The Gate to Futures Past

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Instead of turning, I watched Morgan’s progress in the faces of those around me, knew when he approached the crouching Oud by the way eyes went round and hands sought hands. Guessed when he’d climbed aboard when mouths dropped open and there was a communal gasp.

  Followed by a giggle, startling in the overall hush. I looked down to find Andi, who’d pushed forward to see past the adults. Her eyes shone with wonder. “Do I get to ride one, too?”

  Only then did I let myself turn around.

  The Oud herd was on the move, this time with two out in front, each with a rider. While I didn’t need his wave to know which was my Human, I waved back, tentatively at first and then with enthusiasm.

  Hands rose around me, as the Clan resolutely did the same.

  The Tikitik’s eyes tried to follow all of us at once, which disturbed me but not our Om’ray. If anything, they broadcast grim satisfaction, their universe finally behaving in known ways.

  They shouldn’t count on it. For now, I was mutely grateful for their courage, for M’hiray nerves were close to breaking. Not that any nerves were steady when it came to our mounts.

  “Up you go.”

  I wrinkled my nose at Morgan, and it wasn’t just the smell. “You’re sure about this?” No need to whisper or send. This close, the Oud were noisy, their unseen appendages clicking and clacking so what towered beside me might have been a machine.

  Except for the part where green fluid oozed from the wounds made by the metal staples holding its “cloak” in place. They don’t like the sun, Aryl supplied, feeling her own satisfaction.

  A sun yet to impress me. I squinted up. The clouds were memory, but the sun was dull and distant, producing a sky more mauve than blue. It could be seasonal, but the air was warm enough.

  “Sira.”

  Right. Riding the monster. I gritted my teeth and gave a short nod. The Oud, helpfully, had crouched, if flattening its massive torso could be called crouching. “Face west, toward the hills. That should be the front,” Morgan informed me as I stepped into his cupped hands.

  Hands that heaved.

  I flew up, landing face- and stomach-down on top of the Oud, a position difficult to improve, for the dusty, wrinkled Oud-cloak came complete with tiny hooks. My hair pulled itself loose with firm yanks, but I had to peel my clothing free, then try to move without being grabbed again.

  Finally sitting, breathless but triumphant, I leaned over to smile at my Chosen, only to be met by a roll of blankets I didn’t so much catch as fend from my face.

  “Good! Wait there.”

  There being no other choice, I glowered down, meeting an unrepentant grin. Enjoying himself, my Human. “Do not,” I warned him, “throw me your—”

  Up came the pack. I lunged for it, managing to snag a strap without losing my grip on the roll or, the other option, falling off the other side. Although falling would have been difficult, given the width of the Oud’s back and the avid little hooks, this did nothing to alter the fact I was sitting atop a giant Oud clutching whatever Morgan had brought to this planet, some of that being explosive.

  He saluted. “I’ll help the rest and then come back.”

  The cloak protesting with a sucking rip, I pried my legs free and crossed them, making myself comfortable. My perch made an excellent vantage point. The others had collected their belongings and were forming in lines to be tossed to the top of their mounts. As if to make certain we accepted our fate, the Oud who weren’t crouched to receive a passenger formed fidgeting walls around us.

  Except, I noticed, for where we’d landed. The pods had finished fragmenting, leaving behind a litter of black flakes. Surely no impediment to the hulking beasts, but they avoided them, encompassing that area within their circle. Morgan had collected some of the flakes, tucking them into his pack. While I’d no idea why, if my Chosen was anything, it was thorough.

  I watched him, with Barac, work with the Tikitik to match riders to mounts. Fortunately, each broad back had room for several adults, so families could stay together. Those families still intact. Eighteen hadn’t finished the journey with us, by Barac’s grim tally. He believed they’d faltered and dissolved in the M’hir.

  To become ghosts.

  Ghosts they were, but the more I thought about what had happened, the less I believed so many could have lost their will and focus. After all, Sona’s conveyances had done the work for us. No, we were eighteen less because something had taken them from us, the same way it had taken Risa and Jorn.

