Rift in the Sky (14 page)

Gijs and Juo had built a bed platform and roughed a table and bench. For the baby, Haxel, being Juo's closest relative at Sona, had given the Chosen her cloak. The cunning fabric, tightly woven from wing thread, was both light and waterproof. It made a fine hammock.

A touch of home in a place not yet one, Aryl thought, de terminedly looking away. Four of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder by Juo's bedside: she and Seru, Naryn and Lymin di Annk. All pregnant and offering support.

All worried this might happen to them next. That, they didn't say.

Here.
The door opened, cooler air swirling around their ankles. Oswa and Gijs. She looked ready to bolt the other way; he looked desperate.

Juo's eyes were half-shut, her face beaded with sweat. Her hair, freed of its net, lashed futilely at the mattress. She was conscious. And afraid. Her fingers crawled toward her Chosen; he went to his knees and caught her hand in his.

After a quick glance at Juo, Oswa looked to Aryl. “I don't know what you expect me to do.” Her hands twisted in the folds of her jerkin. “I'm no Watcher.”

“You survived Yao's birth,” Naryn said coolly. Her shields were in place; only a trickle of
compassion
came through. And an unsettling
curiosity.
“Tell us how.”

“How?” Under its Grona cap, Oswa's hair fretted.

“Was there anything the Birth Watcher did?” Seru asked eagerly. “Anything you remember could help.”

“She left us to die.”

Terror.
That, from Lymin. She was furthest along. Seru had predicted she'd give birth with or before Juo.

Juo's eyelids snapped open. “Seru—?” She grunted with pain, half sitting up. “What's happening?”

Dread.
That from Seru, her shields almost nonexistent under the wash of emotions. “It's time.”

“We're here,” Aryl said promptly, taking her hand.
Courage, Cousin,
she sent privately.
Tell us what to do.

Seru's fingers tightened fiercely, then released. “Juo, listen to me. Your baby intends to be born. Now. Gijs, help her stand. Remove her clothes. The rest of you, be ready.”

Lymin and Naryn each took a clean square of cloth. Aryl took one as well. They crouched.

Juo stood, legs spread, her distended abdomen rippling with powerful contractions. She threw back her head, teeth clenched in a rictus of effort. Her hair lifted like a cloud. Gijs and Seru stood behind. Her Chosen gripped her shoulders. Seru ran her fingers down Juo's sides, doing her utmost to calm the baby.

With a rush of clear fluid, the birth sac slipped from between Juo's legs. Lymin caught it with a low cry of triumph and wrapped it in her cloth. She carried it to the hammock and laid it gently within.

Seru left Juo to Gijs and Naryn, who each took an arm. Aryl stood by the hammock, looking down with wonder.

The squirming sac was as black as truenight, flecked with starlike patches of pale, torn skin. It steamed in the cooler air.

“Her turn,” Seru said, moving to the other side. This was the moment. The birth sac could only be opened from within, the first independent act of all Om'ray. Fail to take that risk, and the baby would suffocate and die.

Seru's fingers hovered above the sac, then touched gently. The sac went rigid.
Little one.
The
joyful
sending was the most powerful Aryl had felt from her cousin.
Come out and join our world.

Nothing happened. Seru frowned and tried again. More squirming, this time wild and desperate. The hammock swung; Aryl steadied it.

“Call her, Juo,” Oswa whispered urgently. “She wants to find you. She knows your voice, your mind.”

“Do it,” Seru ordered. Juo staggered forward, leaning on Gijs and Naryn. Her breaths were ragged and too shallow. She shivered uncontrollably, despite the blanket they'd thrown around her. It wasn't the effort of birth. Aryl's eyes met her cousin's somber ones. Juo was reflecting the baby's state. If the mother went unconscious . . . only the mother would wake again.

Seru guided Juo's hand to the sac, pressed them gently together. Juo looked up, tears in her eyes. “She's too afraid. She's not listening to me.” The squirming slowed.
Despair!
“We're losing her!”

“No, we won't. Gijs, take her.” Seru placed her hand on Aryl's.
Show me how you reached Yao.
A command.

Aryl sought the M'hir, feeling Seru's mind with hers. Instead of the heave and tear of a storm, the
darkness
was a smothering pressure. About to pull back, to protect her cousin, Aryl suddenly realized it was the other way around—that somehow, Seru's confidence, her serene belief in herself, extended into the
other.
That she was doing
this.

There.
Aryl spotted the glow of another mind in that darkness.
Like Yao.
It floated easily, as if it belonged and the M'hir was as natural a resting place as a bed.

Or a womb.

Little one,
Seru's summons rippled outward.
Come with us. Come to your mother. The wider world is safe. Bright. Fun! We all want you in it.

The glow pulsed with each word, began to rush toward them. Continuing to call, Seru drew herself from the M'hir. Aryl followed, opening her eyes in time to see the sac split open down its middle.

A tiny foot pushed through; a chubby fist unfurled like a flower.

“Thank you, Aryl. Thank you.”

Aryl hugged her cousin. “Sona has the finest Birth Watcher of any Clan.” Seru's answering laugh held a sob of relief.

