Rift in the Sky (26 page)

Curious, she wanted to touch them; she didn't, and warned the others. These were somehow sensitive to something other than light, making the esask a predator of truenight as well.

As if truenight needed more.

The esasks set their order. Hers quickly caught up to Thought Traveler's and persisted in staying alongside. Enris followed, Naryn's trailing behind his where she couldn't see her. Naryn
felt
confident. The substantial body hair, however uncomfortable against bare skin, did offer a good grip; the creatures moved smoothly. The water in the stream's midst came no higher than their scaled bellies.

Nonetheless, a fall from even this low height—

I call this prying.
But she smiled to herself.
Do you think she's all right?

Which one?
She felt him grow distant and waited. A moment later,
Anaj says you know what to do, and I should leave you in peace. Also that she's most emphatically not interested in what's happening at the moment so long as Naryn sits up straight, so would I leave her in peace, too.
There was a growing
fondness
to his sending, as if something about the Old Adept's feisty nature appealed to him.

She imagined him looking to the side, where very few paths broke the solid vegetation. Up was the same. The sun shone through the occasional gap, a gap that revealed the plant buildings had more than tripled in height. The water itself was sluggish with mud and scraps of floating vegetation. With the occasional v-ripple against the current she didn't bother mentioning.

“We approach the Makers' Touch.”

Aryl started, having grown used to Thought Traveler's silence. She swallowed her question and waited.

An eye swiveled her way. “The Makers' Touch is where Cersi's name was carved into the world's skin by its creators. All Tikitik come here at least once. It's supposed to encourage strong progeny. Some believe . . .” A pause.

She could swear it looked smug. The despicable creature knew how hard it was for her not to ask. Aryl gritted her teeth.

“. . . most do not,” it continued. “But we won't kill each other here, which makes it a useful place. Tikitna was built over the generations to house those who come to trade, to exchange information, and, of course, what's most important of all, to explain themselves in such a way that those listening won't kill each other upon leaving.”

From no information to an ominous tangle of it. Thought Travelers were consistent. “I'd rather know what you want from me,” she pointed out, keeping her voice level with an effort, “than the consequences.”

“The consequences stay the same,” it countered, “while only you, Aryl of Sona, know what needs explanation.”

It had her trapped; by the serene cant of its head, it knew. By not asking questions, by giving her nothing more than the opportunity to speak, the Tikitik left her no way to judge how much explanation would be enough.

Aryl fell silent, inwardly and out, watched the stream for ripples, and wondered for the hundredth time if they wouldn't be better to 'port home now, admit the reality of it, and be done. What stopped her?

Taisal's reaction. Her mother refused to accept moving through the M'hir, for herself, for Yena. She'd warned trying to spread this knowledge would divide Om'ray into those who could and those who could not—and worse, those who would not. They needed a place like this, Aryl thought desperately. A place where she could explain her ideas and others would have to listen in peace.

Have to? That was the other lesson here, she thought suddenly, staring at Thought Traveler. What gave her the right to impose her will on all Om'ray? Was she so sure 'porting through the M'hir was the only possible future?

Nothing . . .

And yes.

The plants that encompassed the stream abruptly spread apart, creating an entry every bit as impressive as the ceremonial doors in a Cloisters. Flowering vines framed it—not flowers, Aryl realized, as the bright red suddenly dropped away, to reveal themselves as flitters rising and circling into the vast opening beyond.

To announce their arrival?

The esask continued forward, its feet silent in the water. For water floored the space ahead. Living wood, taller than any she'd seen here yet, arched high above and met in a weave of branches tight enough to bar the sun. Glows provided light, glows like any at Yena—except these were underwater.

Dark, murky water flowed around the outside edge, blurred, and escaped through the weave of plant structures that surrounded the open space. It was kept from mixing with the water in the center by a barrier of—she had no name for the material from which it was made. The top edge, the width of her hand and polished, barely rose above the water. What she could see of it was as clear as a Cloisters' windows. The water in the center—“It's like the Lake of Fire,” she said involuntarily.

Thought Traveler bobbed its head. Agreement or surprise—she couldn't tell.

Like that lake, this water was impossibly clear. From the esask's back, she could see to what had to be the bottom of the world, lit by floating glows somehow held at varied depths. That bottom was pale and smooth, with muscular curved lines like the flow of an impossible river, a river that didn't move.

He surprised her with a calm answer. “Melted rock, gone cold and solid again.” His esask and Naryn's moved up beside hers, then all three mounts stopped, perhaps because Thought Traveler's had. “I saw the same outside Vyna. Melted rock used to make a dam. I thought they'd made it.” She felt his
unease.

Made. The barrier was a made thing, too. Aryl let her gaze follow its shape, how it outlined the clear, lit water. Inward there, out again. Another sharper curve. On the far side, narrowed to no more than a few strides wide, wrapping back around to almost touch the larger portion. Another such protrusion, circle back, and narrowing. Around it all, the brown muddy, natural stream. “It's a symbol,” she said in amazement. The full shape would be more obvious from above, but still . . . it looked familiar.

She twisted to look at Thought Traveler's wristband. The paired wavy lines meant “traveler”; the trio of widening circles, “thought.” The rest of the complex markings she'd been told represented important names and tasks from an individual's “kin-group.”

