Rift in the Sky

Interlude

A LIVE. THAT WAS GOOD. Surrounded by the warm glow of Om’ray. That was better. A head thudded against his chest, small arms wrapped around him, strong enough to threaten his ribs. Aryl. All was right with the world, then. But . . . how?

The Watchers. He’d heard the drums, felt them. Hadn’t he? Had to answer. Hadn’t he?

Enris took a shuddering breath. He didn’t know about the others, but he most definitely hadn’t formed a locate before that desperate ’port HOME.

Which was . . . where?

He cracked open his eyes, careful not to move. There could be branches involved. And heights, knowing his Chosen.

He sighed with relief. A floor. They were on a floor. In a room.

More than a room.

Enris blinked, and the size and platforms formed into sense. Aryl had shown him images of Sona’s Dream Chamber. She must have directed them here, to the safety of the Cloisters.

Where—another blink—they were surrounded by Om’ray.

Too many Om’ray.

Drowning in the glow of his own kind, dizzy with belonging, he closed his eyes and fought for calm.

The world had changed shape.

Someone stirred against him. He stretched back a hand, found a knee that pulled itself away. We’re all right. Naryn, shaken, but aware. And amazed. Do you feel it? The Power here?

Anaj: Speak for yourself, child. I’m not the least all right. What’s going on?

WE LEFT HIM!

Aryl. Hush! Enris winced. We have company—

WE ABANDONED MARCUS!

He took Aryl’s shoulders; moved her so he could see her face. Oh, he knew that fierce look. It usually preceded an act of spectacularly careless bravery. He tightened his grip. “We can’t help him. Not now. He’s—” Where did someone go, when they left the world behind? He hadn’t understood. None of them had. Human and Om’ray were not the same. The Human’s world wasn’t theirs.

Couldn’t be.

Enris took a deep breath, steadied himself, offered strength to his Chosen. “He’s gone. And we have company.” Then, as if she was as deaf to other Om’ray as Yao. “Look for yourself,” drawing her to her feet with him.

The chamber was meant to hold an entire Clan.

It now did.

Hundreds stood and stared at one another. No one spoke. Shields were slammed tight.

Not any Om’ray, Enris realized with a jolt. Naryn was right. Power. The white robes of Adepts were everywhere. Even those who weren’t shielded their inner selves with confidence.

The fierce look turned to a safer wonder. What’s happened? “I’m the Speaker,” Aryl muttered aloud. “I suppose I have to say something.”

Enris couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good. What, exactly?”

She dug an elbow into his ribs, but the feel of her eased slightly. “I’ll make it up.” With that, Aryl jumped on the nearest platform.

Everyone turned to look at her. Too small. Too young. Unknown to most. Aryl shouldn’t have seemed impressive.

That she was, standing there waiting for their full attention, made him smile.

“Welcome to Sona,” she began. The words—he felt as well as heard them. Aryl was sending through the M’hir as well, making sure everyone heard and understood. Preventing panic. Good. Beyond the pleasure of being within so many of his kind, Enris was reasonably sure panic would be his next feeling.

Because they shouldn’t be here at all. The Sona, maybe. Having the advantage of height, he’d spotted them already, at the near end of the room, a tight knot with Haxel at their core. Perhaps Aryl’s desperate ’port had somehow drawn them, too.

Which didn’t explain the group of dappled Amna closest to him. Or any of the rest.

Aryl spoke again. “Are there other Speakers here?”

Not what he’d expected. Why?

Later.

Points of movement among the rest, Om’ray stepping aside to let three approach Aryl.

One with a familiar fierce look on her face.

“Hello, Mother,” Aryl di Sarc said, seeming not surprised at all.

Over seven hundred Om’ray had arrived in the Dream Chamber of Sona’s Cloisters at once. They’d come from every Clan but Vyna, including three from Tuana who carefully avoided Naryn. Everyone told a similar story: they’d been about their normal affairs when overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness, a need to go HOME. They’d heard the Watchers in whatever variation existed for their Clan. Descriptions of the M’hir itself varied too; some hardly noticed their journey through it, a few were still shaking. Others thought it a calm and peaceful place.

It might have been, compared to here, Enris thought wryly. Who’d have thought there was such a thing as too many Om’ray in one place? Even Husni had appeared daunted by the bewildering array of strange voices, faces, and clothing. Briefly. Before she and Haxel had taken charge of what they called “the necessities,” enlisting the rest of Sona—more accustomed to dealing with strangers—to assign others to tasks.

