Reap the Wild Wind

Chapter 26

... THE DARKNESS SWALLOWED THEM whole . . . flung them . . . they were wings in the M’hir . . . she couldn’t breathe . . . couldn’t feel him . . . only knew where they had to be . . .

. . . HOME!

Aryl choked, fighting for air, fighting to see. Why was it still dark? Hands closed on her, big hands and strong. Enris? she sent, finding it easier to think than speak.

Here. A surprising burst of humor. Wherever here is.

She drew strength from him, managed words. “Home. My home. Yena. I pushed us here.”

DANGER! DEATH! DEATH!!!

Aryl tightened her shields until she barely sensed Enris, fighting to think past the screaming in her head. It wasn’t only in her head, she realized, her heart pounding. It was coming from all around them.

Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and she moved toward what faint light she did see. “This way.”

Her next step slammed her into the table. She warned him with a touch, then strode with more assurance to the door.

Where were the glows? Why weren’t they lit?

Aryl turned the door open and stepped outside.

The faint light came from inside the meeting hall, where she could sense the Yena gathered. The homes—hers, her neighbors, all other buildings—were dark, their windows torn, their roofs ripped open. The bridges . . . two were lit their entire length, but the rest disappeared into the dark of night.

Truenight.

“Aryl,” Enris said urgently. “Look. Over there. Something’s stealing the glows.” Without waiting for her, he began to run, taking heavy, limping steps along the main bridge. “Stop! Shooo!”

Were Tuana insane?

As she followed, Aryl hoped he didn’t realize he was running along thin strips of wood high in the canopy.

Above the Lay.

Above the swarms.

She ran faster.

Something dodged past her on the bridge, tiny and quick. A second . . . a third . . . ahead, Enris paused to kick something small out of his way. “Iglies,” he announced, letting out a relieved huff of air. “That’s all?”

She had no idea what he was talking about. What mattered was ahead. She knew that shape, that abrupt speed. Tikitik were stripping the glows from the bridge, tossing them down. They hissed to themselves as they worked.

Enris reached them first. He grabbed one. Though taller, it didn’t strike back or protest, going passive in his hold. Beyond, a dozen more kept working. More than a dozen. Aryl could make out their forms on the roof of the meeting hall, see them everywhere.

“Leave it,” she shouted, taking Enris by one arm. The Tikitik scampered away with a bark. “They aren’t the danger,” she told him. “We have to have light, now. Fire. Can you make fire? Lots of fire!”

Please, she pleaded to herself. Please.

Enris reached inside his waist and drew out a small box. A soft shhh, and a miniature flame appeared in his hand. He touched it to his bag, holding that out by a strap. The flames licked over its surface like a beautiful rot.

The Tikitik noticed. Finished with the glows on the bridge, they turned and leaped away. The ones on the meeting hall hissed and worked faster. They were pulling away the pod halves that formed its roof, reaching in to steal the glows from inside.

All around, Aryl could hear movement, clicking, snarls, the myriad sounds of the swarm climbing toward them.

“We need more,” she said. “What burns?”

“In this wet?” Enris pushed past her. “Back inside.” He rhymed a list as they hurried to retrace their steps. “Wood, cloth. Do you have fuel for cooking or heat?”

“What? No,” Aryl replied, hurrying with him. “We use power cells and ovens. The Tikitik don’t allow burning.”

“Cooking oil?”

“A little. If Myris didn’t—” Saying a name sent Aryl into a panic. She reached, desperate to know where everyone she loved was . . . were they safe . . . ?

STOP.

Aryl started to protest, then understood. Enris, running with fire licking at his hands, kept her from a fatal distraction.

She dodged ahead to turn the door for him.

The bag flew past her, skidding to a stop against the wall. It burst open, sending flames running up the panels, across the floor. It was too bright now. It made a sound. A roar. Aryl flinched.

“Oil!” Enris shouted. He tore the gauze from the first window with one easy motion, then the next, and the next. As Aryl rushed through cupboard after cupboard—Myris had moved it . . . why would she move it—he ripped free the nearest cupboard door and smashed it against the table, gathering the pieces. “The oil!”

“Found it!” She grabbed the wooden cask and took it to him.

He was wrapping gauze around the end of each long piece of wood. “Pour it on the cloth,” he ordered, handing her the first done, making another. “Not too much. We have to get it hot before it will light.”

Hot wouldn’t be a problem. Aryl ducked as flames found the storage slings among the rafters, sending smoke and scorched fragments of clothing down. She kept pouring oil, refusing to regret the destruction of the Sarc home.

If it would save Yena? Let it burn.

When the cask was empty, Enris grabbed a wrapped stick, oil dripping to the floor. “Like this,” he shouted. He pushed the gauze end close to the fire on the wall; she did the same with another. Nothing, nothing. It felt as though she was suffocating, the skin of her face about to fall off. Just as Aryl was about to pull back, fire seemed to leap to the gauze. She raised it, amazed.

