Rift in the Sky (23 page)

Her Chosen peered over the edge of the basket, probably assessing the height.
You can't do it without a rope,
she sent fondly.

Enris straightened, rocking the basket, and laughed without humor. “Which one?”

“What do you mean?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder; Aryl looked down.

Black Tikitik sat in the lowermost branches of the growths around them. Fifty, perhaps more.

Every wristband she could see bore the symbol that meant “Thought Traveler.”

She really should have changed before leaving Sona, she thought, brushing shreds of green-mauve from her tunic, plucking one from her hairnet. The basket was full of shattered plants, courtesy of the esan's flailing about. She looked like a child caught playing in the canopy. Where was dignity when she needed it?

Probably, Aryl told herself, hiding someplace safe.

“If they all have questions,” her Chosen commented, “make sure they give us lunch first. We missed it.”

Make sure we aren't lunch first,
Anaj added.

Naryn was silent, but let Aryl feel her
confidence
.

They believed in her.

She wished she did.

T
HERE WAS LUNCH. Too much of it, Enris thought queasily. The sinuous stepped construction that was the Tikitik version of a table was crammed with bowls of varying shapes and sizes. Bowls of the revolting dresel jelly, shiny and purple, that Aryl and the Yena prized, bowls of swimmer flesh floating in a brown sauce exactly as his uncle from Amna had remembered for him, bowls of what Anaj proclaimed to be fresh rokly, bowls of this and that, even a bowl of denos cakes, steaming hot.

Sweetpies that might have been his mother's. He tried not to look.

Favorite foods from different Om'ray Clans, some he didn't recognize. Proof the Tikitik knew more about his kind than he did.

Of course, it wasn't only the food and its implications that ruined any appetite he'd had.

It was the audience.

Tikitik surrounded them, silent, attentive. Most squatted on wide branches, branches that curled down to a convenient height, that aligned to provide the best view, that made easy steps to upper levels, that walled away secrets. Overhead, finer growth interlaced to make roofs, with short, stubby leaves tilted to direct sunlight where it was wanted and shade everywhere else.

They'd seen the Tikitik buildings from the air, Enris thought with disgust, and not known it.

These Tikitik were hard to recognize as well. He'd expected them to be mottled mauve and brown to match their surroundings, or black like the Thought Travelers. Instead, their knobby skins blazed with color. Yellow pulsed along pendulous throats. Heads were bright blue and more of that color flared along the short spines of each arm. Eye cones were more variable.

Did they have to come in fleshy pink?

Fur brushed his hand and Enris managed not to flinch. Another loper. The things had no fear or caution. And weren't alone. Everywhere he looked, something moved. All to a purpose. Lopers used their clever paws and teeth to carry objects. What he'd at first thought were biters after his blood—and promptly swatted, to the amusement of the Tikitik—turned out to be busy picking up wastes. An assortment of them had almost finished removing a spill near the denos bowl, flying off with flecks of yellow on their tiny limbs.

Another reason he wasn't hungry.

“Mothers must be strong.” Thought Traveler—the one who'd accompanied them here—stretched its fingers toward the bowls. “Any of these contain what your bodies require. You should eat.” This close, its skin wasn't black, Enris noted, but a blue so dark as to lose its color. The cones were startling white, the eyes themselves black beads sitting on top. To draw attention where it looked? Its mouth protuberances, like those of the rest of its kind, were gray.

As far as he was concerned, those looked more like a meal trying to escape than body parts.

Another reason.

“Something more familiar, perhaps.” A tall gourd stood beside one bend of the table. The Tikitik lifted its lid and indicated Enris should come closer. “Young Oud? These are quite fresh.”

The gourd was full of small pale rocks. Moving rocks.

Young . . . Oud?

Familiar indeed. Remembering that taste, Enris swallowed bile. Never eating again, he decided. Ever.

Naryn eyed the selection, then chose rokly. Enris guessed Anaj had a share in that choice. Aryl merely lifted an eyebrow. “How do you know what we need?”

“We know what everything needs.” Thought Traveler lifted its head. Its smaller rear eyes moved ceaselessly, as if it was as important to keep watch on its fellows as on them. “And that is the last question I will answer in Tikitna.”

By the look on Aryl's face, it wouldn't be the last one she'd ask. Enris kept his smile and his
pride
to himself. It would take more than all of Cersi's Tikitik to stop his Chosen if she saw a path for her people. She didn't seek to lead others—didn't believe herself capable of it. She didn't need to; her vision and courage, the pulse of her extraordinary Power, these drew Om'ray to her, gave them strength.

Other than the Vyna—and maybe, given time, them as well.

If Om'ray were metal, Aryl would glow like a finely crafted knife being tempered by flame. Beautiful, stronger by the moment, deadly if necessary. A sensible Chosen would fear for his life, she so willingly risked hers. Unlike Anaj's sister, he wouldn't survive to Choose again.

He wouldn't have it any other way.

Except . . .

Enris strengthened his shields. Fear for Sweetpie would choke him, then spread to smother them both. Aryl fought her own constant battle with instinct; he could sense it. All he could do to help her was control himself and keep shields between them at the deepest level.

Though something must have
leaked
through. She glanced up at him with those wide gray eyes, a softness in their depths. A loose strand of hair tempted him to touch it.

“Don't miss the sweetpies,” he ordered gravely and took three for himself. He ate them without tasting, enjoying far more her hesitant yet trusting nibble, then dazzling smile as she reached the filling.

“You were right. These are good.”

He brushed a crumb from her chin. “I'm always right.”

