Rift in the Sky

Chapter 5

DUST AND SOOT SHIVERED from the rafters above. As the floor trembled and Om’ray cried out in surprise, Aryl pulled out the device Marcus had given her. Nothing. Not Oud, she sent, making sure it reached everyone, knowing that was their first fear.

The trembling stopped, ending her next one. The Grona had shared memories of shaking mountains and, while Aryl didn’t mind a branch moving under her, she was not happy about the ground doing the same.

“Check the hearth and lamps,” Haxel ordered, mindful of fire when they had no means to fight it.

Aryl!

You’re all right?

Come to the river—quickly.

Aryl ran, hearing the pound of feet behind her. They all came. To her inner sense, Sona moved as one.

None were faster.

Some had grabbed lights. She needed none, ran without regard to the tilted stones or chance of injury. Enris called, and nothing else mattered.

From no lights, to a confusion of them. A wavering line of illumination stretched across the empty river. There were gaps. As Aryl came closer, a light winked out, then another. Then more.

Enris!

“Down there!” A shout. It wasn’t her Chosen, whose mind was preoccupied. Worin. He met her at the river’s bank. “They’re on the other side.”

Other side of what? Then Aryl’s eyes adjusted. As more Om’ray came up beside her and raised their lights, it became clear.

Enris’ idea.

If she wasn’t so alarmed by his call, she’d have been impressed by the wide wall of rubble. As it was, the wall—and the dust cloud above it—were in her way. Enris!

Here. Look out for the hole.

What hole? Aryl ran down the bank, one arm back for balance. Ran farther down than she remembered, the footing softer. Wrong. Her feet began to slide more than step. Suddenly, she found herself lower than Enris.

The “hole,” she told herself in disgust, unable to slow until she came to its bottom. Dust filled her mouth and nose. She sneezed and spat. Why was there a hole?

A light from above—from the river’s bed. Yuhas held a lamp out to show her that side of the hole, then shrugged helplessly. “No rope.”

And a rope it would take. For the hole was a pit, three Om’ray deep, running as far as the light showed, possibly all the way across the riverbed. The material of its sides was a fine dirt, laced with pebbles still dropping and rolling around her.

It wouldn’t, Aryl judged, hold a biter’s weight, let alone hers. There was only one thing to do, despite who might be watching. She concentrated . . .

... with admirable presence of mind, Yuhas grabbed her as she staggered at the brink. She wrenched free, already running to Enris.

There. On his knees, supporting a crumpled figure. Yuhas, having followed, lifted the light.

Naryn?

Her friend lay as pale and still as Myris, as death. Aryl reached, unsurprised to find Enris already there, pouring his own strength into Naryn. She dropped down beside them, took hold of Naryn’s hand and did the same. What happened?—unsure if she asked about Naryn, the dam across the river, or the hole.

The memory Enris immediately shared answered it all.

The ground roaring and lifting! Naryn, throwing Power into one incredible effort. A rain of dust and dirt and pebbles on the wall, coating it in a thick layer. More Power, to push and push at dirt until it packed every crevice and space. Everything she had.

Until she had nothing left for herself.

FOOL! Aryl sent, furious. Her hands were shaking as she stroked Naryn’s arm, tried to replace the lock of red hair that had escaped from its net to lie with horrifying limpness along the other’s cheek. Don’t leave me.

“She won’t. We were in time.” Enris eased his position, so Naryn’s head rested against his chest. “She’s recovering.”

He was in little better shape, drenched with sweat, panting with effort. Aryl sent strength to her Chosen, too, along with a snap of annoyance. “This would be your fault.”

“Oh, yes.”

“And when the Strangers look at their vids? See Om’ray moving rocks the size of buildings through the air?” When they see her ’porting out of a hole, Aryl added to herself with an inward wince. “What then?”

Under worry for Naryn, a definite flavor of smug. “They won’t see a thing till firstlight. And then? It’s the work of our helpful Oud neighbors, of course. What else could it be?”

Meaning Marcus was involved. She would never, Aryl vowed, leave Enris alone with the Human again. Ever. Then the enormity of what he’d done—what they’d done—sank in. “You’ve stopped the river.”

