Chapter 23
T
HEY’D GIVEN HER MORE of their food, dry clothes, and a place to sleep. Aryl had wanted to refuse all of it, to keep arguing until she was understood. Instead, she’d accepted in silence, like a child helpless to prevent the well-meaning interference of a parent.
Why? Because it was clear something had happened. Something important. The strangers had put her aside, politely but firmly, while their voices rose in excited conversation. She ate while they ignored their own meals, watching how they smiled or twitched or clicked at one another. Some consulted plates of flowing symbols, none shown to her. She slept, or tried to, with the thud of footsteps and moving equipment coming through the walls of the small room they’d given her. The heavy tread of the Carasian, Janex, was easiest to identify.
So much for imagining the new flying machine had come to return her to her rightful place.
When the noises finally ceased, Aryl sat up, her eyes on the door. After another long moment of silence, she eased from the bed, a flat platform too soft for her taste.
She’d watched how the door worked; now to see if their technology would obey her. The stranger who’d brought her here had dimmed the light within her room, not turned it off. She went to the square on the wall. With a confidence she didn’t feel, she placed her palm against the square as she’d seen the strangers do.
The door slid aside without a sound.
Aryl slipped out, immediately breaking into a run. She kept on her toes, careful not to brush any wall. The hall was dim too, implying they all slept, or whatever such creatures did. Shadows emphasized the odd lines of the strangers’ building; they offered hiding places. Her skin crawled. It wasn’t right to move in near darkness. Every bit of Aryl’s training said she shouldn’t be here.
And everything she believed said she must, that this could be her only chance to determine her own fate.
Her too-brief ride in the strangers’ machine had proved there was no hope of taking it for herself. The stranger operating it, yet another new race with shimmering scales instead of skin, had pressed a number of round markings on the panel in front of it with bewildering speed, as well as used a small stick for some other purpose.
Aryl didn’t know how to open its door, let alone duplicate any of those mysterious moves.
But there was a device she had seen used.
No one stirred as Aryl ran up the ramp to the roof. Once at the door, she fumbled, trying to find its panel. She’d been preoccupied with the Carasian and hadn’t seen Marcus open it. Finally, she discovered a simple-enough latch and let herself out.
The rain had ended; the sky was a blue-black dome, pierced by white specks. She stepped outside and found herself bathed in the soft light of the— what had Thought Traveler called them? The Makers. He’d named her as well. Apart-from-All.
Aryl rubbed her eyes, tired of tears.
The moons hung in the sky, their reflections tripping over the deceptively peaceful lake. She went to the railing and looked out, hunting the shore. There, she thought. An irregular line without stars, as if the sky’s darkness folded at its edge. Better still, unless her eyes were playing tricks, there was a tiny patch of light that wasn’t a star. The Tikitik? Using glows against truenight? To read? Aryl could only guess, having spent her nights with them sealed inside a rastis.
She knew where they were, though she couldn’t get there.
With luck, she wouldn’t have to.
Aryl went to the round platform, staying as much as possible within the moons’ light. She went to the metal stalk the Trant had used and studied the reassuringly few bumps and sticks below its blank panel. She summoned her memories of Pilip’s hands moving over these controls. The operation of the strangers’ spy device appeared straightforward. She didn’t need images, anyway.
Feeling as though she stepped on an untrustworthy branch, Aryl put her fingertip on the raised square she believed summoned the device and pushed. Without a sound, one of the round spies lifted from the roof and took a position overhead, waiting for instructions exactly as it had this morning. Its surface glittered like water in the moons’ light.
She let out the breath she’d held.
Now, to send it. Keeping her finger on the square, Aryl used her other hand to slide a narrow bar forward and to one side. A quick glance showed the spy moving toward the Oud shore of the lake. She pulled the bar back and to the opposite side, relieved to see the device reverse its direction and pass overhead. It crawled through the air. Her fiches, she thought with disgust, flew faster.
Still, it was heading more or less where she wanted, toward what she guessed was the Tikitik camp. If she could land it there . . . Aryl looked at the controls and shook her head wistfully. Odds were she’d crash it into an osst or Tikitik. This was good enough. As long as it stayed within the moons’ light, they should see it. Once seen, Thought Traveler would have its answer. The fragment from the ruined Harvest came from the strangers. She was sending him the proof.
