“If you’d wanted something to eat me,” Enris countered, “you’d have left me to the Hard Ones.”
The esan flapped its head again, as if aggravated by his voice.
“It’s true, you are a rare entertainment. More so if you survive your Passage. I would enjoy a familiar face among the Vyna.” For some reason, it barked amusement.
“I’ll survive.”
It wasn’t Thought Traveler he promised, but the creature regarded him with all its eyes. “Then listen as I will tell you, Enris Mendolar of Tuana Om’ray, what may increase your chances. Leave your pack. Take only what you can carry on your body.”
The Tikitik was insane. “My supplies—”
“Of no use if you are dead. Hurry or not. It is your choice.”
Hurry? What did it know? Enris shook off his pack, furiously concentrating, striving to reach Aryl. She was distant…too distant. He dumped the contents on the dirt, grabbing what he had to have. ARYL!!! No answer. Her rope went around his waist, her longknife through that makeshift belt. What food he could ram into pockets. He already had his pouch, with the firebox and wafer. Her knot of hair. ARYL!!!!!! BEWARE THE OUD!! Enris trembled inside with effort and didn’t know if she’d heard.
The M’hir sang to him, its ripples of black behind his eyes, its surges of power so close, too close. He dared let it come…
A rush of wind, real wind full of fresh dust, knocked him flat. Before he could do more than sputter, another rush and a scream…
And claws clenched around his body, pinning one arm, pulling him off the ground. Enris fought to free himself…
“Don’t jump yet, Tuana,” he heard. “You’ll know when.”
Another rush of wind, this time free of dust. They were airborne and rising!
The esan’s wings gave one final full beat, then began to vibrate rapidly, chattering his teeth. It climbed with bewildering speed. A fall now, Enris judged, would break every bone in his body—although landing on the Tikitik would have made that worthwhile. And still it climbed.
He hooked his free arm around the leg that held him and did his best not to look down.
Had Aryl heard him? Would the Oud attack Sona again—or had that been part of Thought Traveler’s “amusement”?
Was he being carried over the mountain or to the esan’s nest, like a stolen trinket clutched by a loper? Trinket or meal?
“Where are you taking me?” Enris shouted angrily.
The esan shook its head. One of its rearward legs stretched past him to scratch vigorously at its neck, causing the creature to slip alarmingly toward the rock face before it recovered.
Don’t talk to the flying monster, he told himself.
Enris had flown before. Twice. Once in an Oud aircar. Once in the strangers’. Since he’d been unable to see out during either flight, he remembered only stomach-wrenching sensations and the fear of not-knowing. Though the strangers’ had a comfortable bench.
Now that he had an unimpeded view, he preferred the not-knowing fear.
The claws’ grip wasn’t too painful. There were three, none constricting his breathing. The obvious answer, that the creature was accustomed to carrying something alive, wasn’t as reassuring as it might be. Tuana might not have Yena’s wild abundance, but the fields contained a small, nasty hunter that carried its living prey below ground. Croptenders liked it. Being in the prey’s position, Enris felt differently.
If he’d had both arms free, he would have used the rope to secure himself to the leg, not to mention had the longknife ready to use.
Probably as well he didn’t, Enris decided. Thought Traveler had warned him to be ready to jump. And the esan wouldn’t notice a blade five times longer than his.
Jump. He swallowed bile. Not now.
The esan hadn’t flown over the mountain. No, after flying high enough to make him ill, it had elected to fly into it, choosing one of the ravines carved into the stone for its road. A winding, jagged, water-rock-ice-filled cavity with shadows and teethlike protrusions and—he closed his eyes hastily—the occasional very sharp going-to-die bend. Wind whistled and moaned. The sun barely touched this place; his feet were numb, although his boots had stayed on. At times, the esan’s wings brushed both sides. Rock tumbled free—those wings weren’t as delicate as they looked.
Or the mountain was about to crumble. Enris swallowed again.
It was taking him toward Vyna. His kind were somewhere ahead, their combined glow closer and warmer with each miserable moment. He clung to that comfort as tightly as he clung to the esan.