  I’d heard it.

  A vibration passed along my Oud, though it remained still, as did the rest. I watched Degal and his Chosen Signy being helped up by Destin, joining Teris and Vael di Uruus. No surprise to see that faction stayed together, though I’d sympathy for Destin’s Chosen, gentle Elnu, caught in that company.

  The Sona and Tuana Om’ray simply walked up the sides of their beasts. Those who hadn’t grown up in the canopy needed assistance. While some could have used Power to shift themselves or at least belongings to the top of the Oud, none would. Until we knew our place in this new world, exposing any Talent wasn’t worth the risk, a caution shared by Om’ray and M’hiray alike.

  There was another reason. On Cersi, there’d been Oud able to detect the use of a Talent. Their reaction would cause the M’hir to ring painfully, with that pain increasing with an individual’s strength. This wasn’t the time to test if the trait was found here, too.

  Oud after Oud filled with passengers and what cargo they carried, until all were mounted but Morgan and the Tikitik.

  The Tikitik swarmed up its Oud. My Human climbed less quickly, but just as surely, accepting my hand for a final pull to the top. “What now?” I asked.

  “We hold on.” Morgan wrapped his arm around me. “I’ve warned the rest.”

  It wasn’t beyond my Chosen to make up an excuse for contact; my hair, ever-approving, tried to wind a tendril through his beard. Still, “Why—?”

  The Tikitik let out a warbling cry and the crouched Oud erupted to their feet, passengers shouting in panic as they found themselves rising skyward. Before any did more than that, the Oud were underway.

  Instead of the full body contortion that had brought them to us, those with riders ran on their hundreds of small feet. I could see those of the nearest Oud, blurred into a long rhythmic wave. If I closed my eyes, only the wind in my face told me we were moving.

  I settled back against Morgan. “This is amazing.”

  He reclined on an elbow. “Isn’t it?”

  The Tikitik’s Oud took the lead, aimed at the low hills, followed by our thirty-three, accelerating in unison till we passed over the flat ground at a remarkable pace. I shared the experience with Aryl, feeling rather smug. What do you think?

  Stay watchful. I’ve ridden with Tikitik before. There’s always a surprise.

  One seemed unlikely—

  Morgan sat up. “What are they doing?”

  The Oud to either side of us were running at an angle to cut off ours. No, they all were. “Aryl’s surprise,” I guessed gloomily. Everyone was taking notice now, pulling up any dangling limbs and baggage as their Ouds prepared to collide.

  And did, turning at the last instant to reduce the impact to a soft brush of cloak to cloak. Every Oud pressed itself firmly to its neighbor, until we were sitting on what might have been a massive oval carpet, albeit a dusty smelly one, floating over the world.

  I could have reached out and touched Tle and the di Kessa’ats to our left; Morgan do the same with the di Licors to our right.

  “Interesting.” My Human didn’t mean the closing of the Oud ranks. Our Tikitik was on its feet, hopping casually from Oud to Oud. It avoided those carrying the Om’ray armed with knives, making good speed as it tiptoed and hopped.

  Heading for us.

  The Tikitik squatted out of reach, its knees above its sho
ulders and head outstretched. It was smaller than Cersi’s Tikitik and I thought Morgan was right: this one was old, for its kind.

  “Hoveny, the Human says.” Its large, rear eyes focused on me, the smaller anxiously turning on their cones. A three-fingered hand gestured to those around us. “I have never seen so many, so different, all sexed.” One finger indicated my hair, presently writhing with dislike. “And this. How is this possible?”

  Sexed? And what was wrong with my hair? Other than attitude. I pushed the sullen stuff back. “We aren’t from here,” I said gruffly. Could work. Tikitik on Cersi had been territorial, only Thought Travelers moving beyond a limited space.

  The white tendrils of its mouth curled into a dissatisfied lump.

  “You look different to us, too.” Morgan produced his scanner, turning it so the display faced our “guest.” “This is the Tikitik we know.”

