Rift in the Sky

Chapter 8

THE WHITE SAND WAS WARM and soft and glistened in the sun. Enris sprawled on his back beside her, one big arm over his eyes and his feet—free of his ruined boots—buried to the ankles in the stuff. Naryn paced where the water frothed up on the beach, her Adept robe dragging. Aryl supposed this was her way of protesting what they were doing; it wasn’t going to wash the mud stains from Oran’s robe.

She licked her lips, savoring the hint of dresel that lingered. Thought Traveler had pressed food upon them before they left, insisting mothers-to-be must eat. Enris. Dresel. Warmth without rain or biters. The future—the right future—within reach. What more could she want? She stretched luxuriously. “I could stay here all day.”

“That’s good. We may have to,” her Chosen commented, his voice muffled. “Or longer.”

The esasks had brought them out of Tikitna to the sand; they’d refused to step on it. From this vantage point, the Tikitik village—she could use a word for something much more imposing—looked like any dense, wild growth. Another name she needed, Aryl pondered, was for the plants they used for their construction. Not nekis. Not rastis. Something that willingly grew strong, thick, and twisted, with roots drowned in bitter water. She’d learned so much today.

Not least, that rock hunters were Oud young. Haxel would love it, Aryl grinned to herself. The canopy crawled with creatures whose offspring looked nothing like them, as well as parents who abandoned the next generation to fend for themselves. To be fair, the Oud did do something for their young. The adults had done their best to dry out Sona’s valley and argued with her to keep it that way.

Though since their young killed Om’ray without concern, well, Om’ray would continue to return the favor.

Aryl squinted at the sky toward Sona, a more comforting direction than out over the limitless ocean, the direction that mattered. Two tenths until firstnight, she estimated. Three at most. Had they left for Vyna only this morning? It felt, she decided with another stretch, more like a fist.

“It won’t be much longer,” she assured Enris. “He’ll answer.” And he would. The sun rose every morning; the Human wouldn’t fail her. His gift, the geoscanner, was on her lap. Silent as yet. She’d pressed the control as Marcus had shown her, said the special words he’d given her if she needed his help: “Two. Howard. Five.” Howard was his son. She’d seen a recording of him, tall for a child, as well as images of the rest of the Human’s family: a daughter, Karina, little more than a baby. Kelly of the long red hair. His Chosen. Cindy, his sister, with a pleasant smile. Family he’d left to work here; kept close using his clever devices.

Devices that included an aircar. Much better, Aryl thought cheerfully, than walking across most of Cersi and around the Lake of Fire.

“At least we shouldn’t have to worry about Anaj’s reaction. Since her view is of the inside of Naryn’s belly.”

Aryl poked a finger into his ribs, unerringly finding the spot to make him squirm. “A little respect for the Old One, if you please.”

Enris peered at her over his arm. “You know I’m right. The best way to cope with our not-Om’ray friend is not see him in the first place.” Inwardly. Relax. You know the instant we’re back, Haxel will have us in the fields. After, this with a glee that burst through her very bones, we can play ’port and seek all we want without breaking the Agreement. I may not walk anywhere again.

He lifted his arm; she came close but instead of curling at his side, Aryl propped herself with elbows on his broad chest and stared down at him. “This doesn’t mean we can be careless. The Strangers—”

A sandy finger crossed her lips. “I insist. Celebrate. You’ve accomplished a greater understanding of our world than any Om’ray before you. You’ve made us safe! Can you never just enjoy a triumph?”

They never came this easy, Aryl thought, but only to herself. Her Chosen was right; this was a moment for joy, not worry. “Of course I can—”

“Aryl? Aryl? Aryl?” Her name erupted from the device now resting in the sand.

They both lunged for it, ending in a tangle that otherwise Aryl would have relished. “I’ll answer,” she told her overeager Chosen firmly, and sat up. Grinning, Enris leaned on his bent arm to watch.

There was another button to be pressed, so. “Yes. It’s Aryl, Marcus,” she said. Awkward, giving her name to the device. “We need your help to get home. We—”

“Where—Never mind, I’ve locked your coordinates.” He was distracted; she could hear it in his voice. “Turn off the ’scanner and stay where you are. I’m almost there.”

