* * *
“Seru is the only Parth.” Aryl kept her voice down. The stone and pressed dirt of Grona’s village had a distressing ability to carry sound. “Yena’s families must not end here.”
Morla Kessa’at sighed. “They heard you, Aryl. Be patient. Trust me— Councils take their time, especially with important matters.” The four of them talked as they walked, retracing their steps up and down the straight Grona street. Aryl had noticed she wasn’t the only Yena to find it difficult to sit indoors.
“I don’t see why it’s important,” said Husni Teerac. “They’ve made us welcome. Why don’t we take the names of our new clan— like anyone on Passage?”
“Husni!” They all reacted, even Haxel, who’d so far been quieter than even her habit.
Husni pursed her thin, peeling lips and stared back. She was soft-spoken, to Cetto’s loud rumble; as far as Aryl recalled, she hadn’t ventured an opinion in years. She had one now. “Parth, Teerac, or Sarc,” Husni said emphatically. “Our families will survive us, back home. They’re safe. These are kind Om’ray. We should show our gratitude, young Aryl. They’ve given us a place to live. Work for our hands.”
Like the rest, Husni and Cetto stayed with a host family. There was nothing said about separate homes— perhaps the Grona preferred living atop one another. Most exiles were already busy somewhere, learning the tasks required to produce food instead of finding it. Aryl envied the ease with which the others had settled into place.
“What if our families don’t—” she began, only to be unwilling to finish.
“Of course they won’t,” Haxel growled. “They’ve wrapped themselves in a net and hung it out to dry.” She stalked beside them like a hungry esask. She’d been hard to find these last two days. Aryl guessed the former scout had been busy assessing their new surroundings, uncertain of her knowledge now that the familiar threats were behind a mountain. It wouldn’t take her long to learn the new ones.
If there were any, she thought. The Grona were peaceful, almost docile. Aryl hadn’t decided if she envied their lack of fear, or feared its lack. Surely a village built above the Oud was at risk, always. It was no different from the Lay Swamp. What was below their feet couldn’t be trusted.
“Slow down.” The plea came from Husni again. Not that the old one couldn’t keep up, especially at this easy pace, but the Grona found Yena too quick. They were all learning to move more slowly. The Grona were methodical Om’ray and took their time with everything, it seemed. “The Cloisters is safe, Haxel. Don’t exaggerate.”
Morla agreed. “The Tikitik told Aryl they have dresel to share. Yena need only wait for calm. Negotiate for supplies—”
The four paused as Ziba ran by, each quick step kicking dust. She was followed by a pack of young Grona. Without breaking stride, she climbed a shop’s stone wall and ran up its roof, disappearing over the top.
The Grona stopped in their tracks, then turned as one to walk away. They didn’t look happy.
“Well?” Husni demanded of them, pointing at the shop wall. “What are you waiting for, younglings? A ladder? Get up there!”
Wide-eyed, they broke into a run— in the opposite direction. Doubtless, Aryl sighed to herself, to share this latest Yena oddity with their parents. She shivered, despite wearing all the clothes she’d been given. “We’d better get ready,” she said. “The welcome feast starts soon. It will be a good chance,” this with all the conviction she could muster, “to get to know each other better.”
Haxel studied the deceptively empty rooftops with a knowing eye. “I’ll fetch Ziba,” she said, a smile twisting her scar. “She’s an excellent distraction.”
“Child’s a menace,” Husni muttered, but with a note of pride.
Cold fingers brushed the back of Aryl’s hand.
Nothing more about Yena names, Aryl, please.
Morla’s sending held an undercurrent of anxiety.
Not today. We’re still strangers here.
“I’ll see you in the meeting hall,” Aryl replied aloud.
She understood Morla’s concern. To survive, they needed Grona’s welcome.
But everything inside her warned there could be too high a price.
Aryl shortened and slowed her stride. If she could walk like this, she decided, she could do anything.
Even convince Grona’s Council.
Interlude
E
NRIS HAD EXPECTED TO FEEL at home. If being treated well and with kindness mattered, if being welcomed by all, especially Grona’s anxious Choosers, mattered, if having his skills with metal greeted with joy mattered, he would have.
