Rift in the Sky

Chapter 6

VYNA WAS AN ISLAND of black rock within an encircling mountain, like a rough-edged seed inside a pod. Sturdy bridges connected the two, but the water between—

Aryl drew back from the edge, pulled Naryn with her.

—the water was vile. A musk of rot, like that of the Lay Swamp, but what she’d glimpsed through the billowing mist suggested nothing as natural. Its smooth surface glistened like metal, flaring purple and red when disturbed.

And it was being disturbed.

SPLASH!

A surge of motion, hints of stars against darkness, and the curved back—or whatever—of the rumn disappeared below again. They, at least, were enjoying the rain of rock hunters.

And other things. As their feet hit the platform beyond the Cloisters bridge—a crossing the normally height-wary Tuana had managed at a run, cries echoed behind them in the mist, desperate and horrified.

Enris sighed.

Aryl tried not to feel as the Vyna caught in their floats died.

The next SPLASH was followed by a hideous, drawn-out scream from overhead. “Esan!” Enris shouted to be heard over it. “It’s the Tikitik!”

Which makes no sense at all, Aryl sent, not straining her voice. Why would Tikitik attack the Vyna?

Though their method was effective, if wasteful. Vyna rose in a great vertical spiral, low-walled ramps wrapped around its core of buildings like a wing around dresel pods. Most rocks bounced off walls or rooftops into the water. Those that arrived on ramps or skidded against an edge began a slow grind and roll away from water to the safety of shadows. Since Vyna had almost no doors, most of those shadows were inside their buildings. She’d already watched several rock hunters roll through a nearby arch. It would take time for the Vyna to find and remove every one, time when they’d be wise not to fall asleep or leave babies untended.

Unfortunately, the rumn remained at the surface, attracted by the splashes. Impossible to tell if they ate the rocks or merely milled around in hope of more tender flesh. The effect was the same. The M’hir remained impassable.

As long as the rocks kept falling, the bridges—though wide and perfectly safe, in her opinion—were, too.

Mist billowed downward again, propelled by something above. Another, more distant scream.

Aryl looked up. They’d taken what shelter they could beside a wall. “I can’t see it,” she complained. Enris had shared his memories of immense size, claws, and unusual wings, but with woefully inadequate detail—being more interested in the ground below at the time.

“Good,” he asserted, back against the wall. “Trust me, if you could, you’d be too close.”

Aryl made a noncommittal noise. She wanted to see one. Especially in flight.

“No more running,” Naryn said weakly, and eased herself to the ground. She let out a small moan. Immediately, a trio of rocks that had been aiming at a shadow changed to tilt in her direction. Aryl kept her eye on them. They’d be easy to push into the water—it was how close she dared get to the water to do the pushing that was the problem.

She could see one feeding pile of rocks; the unfortunate Vyna beneath hadn’t made a sound. Doubtless the mist hid more. Those out in their floats had fared the worst. The rest of Vyna—she reached—most sheltered deep in their island or stayed within the Cloisters. Had the Councillors and Adepts noticed their Clan was under assault, or were they still huddled over their prize?

Would their metal doors hold?

More screams from an unseen creature. Another series of rocks clattered to the pavement, to stop and begin to roll toward them.

“Is it me,” Enris asked mildly, “or are they starting to aim them at us?”

Whether they were or not, Aryl thought grimly, there were too many rock hunters nearby for comfort. “Maybe they’ll run out.”

“We could go back to the . . .” Naryn’s voice faded in and out. “Aryl . . . I . . .”

You wore the pendant here, didn’t you? Fool.

“Naryn?” Aryl knelt by her, put an anxious hand on her sweat-chilled brow. Naryn? What did you say? Why the pendant? She hadn’t told anyone, not even Enris, what the Oud had said. It had made no sense, anyway, babbling about Tikitik counting all life, waving a pendant and token at her.

I said you were a fool. Are you mind deaf, too?

Not Naryn. Aryl glared at the rock hunters, who, being noticed, pretended to be a natural heap of rocks in the middle of perfectly smooth pavement. She reached.

Naryn’s mind was closed behind her strong shields, other than a whisper-thin presence. She saved her strength, was close to unconscious.

