Reap the Wild Wind (22 page)

* * *

She did rest. The dresel coursing through her system satisfied a craving she’d had so long, she’d forgotten. Knowing she was being treated with the same care lavished on Tikitik mothers was— if not reassuring, for Aryl didn’t know what that meant— at least sounded better than being a prisoner or food in storage. Rather than strain her eyes against the darkness, she closed them. Really, it wasn’t that bad standing up inside a stalk. The bindings were rather comfortable, in a limb-numbing way.
Aryl.
Taisal’s sending was strained, as if she used all her strength. Aryl immediately sent her own thought flying to meet it, the result a sure, solid link within the wild darkness of the
other
. She was too grateful to be alarmed by her growing control, grateful not to have been abandoned.
Here.
Then she sensed enclosing walls, a steady light. Her mother was at ease, though her legs ached.
You’ve returned to the Cloisters.
A moment’s discomfiture.
Haxel insisted. Her scouts will watch for any Tikitik, to summon their Speaker.
No one was coming for her.
Aryl fought an irrational despair. She understood. No one could come. Yena’s resources were stretched to the breaking point. There was no one to spare. The distance was too great.
She’d given her mother— which meant Council and the Adepts— a way to watch her from safety.
She understood that, too.
What do they want?
The Speaker, preparing for negotiation. Her mother did love her, Aryl thought, rather numb. There were simply priorities attached.
I saw the strangers,
she sent.
Startlement. Clearly, this wasn’t what Taisal had expected.
Aryl’s lips twitched in a half smile her mother couldn’t see. Probably, she decided, just as well.
Did you think they took me because of what I did to Bern?
The hollow feel in the
other
was answer enough. No wonder Taisal had been frantic to find her, and Council willing to risk its Speaker. They must have believed the worst. Aryl found herself without sympathy.
Who did you see? Where?
Words weren’t enough. Aryl deliberately let her mind dwell on those moments high in the nekis, her glimpses of the black creature and the one who wasn’t Om’ray— yet was. She felt the images leap from her mind.
An answering shock flashed through the
other
.
How are you doing this?
Her next-to-be Forbidden Talent? Aryl kept the thought and its suddenly bitter taste private.
It doesn’t matter. These are the strangers, Mother,
she sent.
They must be. They have a flying machine like the device at the Harvest. The Tikitik must plan to ask me questions about what I saw.
A waiting stillness. They remained linked, mind to mind, within the
other place
. Then, with an underlying reluctance,
Or the Tikitik assume this Om’ray-seeming stranger is one of us. You were in the same grove. They may suspect you share some connection.
One of us? He wasn’t real,
Aryl reminded her mother. Perhaps the memory hadn’t been complete.
Taisal must have felt her incredulity.
Pay attention, Daughter. Not all the world is defined by Om’ray. There is a secret task set Adepts when they accept the ‘di’ and that is to watch for change in our neighbors as well as ourselves. We listen for their Power; we taste their reaction to ours. That is why we believe the Tikitik cannot sense our inner presence. As they are unreal to us, we are unreal to them.
It was like the long, confusing arguments about the source of Power and the shape of the world her mother used to have with her father at truenight. They’d trade obscure phrases until Aryl wearied of pretending to listen and went to bed. But she wasn’t that young anymore. Somehow she knew her mother— no, the Yena Speaker— was trying to educate her quickly, give her what she could to help understand those who’d sealed her in the nekis.
They can’t tell us from the stranger?
she ventured.
They can’t tell the stranger from us.
Foreboding.
Whatever he does, the Tikitik could blame on Om’ray as well.
Aryl finally felt some empathy for the old ones on Council. Not only did they have to worry about the future of Yena while concealing a growing number of Forbidden Talents from their own kind, as well as the Tikitik— now they faced a new kind of being they’d never imagined existed.
Taisal had shared this, and her reply held an undertone of laughter.
I doubt they feel as ancient as you think them, Daughter. Now rest— it’s almost truenight.
Concern.
Will you be safe?
Would she? The chamber seemed to press in on all sides; the lack of light a danger signal to any Yena. If she thought about her body, it itched and ached in so many places she’d lost count. Still, the Tikitik viewed this as a safe place and she could hardly argue. Where was safer than inside a rastis?
