Riders of the Storm

Chapter 5

“WHAT’S WRONG?”

Aryl ignored Juo’s question. She wouldn’t tell anyone else what Enris believed or what he’d decided. She wished she didn’t know, but his mind had been appallingly open to hers at that moment. She could still taste dirt, thrown up by his furious, futile cuts at the ground, feel the prickle of thorns. She understood, as never before, why Tuana feared what lay beneath their feet as Yena feared what hunted the dark.

Oud had attacked Om’ray.

His reactions were hers, too. Fear…disgust…rage… finally, resolve. Too strong, too passionate, too destructive. She trembled and wished them gone, unfelt.

She didn’t wish Enris gone.

But he wouldn’t stay. She understood that, too. He believed they weren’t safe, that no Om’ray was safe. He believed there was a Clan—somewhere—with technology of its own, free of the Agreement. That it was the key not to the future, but to their survival.

She wasn’t sure he was wrong.

“Seru went this way,” Juo said. “You coming?” She didn’t stop, though she kept to flatter ground. A concession to her changed balance.

Could the Oud hear their steps? Were they below, listening for trespassers? Aryl caught herself following in silence, as if stalking prey in the canopy, or avoiding becoming prey.

What difference would it make? Her next step was an angry thud that brought Juo’s head around.

“You walk like the Tuana.”

“Why would Seru come here?” Aryl countered, stepping over another dry ditch after Juo. By so doing, they left the village itself. Ahead was a series of dirt mounds, head-high, running parallel to the now-sheer cliff. Good thing they’d come down to the valley floor before this, she decided, looking up. The dark gray rock, shot through with specks of white, might have been polished to the smoothness of a fine table. They’d have needed more rope than all Yena possessed to descend here.

Juo’s attention was for the mounds. “It’s all here,” the Chosen said, her voice strange. “Seru knows that.”

When Juo had joined this hunt for her cousin, Aryl had been grateful for the company of a Chosen, even if a Harvest younger. She wasn’t grateful now. Chosen shouldn’t be risked. “What’s ‘all here,’ Juo?” she asked cautiously.

“You know.” Juo laughed. “Everyone does.” Despite her swollen torso, the other moved quickly. Passing the first mound, she turned right and disappeared. “This way! She’s already there.”

Aryl felt a chill the warmth of the sun couldn’t touch. They were alone here, the three of them. She dared lower her shields, slightly, and reached for Juo.

Nothing.

Like Seru. Not asleep. She could sense where and who they were, but their minds were untouchable, as if elsewhere.

What was happening?

Instead of following, Aryl scrambled up the mound. It wasn’t an upheaval left by the Oud, but something more solid. Once on top, she crouched.

Not that Juo and Seru were looking her way. The two stood before another mound, their bodies rigid, their shadows merged along what Aryl now saw was more of the fitted paving stone the Sona used on their roadways, this stretch intact under its cover of windblown dirt.

What was this place? She dug her fingers into the mound by her feet. Wisps of vegetation parted; beneath were shallow roots, clinging tenaciously to hard lumps of dirt. Those came free, and Aryl touched stone.

A structure.

Enris! She made the sending tight and private. When he didn’t respond, she added her worry and fear.

And…curiosity.

Here. His mindvoice was distant at first, then abruptly strong. Where are you?

Where she shouldn’t be? Away from the rest in unfamiliar territory, with their only Chooser and a pregnant Chosen, neither of whom appeared sane? Aryl buried that twinge of guilt, sending an image of the mounds and valley wall. Hurry. Something’s wrong with Seru and Juo.

Coming.

With the word, a warm rush of reassurance, as if somehow, he was already at her side.

She was going to miss that.

Someone else arrived first, someone small and fleet and the very last person Aryl wanted to see leave the safety of the village to run to this place. But she wasn’t surprised. Ziba had been the other sleeper disturbed last truenight. It wasn’t a coincidence.

What it was, she couldn’t guess.

Ziba joined Seru and Juo. The trio stood before the mound without a word or look to one another. They might have been made of stone themselves. Not even the rapid drum of overlarge boots disturbed them a few moments later, though it lifted her spirits.

When Enris reached the mound, she jumped lightly to the ground. “It’s Seru and—”

Whatever else she’d planned to say stuck in her throat. He was so close she felt his deep steady breath on her face, could smell sweat mixed with dirt on his skin. He must have run all the way, doubtless alarming everyone he passed. They wouldn’t be alone for long.

She gazed into his dark brown eyes, warm with concern, and suddenly knew—or had she always?—that no time with Enris Mendolar would be enough.

And hers was almost over.