There’d been no arguments, no attempts to leave, no fear. Strangest of all, he had to admit, everyone felt they belonged here, in Sona. This was their Cloisters, Om’ray whose names they’d yet to learn were their Clan, this was . . . this was home.

Which was fine and natural for Sona’s few, but he had yet to grasp why it was so for the hordes of strangers peacefully milling through their Cloisters. They didn’t speak of families left behind or of a future anywhere but here. It was as if the assortment of young, old, unChosen, and Chosen had arrived on Passage, committed to live with their new Clan, dead to their old one.

It wasn’t possible, Enris decided firmly. None of them had planned this; none of them should have accepted such a drastic change without question.

Not that everyone had. The new Adepts might feel Sona as their home as much as any other arrival, but they were curious. They’d gone to the Council Chamber almost at once, to “discuss” the new Sona and discover what had brought them together and how. A discussion that had been going on for tenths.

With Aryl di Sarc.

“. . . scan me if you don’t believe what I say. We had nothing to do with this.”

“You had everything to do with it. Maybe it wasn’t your intention,” as if a huge concession, “but who here doubts we’d be still in our original Clans if not for your reckless behavior?”

Enris tried not to listen. Chairs. Anything to sit on. That was his job. As if the precious Adepts needed anything more than their rears.

Not his problem.

Aryl depended on him in other ways right now, including keeping his frustration to himself.

“Fools,” he grumbled once safely past the Council Chamber doors. “If they’d listen instead of making accusations, they might learn something.”

Of course, most of the Adepts were no longer doing that much. They’d sorted themselves, how he couldn’t guess, until the majority sat in their Clans as far from those with Aryl as they could. Which made no sense.

Except for one who’d nipped through the doors after Enris and Naryn, Rayna, by his appearance. While some wore the stiff white robes of their rank, others were dressed in soft layers of bright fabric, with twists of more tied to the bottoms of sleeves and hems to flutter when they walked. Aryl thought it ridiculous to wear something that would not only catch on every twig, but draw attention. A shame, Enris decided. She’d look lovely.

The Rayna themselves were small and slightly built, with skin darker than a Yena’s, striking against their fair hair and pale blue or yellow eyes. Their female Chosen left their hair free, but had somehow convinced it to hold colorful fabric twists in loose knots.

Somehow, he couldn’t wrap his mind around Aryl’s hair being that cooperative.

As for the Rayna Adept himself? Enris scowled. “Why aren’t you staying?”

“Karne d’sud Witthun,” the other replied stiffly. “I could ask you—or them—” with a nod to Naryn, “—the same question. Your place is with the rest.”

“Chairs.”

“Chairs?”

“Someone has to make you Adepts comfortable.”

Don’t mind him, Anaj sent. He gets irritable when he’s hungry. Unharmed by the ’port, the Old Adept had been remarkably calm since arriving at Sona, perhaps because she was the only one of the hundreds here in her proper place, however that place had changed. Her home, not theirs.

Theirs now, too, if Enris could believe it. Without asking any of Sona’s present members if they wanted more. He’d have said yes in a heartbeat to another twenty or so. Seven hundred?

Including Adepts who paid no attention to Aryl di Sarc’s leadership?

He growled deep in his chest, and Karne gave him a worried look.

Noticing, the former Tuana gestured apology. “Welcome to Sona. I’m Enris—” he stopped there. Among the many things yet to be explained to the new arrivals was the clever way Aryl had convinced Sona’s locks to open for them all. It hadn’t seemed the right time to say they’d simply given themselves the ‘di’ of Adepts. Instead, he nodded at the doors. “Why do you think we belong in there?”

Because we DO! came from Naryn. I do!!

No, I said. I need a rest, Anaj answered firmly. Find us a bed before you fall on your face.

Enris hid a smile. Poor Naryn. Anaj might be her baby, but the Old Adept left no doubt who was eldest and in charge. “While I’m off to hunt chairs,” he informed the Rayna. “So why are you here and not there?”

“I’m lesser.” From his tone, Karne was beginning to wonder if Enris was capable of understanding anything but chairs. “They don’t need me.”

“Ah. Another body to carry chairs. Good.”

Don’t be mean to the child, Enris, Anaj sent, just to him.Once trained, Adepts sort themselves by individual Power. The strongest act as Council for the others. Only First Level Adepts will gather close to Aryl—hers is the greatest Power here. Karne can sense yours. He’s brave to speak to you at all.

Like Dama. Chastise and compliment in the same sending. A laugh bubbled up from his chest and Enris sent a rush of affection to Anaj. Grandmother.

