Riders of the Storm

Chapter 6

IT WAS CLOSE TO FIRSTNIGHT before they finished exploring the mound and returned to the village. Ziba pounced on the rokly, but made faces at a stone jar of a spicy paste she personally detested but others could eat if they wanted. Her parents had been appalled, Haxel amused. With Aryl’s help—as best she could offer—they’d sorted the bulk of their trove into what could be carried back to the village and used immediately, and what should be left. Stones were used to seal the opening. Ideally, they’d enter the next mound through its door.

For there was no mistaking the value in what they’d found, or where. Whether by some unknown technology within the mound itself or a combination of excellent packing and the cool mountain air outside, the stored goods were remarkably intact. Along with still-edible, if unfamiliar, preserved food—most from plant sources, though there were hard purple twists Aryl “remembered” as flesh from a kind of swimmer—there were thick woven blankets, tools, clothing in various sizes. The big sealed gourds were found to contain a fine oil. There were devices to use it for cooking as well as light.

Everyone who could helped bring baskets and gourds to the village. Enris carried more than his share, conversed easily with others, laughed his big laugh.

Kept his distance.

Those who’d gone back to improve their shelter and care for the injured found themselves with supplies better than anything they could have brought from Grona.

By truenight?

It wasn’t the same place, Aryl thought, leaning exactly where she had the ’night before.

Blankets of yellow and green and red lined the floor and hung from the walls to keep out drafts. On advice from Enris, the roof was left open above the fire, but elsewhere?

Let it storm. The Om’ray would stay snug and dry beneath Sona winter coats, woven and warm.

There was ample space to move as well. A neighboring building had been cleared of rubble and made habitable. Their packs were there, as well as their wounded and youngest, resting comfortably on extravagant layers of blankets. By the cheery oil light—as good as glows, Husni proclaimed the new devices—there was animated talk of two more homes in need of nothing more than roofs and doors, simple to accomplish with tools now at hand. The search for a water supply would begin at dawn, but no one seemed to doubt Sona would provide that, too.

As for food? Aryl wrinkled her nose. Only the dried fruit and swimmer twists were ready to eat. Everything else needed to be soaked or combined or cooked. Inconveniently, nothing had come to her or Seru on how to prepare what they’d found while Ziba’s explanations centered on rokly and sweets they hadn’t. Juo had only the faintest sense of likes and dislikes.

Leaving Haxel and Ael to experiment.

From the smell of the current concoction, something they were cooking was either in the wrong combination, or intended to wash cloth.

Seru slept now, in their other shelter, a true, deep sleep. She was happier, Aryl thought, to see something good come from something so frightening. They were no closer to understanding what had happened here, but most agreed Seru’s first dreams must have been a warning, generations too late. The latest, though, seemed intended to help Om’ray survive here.

For her part, she hoped for more—so long as they didn’t involve the darkness. One to tell her where to find water. One to tell her what to expect from the weather. One to explain how to avoid angering the Oud. She had a growing list.

Aryl relaxed and watched the others. She watched Enris, too, when she thought he wouldn’t notice. His pack wasn’t with the rest; it leaned casually near the door. She was the only one to know why.

While he’d been busy helping move Chaun and the others, when no one was watching her, she’d added a few things. No sense having him stint himself on food, when they suddenly had so much. No harm giving him the Grona bread, some of the dried twists of swimmer, a bag of sweet rokly.

Her longknife.

A new blanket, tightly rolled and tied. A coil of rope. He might not climb willingly, but sometimes it was necessary.

A lock of her hair, tied into a Highknot. Every Yena child made one to leave at the top of that first true climb away from their mother. It was a matter of pride to go as high as you possibly could before the longing drew you back.

It didn’t matter that Enris wouldn’t know its purpose. She did.

Enris himself was presently Haxel’s most willing taster. While he waited for his next spoonful—the Tuana had the constitution of a rock—he filled another kind of light. It had the ropelike wick of the wall lights and a reservoir for oil, but within a small, sturdy metal frame with a handle. His head lifted and she looked away, sure now.

Such a light was meant to be carried.

He wasn’t going to wait for dawn. Enris would leave when no Yena would dare, in the middle of truenight.

Aryl settled herself against the blanket-shrouded stone.

The wonder was that the big Tuana didn’t wake everyone else. Aryl listened to Enris’ attempt at stealth, grinning as he put a foot squarely on a scrap of wood, then set a row of hanging tools in motion with his shoulder. When he picked up his pack and boots, half the Om’ray in the room grunted or turned over. Passing through the doorway would have been silent, except that its blanket curtain caught on his head and he muttered something desperate under his breath as he struggled free.

That made her stifle a giggle with her hand.

She gave him time to put on his boots, coat, and pack. Another few moments for his light and orientation—and to negotiate his way past Syb, on watch outside. One more for her own courage. Then she slid from under her blanket, fully dressed and booted, and moved to the door without a whisper of sound.

Even so, a hand found her ankle. He’ll be back.

Haxel’s mindvoice. Did the First Scout ever sleep? Aryl looked down to meet the gleam of very alert eyes. There are things I need to say.

It’s truenight. Curiosity.

I’ve been out in it before.

