Eyes in the Water (13 page)

His audience gaped, riveted.

“Larest, then?” Colette whispered softly.

Brenol just bobbed his head in assent. The
abrupt ending of the child’s enchanted lettering revealed the
obvious.

“Deniel didn’t know immediately what it was
about, and really, I don’t know if he ever did. But somehow,
somewhere down the workings of fate, it returned to the waters, and
maralane eyes saw it.”

“Why didn’t you give Veronia the antidote
while we were there?” Colette interjected. “Or tell me what it
was?”

Brenol’s chest hardened, awaiting the blow.
“It isn’t that simple.”

She seemed to work for the patience to endure
the rest of the tale. “Please go on, then.” Her eyes were cold and
untamable.

He breathed and willed himself forward. “The
other script is in a new hand, Preifest’s. They hadn’t found the
hos ’til much later. Much later. The poison had already been dumped
into Ziel and the maralane affected. I can only imagine the brutal
suspicions they must have had toward the upper-world… At least
finding the hos told them the truth.”

“When was the water poisoned?”

“Around the time Jerem went out to the
island.”

“Why then?”

Brenol shook his head. “Can we ever
understand his madness? Maybe he knew he’d never be able to leave
the island unless he did it. Maybe he poisoned the waters before
heading out to the island. But it seems to be around that time…
Regardless, he was fixated on owning Massada. And he knew the
maralane would never be idle if he succeeded.”

Darse shook his head, muttering. “He cared
only for power. Plucked away those who had any, one by one.”

“Yes.” Brenol spoke softly, but the word’s
import was hard and cold.

“Do you think he was trying to kill the land
too?” Darse asked.

“I don’t. He wanted to be a nurest, not
destroy his source of power. But in the end, does it matter?”
Brenol replied. “He was trying to spread death. And he
succeeded.”

Colette’s fists clenched tightly at her
sides. Quiet as a breath, she whispered to herself, “I hate him.”
Her face was ugly in its pinched loathing.

Brenol closed his eyes, but in his mind the
picture still lingered.

Darse’s words tugged the young man back to
the conversation. “And the hos
—
you said it now contains the
antidote?”

The coppery head nodded. “Yes, or at least
that is the word Preifest used. The maralane made it.”

“But you said the maralane are dying. Why
don’t they use it for themselves?” Darse asked.

“Arman thinks the maralane began dying before
the poison. And that maybe this just sped things along. But as for
the antidote? I think it is more specifically for the terrisdans,
not the maralane—Preifest’s writing suggests it would be harmful to
them. I imagine land and creature do not work or heal in the same
manner.”

“Wait. Preifest didn’t
say
anything
when he gave it to you?” Darse’s worn features were incredulous.
“The world depends upon this, and he sprinkles riddles in your
food?”

“You know, I don’t think to a maralane this
is
a riddle. He assumed I would know.” Brenol’s brow
furrowed in remembrance. “When I saw Preifest at our last meeting,
he was changed—and not simply physically failing. He was genuinely
grateful for the upper-world’s kindness during this…” Brenol’s lips
jumped sideways in displeasure, “extinction. He must’ve seen this
as a small way of giving back.”

“Why didn’t they give the antidote to us
before
if they knew so much?” Colette asked bitterly.

Brenol shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t find the
hos ’til recently. Or maybe they didn’t know how badly hurt the
terrisdans are. Maybe they can hardly cope with their own fate, and
so the antidote has been a slow response.” In his mind, the grim
words he refused to speak echoed:
Or maybe they waited because
of that ridiculous book.

“Can the poison affect us?” Darse asked.

“I can’t say, but I’d guess no—Massadans seem
fine. Maralane and terrisdan alone were touched. If it affected us,
we would have seen signs of it long ago. No, something protected
us, or we were simply immune.”

“I suppose it’s all dispersed by now anyway,”
Darse mused.

“And I would guess,” Brenol began, after
seeing Darse open his mouth to follow the thought, “that the
antidote will be harmless to us too. The maralane are anything but
short-sighted.”

“Why not give it now, then?” Colette
asked.

Brenol tightened his jaw but did not
respond.

