Reap the Wild Wind

Chapter 18

“IS THIS YOU?”

Facing the light as if she were one of Costa’s plants, Aryl squinted at the silhouette of a second Tikitik. The first had removed more than half the door sealing her within the rastis—to her great relief—before standing to one side for this sudden question. “Is what me?” she asked, trying to see what her visitor held.

The creature moved to block the brightness. Now she could make out the strip of white cloth between its hands, inscribed in black with one of their symbols. No. Aryl’s eyes widened in surprise. It was the tiny curve and dot she’d put on her drawing, rendered larger. “Yes,” she said, wondering that the Tikitik had understood her intention. “That’s—it means something I did.”

“Good.” Tucking the cloth into a belt, it took a blade and approached. Aryl tensed, but all the creature did was cut her arms free from whatever had held them against her body. She hissed in pain as her arms flopped loose and useless; eight eyes riveted on her immediately.

“I’ll be okay,” Aryl told them, hoping it was true.

They had kept her safe, as promised. She’d listened to screams until falling asleep; was roused by the drumming of feet as the Lay’s hunters returned to the water with their mouthfuls of flesh.

It hadn’t been long after that—though time seemed to move oddly—before the first holes had appeared before her face, streaming with glorious light. She’d never imagined being glad to see something so ugly and strange as a Tikitik.

Now the new one took her right arm by the elbow, gently lifting it. Aryl watched in fascination as it neatly wrapped the ink-decorated cloth around her forearm and wrist so the symbol was displayed, slipping the loose ends under a fold to secure it. “What is this for?”

The Tikitik showed her the cloth around its wrist, the symbol much more ornate. “You are no animal, to go unnamed.” It backed a step back to allow its fellow to continue breaking open the chamber “door,” a process involving its fingers. The blue material crumbled away with deceptive ease. With that grip, she judged, they should be able to climb anything.

But there was a more pressing matter. “Go where?” Aryl asked anxiously. She was far enough from home now. “Are you taking me back to—oomphf!” this as a final restraint gave way and she fell forward, every muscle in her body locked in spasm.

The Tikitik were ready, catching her in their dry, cool arms. Aryl trembled helplessly, horrified at their touch, expecting at any moment to have one of the creatures force its flesh into her mouth and send her into unconsciousness again. They merely lifted her to her feet, her body and arms in a strong but gentle hold, and waited for her to be able to stand. “Th-thank you,” she managed, blinking away tears. She was free!

As Aryl began to regain control over her body, she felt the other suddenly close; Taisal, wanting contact. She risked a quick Later—afraid to be distracted.

“Do you need nourishment?” A third Tikitik approached, carrying a bowl of dresel large enough to feed three families. Behind it, Aryl could see the other chambers remained sealed. Or had been resealed. How long did the “Sacred Mothers” endure captivity?

And why?

She pulled at her arms, and the creatures released her. “Yes.” Gesturing gratitude before dipping her fingers in the bowl was likely pointless, but she felt better for the courtesy.

Two left as she licked her fingers. The one who’d given her the cloth band remained, all its eyes on her as she stretched with care. Aryl finished by bending forward to rest her palms on her feet, then rolled her back upright again. She wanted to groan with relief, but was acutely aware of her audience. “That’s better,” she said.

“You recover quickly,” it commented. “Good. We will go soon.” It hesitated, then bobbed its head twice. “The other cloth you wear. Is it something you need?”

Surprisingly tactful. “I need to be clean,” she said, making a face. Filthy as she was after a day trapped, she’d rather be naked in the rain; it wasn’t a choice, not with biters that liked Om’ray already making their presence known. “Is there water I can use? To wash my clothes and myself?”

A long, knobby arm reached past her to point. Aryl half-turned. Behind her rastis, the ground slipped into still black water. Water that wasn’t still for long, as something beneath its surface surged hopefully up and down again.

“Not that much water,” she clarified breathlessly.

The Tikitik gave its soft bark. “There will soon be much more than this, Om’ray. But I understand.” It beckoned to another of its kind. “This humble one will wash you.”

From the way its small front eyes rolled, the “humble one” wasn’t any happier about this than Aryl.

Are you sure you’re all right?

Aryl considered several possible replies; none suited the moment. Yes. They’re responsible hosts and respectful. I’ve no complaints.

None that she’d share. The Tikitik’s wash had produced admirable results. Her skin was so clean every bite and thorn hole showed in exquisite detail. Her hair, free of soil, was free in truth. The braided net hadn’t been returned and the result flew loose around her head and in her face. Her clothes? The undertunic was clean and intact, for what it was worth, since it went only to her knees. The wraps for her arms and legs had disappeared. Those, the Tikitik could replace and did. Their cloth was finer in weave, so those were an improvement.