True. Amusement. Tell the flatlander his walk’s improved. Slightly.

Before opening the curtain, Aryl reached with care. As she’d expected, Enris and Syb were standing together, away from the door. She slipped through, careful to avoid the twinned circles of light from Syb’s small fire and Enris’ device. The older Om’ray had his hand on Enris’ broad shoulder. While they conversed, she moved around the corner of the ruin, close to the wall, placing weight on each foot only when sure she was on solid stone.

It wasn’t shadow here, it was truenight. Darkness pressed against her open eyes, real and tangible. Her nerves sang desperate alarms along her skin. Despite the heavy Grona coat, she could feel the hairs rise on her arms and neck. It was bitterly cold. She’d see her breath, if there was any light. But there was no light. No Om’ray should be outside in this…

Listen, she scolded herself. No screams. No screams meant no swarm. There was nothing here that hunted in the dark. Nothing. Her worst enemy was unfamiliar ground, where a false step could land her in one of the Sona ditches, or worse, one of the deeper pits left by the Oud.

Her heart slowed its hammering. Slightly.

She reached again. Enris was on the move; Syb by his fire.

Time to go.

Om’ray defined their place and world by each other. It was simple to follow Enris—the effort came in moving away from the comforting sense of so many more of their kind behind. As for avoiding Syb’s well-intentioned interference?

Climb and seek, Aryl smiled to herself. Few could discern one Om’ray from two or three—she was the only Yena who could discern who. She ran on her toes to the second shelter, guided by a hand on the wall between them. Those asleep inside would hide her glow from Syb. Once past that?

Aryl felt the door curtain, then the rest of the wall. There should be a beam leaning here; Tilip planned to use it tomorrow. She crouched to pass underneath, growing more confident in her memory as a guide. Three more steps should…her outstretched hand found stone and she turned to face the road.

Her breaths were drowned out by solid footsteps, though to be fair to the Tuana, sound was exaggerated in the still air. The tiny light from his hand danced over the paving stones and his boots, as strong a beacon as the lives behind her.

Enris slowed and lifted the light, sending brightness skittering over the ruins. Aryl backed out of its reach, making her inner self as invisible as she could. She saw his face, how his eyes searched the shadows for a moment. He lowered his hand and continued walking, footsteps echoing.

The brief illumination had reflected from the metal disk Enris now wore on his coat. A token.

Aryl sank down and hugged her knees to her chest.

She should go back.

Tokens were for those on Passage. Those who were as dead to the ones left behind, on their way to a new Clan, a new name, a new life. It was Forbidden to say more than farewell to those departing, Forbidden to interfere in any way. She’d watched Bern leave her and obeyed.

Who did she have to obey now? Aryl rose to her feet. This was Sona.

She gazed down the road. A light bobbed in the distance, moving farther and farther away.

There was no Council here.

She started walking slowly, then broke into a run.

Nothing was Forbidden.

His long legs and light gave the Tuana the advantage. Aryl wasn’t able to catch up before the point where paving stones split around a heave of rock and dirt, forcing her to a cautious walk. She knew where she was. The heave marked where the roadway bent to follow the empty river, and where what had been homes were now piles of rubble and sticks. It made no sense for the Oud to strike harder at the edge of Sona than its core, unless their intention had been to prevent escape.

Not a happy thought.

Nor was how Enris kept on going, farther and farther. She’d been confident he’d stop for truenight once a few steps away from the exiles, take shelter in the ruins, make a bright, warm fire she could enjoy while they talked. He should be exhausted, having carried more per load than anyone else. Hadn’t he managed to slip out with—so he thought—only Syb aware so far?

The Tuana had his own ideas. Aryl was forced to follow, sure of her direction, if less so of her footing. At least it wasn’t the truenight of the canopy, with its utter dark. There were bright holes in the sky above—stars—the effect like the open weave of a black curtain. Not enough to show details on the ground, though she could see the tall, jagged silhouettes of the mountain ridges that walled the valley. She didn’t know why the Makers failed to rise—they would have bathed the land in light.

The only grace was the terrain between Sona and the first dried riverbed, with its tumbled bridge. She never thought she’d be glad of flat.

Flat…almost. Aryl’s step went deeper than she’d expected, turning her next into a lurch to recover her balance. Pebbles skittered and she froze in place.

The solid crunchcrunchcrunch of Enris’ boots stopped.

Aryl crouched and held her breath.

She really should call out. Was it fair to make him wonder who was here?

She grinned.

Then again, she always won climb and seek.

Crunchcrunch She began to follow again, at a comfortable distance.

Suddenly, his footsteps came faster and faster. He’d broken into that ground-eating lope of his. Aryl hurried as much as she dared, but his light slipped away.

Did he want to leave her behind? Truenight pressed at her from all sides. Leave her in the dark?

She was about to give up the chase and shout when he halted, his light held chest-high.

At last! Aryl rushed into the welcoming glow. There was the light, on a rock. The tiny flame fluttered within its metal case so the shadows around it came alive. “Enris?” She looked around wildly—reached.

There.

The Tuana stood beyond the ring of light, impossible to see. His shields were enough to almost—not quite—make him impossible to sense as well. “Aryl?” He sounded startled.

