This Gulf of Time and Stars

by Julie E. Czerneda

  >Keeper<

  —and was asleep, something in me realized. I opened what weren’t eyes.

  Pinpricks of black light. Each the end of a thread. So many I couldn’t see a gap or end to them, so close they stirred with what wasn’t breath—

  >Keeper, welcome<

  —no, this wasn’t happening. I’d known to disable the Dream Chamber, had put it to sleep. It took Identity—

  >Keeper, welcome<

  —and the Will of an Adept, my will—

  >What is your will, Keeper?<

  —to wake up!

  >You are awake; the body sleeps. I am Sona. What is your will, Keeper?<

  —if I was dreaming and awake, I wanted answers. I want answers!—

  >Ask.<

  Interlude

  CHANGE! Choking on the taste, Morgan fought to wake up. Change!

  Had something gone wrong with the sleepteach? Processing that much input could muddle the head, but usually no worse than a night at a bar.

  CHANGE!

  His eyes shot open. Morgan found himself staring up at a seething mass of tendrils!

  He flailed at them with the hand that wasn’t pinned under Sira, relieved when they curled up and away as if hairs caught by flame.

  “Sira!” They were still on the bed, a bed now descending. It had been—it had been near the ceiling. The Dream Chamber! Not again.

  I warned her—Aryl sounded furious—nothing good happens here!

  Descending? The bed fell. Morgan threw himself over Sira, held on and waited for the impact.

  Instead, politely, the bed slowed and stopped, exactly where it had been.

  Morgan jumped up to find the rest of the chamber improbably normal, filled with sleepers. If he’d disturbed any, they were pointedly ignoring a Chosen who’d shouted his partner’s name.

  Turning, he put his hand flat on her forehead. SIRA. WAKE UP!

  Chapter 55

  STARS CRUSTED THE SKY. I felt as though I hadn’t seen them in years, like old friends I hadn’t known how much I missed until seeing them again.

  “Unfamiliar. No surprise there.”

  I dropped my gaze to Morgan. Or rather, to where he sat. I’d ’ported us here the instant my eyes had opened. He’d waited, a shadow fairly bursting with impatience, for me to explain what had just happened.

  “I didn’t do it on purpose,” I said finally, it being important to get that out of the way. This wasn’t a case of my trying the wrong switch or button.

  “I wasn’t actually worried about that.” As if I should have known.

  And did. I relaxed. “It turns out the Keeper is more like a comtech.” Odd, how what I’d learned from Morgan and the Fox mattered more here than all my years as Clan. “Falling asleep where I did, with my mind full of questions, activated Sona. The—” I waved my hands. Being dark, that didn’t help. “—the ship.”

  “That’s—” I felt the effort Morgan expended to curb his excitement. “Tell me what happened. Everything.”

  “I heard it, like a voice. Like Aryl’s from the crystal. I was a little—startled.” I heard him shift; our experience with uninvited voices hadn’t been good. “But it wasn’t an attack or threat. It was like—you know, talking to the ship.”

  “People don’t talk to ships.” Patiently.

  “You do. Did.” Move on, I told myself. “The point is, Sona answered questions. The couple I had a chance to ask it.”

  Before someone yanked me out of a perfectly comfortable sleep, demanding answers of his own. I’d ’ported us here more to protect those still asleep, if any, than for privacy.

  Though privacy was pleasant.

  “I’ll apologize later,” he said grimly, making that in no way a promise. “Go on.”

  “The Maker Oud was right.” I looked up at the stars. “The Om’ray started all this. They sent volunteers, the best and most able; invited the Oud and Tikitik for their skills. They were to work together, Morgan, but something happened. The trial was never to last this long. They were supposed to go home.” To a world out there, one where we’d evolved—

  Where we’d belonged, once.

  “I asked it why.” I raised my arms, reached as if to touch that world. A tear slid down my cheek, as cold as the space between, tribute for those who’d risked so much only to fail.

  Arms went around me, held tight. My hair slipped around his neck, binding us together. His kiss found my tear and he asked, “Why, Sira?”

