Rift in the Sky (22 page)

Under other circumstances, their flight by esan would have enthralled her. In Yena, Aryl had spent fists building models of wastryl wings she'd called fiches; her triumph a shape able to glide great distances on a wind. The esan's two pairs of wings, once opened from their fold over the back, were like those of most flitters, being clear with dark veins. They stiffened like one of her fiches as the esans flung themselves from Vyna's walls, gliding down through the mist toward the platform below. To rise over the mountains, the stiff wings beat in powerful strokes, then began to vibrate in place, like a biter's.

The gliding, Aryl thought with a certain satisfaction, she could do.

The basket suspended between the middle pair of legs wasn't uncomfortable, mostly because Enris held her in his arms. They'd protested when Naryn had been put in one of her own, but the Tikitik were surprisingly gentle with her. There'd been some kind of cushioning within.

Anaj. Her distinct mindvoice made it easy to forget she wasn't standing with them. An oddly familiar voice. Like, Aryl decided, unexpectedly amused, an older Haxel.

“More like my grandmother,” Enris countered, and their esan shook vigorously. His deep voice irritated the creature more than hers.

Mountains swept beneath them, their shapes muted. The sun was hidden behind cloud. She shivered in the chill and Enris rearranged his grip so his warm forearms covered hers. A Tuana's skin must be thicker.
This is much better than my first flight,
he sent cheerfully.
Think they'll let us keep one?

She eyed the body above dubiously. Thin and muscular. An abundance of long bones beneath the skin when it flexed.
Looks tough.

His laugh rumbled through her.
Not to eat, my bloodthirsty little Yena. To carry things. Us, for one.

It wasn't often he managed to shock her.
There are machines for that
, she countered, and found she quite liked the notion. Machines that weren't Om'ray, that was the problem: the Strangers' aircars, the Oud's version, which required an Oud willing to fly it. Unless . . .
I could ask our Oud for one,
she mused, snuggling against Enris.
We could take it apart, see how it was made, change it to suit us.

We'd need tools, a metal shop.
She'd surprised him in turn, but his clever, bold mind took hold of the idea and began to puzzle at it.

Anything was possible, if they survived this day. On that thought, she opened her shields, let her
inner
sense
reach.
She didn't need the Vyna's revolting intimacy or to intrude into the other's mind. This was her Talent, Aryl thought gratefully, and sought Naryn.

There.
A solitary glow, no longer knotted to another by Joining. Aryl sighed with relief as she traced only the connections natural among Om'ray: Naryn to her, to Enris, to the rest of their kind . . .

... to Anaj.

And you?
Enris sent.
How does it feel in there?

Trust her Chosen to ask what she hadn't dared, Aryl thought with an inner grin, waiting for the answer.

Suddenly, her body felt too small, too warm; the arms about her too tight; the sound of wind and breathing replaced by the POUND of a stranger's heart. She couldn't see, couldn't feel, couldn't taste or smell, could only squirm and struggle futilely against—against—

STOP!
His sending was intended to sting.
That's enough!

You asked.
Not contrite. If anything, the old Adept's mindvoice sounded pleased, as might Haxel after a lesson successfully delivered.

Aryl had been imprisoned within a rastis once; had fought her own inner battle for sanity. The memory tasted like Anaj's sharing: terrified, abandoned, alone. She'd have given anything to have help.
I could try to let you see through my eyes.

Hush, young hothead,
Anaj told him.
I can
hear
if I wish. I don't want to see. I don't want to be here. Bad enough
sensing
where we are.

Where they were was passing over Rayna, aimed at Amna, though Aryl doubted that was their final destination. Sona was farther away every moment, a temptation easy to resist. They couldn't abandon Naryn—or Anaj.
We'll get you to our Birth Watcher as soon as possible,
she promised.

A blinding flash of
AGONY
from Naryn.

The sac opened to the baby's demand. They couldn't allow Anaj's desperation to rip it open inside Naryn. They'd both die.

Anaj, stop, please.
Aryl pulled away from Enris and clenched her hands on the basket rim, trying to see under the other esan, to see Naryn.
If there's a safe way to free you, we'll find it. But it can't be here. You know that.
Healing used Power to push the body's growth beyond normal. Could they hurry a pregnancy?

I will be free.
There was something implacable in the sending.
I don't belong here. I can't survive here.

The Vyna's help was like a rotted rope, Aryl thought bitterly, one that would snap if you trusted it.
Wait, Anaj. Until we're home—

Enris gripped her shoulder, bent to whisper in her ear. “Baby Grandmother knows something of the Tikitik's meeting place.”

Aryl nodded. She forced down her fear for Naryn, concentrated on being Sona's Speaker.
Anaj. Tell me about this place. About the Tikitik.

Frustration.
Cersi has changed. This is no longer
my
time.

The past matters,
Aryl sent, confident of this if anything.
The Tikitik pay attention to it. Om'ray must. You warned me about the swarm in baskets. It's something they've done before.

Yes.
Bleak.
That's how they move them to a new grove. Without warning. As if hoping to kill Om'ray. Or Oud. They can't be trusted. They don't think like we do.

They have a purpose,
Aryl sent back, feeling Enris agree.
Thought Traveler said I was a threat to Vyna, that Vyna must be protected.

