Colorless

by Rita Stradling

  As I sipped the soup, Lady Egres surveyed the office slowly. She wandered over to the long window and peered out over the grounds. “I don’t care for this estate over much. Even Egres is greater than here.”

  “Then leave,” I said.

  She smirked over her shoulder at me. “Soon enough. I don’t think we will spend much time here after we are married.”

  “What?”

  “Oh, I forgot to mention that to you. We are to be married, and soon. Well, I’ll either marry you or Collin Stewart, that is. I don’t suppose it matters much between you.” She shrugged one of her shoulders and turned back to the window.

  “Nice conversation… I thought you wanted me to keep my soup down.”

  She snorted a laugh. “Your time is up, anyway. It’s less than an hour from high noon. Fauve is exiting the manor now. You best rush to catch up to him.”

  I glared down at my haggard reflection in the silver tray. “I was given until high noon—it’s still morning.”

  “It’s twenty minutes past eleven already. My guess is also that this will be your only opportunity—I care little if you die. Collin is a better catch, anyway.”

  Chills ran down my spine at the thought. I fixed her with a menacing glare. “You’ll leave him alone.”

  She grinned at me. “Oh, how adorable. You’re in love.”

  She wandered slowly out of the office, but turned at the door. “I’ve done everything required of me. Whether you live or die is entirely your decision now. Fauve Matisse is walking toward where an east wing should be—I assume soon you will not be able to find him if you desired to.” The servant, who I had completely forgot the presence of, opened the door, ushering her out.

  “You leave, too,” I said to him.

  “I’m here to show you where to go,” the servant said. “You need to come now, or I’ll need to go for the monks.”

  “Maybe I’ll kill you first.”

  “And then two of us will die today,” he said, not sounding scared. I regretted so much telling the servants to wear makeup. I didn’t know his face nor could I read his expression.

  My arms and legs shook as I stood.

  “If you’ll follow me.”

  I did.

  The room blurred around me as I stumbled behind him. He moved quickly, taking dark corridors I didn’t even know existed. Within a minute, we were out on the grounds.

  “Stay out of sight,” the servants said.

  Glaring at his white-wigged head, I followed along the outside of the building. Though it was obviously morning, the day was already intolerably hot and bright.

  The servant stopped at the edge of the building, his back firmly pressed into the wall. He leaned in close to me, his makeup cracking while little bits flaked down. “Can you see him?”

  “See who?”

  He leaned in even closer, smelling of soaps and fine cologne. “The painter.”

  Leaning forward, I shaded my aching eyes, trying to see my sun-muted surroundings. I did see a man walking in a multicolored blue coat. As soon as I caught sight of him, though, I found myself looking away and out onto the grounds.

  “Focus only on the painter,” the servant said.

  I tried to look back, narrowing my eyes into the bright light. The painter walked straight ahead toward… toward something that would not come into focus. A second later, I found myself looking out toward the grounds again.

  “Only at the painter,” the servant repeated. “The monks said you are capable of doing this.”

  I forced my gaze back to the blue coat. There were so many shades of blue on it, it was as if he had dressed himself in one of his paintings. He stopped abruptly and reached forward. His hand pushed at something.

  It was a door. His hand pushed at a door with no color. He stepped through a threshold and vanished from view. I saw the door for one more second, before I found myself looking at the grass of the grounds again. The vivacity of their color stung my eyes as much as the brightness of the sun.

  “You must follow the painter,” the servant said.

  I scanned the area, but only found myself looking to the grounds again.

  “Close your eyes and walk to where you last saw him,” the servant whispered as he rained flakes of chalky white onto me.

  I swallowed down a sickly sour taste. “I’ll run into something.”

  “If you’re lucky,” he said.

  “I’ll do it. However, you are no longer required in my employ. I ask that you find other employment. I will not provide you with a reference.”

  The servant’s smirk sent fissures through his painted cheeks. “I’ll leave you now, sir.” He bowed slightly and walked away.

  Closing my eyes, I tried to picture the painter and that colorless door. Holding the wall beside me, I walked to its end, and then continued toward where the painter had stood. At least, it was where I thought the painter had been. My feet hit the hard cobblestones beneath me at strange angles, shooting pains into my legs and ankles. I reached my hands forward, picking up my pace. Just when I was sure I was wandering off into the road, my fingers hit something solid and hard. It was smooth and cool to the touch. I squeezed my eyes tighter, feeling along the smooth surface until I felt the edge of something with carvings dug into what felt like wood.

  “I wish you didn’t have to return to Hope Glen; I miss you when you’re gone. I think aside from Mother and Father, you may be my favorite person in the world.”

  Would that voice always haunt me? Or would it disappear when its owner was truly gone? I gripped onto the wood, finding that it was the edging of a doorframe. I felt along its seams and on the right side, I pushed. The door made no sound, and as I stepped forward, my shoes made no sound on the floor either. I tapped my foot against what felt hard as marble, but heard nothing.

  I stomped. Nothing.

  Reaching forward, I felt along a smooth wall. The wall continued until my hand hit a hard surface that slid when I touched it. As I felt further, I discovered the uneven surface of paint.