He was?

The device’s clear dome covered its array of tiny glowing parts. Staring at it did nothing to ease her disquiet.

“Almost here?” she echoed. “Why?”

“Turn off the ’scanner. Bowman out.”

Aryl did as he demanded; the lights faded, the device lifeless in her hand. She tucked it away carefully. Some Om’ray could taste change about to happen. She could. And did. A thoroughly unreliable sense, giving little more than a vague sense of dread. But she paid attention to any warning in the canopy. And here.

Enris chuckled. “I thought we’d get to laze about till supper at least. Who’d have guessed . . .” His smile faded as he looked at her. He sat up. “What’s wrong?”

The taste of change.

“Marcus hasn’t left the valley since the last snow. He lets the others come to him. Why would he be flying about? Why this way?” Her hair strained against its net. “He must be leaving Cersi.” Aryl drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. “I thought he’d warn us first.” Had she offended him? Missed some vital Human courtesy? Made him sick with the turrif after all?

Or had she misunderstood their friendship all along? There was hurt in the thought. That didn’t make it wrong.

“You’re the one who says look before you take hold,” Enris soothed, one hand shading his eyes. “Marcus wouldn’t go without telling us. And when he does leave, he’ll be back soon. He wants to see our beautiful Sweetpie.”

“Will he be back?” Aryl countered. “What do we know of his kind, beyond the few here?”

They were few, she thought, because their technology did so much for them. Site One, the Lake of Fire, held only the three of its Triad. Site Two, the mountain near Grona, had Henshaw’s Triad and the flitterlike being who’d helped Marcus rescue the exiles. Marcus, with a vague wave toward the sunset, referred to Site Three as inactive and explained they used it now for re-supply . Six lived there, two comtechs, the pair of archivists sent to help him pack, and the non-Humans who comprised the rest of Marcus’ new Triad. She hadn’t paid attention to his babble of incomprehensible—and unpronounceable—names, but she had to the numbers. The camp at Sona was called Site Four, implying no others. Four sites and fourteen Strangers were, in Haxel’s dour estimation, four and fourteen too many.

From what else Marcus had said, and not said, there were far more involved in his work. They lived on other worlds. Gave orders by comlink. Traveled between in ways he’d never quite explained. Which had been fine, Aryl thought in frustration, until now.

“He told us he answers to others. Coming back might not be his decision to make.” She dropped her head to her knees. What if she hadn’t called Marcus? What if they’d ’ported home, only to find him gone from the world?

Enris traced the back of her hand with a sandy finger. “Don’t underestimate our resourceful Human,” he said gently. “Even if you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—he talks to his family from here, doesn’t he? So he can talk to us from there.”

She raised her head to glare at him. “Where, Enris? Where is ‘there’? We don’t know the full shape of this world, let alone his!”

What’s wrong? Naryn had stopped pacing. Too far away to hear, not far enough to escape carelessly spilled emotion.

Nothing. Aryl tightened her shields. We’ll be leaving soon.

Her Chosen freed his feet and brushed them off, shedding sand like snow. “I should have known.” He pulled on a still-damp boot with a grimace. “A peaceful Cersi isn’t enough for my wild little Yena.” Utterly sincere, if not for the teasing beneath the words. “But I’ve the answer. Om’ray-sized fiches. We’ve no lack of cliffs to jump from.”

Cheering her up, was he?

She should be happy. The future she wanted for her people was here, now. That could be the change she tasted. Not a warning, a promise. Aryl managed a smile. “You hate cliffs.”

“I wasn’t volunteering to try the things,” with an exaggerated shudder. “I’ll leave that to those with less sense.”

“Meaning me.”

He laughed. “Hoyon comes to mind. Might inspire him to ’port.”

“And you call me bloodthirsty?”

His grin, the relief beneath it—they only added to the guilt she was careful to keep to herself. How could she care so much for a not-Om’ray? She’d known Marcus would leave. If not today, then one day. One day, he’d leave forever.