Charmer. Then, with worry. Naryn can’t take much more.

He knew. The only rest they’d had was after Tikitna, and she’d wasted it pacing the sand. She knew it herself. She might protest, but hadn’t Naryn listened to Anaj and left the meeting?

The Rayna wasn’t done. “I thought you’d have some answers.” Karne stepped closer, his arms waving at the corridor. “What happened to this place? Why are you living like this?”

“We don’t actually live inside—”

The young Adept didn’t stop. “You’re both Tuana—that Clan was attacked after you came here. Why? Is that going to happen to our former Clans?”

The last came with such fear, Enris strengthened his shields to keep it out. “We don’t know,” he said. “Not yet. But you’re safe here.” Before he could say more, like a flash of light, Ziba appeared in the corridor, laughing. At the sight of them, she covered her mouth and disappeared.

Yao appeared in the same spot, disappeared. Followed by three children Enris didn’t know, holding hands. They giggled and were gone.

Karne looked dazed.

Worin appeared next.

“No, you don’t!” With a lunge, Enris had his brother by the arm. “Who said you could ’port in the Cloisters?” He’d looked at the M’hir. It remained coiled around itself like a towering summer storm. Complete with lightning. “It’s not safe yet. Even if Ziba thinks so,” he warned at the beginnings of a rebellious frown.

“Husni sent us to look for benches,” Worin announced virtuously, black hair tumbling over his bright eyes. In other words, Husni had had enough of the mischievous pair.

They thought of the M’hir as another playground. What had Aryl told him? The M’hir was already part of their children. With an inward shudder, Enris brushed back Worin’s hair, ruffled it. “Why benches?”

“For beds. Did you see how many Om’ray have come?” He radiated joy. “We found a whole room of benches, but they’re fastened to the floor.”

“If they’re fastened, they serve some purpose where they are,” Karne warned. “You’d better check with your Adepts first.”

Enris shook his head. “They’d debate it all ’night.” Making it pointless to find beds. Anaj? he sent.

Show me, child.

Worin’s eyes widened. “You’re Naryn’s baby!” You can talk already?? Can you play?

Enris snickered. Naryn gave an impatient sigh.

Not with children who don’t mind their elders, Anaj replied. Now show me these benches. You can. This as Worin hesitated.

Enris gestured approval. His brother had never shown this particular Talent, but he had the Power for it. Like this, he sent, offering a remembered view of Sona’s new dam. Think about the place you want to show us—

Like this? Images spilled out, vivid, overloading the senses. The uppermost level. Dimmed light. A slice of dark sky. Giggles. Shouldn’t be here. Running along curved benches. Jump! Can’t catch me. Can. Can’t. Let’s play ’port and seek. Husni won’t know . . . The images stopped there. Worin gazed at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at his brother.

Mischief indeed. Enris bit his tongue.

You can’t move those benches, Anaj sent calmly. They’re part of the floor. Let some sleep up there. It won’t be the first time.

And, hopefully just to him, Try it when the moons are overhead. Kynan liked their light on my skin.

Old, not dead. Enris laughed so hard, Naryn began to frown. He gestured a mute apology. “Hungry. We missed supper.” Most of the new arrivals had finished their evening meal before being summoned. He hadn’t, something he planned to fix.

“Sorry, Enris.” Worin’s face fell. “Husni said there’s nothing to eat here. There’s water, though. Fon and the other unChosen went for it.”

Sending out the youngsters wasn’t a decision he’d have made, not when they didn’t know what was happening outside. The Human had warned them to stay in the Cloisters until he contacted them; he’d had a reason.

Contacted how? Enris wondered suddenly. He hoped the Human didn’t plan to knock on the Cloisters’ doors. Explain that face to their new Clan?

Explain how a being could fall out of the real world and return . . . not something he could do, Enris thought, swallowing hard. He’d thought he’d begun to grasp what the Human and Thought Traveler meant when they said Cersi was only one world, one place, of many; he’d prided himself on his imagination when he looked up at the cliff and told himself there could be more mountains and rivers beyond it.

Then he’d almost left the world himself.

The effort to reconcile what his mind remembered and what his inner sense knew upset his empty stomach. Impossible.

“Why did all these Om’ray come here, Enris? What’s so special about Sona? No one’s saying.”

About to reassure his brother, Enris noticed Karne’s attention and changed his mind. “No one knows,” he admitted. “Not yet.”

