The Forbidding Blue

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The Forbidding Blue Page 36

by Monica Lee Kennedy


  The return trek was marked with triumphant roars, and back in the bethaida the tunnels reverberated with celebration. Not a single clansman was unmoved.

  Colette merely cradled the sleeping Mari and withdrew to their chambers.

  ~

  “Step with both eyes seeing, Colette,” Arman said with a trace of sternness.

  She looked up from her packing. Her thoughts had been in memory: she and Brenol picnicking in a meadow. Autumn’s hand had ushered in a breeze; the air had just begun to cool after hitze’s heat. One could have almost tasted the crispness of the day. They had kissed. Brenol’s red hair had been littered with yellow grass. She had laughed joyfully and thrown more in.

  Her face betrayed her, and Arman’s expression softened. “Know you go to a place that is no longer Massada. The rose it once was is now three days rotting.”

  She nodded, but she could not let go of her past. Living among the Tindel was too difficult. It was a constant battle, whether in love or hate. She was tired of questioning herself about Gere. She yearned for Brenol, she yearned for familiarity, she yearned to belong.

  “Even your mother is much changed,” he said sadly.

  Colette nodded, understanding. How could she not be? Two lovers, a daughter twice, Deniel, Brenol. She had lost everything. “Perhaps we can help each other.”

  Arman did not respond.

  Colette busied herself again with placing items into a travel sack. They were not leaving for a few days, so she would undoubtedly have to unpack and repack, but she wanted to employ her fingers in a task.

  “Have you seen the gardens?”

  Both question and tone caught her off balance. She paused and turned to the juile. “The gardens?” she asked cautiously.

  He smiled gently. His face was kind. “The gardens.”

  “Why?”

  “I know you have tasted the changes in your food, and you have even see the spherisols turn green under Mari’s hand, but I think you should see the full effect, walk it.”

  Colette stiffened, not perceiving his intent. “Why?”

  He exhaled gently but without exasperation. “Colette, I think you are not seeing what is here for you now. In the terrisdans everyone is perishing. It is far worse than it was even an orbit ago. There is hunger, cold. The meager crops of winter’s harvest are not surviving anymore. And the new bethaidas won’t be ready for even the most minimal habitation for another orbit. At least. Here, though… Think of Mari’s gift…”

  The image from that night on the perideta blended into Colette’s present vision, and she nearly felt the wind ripping at her clothes and core. Harta’s eyes sparkled in her memory, alive with triumph. No one could deny that it had been miraculous. Mari had laughed after the change of all of the spherisols, and the sound had surged up with the soft cloud of her little breath. Her meadow-green eyes had glittered as if somehow she had both grasped and delighted in the magnitude of the moment: she was transforming the world’s future.

  Arman opened his transparent hand and swept it to the side to indicate the bethaida walls. The movement drew Colette from the memory and she blinked, almost amazed to find herself warm and enclosed.

  “Here, you know people. You have a place for Mari, and she is beyond beloved. Here, they can continue to learn about the mystery of the spherisols and not depend forever on a little girl to give her touch to make life for them. It is a way of living, even if you crave what once was…”

  His dark eyes met hers meaningfully. “Even if you returned, I fear you would feel as you do here.”

  She shook her head. It was impossible to express the suffering she had undergone during the last orbit and a half. A future in this place seemed too much to consider right now. The Tindel might be necessary to the world’s salvation, but she could never be one of them. Never. “This place is sandpaper to my heart.”

  The juile gazed straight into her emerald eyes and spoke steadily, “Colette, it is not this place. It is not this people. You carry the sandpaper willingly in both hands… Go see the gardens.” It was no longer a request.

  A fear leaped like a startled stag within her. Could it be true? Could it really be me? She felt her chest quiver slightly at the thought.

  No. I will go. He will see. I live among enemies. Colette bit back a dozen questions and strode from the room.

  CHAPTER 26

  To rule over a people is not to live lavishly; it is to serve.