  I tensed as the eyes riveted on the small screen, mouth tendrils outstretched. A thin barbed arm streaked forward as if to snatch the device, only to withdraw. Its demeanor altered; without knowing more of them, I couldn’t tell if it was amused or wary. “A privilege,” it said at last. “The Makers do not leave Tikitna—” a hand lifted skyward. “You are Far Travelers indeed.”

  Morgan glanced at me, gave a tiny nod. Knows tech.

  Someone else had been listening. ‘Tikitna?’ It can’t be coincidence, Sira, that name here, too. I sensed Aryl’s dismay. This isn’t just our home, but theirs.

  Could be worse, I assured her, thinking of the reptilian Scats, with their tendency to consume rivals. Thinking also of my Human, no longer the only non-Clan in the world. Would it help?

  Regardless, manners were overdue. “Thank you for your assistance,” I said, gesturing gratitude.

  Eyes rotated to me. “We assist ourselves. This area is sessened. With you gone, we can do our work.”

  Morgan raised a curious brow. “What work is that?”

  The Tikitik barked the laugh I remembered. “This land’s skin is too delicate for the Hoveny’s machines. We will ready it for planting.”

  Questions trembled on my lips: what it planted and for whom; about this world; most particularly what it had meant about our sexes, my hair, and what made us “so different.” Could I trust this being’s answers?

  Was I ready for them?

  My Human had a more pragmatic interest. “Where are we going?”

  “The border of the Ribbon Lands.” The Tikitik rose to its feet. “There will be authority. What kind I don’t know, but you will no longer be in our way and we can do our work.”

  I decided not to thank it again.

  I waited until the Tikitik squatted on its mount—having disrupted Oud-loads of Clan on its way back—before eyeing my Human warily. “‘Authority,’ it said. Is that wise?”

  “No choice. If it was just you and I, yes, we’d keep low, scout the situation before attracting attention. As it is?” Morgan spun a finger. “No hiding this lot. Better we show up on our terms than have those in charge find us.”

  “So our plan’s to hope for the best?” I grimaced.

  “It does happen,” with an easy complacency I didn’t for an instant believe, especially since he’d the lightest of shields in place—a request for distance and privacy.

  Plotting, he was. My Human left nothing to chance, “know your exits” being one of many lessons he’d taught me.

  Another? Rest when you could, which went hand-in-hand with eat when you could, drink, wash, use an accommodation, and so forth. We were saving our rations till nightfall—however long that might take here—and washing? Out of the question. Of the containers and bags filled with water, few had made it into the pods.

  Might not be a problem. After all, I’d tasted rain this morning. Hadn’t turned so much as mauve.

  My hair played with the wind of this new world, and I felt my mood lighten at last. “What should we call it? This planet.”

  Morgan laughed. “I’m sure it has a name, Witchling.”

  “Until we know it,” I pointed out, “there’s no reason we can’t give it our own.” I pulled a leg free of the cloak to face him. The wind played with his hair also, and the sun found russet in his beard. My Chosen gazed back at me, blue eyes full of emotion he wasn’t sharing mind-to-mind. “You pick.”

  “Hope.” His lips quirked at whatever he read from my expression. “Too much?”

  “No,” I said huskily. “Hope, it is.”

  Interlude

  KEEPER EMELEN DIS knelt as if to pray; upon feeling the warmth of the soil, he did, under his breath. Others used instruments, demarcating the affected area with little green flags in the sod. He stifled the impulse to stop them; they cared, too. Here, in their lifetime, proof.

  It wasn’t only the lingering, unseasonal heat. He rose to his feet, examining the dark flakes on his palms and, yes, on both knees. Only one mode of travel left such remains, and it hadn’t been used since the Fall.

  “Well over a hundred, Keeper.” Oncara Su shaded nes eyes. “The Oud riders must be those we seek. My regrets.”

  Emelen brushed aside nes apology. “The sect needs this evidence. Your decision to make all speed to the blessed landing site was the right one.”

