Riders of the Storm

Interlude

PASSAGE WAS DANGEROUS. Other unChosen, Enris assured himself, suffered and often died trying to reach their one true Choice. Or the Chooser easiest to reach. He’d never been fully clear on that part. They suffered and often died, with dignity. Alone.

While his fate was to be inflicted with unasked, unwelcome company. First that perverse Oud had dragged him through its tunnels, and now this…

“You don’t have to come,” he said wearily.

Thought Traveler barked its laugh. “But you are such a curiosity, Enris Mendolar. How can I leave before seeing how you end?”

The Tikitik had matched him stride for stride all day. At first, Enris had tried to ignore it. Then argue with it. Finally, he’d given up.

The creature had its use. Hard Ones shuddered and rolled aside well ahead of their approach, clearing an uncanny path. Thought Traveler claimed to regularly hunt them in this area. If so, it wasn’t particularly effective. Or the Hard Ones bred quickly. There was no end to them in sight.

The mountainside was in sight, too. His other problem. With every step closer, its slope looked worse: cliffs steeper than those on the other side of the valley—the ones he’d avoided climbing; the few ravines choked with loose stone. Presumably, at least some of them alive.

“I may end here,” he muttered.

The Tikitik had unfortunately good hearing, for a creature without obvious ears. “Any Yena could climb it.”

He didn’t bother to argue with it. Firstnight was here. The weather was turning colder, windier—warning of another storm on the way, to make life perfect. Enris tightened the straps on his pack. Down the valley it would have to be, a difficult but not impossible path. The ground was disturbed right to the rock, heaved into loose mounds higher than his head. He’d have to find a way between them.

“Why go that way?” Thought Traveler bounded ahead and stopped, forcing Enris to do the same. Facing it put him too close for comfort to the cluster of worms that covered its mouth, and he took an involuntary step back. “I thought you were on Passage to Vyna.”

“As you’ve noticed, I’m not Yena,” Enris said dryly. “I’ll go around, thank you. You don’t have to come.” He tried to pass the creature.

Its hand shot out, fastening on his arm like a metal clamp before he could avoid it. “Do you seek death? The ground is not what it seems, Tuana. Look carefully.”

The first line of heaved dirt rose within a few steps. Enris obliged the Tikitik by studying it, since he couldn’t shake its grip. Dirt. With the occasional wisp of dead plant. Stones. More dirt. The whole zigged and zagged at angles to the mountain, like a giant furrow in a field. Weathered, solid, and altogether unremarkable.

Except for its origins. Enris stiffened. “Is that what you meant—when you said Sona was in more danger than I was? Are the Oud about to reshape this again?”

The Tikitik released him. Enris didn’t bother glaring at the creature—in his experience, the not-real didn’t care about his opinion of their actions. “I’m impressed, Tuana. You know your neighbors.”

He had to warn her—to urge Aryl and the exiles to run—but even as Enris formed a sending, his concentration was broken by a hideous scream.

“Ah,” said Thought Traveler calmly. “Here is a neighbor you do not know.”

Another scream. Ears ringing, half crouched, Enris desperately looked for its source. Finally looked up…

…into a red mouth gaping wide enough to swallow him whole.

“Remain still, Om’ray.”

Oh, he was doing that. Running wouldn’t accomplish anything.

Wings like storm clouds thrashed the air as the beast descended, stirring up dust until he had to throw up an arm to protect his eyes. It landed on six long, clawed feet, knees—it had knees!—bent to take the force. The wings—there were two pairs, clear and veined in black—remained outstretched and rigid. The body was thin, tapered, covered with fine brown hair. Its head swung low, regarding him—now that its enormous mouth was closed—with two pairs of large eyes. The neck was elongated, like the Tikitik’s, but sagged with wrinkled skin, as if usually swollen.

Enris lowered his arm and rose to his full height. Around that neck, behind the head, was a band of cloth, marked in symbols. “Yours?”

The head shook violently, spittle flying from the edges of its mouth to pock the ground and Enris’ boots. He didn’t move. Thought Traveler barked. “Impressive again, Tuana. Most do not take their first sight of an esan well.” Another bark. “Likely because they know it will be their last.”

“If you’d wanted something to eat me,” Enris countered, “you’d have left me to the Hard Ones.”

The esan flapped its head again, as if aggravated by his voice.

“It’s true, you are a rare entertainment. More so if you survive your Passage. I would enjoy a familiar face among the Vyna.” For some reason, it barked amusement.

“I’ll survive.”