His kind were behind as well, one isolated, most together, others on the move. Beyond them was the solid glow of Grona. Below—so far below.
Enris grinned. What did they think of him, so far above?
His grin faded. Would Aryl think he’d abandoned her and her people for the strangers or the Oud? That his avowed purpose had been nothing more than an excuse to leave without argument? That he’d found something to trade for a flight in one of their air-cars?
“I wish,” he said fervently. The esan shuddered, but didn’t scratch. Perhaps this journey through rock was something it considered dangerous, too.
Also not reassuring.
Enris found it harder and harder to stay conscious. It wasn’t sleep, though he was exhausted to his core. The air had chilled until it hurt to breathe; he shivered constantly now. His mind felt slow and thick. Most terrifying of all, he found himself confused by where he was and why, and fought to hold his shields.
Through it all, the valiant esan flew, wings quivering. He no longer feared it would eat him. Why carry a burden this far it could simply swallow? Its exertion made it a companion, a friend, a brother—or maybe sister, since he couldn’t tell its sex.
Had his token come loose? He should have put it in a pocket, not left it on his coat. Without it, the esan might as well eat him, or drop him. Vyna would be within their rights to refuse him entry. Refuse him their secrets.
If they had any…
Enris shook his head, hard. He couldn’t afford maudlin worries. Thought Traveler had warned him to jump—that he’d know when.
The joke would be on him if he jumped at the wrong moment and died, after flying through a mountain.
He couldn’t touch Aryl’s mind. He’d tried. Too far. A fine time to learn his limits; the worst imaginable time to attempt a connection through the M’hir. He could hardly think past the vibration of the esan’s wings, the noise of the wind. Impossible to concentrate and hold himself together.
Sona was on its own, for now.
Enris roused, feeling a change. Warmth, that was it. The air was warmer and moist, like a summer afternoon after a shower. Thicker. He opened his eyes, surprised he’d closed them, and gasped.
No more mountains or jagged ridges. Instead, they were descending beside a wall of black stone, smooth and sheer. Above was heavy cloud, dark and stormy. The wall disappeared into it, as if it went through the sky. To either side, it curved like the sides of a bowl into the distance. Below was featureless gray, more cloud, the kind that formed against the ground.
Drawn by an irresistible pull, his head turned away from the wall to face an otherwise identical section of the lowermost cloud. A Chooser’s Call…sweet, rich. More…Om’ray! Vyna! The esan had brought him where he had to be. Enris laughed and thumped its leg in gratitude.
As if this had been an expected signal, the claws loosened.
Desperately, Enris grabbed hold, his no-longer pinned arm hanging numb and useless from his shoulder. His feet scrabbled until they found purchase at the claw joints. There. Safe.
Stupid creature!
Thought Traveler would have enjoyed this, too, he grumbled to himself.
Hard to stay grim when every slip downward brought him closer to Vyna. What did they think of an Om’ray drifting down from the clouds? Enris grinned. Nothing like making a spectacular entrance.
The esan flexed its thin body, sucked in a deep breath, and let out one of
its hideous screams.
Enris winced. Not going to impress the new Clan.
The new Clan…his new Clan, if they were what he hoped.
First he had to arrive in one piece. He searched the cloud below for any hint of what lay beneath. Nothing. The gray was impenetrable. The esan continued to descend. Its wings stilled abruptly, then began to beat in long, powerful strokes instead of quivering. He hadn’t realized how bone-shaking the vibration had been until it stopped, and resisted the urge to pat the creature again.
The gray swallowed them. Tiny droplets caught on his eyelashes, the esan’s hair, the threads of his coat. Enris licked them from the scales near his face. Not a drink, but the moisture relieved the dryness of his mouth and cracked lips. The mist pressed closer, until he could only see the rest of the esan during the down stroke of its front wings, when the mist swirled and parted for an instant.
Then, they were clear.
Black rock loomed out of nowhere. They were too close to the ground!
Enris let go and threw himself in a frantic roll to the side as the esan’s leading wing struck. It screamed again and again, claws scratching as it fought to stay upright. A final heave from all six limbs, a crack like thunder of wing against rock, and it disappeared into the mist.
