Reap the Wild Wind (28 page)

If words were all they had, Aryl thought, these were good ones. Point of fact, she doubted these three would swat a biter. Well, maybe the other two would, after arguing the matter, but not Marcus. She’d felt his thoughts, even if she hadn’t understood them. There’d been compassion as well as curiosity.
“Why did you send your machine to the Harvest?” Aryl asked then. “What do you seek?”
Marcus nodded back. “See!”
Not the panel, she complained to herself.
It wasn’t. Instead, Marcus asked something of Pilip and the circle on which they all stood startled her by turning underfoot. It came to a smooth stop once Aryl and Marcus were opposite the still-hovering device.
As if that had been a signal, the device plunged into the water. Startled, she leaned forward to watch the splash settle into froth. The others didn’t appear worried.
Once the ripples calmed, the Lake of Fire’s clear water allowed her to follow the descent to the limit of sunlight. She thought she’d lose the device there, but it began to give off its own light. She watched that light grow smaller and smaller with every heartbeat, like a fich tossed from the top of a rastis.
No rastis was this tall, she reminded herself, wondering what that meant about the depths beneath this platform.
“See what is,” Janex offered. “Here.”
It could still send an image? Of course. That smooth clear casing protected it. Aryl joined Marcus in front of the panel, this time eagerly.
What was the underwater world like? At first, she was disappointed. The panel’s image had a lot in common with a mist-bound window at home, revealing nothing but diffused light. It could have been worse, she consoled herself. The Tikitik put their dead into the lake— what if their bodies were floating around, uneaten?
“Is there nothing alive?” she asked, after a moment more of this.
The Carasian had left its panel to stand behind her. “Life, no,” it rumbled. “Wait.”
Wait? For what? Aryl eased her weight from one foot to the other, impatient with standing still.
When the image changed, she froze. “What is that?” “That” was a curved shape, touched into reality by the device’s light. The curve led to another, and another. A straight line crossed behind. Another, no, three more, rose behind that. More shapes, all perfect, free of silt or debris, extending in every direction. At this improbable depth, beyond sunlight, the still-clear water of the Lake of Fire revealed its secret.
Aryl had lived her life high in the canopy. She understood the tricks perspective could play with the eye and realized at once what she saw was immense.
And what she saw had been made.
“Who built this?” she demanded, wrenching her eyes away. “You?”
“No.” Marcus gazed at the panel. His hand hovered nearby, as if wanting to stroke what it showed. “Old, this. Oldest.”
“Who would live underwater?”
“Lake, new,” stated Pilip. She hadn’t noticed the Trant nearby until it spoke. “Land, once.”
Aryl started to laugh, then realized the strangers were serious. For all their amazing devices, perhaps they were not well educated. “The world is as it has always been,” she informed them. “The Agreement means it cannot change.”
Marcus frowned at her. “Worlds, change always.”
Not world. Worlds.
It was true, then, she thought, feeling as though the strangers’ solid platform moved with the water after all.
“ ‘Agreement.’ What is?” This from Janex.
Those from other worlds— if she let herself believe, for now, in other worlds— were patently outside the Agreement, which named only the three races of this one. “Tikitik, Oud, and Om’ray share the world,” she explained, as much to herself as them. “This world. Cersi. That is the Agreement.”
“Cersi, yes.” A claw brushed by her to point at the panel. The device was now moving sideways, sending images of more underwater buildings, each complex, strange, and flawless. “First, them. Seek, we. What was.”
“Cersi, Vy, Ray, Tua, Ye, Pa, Am.” Marcus tapped the panel. “Words, theirs.”
The existence of other worlds, places that might be real despite having no Om’ray, was suddenly the easiest part to believe. A lake— she looked out over the vastness of the Lake of Fire to remind herself— a lake that hadn’t always been? Aryl groped her way around the concept. It was true that the waters of the Lay rose and fell with the seasons. Puddles formed and dried with each rain. She found she could imagine, though with difficulty, a lake this vast not always being here.
As for the buildings— anyone so foolish as to build on the ground risked losing their homes to flood, not to mention the swarms within. Yena knew better. So she could imagine such a disaster befalling these buildings.
Thought Traveler had talked of “before.” Was this what it had meant?
Aryl could imagine all this. But that these strangers could know words used by whoever had lived down there, be they Tikitik, Oud, or Om’ray? And that those words resembled the names of Om’ray clans?
Her skepticism must have shown in a way Marcus could read. “
Hoveny Concentrix,
” he said to her, saying the new words slowly and clearly. “Know this?”
“No.”