And was not alone.

Of course she’s not alone! Now get me out of here.

Aryl rocked back on her heels. “Enris?”

“I heard.” He came to Naryn’s other side. All around, the splash and clatter of rocks being dropped.

The sendings were powerful.

More than that, Aryl realized with dismay.

They were not from a child.

Anaj?

Unfortunately. A hint of amusement. I hope Teso put himself in one of those things, too. Serve him right. He convinced us only our knowledge would be stored. Not who . . . nothing amused now . . . not who we are . . . grimmer still . . . Kynan? The sudden overwhelming awareness of LOSS was as quickly buried under layers of shielding. Aryl might have imagined it, if not for the tears spilling down her own cheeks. Naryn curled as if to protect what she carried.

Enris said gently, “Your Chosen.”

Dead. Flat and cold and final. They’re all dead. As we’ll be if you don’t start acting like a Speaker instead of cowering here. A snap of authority. Think rocks are all they can drop? An image, terrifyingly clear, of baskets filled with what belonged to truenight, to the utter dark, to the nightmares of Yena.

The swarm.

Aryl shuddered.

“What’s wrong?” Enris demanded. He hadn’t heard?

Negotiate, young Speaker, before it’s too late.

“Aryl—”

No time to explain. Aryl looked desperately at Enris. “Protect them!” Then she slammed down her shields and began to run.

Up the ramp, jumping rocks, stepping on them. Too slow. Too slow. More screams, more CRASH.

Aryl grabbed the next light pole and swung herself atop the railing wall. Better. She hit full stride, leaping across where the wall angled back on itself as it climbed. Higher and higher. She passed heaving piles of rock hunters, doorways choked with them as too many tried to enter at once, and knew it could be worse.

The swarm hated light. That wouldn’t save anything in their path.

How high did she need to be?

Only one way to find out. Aryl kept running.

The ramp wall widened, its top becoming a dirt-filled hollow choked with vines and other growth she crushed underfoot or jumped. The air finally smelled of life. Behind her, the grind and click as rock hunters excitedly worked to reach it, piling on each other. They’d be a hazard on the way back if they succeeded.

Though, Aryl thought with sudden cheer, easy to kick off.

Enris was directly below again. She’d circled the island.

Where were the Tikitik? The mist and black stone swallowed the light from Vyna’s glows, smudged shadows, refused any long views. That much was familiar from the canopy. Her shadow ran with her along the steep buildings, doubled, disappeared, caught up again.

Aryl jumped the next sharp angle and stopped, balanced on her toes. Something was here. Something other than the rocks rolling in the shadows.

A stretch of ramp, floored in black with white lines for ornamentation. Beside it, an upward thrust of building, with an abundance of narrow, empty windows. Thin vines trailed down between. No Vyna to her inner sense. Unlike a Yena, they ran down from danger.

Poor choice, she thought absently, busy searching for what alerted her.

There. A patch of mist ahead, darker than it should be.

A darkness that shifted.

Up, then. The vines Aryl knew better than to trust, but the window openings were as good as a ladder. She took advantage of a series of glows shaped like swimmers along the lower portion of the building to reach the first line of windows, then it was a simple matter of picking those which would take her to one side of whatever shaded the mist.

From the smell emanating from the first window, this wasn’t a building normally in use. Enris had said the Vyna were more numerous once. Yena had been; its outlying bridges served empty homes. She hadn’t paid attention then. Hadn’t imagined the past mattered, or that it stretched beyond living memory.

They could, Aryl mused as she climbed, compare the numbers of children born to each Clan; such information was recorded in its Cloisters. Perhaps that had changed over time.

Marcus would be proud of this un-Om’ray notion.

Haxel would consider it a thorough waste of time.

Aryl snorted. At the moment, they’d both be right.

A louder snort answered. From above.

Slipping inside the nearest window had appeal. Aryl kept climbing.

The mist shifted around her, a warm thick breeze she’d enjoy under other circumstances. Shifted and darkened, as something leaned down through it to inspect her.

Now she did stop.