  “Because everything was taken from us,” I told him. “Cersi was our last chance to reclaim what we’d lost.

  “We were the Hoveny.”

  Interlude

  BARAC SETTLED BACK against the wall with a yawn. Hadn’t sounded like passion, that shout, but when he’d gone to check Sira and Morgan’s bed was empty. He’d like to know where they’d ’ported. A little privacy would be nice, sooner than later.

  He grimaced, working his tongue around his mouth. Emergency rations. He suspected Humans made them tasteless so they wouldn’t be eaten on a whim. Just as well Holl had—

  He straightened. Not food, that taste. Change. Should be getting used to it by now, he thought grimly. Barac started down the aisle between the beds—

  A figure, swathed in white, appeared. Another! Two more over—

  “Intruders!” Shouting that warning, sending at the same time, Barac pulled free his blade as he ran at the nearest.

  Others were in motion too, some disappearing— ’porting from the chamber to escape. Lights came up.

  The figures were beside the children’s beds! Barac wasn’t the only one running now.

  Enora got there first, tried to protect Andi. Barac saw her fall—saw Andi’s terrified face as a stranger snatched her up and they disappeared.

  “GO!” He slashed through legs, on the backstroke removed a head, stumbled over his mother’s body, and kept running.

  They’re outside! They’re outside!

  Figures came and went. Barac split another in half. The M’hiray had no weapons, but he saw Pirisi wrap his arms around an invader.

  Disappearing together, where he couldn’t follow.

  Screams, inside and out. SIRA! He’d never imagined an attack like this—never dreamt he’d be fighting for survival against his own kind.

  Here! Sira appeared with Morgan.

  Too late.

  It was over.

  Barac sank to his knees in the sudden quiet, sobbing with the rest.

  Chapter 56

  “VYNA.” Destin used her boot to roll over the limp body of a Clansman. Other than his hairless head and white clothing, he might have been of Sona. “And those who serve them.” Her eyes were hard as stone. “I told you. They steal children. The unChosen.”

  Barac’s warning had reached them. I’d sent my own summons, but they’d been coming already, risking the swarm with what glows they could carry.

  “We’ll get them back,” Morgan promised. “Them” including Sona’s one unChosen as well as ours, and our children.

  Andi.

  We’d lost six forever, a new and terrible grief. Pirisi di Mendolar—dropped in the M’hir, his Chosen, Ru, dying soon after. Kele and Celyn sud Lorimar, cut down in the hall as they’d fled, for some of the intruders had been armed.

  Dear and gentle Enora. Agem, ever puzzled by the world.

  They call us “lesser Om’ray,” Aryl sent, her mind voice as dark as I’d ever felt. They won’t sully their breeders with our blood. They’ll use those they stole, then toss them aside.

  We’d another body to examine. A Vyna. Tall for a Clanswoman and obscenely thin. Her shoulders and knees protruded under her clear garment like great knuckles, her skin everywhere colorless, tracked with the blue of blood vessels. Her hands had four fingers and two thumbs, like Sona’s Speaker, but her digits were half again
as long; the nails were missing. A tight beaded cap covered her hairless scalp, and her eyebrows were beads of gold.

  A disturbing face, even empty of life.

  She’d been pregnant, the swell of her abdomen the only roundness to her body. Jacqui had checked, disgusted anyone would so risk their child, but the life within the Vyna had died with her.

  The Vyna’s frail appearance was a lie, I thought. There’d been but two of them, with their “servants,” but they’d ’ported here with others and sent them away again with their captives, along with what supplies they’d been able to grab. Formidable, that said of them.

  Greedy as well as callous, that too.

  Unfortunately, they’d hidden those they’d taken well enough I couldn’t grab them back. We’d an answer for that.

  Morgan stood by Barac, busy allotting weapons the Sona provided among those willing to use them, which were all of the M’hiray. The Sona, led by Destin, were determined to come as well, a chance to strike back at their tormentors worth the risk of the M’hir. The chamber boiled with anger.

