Reap the Wild Wind (33 page)

* * *

His name was Enris Mendolar, of Tuana. He was filthy, wore bloodstained rags, and rebuffed her one attempt to speak mind to mind. She couldn’t tell the color of his thick hair through the dirt. Stretched out on the opposite seat of the aircar, having fulfilled his task of bringing rescue to hover right in front of the Watcher’s mouth— much to Marcus’ joy— he was now snoring. Loudly.
Aryl couldn’t claim to be any cleaner, wearing her version of the strangers’ clothing— liberally stained with whatever had oozed from the Carasian’s head— and was too tired to care. Enris was Om’ray, real and solid, and by his existence pushed the strangers aside. Not much older, she decided, studying the face beneath the dirt. A heavier build than any Yena, with big hands and wide shoulders that probably moved things better than they climbed. He looked to have gone hungry and without sleep. Bruises and scabs showed through rents in his clothing.
He was Kiric’s brother.
She knew, having
tasted
his identity. To Aryl, there was a resonance between close kin, a similar flavor to their presence. She wondered vaguely if Enris knew what had happened to Kiric, or if she was supposed to tell him.
Not that she should speak to a stranger, without Chosen Yena present.
Aryl giggled.
His eyes opened at the sound. They were dark brown, wide-set, and presently more than a little dazed. “Wha—”
“Sorry. I was thinking of my grandmother’s caution— about talking to strangers.”
His lips quirked in a smile. It reopened a small cut and he caught the drop of blood with a finger, then wiped it on his pants. “Took her good advice to heart, I see?” This with a deliberate flash of distrust past his otherwise tight shields.
Aryl bristled. “You’re flying with Humans, too.”
He didn’t apologize, but looked more awake. “ ‘Humans?’ Is that what they call themselves?”
“The ones who look like us, but aren’t? Yes. There are others.” She sagged a little. “Too many others.”
“Why are they here?” he demanded. Before she could open her mouth to answer, he went on, each question sharper, louder. “What do they want? Where do they come from? Wh—”
“Aryl?” Marcus looked up from his slouch in the rearmost seat. She’d thought him asleep, too. He nodded his head at Enris, his expression unreadable. “Loud, him.”
“Human,” Enris said, the word an accusation. The two locked stares for a moment, then the Om’ray sank back in his seat, throwing his arm over his face.
Marcus glanced at her. “There soon.” As if she’d find that reassuring.
As if words from a Human, an Om’ray-who-wasn’t stranger, could matter more to her than the perfectly reasonable passion of her own kind.
Confused, Aryl closed her eyes on them both.