Who else? she wondered, then pushed the thought aside. Now that she’d caught up with him, she found herself fumbling. “I—we’ve—I—Come where I can see you.”

He loomed from the shadows, gave her a cryptic look, then stalked to his light. Picking it up, he held it out. “Here.”

Aryl took it.

“Now go back.”

“Wait—”

Enris pointed up. “I’ve been out in truenight by nothing more, Aryl Sarc. Many times. You need the light—take it and go. I’ve made my decision.”

By “nothing more” she guessed he meant the stars, the little bright holes in the sky. As for his implication? She replaced the light on its rock. “I know you’re on Passage,” Aryl told him stiffly. “It’s Forbidden to interfere.”

“It’s Forbidden to follow me,” with a hint of his laugh. “So why did you?”

Why had she? Aryl watched the flame, struggling to find words for what had been clear and imperative before. “Because you were wrong about me,” she said finally. “I want more for my people. For all Om’ray. Like you, I seek a new future.”

“Here. In Sona.”

“Here,” she insisted. “Where we can be what we are without fear of harming anyone or upsetting the Agreement. Use whatever Talents we possess or learn for our own good. Think about it, Enris.”

“Put aside the fact that you’re being influenced by dreams you can’t explain,” no laughter in his voice now. “Or that you don’t know what the Oud will do. You can’t start a Clan with twenty-two Om’ray. Be reasonable.”

“We’re already a Clan,” she replied. “By the next M’hir, we’re either all that remains of Yena—or something new. The name doesn’t matter. Don’t you understand? The others didn’t leave Grona to follow me. They left because deep inside we know we belong together. Now—” she took a deep breath, “—we have a place of our own.”

“This Oud-reshaped pile of broken wood and stone? It’s not possible. You can’t stay here—”

“It’s not possible Om’ray have technology like the Oud or Tikitik,” she snapped back. “It’s not possible Vyna is the only Clan who still has it. It’s not possible, Enris Mendolar, that they’ll accept you on Passage as their own, then give their wisdom to you to share with the rest of us. Is it?”

Enris burst out laughing, deep and loud enough to echo in the distance. Despite herself, Aryl’s mouth twitched up at the corners. “We’re a great pair,” he chuckled. “Come with me, Aryl. Vyna won’t stand a chance.”

He didn’t mean it.

Knowing that, Aryl had no problem finding a smile. “Make a proper fire, Tuana,” she told him, “and I’ll do better than that.”

She had a promise to keep.

They made camp where an upthrust of paving stone reflected the warmth of their small fire and protected it from the wind. Easy to scavenge dry splinters of wood here; not so once Enris left Sona. As well, Aryl decided, he’d agreed to linger here until dawn. When the Tuana, apparently always hungry, went to dig in his pack for food, she offered the rokly she’d tucked into a pocket, along with her last chunk of Grona bread. The way he ate, he’d need all his supplies and more.

Yawning, Enris stretched his legs and arms, then shifted with a grunt to retrieve a sharp rock from where he sat. He tossed it into the darkness that walled their bit of light. “You sure you want to sleep out here?”

“We’re not going to sleep,” Aryl warned him, then temporized, “not until you’ve learned what I can teach you. If I can teach you.”

He shoved back his hood, as if too warm. Aryl sat as close as she could to the flames and left her head well wrapped. “I’ll have you know my father considers me a quick study.”

Her father had died when she was young. Her mother had somehow recovered and grown strong…Aryl pushed away thoughts of Taisal di Sarc. Her mother could touch the other. Not attention she wanted to court.

“Think about when I moved us from the strangers’ camp on the mountain to Yena. Did you sense the other?”

“‘Other?’ Someone else? No.”

“A place. A moving darkness.” That wasn’t the word she wanted. Taisal called it the Dark, but it wasn’t. Aryl raised her eyes from the fire and stared into the real thing: nothing, black, an absence of light. Even peaceful, without hunters. The other place wasn’t like that. Its darkness was ablaze with sensation, churning with powerful, chaotic movement that affected everything in its path. Like the M’hir Wind when it struck the canopy—a force to be understood and resisted, or it would destroy.

“Call it the M’hir,” she decided. The naming gave her comfort, as if it brought the inner darkness into the light of day, harnessed it for her people’s good. Her fiches were designed to ride one wind—maybe Om’ray were, too.

“The M’hir, is it?” Then he startled her by adding matter-of-factly, “Guess that’s where I pushed the roof this morning. I was afraid it would land on someone outside. Good to know it’s really gone. It is really gone, isn’t it?”

Aryl blinked. “Roof?”

“What was left of the supports. About to collapse on us.” Enris paused and his voice took on an edge. “Impressed Gijs.” He’d relaxed his shields. Now she felt anger and a curious shame. “Too much.”

That reaction, she understood. And something else. “You thought I was Gijs, didn’t you? That he’d followed you to demand you teach him.”

His lips quirked as he gestured apology. “Don’t ask me why. Gijs has young Fon now. I wonder who’ll be the next surprise? Oh, yes. You.” This with a sly glance. “Wish I could be here to see their faces. Haxel’s in particular.”