Otherwise? She really and truly didn’t want to know any more about the cold, flat, and thoroughly slimy creatures the Humble One had slapped over every part of her naked body. They’d pulsed and scraped and giggled to themselves as if she’d been a feast. When Aryl had tried to pull them off, the Tikitik had quickly prevented her, saying only the “wash” wasn’t done.

When it was, the giggling stopped and the creatures dropped to the ground around her feet. The Tikitik had carefully collected them in a bag.

Where are they taking you?

Aryl collected her thoughts. I don’t think the Humble Ones know. The leader isn’t back yet.

Is it the Speaker? With a rush of anticipation.

I didn’t see the pendant. The others take its orders.

Those others sat to either side of her on the damp ground, large eyes closed as if they slept. Their small eyes, however, were wide open. These bent on their cones as often to gaze at her as their surroundings. Guards or protectors—the result was the same.

Send to me when you know more.

Aryl felt their link thin; Taisal was leaving her. Involuntarily, she reached. Don’t go, she pleaded. Not yet.

Taisal struggled, but Aryl’s hold was too strong. Release me! With the command came a distress close to fear.

She relaxed her grip at once, horrified at what she’d done. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—

I know. Her mother was still there, though her mindvoice was distant and cold. But have a care, Aryl. Do you think it’s easy for me in the Dark? Do you think it’s safe?

She hadn’t, Aryl realized guiltily, thought about it at all, too grateful for a familiar voice. Taisal had almost been Lost. Having felt the almost irresistible pull of the other, its lure to dissolve herself in its darkness, she should have understood how hard this was for her mother.

Her hands gestured apology, even as she let Taisal’s mind slip away from hers.

The Tikitik on her right opened its hind eyes, its neck bending to orient its face toward her with stomach-turning ease. “Do you require something?”

“I need to walk around,” she said truthfully. “Stretch my legs. Do you understand?”

That bark. “I understand that my legs need to not stretch for a change. Do not go far.”

A joke—or at least humor she could grasp. Aryl got to her feet and stood looking down at the two creatures.

They had no more weapons than she. Their knobby skin was thicker, affording more protection from small biters, but hardly a barrier to anything with teeth. They couldn’t have stayed outside through truenight and survived the Lay’s swarms.

Could they?

“You are not walking around,” observed the Tikitik. “Do you require something?”

“Where were you last night?”

A drop landed on its face and four eyes blinked together. Another hit Aryl. She didn’t bother looking up. She could smell the rain above.

“We were here,” it said at last. “Our place is with the Sacred Mothers. There are many dangers.” It tapped the back of her hand with one finger. “Om’ray know of fire.”

Aryl couldn’t tell if the cryptic statement was a warning or simple fact. She did wondered if Taisal had known why Tikitik couldn’t tolerate fire within the groves, or if her threat had been a lucky guess. “There are many dangers,” she agreed, “including what comes from the water in the dark.” She pointed toward the Lay, its waters too close for any peace of mind. “I heard—I could hear the swarms climb.”

The one with two eyes shut barked.

“As they should,” said the first. “They have their work to do.”

“Work?” Aryl repeated, sure she’d misunderstood. “They kill everything they find!”

Its head lifted as if in surprise. “Of course. The swarms clean the groves of what would harm the rastis. That is their function. By so doing, they protect both the Harvest and our Sacred Mothers. Why else would we have made them?”

She took a step back. “What do you mean . . . ‘made them?’ ”

Both Tikitik barked, their eyes open, as if she entertained them. “We made everything here, little Om’ray. Did you not know? Our needs.” An expansive gesture. “All this.”

Rain began to rustle its way through fronds and leaves, big drops thumping against the ground, splashing in the swamp.

Aryl stared at the Tikitik. “You didn’t make us.”

One hissed. The other raised its head sharply, the fleshy protuberances of its face flailing about as if it wanted to smother her again.

“You didn’t make us,” she insisted, unsure why that mattered so much to her. They could be teasing her—making fun of a stranger. Why believe the creatures anyway?

But she did. With a sense of her world shifting into something unutterably alien, she did.

“No. We did not make you.” This was followed by a long, venomous-sounding hiss. “We endure you.”

She eased back on her right leg. The rain plastered her hair against her cheeks, produced puddles at her feet. The Tikitik endured that, too, she noticed numbly, their skin easily shedding moisture, their eyes blinking more quickly.