Wasn’t that for the best?

Of course it would be, Aryl told herself sadly.

For everyone else.

“There he is.”

The sun sat over Grona. Naryn and Enris shaded their eyes, gazing where Aryl pointed. She was sure the glint in the sky could be nothing else. Nothing living moved that fast, or in a straight line against the wind.

Fast? Aryl frowned as it approached. Too fast. The glint became a machine that plunged at them like a rock falling. She and the others flinched as the aircar came uncomfortably close overhead before it dropped to rest, throwing a stinging cloud of white almost at their feet.

The opaque roof lifted before the sand settled again. Marcus popped up like an Oud from a tunnel. “Let’s go!” he shouted at them, beckoning with both arms. “Hurry!”

Fear of the Tikitik?

Naryn scowled but followed Aryl and Enris. Her displeasure aroused Anaj, silent for some time. Naryn? What’s happening? A pause as they climbed into the aircar, then: ANSWER ME!

The Old Adept, Aryl winced, had very little patience and a very loud mindvoice.

“We’re flying home,” Naryn said aloud, her face like ash. Aryl took her arm, poured strength through that link. Her friend gave her a determined smile. “Hopefully a quick trip,” she added fervently.

More esans? I suppose they brought us here. But I hope this is the last time!

It will be, Aryl sent, smiling at Marcus. “Thank—”

He didn’t smile back. “Hurry,” he insisted, moving out of the way to allow them to climb in.

Funny voice for a Tikitik. But after the observation, Anaj’s presence faded behind her shields.

This aircar had two seats, facing front, with padded benches along each side. No packs or crates cluttered the floor, Aryl noticed with relief as she took one of the forward seats. She’d been wrong. The Human wasn’t dressed for a journey either. He wore his favorite pretend-Om’ray clothes: pants, shirt, and boots of the right shape and color, if wrong fabric and fasteners. The boots were covered in dried mud and had left tracks and clumps everywhere. The shirt was stained with sweat. “Sit, sit,” he urged, throwing himself into the seat beside Aryl’s and stabbing the control buttons.

Naryn and Enris hadn’t reached their seats before the roof closed and Aryl felt the machine lift.

Her relief evaporated. In haste. And alone? Something was wrong.

“Any reason for the rush?” Enris asked, a little too casually.

“Busy day.” A little too glib. “Always busy days. Are you comfortable? Aryl? Naryn?” In that distracted tone. “Enris?”

Not “What are you doing on the other side of the world?” or “Why didn’t you ’port home?” Reasonable questions. Important ones.

Leave this to me, Aryl sent. “We’re fine, Marcus. We were visiting—” he wouldn’t like this, she knew, but continued, “—the Tikitik.”

But instead of the wild-eyed flinch she’d expected, the Human merely nodded. “Scanned lifeforms. Many Tikitik, many other organisms . Busy place, saltmarsh.”

He didn’t know about Tikitna, she realized with surprise. Perhaps living buildings couldn’t be detected by machines designed to search for ruins of metal and stone.

Right now, he wouldn’t care. She didn’t have to sense the Human’s emotions to read the tremble of his hands on the controls or the sheen on his forehead. His green-brown eyes flicked constantly between two small screens.

Trouble.

The day had been going so well.

The aircar leveled. Marcus sat back with what was more shudder than sigh. Aryl put her hand on his arm, careful to keep her shields tight to avoid any painful contact with his mind. “What’s wrong?”

His eyes lifted to hers, brimming with worry. “Take you home,” he said faintly.

She tightened her fingers to get his attention, not to hurt. “What is it?”

“Might be nothing.” He collected himself with a visible effort, managed a wan smile. “Autosurveillance didn’t resume this morning. Not what I did. I only set for last ’night.” A slide of his eyes behind her. “Only for that one time.”

She didn’t need to ask why. Enris and his dam. She’d been right to suspect something going on with the two of them. It didn’t help her know what troubled him now. Aryl nodded encouragement, hoping the Human would begin to make sense. “Go on.”