Breathing easily now, Juo scooped her baby from the sac, and brought her to a full breast.

Wincing, Aryl took an involuntary step back and strengthened her shields. Babies. Gijs couldn't grin any wider without cracking his jaw. For everyone's sake, he and Juo would have to shield their daughter's emotions until she matured. But for now, she allowed him his pride in her obvious Power.

So long as she didn't have to be too close to it.

Happiness and relief spilled outward,
warmth
reflecting back from the rest of Sona. Their first birth. And, from the gusto with which the baby nursed, a determined one.

Seru, who'd started cleaning away the fragments of the sac, paused to smile. She glanced up at Lymin. “Someone else is eager to arrive.”

“Mine? I'm not ready yet. Suen's not. You must mean—” with a cheery laugh, the very pregnant Tuana turned to look behind herself, a hand out in a sweeping wave.

At Naryn.

The silence was as thick as smoke. Before Lymin could gesture apology, before anyone could offer reassurance, Naryn was gone.

She left a trace. Like a distant bell, tolling for the dead.
Grief.

Sona's Birth Watcher went back to tidying the new baby's bed. “Trust me, Lymin, it will be before firstnight. Let Oswa take you home. Tell Suen he will have to try hard to be as helpful as Gijs and that I'll come as soon as I'm finished here.” Aryl noticed the others took comfort from Seru's assured and confident tone, the
calm anticipation
she felt. Her cousin had indeed come a long way.

“Don't worry, Lymin,” Seru went on. “This is why we attend each other's birthings. To see there is nothing to fear.”

Except for Naryn.

Their eyes met. Aryl wasn't surprised to see tears glistening in Seru's.

There were some in her own.

H
AXEL WAITED OUTSIDE the door. “Another like Yao. What's going on?”

A question the First Scout knew full well she couldn't answer. “Maybe nothing is.” Aryl motioned toward the river, and the pair started to walk.

“Maybe it's this place.” Haxel stomped on a paving stone. “These mountains. Where nothing grows. It's not natural for Om'ray.”

“Oswa told me Yao was the first such born to Grona.” Whose Om'ray lived quite well in the mountains, but Aryl didn't add the obvious.

“Well, I don't like it. Om'ray who don't know their place in the world. What will become of them? Can they even become Choosers?”

Surely another question Haxel couldn't expect her to answer.

Yuhas and Galen crossed their path, bringing water to the fields. Each held a thick wood splinter across his shoulders, a jar of water suspended from either end. The wheeled cart Veca and Morla had built required a ramp, something the Sona could spare neither time nor effort to build. Both Chosen were shirtless and sweating, but smiled a greeting. Other Om'ray were climbing up from the river, still others going down.

They couldn't water full-grown plants this way, not and expect an abundant crop.

“No more water from our neighbors. Am I right?”

Trust the First Scout. Had her meeting with the Oud been only this morning? Aryl decided it felt like days ago. Since? Ael and Myris were gone. She'd seen her mother. Watched Juo's baby enter the world.

Odd, how some days were filled with change while others passed without note, as if never lived at all. Aryl pushed her
grief
aside. “The Oud claimed we have enough water for our needs. That we waste what we have.”

“Waste it?” Haxel snorted. “I'd like to pour it down one of their tunnels and then see what they say about water.”

“We have a more urgent problem. Oran's been sending dreams about us—about traveling through the M'hir—to other Adepts.”

The First Scout stopped in her tracks. A hand clamped on her wrist.
How do you know?

Aryl, forced to stop too, tried not to notice the startled looks from those close by. It was the height of rudeness among Om'ray, to turn a public conversation private. But Haxel wasn't wrong.

Taisal told me. She accused us of trying to interfere with Yena. Don't worry. I'll talk to Oran first. With Enris,
she finished dutifully, though his presence in her mind was thankfully preoccupied.
We don't know how she's doing it yet.

You went there. To Yena.
An undercurrent of
longing.
For an instant, Aryl thought Haxel, who hadn't the Power for such a long 'port, would demand she take her to the canopy. But the other Om'ray only tightened her grip, until her fingers dug into bone.
Because of Myris. That was foolish.

Haxel let go, her shields tight. Her eyes were stunned, as if she hadn't understood the sending, then abruptly sharpened, as if she did, more than Aryl knew. But all she said was, “There's no one to cook at the Cloisters. Oran will be back for supper.” A squint at the sun. “Two tenths till firstnight.” The First Scout glanced back to Aryl, the jagged scar drawn white. “Let her enjoy the meal,” mild. Almost serene. “It will be her last at Sona.”

Naryn did not want company. From the roadway, Aryl could feel the
warning/preoccupied/don'twantyou
blend of emotions her friend let through her shields. Reluctantly, she turned back.

A short while later, she found herself waiting by what the Sona optimistically called the New River. “River,” Enris had informed her, was not the right word for something she could leap across. Or that Ziba could wade without getting wet above her knees. But the Yena had no other word for traveling water, the Grona didn't care, and those Tuana with an opinion—other than Enris—thought if it was supposed to be a river, it should be called one.

Whether it was or not.