  I hit several more before, faintly, I heard a voice in the distance. As I continued, the voice grew louder. I followed it up a staircase, taking each step cautiously. At the upstairs hallway, I could almost make out words. It was Fauve’s voice, a distinctive tenor. With one hand still on the wall, I made my way toward it.

  “It all started with your father and uncle’s fascination with my parents’ arrest.”

  I halted, hearing the voice so close now.

  “Your uncle, especially, he could never let a mystery go. We spent anni researching my family and history. The both value order so highly—and there was no reason for it that anyone knew of. My parents had been arrested so soon after that, and they had told no one the reason the Congregation gave.”

  He paused for a few seconds before continuing, “No, I think your father was more interested because he wanted to bring me peace. I was raised in a non-station, a strange in-between place, and I was not happy as a small child—it took time for that to come. We discovered the truth not where we had expected it. We had thought the truth would be found in my specific family, but the answer didn’t lie there. Two weeks later, my parents were taken into the templum and never seen again. When the former Lord Klein appealed to the Congregation, there was no explanation as to their crimes. When we were still young, your uncle started to research if it had ever happened before—a lord and lady arrested with no explanation. We found no record; instead, we found a pattern of a different sort, one of deaths. Spread out all over Domengrad, these deaths happened about twice an annos.”

  He paused again, and then said, “No. We began to track them, to record them, to investigate each one—as much as we could with staying circumspect.” He paused. “I should much prefer to discuss this after you’re healed—fine, fine. If we must.” He sighed. “All of their ranks were the same, mid or high rank. There was a similarity in their reputation, also. First, it would be a couple known for being exceptionally wise, true children of
Ester. The next would be a pair known for their logic, children of Weire, and on and on.”

  He paused before saying, “No, I don’t believe that my parents were reaped, as you say. Why wouldn’t they have just been killed like all the others? They also didn’t fit into the usual pattern. Their rank was substantially lower than the rest. My parents were different from most lords; they were generous and generative, lovers of the arts. They were unlike their families in this way. It was about this time that I realized I perceived more than others. I saw more colors; I could see from further distances. I could smell and hear more. I was unlike any noble I knew, faster and more agile—I was a true descendant of Sun. Your uncle came up with a theory, and I think he was correct. He believed that, somehow, the Congregation knew at my birth and decided to end my parents’ line by taking my parents and disinheriting me from my lordship. At first, we balked at the idea, but as the deaths continued, we started drawing lines between the families and the approved marriages. They only approved certain marriages while banning others, and your father and uncle saw that there was intention behind the matches. We did genealogies tracking with gods each lord and lady was known to favor, and the patterns were extremely clear.”

  He paused again before continuing, “Exactly so, they were selectively breeding the nobility. Those who favored Weire or Ester the strongest were paired with others who had that quality, and they would rise to the highest ranks, and it was these pairs that would eventually die, but only after they had heirs to inherit their position. Those who favored no god specifically would slowly lose their power and prominence. If any noble showed enough emotion or passion to clearly favor Nirsha, they’d lose their rank almost entirely. No noble before my parents and I favored Sun—”

  He paused again. “I suppose no one noticed the similarities in the deaths because they were methodically spread out all over Domengrad. It took us quite a bit longer, but we came to the same conclusion that you discovered—that lords and ladies were being harvested for their god energy.”

  My fingers pressed into the wall as I tried to ground myself. It sounded like my father’s logic, which I trusted implicitly. And while the logic was sound, it was something I would have never foreseen.

  “It was your father who had the idea of the press. He saw what we did not; your father knew the Congregation’s true power is not with the nobility, it is with the commoners. While nobles pay the Congregation, it is nothing to the sums of tens of thousands of templum goers. It is the commoners who trust their children to the Congregation every annos, believing their sons will find a better life as a monk. It is the commoners who make each noble powerful, and as long as the Congregation had the devotion of the common person, the world could not change.”

  There was another long pause before Fauve said, “I don’t need to tell your cousin, Annabelle, he’s been outside this room listening the whole time.”

  My eyes shot open.

  I stood in an ashen tunnel, the details smudging around me. At the end of the tunnel stood Fauve. Only the details on him were clear, his blue coat and umber complexion, surrounded in undulating ashen clouds.

  Reaching down, I slid the crimson ring off my thumb. I walked toward him, almost falling with every step. When I was only feet away from him, I lifted the ring. “I am here to betray you,” I said.

  He flinched as pain crossed his features. “I see. I’d hoped that you came to help her—you used to be very close.”

  “My cousin is here?” I asked.

  Fauve nodded once.

  A tear ran down my face, painting a hot streak across my cheek. “They told me they would give me everything I’ve wanted for so long. All I would need to do is to drop this ring.” I looked at it, the small crimson circle pinched between my fingers.

  Fauve looked away. When I followed his gaze, I saw there was something else in the clouds. One of Fauve’s large colorful paintings stretched across the wall.

  Fauve looked back at me, catching my attention. His eyes closed as he said, “She says you’re an ass. But she understands why you would do it. She wants you to be happy in life.”