  None of it mine. What I felt I kept to myself; every so often, Morgan would give me a searching look.

  Knowing me as he did.

  Peace, I told the mothers waiting nearby. Wait. They were desperate to go, the severed links to their children like bleeding wounds. So far, they’d listened, but I was ready to block their ’ports if need be. We couldn’t lose them too.

  Slipping into the M’hir, I’d found the burn of Vyna passages, followed to the blinding nexus where they converged and overlapped: their home. They must have been raiding the other Clans for generations.

  Since we taught them how, Aryl sent.

  You say they respect Power.

  That was then. Sira, are you certain?

  Certain that if we were to live on this world, among its Om’ray, the Vyna couldn’t continue to be a threat? Yes.

  Certain more death wasn’t the answer? Yes.

  That I alone could stop it?

  We’ll see, Great-grandmother. The nexus wasn’t enough for a locate, of course, but I had what was: Aryl di Sarc’s vivid memories of the Vyna Council Chamber.

  It was time. Morgan.

  Even across the chamber, I could see the blue of his eyes when he turned in answer.

  Coming?

  Interlude

  MORGAN FOUND HIMSELF inside another Council Chamber.

  With Sira.

  And only Sira.

  He winced, thinking of those they’d left behind, let alone facing them again—especially Barac. But this was her call and he’d trust it.

  Especially with—he stepped forward, staring out the tall arched windows, so like those of Sona’s Council Chamber, seeing a clear night sky, filled with stars—

  —if stars wheeled in formation, creating the outline of something very large and disturbingly curious. Morgan squinted. Somethings, he decided, tapping a finger on the pane. “What are they?”

  The rumn, Aryl informed him. It’s unfortunate they’ve been attracted. With them close, we may not be able to ’port.

  Given that was how they’d arrived—and would leave—Morgan looked at Sira. “They part of the plan?”

  She gazed at what swam past the windows with a thoughtful frown. “I don’t know. What are Rugherans doing on Cersi?”

  Rugherans? He found his mouth open and closed it. This complicated matters. The species existed, partially, within the M’hir. They’d encountered them on a couple of occasions, the last he’d thought with success.

  There’d been sex. Of a sort. Some type of happy conjunction had taken place, though on a planetary scale. The details were a bit hazy. It was often the case when Drapsk were involved.

  Morgan watched the nearest moving constellation, trying to make out tentacles or a head—not that Rugherans had heads. “Sure it’s them?”

  “Yes. No, but they feel—alike.” Her gray eyes clouded. “I hadn’t noticed the M’hir was unsettled here, at least no more than usual. That’s where we’ve found them before.” She chewed her lip. “They aren’t talking, not to me.”

  The rumn can talk?

  They aren’t always here, or aware of us, Sira explained. Let’s hope that continues.

  Unaware and not here would suit him too. Putting aside the chill such otherworldly beings gave him, Morgan looked around the chamber. The Vyna Cloisters was underwater—completely, from the memories Aryl shared—and accessed by an enclosed staircase. The Clan’s living space was carved into a spire of black rock rising from the lake.

  A lake of something other than water, the whole was ringed by tall cliffs of more black rock. Morgan guessed they stood within a volcanic crater, itself surrounded by a sere landscape of once-molten stone. A fortress, without Oud or Tikitik.

  Or reason. “Why?” he asked suddenly. “What’s here worth protecting?”

  We are.

  As quickly as that, five of the six tall backed chairs on the dais were filled with Chosen, so alike to the corpse in Sona they might have been clones.

  All pregnant. Councilors, Aryl supplied.

  One problem resolved. If the Vyna could ’port near the rumn, so could they. Maybe they’d come to an agreement.

  He was, the Human thought, doing rather well not to be terrified at the thought.

  The door had swung open at the same time. In floated four quite different chairs, these each filled with the oldest Clan Morgan had ever seen. They were wrapped in blankets and two unChosen accompanied each.

  Adepts. This with utter loathing.