Drums had sounded. An Oud vehicle rolled down the main street, its treads crushing stone to dust, a cloud of whirr/clicks in attendance. He’d yet to see when the small things attached themselves to the Oud above ground. Perhaps they waited around the mouths of well-used tunnels.
The Oud riding on top was dressed as the ones in Tuana had been, a lump under a shroud, with a dome over the end that went first.
He should really, he told himself, feel at home.
Not an official Visitation, he assumed, given the lack of interest shown by Grona. He’d been told they’d always lived in peace with the Oud. Unlike Tuana. No runners to obtain scarce supplies. No sudden destruction as part of their village was reshaped from beneath.
“Enris? Aren’t you going to the feast?”
Rather than answer immediately, Enris considered the clean boots at the end of his clean new pants, then crossed his legs at the ankles before leisurely leaning back against the wall. This bench was in front of the shop Grona’s Council had proposed he take for his own. They had several vacant. There’d been more of them, once. Just like Yena. “I ate already,” he said, finally tipping his head back to look at Aryl Sarc.
Different but the same. Three days of rest and comfort had changed them all. Aryl had lost some of the haggardness around her eyes and mouth; he’d stopped limping. She wore as many clothes as she could and was presently buried under layers of woven tunics and coats. Like Yuhas, the Yena were cold away from their steaming canopy, while he went bare-armed, enjoying the nip to the air. And lack of biters.
She’d found or made a net to confine her hair. A shame, in his opinion, but it was their custom.
“It’s not about eating.” Aryl sat beside him, squirming in her coats until she was comfortable. “You could save me,” she admitted after an easy moment. “They’re frantic to know anything about you. I’ll hardly get to take a bite. And,” as if this settled the question, “without you, I’ll have to make things up. You’ll gain a very romantic past.”
“I’m not interested in their Choosers. I don’t plan to stay.”
“The voice holder.” She fell silent; he waited. Then, “Does it still matter?”
“It wasn’t the strangers’,” he reminded her. “It worked for me, an Om’ray. Yes, it still matters.”
“It could be what they seek.”
Enris turned his head, looking down to meet that clear gray-eyed gaze that, whether she knew it or not, always puzzled at what she saw, always tried to understand it. “Maybe,” he acknowledged. “But what if it’s new, Aryl? Something we made? What if there are Om’ray in the world now who don’t rely on Oud or Tikitik?”
She considered this. “Where will you look first?”
“Vyna.” At her surprised look, he explained. “Think about it. They’re the Clan no one truly knows. I’ve asked here— it’s the same. Never been one on Passage. All anyone knows is that there must be an impassable ‘pick your choice’ landscape in the way. What if there isn’t? What if Vyna unChosen don’t take Passage so their Clan can keep its secrets?”
Aryl caught her full lower lip in her teeth, a habit, he’d noticed she had when thinking. “Interesting,” she said at last.
He pulled the token from its pocket. “I’ve told Grona’s Council I’m being Called there. They’re disappointed— warned me of the dangers— but who argues with an unChosen who hears that special voice?”
A sidelong glance. “For the sake of Grona’s Choosers, I should tell them the only ‘Call’ you hear, Tuana, is curiosity.”
“You could come with me.” The words came out before he’d realized he would say them. “If you’re curious, too.”
She tucked her nose inside her vests. “Is it warmer?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Aryl pretended to shiver, surely impossible under so many layers. “If you can’t guarantee a decent heat, I’ll stay, thank you. Besides,” with a lightness he knew better than to believe, “I’ve my people to look after.”
“They seem to be settling in,” Enris commented. Three days wasn’t long, but he’d noticed a few more smiles among the Yena, less tendency for them to cluster together. The young ones ran the street— mostly. The Oud? He’d watched, but seen no sign they cared about the arrival of new Om’ray. They would, at the next Visitation, when the lists and numbers changed. For now, they seemed preoccupied with mining, the rocks of Grona’s mountainside being the source of their green metal.