“Vyna’s not close,” Aryl reminded him, proud of her even voice, her tight shields. “You should leave while the sun’s out.”

Enris’ wide mouth turned down at the edges. “Aryl—” As if her name hurt to say. “I’m sorry.”

She was no Chooser, to Call him to her side. She wouldn’t if she could. He had a goal, a plan to benefit all Om’ray.

She was not so small as that.

Aryl lifted her chin. “I think Seru and the others have found something important—don’t ask me how. It’s this way.”

He didn’t say a word as he went with her around the mound, matching his stride to hers. Otherwise, they kept their distance.

The three Om’ray hadn’t moved, as far as Aryl could tell, nor did they react as she and Enris approached. The freshening wind tossed Ziba’s hair into her eyes. She didn’t blink.

“What’s the matter with them?” Enris sounded shaken.

She didn’t blame him. “Don’t try to reach them,” she cautioned quickly. To her inner sense, the darkness was close, agitated, eager. Neither of them should risk it. “They had bad dreams last ’night. Seru’s had them since we neared the valley. She and Juo seem—they seem to know things they couldn’t.”

“Ziba as well,” he surprised her by saying. “Look. They’re staring at the same spot.” He edged in front of the three, careful not to touch them, and brushed his fingertips over a place on the side of the mound no different from any other. “Ah.”

“‘Ah?’” Aryl echoed.

Enris plucked the short knife from Juo’s belt and used it to pry at the surface. Clumps of roots and dirt fell away. Casually, as he worked, “Did you dream, too?” When she didn’t answer, he glanced over his shoulder at her, his expression unreadable. “Well?”

Aryl frowned. “Why ask me?”

“Because you’re the only other one like them. Ugh.” A satisfied grunt as a larger clod yielded to the knife. He began attacking higher up. “Ziba, Seru. Juo’s unborn daughter.” The shower of dirt became a tumble of larger pieces. “I thought so. A door,” he announced, rapping his knuckles on what sounded like wood.

Aryl gaped at him, not the mound. “What do you mean, I’m like them? And how can you know what Juo carries?”

Enris grinned and sketched a bow. “One of the disadvantages to being eligible. My sense of Cersi has come to include an awareness of Choosers-to-Be nearby as well as Choosers themselves. Apparently,” he added as he carefully replaced Juo’s knife in her belt, near the restless bulge of her abdomen, “even those less able to speak for themselves.” His grin disappeared as he looked at her. “There’s something hungry about you all, something that reaches out. Maybe that’s what finds these dreams. You did dream, didn’t you? Tell me.”

Aryl shuddered. “I don’t know what it was,” she admitted. “I felt—”

“Juo! Ziba!” Two, then four, then every Yena exile fit to walk appeared between the mounds, hurrying toward them.

Enris kept his eyes on her. “What did you feel?” Low and urgent.

She pressed her lips together and gestured a desperate apology. They had no more time for secrets.

No time left at all.

It seemed fitting that Seru Parth chose that moment to turn around and smile, as if to share a secret of her own.

“We could burn our way through.”

“And lose what may be inside.” Haxel turned to Enris. “Tell me again how you found this door.”

Ziba pushed forward through the crowd of onlookers. “We found it!” she protested. “Seru and me! We knew it was there.”

Seru flinched and clutched her coat tighter around herself. She’d stayed close to Aryl since waking from—whatever it had been. Her smile had vanished the instant she’d seen where she was, in the shadow of the strange mounds. It hadn’t helped when the others arrived, full of curiosity and questions. Even now, her thoughts and emotions were chaotic, barely contained within her shields. Aryl felt a surge of protectiveness. Seru deserved none of this.

I’m here, she sent, stroking the back of her cousin’s hand. Don’t worry. We’ll find out what’s happening. We’ll stop it.

Looking weary and equally confused, Juo leaned against Gijs who, for no reason Aryl could fathom, had his gaze locked on Enris.

Veca and Tilip, their woodworkers, stood in front of the mysterious wooden door, radiating frustration. Morla had pronounced it impossible. It wasn’t their fault, Aryl thought. There was no locking mechanism, no rod on which to turn the door if unlocked. And they had only the knives in their belts.

“Have the Tuana open it.”

Voices died away as Gijs left Juo to confront Enris. His face was pale and set. “Open it,” he challenged.

Could he? Aryl wondered. He possessed the Talent to push objects through space. He’d used it to save her life. Haxel had been with them; there was no missing her attention to this exchange.

How did Gijs know?

Enris might have been carved in stone. Her sense of him faded as he tightened his shields beyond politeness.