  -Genesifin

  Colette arrived at the tapestries flushed and irritated by Arman’s condescension. But when she fought back the last heavy fabric doorway, all was forgotten in a sudden wave of heat and color. She gasped and blinked before the golden light. The gardens were green, but the shock was not merely due to hue. Wall to wall, the room blossomed with lush life. She could have been walking under the sun’s gentle gaze among the farms in Veronia, long before the icing. She stepped forward, and the heavy canvas fell with a thwomp behind her.

  Encompassing beauty sprouted at her feet and rose in trellised heights. Nostalgia poured over and through her.

  Colette removed her moccasins and let her toes sink into the dark brown loam. It was cool and rich and soft. The sensation quickened tears to her eyes, for it was more than a sense of the familiar; the place felt as alive and healing and safe as a mother’s womb. There was nothing frightening or foreign here. No eerie cerulean glow, no waxy and sagging plant life. She brushed the tears back with a forefinger and felt a warm tingling in her chest as something loosened deep within.

  Colette stepped lithely through with a soft stride. She inhaled the fragrances that had not been there moons ago: lavender, cardamom, hibiscus, dianthus, hyacinth, heliotrope, curry, vanilla, wheat, thyme. Her fingers slid across branches, leaves, and petals, and each awakened her senses to a mounting tide of emotion.

  A strange pride swelled within her. This. This was what she had come to do. This. And somehow, despite—and almost because of—every misstep, it had been accomplished. This incredible miracle. It was a gift, as they had said. The Tindel were going to save her people, and somehow, her coming had saved them too.

  Just the touch of a child. A simple touch of Mari’s hand.

  She truly is the gift.

  Colette crouched down amidst the towering plants. Concealed by the green, no one could see her, and she settled her hand upon her chest. The peace she felt was lovely, but it lingered with a bittersweet aftertaste; Brenol was absent from the victory.

  He left.

  For moons those same words had worried inside her like a parasite—he left—and filled her long nights with tears and muffled mutterings. Brenol had left her. She could double her fists in fury and blame the Tindel’s lies, Arman’s failure, Pearl’s reserved tongue, Brenol giving up, but in the end it changed nothing.

  He had promised fidelity, and he had left.

  But he thought me dead, she reminded herself.

  “There’s no way to make it unmessy,” she said softly. “He left. Whoever’s fault it was doesn’t matter anymore. He is gone. And now I am alone.”

  And no running from Tindel, perideta, or Massada would change it.

  Colette shook her head lightly, and her dark tresses swished in the greenery. The truth made her ache down to her cells, but as if in response, she felt her stubborn and defiant spirit rear up. She did not want to live a life of disheveled brokenness forever. There was nothing for her or Mari down that hellish path.

  But what do I do? How do I let him go? she lamented.

  She exhaled slowly and closed her eyes. She wished she could simply wade into Ziel and feel the slick water lap against her calves. The waters had been her place of healing, and she felt the sting of their absence acutely. A small tear slid across her cheek, and she allowed it to trickle down the corded lines unhindered.

  Colette’s mind lingered over the many memories she carried from the lake, finally settling upon one particular scene. The lunitata granted the picture a small smile, for she recalled that day
with tender nostalgia. The water had been warm, and Deniel had made her laugh until her sides ached and tears had streamed down her cheeks. She breathed in the lovely memory. It seemed she could practically touch the vast body of water around her as it rippled out in movement and heat. Her nostrils quivered, full of the perceived sweetness.

  “Brenol left,” she whimpered, letting the truth wind its way out before her like a little rivulet snaking down a mountain.

  A tiny gasp filled her lungs. Strangely, she felt the beauty and health of the waters—though she remained firmly on dry soil—soothe her even here. She nearly choked in gratitude and found her lips rush to expunge all of the darkness she had locked inside during her time with the clans. Over an hour elapsed before she opened her eyes. She inhaled with a soft relish and saw things anew.