He’d like to know more of that; like to, but not enough to draw their attention to a certain metalworker.
He’d like to spend time with his grandfather’s family and ask them where he could find a stream with rounded stones. But not enough to linger.
“Are they?” Aryl said wistfully. “I hope so. They’ve welcomed us.”
“Grona needs you,” he observed. “They’ve barely enough to till the terraces they farm, even with Oud machines. Think they’ll refuse a gift of strong, grateful Yena? You did notice, I trust, the lack of questions about your amazing Oud rescue.” He grinned. “Your lie suits them just fine. They don’t care how you got here. Only that you’re here.”
She looked offended. “Were you always so cynical?”
Enris laughed and leaned back again. “Were you always so responsible, Aryl Sarc?”
“Maybe not. Now I must be. I’ve family here, Enris,” she said more seriously than he’d expected.
“And Bern.” He
felt
her outrage and laughed louder. “I’m not blind.”
Her outrage faded. “We were close. Once.”
That feeling, he understood. “Choice happens. Doesn’t mean you’ve lost your friend. Think of it as gaining an endless topic of conversation.”
“He’s changed.” His inner awareness of her faded as her shields slammed down between them. Which was, he decided, answer enough.
“As for me,” Enris said casually, “I’m leaving in the morning. The Grona tell me storms will close the mountain passes soon. I’ve no desire to do any more climbing or meet your hungry rocks.”
“So soon?” She sounded flustered. “What about my promise? To try and teach you what I— what I did.”
Enris gestured to the road and buildings. “You want this, for yourself and your people,” he said gently. “I won’t ask you to risk it for what might not even work. Besides. If I do have that Talent—” he made himself laugh again, “— I’ll figure out how to use it on my own.”
Her eyes searched his. “You’re sure?”
For one heartbeat, he wasn’t. Not about this, not about why he was so set on leaving.
The next heartbeat, he was.
“Find joy, Aryl Sarc. And do me one favor?”
“Anything,” she said quietly.
“Don’t tell the Choosers I’m leaving until I’m long gone. Please?”
He was glad to see her start to smile, even though he couldn’t. “I’ll do my best,” Aryl vowed. Then her smile widened, becoming thoughtlessly happy as her head turned.
Enris followed her look. The street had been empty of Oud and Om’ray, but now two figures approached them.
Bern with his Chosen, finally out of the Cloisters.
Not being blinded by Choice, Enris didn’t find Oran di Caraat beautiful. Her pale face was too austere for his taste, with puckers at the edge of her mouth and eyes that would, he judged, age into lines of temper, not laughter. Her blonde hair hung thick and heavy over her shoulders, its ends moving restlessly, as if she were impatient.
They stopped in front of Aryl and himself, so close he had to look up. Bern seemed preoccupied, as usual. Oran was tall and imposing in her white embroidered robes. Adept. It was rare for an unChosen to be elevated to that rank and Enris doubted she let anyone forget it. Least of all— he glanced at Aryl— her Chosen’s former best friend.
He needn’t have worried. Aryl still smiled, if not quite as warmly. “Hello,” she said pleasantly, rising to her feet. “You must be Oran di Caraat. I’m—”
“Aryl Sarc,” the Adept interrupted. “Come with us.”
Enris thought Aryl braced herself; he wasn’t sure why. “Is it time for the feast?” she asked. “I’ve been trying to talk Enris into coming.”
Bern looked at Oran.
Just that. Normal in all Chosen pairs, an accustomed nuisance to unChosen, left to wonder what was exchanged. Enris had teased Yuhas about it, in what seemed another life. The Yena had claimed it part of being Joined, a joy to constantly gaze at one another. Especially, he’d laughed, with a Chosen as lovely as his Caynen. No secrets.
Bern looked at Oran, and there were secrets between them. Enris felt it, like the chill that slid down the mountain at sunset.
He wasn’t the only one. “What do you want, Bern?” Aryl demanded, her smile gone.
Enris was on his feet before he realized he was uneasy. There was something wrong here.
Oran’s dark eyes flicked to him. “This has nothing to do with you, stranger.”
