Rift in the Sky (34 page)

Makers.

No chance of sleep with that word in her head. She'd told the others about Tikitna, including the Makers' Touch and her promise. Amna and Rayna had the Tikitik for neighbors; their Speakers had grown quiet as she
shared
, too quiet. They'd gestured approval when she finished. Approval, but beneath, in every mind, shivered the same
apprehension.

How would the Tikitik react to the new Sona? How would the Oud?

The Adepts, no surprise, dismissed the Strangers and the destruction of their camps as irrelevant.

They were wrong, but Aryl didn't waste her time trying to convince them, not when she couldn't offer more. Where was Marcus? He'd promised to contact her. Did he find promises impossible to keep as well?

Was he . . . ?

She struggled to quiet her thoughts, to keep her mind as still as her body; Enris, at least, should rest. Husni had imposed this effort on them all. Being eldest, other than Anaj, she'd even quelled the Adepts. Hadn't hurt that she'd brought their fretful, overtired children into the Council Chamber to make that announcement.

Aryl smiled to herself.

Makers. The Tikitik. Whatever their connection to Om'ray, Aryl knew Thought Traveler would come. It would demand to know the worth of her promise. She couldn't force the others to leave. She didn't know what she could say.

I didn't have to.
He might have been pressed, warm and comforting, along her back, instead of lying on the floor. Enris was, unfortunately, too big for a bench.
You need to relax. What should we name Sweetpie?

Of all the odd . . .
You know perfectly well the Cloisters will give her a name when she's added to the records.
Seru had insisted Juo and Lymin should introduce their babies to Sona's later today. It would ease tension for them all.

Her Chosen was amused. And more awake than ever.
You? Follow tradition? Sweetpie deserves more than the next name on a list.

He tried to distract her. Aryl stroked the gentle swell at her waist and let him.
How else would you name a child?

Hesitation and a certain
shyness.

She grew intrigued; not such a casual topic after all.
You've a name in mind?

A Tuana name. His mother's.
Ridersel di Sarc.
Aryl mouthed the words to herself.
If you like. It's better than Sweetpie
.

Aryl!
Feigned outrage. His
joy
ran through her bones.

She smiled and thought of a deep, lingering kiss.
Sleep.

Her hair slipped over her bare arm. Aryl brought a fistful of the soft stuff against her cheek.
With that.

The sun rose over Amna, spilled its light across the world, and nothing else, Aryl thought, was certain today.

“You tell the children there's no breakfast! Haxel has to listen!”

All right. Maybe one thing. She shook her head at her indignant cousin. “Seru. We can't risk going to the mounds for supplies before the scouts report back. You know that.”

“Then they can bring something back.”

Enris, walking beside them, chuckled. “I'd help.”

He'd come to tell her Haxel and her scouts were preparing to leave for Sona. Aryl had excused herself from the Adepts—already up and deep in discussion. Last 'night, Enris had
shared
what little they knew about the Strangers' troubles with the First Scout. According to him, she'd taken the news very calmly.

That couldn't be good, Aryl fussed to herself. She had to talk to Haxel first.

As for food? If Haxel expected trouble, her scouts wouldn't carry packs, empty or otherwise. “Being hungry won't hurt them. Or you,” to her Chosen.

“It will hurt Naryn and Anaj,” Seru declared, green eyes flashing. “They're weaker than the rest.”

“I don't need—”
We'll be fine, child—

Once assured Naryn's pregnancy was “normal,” Seru had put herself firmly in charge. Now she was unmoved by either the former's sharp temper or the Old Adept's superior tone. “I'll say what you need and what's fine around here.”

Aryl hid a smile. How her cousin could think of Anaj as an unborn she couldn't begin to guess. For her part, she was constantly tempted to look for the Old Adept, so
real
and strong was her
inner
presence. She imagined her standing straight, the only sign of age the wrinkles playing around keen eyes and firm lips. With hair confined by metal links.

Even Naryn, who'd shed Oran's filthy robe for a mismatch of clothing from several different Om'ray, appeared cowed by Seru's determined responsibility. “We slept,” she offered.

“I'll mention the food,” Aryl said hastily.

Gesturing gratitude, Seru smiled. Before she turned back, she reminded them. “Don't forget the naming ceremony. At firstnight. Cetto's agreed to speak for the new ones. Don't be late.” As if nothing could matter more.

Life as it should be, Aryl thought, warmed by gratitude of her own. That's what Om'ray like Husni and Seru gave the rest. “We'll be there,” she promised.

