Riders of the Storm (47 page)

Reading her expression, or guessing, Marcus squeezed her shoulders and gave her another, very gentle, shake. “Not important. Sorry, Aryl. What matters is what it means. The Oud need you. Value you. It's a place to start. Let me try again. Please. I want to help you. Help Enris. Help Sona.”

She still held the pendant. Aryl stared down at it, then, slowly, put it back around her neck. “You've already helped, Marcus, more than you know. Stay with Naryn.” She walked around him. “Speaker!”

The centermost Oud reared ever so slightly, then swayed in place. Had the disturbance affected them, too? “What is? Water want?”

Consistent creature.

Om'ray more, Oud more. She didn't understand why or how; she didn't care. Her heart began to pound. Why would it negotiate for the future of Sona, unless it needed one, too?

“We want water in the river,” Aryl said firmly. “Can you do that?”

“Can. Not all. Oud some.”

“Sona to have more than Oud.” That, for its ability to calculate. In case it thought she didn't know about the second emptied river.

The Oud rose a little more. “Yesyesyesyes. Oud some. Sona more than.”

Now for what was important. Aryl brought out the Human's geoscanner, the device that carried voices, too. The Oud stilled. “Sona is not like other Clans,” she told it. “We have friends who see into your tunnels. Friends who will warn us if you start to reshape beneath our feet.” Not that she knew Marcus could, but neither did the Oud. They had to respect the Strangers' more advanced technology. “If you do, we will leave.”

“Not go! Not go!” The Speaker flailed its pendant. “Agreement stands. Oud not reshape village. Oud not reshape fields. Om'ray grow. Om'ray more than. Oud more than. Goodgoodgoodgood!”

Not good enough. “You will not tunnel under us,” Aryl insisted. “You'll remove the tunnels you put there. Without—” she added hastily, “—damaging the surface.”

A considering pause. “Oud stay. Fix bridge.”

It was negotiating.

Keeping her voice calm, Aryl made her own offer. “We don't need the bridge. You can stay here. Hunt for the Hoveny. The Makers.” She gestured toward the cliff excavation, then to her feet. “You will not tunnel under us.”

“Oud stay here. Sona Speaker stay here.”

About to object, forcefully, Aryl swallowed. By the Agreement, the two Speakers had to meet and talk.

She smiled her mother's smile. “I stay with my people.” She held up the geoscanner. “The Triad First can contact me for you. I'll come here.”

“Goodgoodgoodgood.” The Oud dropped flat. The three vehicles backed and bounced away, retracing the scar they'd left in the snow.

Aryl held her breath until they were out of sight, then let it out in a ragged sigh. “No bridge.” But so much more, if she was right. Safety. The Oud out from underneath. A chance to recover. Water.

Life.

Marcus patted her shoulder. “Did your best. Fine job. I'll check on the child. Get warm.” His exaggerated shiver turned into a real one.

She watched him stagger through the snow, trying to use Enris' deeper footprints though his stride wasn't long enough. “You should go inside, Naryn,” she suggested, turning to the other. She wasn't ready to join the rest. Her hands trembled as she tucked the pendant inside her coat, but it wasn't the cold.

Now we know.
The sending was emotionless; Naryn's hair lay flat, like ribbons of blood.
The Oud killed the Tuana Om'ray because you wanted to stay here. They will let the rest of us live because you've promised we'll stay.

Aryl accepted the guilt, drew it deep inside.
Yes.

When the others know, they'll hate you more than Enris hates me. Are you prepared for that? Are you prepared for his hate?

“My people will understand—” she whispered. As for Enris…

“Understand what? Your ability to
push
yourself and others through space? How you've included that—that
thing
in dealings between Speakers? Why you took it on yourself to set the terms for all our lives?” The words were harsh, but Naryn's eyes swam with compassion. “I understand, Aryl. I do. We're the same. I know what it is to be set apart by my Power, by what I've done. And you've done what's right. I believe in you. Those of greater Power must care for those of less. We must use our abilities to lead. But there's a price.”

“I don't want to lead—I never have.”

I have always been drawn to Power.
An undertone of deep
affection. I've always known who possessed strength. You are the most powerful Om'ray I have ever sensed, Aryl Sarc, heart-kin. Let me help with your burden. With your Choice. Only the most powerful Candidate is fit for your Choice. Enris must be yours.