“Let’s go.”

They ran, each with fire in one hand, a second stick in the other. Enris shoved the rest into his belt.

The bridge heaved and moved in front of them. The swarm was already here, clinging to every surface. Aryl held out her fire and the creatures fled with wild clicks, most falling off the bridge. But they didn’t leave.

“We have to—No!” A door had briefly turned, spilling light from the meeting hall. Someone knew what they were trying to do, came to help. NO! she sent.

There was too much darkness between. Darkness that moved . . .

The screams went on and on. When Enris tried to go, she held him back, tears on her hot cheeks. “It’s too late. We have to save the rest. The swarm hunts until just before dawn. Only light will keep them back.”

“That will help, then.”

“That” was her home, now burning on the outside. The light flickered all the way to the main bridge. “We have to burn them all,” she said.

“Not at once. Fire’s a hunter, too,” he cautioned. “It’s going to be close.”

Aryl felt strangely calm as she gazed at his face, a mask of soot and red. “I’ll burn the canopy itself, if that’s what it takes. Show me how.”

A flash of white teeth. “Let’s start with that place over there.”

They burned the lowest homes first, buying time by keeping the swarms below. All the while, Aryl fought the ceaseless hammering against her shields—Yena desperate to communicate with her, to know what was happening, fear—enough to overwhelm her if she let it. She assumed Enris struggled, too, despite his powerful shields.

The bridges were too wet to burn, but they could fall. Each time they torched an outlying building, the braids of rope connecting it to a bridge would burn, then snap. Throughout Yena, bridges that had been roads for Aryl and all her kin faltered and dropped, leaving fewer and fewer. They were already less, Aryl thought, remembering like a dream how Sarc had outlasted so many others.

She focused. Enris relied on her to know which to spare. They could, if they weren’t careful, burn their last escape.

The Tikitik were gone, or had retreated too far to be a threat. For now. While they waited to start the next blazes, Aryl leaned against Enris—or he leaned against her—to watch the outer ring of Yena spark and smolder. The wavering light was losing; they’d have to fire the remaining homes next, then move to the warehouses, closest to the meeting hall. She didn’t know what they could do after that. Though the rastis fronds curled and blackened above each of the burning roofs, they refused to catch fire. The stalks so far seemed impervious, not that it was easy to see them through the smoke. The Tikitik chose their chambers well.

“Aryl Sarc.” Enris said her name as if it surprised him. “That’s where I saw you.” He was pointing at the main bridge, before the meeting hall. It was free of the swarm now. Bones still bound by flesh hung from a rope rail.

“How did you manage that, Enris of Tuana?” Her voice sounded unfamiliar, hoarse with smoke.

“Yuhas Parth shared the memory. Now sud S’udlaat.” A pause to cough, something they were both doing. “Handy with a broom.”

Aryl didn’t laugh, but only because her throat was sore already. “Good. He’s—Thank you. That’s good news.”

“S’long as he never finds out I helped burn his home.” Enris left her to choose another wrapped stick, setting it beside a burning one to ignite. “Speaking of which—”

Aryl pointed to his next target, walking away to her own. How could he make jokes? she asked herself. What kept him limping from home to home, saving those he didn’t know?

She glanced back at him as she opened the next door, then turned and entered, forgetting to put her fire first to scare away any of the swarm that might be hiding inside. She knew her mistake when the first small jaws locked on her ankle, her shin. She made it worse—frantic to brush the foul things off, she dropped her burning stick. As it bounced and fell from the bridge, they were climbing her body, their jaws seeking her flesh.

Enris!

Here! Light blazed into her eyes, light and heat and help. He reached past her to set the nearest curtains afire—more light— only then coming back to help pull off the ones too intent on chewing to scurry away. Aryl sobbed in silence, furious with herself, at how close she’d come—

“That’s all of them,” Enris said, brushing the hair back from her face with one hand. “You all right?”

With a final angry hiccup, Aryl ran her hands quickly over her body, assessing the damage. The swarm killed by the number of mouthfuls they could take in a hurry; her attackers had been mercifully few. She’d lost chunks of skin from her shins and ankles, had holes in her stranger-pants and shirt. The small wounds would ooze blood until cleansed, there was no help for that. The pain was no worse than when she’d fallen into a stinger nest. “I should know bet-better,” she said at last.

He didn’t comment, but when they left that home to fire the next, he wouldn’t let her go alone. “We’re both too tired for this,” he said when she protested. “We’ll stay together.”