One, set by itself above the rest. One that matched the shape she saw here.

Four eyes locked on her. Then, a long clawtip touched the shape. “Cersi.”

“CERSI!! CERSI!! CERSI!!” Aryl and the others looked up at the cries. There you are, she thought, very carefully not reaching for her knife. All the Thought Travelers who'd preceded them.

And more. From the overlapping voices, more Tikitik than she'd known existed.

Interwoven branches roofed the huge space. Thin shapes walked within its shadows, bold with color or shadow-black themselves. Some lay flat, dangling an arm, the tasseled end of a sash. Others sat with feet hanging through. All at a height she envied.

To see this, she realized. The symbol for Cersi. The name of their shared world. “Can—I want to go up there,” she told their Thought Traveler, changing from a question just in time.

“No, you don't,” Enris objected.

“Some other time,” Aryl said, gesturing a discreet apology to her Chosen. He was right. She shouldn't think only of herself, not now.

Though this structure—it was the first thing about Tikitik she envied, the first indication of something common between them and—if not Om'ray—then those Clans who lived high in the canopy. Yena. The long-ago Xrona.

The echoes of “Cersi, Cersi” were swallowed by the still, humid air. The canopy was like that, the warmth of midday stifling sound.

Then her esask stamped its foot. Slowly. The result was more expanding ring of ripples than splash. With a sidelong twist of its long neck to stare at Thought Traveler's. Which did the same.

If they started squabbling like esans, Aryl intended to smack hers. Though maybe that would make it crouch—not a good idea, away from any solid surface other than the narrow barrier. Not a good idea at all.

Thought Traveler, this one, continued to watch her with all four eyes. For once, the protuberances writhing around its mouth stilled. Waiting, she thought. For what? She hoped it wasn't another staring game; she may have won the first, but she'd looked into its face more than anyone should.

“Aryl. Aryl!”

She glanced over her shoulder to see the esasks of Naryn and Enris moving away. Naryn looked desperate. Enris, grim-faced, had his big hands on the short-bristled hair of his, pulling hard enough to raise its neck. The creature opened its toothed mouth in a soundless protest, but kept walking.

“There is food and drink,” Thought Traveler informed her. “An opportunity for cleanliness.”

Having experienced the Tikitik's notion of a bath—which involved the application of
things
to bare skin that ate any dirt, as well as some skin—she hastily called out to the others, “It's all right. They're offering more food. Just don't take a bath.”

Enris drummed his heels into the sides of his poor esask, kept pulling.
I WON'T LEAVE YOU.

Must you shout?
Anaj's mindvoice, with a pronounced
snap
of
irritation. Let the Speaker do her work! You Chosen can be such a nuisance.

As this was unlikely to do more than increase
her
Chosen's resolve, Aryl turned to the Tikitik. “I thought you wouldn't impose your will on others here.”

“I do not.” With a bark of amusement. “It is their choice to stay on the esasks. Or not.”

“Or not” meant the water. None of them could swim; no telling what hunted beneath the muddy surface.

You must go,
she sent to Enris, with all her
love.

He stopped punishing his mount, but his shoulders were hunched.

Stubborn, annoying Tuana.

By this point, their esasks were between the wide lower supports of the outer wall, brown-and-black bodies merging with the shadows.

Aryl wasn't the least surprised when her Tuana, who so hated climbing, stood on the back of his moving esask, caught his balance with a wild swing of his arms, then leaped to one of the wide overhanging branches. Tikitik scurried out of his way. Not the most graceful landing. He hung half over the branch, kicking the air, then hauled himself up by brute force.

She was a little surprised when Enris reached down to pull Naryn up with him. Their esasks disappeared into the shadows, probably relieved.

I'm always right,
he sent smugly, taking a seat.
What's next?

As if it somehow heard, Thought Traveler smacked his esask. As it lowered itself into the water, hair spreading around it, the Tikitik stepped from its back to the barrier and began to prance along that edge, one foot ahead of the other, clawed toes spread to hook over the sides.

If she hadn't been close enough to see the barrier, she'd have believed it walked on water.

Its right side was bathed in soft light, filtered up from the clear depths; its left was shadowed and cast a dark reflection that jostled and moved over the dark, turbid stream. Things rose to that reflection, snapped at it, thought it prey. Things she didn't want to see more closely, like what lived within the Lay Swamp and devoured Yena's husks.

Her heart began to pound in great, heavy beats.

Her esask stomped the water, impatient to join its fellow now wandering after those of the other Om'ray. The Tikitik hissed to each other and leaned down, eyes catching fire from the lights below. The smell of wet wood mixed with that of stirred rot.

Gorge rose in her throat.

Enris might have held her, so
real
was the sensation of his strong arms around her, his breath in her ear, his warmth.
You won't fall.
Not teasing, not a goad. What he truly believed.

A ground dweller's opinion. This was no healthy branch or trusted braid of rope. The Tikitik, superb climber that it was, stepped carefully and used its long clawed toes, a natural advantage. At a guess, the smooth surface was slick with moisture. There'd be no second chances if she lost her footing, no grasp for safety.