Rift in the Sky (8 page)

The stone of pavement and bridge, the jagged arch and plunge of bare rock, gave way at the head of Sona's valley to ruin and riotous growth. The Oud had done this, Aryl thought. They'd heaved corpses and buildings and gardens into a mound to dam the mighty river; dug a pit into the depths to divert its source, the sky-touching waterfall beyond; and refused to share more than a trifle. Even now, she didn't know why.

A curiosity she'd leave to others.

“Our waterfall.” Enris nodded to where a single metal pipe cracked the paving of the roadway at the base of the mound, aimed down the valley. By chance or Oud design, the gush of water coming from it splashed on a tilt of rock that directed it to the side, where it disappeared into the chasm of the river's original course.

Though the water came out with force, Enris could touch the top of the pipe with an upraised hand. Their share. Compared to the abundance that roared down the cliff and sent spray into the clouds? As well call a sigh the M'hir. “They can't mean this to be all we get,” Aryl said, as much to herself as her Chosen. “Their Speaker agreed we'd have more than the Oud.”

“More than. Less than. Past that, who knows what they mean?” But he didn't move immediately, instead shading his eyes and staring at the mound. She felt the
distance
between them she'd learned was her Chosen lost in thought.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Enris looked self-conscious. “A notion.” With that highly unsatisfactory response, he began to climb the slope, boots crunching bone. Impossible not to step on remains, though Aryl tried to move lightly over the loose material. The rock hunters, able scavengers elsewhere, refused to risk any chance of water.

From the top, they followed the trail the scouts had made. Like the new Sona, it blended their habits. The Yena had thrown a swaying bridge over the froth-filled abyss, anchored to the largest of the stalks leaning inward; the Tuana continued it with a wide flat swath cut through the grove, avoiding as much of the Oud-bared space before the Cloisters as possible before swinging to meet the ramp over the Cloister wall. Aryl ran along the bridge, enjoying the spray hitting her face. Enris, to his credit, no longer clung to the hand ropes. He did, however, give an exaggerated sigh of relief once on solid ground.

Aryl grinned. “You know it can hold all of Sona plus Veca's cart, fully loaded.”

“But one of me? That's the question.”

He had no complaint as they took the path through the nekis. Yellow-throated flowers littered the ground, like a carpet of sunshine. Leaves and stalks glistened with spray. Droplets shook free in miniature rainstorms, complete with bows of color in the air.

Lovely. She shuddered. Leaves shouldn't be perfect. Flowers shouldn't fall without making fruit. There should be other plants here: vines and thorns and—weeds. More sounds than footsteps and the drumming of the waterfall. “I miss biters.”

Enris chomped noisily and gave her a hopeful look.

She shoved him with her shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Tell me what's wrong with keeping one's skin intact and blood where it belongs.”

“And there should be flitters.” The clear-winged ones, with bright blue bodies. They hovered over the flowers, like blooms themselves. Others sang or danced in the air. In the canopy, senses were flooded with movement, color, sound. Smell. This grove, she decided with disgust, was as barren as Oran.

“Cader saw a wastryl on the cliff last fist.”

The black-and-white gliders soared over the valley, never more than two. Haxel believed they searched for carrion wherever the rock hunters were less. Only during the M'hir Wind did they gather in numbers and head for the canopy. “Dresel thieves,” she snorted.

Dresel. Her mouth watered. Something in the Sona diet satisfied her body's need for it; nothing replaced Yena longing for the taste. Maybe this M'hir, she'd go to Yena, help with the Harvest in return for . . . aghast at the turn of her thoughts, Aryl rushed to hide the idea from her Chosen.

Too late. “Craving dresel?” To her relief Enris laughed. “Feel free to get it for yourself,” he assured her, an arm around her shoulders. “You won't catch me waving a hook with nothing below but swamp.”

When they reached the opening, they fell silent. Enris let Aryl go first; he stayed close. Their practiced caution was likely unnecessary, she knew. Nonetheless, she surveyed the edge of the grove, checked the dirt around the Cloisters for new disturbance, and glanced at the sky before taking the step that exposed her to non-Om'ray watchers.

“We could surprise our Adepts. See how they're coming.”

Aryl eyed the Cloisters. “Hardly a surprise.” The Om'ray hadn't wasted strength to dig the lower portion free of the Oud's dirt, so no one could look out the windows and watch their approach. Even so, she restrained a childish impulse to make a face. “The instant Oran has any success, be sure everyone will know.”

“Some feel it should be you.”

Be trapped in the Dream Chamber with Hoyon, his entire being sour with envy? “I'd rather,” she told him testily, “dig waste pits.”

Satisfaction.
“That's what I said.”

The path to the Stranger's camp was hidden. A
screen
blocked it, covered by a
projection
of another dense portion of the grove, nekis stalks too close together for easy passage. In truth, all one had to do was approach the screen from one side, and it became nothing more than a white sheet strung across a path every bit as wide and open as the Tuana's.

Simple and effective. She approved. The last thing Sona needed was for a curious Om'ray—and they had their share, starting with Enris' brother Worin—to roam where curiosity ran around on more legs than two. Or had none at all. One of Marcus' new Triad was unable to move on land and floated above the ground in a tiny version of an aircar. Why such an unsuitable creature would come here puzzled her, although she hoped for a better look at it.

But first . . . She stopped and turned to face Enris. “If we see an Oud, let me do the talking.”

He raised a dark eyebrow. “You're the Speaker.”

Which meant she was the only Sona permitted by the Agreement to talk to non-Om'ray, and then only to her counterpart. She'd learned neither Oud nor Tikitik cared overmuch for the rules. And her Chosen, for all his matter-of-fact demeanor and charm, was incapable of not caring about Oud.