* * *

Their flight was over so quickly, Aryl wondered if she and Marcus could have walked to this camp of the strangers after all. Though she might have dozed for part.
Enris had that grumpy look she remembered from Costa in the mornings. He’d managed only enough sleep to be truly exhausted, she decided. Hopefully, he’d be easier to talk to once rested.
The other strangers took Marcus away, exclaiming in their not-real words. The Humans patted his back and arms with their hands, as if needing to touch him. The others— a blur of feather, scale, and odd shapes— added their voices to the din. She and Enris might have been forgotten, but one Human stayed by the aircar to take them in charge. Aryl recognized her. The not-Chosen, not-Om’ray female with dead hair.
Luckily, Enris was too tired to pay attention. Or else he was unlike other eligible unChosen of Aryl’s experience, who would, she was sure, have been struck dumb by such a living contradiction.
“Wash. Rest,” this Human said to them with a smile. “Come.”
Truenight, already upon the rest of the mountain, was held at bay here. Aryl was relieved by the sensible lighting as they followed the Human from the aircar. Stalks with too-bright glows at their tips marked the edge of the long, sharp ledge they used for their machines. She’d taken a quick assessing look over the side. Climbable, just. Which meant dangerous after dark.
Their goal was a second, higher ledge, up a short cliff that presented no challenge, especially where it sloped at one end. Aryl tried to notice such details, remember them, though the contrast between intense light and black shadow made it difficult. More glow stalks marched up a wide ramp carved into the rock; so did they.
Enris limped, favoring his right leg and side. Aryl factored that into her— it wasn’t a plan, she admitted, more the preparation for one. If the chance came to escape the strangers, she wouldn’t leave him here; his limp meant certain paths open to her were out of the question. That was all.
Maybe he’d heal overnight.
Look.
Aryl raised her eyes from the junction of ramp to upper ledge, seeking what Enris wanted her to see.
The mountain had been eaten away here, its outer flesh of stone stripped to reveal giant bones. Aryl gasped. Familiar bones. She’d seen the same massive shapes, the same building designs through the eyes of the machine. But those lay under the deep waters of the Lake of Fire. These were exposed to the air.
And accessible.
Her eyes narrowed. She didn’t care what technology the strangers had, it must take time to dig so much stone. She remembered the urgent excitement of the visitor strangers— was it only yesterday?— enough to draw Marcus and his companions from their own place. There had to be something else, something new.
A change.
“Come, please.” This from their guide. Aryl gestured apology for stopping to stare, not that the Human would understand it, and started walking again. Their goal was a cluster of three buildings, each a copy of the one on the lake platform. Marcus and his group were ahead, entering the centermost. How had the strangers brought all this? she wondered.
The curves and angles erupting from the cliff loomed overhead as they approached. Darkness enclosed them from the other side, erasing the world they knew. The strangers had claimed this much of Cersi for their own, Aryl decided, and shivered.
Their guide walked faster, as if eager to rejoin her companions. “You’ve seen this before,” Enris said, his voice quiet and quick.
“Not this.” Aryl kept her voice low, too, though she would have preferred the security of mindspeech. “The strangers have another place, on the Lake of Fire. It floats above ruins like these.”
“Ruins?” They passed through a bar of shadow, masking his face, but Aryl heard his surprise. “These were buried in the mountain, but they aren’t ruins. Do you see any marks of age, any damage?”
She looked to the side, tilting her head to better see up the cliff. He was right. The structures being freed were perfect, without crack or weathering. “How can that be? They are old,” she whispered. “Marcus— the Human— said so. And the Tikitik talk of a ‘Before.’ Who made these? Oud?”
Enris shook his head. “I know more of the Oud than I care to— this isn’t their work.” He staggered, catching himself with a heavy hand on her shoulder.
A ploy. Through that touch came a flood of memory. Aryl saw a device . . . somehow heard
words
from inside it . . . felt Enris’ astonishment at how well it fit his hand . . . his conclusion.
Om’ray?
she sent, not holding back her disbelief.
You think all of this, everything the strangers seek— what they found— was made by Om’ray?
“Who else?” he said out loud, attracting a startled look from the Human.
Aryl had no answer to that she’d care to have overheard.
Om’ray?
They made almost nothing of their own. Had almost nothing.
Were almost nothing.
Strange how the realization of her people’s insignificance made her sad instead of bitter. This Enris— he didn’t feel that way. She’d tasted his fierce pride; she envied it. But Om’ray, responsible for these marvels? Easier to believe the Tikitik sealed the sun away at night.
They were approaching the first building, Aryl losing herself in visions of the strangers’ wonderful “fresher,” when the sending struck.
DANGER!!!
She bent double and cried out, hearing Enris do the same.
DANGER!!
They straightened as one, to look out into truenight. Toward Yena.
The Human, who’d stopped when they did, raised her hands. Perhaps she said, “What is?” but neither Om’ray responded.
DANGER!!!
A third sending, this time mixed with
DEATH!
There was no time to think, no time to ask herself if she could do it.
Aryl only knew she must.
She grabbed Enris by the hand.
TRUST ME!
she sent, flooding his mind with all the Power and need in hers.
Then she pulled him with her into the darkness that marked the cliff . . .

