Rift in the Sky (56 page)

Cousin, trust me,
Aryl sent,
encouragement
and
love
beneath the words.
We have to try.

For a heartbeat, Seru hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug. “Naryn in bed first,” she insisted.

“Aryl?”

“Listen to your Birth Watcher,” Aryl told Naryn and helped her lie down. The other was shivering and spent. Seru brought over a soft blanket and set it to warm.

“Stay there,” she ordered.

Naryn's eyes filled with tears. “You'll try, Seru? Promise me.”

“That's all I can promise.”

“It's enough.” Naryn closed her eyes.

The sac was hard, hard and cold. Aryl shuddered to imagine her own like this. “A force blade?”

Seru shook her head. “All the technology in the Trade Pact doesn't change what we are. A birth sac opens from within. There's only one choice.”

Aryl blinked at her. “What?”

“If the Watchers need to find her,” Seru said simply, “take her to them.”

Her hand found Aryl's.
If this doesn't work, leave the husk in the M'hir.

The more Powerful called it
suspension
, to begin a 'port then linger in the M'hir. Those Adepts who studied that
other space
called it a valuable technique; those who wanted to arrive safely called it reckless. For the longer the mind stayed within the M'hir, the less likely that mind would remain whole.

The longer within, the more likely to encounter the unreal presence of a Watcher. Another reason normal M'hiray nipped in and out as quickly as possible.

I'll be careful,
Aryl promised her Chosen.
But I have to try.

I know.
A warmth, like his arms around her.

Aryl thought of her favorite place, and concentrated . . .

. . . then
HELD . . .

. . . and
HELD . . .

Power crackled around her, disturbing the M'hir. She was used to the effect and ignored it.
Where are you?

. . . she
HELD . . .

Power crackled and bled away, or was it self that diminished?

. . . she
HELD . . .
but for how long?
Where are you?

She was surrounded. Or was she alone? Aryl fought to keep her wits.
Where are you?

A Presence.
The vessel awaits.

The darkness boiled with movement. Something was coming.

Not coming. Being
forced
toward her. Chased. Pursued. Hemmed in despite frantic efforts to flee. Helpless and despairing, it lunged at her!

Aryl flung herself away and . . .

. . . found herself standing on the roof of the Tower, the sun warm on her face. She took a deep breath, savoring the smell of growing things. What had just happened?

Enris appeared beside her and threw his arm around her shoulders. “You did it!”

Aryl looked down at the sac in her hands. It squirmed and flexed, then split open down its middle.

A tiny fist pushed through, then a foot.
HUNGER!!!

They both winced. “Back to your mother,” Aryl told the newest M'hiray.

Their first birth in their new home. Small wonder everyone wanted to celebrate. If there were questions, they'd wait. For now, Aryl thought peacefully, life was good.

“Knew I'd find you here.” Enris approached the roof edge cautiously, then sat beside her. “Though why you like doing this, I don't know.”

Aryl snuggled against his shoulder. She didn't know either. But it relaxed her to sit here, dangling her feet over nothing—though the Tower had its safeguards, among them automated netting to catch anything or anyone that dropped off its roof or balconies. The view perhaps. “It's lovely up here.”

The Towers of Lynn glittered night and day. Each rose almost to cloud height and stood apart. Each was unique in design. All were beautiful, like flowers of crystal and light. Those closest to the M'hiray belonged to methane breathers, and had senglass windows that modified their atmosphere. Though neighbors were always perilous, these were safer than most: unable to leave their homes, unwilling to exert the effort to invite guests. Below was the well-groomed and exclusive expanse of forest, sand, and ocean called the Necridi Coast. It had been a hunting preserve when Humans first colonized Stonerim III, for there'd been an indigenous population. One the Humans had cheerfully absorbed within three generations.

They were good at that, Humans. At changing worlds. At changing those around them. Abruptly chilled, Aryl was glad of her Chosen's big arm around her shoulders. His fingers played with her hair, or her hair played with his fingers. A meaningless distinction, she thought, nestling closer.

Then his fingers paused on the side of her neck, his touch lighter, curious.
Anything?

She tried not to stiffen.
No.
The deep scar looked like a bite, but from no animal they'd been able to find in a database. Similar ones marred her shins, different ones ran up her arms. More than most M'hiray, less than others. Like symbols none of them could remember to read. “Have you heard if Council's come to a decision?” she asked aloud, changing the subject.

“They'll vote for dispersal. I don't think anyone doubts that. We're crowded here. Too vulnerable, all in one place.”

“I want to stay here.”

“I'm sure there are death-defying heights on other worlds.”