“With Naryn’s help.”

“She almost killed herself.”

Just to her, as grimly as she’d ever felt him.

I’m sure that was the idea.

If staring could move water, Aryl thought, amused, then the ditch would already be full. They’d all taken turns here, beside where the wide pebble-filled ditch scooped out the riverbank. It had been a curiosity before: easy to see from the exposed side, if less to imagine how it might work.

Firstlight and, at last, water lipped the bottom line of white pebbles, turned them dark, covered them. Rose to the next. Gurgled along. All down the bank, Om’ray—who’d laid on their bellies to lean over and watch, cheered and patted one another. Warmth and affection surged from mind to mind. A tinge of awe.

As if Enris needed any encouragement. Aryl leaned against him. “It worked,” she commented, gazing out at the rippled surface of what was, undeniably, becoming a lake. Only firstlight, but water filled the former riverbed from bank to bank, lapping gently against the wall of stone and dirt. “If it overflows into the courseways, the Oud will complain.” She wouldn’t. The courseways flowed first through the dead grove of nekis. Watered, perhaps they’d grow again.

“It won’t. The ditches from Sona drain back into the river below the dam and before the courseways.” Brimming with content, Enris wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her into his lap. The sun was warm on her skin. The lake made the air softer, somehow.

The lake was deep. A new worry. She’d been in water over her head before. “We’ll have to warn the young ones.”

His deep laugh vibrated through her spine and he nuzzled her hair. “Tai can teach everyone to swim.”

“Not me,” Aryl countered, then had to smile. His joy was impossible not to share. “If he can convince Husni—I suppose I’ll have to.”

Husni. The other elders. She needed to talk to them all today, find some answers about the Cloisters, resolve what to do with Oran. She shifted, loath to move, no longer at peace.

Or was it something—someone? With very poor—make that no shields. Aryl frowned. WORRY . . . WORRY!

“Hello, Aryl. Enris.” With a bright smile that fooled no one, Seru dropped down beside her. Ezgi didn’t even try to smile. He sat, crossed his legs, and began digging morose little holes in the dirt.

“Cousin,” Enris greeted him with that “why are you bothering me?” tone he usually saved for his little brother.

There’s a problem, Aryl sent privately.

We were enjoying a moment alone. Of course there’s a problem.

She elbowed his ribs, gently. “Seru, what is it?”

She didn’t expect Seru’s green eyes to fill with tears, or for her cousin to wail, loudly: “Naryn’s b-baby—!!” WOEFEARGRIEF!

HUSH! Aryl sent without thinking.

Seru covered her face with her hands, and Ezgi abandoned his digging to cradle her in his arms, giving Aryl a reproachful look. “She’s upset.”

“Which the entire world knows,” Enris informed him, but kindly. “Help her!”

Ezgi blinked, as if the notion hadn’t occurred to him. The handsome young Chosen might have more Power than his beloved Seru, Aryl reminded herself, but he had a fair bit to learn about using it. “Strengthen her shields,” she advised, grateful as the pressure of Seru’s emotions against her own subsided. “Much better.” She touched Seru’s arm. What about the baby?

Seru worked her face free of Ezgi’s shirt. “What she did—what Naryn did—it took strength from them both. Naryn’s recovering, but her baby isn’t. I don’t know how long—the baby’s dying, Aryl. I can’t help either of them!” This with an outburst of DISTRESSDESPAIRGUILT not even Ezgi could contain.

It didn’t matter, they all felt it. Aryl sighed, looking out at the sparkling water. “It was going to happen,” she heard herself say in a strange voice. “This is sooner, that’s all.”

Neither Tuana were prepared for the Yena swiftness with which Seru threw herself from Ezgi to pounce on Aryl, taking her by one leg to yank her from Enris’ lap, grabbing her shoulders to give her a hard shake. “Don’t say that!”

“Don’t be a fool!” Aryl shoved free. The two sat on the dirt and glared at one another.

Seru didn’t back down. “We have to do something!”

