This Gulf of Time and Stars (38 page)

T
HE
MOUNDS WERE LEAVINGS
from subterranean excavations; Morgan had seen the like on other worlds. Easy to conclude the Oud had been digging tunnels here.

Harder to conceive how digging alone could have accomplished what they saw as the airship gained altitude. The scale toyed with the eye, made it seem they flew over a vast ocean with waves, not mounds of dirt, rippling the surface of the world.

Sira watched with him, silent and too quiet.

Looking toward the setting sun, he made out the rich green of Sona's grove against the mountain range, shaded by rain clouds. A glint of water. Dangerous, yes, but life-sustaining. Real, as this no longer was. He spoke to the Tikitik. “I don't have the Om'ray sense. What are we seeing?”

“Rayna, once Tikitik.” Thought Traveler drew their attention to the northeast, indicating a tidy patchwork of gold-and-brown fields, then to another, due east. “What remains of Amna.”

Taptap.
“Oud, are.”

“Disagreeable creature. Yes, Oud. Now.” A flick of its hand northwest, to where the mountains clawed higher. “The Vyna.”

A more restive
taptaptap
. “Oud, not. Never.”

“On that we agree.” The Tikitik put its back to Vyna, hand rising again. “Pana.”

“A Clan we don't know.” Destin stepped up to the Oud. “Pana. Yena. Grona. All empty, these names, without meaning. What did you do to them?” she demanded harshly, her face set and grim. “Why are they gone?”

“Done,” the Oud replied readily. “Goodgoodgood.”

Almost losing its life. Morgan got there first. He interposed his body, stepping forward to force Destin back, her knife hand falling to her side. She glared at him, eyes brimming with fury. “It says this is good. How can killing Om'ray be good?”

Her gaze shifted abruptly to Sira, then fell. She gestured apology with her free hand. “I acted unadvisedly.”

His Chosen, or Aryl? It didn't matter which. Morgan eased his guard, knowing Destin wasn't going to attack the Oud again.

Not that he blamed her.

They kept climbing, the land below falling away. The air remained warm, but there'd be an upper limit. Morgan couldn't believe the shielding of the Oud airship capable of dealing with reduced air pressure, not after seeing the hatches and ports of its underside.

The Tikitik, having waited to see if the Om'ray would kill the Oud, resumed its dire orientation. “Tuana is there.” To the south, a faint smudge of green, mountains beyond. “And remains ours.”

More
taptaptap
.

“Ours,” Thought Traveler insisted.

“There's Amna,” Destin interrupted, her tone full of longing. She stared east where a section of fields met the shore of a real ocean. “The edge of the world.” Her voice quivered for the first time,
dread
slipping her shields.

Behold Cersi,
Aryl sent.
Within its walls.

Morgan turned in place, taking in what was, from this height, an area defined by a half circle of ridges rising to join the mountain range, that range meeting ocean at its tips, an ocean stretched to the darkening horizon with no other land in sight. Within the half circle, those “walls,” the plain of the Oud dominated, the stray bits of color from field and forest squeezed against its outer rim.

The Maker Oud roused, giving itself a shake. Whirr/clicks flew
from its robe only to dive back under its cover. “Amna, bad,” it announced. “Sira, best is.”

“So this is your version,” Thought Traveler said, a meaningful eye on Morgan. “You pick your favorite Om'ray and discard the rest. What then?”

From Sira and Destin's wince, the Oud made its
sound
in the M'hir. “Sira lives, Oud. Old things, all work. Om'ray
frequency.
Sira, Power. Best is. GoodGOOD—”

“Bad.” The Oud's cylinder in her outstretched hand, Sira turned her wrist to let the object fall to the deck. It bounced, then rolled away.

“What do?! What do?!” The Oud coiled this way and that, torn between chasing it and staying with Sira. When she spoke again, it stilled.

“I say no.” Hair lashed her shoulders and back, but her expression was icy calm. “This meeting is over. Take us back to Sona.”

“No, I!” The Oud squeezed itself down, appendages in frantic motion. Bits went downward. Up from that hiding place came something else.

As Morgan realized it now bristled with what had to be weapons, the Oud sprang high in the air.

At Sira!

I
FOUND MYSELF
covered in goo.

Shaking and covered in goo. I knuckled it from my eyes, spat what I tried hard not to taste, and peered out to find that yes, I was covered in what was left of the Maker Oud.

So was Morgan, who held me tight.
Are you all right? Are you hurt?

“I'm fine,” I muttered. Why did aliens have to be full of goo? It wasn't the most rational of thoughts, but I preferred it to replaying the moment when the creature's attack had so utterly surprised me I couldn't even 'port out of its way. “Need—to breathe,” I reminded my Chosen.

He eased his grip, leaving an arm around me, and looked up. “Thank you.”