Chapter 26

... THE DARKNESS SWALLOWED THEM whole . . . flung them . . . they were wings in the M’hir . . . she couldn’t breathe . . . couldn’t feel him . . . only knew where they had to be . . .
. . . HOME!
Aryl choked, fighting for air, fighting to see. Why was it still dark? Hands closed on her, big hands and strong.
Enris?
she sent, finding it easier to think than speak.
Here.
A surprising burst of humor.
Wherever here is.
She drew strength from him, managed words. “Home. My home. Yena. I
pushed
us here.”
DANGER! DEATH! DEATH!!!
Aryl tightened her shields until she barely sensed Enris, fighting to think past the screaming in her head. It wasn’t only in her head, she realized, her heart pounding. It was coming from all around them.
Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and she moved toward what faint light she did see. “This way.”
Her next step slammed her into the table. She warned him with a touch, then strode with more assurance to the door.
Where were the glows? Why weren’t they lit?
Aryl turned the door open and stepped outside.
The faint light came from inside the meeting hall, where she could sense the Yena gathered. The homes— hers, her neighbors, all other buildings— were dark, their windows torn, their roofs ripped open. The bridges . . . two were lit their entire length, but the rest disappeared into the dark of night.
Truenight.
“Aryl,” Enris said urgently. “Look. Over there. Something’s stealing the glows.” Without waiting for her, he began to run, taking heavy, limping steps along the main bridge. “Stop! Shooo!”
Were Tuana insane?
As she followed, Aryl hoped he didn’t realize he was running along thin strips of wood high in the canopy.
Above the Lay.
Above the swarms.
She ran faster.
Something dodged past her on the bridge, tiny and quick. A second . . . a third . . . ahead, Enris paused to kick something small out of his way. “Iglies,” he announced, letting out a relieved huff of air. “That’s all?”
She had no idea what he was talking about. What mattered was ahead. She knew that shape, that abrupt speed. Tikitik were stripping the glows from the bridge, tossing them down. They hissed to themselves as they worked.
Enris reached them first. He grabbed one. Though taller, it didn’t strike back or protest, going passive in his hold. Beyond, a dozen more kept working. More than a dozen. Aryl could make out their forms on the roof of the meeting hall, see them everywhere.
“Leave it,” she shouted, taking Enris by one arm. The Tikitik scampered away with a bark. “They aren’t the danger,” she told him. “We have to have light, now. Fire. Can you make fire? Lots of fire!”
Please, she pleaded to herself. Please.
Enris reached inside his waist and drew out a small box. A soft
shhh,
and a miniature flame appeared in his hand. He touched it to his bag, holding that out by a strap. The flames licked over its surface like a beautiful rot.
The Tikitik noticed. Finished with the glows on the bridge, they turned and leaped away. The ones on the meeting hall hissed and worked faster. They were pulling away the pod halves that formed its roof, reaching in to steal the glows from inside.
All around, Aryl could hear movement, clicking, snarls, the myriad sounds of the swarm climbing toward them.
“We need more,” she said. “What burns?”
“In this wet?” Enris pushed past her. “Back inside.” He rhymed a list as they hurried to retrace their steps. “Wood, cloth. Do you have fuel for cooking or heat?”
“What? No,” Aryl replied, hurrying with him. “We use power cells and ovens. The Tikitik don’t allow burning.”
“Cooking oil?”
“A little. If Myris didn’t—” Saying a name sent Aryl into a panic. She
reached,
desperate to know where everyone she loved was . . . were they safe . . . ?
STOP
.
Aryl started to protest, then understood. Enris, running with fire licking at his hands, kept her from a fatal distraction.
She dodged ahead to turn the door for him.
The bag flew past her, skidding to a stop against the wall. It burst open, sending flames running up the panels, across the floor. It was too bright now. It made a sound. A roar. Aryl flinched.
“Oil!” Enris shouted. He tore the gauze from the first window with one easy motion, then the next, and the next. As Aryl rushed through cupboard after cupboard— Myris had moved it . . . why would she move it— he ripped free the nearest cupboard door and smashed it against the table, gathering the pieces. “The oil!”
“Found it!” She grabbed the wooden cask and took it to him.
He was wrapping gauze around the end of each long piece of wood. “Pour it on the cloth,” he ordered, handing her the first done, making another. “Not too much. We have to get it hot before it will light.”
Hot wouldn’t be a problem. Aryl ducked as flames found the storage slings among the rafters, sending smoke and scorched fragments of clothing down. She kept pouring oil, refusing to regret the destruction of the Sarc home.
If it would save Yena? Let it burn.
When the cask was empty, Enris grabbed a wrapped stick, oil dripping to the floor. “Like this,” he shouted. He pushed the gauze end close to the fire on the wall; she did the same with another. Nothing, nothing. It felt as though she was suffocating, the skin of her face about to fall off. Just as Aryl was about to pull back, fire seemed to leap to the gauze. She raised it, amazed.
“Let’s go.”
They ran, each with fire in one hand, a second stick in the other. Enris shoved the rest into his belt.
The bridge heaved and moved in front of them. The swarm was already here, clinging to every surface. Aryl held out her fire and the creatures fled with wild clicks, most falling off the bridge. But they didn’t leave.
“We have to— No!” A door had briefly turned, spilling light from the meeting hall. Someone knew what they were trying to do, came to help.
NO!
she sent.
There was too much darkness between. Darkness that
moved
 . . .
The screams went on and on. When Enris tried to go, she held him back, tears on her hot cheeks. “It’s too late. We have to save the rest. The swarm hunts until just before dawn. Only light will keep them back.”
“That will help, then.”
“That” was her home, now burning on the outside. The light flickered all the way to the main bridge. “We have to burn them all,” she said.
“Not at once. Fire’s a hunter, too,” he cautioned. “It’s going to be close.”
Aryl felt strangely calm as she gazed at his face, a mask of soot and red. “I’ll burn the canopy itself, if that’s what it takes. Show me how.”
A flash of white teeth. “Let’s start with that place over there.”