“There’s no need for the stranger’s help,” Tilip announced. He was a tall Om’ray, vine-thin before the days of scant rations—gaunt, now, with hollowed cheeks. In contrast, thick, fair hair curled at his neck and brow, tumbling into his pale blue eyes. His hands were long-fingered and skilled with any tool, but the Kessa’ats’ tools had burned with their home, Aryl remembered sadly, in the fire she and Enris had set. “Fon can open it. Fon!”

Fon Kessa’at wormed his way through the silenced Om’ray, his head down. Their other unChosen, Cader Sarc and Ziba’s brother Kayd, came with him. The three were always together now. Fon was four Harvests younger than Aryl; thin as his father but with his mother’s coloring. Quiet and painfully shy. A poor climber.

Aryl was ashamed to admit that was all she knew of him.

Stepping past his friends, the young Om’ray peered through his hair at his father and mother.

Something passed among them. Veca’s lips thinned and she shot a hard look at her Chosen before moving from the door. Fon took her place. He spread both hands—long-fingered, Aryl noticed—and pressed them on the door. Then…

POWER!

Someone cried out.

Messy, Aryl grimaced. Fon needed to learn some focus.

The result, however, was before them all—or rather, it wasn’t. The door to the mound, however it had been secured, had disappeared. A puff of mist hung within the opening for an instant, then dissipated into the air.

Tilip ruffled his son’s hair as he looked out at the rest of the exiles. There was pride in that look. Pride and defiance.

Aryl understood. They all did. The Kessa’ats hadn’t been exiled by the Yena Council and Adepts because of Tilip or Veca. It hadn’t been Morla and Lendin. They’d been exiled because of their son. Here was the new Talent deemed too dangerous for Yena. The change.

Curious. Had Fon sent the door somewhere else through the other, or had he merely pushed it into that darkness? Was it some other process altogether?

Haxel, practical as always, strode toward the opening as if doors were supposed to get out of her way, collecting Enris and Gijs with a gesture. The rest settled to wait, Cader and Kayd rushing to Fon with congratulations that made the young Om’ray blush.

Seru whirled and grabbed Aryl’s hands. I know what’s inside!…How can I know?…What’s happening to me?! FEAR!

“Haxel, wait!” Aryl cried.

Haxel paused with a raised eyebrow and no patient feel to her. “Why?”

Not a question she could answer. Not yet. She drew a breath to try.

“Because we need light,” Enris said, smooth and reasonable. “We can carry fire. Lengths of wood—wrapped in cloth. Won’t take long to make.”

His eyes met hers. Go.

Captivated by the Tuana’s idea, no one appeared to notice as Aryl pulled Seru away from the rest. Her cousin didn’t resist.

Aryl didn’t try to contact her mind. “What did you mean, you know what’s inside?”

Seru’s eyes lifted. They were dark with shock. Her voice was low and trembled. “Through the door are steps, like Grona’s meeting hall. Stone. Wide. But they go down, not up. Down, down. Where they end is a flat space. On either side, an archway of stone. The arch toward Amna leads to a long room. It’s full of things. Baskets. Gourds like the Tikitik bring. The other—” she stopped, her hand over her mouth. I don’t want to know this. I can’t know this! Frantic with fear.

Hush! But before she could comfort Seru, Aryl found words spilling from her own lips. “The other leads to a second room, as long as the first, with shelves.” She could almost touch them, the image was so vivid in her mind. “On the shelves are bowls with lids, carved of wood. There are seeds inside, seeds for the next growing season.” She knew their names. Knew which were husked in brown, which were shiny and black, which must be soaked for days or fail to sprout at all.

Seru gasped. “You see it, too! How?”

“I don’t know.” Aryl remembered the whispers in the darkness, her mouth trying to speak another’s words—and fought back her own fear.

They stared at one another. Seru spoke first. “A storage place, like a Yena warehouse. Maybe,” for the first time, her voice sounded hopeful, “there’s food inside.”

If any could last this long. “It’s worth a look.” Aryl wrapped her arms around her cousin and held her tight. Whatever this is, Seru, she sent, making sure the other felt her pride and love, you may have saved us all. When she stepped back, she added, “We’ll go with Haxel—”

“No. I can’t. What if what we—what we see—what if it isn’t there?” Seru’s eyes were bright with tears. “They already think something’s wrong with me. Please, Aryl. Don’t tell anyone that I—about this.” Promise! The sending was as forceful as she could manage.

“I won’t, unless I must.” Aryl gestured apology. Lines of dark smoke rose, bending at the top of the mounds as the wind caught them. “They’re ready. I’ll go. Will you be all right?”

