“What mistake? You need a Healer.”
“Not anymore.”
“You need unChosen. Oran brought her own brother for your Choice—”
Aryl was speechless.
“You need me, Aryl.” Bern came closer still, until she couldn’t see past him. “You blame yourself for all of it—how Yena sent us, her unChosen, away, the Tikitik attack, the exile of those here. You’re torn between guilt and responsibility, with no one else to talk to, no one else who understands you, who remembers the joy you used to take in life.” Heart-kin. Let me stay. Let me be your friend again, share your burden, remind you how to laugh.
The wind and falling snow blurred their surroundings, turned the world into a small space, trapped them inside. As intimate as the canopy, vistas behind curtains of vine or rain, havens within the shadow of a frond. Aryl lifted her hand, touched his chest. We were good friends.
They’d been more. She’d loved him once, wanted nothing more than to be together, always, had saved his life instead of Costa’s for that love.
We can be again, Heart-kin. Help me have my Chosen. His lust was like a slap. I can’t wait much longer. Please.
She pushed him away. “You always did talk too much, Bern.” And she’d been a fool once already. Love. Her lips twisted. The word she’d given Marcus counted for so little, in the end, to an Om’ray. Snowdrops melted on her eyelashes; they could have been tears. Bern deluded himself if he thought Oran would let him be her friend in any way.
But he was right—they had been heart-kin. She couldn’t forget that.
“I can’t make any promises,” Aryl said at last. “I don’t know yet if I can move through the M’hir safely—let alone if I should teach anyone else. We’ve been busy staying alive. You can’t make promises either,” she cautioned when he made to speak. “You don’t control the Adepts.”
“But you’ll speak for us. You’ll let us stay.” With triumph.
He did know her, too well. Aryl tightened her shields. “It’s up to Oran and Hoyon. Sona needs more Om’ray, not more problems. If they’ll stay—and work—under our terms?” However unlikely that seemed. “I’ll do my best.”
Heart-kin.
“Don’t make me sorry, Bern,” she warned.
Heart-kin. With that cloying affection.
“Once. Not now.”
Another warning, if he was wise.
Aryl had done harder things than enter the crowded meeting hall and smile, but those had involved imminent death and pain at the hands—or claws—of the not-real. This was a room full of her people, her family. If she couldn’t accept the Grona in the same spirit, she owed Bern her best effort not to see them as intruders.
Which wasn’t easy when Oran, sitting wrapped in a blanket in pride of place on the new bench, gave her a look of pure fury.
So much for peace in that family.
Her outer clothing dripping wet, she stayed near the wall by the door, using the moment to tuck the geoscanner securely away, then hung her coat and scarf on wooden pegs hammered between wall beams. Bern, who’d come through the door behind her, did the same. She felt his stare on her leg and arm wraps, her tunic. She was still Yena, as he was not.
Before she could work her way to a quiet seat near a back corner, Haxel beckoned her to her side, near the fire. Those seated between lifted their hands to hers. Without hesitation, Aryl brushed her fingertips across them, receiving their welcome, sending back warmth. How it looked to the Grona, she didn’t know or care.
Bern, used to how things had been, was probably scandalized.
A comforting order had developed. Their eldest, Husni and Cetto, Morla and Lendin, sat on stacks of folded blankets, in the warmest part of the room by the fire, safe from the worst drafts. Their largest families had their spots, the Kessa’ats here, the Uruus with Seru, there. Myris and Ael, looking worn but happy, sat with Juo Vendan. Of Juo’s kin, Haxel rarely stayed in one place, and either Rorn or Gijs were on watch. The unChosen, Kayd, Cader, and Fon, were together—usually as near to where the food was as was polite.
They had not, Aryl noticed, added Kran Caraat to their ranks. He sat with Hoyon and Oswa, off to one side. Hard to tell they were close kin.
Yao wasn’t with her parents, though she had to be here, somewhere. Aryl sensed no glow in Sona beyond Gijs on guard outside the door. She looked around the room; with the improvements to the roof and smoke vent, the air was clear. Was the child with Ziba? She spotted Ziba curled between Seru and her mother, as if for protection. Which, now that Aryl thought about it, was a very good idea. Ziba’s shields were not yet mature. They confined most of her emotions, allowed her to roam from her mother without disturbing the minds of other Om’ray, but they were less than trustworthy around an upset younger Om’ray.
