Eyes in the Water (11 page)

He did not find repose for long because soon
Isvelle entered the room. His musings faded into open-mouthed
awe.

Brenol had forgotten the glow—and the
stunning effect it had on him. Colette’s light was a soft moon
compared to the brilliant sun of Isvelle’s. His eyes followed her
like a sunflower tracking its namesake across the sky.

She moved gracefully, not indicating any
awareness of his awkward fumbling to his feet, and smiled warmly.
“I’ve not been able to tell you my thanks. You’ve done so much for
me. Thank you for finding Colette those many orbits ago.”

“In good accord,” Brenol replied, shaking his
head in dismissal. “But, really, I did little.”

“Darse and Colette tell me differently.”

A smile rounded Brenol’s lips. “Where is the
old man anyway?”

“Arrived yesterday. Colette had sent seal
asking him to come. She didn’t tell us until he had arrived,
though, that you were coming. I’m surprised he’s not awake, even if
it is but dawn.” She stole a furtive glance out the window. Brenol
followed her gaze.

“—you do?”

Brenol snapped back to attention, realizing
his thoughts had distracted him from the conversation. “Excuse
me?”

“What is your occupation back in your world?”
Isvelle asked.

Brenol’s lips curved up again as if her words
were humorous. “I finished schooling but mainly worked on Darse’s
land—his homestead.”

“A farmer,” she said with a nod. “Honorable
work.”

He laughed easily. “It is. It took me orbits
to finally accept as much. I hated it for ages.” He held out his
palms, as if amazed they had matured to their size. “But I seem to
have grown into it.” Again he laughed. “I woke up one day and
realized I
liked
it. It wasn’t toilsome anymore to use my
tools and work the land and raise animals. I actually liked it. I
can’t see myself doing anything else now.”

Isvelle smiled generously. “The land making
the man.”

Brenol blinked, slightly taken aback. “I
suppose so.”

After several minutes of conversation, Darse
meandered in, grinning. The man had changed too, though more
subtly. He looked healthy and strong, alive and exuberant. The
golden eyes were an ever-present reminder of Fingers, but the man
had clearly found much recovery, and time apart from conscription
passes and door letterings had also done him well. A slight dip at
the corners of Darse’s lips gave Brenol a moment’s pause—something
did weigh upon the man—but on the whole it appeared as if orbits
had washed from his frame and features. He beamed joyfully as he
pulled Brenol into an ursine embrace, slapping him roughly on the
back.

“Awake by dawn? Much has changed in the last
few orbits,” Darse laughed, winking. He drew the young man back, in
the fatherly manner of examination, and smiled at the tall figure
before him. “You’ve gotten fat.”

Brenol laughed. “So have you.”

~

They conversed while Isvelle and Darse ate.
Brenol could only hope that Veronia’s sickly eye did not perceive
all that transpired, but he felt little choice in the matter; time
drove him forward like a horse before a switch, and he recounted to
them the meeting with Preifest and Jerem’s poison.

Darse furrowed his brow in confusion. “It
doesn’t make sense to me. Why haven’t the terrisdans said anything?
At least to their nuresti? How is it that we haven’t known about it
’til now?”

Brenol bobbed his head in comprehension. “The
terrisdans are another thing entirely. They…they are different.” He
winced as he sought a coherent explanation. “They aren’t tame or,
well, human-thinking. I guess one can never really guess a
terrisdan’s motives.” Something in his speech caused his heart to
prick awake. He wondered at it but could not discern its
meaning.

Darse leaned back, releasing a low whistle.
“There’s too much there for you to try to sort through on your
own.”

Brenol nodded, accepting the obvious truth.
He felt his inadequacies down to his marrow. He hesitated, unsure
of how much to share with Isvelle, but decided to continue.
“There’s something else.”

Darse’s eyebrows arched in question.
More?

The young man reached a slender hand into his
pocket, retrieving a small item he had wrapped in a yellowing
cloth. “Preifest gave this to me.” He looked determinedly at Darse.
“But I
know
it. Deniel found this on the man Jerem
murdered—the one who had given him the poison for the maralane.
It’s called a hos, but I don’t know much else about it.”