I’m safe.
The word should have meant sitting at the finely polished Sarc table . . . listening to wysps through the gauze . . . Aryl sighed with longing.
Then,
sleep, little one. It’s late. I’ll get you home.
With that, their connection was severed. Her mother’s skill within the other was growing, too.
Sleep? Nothing was further from her mind. Frustrated, Aryl struggled to free herself but succeeded in nothing more than growing warm and aggravating one shoulder. However she was wedged or tied in place, it wasn’t coming loose without outside help.
She could shout— the Tikitik seemed attentive. She could claim an injury. Certainly she needed a bath. She drew breath to call the creature and then hesitated, unsure why.
Something. Some sound.
She leaned her head forward again, and held still. Slowly, her heart settled.
It was like soft rain, at first. But the beat— it was more organized, almost rhythmic. It came closer, grew louder. Like feet running down a bridge, only more feet than were possible at once.
More and more. An unending procession of hurried steps, as if their owners couldn’t delay, couldn’t wait.
Then the first screams came, muffled through the wood.
Aryl jerked back, her eyes wide in the dark.
It must be dark outside as well. Truenight. When the Lay’s most dreaded hunters swarmed from the water in their millions, to climb every buttress, stalk, and trunk.
They were climbing her rastis. She could hear them. Thousands upon thousands of feet. The worst death she could imagine was a layer of Tikitik spit away.
Her mother’s party had had glows, Aryl told herself. They’d been high. Too high for the swarms. Haxel knew how to survive. They’d have watched for aerial hunters, but they’d been safe from swarms.
While she had Tikitik spit.
The laugh burst from deep inside her.
The sound, strained and too loud, scared Aryl more than the drumming feet. She pressed her lips together, used her teeth to hold them, tasted blood and kept biting. She couldn’t lose control. Not over her mind.
She wouldn’t.
The lonely battle. That was what Om’ray called it, this struggle with oneself.
Children were taught its methods; unChosen practiced them into habit. The Chosen learned ways to accommodate that mind forever Joined to theirs, but this war was always fought alone. A race able to share thoughts was only as sane as each individual mind. There were reasons the Adepts cared for the Lost or the mind-damaged. Only their Power could control that of another. Only they had the strength and training to protect the inner whole that was Yena.
Aryl struggled to focus on the here and now, however frightening. To retreat into the false comfort of memory, or worse, let
what-was-Aryl
be lost in the
other place
would be defeat. There was no one here to pull her back from either abyss.
Instead, she counted heartbeats. She counted distant screams. She imposed order on the world and insisted on being part of it.
When at last she unclenched her jaw, swallowing blood, and licked her swollen lips, she knew she’d won. She was terrified— but she had sane reason to be. All that remained was to stay calm until dawn, and hope the Tikitik were prompt in unsealing her.
Truenight had never seemed so long.

Chapter 18

“I
S THIS YOU?”
Facing the light as if she were one of Costa’s plants, Aryl squinted at the silhouette of a second Tikitik. The first had removed more than half the door sealing her within the rastis— to her great relief— before standing to one side for this sudden question. “Is what me?” she asked, trying to see what her visitor held.
The creature moved to block the brightness. Now she could make out the strip of white cloth between its hands, inscribed in black with one of their symbols. No. Aryl’s eyes widened in surprise. It was the tiny curve and dot she’d put on her drawing, rendered larger. “Yes,” she said, wondering that the Tikitik had understood her intention. “That’s— it means something I did.”
“Good.” Tucking the cloth into a belt, it took a blade and approached. Aryl tensed, but all the creature did was cut her arms free from whatever had held them against her body. She hissed in pain as her arms flopped loose and useless; eight eyes riveted on her immediately.
“I’ll be okay,” Aryl told them, hoping it was true.
They had kept her safe, as promised. She’d listened to screams until falling asleep; was roused by the drumming of feet as the Lay’s hunters returned to the water with their mouthfuls of flesh.
It hadn’t been long after that— though time seemed to move oddly— before the first holes had appeared before her face, streaming with glorious light. She’d never imagined being glad to see something so ugly and strange as a Tikitik.
