Reap the Wild Wind (17 page)

“No vote without debate,” Cetto insisted, his thick brows in a frown.
“Which I can start and end with one question to our Speaker,” Sian offered smoothly.
Morla hesitated, then returned to her seat. “Ask it.”
He gestured gratitude, then looked to Taisal. “Speaker— when the Tikitik see pods floating through the air into Yena nets— what will you tell them?”
Tikva scowled as Taisal stood, the fingers of her right hand drifting across her pendant— to remind herself or her elders, Aryl wondered.
“I need tell them nothing,” her mother began. “They will see for themselves the Agreement has been broken. They will have proof for the Oud that Yena Om’ray have adopted a new and potent ability. Such reckless change will disrupt the peace across Cersi, a peace that has held longer than any memory. You would doom not only Yena, but all Om’ray.”
She’d begun to see her mother as powerless and vulnerable, least among the others. Aryl sank deeper into her chair, understanding at last that Taisal di Sarc was none of those things.
“What would they do?” Morla asked, her face bloodless.
Tikva’s eyes locked with Taisal’s. “What could they do?” she countered acidly. “The Agreement is clear. The three races share the world in peace. The Tikitik and Oud may not like the Om’ray gaining Power. They can’t do anything to stop us.”
“And you believe that?” Aryl knew that note in her mother’s voice; it didn’t bode well for Tikva.
“I do.”
“Then let me remind Council exactly how we three share this world. May I?” She reached for the mug in Tikva’s hand; the other Adept gave it to her with a puzzled, not-yet-angry look.
“Cersi,” Taisal named it. She tapped its polished wood with a fingernail. “The Tikitik.” Another tap. “The Oud.” A final tap. “The water beneath us, the sky above, all that grows between.”
Aryl swallowed, unsure why she suddenly felt afraid. Unless it was something from her mother she sensed but couldn’t name.
With a violent sweep of her arm, Taisal dashed the mug to the metal floor. Aryl jumped as it splintered on contact, fragments sliding in all directions, connected by a spray of dark liquid.
Taisal walked to the mess and bent to touch a fingertip to the liquid. “This,” she told them, straightening to hold up that one dark speck, “was the Om’ray.
“Om’ray are the shape of the world,” she continued, the flat calm of her tone more chilling for what it said. “But we are not what binds it together. We are not needful to this world. Om’ray exist at the whim of Oud and Tikitik. If either of those races fails, we fail. If either abandons us, we fail.”
Tikva looked defiant. “You assume the worst. The Tikitik haven’t cared that we speak mind to mind over greater distances. Why? Because they care how much we harvest, not how we do it. Think the Oud care we can better heal ourselves? It’s the number able to work that matters, not why they’re healthy. This new Talent will be no different, mark my words.”
“You’d risk our lives on their indifference?” Cetto growled. “I need proof.”
Yorl’s mocking laugh startled Aryl and tightened Taisal’s lips. “What proof do you expect from Adepts?” he said. “They can’t agree how to tell if the other races are real, let alone if they have the ability to detect Power or its use.”
“They’ll detect this.” Taisal swept her long white hands together. In answer, the splinters and spilled liquid hurried back to the point of impact with muted, urgent slurps, until only a small, messy pile marred the Council Chamber floor.
Aryl was not surprised when Morla Kessa’at declared the debate and Council session over.