He unwrapped it with the care of a
glassworker and held the object out for their perusal. They both
hovered forward with stilled breaths. Brenol blinked as Isvelle’s
brilliant glow grew closer, but he inhaled purposefully and shook
his senses back into place. Too much weighed upon his shoulders to
let anything distract him.

Brenol gently set the piece upon the table,
its opal eyes glinting mysteriously. Gingerly, Isvelle’s elegant
fingers extended and wrapped around the cool edges of the
hos
.
Darse’s eyes followed her, attentive and soft.

She drew the object so near that Brenol
waited for her green eyes to cross. While her vision remained
clear, the warmth of her breath upon the figurine made it glow a
glittering teal that illuminated the room with a dazzling shine and
splashed the walls with dozens of tiny lights.

Brenol stared, amazed.

She cupped her hands and warmed the belly of
the hos with hot air again and then plucked it quickly up to
closely scrutinize the tails. Blue light shot in every direction.
She ran her fingertips in an ordered way over the whole of the toy
and finally exhaled in understanding.

She leaned back, placing the hos squarely in
Brenol’s hand. She closed his fingers over it with a firm touch,
for he had long since allowed his arms to fall limp in wonder.

“I do not know the code,” Isvelle said, “But
something is written on her. I saw it on the tails, but there could
be more.”

Brenol looked at the hos as one scrutinizes
an article after a magician’s touch, yet it was the same figurine:
small, delicate, attractive. “How? How did you know?”

She shook her head. “I didn’t. But I could
see that there was more to that piece than what appeared. No grown
man—nor maralane, for that matter—would carry this otherwise. And
I’d heard of maralane enchanting objects before, although it has
long been banned in the upper-world. It seems strange to choose
such a piece, though.” Her puzzled eyes hovered upon his hands
where it now lay hidden.

“Why?” breathed Brenol.

“Hmmm,” she murmured, recalling his lack of
experience with Massada. “It’s like turning an old, dog-chewed
burlap doll into an invaluable magical tool.”

“But it isn’t a cheap thing. Not even
damaged,” Brenol argued. He looked down at the lovely figurine,
shaking his head.

Isvelle cut in, “It is to the maralane. Only
a very young lake-child would see this as desirable. It lacks gems
beyond the eyes, and there are no major reliefs in the glass.” She
indicated the apparent defects. “It
is
the right size,
though.”

“I think you’re missing the point, Bren,”
Darse said.

“Huh?” Brenol’s head came up from his hand
after a moment’s delay.

“The code?”

Brenol’s mind geared to work. He cupped the
small toy up to his mouth, breathing warmth upon the glass. It
sprayed teal sparks around the room like a firecracker. Brenol
jumped slightly in surprise. He looked questioningly to
Isvelle.

“Can you read it?” she urged curiously.

He breathed again but found it too difficult
to decipher and blow simultaneously.

“Here,” Isvelle offered. She plucked the
piece from Brenol’s hand and held it out between her and Darse.
Darse blushed at the proximity, but soon the two huddled together
to breathe in unison over the hos
.
It glowed from teal to a
blinding gold, brighter than the yield of any cupellation.

Brenol leaned his face over the extended
object with desperate hope. At last, he found the code, and was
amazed Isvelle had discerned its presence so readily. The lettering
was in gold, but it was difficult to read because the object itself
gave off such an effulgence of light that it caused his eyes to
stream with tears. That, and the letters were so minuscule that he
would have missed them without Isvelle’s directions. The markings
were maralane—or juile
,
depending on who you asked—and told
a two-fold story more intricate than would be expected possible on
such a tiny item. Brenol rolled the object to examine the back,
belly, and head as he strained his eyes upon the barely perceivable
notations.

After several minutes, Brenol stepped
away—much to the relief of Darse and Isvelle. Though they had been
taking turns, both felt dizzied by their labored breaths. Brenol
himself found his eyesight reeling and spent several moments with
lids slammed shut and fists rubbing them raw.

He painfully peeled open his eyes, blinking
dramatically, to see Colette gliding through the entryway. She wore
blue trousers and a matching shirt that hugged her figure. The
ensemble was lightweight and well suited for travel and paired
flatteringly with the braids securing her dark plaits.

The princess’s face bespoke wonder at their
gathering but suggested angst as well.

Brenol straightened and smiled gently in
welcome, although his eyes still blearily blinked back spots.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” she said, and
a touch of pink colored her tight cheeks.

