Riders of the Storm (36 page)

Was that how it looked to him? She laid her hand on his wrist, telling herself it was to move his arm, finding it impossible to do any more than leave it there, pressed to the warmth of his skin. “Yena don't fall,” she said obliquely.

“My mistake.” A lopsided smile. When Marcus released her chin and drew back, she let go. He sat on the seat attached to the table, looked up at her. “I went over the place afterward. There's nothing
emanating
from that building. No unique
bioticsignatures
or disease organisms. I'm not a scantech, but I'm sure.”

So no stranger device could detect what passed between Om'ray minds, or between those minds and whatever the Cloisters might be sending to Sona. Their astonishing technology had its limits.

Let Marcus capture her words from a distance, take images from the air; he remained safely deaf and blind to what made Om'ray
real
.

Aryl tore off a piece of the sweet loaf, finding herself in a much better mood. “The Grona,” she improvised, “brought a stomach illness with them. Impolite and a nuisance.” Which tidily described the two Adepts, in her opinion. “We've recovered.”

Marcus appeared doubtful. “I can help,” he repeated. “I have
medicalsupplies
—I can help make sick Om'ray better. Stop spread of illness. Your people are vulnerable.”

The Human excelled at being difficult. Offer to heal? She didn't doubt he could, but this was a notion she had to end, here and now, or how could she keep Haxel—or any Om'ray—from tearing that knowledge from his mind? Hating herself, Aryl forced an edge to her voice. “Break your own rule? Interfere with the ‘indigenous remnants?'”

Instead of the offense she expected, he took one of the neglected cups, passed her the other, then took a sip, gazing at her consideringly over the rim. “No one would know. You take a bioscanner, put close to sick Om'ray. It sends me data, here. I would make a
medicine
or tell you what could help. Not perfect,” with a shrug and a bright-eyed look. “Better than no help.”

She was beginning to fear Marcus liked to run on thin branches, too, a daring that had led him to explore a world far from his family and kind, to befriend her.

It could get him killed here. Or worse.

She should never have accepted the geoscanner. She'd encouraged this.

Another sip. A shy smile. “Our secret?”

Secrets upon secrets. Her fingers explored the shape of the handle, the cool smooth exterior of the cup.

Without warning, touch became the most intense sensation. Distracting. Consuming.

Important.

The room was too warm. She was. But she wasn't…

“Aryl?”

“Yes. No! Let me think about it.”

Think? How could she? She'd never
felt
everything like this before. The lines of shadow and light through the windows were knife sharp. The air—it was full of scents, some strange, some pleasant. Her own breathing…his…they blended like songs in the canopy at firstnight.

“What's wrong?” Words that meant nothing. “Are you sick?”

There was nothing. She was nothing. She was utterly empty…Aryl bent over, hearing her cup drop, hearing the Human's alarmed outcry, with all that mattered in the world to hold her hollow, empty self together with all her strength.

Abruptly, the world was normal again. She sat up, cheeks flaming with embarrassment. “I'm all right.” When Marcus would have waved his bioscanner over her, she held up her hand to keep him away. “No. I'm fine.”

But she wasn't.

She was becoming a Chooser.

Secrets upon secrets…the Chosen had no secrets from one another. Someone else was going to know about Marcus, about his devices, about her, about…

“Aryl—”

“I'm not sick. Leave me be!”

Was there a worse time her body could have picked? She wasn't sure if she wanted to cry or pull her hair.

What would it be like, to have a Chooser's willful hair?

Trouble, she decided. It was all trouble. Starting with how soon the sensations overruled her self-control. Sarcs were not known for being quiet, polite Choosers. Seru Parth's tantrums would be nothing compared to hers.

“You should reheat the soup,” Aryl said desperately. “It will taste better.”

The Human, perhaps because he was Chosen and a father, grasped when to allow himself to be distracted. He helped clean the floor, then settled them both at the table. Among the marvels of his kitchen—a kitchen she'd yet to see Marcus actually use for anything but storage—was a spoon that warmed what it stirred. While she pretended to enjoy the sweet loaf—and a fresh cup—he heated his soup, giving a startled look of pleasure at the first mouthful.

No wonder. Nothing could taste worse than those e-rations of his.

“Thank you,” he said, then pointed the spoon at her. “You are not sick—?” A pause while he waited for her to mimic his head shake of denial. “Good.” Another pause, then that innocent look. “You didn't come to bring me swimmer soup and talk about dreams.”

He wasn't slow. Aryl half smiled. “The Oud built a tunnel entrance near Sona, but we haven't seen one since the day I visited you. Haxel's impatient. She sent me looking.” Her smile faded. There was worse to tell him. Where to start? “The Tikitik have been around, too.”