More than that, Aryl couldn’t explain without being there.
“What do?”
She remained in front of the control stalk as she turned, hoping Marcus hadn’t seen his device take flight. “The moons are up,” she said glibly, flinging her arm skyward.
The Human’s hair stood on end and, though dressed, he looked rumpled, as if he’d fallen asleep in his clothes. But there was nothing vague or sleepy in the way he checked the roof, nor mistaking his alarm when he spotted the gleam of the device heading toward shore. With a muffled cry, he rushed for the controls; defeated, Aryl stepped out of his way.
Only when the device was safely back on the roof did Marcus pay attention to her again. “Why?” She could make out his frown, if not his eyes.
“You won’t let me go,” Aryl said, nodding to the distant shore. She didn’t care how much he understood. “They want to know if it was your fault. It was.”
“They,” his hand waved in the same direction before running through his hair, “try kill Aryl.”
“No. They sent me—” Aryl shrugged, giving up. They’d been over this too many times. Either Marcus didn’t believe her, or the Tikitik had crossed some code of behavior. The result was the same. “It doesn’t matter.”
But he surprised her. “Tomorrow. Day. Go.”
“What?”
A glint of teeth. He was smiling. “Yes. Tomorrow.” An extravagant gesture toward shore. “Good.”
Having got her wish, Aryl was suddenly uneasy, a feeling that grew as Marcus led her back to her room. “Sleep,” he urged, once there. “Tomorrow busy.”
He needed the rest more, she judged. She stopped in her doorway. “What’s happening tomorrow?”
The dimmed lighting revealed little of his face. “Aryl safe. Don’t be afraid.” With that, he reached for the panel; she had to step back as the door closed.
When she tried the control panel on her side, it no longer responded. She wasn’t surprised.
Aryl climbed into bed, determined not to worry about Marcus’ “Tomorrow busy.”
Determination didn’t help.
* * *
“Aryl.”
No mistaking that deep rumble for any other voice. Aryl cracked one eye open to stare at Janex.
“Aha! Awake!” the Carasian exclaimed joyfully; it seemed anything was cause to celebrate. She opened her other eye, trying not to frown at its enthusiasm. Not the creature’s fault she’d fallen asleep. “Hurry. Eat!”
She shoved the blanket aside and sat up, only then realizing the room was full of an appetizing aroma. One of the creature’s large claws gripped the edge of a tray, a tray bearing a steamy bowl of something yellow and brown, and a cup of sombay.
Tomorrow had arrived. Aryl was overwhelmed by impatience to be gone, to return to the canopy and home. Where she belonged. It was all she could to do muster a gracious gesture of gratitude and say “Thank you.”
The Carasian put the tray on the end of the bed. The small room offered no table or chair, though it did boast a clear window that presently revealed thick mist and nothing more. “Ready soon. We go!”
It turned itself around, managing more by luck than plan to avoid bumping her knees or a wall. Aryl reached for the cup, despite having no appetite.
Janex stopped before the door. “Forgot, me!” It turned again. “For you.” It held out her fich, the one she’d seen Marcus take from the branch. Was it only three days ago? It could be four, she realized, unsure how many truenights she’d spent in the rastis.
Aryl took it, her hand trembling. The homely shape and materials, in this place where everything was strange, stopped her voice in her throat. She looked into those unfathomable eyes, wondering if the creature had any idea how she felt.
“I am sorry,” Janex rumbled, as if it knew very well. Then, “Wish sweet grist Aryl home. Better. Listen not. Triad Third, only,” with a dismissive click of its claws. “I am sorry.”
This scramble of words, some in good order, most not, made too much sense. “Where are they taking me?” she demanded, rising to her feet. “Where?”
“Discovery made,” Janex replied, willing, if unhelpful. Its eyes were busy, moving from side to side at seeming random. “All go. Understand you not. Keep you more. Longer. Do you understand? You go. All go.” Its great head tipped from one side to the other. “Eat.”
With that, the Carasian turned and left her alone.
Dressing was a matter of pulling on the stranger-pants they’d given her— she’d slept in the new shirt— and putting on her new boots. Aryl avoided looking at the tray. The once-appetizing smell turned her stomach.
