Rift in the Sky

Chapter 10

AVOIDING THE PATH, Haxel led them through the grove. If there was a trap, it would be along the wide, flat, easy route the Human had made. Aryl came next, Enris behind her. To one side, out of sight if not beyond their inner sense, Syb and Yuhas, followed by Galen. To the other, Veca, Suen d’sud Annk, and the Licor twins.

Naryn? She’d returned to the Cloisters, her thankless task to tell the others what had happened to the Oud. With Anaj’s help, she hoped to find those among the new arrivals with more experience with the other races, who might have answers, a plan. Aryl wished them success; she didn’t expect any.

Om’ray had never paid attention to the not-real.

Which would have been reasonable, she thought wryly, if the not-real had cooperated and not paid attention to them.

Her nerves settled as they moved through the grove. A hunt. Finally something normal, something Yena. Where their skill mattered.

Even Enris moved quietly.

SnickCrack! A faint apology.

Quietly for a giant Tuana with big feet. Aryl almost smiled.

Where the grove thinned, Haxel stopped. She glowered at its unclimbable sticks as she waved Aryl to her side. Their hands touched. What do you think?

Aryl pressed herself against the nearest stalk, sank below Om’ray height, then eased around until she could see between the young leaves.

The buildings were intact; the ground its familiar morass of mud and vehicle tracks. No burning. No destruction as at Site Two.

All wrong, she sent. The buildings stood white and exposed, their illusions gone, doors open. A shirt, socks, other belongings were strewn before the one Marcus used as a home. The rest . . . Aryl eased back and touched Haxel. The storage buildings are empty.

Before or after? Not waiting for an answer, Haxel slipped to the others, brushed hands, gave her orders. Syb, Yuhas, and Galen went one way, fading into the grove; Veca, Suen, and the twins the other. They’d circle wide. Haxel flickered in and out of sight, choosing her own path.

What about us? Enris asked, crouching beside her.

Aryl stood and brushed at her no-longer-blue dress. “We,” she said calmly, “are here to visit our friend.”

“You mean walk out there and be Haxel’s bait.”

She shrugged. “That, too.”

Deliberately casual strides took them across the opening to Marcus’ door. Strides during which Aryl’s shoulders tensed and her eyes searched for the telltale shine of a vidbot or other watchful machine. Shadows shortened as the sun moved higher overhead. Her feet sank in the loose dirt.

Once there, she paused beside the inviting doorway. Lights were on inside. These weren’t Om’ray, she reminded herself. Her other senses had to do. She listened, not breathing.

Nothing.

Aryl danced in and to the side, crouching with her knife ready. Enris burst through behind her, an intimidating bulk. But they were alone.

And everything was broken.

They moved through the mess. The mattresses, used or not, were torn apart, the beds ripped from their wall supports. Cupboards and crates were open or upended. Marcus’ jars of dirt were smashed. Not a struggle. Something else. Aryl frowned. “If this was a hunt,” she wondered aloud, “did they find what they were after?”

“Wasn’t these.” Enris pointed to the devices on the counter. All looked as if someone had taken a hammer to their faces—or used a body part suited to violence. There were Strangers, Aryl remembered, who could do such damage with a limb.

“Or they didn’t want them used . . .” At the thought, Aryl pulled out the geoscanner and turned it on. Its glow was reassuring, though the red display wasn’t. Oud below. But she knew that.

Not the “Minded.” Not decision makers. Not yet, somehow.

They had time.

She thumbed on the device. “Two. Howard. Five.”

Is that a good idea?

“He answers or he doesn’t.”

“How long do we wait?”

She propped the ’scanner on what had been a table. “As long as we can,” she said quietly.

“Well, then.” Enris used his arm to clear a section of counter, brushing debris to the floor. When he sat, it creaked under his weight but held. “We wait.” He smiled with a cheer she didn’t believe for an instant. His shields were at their tightest; without an effort, she could only sense their connection, nothing of how he felt.

“You don’t think he’s coming back.”