Two pairs of eyes appeared through the mist, blinking alternately. Each was larger than her head. They disappeared behind the yawning chasm of an enormous mouth, yellow-tongued, abundantly toothed. The mouth closed again. Good sign. The neck she could see beyond the long head was swollen. Recently fed.

Better still.

The head shook with a splatter of drool and lifted back into the mist. She climbed after it, passed a foot with claws that could easily span her body but presently gripped the sill of a window, then another, and another. The finely scaled legs supported a long, narrow body, covered with hairs, each tipped with a tiny sparkling drop.

Enris might have exaggerated the narrowness of Vyna’s bridges; not so the esan’s size. Haxel would want her to find out if it was edible.

Where were its wings?

Short of climbing a leg, she couldn’t see past the body, so Aryl worked her way from window to window until she found herself at the top of the building.

The sixth foot crushed one of the Vyna’s wall-top gardens. The head reappeared as she jumped from the wall to the ramp below, swinging down to regard her past its front knee.

As did other heads. They clustered here, the esans, clinging to the wall she’d climbed, standing on this ramp. More above. Like flitters roosting on a nekis, as close together as manners allowed.

There were, Aryl realized belatedly, no more splashes. Just the esans’ overlapping huffs, as if they took in her scent and rejected it.

Huffs and a muffled clinkclattergrind from over her head.

Aryl glanced at the swollen neck drooping above her. Round shapes pushed against the skin. The esan gave an irritated shake and huff. Something rattled.

Explaining how they carried the rock hunters. She was almost sympathetic.

Mist swirled around paired legs, then revealed a single figure standing by itself. Watching her.

Tikitik.

More came out of the mist, gathered in groups, stared. Something Tikitik were well equipped to do, possessing four eyes: two large, a smaller pair behind, all on mobile cones of flesh. Instead of a mouth, writhing gray protuberances moved as if tasting the air. They wore nothing but a belt to support a longknife and strips of cloth patterned in their symbols to wrap ankles and wrists. Their skin, more knobby plates than hide, was pale gray, the color of mist. No surprise. It could change, she’d seen it for herself, to match a background. For Tikitik were skulkers, hiders, loving to surprise.

When they couldn’t get something else to do the work for them.

Aryl’s fingers itched for her longknife. With an effort of will, she turned them to touch the Speaker’s Pendant instead.

Aryl?

He’d felt her reaction. She sent an image of what, or rather who, faced her. Peace, Enris. He subsided, watchful and worried.

The solitary Tikitik was different. It wore a black sash from shoulder to hip, ending in a fringe that brushed the stone pavement, and held its head higher than the rest on its long down curved neck—though not at shoulder-height. It gave a soft, guttural bark. A laugh. “Greetings, Apart-from-All.”

She didn’t need the symbols on its wristband. Using that name for her—that laugh? This was one of the Tikitik outside any faction, who wandered Cersi to gather information for its kind and, she was beginning to fear, stir trouble at whim. It might be one she’d met, or another. They were all dangerous. “Thought Traveler,” she acknowledged coolly. Courtesy first; knife if necessary. “What are you doing here?”

Esans stirred uneasily at her voice; one uttered its scream. The Tikitik at their feet grunted something at them; they stilled at once. She hid her distaste. Their way, to control beasts. Why the beasts allowed it was a mystery she’d rather not solve.

That familiar sly tilt of the head. “I would ask you the same, Little Speaker, if it mattered. I’m here to bestow a remarkable honor. You will be the first Om’ray to visit Tikitna, the Place-of-Bloodless-Meeting. There you will explain.” It pranced forward with its disturbing quickness, clawed toes snicking on pavement, then stopped. “You will explain so very many things.”

She could try to ’port. It might work this far above the still-restive rumn. All four of Thought Traveler’s eyes were fixed on her, as if daring her to do exactly that: flaunt this profound change in Om’ray in front of it. Prove everything it suspected.

End the Agreement.

“I look forward to it,” Aryl said. Enris, the Tikitik want me to leave with them.

Instantly: Not alone.

Not alone, she agreed, as though there was a choice. Vyna was no place for Enris and Naryn. Or Anaj. “There are Sona Om’ray on the lowermost level,” she informed the Tikitik. “They come with me.”

