Barac raised an eyebrow. “‘Norx’? I don’t know the name.”
“A world uninhabited till the syndicates sent recruited miners to do their dirty work. Point being appearances can’t be trusted. Until we know who we’re dealing with, we should avoid unnecessary risks.”
My cousin rolled his shoulders. “My turn—”
“No. It is not anyone’s ‘turn.’” Their identical expressions of dismay would have been amusing had I not been waiting for exactly this. “No more heroics. We do this together. Besides, we’re a giant mass of Oud covered in people. If we can see them, they already see us.” I paused then went on heavily, “We’ll need the children.”
“The—?” I’d shocked Barac. “For what?”
“A test.” The corner of Morgan’s mouth deepened as he nodded approval. “We put our children in plain sight. Prove we’ve families. How these strangers react will tell us what we need to know.”
“No deceptions.” I felt Aryl’s silent agreement. “We show them who we are. Roll the dice.” There was nothing to add; these two understood the odds. “Agreed?”
Barac bowed, offering the gesture of respect. “I’ll spread the word.”
“As will we,” Morgan announced, bowing too. Well, Witchling?
If my cousin could jump along the backs of monsters— “You first,” I dared him.
Interlude
OF ALL THE IMPOSSIBLE, implausible futures, jumping on Oud backs, while they ran, no less, was one he hadn’t come close to imagining. An experience the First Scout planned to forget as soon as he was on the ground, along with how they’d arrived here in the first place.
Alive. That’s what counted. Even if he never got that stink out of his clothing. Alive and with his Chosen.
Although he’d be happier once Ruti stopped being furious. “They’ll come to no harm.” Had he said that twice or three times?
Ruti sat on the back of an Oud, arms around a bundle, regarding him with as much warmth as she’d give a Scat. Her shields tightened, and her face creased with unfamiliar distrust. “What if these strangers are child-stealers? Did Sira think of that?”
“We can’t hide them, Ruti.” Jacqui tucked her hands under her arms to keep from rubbing the rash on both palms, pain tightening the corners of her mouth. “Just think. There could be parents—maybe a Birth Watcher—who’ll see our children and want to help.”
“Strangers won’t help us.” Ruti’s chin trembled. “We need our families. That’s where we belong. With our families.”
“You’ve said that before.” Jacqui gave Barac a meaningful look, as though he was supposed to hear something more in the words.
Words were hollow, empty things. He’d have reached for the Chooser’s mind and demanded answers if not for Ruti. She’d locked away her thoughts, but not her mood. Fear was part of it. Suspicion.
There. A disquieting bone-deep weariness. Of course. She was exhausted, between the baby growing inside and caring for everyone else.
So where he might have pressed or argued, Barac chose to bow his head in acquiescence. “I’ll make sure families are together and assign scouts, with weapons, to stay near each child. We’ll keep them safe.”
But Ruti hunched her shoulders and turned from him, and there was nothing he could do but go.
When had the acrid taste of change become normal?
Chapter 18
AS ENTRANCES WENT, ours would be memorable, not that we’d a choice.
We’d rearranged ourselves according to plan: families and children to the front of our island of Oud. The Tikitik watched for a moment, then resumed its nap, squatting with eyes almost closed. Just as well. I doubted it would appreciate seeing our armed scouts take their posts near those families.
I stood with Gurutz behind the sud Prendolats, to be close to Andi. Morgan had donned his pack and stood alone on the outermost Oud to my right. He was our most potent weapon. It made sense to leave him free to act.
My role? To ensure weapons of any kind weren’t necessary.
The miners, or whatever they were, had indeed seen us coming. They’d moved their vehicles inside the tunnel, taking shelter there themselves. A few heads peered out. I empathized. It couldn’t be pleasant having a massive clot of giant Oud run straight for you.
Hopefully, we’d stop first.
They’ll stop, Aryl assured me. Tikitik enjoy drama, but they don’t risk themselves.
What about us?
I don’t know. This one lacks the arrogance of Cersi’s. I suspect it will do as it said and be glad to leave us behind.
My assessment of the creature as well.
Andi twisted to smile up at me. Nik drew her daughter back on her lap, disapproval radiating like heat. Whatever trust the parents had in me, they trusted Ruti di Bowart more.
They were welcome to, so long as they cooperated with our plan. I’d greater concerns than the protests of a Chosen a quarter my age, even one I considered family, and kept my focus ahead as the Ouds continued their breakneck speed.
Establishing a rapport wasn’t going to be easy when our origins were, to put it mildly, hard to explain. While we should be able to slip by without bringing up the Trade Pact or Assemblers, Cersi was another matter. Sona had transmitted and been heard. What it transmitted, we’d no idea, but Morgan cautioned there could be those on this world, or this system, fully aware of who and what we were.
What they’d think of us? Anyone’s guess.
As was when our Ouds planned to stop. We were close enough to cast an ominous shadow over the vehicle parking area on the hill before the great body beneath me gave a promising shudder. I fought to keep balanced rather than put my unwelcome hand on Nik’s shoulder, sharing the relief from all sides as a second collective shudder was followed by, at last, deceleration.