“From beyond the world? Do you?”

Aryl found her own perch. I must, she admitted. Aloud, “Don’t underestimate—”

Come. A summons.

“Galen’s found something.” Enris stood, his hand out to her. Aryl.

“I’m all right.” She retrieved the ’scanner, her hand wanting to shake.

There’d been a warning with the sending. What Galen found hadn’t been good.

Aryl . . .

“Let’s go.”

“Oud?”

The middle building had been stripped clean, leaving only overturned tables. The far building was empty, too, but not for the same reason.

Aryl stood with the rest outside the open door. To enter meant stepping in the churned green mud that had replaced the floor.

Haxel knelt, brought a fingertip of it to her nose. “Oud,” she confirmed after a sniff, wiping her finger on her leggings as she stood. “Last ’night.”

“They collect their dead,” Galen told them, his gruff voice low as if afraid of being overheard. No need to point to the wide hole gaping in the center. “We’ve never seen where they take them. Somewhere deep.”

“Why would they be here at all?” Aryl asked. The wide door could accommodate an Oud, but Marcus had never let the creatures inside. Too many breakables, he’d said. “Why were they killed?”

“The artifacts.”

She looked at Enris.

“That’s what this is all about,” he said, gaining confidence with every word. “Marcus told us he’d left his people here, to secure the artifacts. The Oud must have understood that much. Maybe they tried to protect them.”

As one, they all stared at the hole. The deep, black hole.

“The Strangers could be down there?” Haxel asked tensely.

Aryl understood. The hole was as appealing as the waters of the Lay. All the Yena looked uncomfortable.

“It’ll lead to a normal tunnel.” Josel didn’t appear to notice the dreadful ooze underfoot as she walked to the opening. “I’ll go.”

Syb stared at her. “In there?”

“I’ll come with you.”

Enris? No, Aryl protested.

YES! His friends might be alive. I owe him this. Someone waited their chance and I gave it to them when I asked Marcus to turn off his machines. The fury turned gentle. “Wait here. Tunnels aren’t for Yena—ask Yuhas.”

“I’d go,” that worthy protested.

Enris put his hand on Yuhas’ shoulder. “Of course you would,” he said, giving the other a gentle shake. “But Aryl needs you here.”

Aryl ignored this last. “Not your fault. The trap was set first. It had to be,” she insisted when he looked doubtful. “Marcus told us there’d be extra protection soon. Whoever this was must have planned to ambush him as he left with the artifacts, before that protection was ready.” Vulnerable prey, out of its normal place, alone. “When a better chance presented itself, they sprang the trap early, that’s all.” She might not understand trading and the value of things; this, she did.

“What are these Strangers?” Suen was appalled. “They kill each other. They kill Oud. Why do you want to help them?”

“Because we hope they can help us,” Haxel said grimly.

Because they were friends . . . Aryl kept the words to herself.

In too short a time, the Tuana were ready. Aryl stood where she could watch. Galen went first, eldest and most experienced—and toughest, in Haxel’s estimation. Instead of trying to climb, he simply sat on the side of the hole and let himself slip down with the crumbling mud. She reached through the M’hir. Galen had the Power to answer. As I thought. There’s a proper tunnel in sight and a nice easy-to-follow mess where they’ve dragged the bodies. And there’s some good wood down here.

Enris’ uncle. She shouldn’t be surprised, Aryl told herself, that her Chosen’s family was every bit as blithely cheerful going into danger as he was.

As if he’d heard her thought, Enris laid his palm against her cheek. Back soon. Then, with a ridiculous “Whoop!,” he jumped and slid into the darkness.

The twins went together, holding hands. Suen last.

Don’t make me come down there to save you, Aryl sent.

We’ll ’port from the merest sniff of trouble, I promise. Despite his light tone, she knew better. Enris wouldn’t leave Marcus or anyone else with the Oud. And he believed in the Strangers’ superior technology.

“And now we wait,” Haxel said grimly.

“We wait,” Aryl agreed.