“Hoveny old, their worlds—” he indicated Janex and Pilip, “— old, many worlds. Triads, seekers are.” His inability to communicate more fully frustrated him. She could see it in his face.
That was fine; what little she grasped frustrated her. She felt as if she tried to see something hidden behind too many leaves. Aryl pointed to the image. “Hoveny made this?”
“Proof, no,” this from Pilip. Its fingers tapped against one another. “Hope, maybe.”
Marcus scowled, launching into something long and passionate in their words. Aryl didn’t have to understand to know he defended a position against the Trant. She looked to Janex, who’d been silent longer than usual.
The Carasian’s eyes settled on her. “Come Cersi, hope is.” A pause. “Many Triads seek. Many worlds, hope is. Proof?” Clawtips closed, the barest distance from touching. “So. Words, few. Buildings, less. Hoveny Concentrix, important is. Seekers long, we.”
Why? Aryl wanted to know. Who had these Hoveny been? People like the strangers— people like herself?
Why were they gone?
They’d probably broken an Agreement of their own, she decided grimly. It seemed all too easy to do.
These were matters for Adepts. She’d go home and gratefully give it to her mother and the Council. Costa’s plants would need watering by now. These strangers were interesting but obviously harmless. Let them stare into the water for the rest of their lives.
She was done.
“Take me back,” Aryl ordered, pointing to shore.

* * *

Aryl sat at the top of the strangers’ metal tower, back against a support, and kicked her feet back and forth, back and forth. She couldn’t wait to argue with people who could argue back.
Not that the strangers couldn’t communicate. Oh, they understood exactly what she’d wanted— to be returned to shore and the waiting Tikitik. They didn’t care. They had more questions for her. Many more.
When it became plain she was their captive— well fed and treated— but a captive nonetheless, Aryl had left the pointless debate to climb their tower.
From here, the strangers’ floating camp was a small cube of white beneath her. She’d ignored their shouts and pleas; none of them could, it seemed, climb after her. They’d sent their device— or its twin— to spy on her. Though tempted to stick out her tongue, Aryl ignored it, too. They’d taken it away, doubtless to seek more interesting images.
She admired the view. From this vantage, the Lake of Fire stretched in all directions. Behind the gathering cloud— it would rain soon— the sun was on its way to Grona. The flat land of the Oud, stretching across Pana and Tuana, disturbed her, so she faced Yena, imagining herself closer than she was.
One moment the air was heavy, but dry; the next, it filled with rain. She’d never get used to the suddenness of it, Aryl thought. She pulled the loose shirt over her head, drew her knees inside the same shelter. No reason to climb down. She’d been wet before; there were no biters. Lightning was the only risk, and there was no sign of it, or thunder.
She needed time away from their questions and contradictions.
Time, she admitted to herself, to recover her balance, badly shaken by their claims of other worlds and long forgotten races. She’d let herself grow comfortable with them; in return, they’d threatened the foundations of her understanding.
Aryl let her inner sense expand outward, reestablishing the world she knew as real. No need for machine “eyes.” No need for searching or questions. That which was Om’ray surrounded her— was her. She relaxed, having found her place.
She dared
reach
farther. Yena was a tight glow; all were home and safe. There were a few solitary sparks toward Amna and Pana— newly on Passage, she thought, feeling for those lonely travelers. She’d never think of them as strangers again. No Om’ray could be. Not like the three below.
They were trouble. What they’d found was worse. Aryl didn’t need the wisdom of Council to know that. The Tikitik gave their dead to the Lake of Fire; they used it to punish their failures. They were concerned— or whatever word applied— by the presence of the strangers here. Enough to enlist her to learn more.
The Oud’s new towers? No coincidence. Their teaching these strangers real words was a deliberate act. They had an interest here as well.
Making her wonder what the Tikitik and Oud knew about what lay below the surface.
Her hair dripped; the shirt had soaked through. Resigned to such minor discomfort, Aryl locked her legs around the rounded metal beam. A Yena could sleep thus. She should stay up here until she starved to death, she thought morosely. Leave the strangers a corpse dangling overhead to remind them not to meddle in the affairs of her world.
She gave a bitter laugh. The only problem with that plan? Unless it possessed incredible eyesight, Thought Traveler wouldn’t know it was
her
corpse. The Tikitik would continue to believe his Yena “scout” wasn’t coming back for some other, more sinister reason.
And the strangers wouldn’t take her back. Even if she could swim, Aryl shuddered, she wouldn’t dare— not in these waters.