His heart swelled in compassion. He longed to
tenderly take her hand in his and comfort her; even had he not
experienced the nauseating perception of Veronia’s eye, her speech
made much plain—to him, at least.

She has little connection, little sight.

He knew the desperate experience of childlike
vulnerability she was living, but was suddenly struck with a new
realization: Colette must feel even more frantic at the
connection’s absence than he had. He had barely tasted the nuresti
power and had been utterly rent at leaving it behind, but she had
known the power and felt the thrill of its omniscience since
childhood. Colette’s dependence, and terror at its loss, must be
great indeed. He touched her warm back to offer reassurance,
pleased to see that his emotions did not spike.

Colette waved him away with a sharp swipe of
her hand. Brenol frowned but did not speak.

Wildness. The wildness is deep,
he
thought.

“What is this?” Colette asked. She knelt to
examine the tiny lake-woman. “A hos?” She pulled her face back in
confusion, yet her hand hungrily reached out to touch it as if it
were her only lifeline in the drowning waters of Massada’s
demise.

Brenol stood, and three curious pairs of eyes
all turned to him. The dual codes of the piece churned through his
mind. He was still struggling to swallow it all himself, but before
all of these people… As if sensing his weakness, his heart lurched
forward suddenly in a desire for Colette to love him, accept
him.

If I tell her what the hos is… If I give it
to her… Wouldn’t she love me then?

Brenol’s lips parted as if to begin, but he
paused, feeling suddenly uneasy. An image of Preifest arose in his
mind, and a bitter flavor filled his mouth.

“Bren, what is it?” Colette again
demanded.

The strange flicker across her features
further deterred him.

It was more than just revealing the code
glittering upon the hos
.
The girl, the story, destiny, and
Massada were all intertwined in this breath, this instance. His
intuit flushed awake with power, and he knew the truth: it would be
perilous to reveal anything in this moment. Trusting the knowledge
of the hos to Colette here, even in the land’s weakened state, was
foolish. If she somehow were to have a moment of connection, she
could wield enough power to overtake him.

He sighed and scolded himself.
There’s an
entire world at risk here. I cannot. No, I won’t. Not even for
Colette. Not like this…

Brenol opened his stance as if bracing for
impact. His voice rumbled low and strong. “I cannot talk about it
before we reach the lugazzi.”

“Why?” Colette countered.

Brenol frowned, shaking his head. “Just wait,
Colette. Please.”

Impressed, Darse nodded in understanding, and
Isvelle shrouded her own features with stoicism. But Colette sagged
in despair, and her fierce eyes flashed in harsh suspicion. She
defiantly raised the hos to her face as if to ascertain the mystery
herself, but discovering no clue, set the glass piece down with a
clatter.

Brenol drew in a sharp breath but did not
speak.

Just a few hours later, Colette, Brenol, and
Darse made ready, shouldering rucksacks full of gear. Darse waited
until Colette had stepped out to retrieve a last-minute article
before he placed a palm on Brenol. The young man was as much a son
as his own blood could have ever been. He hoped the gesture would
convey what words could not, for Darse had glimpsed in that
daggered moment what it had cost Brenol to remain silent before
Colette.

The red head nodded quietly but without real
acknowledgment. He was immersed in the fearful mystery of the hos,
forgetting even Colette’s wintry glance. The others had missed it,
but her exhale had not drawn light from the piece. And she had
certainly laid her sweet breath upon it, with lips supple and
close.

Brenol trembled at its implications.

This woman is not who I thought I would
find.

Cartess drive them all.

-Genesifin

They began the trek conservatively, with Brenol
hoping to stretch into greater distance and speed as they
progressed. Colette was unaccustomed to traveling long distances,
but the lunitata had been adamant about leaving her pony, not
wishing to be the only party saddleback. The castle owned but two
of the small beasts, and there was no way that grown men could
mount the animals, whose frames were far smaller than the normal
stock animals of Alatrice. So the trio eased into walking, and,
despite the circumstances, Brenol and Darse strode alongside each
other with a measure of contentedness; it had been so long since
the old friends had been together. Colette, although occasionally
glancing at the two men, appeared to not attend their conversation.
She merely swept beside them in silence, rapt in thought and
emotion. They allowed her her privacy as they returned to their
long-held friendship.