Will you?

She had no answer.

In that short time, Haxel had set everyone else in motion. The Kessa’ats and the Uruus, not coincidentally those with the youngest in their families, headed back to the village to improve the exiles’ shelter before firstnight. The weather smiled on them now, but no one trusted the mountain sky. Weth and Ael had already left, returning to their injured Chosen. Juo, who should have gone, refused. She sat with Husni, Cetto, and Lendin, their backs against the opposite mound. Morla paced, claiming her arm preferred it. Her tightly netted white hair caught the sun.

Rorn stood outside the opening, his longknife in hand. Guarding what, against whom, Aryl couldn’t imagine, but Haxel took no chance she could avoid. Which left Enris and Gijs to enter with her, fire held high in their fists.

Motioning Seru to sit with Juo, Aryl followed hurriedly. She made it to the doorway before Haxel stopped to frown at her. “Wait here, Aryl. We don’t know what’s inside.”

For some reason, Aryl glanced at Enris. Something in her face—for her shields were tight—made his eyes narrow in speculation.

“I do,” she said, facing Haxel.

“You.” The First Scout nodded toward Seru and Juo. “I thought they were the sleepwalkers.”

Feeling her cheeks warm, Aryl stood her ground. “There are stone steps. Two storerooms. If we’re lucky, they’ll contain something still of use.”

“Lead the way.” Haxel sidestepped, motioning Aryl ahead.

With one stride, Enris was beside her. “Light,” he explained, raising his burning stick. With a twist of his lips, I hope you know what you’re doing.

She hoped so, too.

There were steps. To the unsuspecting, without light, the threat of a fall. With light, they were a broad roadway. Aryl took them without hesitation, hearing the others close behind. A bright circle bathed the stone before her feet; Enris’ height gave that advantage here. Other circles bounced and overlapped along walls she could touch, if she reached out with both hands.

“Cold,” Gijs observed, a disembodied voice. The word echoed.

Silently, she counted steps. At twenty, she slowed. “We’re almost at the bottom.”

“This shouldn’t be here,” protested Enris. “Om’ray don’t trespass underground. The Oud forbid it.”

“They didn’t destroy it,” Haxel countered.

“They’d killed everyone. Why bother?”

She laughed. “Comforting, aren’t you, Tuana?”

“Here we are,” Aryl interrupted. The mound’s heart was as her mind expected. The firelight pushed back the dark on either side, through wide archways easily two Om’ray high. Colder here, much colder. She could see her breath; her warm Grona coats did nothing to stop her shivers. Or was it fear? She made a choice. “This way.”

“Wait.” There was a sound of metal sliding, a faint whomp, then the steps were illuminated in warm, yellow light. “Good. Still oil,” Enris commented, using his stick to ignite another of the round fixtures. There were a pair on each arch. “Glows don’t last long in the cold,” he said self-consciously as he noticed the others, including Aryl, gazing at him in wonder. “We make something similar. Good for working outside in winter.”

Gijs snorted. “You go out in truenight.”

“I do many things you don’t, Yena.”

Tension. Aryl hesitated, looking from one to the other. Something was wrong between them. What?

“Let’s go,” Haxel ordered.

The first room wasn’t, as Seru had feared, empty. As Enris hunted more of his oil lights to ignite, Haxel and Gijs walked a wide aisle between tall baskets and gourds, opening lids, exclaiming at what they found inside.

Not empty—but not the same. Aryl clung to the arch, feeling empathy for Weth, their Looker. Her mind demanded to see what it “remembered,” arguing against the reality before her eyes until her stomach threatened to lose the nothing it contained. The baskets should be shorter, wider. The gourds should be in clusters nearer that side, and why were they colored in elaborate symbols instead of plain?

Whatever was in her head, it wasn’t this moment, or even a moment close to it.

“Seru’s dream or yours?”

Aryl focused with relief on Enris, who was as he should be, though with a thunderous scowl she ignored. He was leaving; let him worry about Vyna, not her.

“Mine,” she told him. It wasn’t a lie. “But not like a dream. I know things about this place—I can’t explain how. The other storeroom—somehow I’m sure it was used for seeds and tools. I can tell you names, words for things I never learned. This room was for food and—” as Gijs pulled out a length of fabric, “—other supplies. But it’s not the same. It’s changed…

“…I think,” she warned hastily, feeling an abrupt lurch inside, “I’m going to be sick.”

She shut her eyes, numb with more than the cold, and fought her unhappy stomach.

Aryl… Fingertips brushed her cheek. Power followed, a shock like icy rain down her back. She opened her eyes and glared. “Why did you do that?”

