Riders of the Storm (45 page)

If so, how had they forgotten such ability…?

At the top of the dam, the Tikitik—who climbed better than a Yena, and certainly better than he—squatted comfortably. Enris thought of climbing the dam elsewhere, but it was too much work. And would amuse the creature anyway.

As he neared the top, the head swung on its curved neck to regard him past a bent leg, all eyes fixed. “Where will you go now, Tuana?” One clawed hand stretched out and slowly closed, as if to grasp the world. “Show me your path.”

Enris stepped up and past it, every breath leaving plumes in the cold clear air, tiny clouds above an abyss.

For that's what he faced.

A landscape that couldn't exist. No matter how he strained, there were no Om'ray before him, yet his eyes showed him an expanse that began far below, a rolling mauve plain scratched by frozen ponds, immense beyond belief. It ended at the sky, or was the sky's end.

Impossibly empty.

He found himself sitting beside the Tikitik, hands braced against the rock, as if another step forward would be his last.

“Will you venture forth, Om'ray?” Thought Traveler asked. “Or will you stay where your perceptions guide you? Do you have a choice? I have always wondered what would happen if one of you went beyond your limit. Would you fall to the ground and whimper, disoriented and lost? Or would you adapt? Could you? I do enjoy a puzzle.”

Enris didn't attempt to answer. “Is there more?” His voice sounded strange. “More to the world than this?”

“An excellent question. Are you sure you can bear the answer? You seem upset.”

As if it hadn't intended that very result. As if it didn't watch him for every reaction, every flinch, and savor them all.

He'd learned of other worlds, other suns, other races. He'd learned there was a before, that life had been different from now.

Enris managed to laugh. “Been a while since supper,” he told the creature. “So tell me, Thought Traveler. I'm curious. What is it you don't think I can bear to know?”

“That the entire universe of the Om'ray is nothing more than a speck upon Cersi. If you flew over it in the grasp of an esan until it fell dead from the sky, you would not reach its end. That if you stood upon one of the Makers and looked down on this world, you would see the mighty works of Tikitik and of Oud, and be sure only two races lived here.”

Wrapping his hands around a knee, Enris leaned back and gazed at the Tikitik, who stared back with all four eyes. “If we are so insignificant,” he said at last, “why does the Agreement include us?”

It surged to its feet with such abrupt violence Enris reached for his knife. But Thought Traveler only stood still, looking down at him. Its head bobbed twice. “The best question of all,” it acknowledged—he thought grudgingly—then barked its laugh. “Stay alive if you can, Enris Mendolar. I enjoy our conversations.”

A familiar scream filled the air and Enris ducked as an esan swooped low. Rather than snatch the Tikitik, the huge beast hovered, wing beats pummeling the Tuana with blasts of cold, dust-filled air, while Thought Traveler stepped into a basket suspended between the claws of the midlegs.

The esan dropped below the dam, all four wings rigid. Had it crashed? Enris jumped to his feet, only to stagger back as the creature reappeared, wings now vibrating. As the basket with the Tikitik rose in front of him, the creature leaned out and shouted, the words barely audible over wind and wing.

“Don't go home!”

 

If the world of the Om'ray was a mere speck, why did it take so long to get anywhere?

Enris laughed at his own joke, then stopped. Not that his prey appeared to be disturbed by the sound, but it wasn't healthy to laugh too much alone. Not when he'd gone the best part of a day without food or drink. Not when he'd been walking in circles trying to find a path to—

Anywhere. Rayna was closest. Rayna would do. There was the small problem of an unclimbable ridge tall enough to pierce the clouds and the other small problem of the storm those clouds were carrying in his direction. And the other small problem of no shelter or vegetation to burn for heat, but…

He did have rocks.

And once he found one that was edible…he turned over the next in the pile. No opening. He tossed it aside and picked up another.

Ah. The work of an instant to shove his knife tip into the slender crack and twist it to break the Hard One apart. It wasn't neat or efficient. Enris had to pinch his nose as the creature wheezed and died in a mass of goo.

If Thought Traveler hadn't lied to him, the blue bit was what he should—or was it could?—eat. Enris poked with the knife till he found it. With a resigned shrug, he popped the lump of flesh into his mouth and chewed. Moist. That was good. As for taste? He swallowed quickly, then spat.

If it didn't kill him, he didn't care.

The corpse enticed others from their protective stillness. He waited to gather the smallest, then retreated as a boulder half his size rolled ominously close.

No need to be greedy.