She understood what mattered. The strangers were keeping her, for whatever reason. Marcus’ promise of “go tomorrow?” They were taking her with them, rather than leave her here.
Which meant taking her away from their locks and building.
On that thought, Aryl tied the loose ends of her too-large shirt around her waist, tucking the fich inside. She retrieved the curved metal implement from the tray, pushing that within the waist of the pants. When she couldn’t break the cup, she left it. Was this all she had?
No. Putting the tray on the floor, she removed the blanket from the bed. Using her teeth, she worried a small opening along one edge; from that beginning, she could rip the fabric. When she was done, she had five long thin strips and two shorter and wider.
Sitting cross-legged on the bed, humming under her breath, she braided the longer strips. The result she used to secure the tightly folded remainder of the blanket around her middle. Next she took one of the shorter strips, laying it flat beside her. The cup became a scoop, to dole the driest parts of her breakfast onto the material. She rolled that, tying it in a knot. Into her shirt it went.
Last, but not least, Aryl took the final short strip and used it to bind her hair out of her way.
She had no idea what the strangers would make of her preparations, but she’d done what she could with what she had. First Scout Haxel, she thought wryly, would approve.
Now, to hope for opportunity to escape.
* * *
Aryl had dreamed of flying. The model pressing into her ribs had been her first bold step beyond dreams. Now, in the strangers’
aircar
, as they called it, she knew herself a fool.
The aircar entered the sky as she’d leap from branch to branch, the embodiment of assured, confident speed. It sped forward under its own mysterious power. The morning mists curled away from its clear, hard roof as if acknowledging a master. Pilip was at the controls, its twig-fingers almost casual.
Aryl had no idea how any of it worked, except that this machine could ignore everything she’d so laboriously learned with her fiches. Her plan to save the unChosen? Her dreams of giant fiches, able to carry Om’ray safely over danger?
Pathetic, she decided glumly.
This aircar carried the four of them. Janex’s bulk filled most of the space behind the front paired seats where Marcus and Pilip sat, looking forward. She was squeezed into a makeshift arrangement of blanket and box beside the Carasian. Behind them were, she decided, too many boxes for a short trip.
The other, larger machine had left first, taking more boxes and the new strangers. She hadn’t spoken to them, though they’d stared at one another. The flitter-stranger couldn’t form proper words at all with its hard mouth. A second voice came out of a white tube it held in front of its face, overlapping its utterances with a sound more like those made by the Humans. It didn’t trust her. Aryl was sure of that much, given the way one of its huge eyes stayed fixed on her if she was near, no matter what else was happening.
The scale-stranger— who reminded her of Myris though its face was nothing like her mother’s sister’s or any face she knew, for that matter— hadn’t looked at her at all. What this meant, Aryl couldn’t guess, yet it moved and spoke its incomprehensible words with a gentle grace she found appealing.
The other two were more Humans. One was like Marcus, though larger and quicker in his speech. The other was like a Chosen Om’ray in having mature, feminine curves to her body and face, but her black hair barely covered her ears. Worse, it hung as dead as a Lost’s. From her alert expressions, she wasn’t mind-damaged. Did Humans deliberately disfigure their Chosen? Aryl found her disturbing.
She’d seen enough of them together to know that, while they’d argued as much as conversed, all deferred to Marcus for decisions. A relief in one way, Aryl thought, since she’d
tasted
his goodwill toward her. A little too much goodwill. Even now, he looked over his shoulder at her and smiled encouragingly. She made herself smile back.
Such attention worried her. No Om’ray wanted to be of interest to those in charge. Obey and respect Council and the Adepts, of course. Come to their special attention, no. Aryl had learned that lesson. Already, Marcus’ interest had tangled her life, possibly beyond repair. She could only hope he wouldn’t become interested in the rest of Yena as well.
Janex snicked a claw near her ear. “Goodgoodgood. Lake gone,” it proclaimed. “Too young for pool, me.” This drew a laugh from Marcus.
While the comment made no sense, when Aryl looked out she discovered that mists no longer obscured what lay below. For the moment, she forgot her worries, content to see her world from the sky. The Carasian was right. They’d left the Lake of Fire. If she looked back, she could see its flat gray appearance and just make out the strangers’ floating place. The shore itself was already hidden behind towering stalks.