“Aryl. Seru’s right. We have to help Naryn.”

She twisted to look at Enris though, to her inner sense, he held no shield against her. His concern was real. As was his determination.

He’d stopped a river, but there were some things no one could fix. Aryl’s own despair welled up. If only Oran had been in control of her dreaming, could access the knowledge of So na’s Cloisters—even that, she admitted, was grasping for too small a branch. Tuana’s Adepts couldn’t do anything for her.

Her Chosen spoke aloud, his eyes glittering like sunlight on water. “I know who could.”

Of tasks not to envy, Aryl decided, she’d pick Seru’s and Ezgi’s. The two would explain to the rest of Sona—at the last possible moment—why three of their number, including their Speaker, would leave in the midst of, well, of everything. Those with the most pressing concerns were Haxel, Bern, and Oran. All three would be looking for her. A discussion and problem that could wait, in her opinion, so long as Oran wasn’t in the Dream Chamber. Naryn couldn’t.

Maybe she should suggest Ezgi let Seru’s shields fail again. Their Birth Watcher’s passion for what they hoped to accomplish would send the others running. Especially Haxel, Bern, and Oran.

An unworthy thought, however appealing.

“Explain to me again why I have to wear this?” “This” being Oran’s Adept robe. Naryn held it up to herself. It would fit.

“Because it might help.” Because Enris tried to anticipate everything that might sway Vyna’s Council in Naryn’s favor. Borrowing the robe had been Aryl’s task.

What they would take to trade was his. She was careful not to reach for him; he’d sense her impatience, her not-unreasonable worry he’d linger with the Human to relate every detail of the new dam and the lake growing behind it.

They’d no time to spare. She didn’t need to be a Birth Watcher to know that. Naryn’s skin was an unhealthy color; the feel of her was wrong. “Will you hurry?” she suggested.

Naryn raised a brow. “You didn’t ask Oran for it, did you?”

Had Oran been with the robe at the time, she might have. “I’ll apologize later. It’s not as if she needs it right now. Please, Naryn,” Aryl said, more gently. “Enris will be back at any moment. We have to go before—” Before the baby died, taking Naryn with her. They weren’t to tell her; Seru had insisted. “—before we’re missed.”

The other slipped the robe over her head, running her fingers along the textured threads of embroidery. “I wondered for such a long time how it would feel,” she mused, straightening the front panels.

Aryl’s lips quirked to one side. “How does it?”

Naryn held her arms and turned slowly. “Heavy,” was all she said when she stopped, but there was a faint pink to her cheeks.

They were prepared, but where was . . .

“I have them.” Enris was grinning as he appeared, as if fully aware of her worry. The white crate under his arm was familiar. And not-Om’ray. “Didn’t need to wake our friend at all.”

She’d apologize to Marcus, too. As for the ease of all? It left an unpleasant taste, like a warning. “We can’t use that,” Aryl decided and grabbed a pack. “Here.” She held it open.

Her Chosen’s grin disappeared. He took the pack from her hands. “Don’t get too close to these. Either of you.” He poured the clear wafers in, tossed the empty crate aside, and slung the pack over one shoulder. Careless, no. Disrespectful, yes. “Are you ready?”

“There’s no need for you to come.” Naryn pointed to the pack. “Give me that. I have the memory of their Council Chambers.” She had more. Memories of how the Vyna had treated Enris. How they trapped and killed unChosen from other Clans who came on Passage, calling them “lesser Om’ray” unfit to Join with their Chosen.

Aryl looked forward to meeting them in person. She’d promised to behave, but if they gave her any reason . . .

But what mattered about the Vyna wasn’t their isolation or the threat they posed—it was how they managed to give birth without having Chosen at all. Like Naryn.

Who wasn’t going alone.

“Together or not at all.” Aryl took Naryn’s hand, sent reassurance and—

Before she could form another thought, Enris grabbed her free hand and the room disappeared . . .

“—Enris!” Aryl’s protest died in her throat. She threw up her shields, felt the other two do the same.

They were in Vyna.

Naryn stepped up on the dais and took a seat. “So how long do we wait?”