“What is it, Bren?” asked Darse. His golden
eyes were filled with concern as he took in the tall frame sagging
under the hos’s paltry weight.

The young man exhaled. “I don’t know how to
give the antidote. Is there a serum within the hos? Do I crack it
open like an egg? Divide what’s inside? Or is the antidote the
object itself? And how would it be administered to the terrisdans?
I don’t know. Preifest was clear about one thing in his writing
though. His exact words were:
Do not bring it to the water. It
will only cause death.
They must be too weak to withstand it…
Preifest had told me he accepted his fate, but there must be
something truly terrible that could happen if the hos goes into the
lake. I can only follow his wishes.”

Comprehension and awe mingled in Darse’s
gaze. “Preifest handed over the power to save us, but it’s powerful
enough to destroy as well?”

Brenol’s words came out hollow and scratchy.
“It would seem so.”
He left me with more power than I care to
hold…

Colette seemed not to have heard. “Veronia
drank its death,” she whispered.

“What about the terrisdans that didn’t
directly take in Ziel’s water?” Darse asked. “I imagine that the
most damage has been done to those fed by the Pearia or surrounding
Ziel, but what about Callup? Bergin? Granallat?”

Brenol grimaced. He did not want to utter his
most feared conjecture:
Are the lives of the terrisdans
connected? If you take down one, will they all topple like a tower
of blocks?

Darse rubbed his face wearily. “Bren?”

The young man closed his eyes and
concentrated his strength.
Remember that your gortei
comes first…
He opened his eyes and rolled his words out
cautiously, “I don’t know if we can save every terrisdan.”

“Goodness. Does it ever end?” Colette spoke
quietly to herself.

Never,
Brenol thought in answer, yet
in that moment of despair, Arman’s face appeared in a memory.
He
said we will do whatever it takes. Whatever it takes.
The young
man clung to those words.

“So now?” Darse asked.

“Now. Well, now we go to Limbartina. Meet
Arman. Get some additional answers. Talk to the maralane. Talk to
the umbus.”

“Is there any hope?”

Brenol gave a careful nod. “We have the hos…
So yes, I think so.” His fingers slid into his pocket and curled
around the tiny figurine.

“What if there are no answers in Limbartina?”
Colette asked, her wild eyes darting between them.

“We pray it doesn’t come to that,” Darse
said.

Colette persisted. “But if it does?”

Brenol sighed quietly, almost imperceptibly,
beneath the cover of his controlled and authoritative face. His
sturdy voice rang out into the cool evening air. “Then we save what
terrisdans we can.”

“And who decides?” Her voice was as cracked
as an addict’s, strained and desperate. He could imagine the
clawing greed she felt to save Veronia, even at the cost of the
rest of the world.

Brenol leaned over to gaze steadily into her
savage eyes. “Massada does.”

He placed a large hand upon her shoulder. His
touch was warm and tender, but she shivered and shook out from
underneath it; comfort was not what she wanted.

Colette frowned and stiffly turned away. A
thought resounded in her mind:
If I were in Veronia with the
connection, I could make him give me the antidote.

She shuddered but at the same time felt the
greed pulsing up and taking her.

You still could,
her blood sang.
You still could.

~

The dark skies curved over them, and stars
glowed brilliantly, their tiny beams seemingly within grasp. The
ruby fire crackled happily, and in the chill air the three huddled
silently around the heat. Colette, not granting even a glance to
her companions, stared through the flames until darkness fully
settled, and finally wrapped herself tightly in her blankets and
curled on her side like a scared child.

Brenol watched her with a frown.

Darse waited until he was sure Colette was
asleep and then slowly motioned for Brenol to follow him into a
thicket of trees to the west of their camp.

The young man stood, his hair bright before
the firelight, and breathed a reluctant acceptance. His breath
frosted the air before him, but his goose bumps were not entirely
due to the penetrating freeze. He craned his neck back and peered
up at the celestial lights.

He felt lost as to what to do about Colette.
She was an enigma, and he could see as well as any that holding her
hand would never heal the desolation within her. She needed someone
to save her, and he felt he was very far from being that
person.

Guide me now,
Brenol pleaded to the
heavens.
If you were ever there. Guide me now.