Thought Traveler barked its laugh. It wasn't covered in goo. Then again, it had moved to strike at the Oud with such speed all I'd seen was a flash of black against the sky.

Before it rained goo.

That hadn't gone well. I shouldn't have dropped the cylinder. Or not said “no” quite so emphatically, though the mere thought of being confined in an Oud tunnel had given me an entirely new appreciation of why Thought Traveler hated windowless rooms. Still, always leave a prospective client an alternative, Morgan had taught me. Before they become goo.

Any time now.
His arm squeezed, then let go.

Pull myself together, that meant. I nodded, taking a steadying breath, and considered our changed situation.

Climbing in a now out-of-control airship full of Oud. “Can you fly this thing?” I asked hopefully.

Earning an incredulous look. “Maybe with time and a manual—time on the ground.” My Human wiggled his fingers in the air. “I think we should leave. Coming?” he said to the Tikitik.

“The Oud destroy the Balance.” Its head twisted, eyes aimed up. “The world will end in fire.”

Morgan?

I'll explain later
. Aloud, “Make your own future.”

The larger eyes dropped to regard Morgan. A listless arm encompassed the landscape below. “I see no room for one.”

“Preserve the Balance another way,” my Human proposed. “If the Oud want to be alone, let them. The Tikitik and Om'ray can live apart. Separate.”

Destin was appalled. “We can't survive alone. What of glows? We wouldn't last the first truenight without them. Blades. Supplies!”

“We'll all live in the Cloisters,” I told her. “Come out by day.”

“That's not how—” she closed her lips over the protest.

“The way things were done has already changed,” I finished gently.

“You weave an interesting tale, Human.” The Tikitik moved closer. Now I saw goo, dripping from the claws of one hand. “Where would you put us in it?”

A Thought Traveler told me the world was bigger than this. They know it is.
The image of a great winged beast filled my mind, a basket hanging from a harness.
Esans,
Aryl identified.
The Tikitik can fly.

“The Oud—do they fly over the ocean?” I asked quickly.

“Never. They abhor water, other than what they steal to bury within pipes. Why?”

Morgan nodded, understanding at once. “What if the Makers relied on the ocean itself to confine you to Cersi. What if, my gloomy friend, you could leave?”

“And go where? There's nothing,” Destin protested, her face gone white. “The world ends at Amna!”

“Peace, Sona.” Something had changed about the Tikitik. Its large eyes bent toward the horizon. “It's true. Wind and wave would bring gifts to Tikitna. Living things of different taste than here. Of different—potential.”

“You told me your purpose is to doubt and question,” Morgan said, pressing the advantage. “Consider this one. What have you to lose?”

Thought Traveler brought its clean hand near my face, as though cupping my cheek. Its spice-filled breath warmed my skin and I braced myself, lips closed, but it came no closer. After a moment, a lock of my hair wrapped itself around a long black finger. “This,” it said very quietly. “The Makers put us here, together in Balance, for Their purpose. I begin to glimpse what it was. Why all of this was.” It pulled back. “The Tikitik remain with the Om'ray.”

Fair enough. We'd climbed, in my estimation, too far already. I spared an instant to pity the worker Oud about to die belowdecks.

Then thought of the Cloisters, and
pushed . . .

. . .
to find things had changed in our absence.

The Council Chamber was deserted, its colorful floor neatly swept. One hundred and ten M'hiray, plus one Human, might never have arrived or lived in it. Shocked, I
reached—
immediately reassured by the feel of M'hiray minds, nearby and . . . content.

“They're still here,” I said aloud, then frowned. “Only not.”

“They're in the Dream Chamber,” Destin told me, her tone matter-of-fact. “Oh.” I felt her awkward
pity
as she remembered I couldn't sense that for myself. “The level below. It's where I'd thought you might want to stay,” Destin continued more briskly. “Council must have authorized the move.”

I'd a feeling it hadn't been the Sona who made the decision. Fair enough. “Please add my appreciation to what you have to share with Sona's Council.”

Of which none was good news. I sent
encouragement.

Thought Traveler aimed its eyes at the windows; dusk had
fallen, to my surprise. I supposed it must grow dark sooner under the canopy's shadow, not to mention the remnants of rain clouds overhead. “Firstnight,” it intoned. “We must leave now, Om'ray.”

The First Scout glanced outside and frowned. “We can't. We won't make it before truenight.”

My imposed memories didn't hold any particular dangers in the dark, other than walking into things.
Truenight?

The swarm.

Thanks to Aryl's vivid sharing, I could almost hear the masses of insatiable appetite climbing from the swampwater, feel the slice of their jaws through flesh as they began eating me alive.

Nightmares as long as I lived were likely. “Stay here,” I urged. “Till it's safe.”