The show of frustration was just that, a show. Naryn was exhausted and frightened. Not, Aryl knew, that she’d reveal either.

“They’ll come,” Enris said grimly.

Aryl nodded to herself. No hiding their arrival. They would be felt, as she felt the Vyna above her. Vyna who had to be wondering how three Om’ray could suddenly appear in the heart of their Cloisters. It shouldn’t be long.

Strange, a Cloisters not only below ground but underwater. Like the buildings Marcus had shown her with his flying vid device, beneath the Lake of Fire.

The wall of arched windows that in Yena looked out on green life, and in Sona, piles of dirt, here revealed a darkness as star-filled as truenight without the Makers in the sky.

Stars that moved.

Fascinating. Aryl walked to the nearest window. Not stars, of course. They might, she judged, be eyes of some kind, if eyes varied in size and shape, and were all white. She drew her short knife, flipped it in her hand, and rapped the hilt firmly on the transparent surface.

“Did I forget to mention the rumn are attracted to noise?” Enris commented, carefully not approaching the window.

“I want to see one.” Aryl rapped again, more firmly. The “eyes” swirled in an outgoing spiral from the point of contact, then rushed back again with powerful grace. Markings on a body, she decided in triumph, peering closer. A very large body. Or several.

She’d watched water hunters eat an osst alive. Aryl shrugged and put away her knife, losing interest. Simple to avoid such a threat. Stay out of the water.

Then, they were no longer alone in this part of Vyna’s Cloisters.

The Council Chamber doors were wide open. A sparkling blue cap, sprouting a growth of twisted yellow threads knotted with tiny black beads, appeared at the left side of the door-frame, followed by a single eye as a Vyna contorted to see them while keeping as much of himself unnoticed as possible.

With that on his head? Aryl tried not to smile.

Etleka! Enris greeted cheerfully, for some reason running his hand through his thick black hair. Aryl, Naryn, meet my old friend—

The cap and eye were gone.

Friend, is it? Naryn commented.

Enris grinned. Watch this. “Etleka Vyna!” His deep voice rang from every corner of the vast room. “You know I’ll do this as long as—”

HUSH, Enris! The Vyna scuttled around the corner as if chased, coming to a panting stop. Fool!

Starvation couldn’t explain an unChosen so pitifully frail. Ill, perhaps, Aryl thought. His face wasn’t right either. Beneath the brilliant cap and tassels, his eyes were sunken pits, his jaw too long. Dirt lined the creases at his neck and forehead. He wore a simple shirt and pants held up by a rope belt, the stained yellow fabric worn through at the knees and thinned at the elbows.

He looked as out of place in the gleaming chamber as they must.

Enris no longer smiled. He gestured a grave apology. What happened, Etleka? I thought you were to—a trace of revulsion, hidden so quickly Aryl might have imagined it—serve one of your Adepts.

You happened. No effort to hide the emotion there. Anger curled around dread.

Aryl stepped closer to her Chosen, wary of threat, however unlikely the source. Enris glanced down and gave a tiny shake of his head. His problem, that meant.

She scowled at him, then at the Vyna. Her problem, if he made any move at all.

I meant you no harm, Enris sent. You or any Vyna.

No harm? Etleka’s palms slapped the front of his pants, once. Twice. Hard, furious blows. Contaminated, they call me. Fit only to clean waste. And talk to you. I don’t care how you got here this time. Go away, Enris. You aren’t welcome here. Go away!

He hadn’t looked at her, Aryl realized. Not at her or Naryn. As if Enris was all he could see.

Enris spread his arms. Blame me. I won’t argue. Once we see your Council, we’ll be gone and never come again.

The young Vyna’s mouth gaped, showing too few teeth. If it was a smile, Aryl thought with a chill, it was the most horrifying one she’d ever seen on an Om’ray’s face. No other Vyna will come near you. Go! He waved his filthy hands, as if shooing biters.

They will when you tell them we’ve more of what I gave Tarerea Vyna.

The hands stopped moving. Etleka licked his lips. Give it to me. I’ll take it. Show them.