He felt remarkably at peace—after all, what faced him was simply walking, albeit a great deal of it. Walking was easy, mindless. No problems to consider, no great decisions to make. Having found food, he should—

DANGER!!!

Enris dropped the rocks and pressed his hands to his head, half stunned by the power of that sending. “What—?”

DANGER!

PAINPAINPAIN

Tuana.

His family.

Without hesitation, without fear, Enris Mendolar threw himself into the M'hir, knowing only where he had to be…

It was like falling, inevitable, powerful, swift—like being caught by a flood and washed down a mountain—it was…

…home.

 

Enris choked on fumes, strained to see through heavy smoke, moved only to bump into something hard. His hands groped, knew what they found.

Home. His workbench. But why the smoke? Was it the melting vat? “Father?” he shouted,
reached
at the same time.
I'm here!

“Enris?! Look out!”

The floor split underneath and the bench hurtled away. Enris staggered but stayed on his feet.

UP!!! THIS WAY!

DANGER!

PAIN!

FEARFEAR!!!

The floor continued to move!

Enris…this way…

Coughing, he fought to
hear
that one sending among many. Everyone in Tuana was terrified, fear and pain flooding over any words. This wasn't just happening under the shop. Not daring to believe what was happening, Enris fumbled his way forward, what he touched made strange, until he found a wall and its shelves. He climbed—anything to get away from the floor.

The ceiling was no longer there. The smoke was less. He made out forms, four, clinging together on what remained of the swaying roof. Knew them. Jumped and grabbed and forced his way across the slanted, broken beams and wood to them.

Worin. Sobbing, mind numb. Enris swept his little brother into his arms, felt his body for injury even as he sent
encouragement.

His father. Jorg gripped his arm, pulled them both close.
Bad time to come home.
But beneath the words, an outpouring of
love
and
relief
.

Yuhas and Caynen. No doubt who'd thought of the roof as an escape route. Enris freed one arm to press his hand to the Yena's wide shoulder.
Thank you.

We're not safe yet.
Fierce and angry.
Why are they attacking!?

Attacking? Enris looked past Worin's head, aghast at what he saw. Buildings were tipping, sinking into the ground. Om'ray ran into the street, only to sink beneath its surface before they could scream. Wood snapped, brick crumpled, metal screamed. “The Oud—” This was Sona—

“They're reshaping under everything!” his father shouted. “The village! The fields!”

“We should get the device—what the Oud left us—” Enris looked wildly for a way back down, not that there was any way to know where the cupboard had been. “Give it to them!”

“No. No.” Jorg shook him. “The Oud came for it the day you left. That's not why they're doing this. No one knows why. We have to run—” His hurried voice changed, became the gentlest, most terrible sound of all. “Ridersel…”

MOTHER! WHERE ARE YOU?!!!
Worin struggled in his hold, frantic.
MOTHER!!

Yuhas moved before Enris could think, catching Jorg before his now-limp body could fall off the roof. He brushed the older Chosen's hair from his forehead, then looked up at Enris, his grim expression saying what Enris could already feel.

There was no mind there. Or life. Jorg had followed his Chosen.

There was, he realized numbly, no life anywhere but here. The sounds continued, but only of wood, brick, and metal. There were no more screams, no more sendings. Building after building was being consumed. Only the Cloisters still stood, bright and gleaming, while the ground slapped at its base and shattered its stair.

Worin gasped for breath.

What had the Adepts done to save Tuana?

Locked their doors.

“Come on,” Enris said, rising to his feet, swaying to balance. “We're leaving.”

“And go where?” Yuhas had his arm around his Chosen; Caynen's eyes were wide with fear, but she hadn't panicked.

The grief would hit them all later, Enris thought.

“Take hold of me,” he told them. “Don't let go.”

He didn't allow himself to doubt, not when the roof shuddered, not when they were a heartbeat from death.

Where would be safe?

Nowhere at the mercy of Oud. Not Grona. Not—Sona.

The Yena he knew had been a burned remnant. He couldn't trust that memory to be the same, couldn't trust the Yena themselves to welcome him back.

Not Vyna.

Somewhere they stood a chance.

Enris closed his eyes, calmed his thoughts, and concentrated on the stranger camp. A ramp led to ancient buildings, uncovered from stone. Low white buildings, all the same. He kept building on the image, imagined it in daylight, remembered the smell of that air, the feel of the ground.