  No, she would live. She would survive. Her heart ached, but she would grow and find a life again.

  She had found healing here. And would continue to do so.

  At that, she nodded softly; Arman was right. She had needed to see the gardens, but even more, she had needed hope.

  Colette raised her legs and peered about her. Her heart felt refreshed and somehow now capable of soaking in the wonder of the surrounding miracle with a new openness.

  This really is beyond anything I could’ve imagined.

  It was humbling. She had not done anything, save bring Mari here, and now the barren blue had become prolific. A smile spread evenly across her face. Her hand wandered up to again feel the lines and pocks, but more from habit than dismay. The terrisdans had changed, and now so had she.

  Or at least, I will.

  “Mari, my Mari,” she mused.

  For the next few hours, she perused the gardens and allowed the warm spherisol to further ease the trauma from her heart. Its gentle amber-yellow glow cascaded down like silk. It was nearly as delicious as walking under open skies, although she would have keenly loved the sensation of a breeze.

  By the end of her walk, she stood taller, more regally. Her face did not hold the perfect smoothness it had previously known, but her countenance had matured, and she stepped with limber power. Colette had found peace, and her lunitata glow radiated with a new brilliance.

  This place, this bethaida, once a harsh and foreign terror to her, was now something else. The terrisdans were but a dying land of ice and wind and, whether tomorrow or an orbit away, would succumb to the temperatures and fade into the terrible blue. But here…

  It was only as she began to steer her soiled toes to the heavily canvased exit that she saw them: the Tindellan leaders. They stood formally, shoulder to shoulder, in a line accented by their colorful sashes. Their features were severe and roped with crevices like canyons. They looked more like ancient, sturdy, wind-torn oaks than people. But as she approached, a smile tickled at the sides of her lips; the creamy white skin of the Tindel was already beginning to blush with new color. Their hair was faded, but their complexions would likely turn ruddy within a season. This simple change was like an embrace with familiarity.

  Colette slowed her steps as she neared. She let her moccasins fall to the soft soil so as to greet the leaders with open hands. A few glanced at the abandoned footwear, but their faces remained impassive. She waited, relishing the scents that wafted up from this section of the garden. Vanilla, jasmine, rose. She inhaled deeply but kept her eyes focused on the group before her.

  Harta bowed her head slightly but did not speak. Her eyes and thick frame melted into the sea of powerful Tindel. They were a formidable line, a fortress. Still, Colette did not quiver. She experienced a security that straightened her spine and made her breathe easily. Whatever their issue, it could not undo all the good that encompassed them. This would be but a pebble to knock from a shoe.

  It was Jurl who finally spoke. Colette had never before met him but knew him by reputation—and his purple sash. This pale man oversaw the bethaidas with an authority greater than any other. He was a reed-like figure with straight white hair that fell upon his forehead like snow atop a pear. His jaw was nearly nonexistent, but his nose and cheeks pushed prominently out of his face as if to compensate.

  “You have done more for the Tindel than you can possibly comprehend,” he said. His voice was low and resonant.

  Colette raised her eyes in astonishment.

  “You have not been beyond reproach…” he continued.

  Colette sighed, for this was closer to what she had anticipated. While knowing it to be inevitable—bounty-less people—she still fought to rein in a retort.

  “But your gift has turned the peri into a paradise.”

  The last word lingered like an intoxicating perfume.

  Colette now saw it: each weathered face had an ease that had never before rested there. They were like soldiers finally given the promise of home and a soft bed. She smiled, and found she was truly happy for them. They had lived hard lives, always toiling. Now there was hope of something more, even if the battle with the elements would never cease.

  She dipped her chin down in recognition and raised her left hand to cheek, where she rested her fingertips for a few seconds before letting them fall. “Thank you for your promise to help the people of the terrisdans,” she said.

  “The terrisdans are no more,” he replied.