Insufferable Tuana. Aryl refused to react. She’d tell the others about the M’hir when she chose and not a moment sooner. “Are you ready to learn this or not?”

“If you won’t let me sleep—” a dramatic sigh, “—I’m ready. Do your worst, Aryl Sarc.”

If he could use the darkness—the M’hir, she reminded herself—this might be easy.

Or not.

She’d promised to try. “There’s more you should know about the M’hir before you touch it. It—it hungers. It will take you into itself, make you forget who you are. The Lost. Somehow they are part of it, or it’s part of them. I felt it.”

“Dangerous. What else?”

“This is no joke, Enris!” Aryl felt her cheeks warm. “The longer you touch it—the closer you let it come to who you are—the easier it is to let go. It came in my sleep last night, and I—” She stopped there. “It’s more than dangerous.”

Instant concern, deep and real, proved he wasn’t taking this as lightly as she’d feared. “Aryl, you don’t have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” Aryl laid another splinter on the fire, just so. “Don’t be careless. That’s all. Don’t look at the scenery. Treat the M’hir like fire. A tool that can burn you.”

“So how does this tool work?” Enris picked up a pebble, shot through with sparkles. “How do I move this from here,” on the flat of his right hand, “to here?” a quick toss to his left.

“You need me for that?”

Enris grinned. The pebble lifted from his palm, moved through the air between them, and landed with a quiet click among the others in front of her boot. Aryl barely sensed the Power he expended. “But that’s not what you do,” he pointed out. “Not how you brought us faster than a heartbeat to Yena.”

“No.” Nor was what he did something she could do, Aryl thought wistfully. Her mother could push with her mind, like Enris. So far, she hadn’t found that useful Talent in herself. “To move us—” or to move Bern Teerac, that fateful Harvest, “—was what I wanted most at that moment. I wanted us in my home, helping my Clan. I pictured us already there, until that image was more real to me than being on the cliff with the Humans. And there we were.”

She’d wanted Bern safe on the bridge, not falling to his death, wanted that to be real more than anything in her life. Bern, but she hadn’t thought of Costa, or the others who’d fallen…screaming…

Aryl forced the memory away. “Somehow,” she explained as best she could, “it means going into the M’hir, then out of it almost at once. It’s as if the M’hir is a place, but one where distance doesn’t matter, only will, so it lets a traveler ignore distance, too.” She threw up her hands. “Which probably makes as much sense to you as it does to me.”

Enris’ eyes almost glowed. “An image of your destination. Perhaps it’s necessary to have been there in person. To know the place well.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You said it: first, you envisioned a place you wanted to be. Then, you used your strength of will—which I’m guessing means your considerable Power—to move there through the M’hir. If you didn’t have a strong, clear location in mind, a target for your will, maybe you wouldn’t go anywhere.” He chuckled. “Or maybe you’d vanish like my roof. Go in, but not come out. Wonder what that’s like.”

She glowered at him. “Not funny, Tuana.”

No smile now. “I think it’s important to consider what could go wrong.”

Maddening unChosen. Bad as her brother for being ridiculous one moment, serious the next, without bothering to let her know which to expect. Enris returned her look with one of complete innocence.

Aryl pressed her lips together. He was right. She knew almost nothing about traveling through the M’hir, nothing of the risks. How could she teach anyone else until she’d learned herself?

“We’ll start with sending.” Before he could object, she went on quickly: “Yes, you can send mind-to-mind an impressive distance. But even you have limits.” Her glare defied him to argue. Enris merely smiled. “The M’hir can carry your thoughts like the wind, to anyone else able to touch it. I’ve found no limit, no effort except to keep from being swept away. Interested?”

“Very.” He held out his right hand, palm up, the gesture natural, as between trusted friends. Offering touch.

He meant nothing more by it. After all, who better than an eligible unChosen to know she wasn’t a Chooser?

Yet.

If not now, it didn’t matter when. It would be too late. Enris would be gone.

Within a fold of her long coat, Aryl’s right hand curled into a fist, nails digging into her skin.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered, proud the words sounded normal. She laid her left hand on his. Different calluses marked his palm; his hand was wider and longer than hers. Warmer. The irony that someone so physically strong should possess the Talent to move what he wanted by Power didn’t escape her.

But not everything required force.

Wait for me, she sent.

She’d spent the day avoiding the darkness, but it was always there if she dared look for it. The M’hir. The instant Aryl turned her perception inward, she found herself fighting to keep her place within its now-familiar confusion. She concentrated, then reached.

Enris.

Here. Unmistakably his inner voice. The link formed between them as effortlessly as a smile. She saw his presence, a bright, distinct whirlwind in the darkness. It suddenly rushed toward her; she instinctively kept her distance, though there was no true movement here. Only the surge and conflict of the M’hir itself.

Listen to me, she sent, feeling the exchange forge tighter the connection between minds, perversely calming the M’hir. There. Good. Very good. Enris was as able here as anywhere. Somehow, Aryl wasn’t surprised. Welcome to the M’hir.

You look like the inside of our vat. With the unflattering description came an image of metal melting into glittering pools.

Could be worse. Pay attention, she warned. See what’s here, but stay with me.