“Of course.” Thought Traveler gestured toward the mist—or was it to the encircling mountain beyond? “The Vyna, however ill-mannered, must be protected.”

“By killing them?” And she thought Oud spouted nonsense.

“A few nonbreeders.” An amused bark. “Which brought you straight to me without exposing Vyna to a more intimate intrusion.”

“I’m no threat to the Vyna.” Not if she could help it.

“Apart-from-All. You are nothing but threat to the Vyna. How I would enjoy explaining matters to you . . . but you could not comprehend.”

Aryl comprehended one thing quite well, as attendant Tikitik busied themselves for departure, attaching baskets to the legs of the esans, barking softly.

Thought Traveler had enjoyed “protecting” the Vyna.

Under other circumstances, their flight by esan would have enthralled her. In Yena, Aryl had spent fists building models of wastryl wings she’d called fiches; her triumph a shape able to glide great distances on a wind. The esan’s two pairs of wings, once opened from their fold over the back, were like those of most flitters, being clear with dark veins. They stiffened like one of her fiches as the esans flung themselves from Vyna’s walls, gliding down through the mist toward the platform below. To rise over the mountains, the stiff wings beat in powerful strokes, then began to vibrate in place, like a biter’s.

The gliding, Aryl thought with a certain satisfaction, she could do.

The basket suspended between the middle pair of legs wasn’t uncomfortable, mostly because Enris held her in his arms. They’d protested when Naryn had been put in one of her own, but the Tikitik were surprisingly gentle with her. There’d been some kind of cushioning within.

Not enough.

Anaj. Her distinct mindvoice made it easy to forget she wasn’t standing with them. An oddly familiar voice. Like, Aryl decided, unexpectedly amused, an older Haxel.

“More like my grandmother,” Enris countered, and their esan shook vigorously. His deep voice irritated the creature more than hers.

Mountains swept beneath them, their shapes muted. The sun was hidden behind cloud. She shivered in the chill and Enris rearranged his grip so his warm forearms covered hers. A Tuana’s skin must be thicker. This is much better than my first flight, he sent cheerfully. Think they’ll let us keep one?

She eyed the body above dubiously. Thin and muscular. An abundance of long bones beneath the skin when it flexed. Looks tough.

His laugh rumbled through her. Not to eat, my bloodthirsty little Yena. To carry things. Us, for one.

It wasn’t often he managed to shock her. There are machines for that, she countered, and found she quite liked the notion. Machines that weren’t Om’ray, that was the problem: the Strangers’ aircars, the Oud’s version, which required an Oud willing to fly it. Unless . . . I could ask our Oud for one, she mused, snuggling against Enris. We could take it apart, see how it was made, change it to suit us.

We’d need tools, a metal shop. She’d surprised him in turn, but his clever, bold mind took hold of the idea and began to puzzle at it.

Anything was possible, if they survived this day. On that thought, she opened her shields, let her inner sense reach. She didn’t need the Vyna’s revolting intimacy or to intrude into the other’s mind. This was her Talent, Aryl thought gratefully, and sought Naryn.

There. A solitary glow, no longer knotted to another by Joining. Aryl sighed with relief as she traced only the connections natural among Om’ray: Naryn to her, to Enris, to the rest of their kind . . .

... to Anaj.

She sleeps at last, child. Let her be.

And you? Enris sent. How does it feel in there?

Trust her Chosen to ask what she hadn’t dared, Aryl thought with an inner grin, waiting for the answer.

Suddenly, her body felt too small, too warm; the arms about her too tight; the sound of wind and breathing replaced by the POUND of a stranger’s heart. She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t taste or smell, could only squirm and struggle futilely against—against—

STOP! His sending was intended to sting. That’s enough!

You asked. Not contrite. If anything, the old Adept’s mindvoice sounded pleased, as might Haxel after a lesson successfully delivered.

Aryl had been imprisoned within a rastis once; had fought her own inner battle for sanity. The memory tasted like Anaj’s sharing: terrified, abandoned, alone. She’d have given anything to have help. I could try to let you see through my eyes.

Aryl!

Hush, young hothead, Anaj told him. I can hear if I wish. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to be here. Bad enough sensing where we are.