“Think we’re fools, unChosen?” Naryn snapped from her seat on the Council dais.

Etleka drew himself up and looked at her for the first time. You are lesser Om’ray, unworthy and foul. I, least of Vyna, am beyond your comprehension.

“That I agree with—”

Naryn! Aryl admonished. To the Vyna, We will stay here and wait for your Council’s decision. Then, as she’d learned from her mother, she swept her hands in the gesture of gratitude. Thank you, Etleka Vyna. Be well.

Then she turned and went to rap on the window again.

There was a flicker of astonishment, as if the scruffy unChosen couldn’t believe he was being dismissed by a “lesser Om’ray.” She kept an eye on his reflection against star-flecked black as he whirled and ran from the chamber.

“He and Daryouch looked after me. Taught me to catch denos. Fed me too many.” Enris stood beside her and reached to almost touch the window, but didn’t. “I never meant them any harm.”

Aryl dropped her hand to take his, felt his remorse and wished she could rap the hilt of her knife against heads, not the window. Peace, beloved. None of this was your fault. Aloud, “Any harm here belongs to the Vyna. And that Tikitik.” Thought Traveler, if he’d known the consequences to the Vyna as well as Enris, probably enjoyed both. Meddlers, the Vyna called them.

Never without their own motives. They’d stirred this pot. Why?

“We wait,” Aryl decided. As long as it took.

Agreed. His fingers closed around hers.

Naryn tucked her feet under the Adept’s robe and her chin into the palm of one hand. She closed her eyes. “This was your idea. Wake me when someone interesting shows up.”

Without the sky, there was no way to measure how long the Vyna kept them waiting. Enris leaned against a wall, big arms crossed and eyes closed. She might have thought he dozed, as Naryn quietly did, except for the awareness of his mind where it touched hers, making sure he knew where she was, following her steps. Not trusting, her Chosen. Not trusting at all.

She smiled to herself as she paced.

The size of the chamber was familiar. It was immense, able to accommodate all of Vyna many times over. Her inner sense felt this as the smallest Clan other than Sona, but she’d been surprised to find only ninety, and those spread out, as if few lived or worked together.

Yena’s Council Chamber had the same narrow dais in front of the wall of towering windows, the same row of tall-backed, pale green chairs for Councillors. Chairs for ceremony, not everyday business. There’d been a cluster of comfortable, mixed seating on a homely mat to one side of Yena’s, a practical clutter of tables and mugs. Sona’s had been stripped of all but the dais; they’d yet to find the ceremonial chairs among those tossed into rooms. Vyna’s?

The magnificent expanse of floor was bare of anything but polish and reflection. She might have walked on the lights above, the windows with their moving glints of white. Aryl stayed to the walls, knife in hand and reversed, tapping once in a while. In Yena, the ceremonial doors weren’t the only way in. There’d been another entrance, smaller, covered by a curtain. A convenience for those entering from within the Cloisters: Councillors, Adepts, the Lost. In Sona, an open arch, barely head high. There seemed to be none here.

The Stranger camp had taught her not to rely only on her eyes. Sona itself had hidden doorways, many of which they had yet to find despite Oran’s promotion to Keeper and Hoyon’s boasting.

Tap, tap. Didn’t matter to her if the Vyna disliked sound.

And, Aryl thought, walking another soundless few steps before stopping again, it passed the time.

There was a great deal of wall.

Tap, tap.

Almost back where she’d started, the next tap produced a more interesting clank. Metal. On a section of wall exactly like the others. She didn’t try to find the opening mechanism, satisfied to know where the Vyna would come.

Aryl went to wait by the ceremonial doors, her eyes fixed on the hollow portion of wall.

Her stomach suggested it was after the midday meal before any Vyna came toward them. At last. She’d begun to fear Etleka had gone back to cleaning pipes instead of taking their message. “Someone’s coming.”

Several someones.

“The Council,” Enris guessed.