“Tikitik?” Marcus' forehead creased. “Where!? Here? Close?”

She wasn't sure what qualified as “close” to the Human, so settled for, “It was with the Oud. I haven't seen one at this end of the valley, but they're hard to see against the stone. It was different from the Tikitik in the canopy. Gray, not black.”

“Chromatophores,”
he replied, one of his words. “Their skin change—changes—color. What did it want?”

Interesting. Slow-moving and tasty, an aspird could hide against any part of a rastis, changing its patterned back to match fronds crossed with shadow or the feathered texture of the stalk. Making the Tikitik more dangerous than ever.

“I don't know. It said the Oud were ‘precipitous.' Accused it of ‘misjudgment and haste.' And—” She hesitated. Marcus had learned to fear Tikitik. They'd attacked his aircar; his escape had left an uncounted number of them dead. And he'd seen what they'd done to Yena. The Oud, however? He had to work with them—was here alone with them. Maybe he needed the confidence of not-knowing.

“What else?”

She could hear Enris now. When had she believed ignorance was of any use? “Thought Traveler—the Tikitik—told me the Oud don't understand how fragile we are. That they think we're the same Om'ray who lived here, long ago.”

Marcus gave another of his nods, remarkably unconcerned. “Could be. Different
lifecycles
.” At her frown, he clarified, “Every
species
has its own way of living, of growing. Common problem in the Trade Pact. Confusion always. Rude to one, not to another. It can make for good jokes.”

She'd forgotten. He was accustomed to other races. More than she could imagine existed—or wanted to know about. Cersi's three were enough.

And there was nothing funny about this misunderstanding. “The Oud was attacked. Three deep cuts, here.” She indicated the slashes against her own side. “It died, Marcus, to come to us.”

“An
emmisarymurdered
?” She'd seen many expressions on the Human's face, so like an Om'ray's. She'd never seen outraged fury before. “The Tikitik?”

“I don't know. That's why I'm here. Your machine watched us leave and I—” She stopped. He was already in motion, tripping over a boot in his rush to one of the consoles.

Once there, his hands flew over the controls of the device. Aryl went to stand by his shoulder, silent as he worked. An image of the valley appeared on the screen, from above. A perspective she usually enjoyed; now all she felt was impatience. Had it seen the attack?

The display soared over the barren nekis, over the hill of debris, swooped lower as it found and followed the road to Sona. And three figures, two staggering.

“I watched this
narrowfield
. To see you.” A tap of the control and the view expanded to the full width of the valley, as well as before and behind. The pace became quicker. The figures, much smaller, now moved their legs and arms at a ridiculous speed. Rock hunters appeared and rolled in pursuit with ominous—and unreal—haste, using the arched bridges, which she hadn't realized. Shadows slid past, as if Marcus hurried the sun as well. She swallowed, dizzy.

The Oud would have been ahead of them. This was where she'd picked up its track for the first time.

A bulge of dark at the rock face caught her eye, moving differently from the shadows cast by the sun. “Wait. There!” Aryl pointed and he pressed a control, stopping the image. “Can you look closer?”

It was like falling, the way he took them diving to the ground. She kept her eyes fixed on what she'd seen—or thought she'd seen. Larger, clearer, still confusing.

Marcus grunted. “Good. Watch.” The fall stopped. The bulge of dark was set in motion again, this time slowly.

It was the Oud, on its flat vehicle, emerging from the rock. “There's no tunnel,” she protested. Impossible she could have missed it—she'd been by that very spot five times now.

“Clever.” Marcus did something to the image and a doubled line appeared. “The opening is hidden from the road. Like this.” He leaned back and put his palms together, sliding them apart to leave a gap between. “The Oud came out behind a wall of rock. From the side, can't be seen.”

He let the vid play, but the vehicle and its passenger disappeared around the next bend. “Sorry I stopped recording,” the Human commented grimly.

Aryl gestured apology. “It's not your fault. I should have seen it.” She'd let herself pay more attention to Hoyon's complaints than to their surroundings, been too confident the only threat was what rolled and tumbled behind. Haxel would never have made that mistake. In the canopy, she wouldn't have.

Walking on the ground wasn't only boring; it dulled the senses. She'd be more careful from now on.

“We should—”

The lighting in the room flashed red, then blue, then back to normal.

“What was that?”

“Company.” Marcus tapped once more. The image on the screen was replaced by a view she recognized, behind the stranger encampment, over the tracks made by the Oud.

A pair of their vehicles were approaching.