“No!” To what, Aryl didn't know. Confusion warred with desire. She had to think, to know what was right, to know what to say to her people. Enris…his family had just died. How could she feel…how could she want…“No,” this more calmly. “There's time—time for any of that. We have to meet. Explain. Help.”

“It won't be an easy Choice. He could refuse you.”

Something Naryn knew from experience. His refusal had cost her everything, including her life and that of her unborn, if they couldn't find a way to sever that link.

“No.”

“He's the only one you want. The one you trust.” Soft. Implacable. “The one who knows you. Who better?”

This wasn't how it was supposed to be. How she was supposed to be. Cold. Alone. Afraid.

Her people loved her. They wouldn't hate her. They couldn't. They'd understand.

Enris was her friend. He couldn't hurt her. When he was healed, happy again, he'd…

She could wait…she had to wait…

A wisp of hair slipped across her forehead, every strand a separate sensation. The chill of her toes and fingertips burned with sudden fire. Her next breath carved a channel through her throat and body, intricate and deep.

Not here. Not now. Aryl, wait!
The dark centers of Naryn's eyes reflected the snow.
He won't accept you now. We have to prepare, be ready. You could both fail. Hold on.

“I'm trying…” A hoarse, futile whisper. Aryl dropped to her knees, her hands buried in the cold, cold unable to stop the heat rising inside her. The
DESIRE!

“Aryl?”

His voice.

NO!
She threw herself away from him, from everything, launching herself into the M'hir, seeking safety, seeking control. Aryl
pushed…

…and found herself on a wide branch, gazing out over the canopy.

T
HE CANOPY'S GREEN AND BROWN made a living carpet, flowing to the mighty rastis of the Sarc grove. Flocks of flitters wheeled below; lingering clouds covered the sun. Slapping a biter, Aryl drew a deep breath of air that was as air should be: moist and warm and full of fragrance. The last time she'd been here, it had been with young Joyn, sailing fiches. Before running from the strangers.

She'd removed her Sona outercoat, willing to sweat in the inner. The rains might be over for the day, but that only made the biters worse. Her knife was free and in her hand, having just dealt with an overly bold stinger. Home, she thought, taking another deep breath.

Daughter.
Taisal's greeting held an undertone of
threat.

Home, indeed.
Mother
, Aryl acknowledged, her reply through the M'hir holding them together.
Are you well?

You shouldn't be here.

I'll leave soon.
Before firstnight. She had no interest in feeding the canopy's hunters. Until then…Aryl feasted her eyes on what was, beyond doubt, the most beautiful part of Cersi.

There are none for your Choice in Yena.

Which wasn't true. Aryl's inner sense had found two, from their direction both inside the Yena Cloisters, but she didn't argue.
Haven't the Tikitik rebuilt the village?

We are patient.

They were prisoners. Aryl kept in her pity. Taisal and the others had picked their path. Still…

Tuana. Sona. Do you know what's happened?

I know what you've done.
Fury mixed with fear.
All of it. Did you think you could change the face of the world and no one would die?

How old was the grove? Aryl wondered for the first time. How many times had it been destroyed and regrown? How many times had Yena been Oud, then Tikitik, then Oud…with Om'ray lives the cost?

Do you think we can leave the world as it is, Mother,
she sent,
and live?

Taisal listened. She knew it. And heard. The M'hir eased between them, if only slightly.
We do what we must for our people.

Yes.
Her people. Aryl thought of them all, pictured each of the Yena exiles for her mother.
They've done well.

Too well, she realized suddenly. There couldn't have been a better group to bring Sona back to life. Beyond their Talent and Power, they had all the knowledge they needed, the strength and courage and drive to take any challenge, even a Birth Watcher. Given a chance, nothing would stop them, if they were together.

Her sense of Taisal faded, as if her mother had followed that thought and tried now to slip away. Aryl sent Power through their link to hold it.

How did you pick us, Mother? It wasn't just those with Forbidden Talent. How did you decide who to exile?

Taisal fought free, began to vanish. But then, ever-so-faint, came her answer.

We dreamed.