Naryn unfolded and rose to her feet, smoothing the panels of her robe. Aryl resisted the impulse to do the same. Thanks to her impulsive Chosen, she hadn’t had time to grab a flask of water, let alone change into anything remotely impressive. She wore her favorite, thus well mended, blue tunic, of a loose comfortable fabric from Sona’s storerooms and deep pockets. A belt held her knives. Her feet were in a tough pair of the light Sona footwear she found didn’t interfere with climbing. At least the tunic was clean and her hair was inside its metal net. Most of it. What expressed itself behind her back she couldn’t worry about.

The Speaker’s Pendant—she’d meant to leave it behind. Aryl started to tuck it inside her clothes. Clans didn’t talk to one another through delegates. Unless it would help the Vyna deal with her. On that thought, she left it out.

Be careful. From Enris to both of them.

Your idea, Naryn snapped back. Then added, For which I thank you, Enris d’sud Sarc, in case there’s no chance later, with the faintest possible touch of hope.

Enris looked at her and gave his slow smile.

Aryl resisted the impulse to drop her hand to the hilt of her longknife as the section of wall cracked along four lines and silently turned open. These were Om’ray, she told herself firmly.

But shared memory hadn’t prepared her for who came through the doors.

First came six Chosen, all in transparent robes that showed the swell of pregnancy on their too thin bodies, their hair shaved or absent, replaced by caps that sprouted colorful threads and beads. Vyna’s Council. None matched Enris’ memories.

As they took their seats, sparing not a word or look for the three Sona, another group entered. Aryl hid her astonishment. Nine chairs, each floating a hand’s breadth above the floor, their occupants the oldest Om’ray she’d ever seen. Vyna’s Adepts. They were wrapped in white blankets and attended by unChosen males, ready to give them strength. The future Etleka had wanted so badly.

Yorl sud Sarc, her mother’s uncle, had taken her strength to heal himself. Had Vyna begun thus? Aryl shuddered.

Like the Councillors, Vyna’s Adepts paid no attention to them, though Aryl guessed this had something to do with the concentration needed for such Power. For Power was here. She could feel it, knew from the stiffness of Naryn’s body beside her that she did, too. Enris, on the other hand, looked relaxed and welcoming. From his shields, he was neither.

The Adepts settled into place, a line before the platform. An instant’s shifting and rustling, then they were still.

And all the Vyna looked directly at them. Without surprise or question on their faces.

Oran’s dreams.

So. Their Adepts had received them, too. Aryl glanced at the row of nine seated before the platform and dismissed them. If they valued their lives so much as to spend others’ to keep them, they wouldn’t risk the M’hir.

Keeping her eyes on the Vyna Councillors, she grasped her Speaker’s Pendant and took a firm step ahead of Enris and Naryn.

Keeping her mouth firmly closed, too. Manners first. Greetings.

You are not welcome here, lesser Om’ray.

They believed she wouldn’t know one sending from another. Few could. Aryl quite deliberately turned left, to face the Councillor second from that end. We don’t intend to stay. We have what you want. Enris?

He slipped off the pack and opened it. The clear wafers sparkled.

The glows in the water outside the window went into wild motion, swirling into clusters as if their owners would peer over the shoulders of the Vyna. The Councillors leaned forward; the lips of the wizened Adepts worked, as if they longed to speak. Lust and greed and envy flooded past their shields.

Aryl’s stomach twisted.

Enris deliberately closed the pack and hung it from his shoulder. As if any here would try to take it. Compared to her Chosen, these Vyna were brittle twigs to snap in one hand.

The Councillor who’d rebuked their presence rose and came down from the dais, every step graceful despite her swollen abdomen and breasts. She stopped in front of Aryl. What do you want in return?

“To live.” The unChosen flinched, wide-eyed, at Naryn’s voice. The rest, Aryl noted, did not.

The Councillor didn’t look at Naryn. This close, Aryl could see blood pulse beneath her skin. Sparkling dots lined where she should have eyebrows. The bones of her face jutted like stones through snow, and her lips were the blue of death.

Om’ray to her inner sense.

Stranger than the Human, in every other way.

If we help this one, you will give us the Glorious Dead. You will leave. You will never return in this or any way.