They won't lie,
Anaj admitted.
Not directly. Confuse and avoid and never say the whole of a thing, always.

Another who'd been Sona's Speaker, Aryl realized abruptly, flattening her palm over the pendant.
You wore this.
Adept and Speaker, like her mother. She let out a sigh of relief.
I need your help—

Remember
what
I am.
Bitter. Bitter and afraid and hollow.
I'm scrapings from when Sona flourished, when we were the largest of the ten Clans. Nothing more.

Ten? There were eight, counting newly restored Sona.

Which are gone?
Enris asked.

A moment's silence. The old Adept must
feel
the change in her world, know what was missing. Aryl held in her compassion; she didn't think Anaj an Om'ray who'd value it.

The other . . .
Anaj's shields tightened, dampening her emotion.
Xrona's gone, too. My sister's second Chosen was from there. Their children had his curls. He'd talk all truenight about his Passage, how he'd climbed through the canopy and dropped his glow when she Called so he had to wall himself inside a giant thorn bush to escape the swarms but nothing would stop him—

‘Second Chosen?'
Aryl interrupted.
I don't understand.

What's to understand?
With a return of the old Adept's asperity.
Her first drowned in the river. Fool never did swim as well as he thought. As for the rest of Cersi—

She survived his death?
Enris, this time.

This time, Anaj hesitated a long moment. Then,
Why does this surprise you?

Aryl steadied herself, then shared her memory of Myris at the instant she was Lost. Enris put his arms around her waist, shared inner
warmth
through their link.
That's why, Anaj,
he sent.
Our Chosen end together. Joining is for life.

Your link does feel different . . . it goes—
startled—
it goes through the Dark as well! How is that possible? What
are
you?

Something new,
Aryl admitted. While the other was off-balance, she sent, with all the
confidence
she could,
Which is why you should trust us, Anaj. Please. We will find a way to help you. Stay where you are. For now.

No answer. For Naryn's sake, she hoped the old one listened.

A whisper in her ear. “I wonder where they were. Xrona. Nena. What is it?” As she stiffened.

“Nothing.” Aryl tried to relax.

But said aloud, she
knew
those names. Marcus Bowman had said them, parts of them. He'd claimed they were Hoveny words, spoke them in an order: Vy. Ray. So. Gro. Ne. Tua. Ye. Pa. Am. Nor. Xro. Fa.

She'd never forgotten the shock of that first time, hearing real sounds come out of his not-Om'ray mouth. Ye-NA. TuaNA. Hearing him say the names of Cersi's Clans.

Eight now. In Anaj's Cersi, ten.

Had there been more once? A Norna? Fana?

What other names did Marcus know?

It was as well for her peace of mind that the drone of the esan's wings ceased just then. The ground began rising. They entered air full of a tangy scent, unlike anything she'd encountered before.

The basket tipped forward with the esan. Eager to see, Aryl leaned well over the edge; Enris grabbed for her belt, holding onto the opposite side. “Careful!”

The esan shook irritably and continued to plummet.

She ignored them both. What was below took her breath away.

Paired curves of white held back an expanse of glittering green-blue water, water that swelled and tumbled and roared toward them in matched lines without beginning or end. The curves edged a flat land, shaped like an open pod and covered in unfamiliar growth. Too even to be a grove, Aryl judged. The land stretched into the water, the border blurred as brown spilled into the water to stain it in thick bands.

The ocean.

She'd heard of it, tried to imagine it, failed. Undrinkable water she could comprehend—the Lay was foul. Unlike the Lake of Fire, the ocean had life; Amna Clan harvested swimmers along its edge. She lifted her gaze.

Like her first view of the sky, of stars at truenight, what she saw made no sense at first. Clouds like puffs of winter breath marched away to the horizon, smaller and smaller until they were dots. There, the water lost all texture, became dark as it collided with the sky and clouds in a ragged edge that refused to let her eyes focus. She could see forever. Too far. Too much.
Enris . . .
now comforted by his hold on her belt, sharing his
awe
at what confronted them . . .
Enris, how big can the world be?

Calm yourselves,
Anaj sent.
What you see is illusion, the mind's trick to fill the emptiness beyond. Om'ray are the world. How could there be anything beyond us?

Not a question she should answer, Aryl decided.

Poor Anaj had enough to bear.

Tikitna.

The mauve-green growth, solid from a greater height, proved to be riddled with gaps as they descended. Some glinted, revealing a multitude of narrow, twisting streams; their brown water was sluggish, as if reluctant to enter the ocean and be lost. Other gaps bustled with movement: Tikitik and their beasts. No structures, but Aryl ran out of time to look. Their esan settled on top of the growth, cracking branches and stretching its long neck to snap and scream at its fellows as they arrived in turn.

“Hang on!” Enris shouted. His voice didn't appear to bother the beast this time. Good advice, Aryl thought, hoping Naryn heeded it. Their basket swung below, still tied to the middle legs. The esan didn't appear to care about that either, continuing to vigorously defend its chosen spot from all comers.

Remind me to stay home next time.
Naryn's mindvoice, steady and, if not strong, then reassuringly normal.

Anaj must have listened, Aryl thought with relief. “I'm going to climb down and find Thought Traveler.”