It wasn’t Thought Traveler he promised, but the creature regarded him with all its eyes. “Then listen as I will tell you, Enris Mendolar of Tuana Om’ray, what may increase your chances. Leave your pack. Take only what you can carry on your body.”

The Tikitik was insane. “My supplies—”

“Of no use if you are dead. Hurry or not. It is your choice.”

Hurry? What did it know? Enris shook off his pack, furiously concentrating, striving to reach Aryl. She was distant…too distant. He dumped the contents on the dirt, grabbing what he had to have. ARYL!!! No answer. Her rope went around his waist, her longknife through that makeshift belt. What food he could ram into pockets. He already had his pouch, with the firebox and wafer. Her knot of hair. ARYL!!!!!! BEWARE THE OUD!! Enris trembled inside with effort and didn’t know if she’d heard.

The M’hir sang to him, its ripples of black behind his eyes, its surges of power so close, too close. He dared let it come…

A rush of wind, real wind full of fresh dust, knocked him flat. Before he could do more than sputter, another rush and a scream…

And claws clenched around his body, pinning one arm, pulling him off the ground. Enris fought to free himself…

“Don’t jump yet, Tuana,” he heard. “You’ll know when.”

Another rush of wind, this time free of dust. They were airborne and rising!

The esan’s wings gave one final full beat, then began to vibrate rapidly, chattering his teeth. It climbed with bewildering speed. A fall now, Enris judged, would break every bone in his body—although landing on the Tikitik would have made that worthwhile. And still it climbed.

He hooked his free arm around the leg that held him and did his best not to look down.

Had Aryl heard him? Would the Oud attack Sona again—or had that been part of Thought Traveler’s “amusement”?

Was he being carried over the mountain or to the esan’s nest, like a stolen trinket clutched by a loper? Trinket or meal?

“Where are you taking me?” Enris shouted angrily.

The esan shook its head. One of its rearward legs stretched past him to scratch vigorously at its neck, causing the creature to slip alarmingly toward the rock face before it recovered.

Don’t talk to the flying monster, he told himself.

Enris had flown before. Twice. Once in an Oud aircar. Once in the strangers’. Since he’d been unable to see out during either flight, he remembered only stomach-wrenching sensations and the fear of not-knowing. Though the strangers’ had a comfortable bench.

Now that he had an unimpeded view, he preferred the not-knowing fear.

The claws’ grip wasn’t too painful. There were three, none constricting his breathing. The obvious answer, that the creature was accustomed to carrying something alive, wasn’t as reassuring as it might be. Tuana might not have Yena’s wild abundance, but the fields contained a small, nasty hunter that carried its living prey below ground. Croptenders liked it. Being in the prey’s position, Enris felt differently.

If he’d had both arms free, he would have used the rope to secure himself to the leg, not to mention had the longknife ready to use.

Probably as well he didn’t, Enris decided. Thought Traveler had warned him to be ready to jump. And the esan wouldn’t notice a blade five times longer than his.

Jump. He swallowed bile. Not now.

The esan hadn’t flown over the mountain. No, after flying high enough to make him ill, it had elected to fly into it, choosing one of the ravines carved into the stone for its road. A winding, jagged, water-rock-ice-filled cavity with shadows and teethlike protrusions and—he closed his eyes hastily—the occasional very sharp going-to-die bend. Wind whistled and moaned. The sun barely touched this place; his feet were numb, although his boots had stayed on. At times, the esan’s wings brushed both sides. Rock tumbled free—those wings weren’t as delicate as they looked.

Or the mountain was about to crumble. Enris swallowed again.

It was taking him toward Vyna. His kind were somewhere ahead, their combined glow closer and warmer with each miserable moment. He clung to that comfort as tightly as he clung to the esan.

His kind were behind as well, one isolated, most together, others on the move. Beyond them was the solid glow of Grona. Below—so far below.

Enris grinned. What did they think of him, so far above?

His grin faded. Would Aryl think he’d abandoned her and her people for the strangers or the Oud? That his avowed purpose had been nothing more than an excuse to leave without argument? That he’d found something to trade for a flight in one of their air-cars?

“I wish,” he said fervently. The esan shuddered, but didn’t scratch. Perhaps this journey through rock was something it considered dangerous, too.

Also not reassuring.

Enris found it harder and harder to stay conscious. It wasn’t sleep, though he was exhausted to his core. The air had chilled until it hurt to breathe; he shivered constantly now. His mind felt slow and thick. Most terrifying of all, he found himself confused by where he was and why, and fought to hold his shields.