There were hunters in the canopy from whom you couldn’t back away, who attacked any weakness. Like this Vyna, decided Aryl. Take them. A gesture to Enris sent the pack sliding across the floor to the Councillor’s feet, spilling its contents. When she looked up from it with dismay, Aryl smiled her mother’s smile. Help Naryn di S’udlaat, she sent, or I will take you to meet the Clans of the unChosen dead in your traps.

The deep-set eyes narrowed. The glows pressed to the windows pulsed, their light shifting the shadows.

Coming to a decision of her own, the Vyna held out her hand. A hand with four fingers and two thumbs, each bearing paired rings of green metal.

Aryl, no. From Naryn, not Enris. Her Chosen was quiet, a brooding presence deep in her mind. Aryl pitied the Vyna if she meant betrayal. She calmly laid her scarred, callused palm over the other’s cloyingly soft one and waited.

I will show you what binds your friend and her unborn. This sending was shockingly intimate, delivered to a layer of her mind where Aryl had only felt Enris before. And, she admitted, Bern when he’d been heart-kin. Though repugnant, Aryl endured it. This must be how the Vyna managed private conversation when all spoke mind-to-mind.

There. The Vyna thrust her through Naryn’s shields as if they were gauze, and with as little care. How was it possible? Aryl fought to remain calm, to learn what she must and no more. Worst of all, the Tuana was blind to her intrusion, focused on the Vyna, her concern for Aryl, her fear for herself. Do you see it?

Aryl had traced the links between Om’ray before; it was a Talent she rarely noticed or used. When Naryn had first revealed her condition—her mind Joined to that of her unborn instead of an unChosen in proper Choice—she’d touched their link only enough to assure herself it was true.

What the Vyna showed her now was something else. The link wasn’t between two minds. It was between Naryn’s and nothing. Aryl heard her own gasp. The Vyna pulled her out again.

She was not Watched properly. A powerful Chooser can become pregnant without a father—as if this were unremarkable—but what must be prevented is a Joining before the new vessel has been filled. If that occurs, they will both die, as even lesser Om’ray know.

Vessel? She had to mean the baby. Filled by what? How? The Vyna, Aryl thought with disgust, sounded like the Oud—or worse, like Marcus. She pushed confusion aside. Help her!

The Vyna Councillor’s hand dropped to her side and she stepped away. One of the wafers rose from the floor. The other Councillors rose from their seats, hands outstretched as if it was being offered to them. But the wafer flew to hover before Naryn.

Press it over the vessel. Over the unborn. DO IT!

Naryn, as if stunned by the Power of that sending or seeing no harm in it, took the wafer.

“No!” Enris shouted. “Wait!”

Too late. Pressed against the swell of her baby, the clear wafer turned milky white and glowed.

The Adepts began to chant, thin, unused voices breaking with the words. Spit ran down their chins. “Take her, Glorious Dead! Take her! Be born again!”

The other Vyna chanted as well. More and more stars-that weren’t jammed against the windows, distorting the colors within the room.

Naryn’s face changed, mouth opening as if to scream. But no sound came out.

Wrong! This was wrong! Aryl reached for Naryn and Enris, concentrated on being away . . .

... But the M’hir was impenetrable, woven through by lines of seething force that disrupted Aryl’s every effort to hold her locate . . .

She flung herself free of the M’hir, grabbed for Naryn. They’d run from this place.

The wafer turned black and fell from Naryn’s limp hands. It shattered on the floor, spreading a dust that glistened in the light.

The chanting stopped.

Naryn looked at Aryl, blinked, then the oddest expression settled over her face. She cupped her abdomen in both hands. “Her name—her name is Anaj. Anaj di Kathel.”

What have you done? Enris’ mindvoice held an undertone of horror.

What we were asked to do. The Vyna Councillor beckoned and the unChosen scurried forward to collect the wafers from the floor. They ignored the pack and picked each one up in two hands to carry to their particular Adept. Slowly. Tenderly.

The ancient creatures stroked the wafers with their bent hands, cuddled them in their laps, heads bent so the tassels of their caps hid their faces.