Suddenly, our island began to break apart! The Oud on the outer rim peeled away. Those in the midst of others struggled to be free, slamming impatiently into those too slow to move out of the way.
Ours joined in, throwing itself sideways into its neighbor, the result like an earthquake. I found myself staring into terrified faces, all of us toppling—I heard screams—
Chit!
Here. I clung to the sud Prendolats and they clung to me. We’d have to ’port. There was no other way—
<
<
And she was there—
Somehow, I wrenched free, terrified I’d recognize— “No!”
“Yes.” Andi’s sweet face appeared over her mother’s shoulder. The child’s peaceful smile was something from a nightmare. Families should be together. You should go, Sira. You can.
NO! I prepared to ’port all of us—to safety, not to that voice—
Hold! Morgan, a lifeline.
The Tikitik was standing on its mount. It let out a sharp wail and the Oud stopped where they were, then sank to the ground.
“Get down! Hurry!” I shouted, reinforcing that with Power. The gaps between the beasts would last only as long as they obeyed. The tiny hooks of their cloaks, once a help to stay in place, fought our desperate movements, tearing clothing and skin. “Get away from them!”
If I ran from anything else, that was something I wasn’t prepared to admit even to myself.
Gurutz helped Nik with their belongings. I passed Andi to Josa, then dropped down myself. We gasped as one, half smothered by the reek. “Keep moving toward the others. Hurry.” I watched them go, trusting the scout as much as the child’s Talent, then turned, reaching with my own sense.
Anxiety. Fear. Nothing with clear direction. We were
too close together, trapped in this maze of overheated flesh. The Hoveny could make of us what they chose, I thought bitterly. We had to get out first.
I can find them. Aryl, with confidence. Let me use your eyes, Sira.
So I did.
For the second time, I staggered into the fresh, cool air, this time following Gricel and her baby, her Chosen and son leading; a path found only because the Om’ray, including Aryl, were drawn by the growing concentration of our people.
Sira, hurry!
I swung back, only to find the opening gone, the Oud rising—moving! But the di Eathems weren’t the only ones still trapped—
“Sira, no!” Arms like metal bands clamped around me.
YES! Aryl, with fury. Hap and her Chosen—I can take us—then, her mindvoice ragged with grief—we’re too late.
My sense of her vanished, swamped by darkness. The M’hir bled everywhere, colored everything, filled with the dreadful howls of Watchers.
Witchling. The naming spread around and through me, bringing with it all that was sane and good and didn’t belong in the M’hir. Beloved. This way.
This voice I followed without doubt or hesitation. Back, I permitted myself a heartbeat inside Morgan’s arms, then gave the tiniest resistance. He let go, and I opened my eyes.
Reality wasn’t an improvement. What had been the fronts of the giant Oud became their rears as the creatures humped away, leaving the groups gathered on either side to stare at one another through a cloud of dust.
Dust that settled over mangled husks and ownerless belongings. Whether the Tikitik had been careless or cruel, this ride had cost more than the di Annks. I didn’t try to count. Didn’t dare try to see who wasn’t there but was no longer here—
Had they heard a voice, too?
I shook myself. We’d the living, our injured to care for—
“Company.” Morgan, low and urgent. His hand dropped to his side, flexed.
Coughing dust, I looked toward the archway. Company, it was. Their vehicles barely stopped, people poured out, rushing toward us.
With blankets.
Some had small cases that implied medical supplies and others were empty-handed, but all ran to reach us, and all had faces shaped like ours, full of determined concern and kindness.
As an entrance, I thought numbly, leaning against Morgan, they couldn’t have done better.
Interlude
GLANCES. An instant’s distraction. The beard, maybe. Have to lose it if he wanted to blend, Morgan judged, though if this group represented the majority of Hoveny, it wouldn’t be remotely enough. Oh, in the dark, maybe, but here he fit, strange as it was to think, best with M’hiray like Barac.
The Hoveny had hair, though none here had the thick tumble of opinion that marked the Clan Chosen, but what he did see was white. They’d more variety in skin tone, from midnight black to the translucence of the Vyna. For Vyna, beyond question, had been the control, the baseline, the real, if he’d call them that, Hoveny. He’d come up to the chin of the shortest here. Outmassed any, for they were slender. Two thumbs and four fingers per hand, though these had nails and were the same length as his. Clothing was similar, there being practicality in tough pants, boots, and jackets. Workers.
Could be a mine after all.
They knew he was different, Morgan thought, if not how or what it meant, but no one wasted time on him and he approved. Without invitation or greeting, the Hoveny flowed through the Clan like a wave, sweeping them up in a triage and evacuation procedure either regularly used—or well practiced.
Practice was his guess. The Human picked out the individual in charge, a tall male, older than most, with devices in both ears and “Hope’s” version of a noteplas in one hand. Confident, calm, but a little too intense for this not to be their first real emergency.
Their tech was sophisticated. Wheels instead of anti-grav on the vehicles, but that could be economics or some constraint of the work. The quiet engines contained nothing more mysterious than detectable powercells and the Hoveny med-kits could pass for those ubiquitous on Human worlds, other than being black with green bands. Up close, the sturdy clothes had no markings to imply rank or service. Civilians.