Aryl stepped from the bridge to the outer deck of the meeting hall. The Tikitik had done their work. There was no light through the windows; holes rent the fabrics and roof, easy entry for the swarm. The sendings from within were subdued, now. From the feel, everyone was huddled in the center of the great room. Unless they dared look outside, her people couldn’t know who was keeping the swarm at bay. At least they would know two Om’ray lived, where nothing should.

From the smell, someone—she guessed Haxel and her scouts—had doused the deck and walls of the hall with somgelt. She hoped not to find out if it would work.

Day-bright out here, while the empty warehouses burned. Fires’ light was different from glows, she thought. Fierce and full of color.

She hoped, with a deep abiding anger, the Tikitik could see it, too.

“You could go in,” Enris said, joining her. “I’ll stay.”

She’d give anything to believe she could walk in there and wait with the rest to be saved. She’d give anything to believe it would happen without her standing here, breathing smoke, surrounded by ruins and flame. Anything, Aryl realized with a faint pride, but those inside. She was responsible for them now.

“Too crowded for me. I think you should go,” she said with an attempt to laugh that turned into a long, painful cough. When she could breathe again, she sputtered, “—only just—occurred to me, Enris.”

“What?”

“You’re on Passage—which Chooser called you—we’ve three, you know. I can tell you—” she coughed, “—all about her.”

A home burned through its supports and broke apart, flames and wood raining down through the canopy. Aryl was sure she could hear scrambling as the swarm fled its light, then again, when that light was extinguished by the Lay and they returned, to wait. Her bites, the three she could touch, were slick with blood. She’d had worse. She grimaced and pulled soot from her eyelashes. They would have been worse, had Enris not come to her aid. That was the thing about the swarm. They kept eating.

He didn’t take up her offer; she didn’t press the point. UnChosen were sensitive. It was unlikely, though, to be her cousin Seru, Aryl decided. No reason, just what she thought. Her brain was wandering. Not a good sign. “You hungry?”

Enris looked at her. “Passed hungry yesterday.”

Aryl reached inside her stranger-shirt. She’d lost or dropped everything but the small piece of blanket with her breakfast. “No promises on the taste,” she warned, using her teeth to loosen the knot. It smelled like sweat.

Once loose, she unrolled it, pleased to see the paste from the bowl had formed a stick she could break in half. “Here.” She didn’t bother with a taste, ramming hers into her mouth. If it was at all edible, her stomach deserved it. Enris seemed of the same opinion. It was an unexpectedly peaceful moment, despite the fires burning on all sides.

So when done, Aryl licked her lips and made herself say what she must. “Enris. Before you meet other Yena, I need you—I ask you—to promise not to tell how I brought us here.” From her experience with such things, he’d reveal it to his Chosen; she’d deal with her later. Whoever she was. “No one should ask, but—” she thought of her mother, “—if anyone does, tell them we came in an Oud flying machine.” Something of Cersi. “Just not the truth. Please.”

“Yes, that.” His lips quirked again. “I admit to boundless curiosity. I thought you were tossing us from the cliff to spite the strangers. Seemed as good as any idea at the time.”

“It wasn’t that high,” she said stiffly. He hadn’t promised yet. He had to. “Please. It’s—I did it to help my Clan, but—”

“Which you have.”

“Stop interrupting me,” she snapped. He was as hard as Costa to talk to about serious things. “The Adepts call it the Dark; it’s another place. Dangerous. Forbidden. I wasn’t to use it again. I wouldn’t have, but—we had to be here. If the Tikitik find out what I did—if anyone else finds out—it will cause trouble.”

“Worse than this?” he said with a grim laugh. Before she could object, Enris added, “I promise. On one condition.”

“Condition? What—”

“You show me how to do it. When we get out of this.”

She stared at him. Was this Tuana like Haxel or Tikva, willing to risk anything for Power? “Didn’t you hear me? Using it could destroy the peace!” She shuddered, remembering that place. “Such Power isn’t for us. I won’t try it again. You shouldn’t want it.”

“You’re wrong,” he countered with equal passion. “You met the Humans, too. Power—what we each can do—it’s who we are. It’s what we are. Don’t deny yourself, Aryl. The Om’ray are too few, and our world—our world’s not what we thought, is it?” She felt his mindvoice then, with a swell of dark amusement. I never thought I’d meet someone with too much conscience.

You don’t know what it’s cost.

The firelight was failing. There was nothing left to burn that didn’t hold Yena. Soon, truenight would win, and only the eager swarm would survive it.

Why wasn’t she afraid?

“If Yena sees another dawn, Enris,” she told him at last, “it’s because of you. Keep your word and I’ll do—I’ll do what I can to teach you.” With any luck, she told herself, he wouldn’t be able to sense the other place anyway.

With no luck at all, it wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t be alive to try.