They were probably drooling on them, Aryl thought with disgust. I can’t ’port, she sent to Enris, felt him concentrate, saw him shake his head as his effort failed, too.

Something’s wrong.

What wasn’t?

Why are you still here? The Councillor demanded.

It wasn’t the Vyna somehow stopping their ’port?

A touch on her arm. It’s them, Enris sent, just to her. The rumn. They’re partly in the M’hir.

The windows were full of them, whatever they were, their luminous markings almost pretty. A good disguise, Aryl decided, unable to make out any identifiable body parts. No gleam of teeth, but life in the canopy taught that not all threats came with an obvious mouth and jaws.

She did not reach for them.

The other Councillors gathered beside the Adepts, like eager children forced to wait on their elders for their share of dresel cake. Except for the one still confronting Aryl. You are not welcome here, lesser Om’ray, she sent, with a flash of cold impatience.

Aryl scowled. “We are not lesser Om’ray—”

We’ll find our way out, Enris broke in, making an extravagant gesture of gratitude. To her: Once we’re above the water, maybe we can ’port. Unless you want to stay here?

Anything but that.

Aryl took Naryn’s arm, gently; urged her to follow Enris through the ceremonial doors. She appeared dazed, blue eyes large and unfocused. They had only the Vyna’s word she’d been helped, that this “Glorious Dead” inside Naryn would mean both would survive childbirth. She wouldn’t risk checking that link here. She’d risk nothing here, where Om’ray invaded one another’s minds as casually as she’d swat a biter.

Instead, Aryl looked over her shoulder at the Vyna, saw her standing tall and superior, her hands folded just so, mouth pursed with pleasure. Enjoying the spectacle of the three “lesser” Om’ray running away, was she?

Aryl drove into the M’hir and forced a connection between their minds. As the other fought and wailed, her terror of the darkness threatening them both, she sent a promise.

If Naryn dies, this is where I’ll leave you.

Let the Vyna remember that.

Black stone stairs, steep and beaded with moisture, led up from the Cloisters. Enris led the way, taking the first few three at a time. Aryl stayed with Naryn. “I should take this off,” Naryn muttered, awkwardly holding the stiff panels of Oran’s robe as she climbed.

Enris slowed and glanced back. “No time. Do your best, Naryn. The doors above are open. We have to hurry. They won’t let us go if they can help it. And . . . there’s a bridge.” As if some final doom awaited them instead of a path.

Aryl shook her head. “Don’t worry. I’ll help—”

A gasp as Naryn staggered, her hands clenched against her middle. Aryl caught her before she could fall. Beneath her hands, the robe flared, then flattened, its panels twisted over a swelling that moved as if trying to force its way through. As Aryl stared, Naryn gave an involuntary grunt of pain. “It’s Anaj! Help me—”

Aryl had her arm around Naryn; now she poured strength through that contact, all she could spare. Enough to steady Naryn on her feet, put some color in cheeks that were too pale.

“We have to hurry,” she agreed, meeting Enris’ worried look.

Smash, BANG!

Clatter, clatter . . . something ahead . . . something that rolled and bounced down the stairs. Enris shouted a warning, and dodged to one side. Aryl drew her longknife and put herself in front of Naryn.

Down, down.

Ping!

Aryl frowned and put away her knife, placing the sound. “It’s only a rock.”

A rock of fair size that bounced into view, then careened off the wall behind Enris and flew over Aryl’s head. She didn’t bother moving, but watched it come to rest in front of the door below. “Why a rock?” she puzzled out loud.

Enris, who’d flattened himself against the wall, laughed as he pushed away. “Because the Vyna prefer their visitors dead. Can we hurry, please?”

Aryl kept frowning at the rock. “It’s not black.” She drew her knife again. “I thought all the rock here was black.”

Smash, BANG!

Clatter, clatter . . .

Another rock, similar in size. This time, Enris held his ground, but Aryl pulled Naryn to the side. She watched it land beside the first. Watched both tilt, tip, and roll toward them.

“Not rocks,” she announced unnecessarily.

Smash. Smash. Smash. BANG!

Even Naryn managed to run up the stairs.