His face was grim and taut as he padded
softly from the fire. He approached Darse in the grove of
trilant
.
The air was drenched with their honeycomb-pine
scent. Tiny cones littered the forest floor and crunched softly
beneath his heels. Brenol positioned his back to the deep woods,
unwilling to allow the lunitata out of his sight. Her small form
was but a rounded lump before the bright cherry flames.

“She cannot come,” Darse said. “Travel is
slow enough, and her mind is as tangled as a brier.”

Brenol’s frown turned into a grimace. “She’ll
not let us leave her. Nor should we.”

“I will escort her back.”

Brenol breathed out a wry laugh, soft as a
whisper. “She’ll not have it, Darse. You know the iron will in that
woman. I barely know her anymore, but I know
that
still
remains.”

Darse sighed in resignation. “What then?”

Three help me,
Brenol thought wryly,
recalling Darse’s words of several hours earlier. He raised his
eyes to meet Darse’s gaze—barely visible in the dark of the
forest—and claimed the only choice they had. “You follow with
Colette. I will push fast into the north and meet Arman. If we need
each other, there are the aurenals.”

Darse considered the young man’s words. Yes,
this was the best of their options. He was thankful not to have to
shoulder a protesting woman across a terrisdan to bar her in her
rooms, even if there seemed little purpose to her presence at the
soladrome.

“You seem to have figured it all out,” Darse
said finally, his face falling into a grim smile.

“I’ll let you know when that day comes,”
Brenol replied with a soft exhale-laugh. He moved to turn but then
stopped abruptly and faced Darse. He placed a sturdy hand upon the
older man’s shoulder and locked green eyes with gold. “Darse, take
care of her. She’s important. More than we could ever guess.”

“Wha—”

Brenol waved his hand to stop the query. “I
don’t know.”

I don’t even know if I can trust the
thoughts and memories in my own head,
he thought. He glanced
again to the stars and nodded, more to himself than to Darse. “But
I’m leaving tonight.”

Darse’s eyes widened. “Tonight?”
Massada
weighs heavily upon him…

“Tonight,” Brenol replied firmly. His voice
was a hushed rumble.

Another thought occurred to Darse. “Wait! I
nearly forgot.” He fished through his pockets and extended an
object to his companion. Brenol drew it close for inspection. It
was a nut no larger than a peach stone, entirely smooth and a
striking strawberry red hue—evident even in the heavy shadows.

“What is it?” Brenol scrutinized every side
as if it housed a deep mystery.

Darse’s voice carried a puzzled tone. “Some
nut from Caladia. Arista gave it to me to deliver to Arman. She
tried to act like it didn’t matter at all, but the whole thing was
heavily contrived. I think it must be important. So since you’ll
see him first…” The sentence lingered in the air like a
question.

“Of course, Darsey. I’ll bring it to him.
Massada shall make a sealtor out of me yet.”

The logistics of traveling with Colette for
the next few days spun through Darse’s mind. He exhaled slowly in
thought, wondering how she would react to Brenol’s abrupt
departure.

“And Colette?” Brenol voice held a hesitant
desperation. “She is capable of anything, Darse. The nurest desire
is a terrible thing.”

Darse turned firm. “I’ll guard her. She’s
like a daughter. I’ll guard her with my life.”

Brenol nodded, as comforted as he could be.
“See you soon, old man,” he whispered. He crept back to collect his
gear, and in just a few moments, he swept from the campsite, agile
and silent.

Darse watched him fold into the shadows.
I
almost don’t know him…but no, he’s Bren. Just kingly now.

~

Colette accepted Brenol’s parting with
composure—just a brief flicker of fury mixed with disappointment
washed her features when Darse revealed it. Then the young woman
adeptly hooded her eyes and face with stoic emptiness. Darse’s
insides stirred anxiously; he wished he had not witnessed the
masking.

They walked north, taking the soft paths of
the terrisdan that wound eventually to the mouth of the Pearia.
Five days elapsed in their crossing of Garnoble, but the scenes
were pleasant and the weather only slightly chilled. Darse brushed
aside the lunitata’s cool demeanor and sought to speak amiably, if
only to help ease her tired mind.