“Good!” The Human swept their dishes into an empty—she hoped—crate and lowered the table and seats into the floor, as if he expected to entertain the enormous creatures here. An Oud couldn't possibly fit through his door, but Aryl didn't bother pointing this out. Marcus babbled at her as he gathered equipment and clothes, an excited flood of his words and hers. “They must have found something. I thought maybe yesterday, when they
penetratedthenextstratum,
but they didn't come then. I told Tyler—the other Triad First—when he
checkedin
. He thinks I'm wasting my time here, wants to send P'tr sit 'Nix to
retaskthestation
. I told him we should give the Oud a good chance to prove or—”

“Marcus,” Aryl interrupted.

He stopped, one arm in his coat, and gave her an abashed look. “Sorry. I've been here too many days, waiting for access to their site—”

Passion, if no common sense. “That may not be why they're coming,” she said gently. “Remember the dead Oud?”

Offense. “I had nothing to do with that.”

“No, but they could have seen me arrive.” She hadn't, Aryl thought with disgust, used any stealth in her approach. She'd been more concerned with soup.

Not that she knew how to hide from what lived underground. Haxel, who assumed the worst as a habit, thought the Oud could feel footsteps over their heads, the way an Om'ray heard footsteps or rain on a roof.

“If true…Aryl, you should leave. Now.” Pulling on his coat, Marcus went to the door and threw it open, gesturing wildly. “Hurry!”

“Not a good idea,” Aryl told him, pulling out the pendant.

Through the open door, she could see what the Human hadn't.

Coming through the nekis grove were five Tikitik.

M
ARCUS CLOSED THE DOOR, fingers flying over a panel beside it.
“Securityfield. Autodefense,”
he explained as he sagged, his back to the wall. “Safe.”

She shouldn't have told him about the dead Oud. “Safe doesn't accomplish much. I'll talk to them.” Aryl held up her pendant again. “I'm Sona's Speaker, permitted to converse with other races.” By the Agreement.

“Open the door?” She might have asked him to jump back into the waterfall. “No. Follow protocol. Make sure they have peaceful—are peaceful first. Talk over comlink.”

Which might work if just the Human was involved. Aryl didn't think the Oud or Tikitik would expect manners from the strangers. But they had to know she was here—it was too much of a coincidence. Interesting, that the stranger illusion hadn't fooled them.

She gestured apology, but took a step toward the door. “Trust me to know my own world. You can wait here. I'll be safe.”

“Saw that on Oud.” Marcus pointed at the pendant. “Not protect it.”

He had her there.

“You can leave,” she insisted. “These are my neighbors. I have to live with them. Let me outside.”

“Stubborn.”

She shrugged. “Please, Marcus.”

“I'm coming with you.”

With that, he straightened his pretend-Om'ray clothing though, having sensibly abandoned his Yena leg wraps for stranger-trousers, she doubted the result would fool even an eyeless Oud. A couple of devices she didn't recognize went into the pockets of his Grona-like coat; his stony expression didn't invite argument. “This is not a good idea,” was all he said as he turned off whatever he'd done to the door and opened it.

It wasn't as though she had a choice.

They stepped out, Marcus turning to lock the door behind him. Protecting his secrets, she thought, and approved.

Tiny snowdrops sparkled in the air, though the sun shone down. The waterfall's spray, she realized with a shock. It glistened on the nekis. Closer to the pit, it was likely forming ice. A new and serious problem for those assigned to bring water to the village.

One thing at a time. Aryl walked forward to the center of the open space. She stopped, Marcus beside her. “We see you,” she told the Tikitik.

The snapping of stalks announced the arrival of the Oud vehicles. They drove between one of the stranger-buildings and the edge of the grove, lurching from side to side, knocking flat whatever was in their way. One scraped a corner as it turned to join them; the illusion on that section of wall flickered, then turned white. The Tikitik gave their guttural bark, clearly entertained.

Marcus tensed, ready to protest. She dug an elbow into his ribs and whispered. “Fix it later.”

Five Tikitik—none with familiar symbols on their wrist cloths. They were gray, as Thought Traveler had been, but there the resemblance ended. Instead of a band of fabric about their narrow hips, these wore a tunic-like garment, white and inked in black with straight lines that came together at angles. If she stared at the pattern for long, it hurt her eyes. They'd inked or painted their faces as well. Circles of black around the base of their eye cones. Dots of the same color made a line from their mouths, along the side of their long faces, and continued up the curved necks to the shoulders.

The centermost bore a Speaker's Pendant affixed to a band of cloth. The others were armed with the hooked blades, this time on the ends of long wooden staffs. No sacks or bags. Not, she decided, here to trade.