* * *

Taisal di Sarc escorted Aryl to the massive doors leading to the bridge. Neither spoke. Aryl didn’t know what to say. She suspected her mother’s thoughts were of other things besides her errant daughter.
When they arrived, she was relieved to find the rain had stopped. The climb home would be easier; she was still weary. Overhead, the canopy was more gray than green, with long shadows reaching beneath. Morla had been right; firstnight was close.
With a wave of her hand, Taisal dismissed Pio di Kessa’at from her post. The old Adept gave Aryl a curious look before she left.
As for Aryl, she hefted her bag over one shoulder, happier to take it home unopened than to reveal the full extent of this disaster to her mother, and waited patiently for Taisal to open one of the doors— however an Adept accomplished that feat. With luck, she’d escape without the scolding she deserved. Never meddle in the business of any Chosen, she reminded herself. Especially her mother’s.
Instead, Taisal hesitated with her hand on the door, staring at her. Aryl did her best not to squirm. “Do you understand what happened?” her mother asked after an agonizing pause.
Memories, too many and too fresh, tumbled through Aryl’s head: the smashed mug that was the world, the alarming notion to abandon their homes, the Cloisters traded to the Tikitik, never being able to summon her breakfast with a thought. She, Aryl thought with some self-pity, now knew far more than any unChosen should and it wasn’t anything to help her sleep at night . . .
“You mean Yorl,” she said at last, recognizing the bewilderment in Taisal’s eyes. “No. But,” she added, “he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He asked for my help.” Taking it before she could answer, she finished to herself.
A flash of anger. “All so he could stay for the vote. Stubborn, opinionated, difficult . . . his only virtue is being harder on himself than anyone else. Still,” the anger faded, “I’d rather keep him around than lose him. Thank you, Daughter. He would have happily died trying to make his point— you did help him survive that misjudgment.” Taisal touched Aryl’s wrist, sending a flood of warmth and caring.
Aryl’s eyes filled with tears. She hunted for words to send back, to tell her mother how proud she was, but Taisal withdrew her hand too soon. She looked angry again. “Don’t think that I approve of what Yorl did, Aryl. Or for that matter, of your coming here without permission, then interrupting a Council session instead of going home as you were told!”
“I knew something was wrong,” Aryl said truthfully, clamping down her shields. She could only hope Taisal had been distracted enough by the afternoon’s events to overlook the discrepancy between her daughter’s sending and her daughter’s arrival. The knowledge of one’s place granted by sensing other Om’ray didn’t involve counting one another. Not usually. But she had no idea what her mother, as an Adept, could do.
“Something was wrong,” Taisal admitted. “The moment I saw Yorl today, I knew he was in trouble.” She looked up at the canopy as if hunting something, then her gaze dropped to Aryl again. Her mouth turned down at the corners. “He hides it, Aryl, but he can barely climb anymore. He should be living here all the time, yet won’t. But today, this— it was the worst I’ve seen him. He denied it; refused to listen to me, refused to admit weakness before the others. When he started self-healing, I felt the drain on his body grow beyond his control.
“It’s a trap, Aryl, using your Power to heal yourself. It’s like trying to make a ladder from one rope. You can unwind the braid and make two ropes from the one, but the ladder’s only half as strong. Stealing strength from one part of the body to help another weakens the whole. No Adept would attempt it unless there was no other recourse.”
“So Yorl stole strength from me instead,” Aryl concluded. She still felt weak, though not as much as before. The sense of betrayal was worse. The head of their family was supposed to care for her, protect her . . .
“You said he asked for your help,” Taisal said gently.
“I thought he needed help to get out of his chair!” Having made her protest, Aryl gestured apology. “It’s all right,” she admitted. “He knew I’d give what I could to him.”
“You gave him his life.” Her mother sighed. “You’re young and strong. What you gave him— what he took— you’ll replace with a night’s rest.” This last with distraction, as if Taisal’s mind was worrying at other, more difficult topics. “Go home. And this time stay there.” She touched the door and closed her eyes briefly.
The massive curve of metal sighed away from its partner, leaving a gap sufficient for Taisal’s hand to wrap around the edge and turn the door open. Aryl peered down the empty bridge. If Till was at his post, she’d have to explain the still-full bag. . . .
Aryl sighed and pulled it off her shoulder. “I brought these for you,” she confessed.
Taisal took it and looked inside. Her mouth quirked, then she closed the bag. “My room here is bare. Thank you. Reminders of home are welcome.”
“I—” hadn’t thought of that, Aryl almost said, torn by unexpected guilt, but stopped herself in time. The result was what counted. “— I’m glad you like them.”
“I always have,” her mother commented lightly.
There was an ease between them, and Aryl finally knew what to say. “In the meeting. I may have saved Yorl,” she told her mother, “but I think you saved all of us.”
Taisal’s smile faded. “I prevented a vote,” she corrected. “Today. Tikva’s not going to give up— and she’s not alone in her belief that Yena should have greater use of their Power. All we can do for now is keep Forbidden Talents secret. Imagine the temptation, if all Yena knew abilities like mine existed.”
“I wanted breakfast in bed,” Aryl admitted ruefully.
That drew a chuckle. “That I can arrange without breaking the Agreement— granted I get home tonight. Which is where you belong, youngest.”
Then, as if Aryl was a baby, her mother kissed her on the forehead and pressed two fingers over the warm spot,
sending
her love.
Aryl was halfway across the bridge when she realized her mother’s sending had contained something else, something Taisal hadn’t intended her daughter to share.
Dread.