Where they were was passing over Rayna, aimed at Amna, though Aryl doubted that was their final destination. Sona was farther away every moment, a temptation easy to resist. They couldn’t abandon Naryn—or Anaj. We’ll get you to our Birth Watcher as soon as possible, she promised.

I don’t need a Birth Watcher. I need OUT!!

A blinding flash of AGONY from Naryn.

What’s happening? Anaj?

LET ME OUT!

The sac opened to the baby’s demand. They couldn’t allow Anaj’s desperation to rip it open inside Naryn. They’d both die.

Anaj, stop, please. Aryl pulled away from Enris and clenched her hands on the basket rim, trying to see under the other esan, to see Naryn. If there’s a safe way to free you, we’ll find it. But it can’t be here. You know that. Healing used Power to push the body’s growth beyond normal. Could they hurry a pregnancy?

I will be free. There was something implacable in the sending. I don’t belong here. I can’t survive here.

The Vyna’s help was like a rotted rope, Aryl thought bitterly, one that would snap if you trusted it. Wait, Anaj. Until we’re home—

Where do you think the beasts take us, child? Not even a token grants safe passage through Tikitna. Home? More likely when they’re no longer entertained by you, they’ll drop us in the Lake of Fire. Trust me, I intend to be free before dying again.

Enris gripped her shoulder, bent to whisper in her ear. “Baby Grandmother knows something of the Tikitik’s meeting place.”

Aryl nodded. She forced down her fear for Naryn, concentrated on being Sona’s Speaker. Anaj. Tell me about this place. About the Tikitik.

Frustration. Cersi has changed. This is no longer my time.

The past matters, Aryl sent, confident of this if anything. The Tikitik pay attention to it. Om’ray must. You warned me about the swarm in baskets. It’s something they’ve done before.

Yes. Bleak. That’s how they move them to a new grove. Without warning. As if hoping to kill Om’ray. Or Oud. They can’t be trusted. They don’t think like we do.

They have a purpose, Aryl sent back, feeling Enris agree. Thought Traveler said I was a threat to Vyna, that Vyna must be protected.

They won’t lie, Anaj admitted. Not directly. Confuse and avoid and never say the whole of a thing, always.

Another who’d been Sona’s Speaker, Aryl realized abruptly, flattening her palm over the pendant. You wore this. Adept and Speaker, like her mother. She let out a sigh of relief. I need your help—

Remember what I am. Bitter. Bitter and afraid and hollow. I’m scrapings from when Sona flourished, when we were the largest of the ten Clans. Nothing more.

Ten? There were eight, counting newly restored Sona.

Which are gone? Enris asked.

A moment’s silence. The old Adept must feel the change in her world, know what was missing. Aryl held in her compassion; she didn’t think Anaj an Om’ray who’d value it.

Nena. None came to Sona in my lifetime. My grandfather . . . he remembered an uncle from Nena who did clever rope tricks. Extra thumbs.

The other . . . Anaj’s shields tightened, dampening her emotion. Xrona’s gone, too. My sister’s second Chosen was from there. Their children had his curls. He’d talk all truenight about his Passage, how he’d climbed through the canopy and dropped his glow when she Called so he had to wall himself inside a giant thorn bush to escape the swarms but nothing would stop him—

‘Second Chosen?’ Aryl interrupted. I don’t understand.

What’s to understand? With a return of the old Adept’s asperity. Her first drowned in the river. Fool never did swim as well as he thought. As for the rest of Cersi—

She survived his death? Enris, this time.

This time, Anaj hesitated a long moment. Then, Why does this surprise you?

Aryl steadied herself, then shared her memory of Myris at the instant she was Lost. Enris put his arms around her waist, shared inner warmth through their link. That’s why, Anaj, he sent. Our Chosen end together. Joining is for life.

Your link does feel different . . . it goes—startled—it goes through the Dark as well! How is that possible? What are you?

Something new, Aryl admitted. While the other was off-balance, she sent, with all the confidence she could, Which is why you should trust us, Anaj. Please. We will find a way to help you. Stay where you are. For now.

No answer. For Naryn’s sake, she hoped the old one listened.

A whisper in her ear. “I wonder where they were. Xrona. Nena. What is it?” As she stiffened.