The last thing they needed right now would be the two of them expressing their personal reactions and needs with all the strength of instinct.
Aryl took a place beside Haxel, every tenth of this day expressed in the relief of being off her feet. She took the bowl passed to her by the Kessa’ats, gesturing gratitude to all involved with her free hand. “No Oud.”
“What did he want?”
“Bern?” She blew steam from a spoonful she was too tired to want. “Freedom from Grona’s rules. Rules concerning their Adept.”
“That’s the way of it?” The scar twisted along the First Scout’s cheek. “No wonder he looks to be sitting on a thickle. Wouldn’t let anyone interfere with mine.” Fondness. Across the room, Rorn sud Vendan glanced their way and broke into one of his rare smiles.
The unChosen, among themselves, chafed at the connection between Joined pairs, felt excluded from what they envied and longed for—their own completion. Hadn’t she complained about Chosen secrets and their silly, besotted looks? But lately, what she noticed wasn’t what was the same about the Chosen, but what was different. Each pair was unique. Haxel and Rorn went their separate ways and showed no obvious affection, yet Aryl couldn’t imagine one without the other. Ael and Myris were miserable on their own. Tilip and Veca might argue every waking moment, but they worked shoulder-to-shoulder whenever they could.
Costa and Leri? They’d stay apart for tenths for no reason than the joy of reuniting again. There had been a time she’d thought them fools.
Bern and Oran. Those were the fools. The connection between them should have brought them joy. It should have Joined the best of each. From all she could tell, so far it had brought out the worst.
Or maybe it was Grona. Hoyon and Oswa didn’t appear too happy with each other either.
“Think they’d stay?”
Aryl startled back to herself. “I don’t know. Do we want them?”
“That may not be up to us. Look.” Haxel nodded to where Chaun lay, Weth supporting his shoulders.
Oran knelt beside them, on a folded blanket. Her hair rose around her head as she passed her coupled hands over Chaun’s chest. She had the rapt attention of every Om’ray in the low-ceiling hall.
Chaun coughed, then took a deep, free breath. He looked up in wonder. “Nothing hurts.” Weth, though her eyes were closed, smiled tremulously. Both gestured gratitude as Oran rose.
The Healer staggered and would have fallen if Bern and Husni hadn’t hurried to support her. Whether planned or necessary, it left the right impression. Smiles, more gestures, murmurs of appreciation, followed as Bern escorted her back to her bench seat.
“Nicely done,” Haxel commented.
Aryl concentrated on her stew.
A moment later, Ael and Myris approached. Aryl stood quickly, and lifted her hands to her aunt, assessing how she looked. Weary, yes, but the wound looked months healed and her smile was every bit as bright as it used to be. When their fingers touched, the M’hir was its normal, distant roar to her inner sense. “You’re better,” she said, relieved.
Ael gestured gratitude with one hand, his other arm firmly around his Chosen. “Thanks to you as much as our new Healer.”
; “No need for that,” Aryl said, hoping he took her meaning. She wanted no questions from Oran about her own ability.
“Of course,” he agreed, a twinkle in his eye. “Now, we’re off to bed.”
“Ael insists I need more rest.” Myris’ smile acquired a mischievous dimple. “I haven’t heard that excuse for years.”
Definitely better. Aryl let them feel her joy.
Around them, things had settled to a quiet buzz of conversation. Impolite, to speak mind-to-mind in front of others. The topics were carefully neutral: projects underway, projects to be tackled, the not-unpleasant but different flavor of tonight’s stew. Sona’s Om’ray, carefully avoiding their visitors.
Not Grona’s way. Aryl was sure every exile remembered—not happily—the questioning they’d faced before Grona’s full Council. Everyone but Ziba had had to give their version of the events that led them from Yena to the mountains.