Ridersel,
Enris sent privately.

I'll let you tell her,
she replied, amused when his
smug
faded to mock
dismay
.

They reached the section of pale yellow corridor marked by dusty footprints. Ahead, the tall arched windows to either side of the metal doors were obscured. They didn't bother cleaning them. Fresh dust arrived with every breeze, spattered into sticky rounds when a stronger wind carried droplets from the waterfall beyond the grove. Only the frames on the walls looked as bright as they had in Yena, with their inexplicable arrangements of rectangles and disks. A puzzle for another day, Aryl told herself firmly.

Haxel leaned against one of the doors, arms folded. Syb, Veca, Gijs, and Yuhas, along with four of the Tuana runners, stood nearby. Only Sona. All were armed as if going after stit lers, with extra longknives in their belts. All were waiting.

For her? Aryl slowed. “What's wrong?”

The First Scout rolled her head, leaning an ear against the door. “Listen.”

Aryl walked forward, put her ear to the chill metal.

Marcus. It had to be. Eagerly Aryl grabbed for the door.

Haxel blocked her way. “It isn't your friend.”

“How do you know?”

By way of answer, the other pulled her knife and rapped the hilt on the metal.

SMACK!
All but Haxel jumped back as a huge dark form crashed against the nearest window and slid down out of sight. “It doesn't like that,” she said calmly, replacing the knife in its sheath.

An Oud.

Knocking on their door, as it had on the Human's.

“It's a Visitation,” Aryl heard herself say in a remarkably normal voice. “It wants to talk to me.”

“Or wants a way in.” Haxel scowled, the scar white on her cheek and jaw. “They tried it before.”

“I'm sure.” And she was.

But where was Marcus?

Long ago and gone.

Aryl pulled free of Anaj's memories to see her Sona.

The lake was an expanse of small pebbles, here and there drifted in dust, streaked by late-day shadow. The roadway was cracked and heaved. Nekis grew, stunted and alone. The Cloisters squatted in the dirt.

And Om'ray huddled in fear.

What went wrong?
The Old Adept asked, drawn by her thoughts, sharing what she saw.
What did we do?

We changed,
Aryl told her.

The Oud, as she expected, had humped itself away from the opening door. Syb had slipped through first, Yena-fashion, but their care wasn't necessary. It had moved off the platform completely, to wait below.

Be wary near the Oud.
She'd felt Enris remind the others, warn them back. He, of course, stayed with her. They were one, always.

No vehicle this time. The Oud Speaker had surged up through the ground, leaving an open wound coated with whirr/ clicks. Urgency or carelessness? Neither boded well.

Aryl walked down the ramp to meet it. The instant her feet touched the dirt, it reared to speak. “Why Sona less!? Where is!? WHERE IS!? Why? Where? Why?”

The empty village. So it did watch them, somehow. Stupid creature. The other truenight, they'd gathered to give their names to Sona and remember Tuana's dead. It hadn't been upset then—or had it tried to find her, to express that opinion? She thought it approved of their 'porting. “We're here,” she assured it, puzzled. “In the Cloisters.”

“NONONO!” It swayed from the top, side to side. “LESS-LESSLESS! Where? Why?”

“Here. Inside,” Aryl insisted. “There's nothing to worry about. Sona—”

“Aryl!” Haxel jumped down from the platform wall to land bent-knee beside her. “We've company,” as she straightened, pointing toward the cliff. The Oud reacted by dropping to the ground. It ran backward a short distance on its little legs before it stopped.

Aryl looked up. From this distance, the shapes clinging to the massive rock face behind the Cloisters appeared small and insignificant. Fronds, opening to the sunlight. Wastryls, waiting for heat. As if they'd waited to be noticed, they began to fall toward them.

Enris gave a grim laugh. “Getting crowded, isn't it?”

Esans. They circled overhead, descending slowly, growing larger. She counted five . . . more. They carried baskets, not that she'd thought they'd come alone.

One let out its shuddering scream, answered by another.
Steady!
she sent quickly to the others, driving her own fear down until she felt only calm certainty. The confrontation would be now, before they'd been able to return everyone to their Clan. There was no choice.

“They've come to talk to me,” she told Haxel, who gave her a stare of disbelief.

Not to drop more rock hunters?
Enris asked.
I'd like to be sure about that, since we're standing out in the open.

Not that they were in any sense safe.