In an instant, the rain became deluge, erasing the creatures from view. Aryl spun on her heel and sprinted for the nearest stalk, hands out to find and take a grip. Four strides, slipping through the mud and debris. Five. Six. Let her climb—they couldn’t catch her. She didn’t care what else did.

Three strides short of her goal, she slammed into something huge and warm, something that grunted in her face with righteous indignation and awful breath as she rebounded to fall on her back.

Something that lifted her into the air before she could scramble up to run.

Interlude

YUHAS PARTH, NOWYUHAS SUD S’UDLAAT, waited to take over the cart five steps inside the tunnel mouth, an accomplishment Enris was careful not to praise. Natural good humor and a willingness to work let Yuhas fool everyone but his thoroughly smitten Chosen, Caynen.

And Enris himself.

Each day he watched the former Yena force himself deeper into the mold of Tuana. Yuhas studied how others took slow strides to cover the hard dry ground and walked slower. He saw Tuana clump up stairs one at a time and did the same, though it wasn’t natural to a body with perfect balance, easily able to leap five stairs at a time. But once Yuhas had noticed that his graceful, careful movements caught everyone’s eye—some admired, while Mauro and his ilk sneered and made mocking noises with their boots—he’d worked hard to change.

And now wore heavy boots.

Yuhas worked well in the shop and Jorg was pleased. Other than a tendency to spend as much time as possible near the melting vat, he’d noticed nothing unusual about their new helper. Enris hadn’t told his father how Yuhas had panicked his first time within the Oud tunnel, falling to the floor, then half crawling, half running in his desperation to reach daylight. He kept to himself Yuhas’ vow—to overcome his aversion, to take his turn pushing the cart.

Each day, Yuhas walked one step deeper into the world of the Oud, trembling and shaking like one of the giant leaves he’d tried to describe to Enris. It was an achievement of such magnificent will, Enris knew himself privileged to be the only witness.

“A good load,” Yuhas complimented breathlessly, hefting the handles as he pushed.

A scrap tumbled free, and Enris caught it before it hit the sand. “Not bad,” he agreed, tossing it back in as he walked alongside the cart. “Should fill the vat. Good thing. We’ve seventeen cutting blades to pour. Geter ran over a joop mating line and half the blades snapped.”

“The joop—whatever it is—can’t have liked that.” Yuhas’ voice eased the moment the sun hit his face. It was the light, Enris decided. There wasn’t enough below for him—for some reason, Yena feared the dark.

They made their way along the still-quiet road. Enris chuckled. “Oh, they probably didn’t notice. Joop are almost impossible to kill—they’re shelled, you see. If they’d die above ground, we’d collect them for bricks, but they only come up to mate. Almost the size of the cart,” he nodded at it. “They tuck themselves between the rows. I’ve heard of forty hooked together in one line.” A grimace. “It doesn’t take that many to be a nasty surprise for anyone operating a harvester.”

“You use these machines?”

From the sudden intensity of Yuhas’ green eyes, this wasn’t a casual question. “Of course. Oud-built, but we make replacement blades. There are tillers as well as harvesters. Don’t you?”

“This nost you grow,” the Yena said instead of answering. “Is that for the Oud or for yourselves?”

“Only an Oud could stomach the stuff,” Enris assured the other, making a face. “We grow our own food—which I’ve noticed you like well enough. Why?”

Yuhas shrugged and leaned into the handles. “Lucky for you,” he said obliquely.

About to pursue the issue, Enris spotted someone waiting outside the shop. Recognition slowed his steps. “What does she want?” he muttered.

Yuhas chuckled. “The same thing she wanted yesterday. And the day before that. You really should give up, Enris.”

“You Chosen want everyone to be like you,” he complained, not without cause. His cousin was equally unrelenting in his zeal to improve Enris’ love life.

It’s a good thing, my new brother, to find someone to complete you. You’ve seen my joy.

It was the first sending Yuhas had tried with him. Faint—he wasn’t Powerful—but characteristically warm and generous. Enris had to smile. “That I have,” he said aloud. “But—” his smile faded “—trust me when I say that’s not what she wants.”

As surely as he knew how to work the Oud’s metal, Enris knew Naryn S’udlaat was drawn to his Power, not him. Worse, her ambition had nothing to do with the making of useful, beautiful objects, or even friendship. There would be nothing of him left in Enris sud S’udlaat.

He wouldn’t risk it, despite the helpless desire that grew each time she came near.