The canopy. From this unique perspective, straight down, it appeared fragile and thin, torn by gaps filled with either the vivid green of dense young growth, greedy for sunlight, or the black consuming flood of the Lay Swamp. It was impossible to see the truth, that the canopy was a strong, safe passageway, lush with its own life. Safe, Aryl reminded herself, for those who understood its nature.
It was where she belonged. Her longing was so great, she touched Marcus on the shoulder, careful to keep her shields tight. When he turned, she pointed outside, then put her hand on her chest. “Home. That’s my home, Marcus. Please. Let me go.”
He dutifully looked out. The side of his face she could see grew pale, as if what he saw frightened him.
“Home,” she insisted. “Take me down.”
Instead, he said something to Janex, who rumbled back what seemed argument. Aryl clenched her hands together, hoping the giant creature could convince its companion where she couldn’t.
Sure enough, Marcus spoke their words to Pilip, who muttered but moved its fingers on the controls. The aircar began to descend!
Aryl didn’t say a word, but her head snapped toward Yena, so much closer than before. She didn’t try to reach for Taisal, not yet. When they stopped at a branch— that’s what they would do, she was sure. Let her be free first, and away from their curiosity.
They dropped to barely below the height of the tallest rastis, but no farther. The aircar resumed its forward motion, now weaving between those giants.
“What are you doing?” She couldn’t help the outburst. To be this close . . . “Stop! Please!”
“Aryl, peace.” Janex laid its large right hand claw on her lap. “Fly low, better you see home. Not go home. We go all. There.” The claw lifted to point ahead, almost to Grona. “Sorry.”
Nothing was straight ahead. Nothing but rock, where mountains stopped the groves. “No,” she whispered.
“Sorry,” the Carasian repeated, taking back its claw.
Marcus put his arm on the back of his seat to twist and face her. “Sorry too, Aryl,” as if he meant it. “Home later. Promise.” As if he could.
Aryl turned to look outside, blinking away tears.
So she was the first to see the figures swarming through the branches of the nekis ahead. They moved faster than Om’ray, differently, staying near the main trunk. There had to be hundreds, she thought. Then, with a shock, she realized
who
she saw. “Tikitik!” she cried. “Look out!”
The strangers had spotted them, too, now busy talking in their stupid words and paying no attention to her warning. To Aryl’s horror, the aircar slowed and began to descend. The strangers’ curiosity was taking them too close. “No!” she cried.
She grabbed for Pilip, for Marcus. Janex stopped her, saying words, words, more words, holding her in her seat. Aryl wouldn’t listen. She struggled against what felt like a piece of metal across her chest. They were in danger and taking her with them.
“Stupid strangers!” she shouted. “No!”
A web of massive vines, the kind Om’ray used to build bridges that would last M’hirs, slammed over the clear roof. More stretched in front. Caught, the aircar slewed wildly to one side, making the first noise she’d heard from it, a shrill metal on metal complaint. It jerked the other way . . . back again. Aryl clung to Janex’s claw with all her might as Pilip fought to steer them free of the trap.
For that’s what it was. Aryl could see Tikitik running across the vines toward them, balancing as surely as any Om’ray, faster than a nightmare. They might have only knives against the metal machine, but the aircar kept dropping, each plunge sickening and quick. More vines landed on top, pulled taut by the machine’s fight.
Aryl had watched brofers trying to escape webs like this. Watched them try and fail.
Fail and die.
But the strangers weren’t done yet. The roof went from clear to opaque. Aryl jerked her arm away from the side as it grew hot. A vibration rattled her teeth. Then they were moving!
The roof cleared, though now it was streaked with black. The instant Janex let her go, Aryl swept around to look back.
Vines burned in midair. Tikitik fell. Some clung to the scorched remains of branches or the ends of other vines, fighting with one another so that more fell. There was fire.
It was the Harvest . . . the Harvest . . . Aryl shoved her fist into her mouth to keep herself quiet.
It wasn’t the Harvest, but it was.
This time as the strangers sailed away, leaving carnage in their wake . . .
They took her with them.