She felt the shift in his attention by the attenuation of their link. She poured more of her own strength into it, letting him be. He was confident, curious…

Horrified.

I know this!!!

On that recognition, the M’hir became a storm, lashing out. Aryl fought to hold Enris, but he was being ripped away…she felt him scream…or was she an echo…

PAINPAINPAIN…

…hidehidehide…

He was coming apart…dissolving into the M’hir…pieces of Enris began to scatter…she fought to hold them…

…can’t let her…don’t let her…hidehidehide…DIE FIRST!

PAINPAINPAIN!!!

Somehow, Aryl struggled free of his agony. She concentrated. She had to hold what she sensed was Enris. He was like a wing fraying at the edges, threads come loose in the wind. The touch of him burned, but she wouldn’t let go, couldn’t let go.

The M’hir itself stirred. She felt others…Felt…interest…

They had to pull free of the M’hir. Now. They had to…

They did.

The fire snapped and crackled cheerily; the dark of truenight outside its circle was silent, almost soothing. Stars winked above. The wind caught a spark and swirled it out of sight.

Aryl savored the smoke-scented air, relished the chill of tears on her cheeks. Her hands ached. They were tightly clenched—on what? After an odd delay, she realized she was lying on top of Enris, as if she’d flung herself over his prone form. Her hands still gripped both of his with all her strength.

She let go, gently, and eased to sit beside him. The rise and fall of his chest matched his ragged breaths, as if he dreamed he ran. From what?

Her first experience in the M’hir had been filled with the screams of the dying.

What had happened to Enris there?

And who was “her?”

Enris went from unconscious to his feet. Aryl hurried to save the blanket she’d placed over him from the fire. “What happened?” he shouted wildly, staring at her. “Where are we?”

“Not that far from Sona. Hush.” She patted the solid ground. “Sit.”

He sank down, crossing his long legs. “Aryl.” Distantly, as if he had trouble remembering her name. Then in a more normal voice: “Are you all right?”

“I’m not the one who—” Aryl decided “fell to pieces” wasn’t tactful, “—who slipped. How do you feel?”

“Hungry.” With a rueful smile. “Foolish.” He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Guess I panicked. Lost control…was careless. Don’t worry. Next time, I’ll—”

“There’s no ‘next time’!” He couldn’t be serious. “Don’t you remember? You were almost Lost, Enris Mendolar. Lost! I had to pull you back together. I barely managed to free us both. I—” she struggled for calm, to be convincing. He had to listen, had to believe her. “Enris, you’ve been in the M’hir before.”

“Of course I have.” He looked more puzzled than concerned. “When you moved us through it, to Yena. But I didn’t see anything like—” He stopped abruptly. His shields tightened until he faded from her inner sense; all expression left his face. When he spoke again, his voice was flat and deliberate. “I didn’t see what I saw tonight. Why?”

“You weren’t aware of it then,” Aryl guessed. Her fingers sketched an apology against her coat. He had to understand. “This time you were. When you stop and notice the M’hir, it—it notices you. Things become…complicated. It’s easy to be distracted, confused, to forget who you are. I know. Strong emotion—” She had to explain, to warn him. “Strong emotion makes it much worse. Enris, you were safe until you recognized the M’hir. Until you remembered what happened to you there, and why, and mixed before with now. You felt…what you felt then.” She shivered, having shared that terrible pain and dread. “That’s how the M’hir almost took you.”

“I know.” His big hands shook as he stretched them to the fire’s warmth. He stared at them as if surprised, then drew them inside his coat.

Enris had met the strangers, flown in their aircar, traveled the M’hir with her. He’d fought the swarm and climbed—however badly—high in the canopy. What could disturb him like this was beyond her imagining.

Aryl sat perfectly still, eyes locked on the fire, and waited. The silence between them grew desperate.

Finally, she pulled the metal headdress from her pocket and ran it through her fingers. Though dull, its links and straps glinted rich green in the firelight. It must have been beautiful once. “I found this high on a ridge.” Easy, quiet, not looking at him. “With a Chosen’s bones. I suppose she thought she could escape that way.” A dangerous climb, for someone used to flat ground. Or maybe the daring Om’ray had made it that far, Aryl thought with a rush of sadness, only to be doomed by the loss of her Chosen in Sona. She laid it flat on her hand, rubbing her thumb over the forehead band. “There are marks in the metal.”

Enris rose to his feet, but not to leave her. He went to his pack and brought something from it to the fireside. “I found bones, too. And this.”

“This” was a strangely deformed blade, point divided into two, one tip longer than the other. It was attached to a broken wooden shaft. Enris had also brought the two sticks he carried tied to his pack, the ones he’d refused to donate to the fire. He fitted the three together and demonstrated the original length against himself. The tips reared over his head.

Awkward to carry. “What was it for?”

“I’ve no idea,” he said, sounding remarkably pleased. He tossed the sticks at his pack, then squatted beside her and held out the blade. “There are markings.” He wet his finger and ran it over the metal. “Like the ones carved into the Sona wood.”

At least he was talking again. Aryl dutifully glanced at the thing, then took a second look that developed into a stare. She didn’t realize she’d reached for it until she felt its weight in her hands.