  Room for the Twelve here, the land originally scoured flat and left sterile, but as memories faded and belief eroded, nature had returned. The presence of Field Oud meant the sacred plain was to be sliced and plowed. To grow tea, or some such. All it would take was water, and the tunnel to bring that through from the Ribbon Lands had been built. He’d done his utmost to slow its progress.

  No longer a concern. “When the work here is complete, return me to the Sanctum.”

  Ne dared frown. “Should we not go from here to the project site? Shall we not be first to greet them?”

  “Our role is not to put ourselves forward, Oncara,” Emelen said sternly, “but to prepare for the Rebirth. If a new Founder has come, all must be told and everything put in place. There has been negligence. Neglect. No longer.”

  It was time. Cersi-So, he chanted to himself, well pleased. Cersi-So.

  Chapter 17

  AS IF MOCKING our choice of name, Hope’s flat plain deceived, promising the hills long before the terrain finally lifted under the Ouds’ scurrying feet. None too soon. The tiny hooks of the cloaks not only held clothing tight—and those wearing it—but soon produced a burning rash on any bare skin left in contact. My people endured without complaint, outwardly calm and determined.

  They wearied, as did I, huddled together; a few tried to sleep.

  The area appeared barren, other than the turf, but every so often great flocks came into view, their shadows flickering across the ground. They were made up of thousands of small birds—or their equivalent—wheeling and spinning, forming tight balls then rivers through the air. To our disappointment, the beautiful flocks didn’t linger, busy heading north. If we were in that hemisphere, pleasing thought, this could be spring.

  If we weren’t? Morgan had shrugged.

  So when another shadow crossed our path, I didn’t pay attention until I saw the Om’ray rising to their feet, staring up. Doing the same, I glimpsed a dot, higher than the birds, heading east. Someone’s there, Aryl informed me. Someone like us. A pause. Like Om’ray.

  A distinction I hadn’t heard from her before, Om’ray sensing the presence of M’hiray as instinctively as they did each other. Do they sense you?

  I don’t know.

  Morgan had pulled out his lens. “Definitely a machine,” he informed me. “Can’t make out much else.”

  “Aryl says there’s—” about to say Clan, I changed to “—Hoveny on board. The Om’ray sense them.”

  “Reassuring.” Absently.

  Well, yes, to have the first real proof we’d come to the right world—our world—but still. “It’s not coming this way.” I
sat again, deflated.

  “Doesn’t mean we’re not on scans—or those Hoveny didn’t sense you in return.” My Human remained standing, surveying what was ahead with the lens. “Huh.”

  I stood again. “What’s ‘huh?’”

  He handed me the lens. “That.”

  I summoned Barac. Though he disliked ladders, let alone large living things, he leaped from Oud to Oud to reach us as quickly as a Tikitik.

  Ours appeared to be taking a nap.

  Having arrived, my cousin frowned thoughtfully at the long stony rise ahead of us. “Doesn’t look like much.”

  Morgan offered his lens. “Five degrees left.”

  I knew why my cousin stiffened. Through the lens, the hill jumped closer. While most of the rise was bare tumbled rock, my Human had found what had to be our destination: a narrow archway leading into the hill.

  There was nothing natural about it. An assortment of wheeled vehicles bustled around the opening, some going inside, for the interior was brightly lit. A plume of gray dust rose behind the hill like a stain in the sky, and rubble stretched to either side of the arch. Most heartening, there were figures, with two arms and two legs. People.

  “Think it’s a mine?” Barac handed back the lens.

  “Maybe.” My Human tapped the Oud with his boot. “But if they put these to work above ground, why not below?”

  Who cared? People, as far as I was concerned, promised all that went with them, from shelter to showers. Restaurants. My stomach growled, and I blurted, “It’s civilization.”

  “Remember Norx, chit.”

  “I try not to.” I scowled. The planet was the latest source of a key ingredient of ysa-smoke, the Trade Pact’s most popular addiction and one Captain Morgan had used to explain my wearing a helmet my first time on Plexis. A stuffy, smelly helmet.