The Oud, one per vehicle, stopped side by side. They might have been the two she'd already met, for all the differences between them. Whirr/clicks settled to the stone, some on snow.

“We see you,” Aryl repeated, though sure they'd all heard.

“Sona.” An acknowledgment from the Tikitik Speaker, who took a quick step ahead of its fellows. “We have come with a serious complaint against these Oud.”

The Oud closest to the building reared on its platform, dust and snow slipping from the fabric of its cloak. Limbs moved in a wave, bringing forth a Speaker's Pendant. “Decide other.”

Was this a request or order? To her or at the Tikitik?

“They defile the Makers!” Its mouth protuberances writhed, and one hand clawed the air toward the cliff. She was glad to have it out of sight, Aryl thought. “They do not belong here. Sona is Tikitik! Tell them so, Speaker.”

The Oud held its ground. “Decide other.”

Aryl looked from one to the other. “What is going on here?” she demanded.

“These intrude where they are not welcome.” The Tikitik lowered its head, smaller eyes on the Oud, larger on her. “They disturb the remains of the Makers, seeking what was never meant for us. It is Forbidden by the Agreement—”

“NOTNOTNOT!” The Oud reared higher in emphasis, lashing from side to side. The vehicle tilted and groaned beneath. “Agreement, keep us! Goodgoodgood. Tikitik bad. Tikitik leave!”

“We will not. Sona is ours, you stupid lump of flesh!” The Speaker's fellows hissed and raised their weapons over their heads. The second Oud reared, limbs flailing violently.

This wasn't good.

Marcus touched the back of her hand. She turned hers, wove her fingers with his. Steady, she wanted to
send
to him. Trust me. Wait. All she could do was hope he understood her tight grip.

“The Agreement demands clarity in all conversation between the races on Cersi,” Aryl said loudly, in her best imitation of her mother's stern tone. “What do you mean, Sona is yours?”

The Tikitik Speaker bobbed its head twice. “Before the Oud took interest in what they shouldn't, this valley was home to Tikitik as well as Om'ray. But they are insatiable, Sona Speaker. First metal from the ground. Water. Now this unlawful search. It is our duty to protect the Makers' Rest!”

“Makers, not! Tikitik fool.”

She winced inwardly. The Oud wasn't helping, especially if the painted Tikitik were of a faction who believed Cersi and all upon it had been created for their benefit by powerful beings. In the version she'd heard, the Makers lived in the Moons, to this day toiling to repair their mistakes—which happened to be the Om'ray and Oud.

At least in this one, the Makers didn't appear to be active participants.

The Tikitik had been Sona's neighbors? That explained the wood construction, as well as the nekis and a water system to nurture a variety of plants unfamiliar to the Grona.

She didn't want them now. “The Agreement is to keep our world at peace and in balance.” If only Taisal could hear her, spouting what she'd overheard during those long and boring night conversations.

The Oud settled. “Peace. Goodgoodgood.” The Speaker waggled its pendant with each “good.”

A pendant that had come from a corpse.

As had hers, Aryl reminded herself. What mattered was now and here.

The Tikitik had lowered their weapons; all eyes but two were on the Oud. “Where's the balance?” demanded their Speaker, staring at her. “Do you speak for a Clan?” Its barking laugh. “Those pitiful few Om'ray? This valley is ours.”

“We are a Clan.” She bristled, pulling her hand from Marcus'. “And this is our home, not yours, Tikitik.”

“Decide other,” the Oud concluded in a smug clatter of limbs. “Few. Less. More soon.”

More what? More Om'ray? “What do you—”

“No!” the Tikitik shouted. “This is unacceptable. We will tolerate no more change. We stand by the Agreement. The Oud must go. This—” with a disdainful eye flick at Marcus, “—must go.”

Aryl stepped in front of the Human, sweeping him back with one strong arm as he tried to stay beside her. “You are not welcome here,” she said firmly.

“Tikitik, bad!”

Weapons flashed in the sun. As Aryl grabbed for her own knife, the ground erupted. She lost her footing and fell with Marcus, twisting to see.

The Tikitik had time to do nothing but scream. Aryl wasn't sure if they were pulled down or if the ground became a liquid and they sank below its surface.

Her legs…they were sinking, too! “No! Stop!” The Oud didn't know how fragile they were. Sona Om'ray had died like this. She flung out her arms, tried to stay above ground. Dirt entered her mouth and she spat, fighting to breathe.

“Aryl!” Marcus tried to pull her free. He plunged suddenly to his waist in the moving stone and dirt, dropped with a second jerk to his shoulders. She held his hands. Looked into his desperate eyes…

…and concentrated. The swirling madness of the M'hir felt comforting by comparison…she
pushed
…

…and collapsed on the floor with the Human, surrounded by crates.