Then
pushed
…

…The M'hir remembered him, sang to him, tried to distract. He clung to the others, held them despite their fear—they were four, they must stay four—as strongly as he clung to the image of
where
they had to be…

…it wasn't working. The M'hir tossed him aside, toyed with him. He lost sight, if sight was what he had, of the stranger camp. He tried to find another way out, strength bleeding from every pore, his sense of those in his care slipping away…

NO!

…There. Enris
touched
a path of less resistance, as if
here
the M'hir was tamer, more compliant. Desperate now, he
followed…

…and felt the world against his feet again.

Worin was a dead weight in his arms. Yuhas, Caynen. They were all here…He shuddered with relief.

But where was here?

Dark. No. Not dark.

Glowing eyes looked back at him from every side, small and red. Some green. One winking blue. Enris gripped his knife, knew Yuhas was ready. Was it the swarm? Had he brought them from one death to another?

But it wasn't truenight…

Suddenly, it was bright. He squinted. Something moved, and Yuhas pounced on it. The something squeaked in protest.

Then a familiar voice exclaimed, “Enris!” and Marcus Bowman beamed at him past the arm Yuhas had wrapped around his neck. “You can do it, too?”

D
ANGER DANGER…DEATH!!!!

“NO!!!” Aryl heard the shout, realizing it was hers only after Naryn and Morla whirled to stare at her.

Horror filled their faces as they
heard
the sendings too. “Aryl—what—who?”

“Tuana.” Naryn gripped the table, pulled herself upright. “It's Tuana!”

Carts. They'd been talking about Tuana's carts. Ziba had just gone to find Stryn Licor, whose family built carts. While they'd waited with Morla. While she'd introduced Naryn to Oswa and little Yao. While they'd smiled shy smiles.

DANGER!!
cracked that peace. Voices shouted, in the meeting hall, outside; inwardly, their own sendings of shock and apprehension reverberated mind-to-mind. The exiles, through this before, were quickest to react. A bleak undertone of
fear
began to spread.

Something had to be done. Tightening her shields, Aryl concentrated and plunged into the M'hir, driving into every mind nearby.
PEACE!
a command, with all her strength.
You are safe. Sona is safe,
more gently, but not letting any elude her.
The sendings are from Tuana. Peace.

Even as she felt Sona's fear subside, even as Oswa stared at her with tear-filled eyes, the drumbeats of
DANGERDANGER
ceased.

Oh, no. It couldn't be.

The world
shifted
toward Sona. Her awareness of
place,
her existence relative to every other Om'ray,
shifted
with it.

Everyone cried out, staggered. Someone fell.

Only Yao sat still, unaffected. She steadied her mother.

Unable to credit her sense, Aryl
reached
for Tuana and found its glow of Om'ray all but gone. A few glimmers, clustered together, their combined pull no more than Yena's. To her inner sense, Rayna was Cersi's new center, bounded by Pana, Grona, and Sona to the sun's rest, Amna and Pana to its rise. Vyna, as always, alone and beyond.

Naryn raised her head. Her eyes were huge and confused. “Where did we go? There were over six hundred of us.” Morla tried to make her sit; the other pulled away and stood straighter. “Where did we go?”

Into the ground that had tried to swallow her. That had drowned the Tikitik. That had destroyed Sona…

“We don't know yet,” Aryl said aloud. It was easier to lie with words. “We need to get everyone together.” They were all running here, to be together. To be with her.

A grip on her arm. “Go,” Haxel ordered grimly. “Find any survivors. I'll look after Sona.”

“I've never been there—”

“Find a way. Go!”

She was right. Aryl didn't hesitate. She dove for her boots. Her hands knew what to do with them; her mind didn't have room to wonder why she needed them.

Her hands broke a fastener. Enris. He would have felt this, no matter how far away—

“Enris.”

The bizarre echo stopped her cold. Had the others noticed?

“Aryl?” Yao leaned over to tug her coat. “Your pocket's talking.”

So much for secrecy. Aryl pulled out the geoscanner, noticing almost in passing that its symbol was green—no Oud active nearby. Enris? Without thought she
reached
. Before she found Tuana, she found four Om'ray where none had been, where none should be. Near Sona's Cloisters.

One, beyond doubt, Enris Mendolar.

With Marcus?

They hadn't, she thought numbly, been there a moment ago. He'd learned to use the M'hir. But why go to the Human?

Marcus had said the word to get her immediate attention. She raised the 'scanner, wondering what she could possibly reply, then thumbed it off and replaced it in her pocket.

“What was that?” Naryn. Who, Aryl realized, didn't know the Strangers existed, or that Cersi was one of many worlds.

That wasn't her problem now.