  Compared to these Vyna, Sira was life incarnate, the red-gold of her hair burnishing the walls and floor, the healthy glow of her face like the sun, the lush curves of her body making those in the chairs look skeletal.

  I love you too, she sent, with a warm sidelong glance, then became all business. I’ve found our people, the children. They’ve been put into a false sleep. It won’t take much to wake them. First things first.

  She stepped forward, hands by her sides, waiting for the Adepts to settle into place.

  Be watchful, Aryl warned him. They can’t be trusted.

  Oh, he was sure of that. Morgan surreptitiously checked various pockets, items he’d promised to use on only one condition.

  If Sira failed.

  Chapter 57

  I LOOKED UPON THE VYNA and grieved. Choosers Commenced without Choice, bearing empty offspring to host the dead. Adepts, prolonging their lives at the cost of others’, until they died and were reborn. It was as if what was new mustn’t be tolerated. As if Vyna must never change.

  The disturbing thought kept me silent when I might have spoken, busy rethinking so many things. Why were they different? Was it because they lived with such strange neighbors?

  Could this one Clan have soured the Hoveny’s hope, trapping Om’ray, Oud, and Tikitik in an endless experiment? Why hadn’t the Makers restarted the world, if that were possible?

  Or had they? Molten rock surrounded Vyna, lay at the heart of what had been Tikitna. How—

  The leftmost Adept lifted a gnarled finger at Morgan. NOT-REAL!

  Yet you hear me. His sending, in their language, was strong enough to echo in the M’hir.

  Sleepteach. Vastly clever, my Human.

  He caused a stir among the ancients. Thin lips worked, some drooling. One summoned her unChosen, taking his strength with the touch of a feeble hand. Another chittered, then covered her mouth in haste to mute the sound.

  Vyna’s Councilors remained still, observing. They were the key, I decided. Jealous of their Talents, unwilling—perhaps unable—to share Power. These would be the Vyna who ’ported from Clan to Clan, taking what they felt they deserved. The ones to stop.

  Are you sure? Aryl asked.

  I’ve known their kind all my life, I assured her. Their selfishness
was their vulnerability.

  I made the gesture of greeting between peers who were not equals. I am Sira Morgan. I let them test their Power against mine, for once glad to dominate.

  It seemed I’d made the right decision. Heads nodded. Thin lips smiled. We glory in your Power. From the one at the far right.

  We do not acquiesce to it! From the middle.

  From the rest: WE are superior.

  I smiled my father’s smile. You are welcome to think so. I truly don’t care. What I do care about are those you stole from me. Return them, and we’ll leave.

  You are not Vyna, to give orders here. The middle one rose, holding out a languid hand. Yet you bear within you a Glorious Dead, who may be. Paired green rings glinted between the first and second knuckle of fingers and thumbs as they closed and opened. Beckoning me closer, I thought with a chill. Let me greet Her properly.

  I didn’t turn at the menacing snick from behind me, well aware of Morgan’s growing distrust.

  I need no proper greeting from you, Aryl sent, her mind voice like the sounding of horns. The last time we met, Tarerea Vyna, I promised to drop you in the M’hir.

  Yet left us a magnificent gift, Aryl di Sarc. Sona’s Adepts. The hand lowered. How else could we save so many? As if we should be grateful for their theft.

  Save them? Aryl began, her rage beating through me.

  Though I shared it, I sent, Wait.

  Something tried for my /attention/. Something regrettably familiar. /here/attention!/

  I looked past the Vyna to the window. More rumn/Rugherans had arrived—or a larger one—pressing themselves/itself against the transparent barrier. Unlike before, it didn’t move, the stars patterning what I assumed was a body as still as if I gazed at a night’s sky.

  Now it wanted to communicate? I wasn’t about to dip into the M’hir with it. Excuse me, but I’ll have to talk out loud, I informed the Vyna, then walked to the window. “What do you want?”

  /attention/~urgent~/

  Gasps, good and loud, from behind me. I assumed the Vyna hadn’t heard from their neighbors before.