  “I was going to refuse—I was beginning to—when they told me that if I did not betray you today, I would be killed instead.”

  “Ah,” said Fauve. “I see.” He sighed and closed his eyes. “She wants me to tell you that you should do it.”

  “You see, that’s the problem. I cannot even remember her, yet I know I would rather die than drop this ring.”

  A tear dropped down Fauve’s cheek. “You loved each other very much—it seemed as if you two understood each other in a world that was false.” He looked away from me again, tracking something close to me. Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t agree with what she is saying, but I will tell you anyway. She says that you should throw the ring. The only way she has to heal herself would likely kill her and make the magicians much more powerful. If they catch her, they will steal her power. She is dying anyway, and there’s no reason for you both to die. She says she loves you with her entire heart, even though you’re a complete ass.” Fauve lunged forward. “No, Annabelle, don’t!”

  The ring plucked from my finger into the air, and then it was flying away from me.

  “No!” I yelled, just as Fauve yelled the same.

  He ran across the room.

  The small red circle flew, arched its path, spun, and shot directly toward me. About a foot away, it simply vanished.

  “Annabelle!” Fauve yelled as he closed in.

  I flinched, but he skidded to a stop before me. “It’s sunk into your skin!” he shouted, grabbing at the white smears of clouds.

  He paused, and then yelled, “It happened! I saw it happen! No, you can’t wait any longer.” Crouching down, he violently flung what he held toward his painting on the wall. I couldn’t see what it was, but the painting warped, dipping into itself, stretching inward until it snapped back. The colors rippled across the canvas in smears of color.

  Fauve’s eyes snapped to mine, gleaming gold circles. His mouth snarled as sharp teeth elongated in his jaws. His nose stretched out into a muzzle as thick brown fur sprouted from his skin.

  I fell back, hitting the floor hard as he grew and grew.

  His muscles swelled as his body buckled forward. Within minutes, he had turned to a wolf the height of a man.

  A low growl reverberated through the room as he stalked toward me. He leaned down, sniffing loudly as he approached.

  My fingers pressed into the floor and my entire body shook as I waited. I’d never been in the presence of a great predator, but from my studies, I knew the stupidity and futility of running from him. “Fauve,” I said as he approached. “Fauve, it’s Tony—you know me.”

  He looked up, his golden gaze fixing on me before his nose again returned to the floor. I scooted away as he came sniffing forward. I slid until my back hit the wall, and then I used it to stand.

  The wolf approached, his shifting shoulder blades at my eye level.

  When he was feet from me, I tried again, “Fauve, it’s me.”

  He still approached, closing the distance between us. I tried not to move as his nose moved over my shoe, then came up to my hand, before he turned away and kept sniffing through the space I could not focus on. He stopped before the painting, taking a deep inhale.

  He backed up a couple steps before crouching. His powerful muscles bunched before he leapt through the air and passed into the painting as if he dove into a vertical pool. He submerged within a second, disappearing.

  The painting rippled, colors dancing across the canvas until they settled and fell still.

  I crossed the space, looking only at the painting. Hesitating a second, I reached forward and touched the canvas, finding only ridges of paint.

  “Fauve?” I called one more time, but he was gone.

  21

  Potestas

  Annabelle

  Colors surged all around me, thick and viscous as I attempted to swim through it. Plung
ing my one arm forward, I parted the colors before me and pulled back. I kicked wildly, trying to push myself through the tide. My missing arm seared with pain beside my body, but when I tried to move it, nothing happened.

  I gasped, inhaling more of the gelatinous liquid. My lungs burned, but I inhaled again. Drifts of reds and blues surged past me as I struggled to keep swimming.

  Suddenly, my hand broke through into air. A moment later, my head broke through as well. I surfaced in a colorful pool, still but for the ripples surrounding me. Gasping, I swam to the rocks at the edge of the pool, crawling my way over them.

  Halfway out, I froze. My arms, there were two of them. Not only were there two of them, they were a deep olive color. There were even a few freckles and golden hairs on my skin. I had two shoulders and emerald-colored tattered sleeves on them.

  “Oh, my gods—oh, my dear gods.” I crawled the rest of the way out of the pool, falling onto smooth indigo stones on the bank. From the tips of my fingers to my booted toes, I had color.

  Scrambling to my feet, I laughed. “I have color—I’m cured!” I yelled, and the sound echoed out over and over. “Weeee!” I jumped up and down. I laughed again, hugging myself and looking around at my surroundings. The colorful pool beside me was not the only one; there were hundreds interspersed among colorful pebble shores.

  Sloping up from the shores rolled small multicolored hills.

  “Just like one of Fauve’s paintings,” I said as I spun slowly. It was. On the other side of Fauve’s magnificent work, it seemed, was an entire world of his beautiful colors.

  An ache burned at the back of my shoulder, and I reached to rub it. That ring.

  I had thrown it, and then spun to face Tony again when a searing hot pain hit my shoulder.

  Fauve said the ring was inside me now.

  A low rumble sounded behind me, and I spun to see the muzzle of a dog breaking through the surface of the colorful pool I had just climbed out of.