 

The branch on which she sat was larger and stronger than any of the stalks grown at Sona, the nekis itself a mountain by comparison. A frond from the neighboring rastis crossed over her head, seeking light. As for light…it was time. Standing on her toes, Aryl ran her fingers along the soft gray down of its underside. A farewell.

The branch swayed and she staggered to regain her balance. The thick Sona boots.

She bent to take them off.

“Won't you need those?”

Enris. Suddenly
there,
in front of her. Like turning on a glow in the dark.

He glanced down and sat quickly, hands grabbing hold of the branch. “Why did I think cliffs were bad?”

Aryl frowned at him. “Why are you here?”

“You Called me.”

She hadn't. She'd quenched the slightest urge. Which had been, she realized desperately, much easier before he arrived. “I didn't. Go away.”

The annoying Tuana merely made himself comfortable. “I came to bring you home. It's getting dark.”

“This is home,” Aryl told him. “This is what I am—nothing else. Not their leader. Not a Speaker. Just me, here. Nothing else.”

He made a noncommittal sound, and shooed a biter interested in his bare arm.

No coat. Clean clothes. Mended scratches. His hair shone. Aryl narrowed her eyes. “You used the 'fresher.” She felt itchy under her damp coat.

“Worin needs to stay with Marcus. Yuhas took the rest back to Sona. To meet those coming from Sona,” he corrected. “My guess is Haxel wants to know about the new arrivals.”

“What will they say about—about how you—Enris, we can't let them tell the others about moving through the M'hir, not until they understand the dangers!”

“Oh, I'd say they all know what we can do now. Stop worrying. Marcus warned us until his face turned blue, and no one else knows how until we show them.” The big Tuana shifted and frowned. “You could have run somewhere with padding.”

“I didn't,” Aryl said stiffly, “run.”

“'Port, then.” His lips quirked. “In order to run. From me.”

“Go away.” She walked out to the tip of the branch, feeling it dip under her weight, riding the motion.

Then it dipped a great deal more.

Aryl whirled around. “Stay where you are.”

Enris stopped, knees partially bent, arms out and tipping from side to side. He looked ridiculous. And anxious.

And oddly determined. “Come here, then.”

“No.”

He took another step, almost losing his balance, seriously risking hers.

“Do you want me to fall?” she complained. “Stop!”

An eyebrow lifted. “Thought Yena don't fall.”

“They do if a clumsy oversized Om'ray fool shakes the branch! Stop!” Quickly, when he raised his foot.

He was impossible. Aryl took three quick steps. “There.”

“Closer.”

“Move back.”

Enris looked over his shoulder, teetered alarmingly, then eased toward the trunk, where the branch was wider and stronger. One step. Two. A slip and Aryl's heart pounded. “Be careful!”

Another two steps put him on better footing. “Your turn,” he challenged. “If you can.”

“I live here, remember?” Aryl began to walk easily along the branch, Sona boots or not.

Without warning, Enris stepped forward again, meeting her where the branch was not wide enough to pass.

She'd forgotten how tall he was.

“This is no place for games, Tuana,” Aryl warned him. “You'll fall.”

“Then you'll have to catch me.” He held out his hand. “You will, won't you, Aryl Sarc?”

This wasn't about falling or catching.

She couldn't move. Could hardly breathe. “Don't.” The urge within her was rising, nameless and wild.

Enris didn't smile, didn't laugh. His face was weary with grief, his eyes unutterably sad. “Don't what, Chooser of my heart?” he asked softly. “Don't reach for the only joy I can feel in this world? Don't hope, in case I fail? Some risks are worth—”

Aryl stopped his mouth with hers, his
taste
ending all thought. Her right hand found his arm, trailed the rise of muscle and bone, reveled in the fine hair and warmth of his skin, until their fingers met and intertwined, until their palms met and…

…Power sought Power, mind sought mind.

Found!

Fire struck metal and took away its shape. Water found slope and carved its own channel. The M'hir Wind screamed through chasms and split rock, reached the canopy and tore limbs, found the rastis and freed its wings to soar in a sky…

…a sky of heartbreaking color and movement and life, as if every moment of happiness had been tossed too high to reach, waiting until they could lift each other there…until two…

…became one.