“These are words.”

“I knew it!” A definite resurgence of the Enris she knew. “Can you read what they say?”

She sent him an annoyed look from the shadow of her hood. “Of course not. I’m no Adept.”

“But you’ve seen writing.”

True. She’d seen the plates used in the Cloisters, glimpsed from a distance the lines and circles that made sense, somehow, to those with that skill. She’d seen the writing used by the strangers—sharper lines and angles—and thought she might be able to reproduce a word or two. The Tikitik used all manner of wild swirls and lines, some to decorate—or label—the door panels they made for Yena homes, and wore their names on wristbands of cloth. From Thought Traveler, she’d learned there was no Talent needed to read, only a knowledge of what each symbol represented. He’d shown her his name, then what he took to be hers from the little drawing she’d used for herself. A bowl containing a small dot, neither touching.

Apart-from-All.

Enris, perhaps impatient, tapped the blade. “Does it look familiar?”

Pushing back her hood, Aryl tilted the blade to the firelight to study each intricate line. “I can’t tell,” she admitted. “What I’ve seen before wasn’t cut into metal. If it’s from Sona, it could be Om’ray. But why would an Om’ray do this?”

An image formed in her mind: a memory offered. Aryl saw a pale green ring, large enough for a wrist, polished to a rich gleam. Its surface rippled in a never-repeated pattern. It was as if the metal was water, curling around small round rocks. A mountain stream. She felt Enris’ satisfaction and pride, watched his hands painstakingly hammer a design into the inner surface of the ring. Three tiny dots in a row; two others, above; one below.

“You made it.” She’d never imagined such an ornament, for it was clearly of no other use. “Tuana trade for such things?”

“All the time.”

She’d sneered when he’d described his Clan’s wealth, how farming gave them leisure to create and specialize, how one Om’ray could trade the makings of her hands for the work of another’s. She’d thought Yena, who shared everything—including hunger—superior.

While not ready to declare Yena any less, Aryl knew she’d gladly have “traded” anything from the Sarc storage slings and cupboards for what Enris had made. “What does the pattern mean?” she asked. “Is it your name?”

“No. They’re my stars. Would you like to see them?”

“See them,” she repeated doubtfully.

Trust me.

Aryl let Enris take her hand and pull her to her feet. She was less sure when he turned her from the comforting brilliance of the fire to face the dark, but there was no arguing with his firm grip on her shoulders.

The fire crackled; she could hear her heartbeat. The silence was suffocating.

Patience.

Her hand found the hilt of the short knife protruding from her belt, every instinct warning her of danger. His breath tickled the top of her head. The Tuana’s size would be a comfort, she grumbled to herself, if he showed the slightest comprehension of the risks outside his village, especially during truenight. How had he stayed alive?

Maybe anything hunting him suspected such too-easy prey had to be a trap.

She’d lived her life among hunters. Truenight should be a cacophony of song and screams, sounds she’d learned to ignore as normal, protected by the glows of Yena, safe within the inner glow of her Clan. Everyone should be together.

Aryl let her inner sense reach for that reassurance. Close, but not close enough, those asleep in Sona. Close, but not close enough, Grona and Rayna. They faced distant Pana and Amna, Tuana to one hand. Vyna faint but there, to the other.

Yena—Aryl found the glow that sang home to her innermost self and retreated. Those left lived within the Cloisters now, the safest place in the world. They no longer needed her.

Even if she needed them.

Where did unChosen find the courage to walk away from their Clan? Did the drive to find a Chooser really overwhelm fear? There was so much to fear—

She hoped that was the truth. Passage was fraught with enough peril; she couldn’t bear to think all the young Om’ray who’d walked away from their homes had felt like this, had stared as she stared now into unknowable darkness, had ached for those left behind as she ached.

Because if they had, Aryl decided with abrupt fury, Agreement or no Agreement, she’d never let Kayd, Cader, or Fon take Passage. Not like this.

Not alone.

I’m never alone when I can see my stars.

Shame flooded her; she hadn’t meant Enris to hear her thoughts. Too tired. Careless. But his sending was calm, if nonsense. He understood her. She’d miss that most of all.

I don’t see any stars.

You will. Patience.

An urging for now, or the future? Aryl smiled.

Gradually her eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, and stars made their chill appearance overhead. More and more of them, until they might have been the flower dust that coated Yena’s bridges and rooftops in early summer. Once, she’d believed the specks were all of a piece: the sun’s light leaking through the gauze of the sky. Thought Traveler had mocked her—any Om’ray’s—understanding of the sky and this world. The strangers claimed there were more worlds than Cersi.

Aryl frowned. Stars complicated her life.

There. Enris dug his big chin into the collar of her coat and pressed his ear against hers. Little more that way. He tilted her head with his, sending the image of his pattern. See them now?

Typical Tuana. Aryl didn’t bother being offended by his un-Yena-like familiarity; he’d only laugh. Besides, her back had been cold. As for his stars…“How can you expect me to find six? Look at all…” Her complaint faded away.

There they were. Among all the rest, she could see them. Five were bright: two above, three in a row below. Two Om’ray, she imagined, standing on a straight branch, Fainter, but still distinct, a blue dot beneath the rest and to one side. That was harder. “A fich!” she exclaimed and laughed.