“I’ll take this inside,” Yuhas offered.

“Oh, no, you don’t!” Enris gently but firmly shouldered the other Om’ray from the cart. “Do me a favor. Go tell her how wonderful your Chosen is—that should send her running for the Cloisters.” No secret that Caynen S’udlaat, Naryn’s cousin, hadn’t been expected to catch the eye of the exotic, handsome stranger in their midst. But it was a good match, Enris thought, happy for his friend. There was no hiding the contentment the two had found in each other. Tunnels or no, Yuhas would be fine.

“Naryn!” Yuhas called, easily outstepping the cart. Despite the new boots, his every move made Enris feel clumsy and slow. He did his best not to grin at Naryn’s suddenly fixed expression at Yuhas’ babble as he pushed the cart past her to the shop. She was obliged to listen politely to Yuhas—Chosen were adult, after all, however new that state—but she didn’t have to like it. That much was clear from the glare she sent his way.

Enris smiled.

Jorg was inside. He waved an absent greeting to his son as he swung open the vat, eyes assessing the cart’s load as Enris pushed it through the wide door. No doubt Jorg knew to the blade how many they could pour this morning.

Enris was a step inside, about to start the cart down the ramp to the vat when a hand clamped over his bare wrist.

ENRIS!

The sending struck like a blow. He staggered back into the door’s frame, the cart tipping its load over the ramp with a resounding clatter. He could hear his father’s running steps. Yuhas was shouting. Louder by far was the voice in his mind.

ENRIS!! COME! COMECOMECOME!!!

The summons beat against him. He couldn’t see, could barely remember to gasp for air. He had no strength to pull free of the now-light grip. Instinct made him throw his free arm over his head for protection. Useless. This attack came from within, but his shields were useless, too. All he could do was resist. At that resistance, the summons turned to pain . . . waves and waves of PAIN . . . He heard a scream . . .

“Enris!? What’s wrong?” His father. “What are you doing to him?” This a shout. “Stop!”

Somehow, he began to force the other out, to wrest control of his senses from her—for it was her.

“Nar—Naryn—” he managed to whisper.

She was pulling him. As he struggled, a darkness rose behind his eyes, a churning emptiness that sang with delirious joy and fear. It seemed a place, somewhere he could be safe . . . if he only let himself fall apart, the pieces would flow there . . .

PAINPAINPAIN—!

As suddenly as if cut by a knife, the pain and pull were gone. Enris found himself slumped against the wall, breathing in great sobbing heaves as though he’d raced uphill with his cart. His hands . . . he stared at his hands. They couldn’t be his. His hands had never trembled before. “What . . .?”

“Yuhas threw her into the street. The Adepts are coming, my son. Stay here. Listen to me. Stay here.”

I’ll never leave. He tried to say it, tried to send it, but the darkness was coming back.

This time, he fell.

“You’re to leave, Enris Mendolar.”

He struggled to sit up in an unfamiliar bed, pulling at the constriction of a strange shirt around his shoulders. “Why?” He fought to see through the dark.

“You’re to leave. When you are ready. Which won’t be today.”

Sleep.

It was a command.

“I want to see my family.” Enris reared up in the bed, tossing the blanket aside. “I want to see them now!”

The Om’ray with the tray didn’t react. He said, as he had said for the last two meals Enris had been served, exactly and with each syllable the same: “Here is food. Eat what you wish.”

One of the Lost.

Enris rubbed one hand over his face, feeling a fool. He pressed two fingers into the corners of his eyes, hard against his nose. There was pain still. Not overwhelming. Not even real.

Not his. Imposed. How had she done it?

“Here is food. Eat what you wish.”

He sighed and dropped his hand in order to take the tray. Otherwise, the Lost would continue to repeat his message, over and over.

He knew the face. This had been Sive sud Lorimar. A harvester. A friend of his father’s. With the death of his Chosen, he’d been brought here. To stay.

The Cloisters. Enris shuddered inwardly as he watched the Lost walk from the room. He’d wanted, once, to explore this place—see its ancient metalwork for himself, explore the many mysteries supposedly hidden behind its bold arches and smooth walls.

Now, he wanted home. He stared helplessly at his impeccable meal and wanted Ridersel’s sweetpies.

The voice had said he had to leave.

Had he left already?

Was this his destination?

It could be. His thoughts felt thick, unsettled, more so than the disorientation left by the Oud trace. The Cloisters was the refuge of those too mind-damaged to live with the rest of Tuana.

Naryn’s gift.

Enris threw the tray and its contents against the far wall.