They’d all lied, of course. They’d kept the secret of the stranger’s aircar, claiming Oud had brought them. They’d omitted being exiled for their new and Forbidden Talents, for their willingness to change, claiming instead the Tikitik’s attack on Yena meant some had to leave, to preserve enough supplies for the rest.
Maybe that was why no one asked an accounting from these new arrivals. They feared lies in return.
When had Om’ray come to this? Wrong. Wrong.
Aryl found herself on her feet. Voices hushed as all turned to look at her.
Haxel radiated satisfaction.
What would Taisal do? Civil behavior. Aryl combined a bow that wasn’t quite Grona with the sweeping two-handed gesture of gratitude that was pure Yena, directed at Oran. The adult Grona gave halting bows in return. “Welcome to Sona, Oran. Bern—” beside his Chosen on the bench, “—Hoyon and Oswa. Kran and—” the tiny child was impossible to see among the rest “—Yao.” When in doubt, be formal. “We are Sona Clan, and we are pleased to offer you shelter from the storm.” Which cooperatively moaned and hammered against their newly stout walls.
As everyone reacted to the thought of being outside those walls—Oswa with wide eyes and a grab for a blanket—Aryl continued, gaining confidence. “Thank you, Oran, for putting your duty as Healer and Adept ahead of your own well-deserved rest.” She paused to let the exiles once more gesture their thanks. Chaun and Weth cuddled against the wall, Husni close by.
Oran managed to bow her head graciously. Her shields, to Aryl’s perception, were flawless.
As were her own. Aryl smiled. “I believe I speak for everyone when I invite you to stay, if that’s your wish. Sona will need strong hands and backs for the work ahead.”
The quiet laughter wasn’t altogether kind. Of the Grona, only Bern had calluses, and those weren’t fresh. Oran? Likely never sweated a day in her life.
Sona had no room for idlers.
Or lies. “You didn’t come because we needed a Healer. You came to Sona on Passage, hoping to stay. I’m sure everyone is curious…why.” The hush following her statement was tangible. Aryl could see Hoyon gathering himself to be first to speak. Oran’s face turned sickly pale; Bern gathered her in his arms.
Aryl sensed threads of anxiety drawing the exiles close. Most wanted to put the past behind them. Was she proposing to reveal their truth in turn?
There was nothing to gain either way, she decided. The exiles were ready to forget Yena. As for the Grona? If she revealed Bern’s plight, she’d humiliate him and Oran in front of everyone. If she told the truth about what the Adepts sought—to trade their help and unChosen for knowledge of her ability in the M’hir—she’d be forced to make that potentially dangerous decision here and now.
Leaving her one choice.
“We’ve come for the same reason,” she stated. “To shelter from a storm. Sona has given us that and more—a new Clan, a new life. Does it matter why any of us started the journey? We’re here. Only what we do together, from this moment, is important.
“I say anyone who comes to Sona for shelter should leave their past on the road. I say we should accept you for who you are and what you do here.” DO YOU AGREE, SONA? She sent to every mind, with all her strength, unintentionally dipping into the M’hir to reinforce her question.
The answer came back in an outpouring of warmth and welcome. The exiles surged to their feet and—rare for Om’ray—clustered around the startled Grona, offering their hands, patting shoulders. There were tears in not a few eyes.
Aryl stood apart with Haxel, watching. She’d done what she could for Bern: silenced the Grona before they could lie or expose themselves, and given them a way to become part of Sona.
“Hoyon looks ready to choke,” the First Scout commented.
Aryl shrugged. “He didn’t plan to stay. He may not. Depends how persuasive Oran can be.”
“They’ll leave when they get what they want.”
Watching Oswa smile shyly at Taen, Yao chase Ziba through a grove of adult legs, Aryl shrugged again. “Maybe they’ll find more here than they expected.”
Haxel snorted. “More work, that’s for sure. We’d best keep watch on them.”
“I couldn’t refuse,” she admitted, now worried. Likely the older Chosen’s intention. “He’s still—well, I couldn’t.”
“Think they didn’t know?” Haxel laughed at whatever showed on Aryl’s face. “Take it as a compliment. You look for the best. I prepare for the worst.”
Which had she just done?