“The swarm is no threat to me. Observe.” The second bend of the Tikitik's neck expanded into a ball, its textured skin stretched smooth and taut. At the same time, the black of that skin leached away, leaving behind—a glow. Bright enough even with the lighting of the chamber I had to squint or look away. “Let us go. I, too, have much to convey to others of my kind, concerning the perfidy of Oud and a variety of futures.” That faint bark. “I knew you'd be interesting, Human.”

“As were you,” Morgan replied. “Wait. Before you go. You said you've ‘glimpsed' the Makers' purpose. The why of everything. Of Cersi.”

Four eyes locked. “I need not tell you, Jason Morgan, what you already know. Good-bye. It may be that we see one another again. It may be that we will not.”

I bowed, Destin following suit. The Om'ray left with the Tikitik, the door turning closed behind them.

Leaving Morgan and me alone, mostly.

I turned to my Chosen and waited, hearing our breaths echo in the empty chamber.

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “What if I told you we were standing in a starship?”

Rasa lunged over the oval bed, arms outstretched. Before he could tag Andi, she squealed and disappeared . . .

. . . reappearing in front of Degal who let out a “Woompf!” of surprise and dropped a stack of blankets . . . disappearing as Rasa appeared in her place. The older child sketched a hasty apology then disappeared . . .

. . . Andi in hot pursuit.

'Port and seek. Children played, their elders smiled indulgently, and my people seemed happy for the first time in—

For the first time. “You're an idiot.”

Barac chuckled, then quickly resumed his so-serious expression. “I mean it. I'd punish me.”

I eyed my cousin. “Just as well you aren't in charge anymore, then.”

Another shriek of laughter brought back his grin. Completely unrepentant, that's what he was. Along with disobedient.

And wise. “You did very well,” I assured him. “This is wonderful.”

Morgan was beside me, reclined on a lazy elbow. “I'd stop praising him,” he advised. “His head's big enough.”

We shouldn't be here,
Aryl sent. Ever since learning of the M'hiray's new quarters, she'd been like a thorn inside my head.
Nothing good happens in a Dream Chamber.

Other than being as large as the Council Chamber, with enough well-padded beds along its walls for twice our number and, most wonderful of all, five doors on each of the longer walls leading to separate and ample facilities dedicated to cleanliness. The bliss of that discovery, given the goo?

I'd raced Morgan for the first shower, only to happily share.

Sira—

We're not primitives, to activate what we don't understand.

Silence.

Harsh and hardly true. I asked her forgiveness, but Aryl had locked herself away. I sighed.

The fingers working that tight muscle along my spine paused. “A dispute?” my Chosen asked.

“She doesn't like this place.” My Keeper-memories resisted us
being here, too, though that made as little sense as Aryl's vague misgivings. The chamber had been designed to house a multitude in comfort, if not privacy. Paired doors in the shorter end walls granted access to the corridor circling the Cloisters, putting this room at its heart.

No, I corrected, putting this room at its core, the safest location in case of radiation. Radiation as in a hazard of space travel, this not being a building at all.

Morgan's notion about the Cloisters, all of them, was something I thought the M'hiray would accept, being well used to starships—especially the more lavish ones. The Sona?

I wasn't sure where to even start. “The Sona will be here in the morning,” I said, which he didn't know. Destin's sending had been of respectable strength and clarity.

Barac nodded. “Another Council meeting? I'll start the preparations.”

“They've already met and decided. They'll be joining us.” I patted the mattress. “Here.”

Morgan resumed his attention to my back. “Good idea.”

Especially if—or would it be when—the Tikitik abandoned the grove. I'd seen the “glows” the Om'ray relied upon; they were intended to fail and need replacing. Forced dependency. Obligatory interaction. We were finding more and more examples of it, which made the Ouds' rejection of the Agreement between the races even more troubling.

Or terrifying.

“I'll inform Pirisi and Agem. They arranged our families and supplies.” Barac looked over to where his Chosen sat with a friend. “Ruti suggests we send M'hiray to the village in the morning to 'port the Sona's belongings here.”

“Have her look after it, please. I'm sure they'd appreciate it.” The pair were becoming leaders, to my relief.

I'd no interest in it.

Morgan sat up, his chin on my shoulder.
What made them so eager to move in with us? We're still on e-rations, last I heard.

Our greater number calls to them,
Aryl answered.
Waking, sleeping.
They'll feel joy as well as relief to stop resisting the urge to be together, as Om'ray should.

As M'hiray would. “We'll be one Clan,” I decided. “One people.” We had a language in common, common problems, a shared future. Surely that would be enough to ease the remaining differences. Even together, we were still so few.

So few, and living in an ancient starship.

Ancient starship in a swamp.

Starving—I stopped there. We had beds. We were clean. As beginnings went, it could be worse.

Morgan had followed my thoughts. His breath warmed my ear. “It's time, Witchling.”

Use this moment, when the M'hiray were happy and feeling safe, to tell them the rest.