“A what?”

Aryl shared her memory of being on a branch, high in a nekis, tossing her creation of wing and thread into the air above the Sarc grove, watching it sail into the distance, free as any flitter. She remembered the child with her, Joyn Uruus, full of enthusiasm and joy, both LOUD. She remembered the arrival of the aircar and…

Shields tight, Aryl lurched away. She went to sit before the fire, her eyes partly closed against what now was too bright, her back again cold. “A foolish notion.” Bitterness rose in her throat. “Others rule the sky. There’s no room for Om’ray in it. Only stars.”

“Aryl…”

“The fire’s hungry.”

Enris was silent a moment. Then, “I’ll look after it.” A home lay shattered steps from the roadway. She listened to him move, heavy-footed in the loose stone, and refused to yawn. Dawn would be too soon.

He returned to drop an armload with a triumphant clatter, then went for more. On his third trip, he tossed the splinters directly on the fire, the flames licking the lengths of jagged black wood as if famished. Light spilled over the road. Not done, he added more wood until Aryl had to move or risk her boots. Soon flames shot above the Tuana’s head. Sparks popped and snapped, landing in every direction. Against the stone they looked like eyes caught by a glow.

Aryl brushed one from her coat. “Syb’ll see this,” she disapproved. “You’ll give him ideas.” The exiles absorbed every word and action the Tuana provided about the care and maintenance of fire, their newest, most vital skill. Those instructions hadn’t promoted waste, till now.

Enris laughed for the first time since entering the M’hir. “I only follow your example.”

He was on the far side of the flames; if she couldn’t see his face, he couldn’t see hers, hot from more than the Tuana’s immense fire. Was he right? Was she daring too much, too soon? Was the freedom of Sona nothing more than the trap her mother and Yena’s Adepts had feared all along: the release of Talents and ideas too dangerous for Om’ray to survive?

“I intend no harm,” she said finally, cold inside. “I want the best for my people. For all Om’ray. To stop us dying needlessly.”

Enris came and sat beside her, making a show of looking for rocks first. He tossed a few aside. Once settled, he nudged her with his wide shoulder. “You want us to fly, Aryl Sarc. The only harm I see is if we fall.”

A Yena caution. To check a handhold before trusting your weight to it was the first, vital training. She’d nearly cost Enris his life, drawing him into the M’hir when she hadn’t checked it was safe, and he knew it.

Aryl raised her hands to gesture a profound apology. Enris trapped them in one of his. “Don’t. What happened to me wasn’t your fault. You saved my life.”

She tugged free. “After almost losing it!”

“What matters to me is the M’hir. How you move through it. Whether I ever can.” Enris used a giant from his pile of splinters to prod others deeper into the fire. “The truth, Aryl?” with a wary glance her way and a sense of determination. “You were right. Back in Tuana, something did happen to me. I was…there was a Chooser. Powerful. Beautiful.” His voice became a low rumble. “I wasn’t ready. She was. I didn’t want her.” This with a twist to his lips as if at a foul taste. “She wanted me. Maybe she couldn’t stop herself. Maybe she didn’t care.” When he paused, Aryl held her breath. “She tried to force me to answer her Call. I refused.” He shoved the heavy length of wood violently into the rest, showering sparks into the air. “That’s when my mind fled into the M’hir.”

Aryl struggled to grasp what he was telling her. She’d never heard such a thing. How could an unChosen refuse Choice? Why would he? Wasn’t it the most wonderful moment of an Om’ray’s life? Whatever you’d felt about each other before, heart-kin or stranger, Joining made you one for the rest of your lives and ridiculously happy to be so.

Didn’t it?

“Afterward,” Enris continued, his voice flat, “the Adepts told me I was damaged. They couldn’t promise I’d ever be able to complete Choice—that it would be better for Tuana if I sought a future elsewhere.” He shrugged. “So I did.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she said without thinking.

His laugh was bitter. “While I appreciate your high regard, Aryl Sarc, you’re hardly—”

“I know. I saw you. In the M’hir.” She’d held the fragments of his mind together, felt them. There’d been no flaw, no injury. Whole again, Enris had been solid Power, a boulder the dark currents could only fling themselves against or pass around, not force out of place.

Hurt and terrified—she’d seen that, too. All of which explained why he took Passage to solve a mystery, not to seek Choice.

It didn’t explain why he’d been sent on Passage in the first place. Her heart thudded heavily. Could she? “Do Tuana unChosen often refuse a Chooser?” Aryl asked carefully.

She’d startled him. “What?” A hint of embarrassment. “How should I know? I don’t talk about such things.”

Making Enris different from other unChosen of her experience—not that Aryl was surprised. “I’d think a—” she hunted a word that wouldn’t offend him, “—an ability like that would be noticed.” Without delight by Choosers, she was quite sure.

“‘Ability?’” If she’d startled him before, he was appalled now. “I’ve seen my cousins lose all sense about each other, but that’s their decision, not mine.”

“Didn’t your parents teach you anything about Choice?”