Through it all, the valiant esan flew, wings quivering. He no longer feared it would eat him. Why carry a burden this far it could simply swallow? Its exertion made it a companion, a friend, a brother—or maybe sister, since he couldn’t tell its sex.

Had his token come loose? He should have put it in a pocket, not left it on his coat. Without it, the esan might as well eat him, or drop him. Vyna would be within their rights to refuse him entry. Refuse him their secrets.

If they had any…

Enris shook his head, hard. He couldn’t afford maudlin worries. Thought Traveler had warned him to jump—that he’d know when.

The joke would be on him if he jumped at the wrong moment and died, after flying through a mountain.

He couldn’t touch Aryl’s mind. He’d tried. Too far. A fine time to learn his limits; the worst imaginable time to attempt a connection through the M’hir. He could hardly think past the vibration of the esan’s wings, the noise of the wind. Impossible to concentrate and hold himself together.

Sona was on its own, for now.

Enris roused, feeling a change. Warmth, that was it. The air was warmer and moist, like a summer afternoon after a shower. Thicker. He opened his eyes, surprised he’d closed them, and gasped.

No more mountains or jagged ridges. Instead, they were descending beside a wall of black stone, smooth and sheer. Above was heavy cloud, dark and stormy. The wall disappeared into it, as if it went through the sky. To either side, it curved like the sides of a bowl into the distance. Below was featureless gray, more cloud, the kind that formed against the ground.

Drawn by an irresistible pull, his head turned away from the wall to face an otherwise identical section of the lowermost cloud. A Chooser’s Call…sweet, rich. More…Om’ray! Vyna! The esan had brought him where he had to be. Enris laughed and thumped its leg in gratitude.

As if this had been an expected signal, the claws loosened.

Desperately, Enris grabbed hold, his no-longer pinned arm hanging numb and useless from his shoulder. His feet scrabbled until they found purchase at the claw joints. There. Safe.

Stupid creature!

Thought Traveler would have enjoyed this, too, he grumbled to himself.

Hard to stay grim when every slip downward brought him closer to Vyna. What did they think of an Om’ray drifting down from the clouds? Enris grinned. Nothing like making a spectacular entrance.

The esan flexed its thin body, sucked in a deep breath, and let out one of its hideous screams.

Enris winced. Not going to impress the new Clan.

The new Clan…his new Clan, if they were what he hoped.

First he had to arrive in one piece. He searched the cloud below for any hint of what lay beneath. Nothing. The gray was impenetrable. The esan continued to descend. Its wings stilled abruptly, then began to beat in long, powerful strokes instead of quivering. He hadn’t realized how bone-shaking the vibration had been until it stopped, and resisted the urge to pat the creature again.

The gray swallowed them. Tiny droplets caught on his eyelashes, the esan’s hair, the threads of his coat. Enris licked them from the scales near his face. Not a drink, but the moisture relieved the dryness of his mouth and cracked lips. The mist pressed closer, until he could only see the rest of the esan during the down stroke of its front wings, when the mist swirled and parted for an instant.

Then, they were clear.

Black rock loomed out of nowhere. They were too close to the ground!

Enris let go and threw himself in a frantic roll to the side as the esan’s leading wing struck. It screamed again and again, claws scratching as it fought to stay upright. A final heave from all six limbs, a crack like thunder of wing against rock, and it disappeared into the mist.

He was still alive.

Waiting for the spinning in his head to subside, Enris lay on his back, stretched out his arms and legs, and laughed.

From this vantage point, he could see that the mist started about waist height. He was lying—he rolled on his side to see better—on a long stretch of perfectly flat and smooth black rock. He’d have thought it metal from a distance. A road, he decided.

What was that?

Discovering that he couldn’t see his outstretched fingers if he stood, Enris dropped to his hands and knees to follow the gentle sound. Knee…hand. Knee…his hand found nothing and he jerked back in reflex before exploring more carefully.

Ah. He’d found the edge of the road, as sharp and clean as the side of his cart. He extended his arm as far as he could. Nothing. The sound came from below and suddenly, he knew what it was.

Water. Lapping against the rock.

Carefully, Enris turned and moved in the opposite direction. Knee…hand. Knee…hand. Twice more. Then, another edge. Water. Lapping against the rock.

How close had the esan come to missing this sliver of dry land? What if he’d stood and blundered around in the mist?

Swimming was not a Tuana skill.

He found the middle of the road and lay down, his heart racing. Om’ray were coming toward him. He could sense them.

He’d just wait here.