“Should have been fixed with nextroutinesweep. Back up at dawn. All working. But not on. Not right. Not normal. Nothing—” Now the words came too fast, but she didn’t try to slow him. “Dawn comes, all systems go dead. No com. No security field. No autodefense. No one comes to see why. Securityprotocol. Someone should have come.”

Too much sense. She might not understand the machines, but any Yena knew what it meant to post scouts, then have them fail to report. “So you’re doing it. Going to them—to the other sites.” Her heart started to pound. Why him? Why alone? “Couldn’t the others do that?”

He shook his head vigorously. “Need them to stay and secure the artifacts. I’m First. My responsibility, everyone on Cersi. My fault.”

“No,” Enris objected. “I asked you to turn off your vids.”

“My decision,” Marcus said simply. In that moment, Om’ray or not, he was the elder. He shrugged, that gesture they had in common. “Should have been no problem. Should have come back on.”

She’d never seen the Human quietly desperate, not even when the Oud were burying them. “This isn’t about machines being broken.”

Marcus covered her hand with his, stared down as if fascinated by the contrast between her tanned, scarred skin and his, white and smooth. “Aryl reading my mind?” he asked with an odd smile.

“You know I—”

“I know.” Softly. The smile disappeared, replaced by something grim. His thumb rubbed hers, then he looked up. “You’re right. Not about machines. About danger. Here. Because of our work.”

Tension. She tried not to show her own. “What do you mean?”

“The search for the Hoveny—important. But many Triads search, on many other worlds. Most look for years and nothing worthwhile. Our families forget us. Those who sent us here, they send supplies and wait for reports. Forget us.” A hand pressed to his chest with the word. “Security checks, back at First. Offworld protocols. Good enough, understand? No risk, no one cares, forgotten. Unless we find something. Or think we have. Once find confirmed, every protection sent.” That desperate edge to his voice. “Reports secret. Go only to the office of the First. No one else should know.”

“Why?” Aryl narrowed her eyes. “Who shouldn’t know?”

“Those who take what isn’t theirs.”

Why had she thought his vast Trade Pact would be safe from greed and thieves? Maybe, she realized, because the alternative was terrifying. “You think that’s what’s happened.” She licked dry lips. “That someone’s come to Cersi, to take from you.”

“I could be wrong.” Marcus lifted his hand from hers; guessing he worried about the contact, she released his arm. “No leak in history of First—no secret exposed. None they admit,” this heavily, as if he, too, had suddenly found an alternative difficult to bear. “If happened, maybe my fault, too. I delayed reports, kept some information out—” a faint blush on his cheeks. “I could have drawn attention. Wrong attention.”

What does this mean for us? Naryn sent.

She was right to ask. “You said ‘danger.’ What kind of danger? What would they do?” Whoever “they” were.

Marcus consulted his screens—not, Aryl judged, because they told him what to say. Finally, he gave her that uncertain sideways glance. “The bad kind. I flew over Site One on the way here. The tower is damaged. I thought—hoped that explained the com silence. A broken machine, not—not—Then you called. Coms work, Aryl. No one’s using them. No one.”

And she’d worried he was leaving.

A physical threat. To him. To those who worked with him. Something that could disrupt the Strangers’ seemingly invincible technology. “Do they threaten us?”

“I’ll take you home,” he said as if he hadn’t heard. “You get everyone inside the Cloisters. Stay there until I come. Promise me.”

Haxel would have her blade against the softness of his throat by now, demanding answers. Not that it would work, Aryl knew. No threat would move Marcus Bowman to say anything he didn’t want to say.

And she’d never allow it.

“We’ll go with you.” Two of the Triad sites were between here and Sona. He wasn’t a fool.

Not a fool; not happy either. Marcus frowned. “No.”

“You need to check on your people. You’ve already wasted time coming for us.”

Behind her, Naryn sighed, but Aryl could feel her agreement. Naryn might not care about Marcus, but she knew they had to learn about this mysterious threat. Enris? She sensed his presence close to her thoughts, careful, wary.

“Bad idea!” Marcus lurched around in his seat. “Enris. Tell her.”

“I like it.” Her Chosen leaned back and put his massive arms behind his head in a show of ease. “The sooner we’re home, the sooner Haxel puts me to work.”