Already the M'hir between them sizzled with pent rage.

Don't worry about me.
His remarkable shields strengthened until all she could sense was the warmth of their bond. “You remember not to use Power. Some of these Oud could be Torments.”

The Tuana name for Oud with Power. There was no evidence the beings used their Power to any purpose, but it did affect Om'ray. To use their abilities near such Oud produced pain and disorientation, increasing with greater Power. Aryl, having felt the effect for herself, agreed completely. “Once was enough, thank you.”

The path opened on another clearing in the nekis grove, this one smooth and circular. At its far side stood three long buildings of the plain white material the Strangers favored, a white usually disguised behind more illusion.

Not that it would matter at the moment, considering the crowd of beings in the clearing itself. That was the worst of non-Om'ray, Aryl thought with disgust. You couldn't
feel
them before you found them.

They'd been found, too. Marcus hurried toward them, pushing by an Oud with Human carelessness, his smile wide beneath the dark eye coverings he insisted on using during the day. He wore Stranger pants and a shirt with his name in Stranger lettering. Both looked new.

Why?

“Welcome! Welcome!” She could barely hear his shout above the grind of Oud machine treads into the stony ground. There were four vehicles, each pulling a pair of flat-topped carriers loaded with crates. In typical Oud-fashion, the slumped drivers appeared not to care about collision, imminent or occurring, or risk to their cargo. Aryl and Enris stayed near the grove and let the Human risk his life to join them.

The building to the left was where Marcus stayed and worked. The other two, one new this spring, she'd been told were for storage. The door of the middle one gaped open for the first time. Inside, over the brown-cloaked humps of Oud, she could make out tables covered in objects. Two figures, disappointingly Human-shaped, stood to one side, busy sorting.

As for the Oud, whenever one stopped its vehicle near the open door, other Oud grabbed the crates from the carriers and tossed them onto a growing, haphazard pile. Maybe the Humans were sorting what didn't break under this treatment.

What Aryl didn't see was the Oud Speaker. Or rather, an Oud with a pendant. The beings were too alike otherwise: massive quivering lumps beneath brown, tentlike cloaks. One end was covered by a dust-covered, transparent dome and non-Oud treated that as a “head.” To an Oud, this didn't always matter. They could move backward as readily as forward.

After one last swerve to avoid an Oud machine, Marcus joined them, coughing at the dust. “Welcome,” he said again. His lean body, tousled brown hair, and green-brown eyes, edges crinkled by his cheerful smile, might be those of an Om'ray Chosen of middle age; the not-
real
of him to her
inner
sense was proof he was anything but. Aryl shrugged inwardly, and the customary confusion passed.

His hands reached for theirs; Humans touched, Aryl had learned, when Om'ray would not. She and Enris allowed it. In fact, such were their feelings for this one Human, they reached out as well.

Greeting done, Aryl waved at the activity behind Marcus. “Should we come back another time?”

Marcus shook his head vehemently. “This is good time. Best. Very best. Glad you are here.” He slapped Enris on the shoulder. “Hungry?”

The Tuana slapped him back, careful not to rock the slighter being off his feet. “Starving.”

She'd look for the Oud Speaker later, Aryl decided.

“Sorry for the mess.” Objects flew in every direction as the Human burrowed to what should be a table. “Don't spend much time in here. Oops! Thanks.” As Enris intercepted the flight of what looked fragile and gently deposited it on a crate. “Mustn't break another
densitometer
this early in the day. It is early, isn't it?” He looked uncertain. “Breakfast?”

“Lunch,” Enris supplied willingly, despite knowing full well the Human ate reheated rations from small boxes. He'd eat anything, Aryl thought fondly. She wouldn't. She offered the small packet of baked turrif she'd obtained from Rorn: sweet, crispy, and his latest triumph using Sona's stores. Best of all, the ingredients were ones that wouldn't make the Human, in his words, turn green and die.

Marcus Bowman, Triad First, Analyst, Human, took it with a glad expression that needed no translation. “You've picked a very good time,” he assured them again, hunting a clear space to put the treat. “No one needs me. Vogt and Tsessas are
cataloging
.”

Fewer of his words were unfamiliar. It wasn't that she'd learned them, Aryl decided as she helped toss clothing from the benchlike chairs that sprouted from the floor. Marcus spoke less about his work each visit, preferring to ask about Sona, about their fields, about her.

Well, not her exactly.

“May I?” There he was again, bioscanner held hopefully to his chest. It had been on the table. “See baby?”

Aryl sighed and sat down, arms wide. “Humans.” Her fond, if exasperated, use of the name always made Marcus smile.

Enris leaned forward, eyes intent. Noticing, Marcus offered him the 'scanner. “You see?” Now there was an Om'ray smile to dazzle the sun.

They conspired against her. Aryl grumbled to herself, but didn't object as first Enris, then Marcus, waved the device over her abdomen and made various approving noises.

Until Marcus frowned distractedly at the 'scanner, and played with its lighted buttons.

Enris frowned, too. “I thought it said Sweetpie was healthy.”

“Yes. Oh, yes. Very healthy. Perfect.”

“And not a dessert,” Aryl muttered.

The Human ducked his head to look at her in that sidelong way he had when he wanted to ask an awkward question. “How much longer?”

“Until she's born?” Aryl shrugged. “Up to her.” Mother and unborn were tightly bound. When physically mature, the baby must relax her grip on that link for birth to take place. Not all had the courage or will, leaving it to a Birth Watcher to convince the unformed mind that freedom did not mean loss. Theirs was Seru.

“Human mothers, nine
monthgestation.
” He smiled at her frown. “Sorry. Three seasons, Cersi.” A lift of the bioscanner. “This says your baby grows quicker than Human. How long for Om'ray?”