Rift in the Sky (31 page)

We must know what's happening to the Strangers.
Aryl pulled free, refused to be distracted. Some risks had to be taken. She focused on Marcus. His hands were sure on the controls, as if anger had burned away all fear. Anger at what?

The aircar tipped to one side, answering her question.

No one spoke as they flew past what had been Site Two. Wisps of smoke marked the remains of buildings. Crumbled machines, scorched and useless, lay on what had been the landing ledge.

No one had escaped that way, Aryl thought.

The Hoveny buildings were unscathed. Rock lay shattered around them, mixed with bits of machine, but the structures were as flawless as she remembered.

Marcus did little more than glance at the devastation before turning back to the small screen. A muscle along his jaw twitched. It was the only expression left on his face. He sent the aircar upward again; faster than before.

This time, no talk of taking them home first.

Or of accidents.

Site Three,
Aryl told the others. She didn't know where it was, what it was.

I don't want to meet what could do this,
Naryn protested.

We must.
Enris, as grim as she'd ever felt him. So he shared her dread. Ruthless, coordinated attacks. Technology equal to or superior to that of the Strangers. What chance would Om'ray have, if they became the next targets?

Or Oud.

Or Tikitik.

Courage,
she sent, wishing for more of her own.

Marcus headed away from Grona and Yena, choosing a path that, to Om'ray sense, led to where the sun dropped out of sight, leaving darkness behind. Mountains passed beneath them, a monotonous landscape of ridges and deep valleys, browns and grays. Rarely, a glistening thread marked what must be a river. Proof, Aryl thought, that the world continued beyond Sona's waterfall.

Didn't it?

Uneasy, she turned the bracelet around and around on her wrist.

The proof passed beneath. She could see for herself. The world continued . . .

Didn't it?

Like a branch with hidden rot, the floor of the aircar suddenly grew soft, untrustworthy. She lifted her feet with a cry.

The air she breathed turned too warm, then too cold.

The Human takes us past the end of the world!
Naryn,
fear
leaking past her control. “Turn around!” she shouted. “Take us home!”

Marcus didn't look around. “Almost there.”

Aryl had walked away from her kind before this—so had Enris. They'd been able to leave other Om'ray behind, prided themselves on their strength.

They hadn't gone far enough. Hadn't gone this far . . .

Too far . . .

“Marcus,” she gasped. “Naryn's right. You have to take us back.”

“Site Three here.”

Mountains rose beneath them, the sky squeezed downward, there was no room to breathe, no room for them.

Somehow, she managed not to grab for the controls or the Human's neck. “We—can't—be here!” Hard to form words. To think. “Turn around!”

He turned then, something rousing in his eyes, a spark. “Aryl? What's wrong?” Even as the Human spoke, she knew it was already too late . . . another instant . . . any further . . . they would become . . .
nothing.

NOOOO!!!!!!!!!
the inner scream came from them all. No. It came from outside. It came from everywhere.

She knew that sound.

The M'hir Wind was coming. It blew through the great pipes of the Watchers, set into the mountain. Time for the Harvest. Time for change. She could hear their moaning, feel it through her flesh . . .

Calling her
HOME
.

Aryl threw herself into the M'hir . . .

A
LIVE. THAT WAS GOOD. Surrounded by the warm glow of Om'ray. That was better. A head thudded against his chest, small arms wrapped around him, strong enough to threaten his ribs. Aryl. All was right with the world, then. But . . . how?

The Watchers. He'd heard the drums, felt them. Hadn't he? Had to answer. Hadn't he?

Enris took a shuddering breath. He didn't know about the others, but he most definitely hadn't formed a locate before that desperate 'port
HOME.

Which was . . . where?

He cracked open his eyes, careful not to move. There could be branches involved. And heights, knowing his Chosen.

He sighed with relief. A floor. They were on a floor. In a room.

More than a room.

Enris blinked, and the size and platforms formed into sense. Aryl had shown him images of Sona's Dream Chamber. She must have directed them here, to the safety of the Cloisters.

Where—another blink—they were surrounded by Om'ray.

Too many Om'ray.

Drowning in the glow of his own kind, dizzy with
belonging
, he closed his eyes and fought for calm.

The world had changed shape.

Someone stirred against him. He stretched back a hand, found a knee that pulled itself away.
We're all right.
Naryn, shaken, but aware. And amazed.
Do you feel it? The Power here?

Anaj:
Speak for yourself, child. I'm not the least all right. What's going on?

WE LEFT HIM
!

Aryl.
Hush!
Enris winced.
We have company—

He took Aryl's shoulders; moved her so he could see her face. Oh, he knew that fierce look. It usually preceded an act of spectacularly careless bravery. He tightened his grip. “We can't help him. Not now. He's—” Where did someone go, when they left the world behind? He hadn't understood. None of them had. Human and Om'ray were not the same. The Human's world wasn't theirs.

Couldn't be.