He was still alive.
Waiting for the spinning in his head to subside, Enris lay on his back, stretched out his arms and legs, and laughed.
From this vantage point, he could see that the mist started about waist height. He was lying—he rolled on his side to see better—on a long stretch of perfectly flat and smooth black rock. He’d have thought it metal from a distance. A road, he decided.
What was that?
Discovering that he couldn’t see his outstretched fingers if he stood, Enris dropped to his hands and knees to follow the gentle sound. Knee…hand. Knee…his hand found nothing and he jerked back in reflex before exploring more carefully.
Ah. He’d found the edge of the road, as sharp and clean as the side of his cart. He extended his arm as far as he could. Nothing. The sound came from below and suddenly, he knew what it was.
Water. Lapping against the rock.
Carefully, Enris turned and moved in the opposite direction. Knee…hand. Knee…hand. Twice more. Then, another edge. Water. Lapping against the rock.
How close had the esan come to missing this sliver of dry land? What if he’d stood and blundered around in the mist?
Swimming was not a Tuana skill.
He found the middle of the road and lay down, his heart racing. Om’ray were coming toward him. He could sense them.
He’d just wait here.
Chapter 11
OUTSIDE, THE STORM PROWLED, testing each repair with icy claws, piling snow on roofs made of planks and coats until planks creaked and coats bulged downward. By so little was it kept at bay, but it was enough. Inside, the oillights were dimmed, fires aglow. Bodies lay together, warmed by each other as much as the flame. They were all weary, especially the Grona. Hoping for a useful dream—or none—Aryl closed her eyes, listened to the steady music of breathing, and made herself relax.
Tried.
Failed.
How had Enris traveled so far—so fast? How had he managed to be higher than other Om’ray? They’d all felt their world expand upward for part of a tenth, then regain its proper shape. Husni, dizzy, had sat abruptly on the floor.
Only she’d known for sure it was Enris, though doubtless several of the exiles guessed. They probably also guessed, as she did, that he’d been carried over the mountains in an aircar by the Oud or the strangers. She’d only Marcus’ word he wouldn’t approach other Om’ray; to the impulsive Human, Enris was almost a friend. As for the Oud? They’d shown unusual interest in the Tuana before. Had he been in trouble—been rescued? Not that help would be free of risk from either source.
Didn’t matter, she told herself. However he’d managed to fly, Enris was in Vyna.
Was it of stone or wood? Were there towering stalks of rastis and nekis, or the flat dreary—which Enris professed to love—land of the Tuana? Or was it more like Grona, stuck on the side of a mountain?
He’d have met his new Clan by now.
Were they welcoming? They’d be surprised, she thought. How many went there? They had to need new Om’ray. Someone of the Tuana’s quality had to be rare. He was skilled, accomplished, strong…
Annoying.
Aryl snuggled deeper into her nest of blankets. If they wanted to impress Enris, they’d best set a full table.
Were there Choosers?
Not what Enris sought, but she wished it for him. Someone bright and fun, who was interested in how things worked, who cared about other Om’ray. Someone who would laugh with him.
She missed his laugh…
Someone tugged the cover from her shoulder. “You have your share, Seru,” Aryl grumbled, pulling it back.
A touch. Help me.
Oswa? Aryl rolled over, instantly alert. The Chosen knelt beside her, hair lashing with distress. “It’s Yao.” So quietly she had to strain to hear.
The dreaming? With a pang of guilt, Aryl sat up. “I’m sorry, Oswa,” she whispered. “I meant to talk to—”
“She’s gone.”
How could a child be gone?
Instinctively, Aryl lowered her shields to reach. What she felt brought her rushing to her feet, running for her coat, Oswa stumbling alongside.
Yao was outside.
Not only outside, but moving away from Sona—from her mother. Too young to be farther than any Highknot climb Aryl knew. Too small and helpless to be out in truenight, let alone in a storm.
How could a child do that?