She went to the open door and leaned her back against the frame, taking deep breaths of air free of the stench of dead Oud. The others gave her space.

Because, she thought wearily, they believed. They believed she’d calm the Tikitik, return Om’ray where they belonged, and prevent the Oud from reshaping the world.

What she’d give to throw one of Ziba’s tantrums, to scream at her elders and demand they find their own solutions. To be . . .

To be young again and home.

Self-pity. And she called herself Yena? A Sarc? Would she rather be ignorant and powerless?

Aryl’s lips twisted.

She’d fall first.

Waiting was pointless. She dove into the M’hir, and reached.

Naryn.

Aryl. Their connection locked at the instant of recognition. The Tuana appeared like lightning, an eye-burning brilliance within the storm. Not peaceful, in any sense. Naryn never would be.

It didn’t help that she was furious. Good thing you left. Rayna and Amna are arguing about the seniority of their Speakers, as if any of them could do better.

She’d love to hand the job to either, Aryl thought. She couldn’t. Listen, Naryn. My mother talked of a device in the Cloisters, called a Maker.

Yes. Anaj’s been discussing it with the Adepts. A fleeting wonder, supplanted by dread. To cut an Om’ray’s binding to the rest? If it weren’t for Yao and the babies, I wouldn’t believe it possible.

Can the Maker do anything else?

That isn’t enough? She could almost see Naryn’s eyebrow lifting.

Can it remove a memory? An idea she hadn’t shared, not even with Enris. Wrong, desperate, doubtless Forbidden.

A chance.

Their connection thinned as Naryn fell silent; Aryl poured Power into it to keep their minds together. Can anything? she insisted.

Faint. Troubled. You want the others to forget the M’hir.

Yes. Then we send them home to their Clans. They’ll have questions, but no way to learn the truth.

This isn’t what you wanted for us. For all of us.

She’d wanted too much, too soon. Now, Aryl thought bitterly, she’d settle for survival. The Oud and Tikitik will be at peace. Sona will keep apart from the rest. Safe.

Like Vyna. A lash of scorn. That’s good enough for your daughter?

She flinched. The grove in front of her, across the clearing, was stunted and unhealthy. Vyna was a worse blight on the world. Then what? Aryl demanded angrily. What would you have me do, Naryn? Give up, like the Tikitik?

Use the strength around us. For us.

What do you mean?

You saw what the Strangers did to each other. They could easily destroy Tikitna. They may have killed Oud already. As Aryl hesitated, stunned, Naryn went on. Her Power reinforced their link now. Do you want to live in fear? Enris was right and I hadn’t seen it. These would be formidable partners. Last truenight, I learned the Strangers’ language. An image formed of a device Aryl had seen before: the machine Marcus had claimed taught him Om’ray words as he slept.

We learned, a caustic mindvoice intruded. Anaj had attached herself to their thread. Not that I had a choice, you understand.

Naryn pushed her aside. I can talk to them now. Any of them. Ask for their help.

Though the other couldn’t see it, Aryl shook her head violently; her hair lashed her shoulders. It won’t work. Marcus had told her the Trade Pact wouldn’t let the Triads interfere; he wore his costume and pretended to be Om’ray, rather than draw attention. As for those who’d attacked the Triad sites? The Strangers won’t help us.

They would for the ability to travel through the M’hir.

Tuana were traders.

She hadn’t realized, until now, that they could make anything a commodity.

No, Naryn.

Spread their problems across countless worlds and races. What had Marcus called it?

War.

Aryl . . .

NO! Don’t mention this to anyone again. Either of you.

Aryl severed their connection so violently, the M’hir slapped back at her as if she’d tossed a mountain into the ocean. Stung, she fought to see reality, to hold her sense of self. Finally, the waves ended and released her. She hoped Naryn and Anaj hadn’t felt that. Not all of it.

Enough, Aryl thought grimly, to help them understand.

The Oud, wanting her help against the Tikitik. The Tikitik, against the Oud. Now Naryn, proposing Om’ray and the Strangers against both.