Now the new one took her right arm by the elbow, gently lifting it. Aryl watched in fascination as it neatly wrapped the ink-decorated cloth around her forearm and wrist so the symbol was displayed, slipping the loose ends under a fold to secure it. “What is this for?”
The Tikitik showed her the cloth around its wrist, the symbol much more ornate. “You are no animal, to go unnamed.” It backed a step back to allow its fellow to continue breaking open the chamber “door,” a process involving its fingers. The blue material crumbled away with deceptive ease. With that grip, she judged, they should be able to climb anything.
But there was a more pressing matter. “Go where?” Aryl asked anxiously. She was far enough from home now. “Are you taking me back to— oomphf!” this as a final restraint gave way and she fell forward, every muscle in her body locked in spasm.
The Tikitik were ready, catching her in their dry, cool arms. Aryl trembled helplessly, horrified at their touch, expecting at any moment to have one of the creatures force its flesh into her mouth and send her into unconsciousness again. They merely lifted her to her feet, her body and arms in a strong but gentle hold, and waited for her to be able to stand. “Th-thank you,” she managed, blinking away tears. She was free!
As Aryl began to regain control over her body, she felt the
other
suddenly close; Taisal, wanting contact. She risked a quick
Later
— afraid to be distracted.
“Do you need nourishment?” A third Tikitik approached, carrying a bowl of dresel large enough to feed three families. Behind it, Aryl could see the other chambers remained sealed. Or had been resealed. How long did the “Sacred Mothers” endure captivity?
And why?
She pulled at her arms, and the creatures released her. “Yes.” Gesturing gratitude before dipping her fingers in the bowl was likely pointless, but she felt better for the courtesy.
Two left as she licked her fingers. The one who’d given her the cloth band remained, all its eyes on her as she stretched with care. Aryl finished by bending forward to rest her palms on her feet, then rolled her back upright again. She wanted to groan with relief, but was acutely aware of her audience. “That’s better,” she said.
“You recover quickly,” it commented. “Good. We will go soon.” It hesitated, then bobbed its head twice. “The other cloth you wear. Is it something you need?”
Surprisingly tactful. “I need to be clean,” she said, making a face. Filthy as she was after a day trapped, she’d rather be naked in the rain; it wasn’t a choice, not with biters that liked Om’ray already making their presence known. “Is there water I can use? To wash my clothes and myself?”
A long, knobby arm reached past her to point. Aryl half-turned. Behind her rastis, the ground slipped into still black water. Water that wasn’t still for long, as something beneath its surface surged hopefully up and down again.
“Not that much water,” she clarified breathlessly.
The Tikitik gave its soft bark. “There will soon be much more than this, Om’ray. But I understand.” It beckoned to another of its kind. “This humble one will wash you.”
From the way its small front eyes rolled, the “humble one” wasn’t any happier about this than Aryl.

* * *

Are you sure you’re all right?
Aryl considered several possible replies; none suited the moment.
Yes. They’re responsible hosts and respectful. I’ve no complaints.
None that she’d share. The Tikitik’s wash had produced admirable results. Her skin was so clean every bite and thorn hole showed in exquisite detail. Her hair, free of soil, was free in truth. The braided net hadn’t been returned and the result flew loose around her head and in her face. Her clothes? The undertunic was clean and intact, for what it was worth, since it went only to her knees. The wraps for her arms and legs had disappeared. Those, the Tikitik could replace and did. Their cloth was finer in weave, so those were an improvement.
Otherwise? She really and truly didn’t want to know any more about the cold, flat, and thoroughly slimy creatures the Humble One had slapped over every part of her naked body. They’d pulsed and scraped and giggled to themselves as if she’d been a feast. When Aryl had tried to pull them off, the Tikitik had quickly prevented her, saying only the “wash” wasn’t done.
When it was, the giggling stopped and the creatures dropped to the ground around her feet. The Tikitik had carefully collected them in a bag.
Where are they taking you?
Aryl collected her thoughts.
I don’t think the Humble Ones know. The leader isn’t back yet.
Is it the Speaker?
With a rush of anticipation.
I didn’t see the pendant. The others take its orders.