Perhaps.
Add the space capability implied by the Tikitik, and—too soon, but he’d dare think it— “Hope” was starting to look reassuringly familiar.
Palming his scanner, the Human set it to record. As with the Tikitik, the language was the one he’d learned, from Cersi, though the accent differed. These Hoveny clipped and shortened some words, added others, but nothing that hindered mutual understanding.
Kindness and competence lent their own. The wounded were being assessed, the most serious lifted on the flat backs of freight vehicles that moved off at once, slowly enough that those caring for them—and those concerned—could walk alongside. Just as well. They’d started with too few Healers.
They’d less now. Ahur hadn’t reached the planet, Ghos had been killed by Oud, and elderly Eand was one of those carried off.
The survivors able to walk were to go in small personnel carriers, with paired bench seats, and those waiting their turn had clumped into groups. Tellingly so. He looked over at his Chosen, standing alone and at a small distance, and knew better than reach along their link.
Sira stood, her hands together, her hair straight, clothing dust-covered and stained with blood from a scrape along her jaw that promised a bruise beneath.
And was so much more. Ancient. Ageless. Powerful. He wasn’t the only one to feel it. She radiated strength, a strength that denied fear and insisted on peace. The Hoveny needed no introduction to grasp who led these people, and who protected them.
If they glanced at him? Morgan thought with grim pride.
They stared at her.
Chapter 19
I STOOD gazing out at the Hoveny and the Clan, living legacies of a shared past, and instead of satisfaction or wonder or anything else I’d hoped to feel, I was frozen with fear. At last I understood how Aryl could have put herself in that crystal. She’d feared what she saw our people becoming enough to reach from the past to stop it. It hadn’t worked, not as she’d planned. The M’hiray had taken advantage of their Human hosts and paid the price. She’d arrived in time to save us from our folly.
Could I, here and now? For what I saw was the same dreadful potential for harm. What I knew? The cost.
I was aware of Morgan. He hovered—not that he’d use the word—nearby, offering comfort by his silent, understanding presence. Not that he was idle. I’d seen him unobtrusively adjust his scanner. By now, my Human likely already knew more than anyone else about our new “friends.”
On the outside. The instinct to reach for like minds, to compare Power was hard to resist at a distance, impossible to deny if touch was offered. Our rescuers showed no restraint, handling the wounded, placing blankets over shoulders. It was as if they didn’t comprehend—
Oh, but they didn’t. I’d realized it almost at once. The Hoveny were Clan enough to be glowing, albeit dimly, in the M’hir, but I sensed no deep connection to one another, nothing like that pervading our minds. The Hoveny were real by Om’ray standards and possessed the rudiments of Power.
Yet, as far as I could tell, these individuals lacked the Talents to use it.
Making them weak. Defenseless.
I wouldn’t be the only one to sense it. While the Prime Laws existed to protect such vulnerable minds, forbidding the stronger from entering to touch their thoughts, we’d those among us accustomed to doing far worse.
To Humans. The aliens they’d feared most and used. And where had that brought us?
They mustn’t make the same mistake here.
They won’t, Aryl sent grimly. You won’t let them.
Whatever it takes, I agreed, feeling the vow take hold inside me. To safeguard our place among the Hoven
y, as equals. Nothing less. Nothing more.
So as I stood, waiting for the questions sure to come, I watched the M’hiray.
To see who might threaten this world.
Gurutz was the first to approach me, his hurried gesture of respect little more than a flick of his fingers. “Your help, Keeper—Sira. There’s a problem with the husks.”
Morgan came alert. “I’ll go.”
“We both will.” I shook off the stasis I’d been in, glad to have a purpose.
The M’hiray pushed the physical remnants of our lives into the M’hir. The Om’ray disposed of theirs even more simply—dropping them into a swamp, to be eaten, or leaving them out on the ground, to be eaten. Not an option for those of us who’d lived in cities.
Especially Human ones, where authorities tended to frown upon the eating of corpses. It was, as I recalled, a humanoid-specific prejudice; they’d no problem at all with beings who didn’t look like them serving a grandparent for supper.
From what Gurutz could tell us as we walked to the knot of people around our husks, the Hoveny shared the Human view, insisting “something be done” with them.
Not, I sighed to myself, the inaugural topic I’d thought to discuss with our rediscovered kin. Care to take this one? I sent, willing to play the coward with my Chosen. Who was, I reminded myself, our negotiation specialist.
Deal.
Sona’s blankets and bright coveralls lay strewn on the ground, along with soiled lengths of gauze and heavy coats. No knives or other objects of use; the Om’ray were efficient. There were bodies, too, some unrecognizable, others that might have been asleep. We’d lost eighteen M’hiray in the M’hir during our passage.
Twenty-one more, Om’ray and M’hiray, had died here. Only twelve husks remained, a disturbing discrepancy we wouldn’t mention to the Hoveny. More had fled reality.
The mere thought tormented me. Had each heard a familiar voice? A loved one—now dead?
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