Everything else was.

Sona poured in, those who had been Grona, Tuana, and Yena gathering in confusion and fear. Bern held Oran, called Aryl's name. Haxel shouted over the din, “Go!”

“Naryn, help your people.”

“You're going to the tunnel—” the Tuana guessed, grabbing her own coat. “Take me with you. If this was the Oud—I have to know.”

There wasn't time to argue. Aryl threw herself out the door, into the snow. She closed her eyes and cleared her thoughts, entering the M'hir.

Easier, every time.

Easiest of all, to go where she'd been before, to go to who she most wanted to see, needed to see…

Aryl concentrated…

Someone seized her arm. She tried to pull out of the M'hir, to stop the 'port, but it was too late.

…she found herself, with Naryn, standing in the Human's shelter.

 

“I told you she would come.”

Marcus seemed to take Om'ray popping into sight in stride—that, or he was so glad to see her, he didn't care. “I'd been up all night. I was taking a nap.” With that odd greeting, he turned to a young Om'ray lying on his bed. The child was unconscious, his leg bent in too many places. The Human began assembling his gear, muttering something in his words.

Trusting he knew what to do, Aryl looked to the others.

Who were staring at Naryn, who stared back, as if she hadn't seen the Human or their surroundings at all.

Yuhas Parth. A welcome surprise. With his Chosen.

And Enris Mendolar.

A storm gathered around him, in him. She could
taste
it, despite his shields. All the Tuana were bloody and covered in soot. The Human's white furnishings and floor were streaked red and black, marks of Om'ray tragedy. Enris stood among it all, larger than life, grimmer than death. “You.”

“Enris.” Naryn lifted her head. Her net had come loose; locks of hair rose to frame her pale face in red.

“Why aren't you dead?” His tone was almost conversational. Almost. Aryl could envy the Human, deaf and blind to the terrible
hate
Enris allowed to spill from his mind. “Why are you here and not dead?”

The color left Naryn's cheeks but she didn't flinch or look away. “We didn't know,” a broken whisper. “The Oud found us in the tunnels—”

“The tunnels?” Yuhas' Chosen choked on the words. “You tres—you did this? You brought the Oud down on us?” She threw herself at Naryn. Yuhas caught her by the shoulders, grabbed her tight; she collapsed, sobbing, in his arms. His hand dropped to his belt, as if hunting a knife that should be there.

“So it was your fault.” Enris was too calm. Blood seeped down his neck from deep scratches along his cheek and jaw. Aryl doubted he knew they were there. “So you're to blame, Naryn S'udlaat.”

“Stop it,” she told him, told them. This wasn't right. They were Om'ray, Tuana. They should have been glad to know they'd all survived, not snarling like scavengers over ripe carrion. There'd be time for accusations and guilt—and grief—once she was sure Sona was safe. “The Oud attacked Tuana?”

Enris frowned as he finally looked at her, as if he didn't remember who she was. “The Oud. A reshaping,” he said, cold and flat. “Everything and everyone above ground is gone. Except the Cloisters.”

“We should go, bring back any more survivors—”

His mouth twisted. “The Adepts are safe where they are, and those with them. There's no one else.”

Bile rose in her throat.

“What do you mean, Enris?” Marcus demanded. He half stood, one hand touching the child as if he couldn't bear to leave him, his expression desperate and afraid. “Oud coming here? Hurt us next?”

Not if she could help it.

Aryl brought out her Speaker's Pendant. “Marcus, can you call them, bring them to talk to me?”

“Yes, but—”

NO!

His sending hurt; she didn't let him see it. Instead, Aryl raised an eyebrow and said coolly, “You've been away, Enris Mendolar. Things have changed.”

His look to the Human and back at her was deliberate. The way his eyes then locked on Naryn and his hands became fists was not.

“Call the Oud,” Aryl told Marcus.

 

The child, Worin Mendolar, was awake and struggling to sit before the warning lights flickered red and blue. “You don't move,” Marcus told him. “The
regenerationcycle
takes time. Your leg will be fixed soon.”

How a machine that looked like a tube with bumps could repair a broken bone, Aryl couldn't imagine, but she had no trouble believing the Human. Nor did Enris, whose face showed its first glimmer of normalcy as he knelt by his brother and held him still. “Listen to Marcus,” he said gently. “He's a friend. You can trust him.”

“But—he's not-
real
.” Worin cried with an anguished effort to squirm free.

“Be still, Worin.”