They stood in silence, watching the darkness consume the light. The swarm would reach them across the main bridge first, she guessed. Cutting the massive support braids would take the better part of the night and buy, at best, a heartbeat. They had no more gauze or dry wood. Enris had already tried lighting the rope rails around the deck. They only blackened and smoked.

“What’s that noise?” Enris whispered.

“The swarm—”

“Not that. Listen.”

Aryl held her breath, ignoring the sullen snaps and echoing crackle of what fires still burned. Too quiet, she realized. She couldn’t hear the clicks, the snarls and snaps of the swarm. Why?

“That.”

A trill, as if three singers competed to see who could make the sweeter sound. Another. A third, more distant.

“A wysp,” she told Enris, her voice unsteady. “They sing to greet truenight.” She reached out in the dark for his hand, gripped it tightly despite her blisters. “And they sing—they sing it good-bye. Dawn, Enris. Above the canopy, it’s dawn.”

Sending the swarm back to the waters of the Lay Swamp.

They’d survived.

Interlude

YENA BEGAN TO EMERGE once sunbeams stroked their way through the maze of giant plants and smoke. Enris sat with his back against the comfortingly solid side of the meeting hall, unable to credit he’d spent the night running over thin bits of wood and rope, suspended so high that . . . he swallowed, hard. They were so high, he’d yet to see the ground. Not that there was ground beneath them, Aryl had informed him while they rested, but rather water and mud, home to those not-iglies who’d done their best to overwhelm and eat them alive.

Other things had taken over that job. Wearily, he flapped his hands in front of his face, trying for room to breathe through the hordes of small flying nuisances. Being filthy had one advantage. There wasn’t much skin available for their tiny jaws. “Ouch!” Still some. He’d given up on sleep.

“Here.” A Yena who could have been Yuhas’ twin bent to offer him a wad of fabric. “Wrap this around your head. Like we do.”

Enris gestured gratitude and did his best to copy what he saw. The too-fine stuff snared on his calluses and cuts. When he noticed most of the Chosen left their faces bare, despite the insects, he did the same. It was still a relief not to have to defend his neck and shoulders. He noticed other things. Their clothing—what Yuhas had worn at first—freed their arms and legs while protecting their skin. He was sweating from every pore under his heavy tunic and pants. With the sun, the air had become oppressively hot and humid. The light fabrics they wore made, he admitted, sense.

Aryl had rejoined her clan the moment the first stir came from inside the hall, bidding him to rest as long as he could. She’d had the look he remembered from Yuhas’ memory, determination rooted in grief. He’d doubted he could stand anyway. She could. Like Yuhas, these were the most athletic Om’ray he’d ever seen, all of them. They moved with that same quick grace. Too thin, though; every face was gaunt. He felt self-conscious, his thicker body a rude reminder of Tuana’s abundance.

There were, indeed, Choosers here. He maintained his shields, but that particular summons had its way of being noticed, like the warm smell of supper on a cold night. He might have an appetite, Enris reminded himself. He didn’t have to eat.

He’d kept count as the Yena came out on the platform. Most stopped at once to stare in dismay at what remained of their aerial village. There should be more of them, he thought. He and Aryl had burned enough homes to house four times this number. By daylight, he could see more abandoned, beyond the bridge network.

There were three Choosers, some older unChosen—though none male—the Chosen. No children. No elderly. No one weak.

Where were the rest? He reached and found part of the answer. There. Not far. But not in sight. Why?

Easing to his feet, Enris limped to the nearest group, a family of four. He was taller, though he doubted stronger, than the two Chosen. The Yena were subdued, their greeting no more than a quiet murmur of names he didn’t need. Tears streaked the face of their youngest, though she didn’t speak. Shock, he thought. And who could blame them?

“Stranger?”

He bowed awkwardly to the family and turned as two more approached. “Enris Mendolar of Tuana Clan,” he said to the new faces.

One was an older Chosen, a scout, by the knives in her belt and scars. To be a scout here—one of those who patrolled the limits of territory for the Clan? Enris made the gesture of respect. That so many had survived until they’d come was no doubt due to this one’s skill.

“Haxel Vendan, Yena First Scout.” Her voice was smoother than he’d expected. “This is Ael sud Sarc.”

Enris nodded to Ael. Family, though no close resemblance. Aryl’s eyes were gray, not brown, and larger, slightly slanted to the outside. Her features—what he’d seen under the soot and streaks of ash—were as strong, with a firm jaw and wide mouth. He’d already noticed how still her face could be, like the crust on molten metal that hid the heat beneath. This Chosen had a face as open and full of expression as his young brother’s, although now lined with strain.

“Yena welcomes you, unChosen,” Ael said warmly. “Though to what—” he didn’t need to gesture to the ruin around them.

“It’s going to get worse,” the First Scout advised, her eyes hard.

Having experienced truenight here, Enris fully understood.

“What can I do?”