“Aryl, please,” Bern said, breaking his silence. “Just come with us. We want to talk to you.”
“Alone,” Oran added, eyes still on Enris.
Enris deliberately lifted his hand and brushed the back of it along Aryl’s cheek and jaw.
Don’t trust them,
he sent through that private contact.
Don’t go.
If I can’t trust my heart-kin,
she replied, the words tinged with weary grief,
who is left?
Aryl stepped away from him without looking back. The other two turned, taking positions on either side. Together they walked away.
Heart-kin? It explained a few things. It didn’t explain this.
Enris watched until he was sure they weren’t going to the meeting hall.
Then, he followed.
Chapter 32
U
NTIL NOW, REGARDLESS OF HIS new status, Bern had been happy to see her— she’d known it, seen it. If Bern wouldn’t meet her eyes, something wasn’t right.
Aryl wasn’t tempted to
reach
to him. The physical fact of Oran di Caraat was unpleasant enough.
“Not the feast,” she observed after a moment.
“Be silent, unChosen,” Oran ordered. Her hair lashed across her face, forcing her to take it in both hands.
Aryl laughed. She couldn’t help it. She’d faced so much worse than this opinionated too-young Adept. “I might,” she offered mildly, “if you tell me what can’t wait until tomorrow. I’d like to enjoy the festivities.”
“You don’t belong there.”
The words came from Bern. She would have dismissed them from his Chosen, assumed an unseemly jealousy. From him? “Why?” she asked, stopping in her tracks to stare at him. “What’s this about?”
“You—”
“Hush,” Aryl snapped at the Adept. “I’ll hear it from someone I know.”
From the sour look on Oran’s face, she’d never been hushed before. Probably couldn’t climb either, Aryl thought uncharitably. “Well, Bern?”
He glanced over one shoulder, then the other. She saw no reason for it; the street was empty. “I listened to the others,” Bern said then, his voice low and strained. “I heard what they said about you.”
“That I helped save them?” Aryl made herself gesture apology, despite the tension crawling up her spine. “They’re too kind. You would have done the same.”
He scowled. “When Yena was attacked by the swarm, you were suddenly there, with the stranger. No one saw an Oud aircar bring you.”
That? “Of course they didn’t see it,” she said as reasonably as she could. “The glows were gone. The Tikitik took them.”
“Don’t bother to lie, unChosen,” the Adept accused. “We know what you can do.”
By an effort of will, Aryl didn’t react. There were no shields between Chosen, except those of courtesy.
She should have seen this coming.
“What do you know?” She stressed the last word.
“You do what’s Forbidden,” Bern burst out, his face flushed. “You’re the reason Yena was attacked— my family destroyed!” Something passed between him and Oran; he sagged and gestured apology.
To which of them, Aryl wasn’t sure.
His Chosen took over. “I know you possess a new Talent, one that can pluck an Om’ray from this world and lose him in another, deadly one. Or retrieve him, if you so choose.” Oran made the last sound unlikely.
Altogether, Aryl had to admit, a different way of looking at it. She looked at Bern. “When I saved your life. Heart-kin.”
Oran didn’t like the reminder.
Neither did Bern, whose face took on that angry, obstinate expression he’d shown his parents when they’d wanted him to work rather than climb with Aryl. “Then prove me wrong,
heart-kin,
” he challenged. “Drop your shields and share your thoughts with me as you once did. Show me how you came back to Yena.”
Which would be opening to Oran di Caraat as well. They all knew it.
Why did they care? Aryl wondered suddenly, her eyes narrowing. Bern hadn’t wanted to know more about the
other
. He’d been horrified— he still was. No, she decided, it was this young, too-ambitious Adept. They were Joined, but not like Costa and Leri, two halves of a loving whole, each enriching the other. This Oran ruled her Chosen; it was her will that drove them both. Why?
Oran was of Haxel’s ilk, but without the First Scout’s common sense or desire to help her Clan. This one wanted Power, for Power’s sake.
She wouldn’t get it here.
“Good-bye, Bern Teerac,” Aryl told him, knowing this time, it was the truth.