Enris managed to grow larger, though he hadn’t moved. Like a brofer puffing itself up in self-defense. “I had,” he said stiffly, “more important things to learn.”

“Apparently not.”

“And I suppose you’re going to teach me?”

No. Not. Never. Aryl didn’t bother to say any of that aloud. Instead, she circled back to where they started. “You weren’t damaged.”

Enris flicked an escaping ember back to the fire. “The Adepts—”

“Lied.”

“Not every Adept is like your mother!” He gestured a quick apology. “Aryl, I—”

“You’re a fool,” she retorted. “Like I was. Adepts protect the Agreement by preventing change. Change like me—and like you, Enris Mendolar. I’ve never heard of an unChosen able to refuse a Chooser’s Call. I can’t imagine it. But you did it. You still do. You ignored Seru. You dismissed Grona’s Choosers. Let alone how you entered the M’hir.” He took a sharp breath as if to argue. She didn’t let him. “Don’t you see? You proved yourself a threat to be removed for the good of your Clan.

“You’re right, Enris,” she finished. “Not every Adept is like my mother. Tuana’s gave you a chance to live.”

He jumped up and strode away without a word, the crunch of his boots ending a few steps into the dark. She let him be and watched the flames, careful to keep her thoughts to herself. Not easy, remembering the moment she and the others had been exiled. None had believed they’d survive the first truenight; without the Human’s help, none would have. Yet was it Taisal’s fault that Yena had had no supplies to share, no safe road of dirt and stone for their feet?

She couldn’t forgive the decision, but suddenly she wondered. Was it one only a Yena could have made? Despite its beauty and lush life, the canopy was a harsh existence. She doubted other Om’ray faced death every day or fell asleep to screams. It made Yena strong. Had it made them ruthless, too?

If she believed it necessary for the good of her people, would she do what her mother—what Yena’s Adepts—had done?

No, Aryl assured herself. In Sona, they would find another way. She would protect her kind, never waste their lives.

The fire snapped and crackled to itself. Then, from the dark, a contented “Hmm,” as if Enris had discovered a forgotten sweet in his pocket.

Crunchcrunchcrunch. When the firelight caught his face as he sat, he looked younger. His face might have shed lines of grief or anger or both. Noticing her attention, the Tuana flashed his grin. “So you’re saying I’m special.”

Her lips quirked. “What you are is annoying.”

“More than special.” The grin widened. “Unique. Perfect!”

“Insufferable,” Aryl countered.

“With, according to you, my wise little Yena, my pick of Cersi’s Choosers!”

“How could any be worthy?” That made him laugh. Her chuckle died in her throat.

What would it be like, to offer her hand and have an unChosen refuse it? She felt a rush of sympathy for Seru—and for the unknown Tuana who’d wanted Enris so desperately.

What would it be like to have an unChosen—no, not any unChosen, but Enris Mendolar—have him take her hand, knowing it meant he wanted her more than any other?

Suddenly too warm, Aryl coughed and sputtered in an anguish of embarrassment. “S–smoke,” she managed in answer to his quizzical look, glad her shields must have kept the wildly errant thought private.

Enris laughed, then bumped her shoulder companionably once more. “Choosers will have to wait. I’m in no hurry to complicate my life. What matters is the M’hir. You’re the Adept there. Do you believe I can ever use it?” Lightly, as if all he asked was for another rokly stick.

“It’s not safe,” she evaded hoarsely.

“What is?” A pause. “Your turn. The truth, Aryl Sarc. Can I try the M’hir again? When I’m ready,” he said in hasty addition. “My head still spins.”

She could say no. Should say it. Protect him from himself.

Her teeth caught her lower lip. For how long? Until curiosity overwhelmed caution? Oh, that would be the first moment the Tuana was bored. Until he was truly desperate, with no other choice but to try again? Courage, Enris had in abundance.

Doubt made any handhold fail.

Aryl bumped her shoulder into his. “You’ve touched the M’hir. Sent a roof into it,” she reminded him. “You’re as much an Adept there as I am. Learn from what went wrong, like anything else. Be careful.”

As she would be.

The giant fire was a heap of pale, ember-studded ash, firstlight little more than a promise toward Amna, when Aryl gathered her feet under her body and rose without a sound. Enris half lay against his pack. His head was bent at a painful-seeming angle, his mouth open, his arms spread wide. She had to step over his long legs to get by. The Tuana consumed the space of two normal Om’ray, even asleep.

They’d spent the rest of truenight talking about silly things, laughing at each other’s stories. Climb and seek in the light-kissed canopy. Pushing a cartful of giggling cousins in a race. Sweetpies and dresel cake.

Brothers lost.

Homes left.

Why not to polish your father’s hammer. Where not to store a fresh, wet hide.

Rain that filled the world. Dust that did the same.

Somewhere during a lengthy discussion of Tuana boots—more precisely the clear superiority of Yena footwear—Aryl had received a snore instead of answer.

She’d stayed awake, to watch over him as long as she could bear.

To watch him wake up, see him realize he had to go, try to say good-bye?

She’d keep her memory of this truenight instead.

“Find joy, Enris Mendolar,” Aryl whispered, this time meaning it, and walked away.

She didn’t look back.