Never, Aryl vowed, while she lived.

“Anything I should know?” Haxel asked in a quiet voice.

Checking her shields, Aryl made herself relax as she turned. “We’re in trouble, and the Adepts argue about my age.”

The First Scout chuckled. “They don’t know you.” Her smile faded. “What does that mean?” She pointed at Aryl’s hand.

Which still held the geoscanner. Startled, Aryl raised the device. A blue light pulsed beneath its clear dome. “Something new,” she admitted.

Haxel stiffened. “Dangerous?”

The blue pulse flickered faster and faster.

“Not the Oud.” She could think of only one thing to try. Aryl lifted the device near her mouth. “Marcus? Are you there?”

A loud burst of jumbled sounds answered, none understandable. The voice—was it a voice?—was shrill, higher than any she’d heard. Shrill and threatening.

Aryl turned off the ’scanner, shoved it in its pocket, and met Haxel’s pale eyes. “Not a friend,” the First Scout decided. “Inside.”

The hole was, if anything, darker and scarier than ever. Aryl avoided looking at it as Haxel began to speak. “Syb, you and—” The rest was drowned out by a deep rumble, rushing toward them.

Closer . . . closer. On them!

The building shook.

Mud loosened around the hole, sliding down but not filling it.

Enris!!!

We’re all right. Are you?

Last time it had been Naryn, digging out the riverbed.

This? Was the mountain shaking? Should they ’port to safety? Before she could do more than consider it, the sound and vibration passed overhead and diminished.

It’s leaving, she sent, astonished.

“Find it!” Haxel ordered. “Stay out of sight!”

Be careful! This from her Chosen, with a certain irony.

The rumble went behind the buildings, to where the Oud toiled to disturb what some Tikitik called the “Makers’ Rest.” Om’ray didn’t go there, not anymore. Aryl followed the sound, running close to one wall. She stopped before breaking into the open, paused to sense Haxel and the rest nearby in the grove.

They would let her take the lead; she was their Speaker, and there were no other Om’ray here. What might be here, Aryl thought with an odd catch in her breath, none of them could guess.

The Oud had been busy since she’d last been here. The landscape was torn open—not torn, she realized with amazement. They’d stripped away what had lain on top to uncover roadways and stone stairs. A set lay before her, winding and worn, and of no use to Oud, which likely explained why they’d continued to dig deeper to either side. Aryl could imagine Marcus being grateful to have something easier for his feet.

Easier and better cover. She took the stairs, careful to keep to shadows. The rumble was coming back toward her.

Aryl showed her teeth. Good. Now to see. She eased around an exposed rock wall.

Busy indeed. A structure had been partially freed from the cliff face, curved and elaborate, as flawless as those she’d seen beneath the Lake of Fire and uncovered by the Strangers at Site Two. Hoveny ruins.

Things left by the long-dead didn’t concern her.

What came toward her, its low rumble vibrating through the soles of her feet, did.

She’d made fiches the size of her hand glide through the air, of dresel wing, thread, and sticks. She knew the amazing aircars of the Strangers, the noisy winged flyers of the Oud, had been carried by an esan’s doubled wings.

How could anything like this fly?

Aryl clutched her pendant, almost deafened. The machine descending before the cliff was larger than the buildings behind her. Twenty—more—aircars could have fit inside it. Like the Oud flying machines, fire came out of it. Like the Humans’ aircar, there were no wings.

Her eyes narrowed. Scars marred its skin. There were objects fastened to it, or protruding from it. Along its underside, what must be feet. On its back? Those objects were sharp and aimed forward, like horns or knives. Best to assume they were as dangerous as they looked.

The fire ceased, as if turned off like a glow; with that, the rumble ended, but the machine wasn’t silent. It whined as it came to rest, feet adjusting to the uneven ground with a series of metallic clangs. Suddenly, even the whine stopped.

Silence. Aryl’s ears buzzed.

A ramp extended like a tongue to taste the dirt. Above it, a door opened into the belly of the machine.

And out they came . . .