 

“Teleportation.”

They'd almost died, Aryl thought wryly, and Marcus was grinning so widely it had to hurt his jaw.

“Teleportation!”

His language had a word for what she could do. Somehow, that wasn't a comfort. She leaned against the door, peering through one of its rectangular windows. The Oud were laying on their vehicles; in front of them an oval of dirt, slightly sunken and too level, to mark where the Tikitik had been.

Where they'd been.

She supposed the Oud might have stopped in time, might have realized they were about to kill the two beings they wanted. “Might” being the word. She hadn't been willing to risk their lives. To be buried alive? She didn't wish that on anyone, even the Tikitik.

She'd
tasted
no one. She hadn't tried, too busy surviving. Desperation indeed.

Could Taisal still know what she'd done? Did such a quick—was trip the word?—through the M'hir leave a trail, like tracks in snow? Or was it more like stepping through water, where the current washed away any trace?

And what about the Human…did he leave a
taste
? Her mind shied away from that disaster.

Though so much for all the warnings about using Power near the Oud. Unless the M'hir was something different…

“Aryl. We have to talk about this. Before others come.”

She turned from the window, brushing dust from her clothes.

His eyes were fever bright. “Can all Om'ray do it?
'Port
yourselves?”

Haxel would slit his throat.

She should.

Instead, Aryl sat beside the Human on his pulled-out bed, both of them filthy and shedding half-frozen grit, and sighed. “Just me. I don't know if anyone else can learn how. I've only done it three times. No one else knows. Except you and Enris.” And Haxel, a name she wasn't going to mention.

“And the Grona.” Anger deepened his voice. “That was what I saw. They tried to make you show them.”

She almost smiled. Never underestimate him. “That's why they came,” she admitted. “Don't worry,” she said with a companionable lean into his shoulder, “they can't make me do anything. I'm stronger.”

“And telepath. All Om'ray telepathic.” With total conviction.

“Yes.”

“I thought so. Geoscanner. Om'ray don't say enough words out loud, not like Human.” When concerned about her reaction to something, Marcus had a way of ducking his head, then turning it to gaze up at her. “A feeling, too. I feel I know you always. Been friends always. Did you do this to me, Aryl Sarc? Make me feel your friend? Use influence?”

She stared at him, realized her mouth was open and closed it. Myris could affect the emotion of a moment, but not the underlying feeling. Not for long. The mere idea was sickening. Tamper with another's mind? Violate who and what they were? From childhood, Om'ray were taught to protect the privacy of their innermost thoughts, not from fear of those being controlled by someone else, but to be an individual within the whole.

If this “influence” was something telepaths in the Trade Pact did to those unable to shield their minds, how could they be trusted? How could anyone?

Her stunned silence apparently reassured him. “Had to ask,” he said cryptically, then patted her knee. “Now. We must hurry.” He drew in a deep breath, then let it out, rising to his feet. “Listen to me, Aryl. No one else in the Trade Pact can know what you do. No one. I'll take care of the vid record. You be careful. Don't show this to anyone else. Don't do it where ‘eyes' could record. I'll never tell. Promise!”

“What about Kelly, your Chosen?” Her own nightmare. Choice couldn't be denied—and her selection of eligible unChosen included Kran Caraat. If he learned about Marcus now…

His head gave an emphatic shake. “Never. She can't know. Too dangerous.
Interrogation. Mindcrawlers.
” This last with a troubled look. “Are my thoughts easy to see? Can you see them? Any Om'ray?”

“You aren't
real
—” Before he took that as reassurance, Aryl went on, owing him the truth. “You don't
send
beyond yourself. Your thoughts don't leave your mind,” she explained. “Some Om'ray are like that. To talk mind to mind, they must touch.” Only the less powerful, but she didn't think he needed to know that.

“If you touch me?” he asked quickly, perhaps remembering how she'd taken his hand. “Then you see my thoughts?”

“I can sense how you feel. That's how I knew you meant me no harm the first time you wanted to use the bioscanner.” As he considered that, from the rosy glow on his cheeks wondering what else she might have detected, she smiled. “But you think in your words, Marcus. None of us understand those.”

If she went into his memories, there were images she could understand. That was the danger. She'd sensed his growing discomfort at her
search
and stopped at once. But if Haxel or another with Power wanted his secrets?

They wouldn't hesitate, no matter the damage it caused him or pain.

Unaware of the dark turn of her thoughts, the Human looked relieved. “That's good,” he replied. “
Offworld
problem for later. For now, Om'ray safe.”