“I’d—” Naryn bent double, her hands holding her abdomen. “Leave me be!” she gasped.

She didn’t protest to them.

Anaj! Aryl sought the other through the M’hir. Stop!

Interesting. The other’s mind was a solid spot of light, their connection locked instantly. Trained Power; practiced control. So this is your version of the Dark. You look like flame, Child of Power.

Anaj. Please. Leave Naryn in peace. We must learn more.

Not an esan.

No. Aryl risked the other’s reaction and shared a quick image of the aircar and Marcus. Not-Om’ray, but a friend.

Interesting, Anaj repeated. What you wish to reveal and what you think you can hide about our new companion, this Human.

Aryl checked her shields.

Don’t worry. I’m in no position to argue. A ripple through the M’hir; it might have been laughter. It might have been despair. I’ll be patient as long as I’m able.

She knew what Anaj meant. If I can help—

Save your strength. Find the truth, then get us home.

Aryl blinked herself free of the M’hir to the sound of the Human’s voice, loud and vehement. “—go home. This is Trade Pact problem. Triad problem. Not Om’ray. Not yours! What of babies?”

What would he think of the acerbic old Adept currently living inside Naryn? She was real to Om’ray, but would she be to the Human?

Some things, Aryl reminded herself, Marcus didn’t need to know.

One he did. “If you take us to Sona, we won’t get out of this machine. Unless you think you can force us out? And our babies?”

Enris made a choking noise.

“Aryl,” the Human pleaded. “Not safe!”

Her grin faded. “Did you think we were friends only when it was?”

Marcus stared desperately at the screens. A muscle jumped along his jaw. She waited.

“Promise to stay in aircar, no matter what,” he said finally, not looking at her. “ ’Port away if I say so. Promise.”

She’d do no such thing.

When she didn’t answer, a glance assessed her expression, then the Human sighed. He dug into a pocket, brought out a small disk she’d seen it before, the one that held images of his family. He handed it to her. “Keep this safe for me. Promise that?”

As a trick, it wasn’t up to his usual standard. Aryl took the image disk and put it in a pocket. “What I promise is to give it back when we’re all safe.”

“Stubborn,” he commented, but almost smiled.

Behind them, Enris chuckled.

The Lake of Fire took its name from strange clouds, like curls of smoke, that often rose from its still surface. Aryl pressed her nose to the now-transparent side of the aircar but could see only one. She’d meant to ask Marcus if the Strangers knew what caused the smoke, if it was something to do with the structures beneath the surface.

Today wasn’t the time for curiosity.

Marcus wouldn’t talk to her, busy with the controls when he wasn’t staring at the small screens as if their flow of color and symbol offered some final hope. She’d seen him afraid for his life, but this was different.

Odd. The solitary curl of smoke was taller and darker than those she remembered. “Marcus?”

He lifted his head and looked out. “Site One,” Marcus announced grimly, his face set in unfamiliar lines.

Meaning the smoke was from the Strangers’ platform over the underwater ruins, where Marcus and his Triad had been working when she’d first met them. The aircar veered toward the nearer shore.

If the buildings were still on fire, why was he heading away? For their safety? “Don’t worry about us,” Aryl said quickly. “We’ll help. Go back!”

Marcus tapped the small screen. “No one to help,” he said. “No lifesign.”

Enris got to his feet, loomed between Marcus and Aryl. “Who did this?”

The Human looked up. “No proof who. Could be accident, malfunction. Artrul—her Triad. Evacuationprotocol. Means they go to Site Two. Damaged tower. Local coms down, that’s all. Confusion.” A too-casual shrug. “See? Take you home now.”

He tried to get rid of them again. “Site Two,” she insisted. It lay a ridge beyond Grona.

“Not safe.”

Now the truth, or some of it. “What is?” Aryl said gently. “You waste time arguing, Marcus.”

At last, the hint of a smile in his eyes. “I should know better by now.” He slumped in his seat. “Stubborn Om’ray.” One finger pushed a button and the aircar shot forward, faster than Aryl had known it could go. “Sit.” This to Enris, who put his hand on the Human’s shoulder and squeezed gently before returning to the bench.