No wonder Oswa was distraught. Their bond, the tightest of all between Om’ray, must be a torment. She was amazed the mother had been able to make a sensible plan, to get help. “You did the right thing to wake me,” she praised. Boots, coat. “You shouldn’t go out in truenight alone.”
Others were throwing off blankets and called questions. “The little one’s playing a trick,” Aryl answered, afraid it was nothing of the kind. “I need a light.”
“Here.” A snap and flare as one was lit in front of her. Aryl squinted through the brightness at Haxel. “Rorn. Syb!” More lights were lit. Everyone was moving.
“Hurry!” Oswa grabbed the nearest coat; she didn’t bother with boots as she ran for the door. Her hair whipped its desperation; it carved red streaks across her face and neck, barely missed her eyes.
No point trying to stop her. Taking the light from Haxel, Aryl looked for the only one who could. She was shocked to find Hoyon seated on the bench, his back to them.
A question for later.
Rorn and Syb thundered mere steps behind as Aryl followed Oswa out the door and into truenight.
The storm she’d mocked to Bern had become a thick swirl of snowdrops, pushed this way and that by the bitter wind. They caught and stopped the light, making it impossible to see more than a few steps ahead. That didn’t slow Oswa Gethen. She wasn’t Yena, but her desperate need to reach her daughter kept her moving at a reckless pace. Aryl matched it. Rorn and Syb had drawn their longknives, the blades glinting in the lights they carried. What good they’d be against rock hunters, if any were out in the snow, she didn’t know. But she didn’t suggest they put them away.
“Why isn’t Yao coming back?”
Rorn was right. The child kept moving away. Aryl reached, lowering her shields.
CONFUSION/FEAR…MOTHERWHEREAREYOU!…WHEREAREYOUWHERE…
Wincing, she quickly raised them again.
How could the child not know where her mother was?
Over the wind and the muffled pound of feet through snow, she could hear the choked moan Oswa made with every breath. No matter her will, the weaker Om’ray was failing. Aryl tossed the light to the ground and took her arm as she staggered and slowed, sending strength through that contact. “Let us find Yao,” she pleaded. In answer, Oswa sagged heavily
against her, mute and gasping. “Syb, go!”
Rorn stayed with them; Syb, freed to move at full speed, disappeared beyond the wall of snow with his light.
Rock hunters were the least of their fears now, Aryl knew. Unlikely the child had a light. If she made it through the ruins and treacherous footing, she would walk off the river’s bank.
If Yao stopped? The cold had grown deadly. In a warm coat and boots, every lungful made her shiver inside.
Boots.
“Rorn. Take her.” He came at once, holding Oswa with one arm, the other lifting the oillight.
“I have to find Yao…” the mother gasped, but couldn’t break his grip.
Oswa hadn’t stopped for boots. Aryl knelt. The thin cloth Grona wore on their feet was little more than shreds, the flesh beneath bloody and torn. Too much skin showed, all of it mottled with white. She sucked in a breath between her teeth. What would Yao’s feet be like?
They could only help one at a time. She took off her boot—too narrow. Rorn grunted and lifted his foot. “Use mine.” Oswa didn’t argue again, her relief muted by pain as her feet warmed.
Snow filled the air, collected on their heads and shoulders, softened the stone. They didn’t try to follow Syb; they couldn’t take Oswa back. As it was, the Grona mother sobbed quietly, her hair straining against her hood. Aryl couldn’t imagine the agony of being forced to wait, apart.
Surely Yao felt the same?
Oswa straightened in Rorn’s hold, snow sliding from her coat. “She’s coming!”
A heartbeat later, Aryl felt it, too. Yao, moving in their direction. Considerably faster, she thought with relief, than those little legs could travel in daylight, let alone the dark.
Syb carried her.
With a sigh of relief, she retrieved her light from the snow and relit its flame. “Go back. I’ll wait with Oswa,” she told Rorn. Though his feet were wrapped in a tough double layer of Yena gauze, they had to be numb by now. He didn’t argue, gesturing gratitude as he limped away.
Oswa stood on her own, now, as if her relief was a Power as potent as any Healer’s. Aryl could feel her joy—and something else. Apprehension.
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