“Nothing.” Aryl tried to relax.

But said aloud, she knew those names. Marcus Bowman had said them, parts of them. He’d claimed they were Hoveny words, spoke them in an order: Vy. Ray. So. Gro. Ne. Tua. Ye. Pa. Am. Nor. Xro. Fa.

She’d never forgotten the shock of that first time, hearing real sounds come out of his not-Om’ray mouth. Ye-NA. TuaNA. Hearing him say the names of Cersi’s Clans.

Eight now. In Anaj’s Cersi, ten.

Had there been more once? A Norna? Fana?

What other names did Marcus know?

It was as well for her peace of mind that the drone of the esan’s wings ceased just then. The ground began rising. They entered air full of a tangy scent, unlike anything she’d encountered before.

The basket tipped forward with the esan. Eager to see, Aryl leaned well over the edge; Enris grabbed for her belt, holding onto the opposite side. “Careful!”

The esan shook irritably and continued to plummet.

She ignored them both. What was below took her breath away.

Paired curves of white held back an expanse of glittering green-blue water, water that swelled and tumbled and roared toward them in matched lines without beginning or end. The curves edged a flat land, shaped like an open pod and covered in unfamiliar growth. Too even to be a grove, Aryl judged. The land stretched into the water, the border blurred as brown spilled into the water to stain it in thick bands.

The ocean.

She’d heard of it, tried to imagine it, failed. Undrinkable water she could comprehend—the Lay was foul. Unlike the Lake of Fire, the ocean had life; Amna Clan harvested swimmers along its edge. She lifted her gaze.

Like her first view of the sky, of stars at truenight, what she saw made no sense at first. Clouds like puffs of winter breath marched away to the horizon, smaller and smaller until they were dots. There, the water lost all texture, became dark as it collided with the sky and clouds in a ragged edge that refused to let her eyes focus. She could see forever. Too far. Too much. Enris . . . now comforted by his hold on her belt, sharing his awe at what confronted them . . . Enris, how big can the world be?

How small is ours?

Calm yourselves, Anaj sent. What you see is illusion, the mind’s trick to fill the emptiness beyond. Om’ray are the world. How could there be anything beyond us?

Not a question she should answer, Aryl decided.

Poor Anaj had enough to bear.

Tikitna.

The mauve-green growth, solid from a greater height, proved to be riddled with gaps as they descended. Some glinted, revealing a multitude of narrow, twisting streams; their brown water was sluggish, as if reluctant to enter the ocean and be lost. Other gaps bustled with movement: Tikitik and their beasts. No structures, but Aryl ran out of time to look. Their esan settled on top of the growth, cracking branches and stretching its long neck to snap and scream at its fellows as they arrived in turn.

“Hang on!” Enris shouted. His voice didn’t appear to bother the beast this time. Good advice, Aryl thought, hoping Naryn heeded it. Their basket swung below, still tied to the middle legs. The esan didn’t appear to care about that either, continuing to vigorously defend its chosen spot from all comers.

Remind me to stay home next time. Naryn’s mindvoice, steady and, if not strong, then reassuringly normal.

Anaj must have listened, Aryl thought with relief. “I’m going to climb down and find Thought Traveler.”

Her Chosen peered over the edge of the basket, probably assessing the height. You can’t do it without a rope, she sent fondly.

Enris straightened, rocking the basket, and laughed without humor. “Which one?”

“What do you mean?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder; Aryl looked down.

Black Tikitik sat in the lowermost branches of the growths around them. Fifty, perhaps more.

Every wristband she could see bore the symbol that meant “Thought Traveler.”

She really should have changed before leaving Sona, she thought, brushing shreds of green-mauve from her tunic, plucking one from her hairnet. The basket was full of shattered plants, courtesy of the esan’s flailing about. She looked like a child caught playing in the canopy. Where was dignity when she needed it?

Probably, Aryl told herself, hiding someplace safe.

“If they all have questions,” her Chosen commented, “make sure they give us lunch first. We missed it.”

Make sure we aren’t lunch first, Anaj added.

Naryn was silent, but let Aryl feel her confidence.

They believed in her.

She wished she did.