Naryn closed her eyes and put her head back, hair fretting across her shoulders. This flight wasn’t going to improve her opinion of Marcus Bowman or his kind.

Aryl checked her longknife.

For all the good it might do against what could bring fire down in the midst of a lake.

They flew over the canopy. Over Yena, her inner sense told her. Aryl kept her shields tight and felt the others do the same. Taisal could have reached through the M’hir, demanded an explanation; that her mother ignored their passing overhead was one less worry.

Eyes fixed to his screens, Marcus ignored the view. They were higher this time. Higher than wastryls flew or wings could rise on the M’hir. Higher and faster. Without her inner sense to give her perspective, she wouldn’t have recognized the Sarc grove, or spotted the ring of old rastis that surrounded the Cloisters.

How high could they go, she wondered, before they reached the end of the sky?

Site Two was carved into the side of a mountain ridge. Though Aryl had only seen it in truenight, the Strangers had stuck glows everywhere, turning the darkness to day. Easy to remember the long sharp ledge where they landed their machines—she trusted Marcus was capable of landing this one there—then the short walk up a slope to a second, higher ledge where the Strangers had set up camp using the same plain white constructions as at Sona. Why? Because here they’d dug into the mountain itself. They’d freed a series of massive structures, exposing them once more to light and air. She’d had the barest glimpse at the time, busy planning to escape with Enris, but the buildings had been like those under the Lake of Fire, smooth curves and unfamiliar angles. Perfect, undamaged. Not like the ruins of Sona.

The Hoveny Concentrix.

The Strangers had made a discovery. Something important enough to draw Marcus and his Triad—and her—here.

“Marcus, what did they find? At Site Two.”

He gave her a bemused look, as if this was the last thing he’d expected. For a moment she thought he’d evade the question, as he most often did when it concerned his work, then he replied, “A door.”

Doors, in her experience, were only useful under one condition. “A door you could open?”

“Could? I think so. But we’re not ready yet.” He cupped his hands tightly together. “The inside has been sealed a very long time. Still intact. We want to know about the internalenvironment—the air—inside. Vital to detect any systems still operational.” He lifted his thumb to make a small opening. “Tyler’s Triad made controlledaccesspoint, lockdown rest until ready. Send tiny vidbots to look for us. They’ll finish the first level soon, then move to the next. Takes time.” His gloom lifted as he spoke. “Hoveny structures are almost always empty, as if the owners moved out and then locked the doors. Best finds so far have been what was missed. Objects left on a floor, perhaps dropped in a hurry. Artifacts. Tell us little alone. Have nocontext. What we really want to find are workinginstallations. Parts of building that couldn’t be moved. Remarkable preservation inside. They might still work.”

Aryl thought of the tables filled with objects she’d seen being sorted. “You have artifacts at Sona.”

He grimaced. “Oud don’t respect doors. Made big mess.”

Enris laughed.

TRILLLLLL!!

The noise burst from the control panel. Lights flashed. Marcus bent over it, muttering in his own language. He did something to silence the sound, but the lights reflected on his pale skin, turning it red, then blue, then yellow. Red again. He stood to stare through the clear ceiling at the scattered clouds overhead, then dropped back into his seat. “Watch,” he ordered. “Tell me if you see anything approaching.”

“From above?” Naryn asked in disbelief. Aryl shared her reaction. What was the Human thinking?

“From anywhere.”

The aircar began to descend, quickly.

“Don’t crash this time,” Aryl reminded the Human, her hands gripping the edge of the seat.

For some reason this made Marcus choke on a laugh of his own.

Down. Down. The lights played over them like biters hunting a spot to bite. Aryl did her best to ignore them, staring out as Marcus directed. Enris and Naryn did the same.

They had to be close to Site Two by now, Aryl thought. Looking down, she could see the slope of the mountain, littered with loose rock. Loose rock with an appetite. A patient, seldom rewarded appetite—not much wandered here.