Interlude

T
HE OUD HAD LEFT THE TUANA village as they’d come, their vehicles etching a second set of lines through the dust. There’d been no more surprises.
One had been more than enough, Enris thought, kicking a tread mark.
“Hey!” Ral jumped sideways. “These are— were— clean boots, cousin.”
Enris gestured apology. “I’m in a foul mood,” he admitted. “You shouldn’t bother with me.”
Ral laughed and clapped the other on his shoulder. They’d had breakfast in the meeting hall, a usually lighthearted gathering to host those taking Passage. Tradition abounded during Visitation. “How can you be grumpy today?” he protested. He spun about, holding his hands from his sides to show off his new shirt. “Do I not look fabulous?”
Enris’ lips twitched involuntarily as he considered his cousin. It was, to be fair, a fine shirt and Ral looked ridiculously blissful in it. Still . . . “She hasn’t Chosen you yet,” he cautioned. Gelle Licor was one of Naryn’s ilk, in his opinion, full of her own Power and herself.
“A mere detail.” This with an airy wave. “She filled my cup twice!”
“Well. That says it all, doesn’t it.” Enris somehow managed a straight face. Besides, what did he know of Choice? No Chooser-to-Be had offered to fill his cup. “Congratulations.” And he meant it. Several couples had left the meeting hall last night with soft looks at one another. All during breakfast, Traud and Olalla had touched fingertips under the table when they thought no one could tell. Mind you, she’d hiccupped each and every time.
He should be grateful this morning had been calm and civil. There’d been a threat to the look and feel of Mauro Lorimar and his friends at the end of last night. They hadn’t taken Irm’s being picked for Passage well; they took Enris being “spared” as a personal insult. Only the watchful eye of the Speaker had kept them from saying what they felt.
Or worse.
“It’ll be my turn to congratulate you soon, Enris,” Ral said magnanimously. “That is, when you . . . when there’s more . . . next time . . . I mean—” He coughed at some dust and then laughed. “You know what I mean.”
“Not a clue,” Enris grinned. “But if it has anything to do with letting me get to back to work sometime today, I’m happy.”
The two stopped outside the shop. It was locked against the night; Jorg hadn’t arrived yet.
Enris wasn’t surprised. The Chosen weren’t expected to attend the breakfast and they’d stayed up late, he and his parents, trying to make sense of the Oud. Jorg wanted to go to Council even if it meant revealing they’d had commerce with the Oud earlier. Ridersel wanted the strange object away from her family and forgotten. Returned to the Oud. Tossed in a field, if need be.
He’d— Enris sighed. He’d wanted to keep it a while longer, to puzzle at it in secret. Maybe not the best or wisest course, but his mother had given him that too-keen look, the one she used to see right through him, and agreed.
“I’d help you fetch the leavings, Cousin, but . . .” Ral indicated his new shirt. “Gelle would never forgive me.”
Enris laughed and waved him on. “See you later.”
To save time, he didn’t bother unlocking the shop but went around to the side where he parked the cart each night. It was a long, thin alleyway, protected by the overhang from the potter next door. Enris was in its cool shadow before he noticed something wrong.
The cart had been turned upside down.
He ran the rest of the way, stopping with his hands on the wheels. They were priceless, virtually irreplaceable— and intact, he discovered after checking them carefully. He let out a sigh of relief. Whoever had done this hadn’t been thorough fools.
They’d been angry. At him.
He didn’t need to be an Adept to figure that out. Or to know who. There were footprints everywhere he looked, footprints made by fancy, hard-soled boots. Mauro Lorimar and his friends. He should have realized why they’d been all smiles at breakfast; it hadn’t only been the company of their Choosers-to-Be.
Enris shook his head. None of that mattered. The Oud who brought the new day’s leavings expected the previous ones to be gone. He was already running later than he liked— it would take most of the afternoon to empty the bins.
The cart was made of thick metal, built for heavy loads and rough terrain. On its big wheels, it could be moved with ease, even fully loaded. To flip it like this? He guessed there’d been five of them, maybe more.
Help would lead to questions. There were, Enris decided glumly, too many of those already.
He stood back, concentrated on the cart, and
pushed.
It was easier than shoving the bench. Once in the air, the cart moved without resistance. He turned it over and lowered it. Slowly. Slowly.
“Nice trick.”
The cart thudded to the ground. Enris groaned. Had he damaged the wheels? He plunged to his hands and knees to check, ignoring Naryn.
She came closer, kicking dust. “Did you hear me?”
He rocked back on his heels and gazed up at her. “The wheels are fine.”
No thanks to you,
he added to himself, keeping his shields tight.
“Wheels—? What do—” She seemed to collect herself. “So this is why you wouldn’t vouch for me. You wanted to show off yourself!”
Enris got to his feet, brushing dust from his pants. “I’m not the one who ran to Council and the Adepts,” he pointed out.
“I have every right to use my special Talent.”
“No,” he said calmly, “you don’t. Not if you make a display of it where the Oud could find out.” He wrapped his hands around the handles of the cart and heaved it into motion. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m late.” She didn’t move; and he was forced to stop. “Naryn—” with exasperation.
“You didn’t pick anyone last night. Why?”
Enris stared at her. “What are you talking about?”
“You know what I’m talking about. You aren’t—” this as though she’d made a startling discovery “— stupid.”
“Thank you. Now get out of my way.”
Naryn put her hands on the cart. “Not until I get an answer.”
“I could
push
you out of the way,” he suggested almost idly.
She arched a shapely brow. “You could try.”
For an instant, Enris ached to do just that, to pit his Power against hers, to make her stop behaving like the spoiled child she was. It was more than frustration, more than anger. Something deep inside, something he’d never felt before, wanted . . . was trying . . . trying to . . .
To answer . . .
“You!” he accused, dropping the handles and backing away. “What are you doing?”
Naryn tilted her head, as if she needed a different view of him. “How— interesting,” she said, running the tip of her tongue over her lower lip to taste the word. “I suspected. Oh, yes. There was always something about you, Enris Mendolar. Annoying. Addictive. They’re much the same, you know.” She eased out of the cart’s path, but only as far as the wall of the shop. She leaned back against the brick, stretching her slender right arm languidly over her head as if daring him to reach for it. “Go.”
Enris wrapped his big hands around the cart handles and left her there.
By the time he reached the Oud tunnel, he’d almost stopped wanting to go back.