Which left her sitting atop their mysterious tower. Its purpose eluded her. They didn’t need it as a lookout. It was topped with a small ball of the white material they were so fond of using. She’d dismissed the tempting notion of trying to pull it off; it was never wise to disturb a nest when you didn’t know what might be home.
The
other
was something else she chose not to disturb. Taisal had shown she could
reach
her at will. Until Aryl had something worth saying, she was happier out of that ominous darkness.
Something moved through the rain.
Aryl lunged to her feet, putting the tower’s struts between herself and the approaching dark shape. It was larger than she was, larger than the strangers’ flying machine, and made no sound other than the tinny pound of rain against it. She relaxed slightly at that, realizing the rain must be striking an artificial surface, not a living one, then tensed as whatever it was moved closer and closer.
It touched the tower, metal claws grabbing a crossbeam to hold it in place. She blinked away rain, trying to see it better. Was this Oud?
Light cracked along a horizontal seam. The upper half lifted straight up to become a roof protecting those inside. Not Oud.
More strangers.
Aryl counted four: three seated and one standing to stare at her. That one looked like a giant wingless flitter, with plumes covering its body and an immense green eye on either side of its head. Its mouth was more like a stitler’s, bony and pointed. If she’d met it in the canopy, she’d have climbed out of reach. Quickly.
Now? Aryl instinctively glanced up for an escape route, hand over her mouth to breathe through the heavy rain, then looked down. The tower’s metal would be as treacherous as a wet branch. There was nowhere to go.
One of those seated came to join the flitter-stranger. Another Om’ray-who-wasn’t, like Marcus, equally
not-there
to Aryl’s sense. Another Human. This one shouted something. She couldn’t make out words over the rain. He beckoned impatiently to her.
New strangers. A new, more elaborate flying machine.
Aryl eased herself through the tower to the side of the machine and climbed inside, avoiding the hands that reached out for her.
Maybe, she told herself, shivering for the first time, they’d come to take her back.
The machine closed its protective cover and began to move.

Interlude

E
NRIS TOSSED A STONE. Iglies skittered from his path, flashing alarm, only to turn and lurk in the shadows that fringed the tunnel. They watched him with a bold, disquieting interest he’d never seen before.
He’d never seen a tunnel like this either— the floor rough and loose and glowstrips hanging from occasional supports. It looked unfinished, as if freshly dug. He dropped his pack in a brighter area than most and eased himself down, hissing between his teeth. The iglies made their wet-smack noises, as if agreeing with his bruises and aching rib. Ignoring them all, he took a deliberate sip from his flask, then resealed it. There’d been none of the Oud water taps, or even a puddle, for the last few tenths. Best not to assume he’d find more water soon.
Had he made a mistake, taking whatever turn went most directly toward Vyna? It had seemed easy, at first. He’d ignored tunnels with upward slopes, gambling on another stretch free of Oud, willing to go deeper to elude anything more dangerous than iglies. He’d made reasonable time, despite a limp and the need to rest more and more often. The bleeding had stopped. He was safe. Wasn’t he?
Not if this tunnel was about to be reshaped. All Enris had to go on were runner stories— and who knew what to believe from them? He’d always heard the Oud left behind their technology, simply shutting off power before destroying what was there. What if the runners were wrong, and some tunnels were stripped by the Oud first, lights left on so they could do whatever they did to collapse ceilings and move walls . . . ?
He got up, doing his utmost not to feel the press of earth above him. There was no room to panic, not down here. “One step at a time,” Enris told himself, his voice startling the iglies to flight. “One step.”
It was several steps later when he thought he heard something moving behind him, something much larger than an iglie. When he turned to look back, all he saw was empty floor, scattered with stone and shadow. “Bad as Yuhas,” Enris muttered to himself, almost wishing the other— and his broom— were nearby.
Almost. He was alone and hoped to stay that way. The jitters were normal. He picked up his pace as best he could on the uneven footing, searching ahead for any sign of an intersecting tunnel, preferably one leading above ground. Down here too long, Enris decided, if he was hearing things.
Another sound, not imagined. As he looked over his shoulder, he realized with dismay the strange clattering wasn’t coming from behind him at all. It was coming from above his head.
Enris looked up and found himself staring at an Oud.
Despite its bulk, the creature looked quite at home. It ignored him, busy doing something to the ceiling of the tunnel. Enris took a few slow, careful steps to move from directly beneath it. He could smell it now, that mix of old oil and dust. Unlike the ones who visited Tuana, this wore no clothing. The revealed body was faintly ribbed down its entire soft length, with patches of darker pigment where a spine might be.
