of wound?”

  Before she could stop him, Gere thrust a finger into the folds. He drew in a sharp breath and extracted his hand. It shook slightly, and he cradled it against his chest. His face was whiter than she had ever seen it.

  Colette all but knocked the ball as she reached out in alarm. “Are you ok?”

  Gere nodded with a wince. He extended his quivering digit out for her to examine, and his face returned to the sheepish grin. The finger was as shriveled as a raisin and blanched to an eerie, creamy translucence all the way to his second knuckle. The fingernail was cracked, and what was left of it had shrunk back in gray shards from the point of contact.

  Colette’s eyes widened. “That is no bruise.”

  “No,” he conceded as he sucked in air through his teeth. “But I honestly don’t think it’ll matter for you. I think it’ll turn green.” The rest of the sentence hung unspoken in the air: or I would not even ask it of you.

  “How long will this idiocy take to heal?” she asked him gently.

  Gere swept the opposite hand awkwardly across his shoulder. “Two septspan? Less?” He smiled encouragingly. He looked like a child awaiting a present.

  She inhaled. “All right.” She released his finger, which she had somehow managed to cradle into her own, and directed her attention to the little orb. Her eyes gazed back at her from the reflective black, but she refused to recognize whatever emotion lay there. Her index probed forward until she jerked it back in a rush of pain. The wrinkled finger went straight to her mouth, but no warmth could heal the icy torment.

  “I regret my choice of fingers,” she said, extracting he
r digit from her lips for examination.

  Gere’s smoky eyes filled with despair. “I… I…”

  She shook her hand in the hopes it would ease the smarting. “It needed to be done. You had no way of knowing… Gere?”

  He looked up numbly from his own injured hand.

  “What does this mean? You really have not told me anything.”

  Her words seemed to shake him from his stupor, though he remained solemn and subdued. He carefully collected the miniature spherisol with the scarf and wrapped it—angrily?—before pocketing it meticulously away.

  “Mari is the answer,” Gere began. “Her light—I had hoped it was simply being lunitata—was the last missing piece to the spherisols. The Tindel have labored so long to right the light, to find the perfect mixture of energy… And her little hand. It gave the last little light that they needed. She has so much life and light in her… She is the gift.”

  The gift, the gift, the gift.

  The words rolled around in her head. She was unsure how she felt about the entire matter. “How long does her energy last?”

  Gere nodded. “Good question. We cannot know with certainty, but it looks like it will endure the season with the rest of the cell. We don’t know how to hold energy any longer, but perhaps we’ll be able to make new, longer-lasting pods at some point.”

  The lunitata stared at her hand absently, taking it in. She blushed at a new thought. “Could it be my offspring somehow?”

  Gere’s peered at her. He spoke slowly, “It is a possibility.”

  “Will Mari’s children carry this gift?”

  “We think so. But no one can really know ’til the time comes.”

  Colette breathed in, thinking of her daughter. “So what happens to Mari now?”

  “Now…now, we bring light to the bethaidas.”

  “Yes, but how?”

  He granted her a small smile. “Tomorrow. I will show you.”

  ~

  It was not on the morrow that Gere returned, for it took an entire three septspan to create new spherisols in the hope that one of the designs would withstand Mari’s tiny hand. In the meantime, Colette paced the bethaida with the fervor of a caged lioness. The numerous possibilities of the future loomed before her, and she longed to finally have answers.

  Everything in these bounty-less bethaidas takes forever.

  What does this mean for Mari? For us?

  Will I be able to go back to the terrisdans? Do I stay? What will they expect of us?

  The tether of responsibility over the girl’s ability suddenly felt taut, and more like a noose around her neck than “the gift” of which the Tindel kept speaking. While grateful for the good it brought, the mysterious uncertainties left her stomach queasy.

  Just a few more days. A few more.

  Harta finally came for her. The dinner chime had sounded at least two hours previously, and Colette had begun to prepare the girl for bed. Harta entered the room soundlessly. Her face was somber and quieted Colette’s anxiety with its promise.

  “The spherisols are ready,” she said.

  Without deliberation, Colette scooped Mari’s hand into her own; rest could wait. The child gazed up at her innocently.

  Those eyes, she thought.

  They trailed Harta through the bethaida until her red sash halted directly outside of the southern-most door. “The spherisols cannot be brought into the bethaida without absorbing our energy. They must always stay out on the peri,” she said in answer to Colette’s quizzical look.

  Rows of linens and coats danced on a line as the group selected and unpinned different pieces. Soon they all bulged with apparel. Colette felt herself almost damp in perspiration from the heat, but Mari merely appeared collected and pensive.

  She is a mystery, that one…

  Harta’s muffled voice issued from behind the cobalt layers. “Follow me.”

  Colette bent to pick up the child and trailed Harta out into the rush of cold.

  Even after repeated experiences of the ruthless climate, Colette somehow had forgotten the pain of the perideta. There was only a whisper of wind, but it nonetheless sliced through her and gave the sensation of her bones shrinking.

  The sky above was a deep black and strewn with a handful of sparkling diamonds that winked down quietly beside the waning beauty of Veri. Stronta was still low in her course, but she would be beaming down brightly in less than an hour.