“The child's right.” Yuhas and his Chosen, Caynen S'udlaat, had stayed as far from Marcus as the crowded room allowed. Naryn apparently didn't care. “It's not-Om'ray. Not-
real
!”

Before Aryl realized what Marcus intended, he held out his hand. “Real inside. See?”

Only good manners to touch an offered Om'ray's hand, to accept that private contact. For Worin to do it took courage. Enris immediately laid his over both, receiving a puzzled glance from the Human that quickly changed to a pained grimace.

“Sorry!” Worin pulled his hand free and gestured apology. “
Real
inside,” he agreed soberly. Almost a smile. “Kind. But different.”

“Should be,” Marcus managed to say. His hand was still within Enris' grasp. He didn't try to pull free, simply waited. And winced again.

What was Enris doing? Aryl started to object—

Which was when, with admirable timing, the lights went through their warning change.

Enris let go. “The Oud are here,” she said, almost relieved.

Yuhas pushed away from the counter. “I'm going with you.” Caynen blanched but offered no protest.

They'd played hide/seek together in the canopy. She knew his ability as he knew hers, knew and trusted his Yena reactions. But his life was not his alone to risk. “I need you to stay with the rest.”

Naryn wrapped her scarf around her neck, her hair sliding back and forth over her shoulders as if impatient. Marcus stared at it. Oh, he'd have questions about that later, Aryl thought.

If there was a later.

“Naryn—” she began.

“I want to hear for myself.”

Enris was at the door, looking out the window. Muscles worked along his jaw. Aryl remembered how she'd felt, seeing a Tikitik for the first time after their attack on Yena. It wasn't Om'ray to want to kill another being.

She wouldn't have minded the chance to watch one die. Then.

Now? The Agreement was about keeping the peace. There was no place for Om'ray to live, if that peace ended. They all knew the hard truth. Whatever had happened to Tuana, to Yena, to Sona mattered less than survival.

Maybe, Aryl thought wearily, this was why normal Om'ray only remembered those whose lives and memories they could still touch. To carry the dead into the future—how could peace endure their weight?

“I'm ready.” Marcus brushed at dirt on one sleeve. Dirt brought through the M'hir from Tuana, in a heartbeat. Was that more remarkable than dirt from this world, clinging to clothing from another? He caught her gaze and smiled. It wasn't a good smile. The Human was afraid, but would come with her. He could call for his people and leave this world and its troubles behind, but chose to come with her. Aryl found she could smile after all.

Until she realized Enris had watched this small exchange, watched and judged it, and now frowned at her.

Aryl found she liked that frown. UnChosen should pay attention. Should notice—

A hand brushed hers.
Control,
Naryn stressed.
Remember what I showed you. Now's not the time—unless you want to risk him refusing you, too.

Startled, she concentrated and strengthened the guard she'd learned, suppressing the desire she hadn't felt rising closer to her surface thoughts. Too close. The last thing she needed right now was to lose herself, be a Chooser.

It was, Aryl decided firmly, the very last thing Enris would want.

 

Three Oud on their vehicles. Three Om'ray.

One Human.

And a great deal of snow.

The storm was over, its clouds shredded by the mountain ridges. The sun, though low, transformed the landscape. Drifts pillowed every rise; glittering white blanketed the clearing. Unlikely rounds topped nekis stalks and the towering cliff might have been hung with gauze. At any other time, or company, the sight would have taken her breath away.

At least it covered where the Oud had killed the Tikitik. Enris didn't need to see it.

The snow, however, was its own challenge. The door opened easily enough, sliding to one side, but Aryl's first step sank until snow covered her knee. She sighed inwardly and thrust her other foot into the stuff, lurching ahead to take the next step.

So much for a bold, confident stride.

The Oud vehicles, predictably, had forced their way through, leaving dark trails of exposed ground behind them. Their fabric coverings bore a thick layer of white, as if they'd sat outside during the storm, though the clear domes over their front ends had been wiped clean.

Preparing for company?

Don't trust them.

Hearing Enris again she quite liked. Thinking her a fool? Surely he remembered better than that.
I'm the Speaker.

And would have fallen face first in the next instant if he hadn't grabbed her belt. She pulled her foot free—it had broken through some icy crust beneath the snow—and freed herself from his grip.

Annoying Tuana.

She shouldn't think of him as Tuana any more. She shouldn't think of herself as Yena. Those places, those Clans and families, their homes and shops, glows and tables and carpets and silly bits of nothing that filled cupboards and drawers until you tidied them only to find a reason to keep some of them still—all were gone from the world; to be forgotten, once no living memories remained.