It moved abruptly and he backed another step, but the Oud had merely gone forward to a new patch of ceiling. Where it had been was now smooth, any imperfections in the stone polished away. The clattering noise continued. It was, he realized with amazement, trimming the rock away with its appendages. Somehow, the creature must collect any dust or fragments inside its body, for nothing fell loose.
Om’ray had wondered what machines the Oud employed to build their maze of tunnels. Was this at least part of the answer: that they used their own bodies? He wished he could tell his family, his Clan.
They wouldn’t listen to him. Once on Passage, an unChosen couldn’t be welcomed back by his own.
The creature went about its business, either oblivious to him, or respectful of the token he carried. Enris gave it one last look, then kept walking.
He encountered more and more Chewer Oud, as he came to call them. All were busy nibbling away the roughness of ceiling, walls, and floor; none reacted to his presence in any way he could tell. After a while, Enris ignored them, too, walking around those who blocked his path as he sought an exit.
So he was astonished when he went around the next turn in the tunnel to have one pour itself from the ceiling to confront him.
“Where is?” it demanded, rearing up to expose its talking appendages.
Thinking it meant the token, he reached for the disk, only then noticing this wasn’t like the other Oud— its body was draped in fabric.
And if an Oud could be familiar, he had a horrible feeling this one was. “Where is what?” Enris replied, hoping he was wrong.
“Metalworker, is.”
Not wrong. Somehow, the same Oud had found him. Enris swallowed, wishing he wasn’t tired and sore. Better still, to be clever. Or brave. The truth was all he dared. “I’m not a metalworker now. I’m on Passage. The device is still in Tuana, with the other metalworker.”
“Best are,” it said, rearing higher. The clattering sounds from other Oud nearby paused, as if they eavesdropped. “We decide other!”
“My father is the best,” he said, desperate to calm the creature. “Om’ray go on Passage when Council decides, not Oud. That’s the Agreement. It’s my turn. You must let me pass.”
“Badbadbadbad.”
He couldn’t argue with it there. “Please. Let me leave.”
It loomed over him; Enris didn’t dare move back. “Strangers and Om’ray, together, are,” it said, clearly upset. “Badbadbadbad.”
All he asked was sense from the thing. Was that too much? “I don’t understand,” Enris said. Strangers? “What strangers?” he demanded. “The unChosen?” The two from Yena, Yuhas and the quieter Tyko? Was that what disturbed it? Unfamiliar Om’ray?
“Not Om’ray. Strangers. Strangers! Want device. Where is?” The Oud reared violently, bashing into a support. The wood groaned and a glowstrip attached at one end fell to the floor, its light extinguished. “Where is!? Where is!!?? Find it NOW!!!”
Terrified for his father— for his Clan, if the Oud went to Tuana in this state— Enris took off his pack and dumped its contents on the tunnel floor. “See? I don’t have it!” he shouted desperately. “You didn’t tell me I had to keep it. You told me to find out what it is! I did. Do you hear me. I know what it is.”
Mid-rear, the Oud paused, its many limbs folding together.
Enris hoped this was an improvement. “It holds voices,” he said. “There were words in it. Sounds an Om’ray can sense inside. Do you understand me?”
It lowered itself slightly. “Our words?”
He froze.
“Our words?” the Oud persisted, as if devices to hold voices were normal, as if his ability— an Om’ray’s ability— to somehow hear those voices had been expected.
Why else, Enris thought suddenly, bring the device to him? “You knew what it was. You knew—” He caught himself, unsure why he didn’t want to suggest the device
was
Om’ray. Maybe it was his growing suspicion that this Oud had tried, somehow, to use its own version of Power and failed, that its attempt had left that disorienting trace. “How did you know I could use it?” he asked instead.
“Probable. Possible. Maybe. Metalworker, start. Skills, some.” It tapped impatiently. “Answer! Our words? Other? Answer!”
Enris slowly bent down and began repacking his bag. The Oud leaned over, as if attracted by his movements. He tried not to shake. “Let me leave,” he said, standing again. “And I’ll tell you.”
“Yesyesyesyes!”
“I don’t know about other words,” he said, choosing his with care, “but what I ‘heard’ didn’t sound right. I couldn’t understand any of it.”
“Other words.” He could swear it sounded smug. “Other words.” Then, too quickly to avoid, the Oud lunged forward to tear the disk from his tunic. “Leave now.”
“How?” he protested. “Give that back!”
“Find, no.” Its many small limbs quickly ferried the small thing out of sight below its body. “Mine now.”
What was it talking about? The token?
Or him?