  Colette stepped forward and allowed her gaze to reluctantly drop from the heavens to the vast blue. The cornflower snow drifts and hard perideta crust reflected the gentle light and glimmered like limestone in the sun. It was soothing in its own way to be out under the skies and upon the desert. She sucked in the icy air and found gratitude, even though her teeth screamed in pain with the very act.

  “This way.”

  The blue figure of Harta swept forward in a gliding movement while Colette crunched awkwardly behind her, weighed down by the padded child.

  Colette’s breath heaved out in clouds as she attempted to manage the pace. She paused to secure the slipping sash across the girl’s face and hugged her close.

  “I love you, little one,” she whispered into her daughter’s ear.

  Mari gave her a quizzical glance, but her face housed an ease that revealed complete trust. She seemed not to notice nor mind the intense chill that shook her mother’s weak frame.

  Finally, after a spell of laborious plodding, Harta paused to breathe and survey the land. Colette stepped to her side and spied them. The perideta crust ahead dipped down in a slight valley, and resting in that concavity were four black and ominous spherisols. They sparkled under the dark cosmos in their reflective and eerie stillness. Surrounding the four orbs, a gertali of ten waited. They shifted and paced the area with sure and determined movements.

  Just as cold as I am, she suddenly realized, finding the thought surprising.

  They strode down the light grade and in but a few minutes stood before the towering globes. Now that she was close, it was evident they were disparate. Their daises were all alike, as were the imposing heights, but the surface on each was distinctly unique.

  She forced her heart to still. They would never risk Mari. Never. Regardless, she could not fully soothe her motherly qualms.

  “Jurl wanted to come,” a gruff voice said to Harta. It crackled in the cold.

  Harta’s bundled head nodded. “And these are Hilata’s best designs?”

  A soft click followed in answer.

  I need to make someone teach me that bounty-less code already, she thought, stamping her feet in a vain attempt to find warmth.

  Harta clicked back and turned to face Colette with her pale but powerful blue eyes. “It’s time.”

  Wordlessly, Colette set down the toddler, pausing only briefly to press a soft kiss upon her covered crown. Mari wobbled for a moment under the strain of so many layers but, instead of toppling, giggled and straightened. Harta bent and grasped the girl’s hand, and together they walked the distance to the mountainous globes.

  Stronta now streamed down in her celestial course, turning the snow and crust into glistening brilliance. It looked as if Mari walked on water rather than brutal blue desert.

  The nearest globe was the widest of the four and a deep, matte black. It reflected little and seemed a harsh and terrible object. When Harta and Mari drew close, the clanswoman crouched down to whisper to the girl—the words lost to any but the child—and remove her glove.

  The gertali stilled as every eye fell upon the small child. Colette herself was frozen in the moment, with eyes glued to her daughter. All forgot the perideta’s bite, all waited as if suspended in breath and time.

  Mari took the final step forward and stretched out her small pink fingers. The meeting between girl and globe was as delicate as a butterfly’s landing. Her fingertips kissed the metal and rested for a breath, and the stance of her hand curved as if she were marking in the Tindellan fashion. The surface greened beneath her touch but did
not soften or warp. She withdrew her hand, and the metal darkened anew.

  Harta dipped down, and instead of retrieving the hand and guiding Mari anew, she lifted the child up into her arms in an embrace. In a sweep, the clanswoman brushed aside her face sash and Mari’s, bestowing a kiss upon the girl’s smooth skin. She returned the scarves, but not before Colette had seen the clanswoman’s corded cheeks glistening with tears.

  Harta held the girl close and continued to the next spherisol. It was the smallest, although still towering over them all, and as clear as a looking glass. The surface was smooth and sleek, and Colette could see her daughter’s reflection as she was settled before the globe.

  With surprising grace, Mari stretched out her arm and lit her fingers upon the sphere. The site grew a bright green but held solid. After her hand had retracted, the surface faded back to silvery black.

  Harta again lifted the child to kiss her, but as she held the girl, her frame shook. She was not alone. Colette watched as the Tindel around her fell to their knees, racked with sobs. There was no longer any regard for the cold. The miracle was too great, their gratitude too intense.

  Eventually, Harta bore the girl to the final spherisols, and the result was the same. One was braided with designs across its surface and the other had a murky black sheen, yet each withstood Mari’s hand and colored beneath her touch in an absorption of power.

  Harta carefully clothed the tiny hand and waited as the other Tindel approached.

  Colette stared, watching the scene with an odd detachment. She felt numb to the moment, and the striking catharsis of the Tindel only highlighted it. Yes, she was grateful for the good this would bring them, but her own victory seemed lost. She turned her eyes away briefly, shamed at her inability to simply be happy for the clans, but every thought was tied up in her own grief.

  I wish Bren could be here. And see this, she thought. He’d be so proud of her.

  A single clansman stepped forward and knelt before Mari. He opened his face sash, and the blue fabric whipped in the wind, still tethered. His pale and twisted face beamed in unbridled joy. He whispered something and scooped up the girl’s hand into his, leaned in, and kissed her palm tenderly. He scrambled up, jumped into the air with an exuberant shout, and rejoined the circle. Soon, each clansman followed his sequence. It was only when the last knelt down that Colette finally heard the words muttered to the girl: “She is gift, O Three, and I give thanks.”