The young unChosen straightened his shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said solemnly. “What matters is that everyone made it. Even Seru, who couldn’t reach the Cloisters before.”

Enris stared at his brother. Worin was right. All of Sona had ’ported. There’d been no time to comprehend what was happening, to help one another. The two newborns had been in their mothers’ carryslings, but the older children had been roaming free. Yet they’d come, too.

The urgency of the summons chased along his nerves as he remembered it. Was that the key?

Naryn spoke, her voice low and urgent. “Enris, remember watching the plows dig the fields? The second pass was easier because the soil was broken. Maybe having so many aimed at the same destination through the M’hir opened an easier path. Something the ‘lesser’—” with a dismissive glance at Karne, “—could use.”

It made sense. “I—”

“But I think I should sit now.” With that, she began to sink toward the floor.

Enris threw an arm around Naryn’s waist to draw her up again. “You need a bed, not debate.” Without hesitation, he tried to give her strength through their contact, but she shuddered free of his hold to stand, barely, on her own.

“I just need to rest,” she snapped. LEAVEMEALONEDON’T TOUCHME! Karne and Worin backed a step.

“Can you walk to the Dream Chamber?”

“Can you?” Her scornful look would, Enris decided, be more convincing if her face had any color at all. Between that, and the filthy Adept robe Oran had adamantly not wanted returned, Naryn di S’udlaat looked disturbingly like a corpse. An ill-used one.

He stepped smoothly in her way before she could try to move—and likely land on her face—and held out his left hand, palm up. “For Anaj. Take what you need. Or—” as he felt her resistance, “—I will carry you, like it or not.”

Temper flared her nostrils and narrowed her eyes. “Without supper?” Disdain.

“I’ll manage.” You’d let Aryl help.

“I won’t be hauled through the Cloisters like a bundle of sticks!”

Let me help.

You hate me. You’ve reason to. With all the despair she’d never revealed, betrayed by her own weakness. I don’t trust you.

Why should she? Until last truenight, he’d tolerated her presence for Aryl’s sake. Since then, he’d given strength to her unasked, shared what she didn’t want to learn, and brought her to the Vyna to be forced to accept a Glorious Dead.

Oh, and hadn’t he finished by hauling her up on a branch in Tikitna like a sack of scraps, then flying her out of the world with a not-Om’ray she feared?

Which, though not his fault exactly, probably hadn’t helped.

Nothing had gone as it should since the dam. His Chosen had known better. He’d felt her distrust but ignored it, sure he was right about the Vyna, assuming Aryl was being her Yena-self, prone to worry over anything that worked the first time or looked easy to walk.

Enris gestured apology with both hands; it wasn’t only to Naryn. “What do you want me to do?”

About to speak, Naryn tilted her head as if listening. The strain in her face eased slightly. “Anaj asks,” almost a whisper, “for some of your gift.”

Silently, Enris offered his hand again.

Her fingers trembled as they approached and she clenched them into a fist, eyes flashing to his. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, smiling at Worin who watched in fascination.

A little too much fascination. Might be time for a Chosen to unChosen talk. Especially with Ziba around. You could never start too soon.

Fingertips.

He ignored them.

A palm against his.

Only then, easily, gently, Enris let strength flow through that contact. He kept his shields in place, offered no other sharing, let the outpouring continue until she lifted her hand away.

Their eyes met. For that instant, he saw a Naryn he’d never known, perhaps the Naryn only Aryl knew: vulnerable, scarred, passionate.

With the cool lift of a brow, her guard returned. “I know my way.” She pushed past him and walked down the corridor, red hair uneasy on her shoulders.

She’ll do. Anaj, to him.

Enris half smiled.

“I thought you didn’t like her.”

He ruffled Worin’s hair. “It’s complicated.”

“Is Naryn still going to die when her baby is born?”

“How did you—” Apparently there were no secrets left in Sona. “She won’t die.”

Not if a brave old Om’ray could endure until summer.

Not if the world itself endured.

How had everything become fragile? There was nothing he could make or fix; nothing all the questions and answers being traded in the Council Chambers could change. This was the life Aryl had led in Yena: every step over certain death, any day the last.

He hadn’t understood, until this moment, what it took to keep walking.

The other two were staring at him, eyes wide and afraid. Enris found a smile. “Come along, Karne,” he invited, his voice light. “Let’s see what we can find. On the way, you can torture me with tales of the delicacies Rayna would offer a starving guest. Which I trust are better than Vyna.”

“You’ve been to Vyna?” This with awe.

Much better than fear, Enris thought, tucking his own away.

Much better.