The Tikitik stirred around them, hissing softly, some giving their bark. Naryn came back to stand with them, looking uneasy. “Something's happening.”

Aryl nodded. Enris could see nothing but branches and squatting Tikitik. “Lunch” had been waiting for them in an area otherwise identical to where they'd walked from the esan's landing. Paths no wider than his shoulders wound between the low branches, and nothing of the sky could be seen. It was like being inside a living tunnel. A crowded one. And the smell? Between the musk of the Tikitik, the fresh and plentiful droppings of the lopers, and the food, his nose should have been unable to smell another thing.

But it did.

Enris turned his head toward the source, only to find Aryl already gazing the same way. A path, like the others, twisted so they could see very little of where it led. “What is it?”

“Rot. The kind that lies beneath dark water. Something's stirred the bottom.”

The Tikitik surrounding them were no longer restless. Thought Traveler was also still, except for the slide of its eyes. If he had to guess, they waited for the Om'ray to do something. What?

What are they waiting for?
Anaj sounded annoyed.
Why are they keeping us here?

Aryl's full lower lip was between her teeth, her habit when puzzling through a problem. Usually Enris found it set him thinking of things that weren't problems at all; here and now, he felt sudden anticipation.

The lip came free. “I don't believe they are,” she stated. Then,
Come,
as she started walking briskly.

How did he know it would be the path with the rot?

“It could be worse, Naryn,” he assured her as they trailed behind. “There could be climbing.”

There were Tikitik in Aryl's way, their shoulders towering over her head. Enris tensed as she simply walked straight at them, but at the last possible instant, they took a step to the side, raising their heads sharply as if offended.

“You need not accompany Apart-from-All.” Thought Traveler pranced up beside him, clawed feet silent on the soft ground. “Here will is measured, not imposed or opposed. You could stay here and wait in comfort.”

“Our will is to follow our Speaker,” Naryn snapped.

“That is up to you.”

“Alone,” Enris suggested.

A soft amused bark. “But that is up to me, Enris Once-of-Tuana. I find myself with the will to follow. I admit to being curious how Apart-from-All will explain herself.”

Knowing his name didn't make it the same Thought Traveler who'd dropped him in the midst of the Vyna . . .

“As it is my will to return this.”

... the thin leather strap dangled from its three clawed fingers, twisting as the fingers rolled it to and fro did. A knot of hair was tied to it.

The thong was from his pouch; the hair Aryl's gift, a Highknot, as she'd explained it. Yena children, on their first climb away from their mothers, would tie one to the highest point they reached. Accomplishment and a promise to return.

Definitely the one. Enris took the thong from the smug creature and tucked it in a pocket, sensing Naryn's
curiosity
. Or Anaj's. No questions, was it? “I hope you had a better reason to drop me on the Vyna than the fun of watching me die.”

A bark. “This is why I so enjoy our conversations. Consider it a test of Vyna's will. I knew you'd be a temptation.”

He hadn't missed Tikitik gibberish.

“I'm gratified you survived, despite refusing my excellent advice, Enris Now-Sarc,” Thought Traveler continued. “The opportunity for your stimulating company shouldn't be wasted.”

Meaning there'd be no getting rid of the creature. Enris gestured a grim apology to Naryn.

They entered the path. Like the others, it was too narrow to walk side by side, though lopers squeezed past, carrying or dragging bags. Enris let Naryn go first, then put himself ahead of Thought Traveler. Underfoot, a dense twisted growth, like a mat, deadened all sound; its faint spice when trodden on did nothing to counter the miasma of decay. The path's center was lower—worn, he guessed. Otherwise, there was nothing to give a sense of age.

The plants to either side met over their heads. They were inhabited. He could hear Tikitik voices, distant, sometimes moving. Once, the clatter of what could have been dishes. Rustling. The living walls were inhabited, too. More biters-with-tasks; something that seemed to swim through the foliage, stopping to stare at them with its triplet of stalked red eyes; what he assumed were yellow flowers until one jumped to the path beside him in a flurry of limbs and teeth to pin a squealing loper and drag it away to the shadows. Aryl, ahead, didn't turn around. Naryn flinched and walked faster.

“It's necessary to cull the old ones,” Thought Traveler volunteered, raising his voice to be heard over growls and squeals. “They forget their routes.”
Crunching.

Wonderful place. His skin crawled as he imagined all four of the Tikitik's eyes watching for any reaction.

The path kept twisting. All he could tell after the first few turns was that they most often walked toward Amna, its many Om'ray a comfort, if out of reach. Aryl set a quick pace: confident or happier in motion, no matter where she was going. Both, Enris thought fondly.

Maybe their unwelcome companion could be of use. “Is this the way we're supposed to go?”

“Questions are forbidden in Tikitna. They impose will.”

Or maybe not.

What would Aryl do? Though it rankled, with this Tikitik especially, Enris decided to apologize. “I meant no offense. This is an unfamiliar—” ridiculous and highly annoying, “—constraint on our conversation.”

“We don't expect Om'ray to know our ways.” Its head appeared over his shoulder, the nearest cone eye almost touching his cheek, fleshy protuberances brushing his jaw like soft moist fingers. With an effort, Enris managed not to leap away or, what would doubtless be worse, swat the things. “You've never been curious about them before.”

Not a question, Enris realized. Yet it could express interest. He tried to look the other in the eye, without tripping over his feet. “To most Om'ray,” he admitted, “you aren't
real
, so your ways don't matter.”

Another eye swiveled his way. This close, the movement made a sound like chewing on ice. His stomach protested. “You, like Apart-from-All and this other one, no longer need to adjust to our presence. You consider us real, then.”