  Colette sucked air between her teeth. He would not stand for me to talk of his beloved dead so coolly, she thought. Regardless, she waited; it served no purpose to perpetuate misunderstandings.

  “Now is the time of union. Massada is of the past.”

  “I pray we can join together in peace,” Colette offered diplomatically.

  The line shuffled. Their stirring feet seemed to indicate that she had unearthed something. When they did not speak for a moment, she opted to steer them into the only place she could manage: honesty. “Jurl, please speak plainly. I’m still just a child in knowing your social laws.”

  His eyes flashed for but a moment before settling back behind his thickly creased features. It was akin to catching sight of a concealed weapon, only to have the folds of clothing again cover it from one’s startled eyes. It was enough for Colette to remember the foreignness, the trembling she had breathed for an orbit and a half. Her skin tightened along her spine.

  “A merging is necessary, but this is a delicate move,” he said with a cocked head. “Our ways may be strange, but yours are obsolete. We shall have to create bethaidas under the terrisdan land, but there will always be a discomfort, a separation…” He met her eyes with a parrying defiance. “The question becomes power. Who leads? Who submits?” He extended out both palms in turn. “Either way, it could result in slavery.”

  “Slavery?” She squinted at him in confusion.

  “Don’t pretend you don’t hold power. We cannot create this,” he flicked his wrist to indicate the lushness around him, “without your consent.”

  Colette’s face flushed as her blood burned hotly. She understood his insinuations about her character perfectly. “My people are not likely to withhold life from you. Do you not see?” she asked with clenched teeth. “Even still? We both need each other’s help. Once the bethaidas are made, we will need your guidance, to help us and teach us. Even when the day comes that our knowledge is one with yours, I would not withhold the gift of these gardens from you. And I will teach Mari the same.” She snorted in frustration. “Your fears are unfounded and disturbing, Jurl. You know us not. You know me not.”

  He tipped his head, as if in conciliation, but it carried a contrived flavor. “Nevertheless, we need an agreement. We both need power, of sorts.”

  “You shall never take my daughter,” Colette said dangerously.

  Jurl gaped for a second, surprised at her conclusion. “No, that is not what we would propose.” His voice was quiet but as hard as stone. “Perhaps we are both far from seeing each other appropriately.” He raised his white eyebrows, and his eyes narrowed accusingly. “We ask that our leadership remain. Slowly, yes, we may incorporate your kind into powe
r, but at this time it would be premature.”

  Colette forced her emotions to settle so she might examine his words without hot fury pounding through her skull. In a moment, she saw reason in them. She looked him in the eyes. “I would agree.”

  Jurl opened his mouth in apparent surprise before closing it again softly.

  He doesn’t understand us, but even I can see how foolish it would be to have Massadans running the bethaidas. There’s too much to learn. A leader has to be adept before directing.

  “We do, however, propose an alternative.” The shuffling began anew. “We would like to name you as queen.”

  Colette’s head reeled in confusion. Queen? How does that follow?

  “It would show a different hand of power allotted to your people. It would ensure that the needs of your kind would be seen to as they ease into the bethaidas, but also give the Tindel the confidence that you’d not neglect your duty to the whole. An exchange, if you will.”

  Queen?

  “You would have power, but not unlimited. You’d also be granted a seat in our council.”

  Queen?

  “If you accept, you will be asked to help us investigate Mari’s gift. And to help us incorporate the varying skills of the greenlanders into the bethaidas. If Mari can come from the green, others might also have special gifts that can serve the whole.”

  Queen?

  “It is a title, but not merely a name. You will…”

  I once had a vision…my tree… The thundering mysteries of her cartess, the tree, and Deniel all surrounded her, and she barely heard Jurl’s speech.

  “Colette?” The weathered man stood straight, but the discomfort that comes in laying oneself vulnerable was evident in his face.

  Her eyes took in the string of leaders, and she willed her thoughts to focus on this moment. She set aside her past and her memories and allowed the offer to air through her mind. She breathed, and peace filled her.

 

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