Those others sat to either side of her on the damp ground, large eyes closed as if they slept. Their small eyes, however, were wide open. These bent on their cones as often to gaze at her as their surroundings. Guards or protectors— the result was the same.
Send to me when you know more.
Aryl felt their link thin; Taisal was leaving her. Involuntarily, she
reached
.
Don’t go
, she pleaded.
Not yet.
Taisal struggled, but Aryl’s hold was too strong.
Release me!
With the command came a distress close to fear.
She relaxed her grip at once, horrified at what she’d done.
I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—
I know.
Her mother was still there, though her mindvoice was distant and cold.
But have a care, Aryl. Do you think it’s easy for me in the Dark? Do you think it’s safe?
She hadn’t, Aryl realized guiltily, thought about it at all, too grateful for a familiar voice. Taisal had almost been Lost. Having felt the almost irresistible pull of the
other,
its lure to dissolve herself in its darkness, she should have understood how hard this was for her mother.
Her hands gestured apology, even as she let Taisal’s mind slip away from hers.
The Tikitik on her right opened its hind eyes, its neck bending to orient its face toward her with stomach-turning ease. “Do you require something?”
“I need to walk around,” she said truthfully. “Stretch my legs. Do you understand?”
That bark. “I understand that my legs need to not stretch for a change. Do not go far.”
A joke— or at least humor she could grasp. Aryl got to her feet and stood looking down at the two creatures.
They had no more weapons than she. Their knobby skin was thicker, affording more protection from small biters, but hardly a barrier to anything with teeth. They couldn’t have stayed outside through truenight and survived the Lay’s swarms.
Could they?
“You are not walking around,” observed the Tikitik. “Do you require something?”
“Where were you last night?”
A drop landed on its face and four eyes blinked together. Another hit Aryl. She didn’t bother looking up. She could smell the rain above.
“We were here,” it said at last. “Our place is with the Sacred Mothers. There are many dangers.” It tapped the back of her hand with one finger. “Om’ray know of fire.”
Aryl couldn’t tell if the cryptic statement was a warning or simple fact. She did wondered if Taisal had known why Tikitik couldn’t tolerate fire within the groves, or if her threat had been a lucky guess. “There are many dangers,” she agreed, “including what comes from the water in the dark.” She pointed toward the Lay, its waters too close for any peace of mind. “I heard— I could hear the swarms climb.”
The one with two eyes shut barked.
“As they should,” said the first. “They have their work to do.”
“Work?” Aryl repeated, sure she’d misunderstood. “They kill everything they find!”
Its head lifted as if in surprise. “Of course. The swarms clean the groves of what would harm the rastis. That is their function. By so doing, they protect both the Harvest and our Sacred Mothers. Why else would we have made them?”
She took a step back. “What do you mean . . . ‘made them?’ ”
Both Tikitik barked, their eyes open, as if she entertained them. “We made everything here, little Om’ray. Did you not know? Our needs.” An expansive gesture. “All this.”
Rain began to rustle its way through fronds and leaves, big drops thumping against the ground, splashing in the swamp.
Aryl stared at the Tikitik. “You didn’t make us.”
One hissed. The other raised its head sharply, the fleshy protuberances of its face flailing about as if it wanted to smother her again.
“You didn’t make us,” she insisted, unsure why that mattered so much to her. They could be teasing her— making fun of a stranger. Why believe the creatures anyway?
But she did. With a sense of her world shifting into something unutterably alien, she did.
“No. We did not make you.” This was followed by a long, venomous-sounding hiss. “We endure you.”
She eased back on her right leg. The rain plastered her hair against her cheeks, produced puddles at her feet. The Tikitik endured that, too, she noticed numbly, their skin easily shedding moisture, their eyes blinking more quickly.
In an instant, the rain became deluge, erasing the creatures from view. Aryl spun on her heel and sprinted for the nearest stalk, hands out to find and take a grip. Four strides, slipping through the mud and debris. Five. Six. Let her climb— they couldn’t catch her. She didn’t care what else did.
Three strides short of her goal, she slammed into something huge and warm, something that grunted in her face with righteous indignation and awful breath as she rebounded to fall on her back.
Something that lifted her into the air before she could scramble up to run.