“Something’s behind us.” Enris. What is it? he asked her, sharing the image of a distant speck.

Wastryl—or not.

Marcus didn’t look around. “Is it getting closer?”

“I can’t tell.”

TRILLL!!!

The aircar swung violently to one side and back again, like a branch pulled and released with a snap. Aryl clung to her seat, her eyes on Marcus.

Who now looked furious.

“What was that?”

“A suggestion.” Unhelpfully. “Don’t talk now.”

A suggestion? Enris sent. What’s going on?

Maybe he avoided a wastryl. She’d seen a vidbot explode when attacked by the flying creatures.

Can he land at this speed?

Aryl glanced out the side and flinched. The mountainside roared by, too close, a blur of shadow and jagged edge. We have to trust him.

Privately, through the M’hir, their link as solid as flesh touching. No, we don’t. We could leave, now.

I won’t risk Naryn. Or Anaj.

This doesn’t?

We must know what’s happening to the Strangers. Aryl pulled free, refused to be distracted. Some risks had to be taken. She focused on Marcus. His hands were sure on the controls, as if anger had burned away all fear. Anger at what?

The aircar tipped to one side, answering her question.

No one spoke as they flew past what had been Site Two. Wisps of smoke marked the remains of buildings. Crumbled machines, scorched and useless, lay on what had been the landing ledge.

No one had escaped that way, Aryl thought.

The Hoveny buildings were unscathed. Rock lay shattered around them, mixed with bits of machine, but the structures were as flawless as she remembered.

Marcus did little more than glance at the devastation before turning back to the small screen. A muscle along his jaw twitched. It was the only expression left on his face. He sent the aircar upward again; faster than before.

This time, no talk of taking them home first.

Or of accidents.

Site Three, Aryl told the others. She didn’t know where it was, what it was.

I don’t want to meet what could do this, Naryn protested.

We must. Enris, as grim as she’d ever felt him. So he shared her dread. Ruthless, coordinated attacks. Technology equal to or superior to that of the Strangers. What chance would Om’ray have, if they became the next targets?

Or Oud.

Or Tikitik.

Courage, she sent, wishing for more of her own.

Marcus headed away from Grona and Yena, choosing a path that, to Om’ray sense, led to where the sun dropped out of sight, leaving darkness behind. Mountains passed beneath them, a monotonous landscape of ridges and deep valleys, browns and grays. Rarely, a glistening thread marked what must be a river. Proof, Aryl thought, that the world continued beyond Sona’s waterfall.

Didn’t it?

Uneasy, she turned the bracelet around and around on her wrist.

The proof passed beneath. She could see for herself. The world continued . . .

Didn’t it?

Aryl . . . something’s wrong.

I feel it.

Like a branch with hidden rot, the floor of the aircar suddenly grew soft, untrustworthy. She lifted her feet with a cry.

The air she breathed turned too warm, then too cold.

The Human takes us past the end of the world! Naryn, fear leaking past her control. “Turn around!” she shouted. “Take us home!”

Marcus didn’t look around. “Almost there.”

Aryl had walked away from her kind before this—so had Enris. They’d been able to leave other Om’ray behind, prided themselves on their strength.

They hadn’t gone far enough. Hadn’t gone this far . . .

Too far . . .

“Marcus,” she gasped. “Naryn’s right. You have to take us back.”

“Site Three here.”

Mountains rose beneath them, the sky squeezed downward, there was no room to breathe, no room for them.

Somehow, she managed not to grab for the controls or the Human’s neck. “We—can’t—be here!” Hard to form words. To think. “Turn around!”

He turned then, something rousing in his eyes, a spark. “Aryl? What’s wrong?” Even as the Human spoke, she knew it was already too late . . . another instant . . . any further . . . they would become . . . nothing.

NOOOO!!!!!!!!! the inner scream came from them all. No. It came from outside. It came from everywhere.

She knew that sound.

The M’hir Wind was coming. It blew through the great pipes of the Watchers, set into the mountain. Time for the Harvest. Time for change. She could hear their moaning, feel it through her flesh . . .

Calling her HOME.

Aryl threw herself into the M’hir . . .