Worlds with locates taken from KaeCee or any of the other Human telepaths influenced by M'hiray scouts. That's all they hunted now, Aryl thought grimly. The weak-minded. Occasionally, their Humans hunted for them. It was—more convenient—to nip curiosity using what KaeCee called “traditional” methods. The M'hiray didn't ask details.

Survival, by any name.

The Humans offered
maps.
The M'hiray found them irrelevant. What was distance, when Power was what mattered? What was the point of aligning stars or plotting orbits, of landmarks or descriptions when the
real
of a place could be set in a mind, ready for use and infallible? As for schedules?

Aryl snorted. The Humans imprisoned themselves in time. The only use M'hiray found for it was to note when interesting events would begin. They'd discovered plays and drama. And music that wasn't played by a 'botband.

“I just don't want to move anymore.” Her hair wove itself over his shoulders and neck. “We've left too much behind already. I'm afraid if we—if I go any further—I won't be the same.”

“You'll always be my Chosen,” Enris assured her, gathering her into his arms as white birds flew past below. “You'll always be who you are.”

Aryl held on with all her strength.

And wished she could believe.

T
HE M'HIRAY WOULD DISPERSE. How far was determined by the practicalities of 'porting. No one trusted the starships that plied between worlds, let alone was willing to be confined for days with Humans or Assemblers, though belongings would travel as freight. As for who would go, and where?

Where was determined by the practicalities of wealth. Human worlds—the Inner ones, long-settled—offered technology and luxury suited to M'hiray bodies and acquired tastes. Among those worlds, the most suitable had laws offering protection and privacy to offworlders and their investments, since M'hiray would not mingle with Human.

Seven families were selected, each to establish a House under his or her family name. Caraat, Friesnen, Mendolar, Parth, S'udlaat, Sarc, and Serona. The title of First Chosen would go to the most Powerful female M'hiray of each House. Other families would live with them at first, but ultimately move to their own.

UnChosen would no longer travel alone, even if strong enough to 'port such distances by themselves. Thus candidates seeking Choice in any particular House would seek the approval of Council, who would consult with the First Chosen. There was talk of fostering promising children within other Houses, to prevent any being too isolated, but it was only talk so far. Still, all agreed, whatever could be done to protect the M'hiray, should be done.

It was a start.

“First Chosen,” Aryl grumbled. “It's not as if I want to be in charge of anything.”

Enris grinned at her. “What, not interested in hosting our Council? They'll still meet here, you realize. And had the good taste to ask me to consider a Council seat, when the next comes open.” With distinct
smug.

He'd make an outstanding Councillor, Aryl thought, carefully keeping her
pride
private. “Since you have to be fed anyway . . .”

“At least you don't have to pack.” Seru's eyes were suspiciously bright, and she leaked
unhappiness
through her shields.

Ezgi gave her a quick kiss. “I said I'd pack.”

“And we'll visit,” Aryl promised.

Sarc had been given the Tower on Stonerim III. Teerac would stay here, too, for now, as would Vendan, Gethen, and five other families. The First Chosen of S'udlaat, Naryn, had elected to remain here with young Lilia until she could be replaced on Council, but Worin would leave with Ruis di Mendolar—until, as all expected but the two youngsters, Council allowed him to offer Choice to Ziba Uruus.

Nothing would be the same.

“It won't be the same.” Seru threw herself awkwardly into Aryl's arms. The two managed to hug despite their growing bellies.

The M'hir connects us. It always will.
“Besides, I expect you back for my birthing.”

“Then be thoughtful and time it for a Council Meeting.” They both laughed.

The door chimed and opened. Haxel leaned in. “Enris, you ready?”

He glanced hopefully at Aryl.
Sure you won't come?

To sort the remainder of the M'hiray's belongings in the Buried Theater?

The artifacts had been removed a month earlier and moved to safekeeping within the Tower. All but one. Naryn had given Enris the very first. A start to their new history, she'd called it. So long as he kept it out of her sight, Aryl thought. The rest—hard to imagine a use for the tattered things they'd brought with them. Hard to imagine a life where they'd been useful. The hairnet yes, but though she missed wearing it, such wasn't a fashion that suited Norval society. No one wore knives here.

The force blade, however, she refused to leave in a drawer.

Once Seru and Ezgi left, once Enris was gone, Aryl found herself unsettled. She went to the roof and sat in her spot.

Nightfall. The Towers of Lynn outshone the stars, reflected in the white caps that danced over the ocean. Their exterior lights could be turned off at whim, senglass set to keep the interior from shining through, but Aryl liked the glitter. Safer, she thought, hugging herself. Always safer to have glows at night.