Interlude
PASSAGE WAS DANGEROUS. Other unChosen, Enris assured himself, suffered and often died trying to reach their one true Choice. Or the Chooser easiest to reach. He’d never been fully clear on that part. They suffered and often died, with dignity. Alone.
While his fate was to be inflicted with unasked, unwelcome company. First that perverse Oud had dragged him through its tunnels, and now this…
“You don’t have to come,” he said wearily.
Thought Traveler barked its laugh. “But you are such a curiosity, Enris Mendolar. How can I leave before seeing how you end?”
The Tikitik had matched him stride for stride all day. At first, Enris had tried to ignore it. Then argue with it. Finally, he’d given up.
The creature had its use. Hard Ones shuddered and rolled aside well ahead of their approach, clearing an uncanny path. Thought Traveler claimed to regularly hunt them in this area. If so, it wasn’t particularly effective. Or the Hard Ones bred quickly. There was no end to them in sight.
The mountainside was in sight, too. His other problem. With every step closer, its slope looked worse: cliffs steeper than those on the other side of the valley—the ones he’d avoided climbing; the few ravines choked with loose stone. Presumably, at least some of them alive.
“I may end here,” he muttered.
The Tikitik had unfortunately good hearing, for a creature without obvious ears. “Any Yena could climb it.”
He didn’t bother to argue with it. Firstnight was here. The weather was turning colder, windier—warning of another storm on the way, to make life perfect. Enris tightened the straps on his pack. Down the valley it would have to be, a difficult but not impossible path. The ground was disturbed right to the rock, heaved into loose mounds higher than his head. He’d have to find a way between them.
“Why go that way?” Thought Traveler bounded ahead and stopped, forcing Enris to do the same. Facing it put him too close for comfort to the cluster of worms that covered its mouth, and he took an involuntary step back. “I thought you were on Passage to Vyna.”
“As you’ve noticed, I’m not Yena,” Enris said dryly. “I’ll go around, thank you. You don’t have to come.” He tried to pass the creature.
Its hand shot out, fastening on his arm like a metal clamp before he could avoid it. “Do you seek death? The ground is not what it seems, Tuana. Look carefully.”
The first line of heaved dirt rose within a few steps. Enris obliged the Tikitik by studying it, since he couldn’t shake its grip. Dirt. With the occ
asional wisp of dead plant. Stones. More dirt. The whole zigged and zagged at angles to the mountain, like a giant furrow in a field. Weathered, solid, and altogether unremarkable.
Except for its origins. Enris stiffened. “Is that what you meant—when you said Sona was in more danger than I was? Are the Oud about to reshape this again?”
The Tikitik released him. Enris didn’t bother glaring at the creature—in his experience, the not-real didn’t care about his opinion of their actions. “I’m impressed, Tuana. You know your neighbors.”
He had to warn her—to urge Aryl and the exiles to run—but even as Enris formed a sending, his concentration was broken by a hideous scream.
“Ah,” said Thought Traveler calmly. “Here is a neighbor you do not know.”
Another scream. Ears ringing, half crouched, Enris desperately looked for its source. Finally looked up…
…into a red mouth gaping wide enough to swallow him whole.
“Remain still, Om’ray.”
Oh, he was doing that. Running wouldn’t accomplish anything.
Wings like storm clouds thrashed the air as the beast descended, stirring up dust until he had to throw up an arm to protect his eyes. It landed on six long, clawed feet, knees—it had knees!—bent to take the force. The wings—there were two pairs, clear and veined in black—remained outstretched and rigid. The body was thin, tapered, covered with fine brown hair. Its head swung low, regarding him—now that its enormous mouth was closed—with two pairs of large eyes. The neck was elongated, like the Tikitik’s, but sagged with wrinkled skin, as if usually swollen.
Enris lowered his arm and rose to his full height. Around that neck, behind the head, was a band of cloth, marked in symbols. “Yours?”
The head shook violently, spittle flying from the edges of its mouth to pock the ground and Enris’ boots. He didn’t move. Thought Traveler barked. “Impressive again, Tuana. Most do not take their first sight of an esan well.” Another bark. “Likely because they know it will be their last.”
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