Enris took a deep breath, steadied himself, offered
strength
to his Chosen. “He's gone. And we have company.” Then, as if she was as deaf to other Om'ray as Yao. “Look for yourself,” drawing her to her feet with him.

The chamber was meant to hold an entire Clan.

It now did.

Hundreds stood and stared at one another. No one spoke. Shields were slammed tight.

Not any Om'ray, Enris realized with a jolt. Naryn was right. Power. The white robes of Adepts were everywhere. Even those who weren't shielded their inner selves with confidence.

The fierce look turned to a safer wonder.
What's happened?
“I'm the Speaker,” Aryl muttered aloud. “I suppose I have to say something.”

Enris couldn't help but chuckle. “Good. What, exactly?”

She dug an elbow into his ribs, but the
feel
of her eased slightly. “I'll make it up.” With that, Aryl jumped on the nearest platform.

Everyone turned to look at her. Too small. Too young. Unknown to most. Aryl shouldn't have seemed impressive.

That she was, standing there waiting for their full attention, made him smile.

“Welcome to Sona,” she began. The words—he
felt
as well as heard them. Aryl was sending through the M'hir as well, making sure everyone heard and understood. Preventing panic. Good. Beyond the
pleasure
of being within so many of his kind, Enris was reasonably sure panic would be his next feeling.

Because they shouldn't be here at all. The Sona, maybe. Having the advantage of height, he'd spotted them already, at the near end of the room, a tight knot with Haxel at their core. Perhaps Aryl's desperate 'port had somehow drawn them, too.

Which didn't explain the group of dappled Amna closest to him. Or any of the rest.

Aryl spoke again. “Are there other Speakers here?”

Not what he'd expected.
Why?

Points of movement among the rest, Om'ray stepping aside to let three approach Aryl.

One with a familiar fierce look on her face.

“Hello, Mother,” Aryl di Sarc said, seeming not surprised at all.

Over seven hundred Om'ray had arrived in the Dream Chamber of Sona's Cloisters at once. They'd come from every Clan but Vyna, including three from Tuana who carefully avoided Naryn. Everyone told a similar story: they'd been about their normal affairs when overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness, a need to go
HOME
. They'd
heard
the Watchers in whatever variation existed for their Clan. Descriptions of the M'hir itself varied too; some hardly noticed their journey through it, a few were still shaking. Others thought it a calm and peaceful place.

It might have been, compared to here, Enris thought wryly. Who'd have thought there was such a thing as too many Om'ray in one place? Even Husni had appeared daunted by the bewildering array of strange voices, faces, and clothing. Briefly. Before she and Haxel had taken charge of what they called “the necessities,” enlisting the rest of Sona—more accustomed to dealing with strangers—to assign others to tasks.

There'd been no arguments, no attempts to leave, no fear. Strangest of all, he had to admit, everyone
felt
they belonged here, in Sona. This was their Cloisters, Om'ray whose names they'd yet to learn were their Clan, this was . . . this was home.

Which was fine and natural for Sona's few, but he had yet to grasp why it was so for the hordes of strangers peacefully milling through their Cloisters. They didn't speak of families left behind or of a future anywhere but here. It was as if the assortment of young, old, unChosen, and Chosen had arrived on Passage, committed to live with their new Clan, dead to their old one.

It wasn't possible, Enris decided firmly. None of them had planned this; none of them should have accepted such a drastic change without question.

Not that everyone had. The new Adepts might
feel
Sona as their home as much as any other arrival, but they were curious. They'd gone to the Council Chamber almost at once, to “discuss” the new Sona and discover what had brought them together and how. A discussion that had been going on for tenths.

With Aryl di Sarc.

“. . . scan me if you don't believe what I say. We had nothing to do with this.”

“You had everything to do with it. Maybe it wasn't your intention,” as if a huge concession, “but who here doubts we'd be still in our original Clans if not for your reckless behavior?”

Enris tried not to listen. Chairs. Anything to sit on. That was his job. As if the precious Adepts needed anything more than their rears.

Not his problem.

Aryl depended on him in other ways right now, including keeping his
frustration
to himself.

“Fools,” he grumbled once safely past the Council Chamber doors. “If they'd listen instead of making accusations, they might learn something.”

Of course, most of the Adepts were no longer doing that much. They'd sorted themselves, how he couldn't guess, until the majority sat in their Clans as far from those with Aryl as they could. Which made no sense.

Except for one who'd nipped through the doors after Enris and Naryn, Rayna, by his appearance. While some wore the stiff white robes of their rank, others were dressed in soft layers of bright fabric, with twists of more tied to the bottoms of sleeves and hems to flutter when they walked. Aryl thought it ridiculous to wear something that would not only catch on every twig, but draw attention. A shame, Enris decided. She'd look lovely.

The Rayna themselves were small and slightly built, with skin darker than a Yena's, striking against their fair hair and pale blue or yellow eyes. Their female Chosen left their hair free, but had somehow convinced it to hold colorful fabric twists in loose knots.