“You don’t feel sick now, do you?” Enris smiled at whatever showed on her face. “I’m hungry. As the one who ‘knows things,’ how about finding food?”

About to deny any such ability, Aryl found herself walking forward. The Tuana was right. The room grew longer as Gijs and Haxel continued to find more lights on its walls. There had to be dozens of baskets, some shoulder-high. Even more gourds. Whatever else Sona had been, they’d been rich beyond any Clan she knew. “Why so much?” she mused, fingers leaving trails on a dust-covered lid.

“This?” Another laugh. “You should see what my Clan stores for the winter—and we barely have the cold. Grona spends most of the warm weather putting away supplies and still has lean times. You Yena are spoiled. Food grows for you all the time.”

“Dresel can only be harvested once a year,” she reminded him. Om’ray couldn’t live without it, not in the canopy. Once a year, the M’hir Wind would blow over the mountains. The Watchers would sound their alert and Yena would climb. They’d risk their lives to snatch pods from the air. Once, she’d never imagined or wanted another life.

Would any Yena climb a rastis in the coming M’hir? Would any hooks flash, stealing treasure from the snatch of a wastryl?

Would she even know?

“Starving,” Enris prodded. “Skin and bones.”

Aryl flushed and lifted a lid at random. “Here.”

He peered inside. “You’re not serious.”

She looked, too. The basket was filled to its brim with wizened red lumps the size of her smallest finger, utterly unappealing.

Aryl popped one into her mouth before she realized what her hand was doing. About to spit it out, she stopped, entranced by a sweet, rich flavor. A tentative chew released more.

Seeing this, Enris put two in his mouth, his face taking on a comic look of rapture.

Aryl swallowed and smiled. “They called it rokly. It grows on a vine, like sweetberries.”

“So it wasn’t a game.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I was afraid of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ziba.” Enris sighed heavily. “She’s too young to sort dreams from real memory. Taen and Syb should be told. Maybe they can shield her.” He glanced to where Haxel and Gijs were moving a gourd into an open space, both of them needed to tip and turn it on its base. “You should all be careful,” he urged quietly. “Something’s put this knowledge in your heads, Aryl, or put it where your mind can find it. We don’t know how—or why.”

She brought her lower lip between her teeth.

He gave her a quizzical look. “You do agree, don’t you?”

“About Ziba? Of course. And Juo’s unborn. We should protect them. But I don’t see the harm, Enris. Look at all this,” she gestured at the room. “We’d never have found it on our own.”

She felt a jolt of dread before he buried it behind shields. “Tell me you aren’t planning to stay here,” Enris demanded, leaning forward. A lock of black hair fell over one eye, and he shoved it back impatiently. “Tell me you’re going to pack all you can and leave for Rayna as soon as Chaun can walk. Aryl, please.”

Her heart raced. “Om’ray lived here once—”

“And the Oud ended them!”

“Tell me Rayna will take us,” she retorted fiercely. “Tell me they won’t be sorry if they do.”

She hadn’t meant to say it. She hadn’t, Aryl thought with a pang of guilt, known she would.

Enris drew back, his eyes bleak. “Is that what you believe? That Yena’s Council was right after all? That your people deserve to be thrown out on their own?”

Insufferable Tuana. “Think what you like. You’re leaving.” She started to turn away. His big hand trapped her arm. “Let go of me.” It was like trying to shake off a mountain. Haxel and Gijs were ignoring them—too obviously. Aryl felt her face grow hot. “Let. Go.”

His fingers opened, but stayed on her arm. “I’d like to think you’ll be safe. All of you.” His voice deepened to a distressed rumble. “Staying here isn’t the answer, Aryl. Listen to reason. You’re too few. You need other Om’ray, a Clan. Your people will go wherever you lead—”

Let GO! Her sending hurt him; his hand dropped to his side and he gave her a stricken look.

She didn’t care. “We’re no longer your concern, unChosen. Take your Passage. Find joy.” If the traditional farewell came out as a snarl, the Tuana deserved it.

Maybe he’d leave now. Aryl half ran past Haxel and Gijs, both of whom exchanged looks but didn’t say a word. She stopped at a group of baskets and began tossing lids aside without seeing what was in them.

He didn’t understand. It wasn’t about fault or guilt. It was about what they were. The exiles would change whatever Clan they tried to join. They’d bring Yena names. They’d bring new Forbidden Talents: hers, Fon Kessa’at’s, others’ yet to be revealed. By existing, they’d upset the Agreement.

Sona offered what she’d never imagined—the possibility of living apart from other Clans, to be themselves, to risk only themselves.

To become something new.