Enris was her friend. He couldn’t hurt her. When he was healed, happy again, he’d…
She could wait…she had to wait…
A wisp of hair slipped across her forehead, every strand a separate sensation. The chill of her toes and fingertips burned with sudden fire. Her next breath carved a channel through her throat and body, intricate and deep.
Not here. Not now. Aryl, wait! The dark centers of Naryn’s eyes reflected the snow. He won’t accept you now. We have to prepare, be ready. You could both fail. Hold on.
“I’m trying…” A hoarse, futile whisper. Aryl dropped to her knees, her hands buried in the cold, cold unable to stop the heat rising inside her. The DESIRE!
“Aryl?”
His voice.
NO! She threw herself away from him, from everything, launching herself into the M’hir, seeking safety, seeking control. Aryl pushed…
…and found herself on a wide branch, gazing out over the canopy.
Chapter 18
THE CANOPY’S GREEN AND BROWN made a living carpet, flowing to the mighty rastis of the Sarc grove. Flocks of flitters wheeled below; lingering clouds covered the sun. Slapping a biter, Aryl drew a deep breath of air that was as air should be: moist and warm and full of fragrance. The last time she’d been here, it had been with young Joyn, sailing fiches. Before running from the strangers.
She’d removed her Sona outercoat, willing to sweat in the inner. The rains might be over for the day, but that only made the biters worse. Her knife was free and in her hand, having just dealt with an overly bold stinger. Home, she thought, taking another deep breath.
Daughter. Taisal’s greeting held an undertone of threat.
Home, indeed. Mother, Aryl acknowledged, her reply through the M’hir holding them together. Are you well?
You shouldn’t be here.
I’ll leave soon. Before firstnight. She had no interest in feeding the canopy’s hunters. Until then…Aryl feasted her eyes on what was, beyond doubt, the most beautiful part of Cersi.
There are none for your Choice in Yena.
Which wasn’t true. Aryl’s inner sense had found two, from their direction both inside the Yena Cloisters, but she didn’t argue. Haven’t the Tikitik rebuilt the village?
We are patient.
They were prisoners. Aryl kept in her pity. Taisal and the others had picked their path. Still…
Tuana. Sona. Do you know what’s happened?
I know what you’ve done. Fury mixed with fear. All of it. Did you think you could change the face of the world and no one would die?
How old was the grove? Aryl wondered for the first time. How many times had it been destroyed and regrown? How many times had Yena been Oud, then Tikitik, then Oud…with Om’ray lives the cost?
Do you think we can leave the world as it is, Mother, she sent, and live?
Taisal listened. She knew it. And heard. The M’hir eased between them, if only slightly. We do what we must for our people.
Yes. Her people. Aryl thought of them all, pictured each of the Yena exiles for her mother. They’ve done well.
Too well, she realized suddenly. There couldn’t have been a better group to bring Sona back to life. Beyond their Talent and Power, they had all the knowledge they needed, the strength and courage and drive to take any challenge, even a Birth Watcher. Given a chance, nothing would stop them, if they were together.
Her sense of Taisal faded, as if her mother had followed that thought and tried now to slip away. Aryl sent Power through their link to hold it.
How did you pick us, Mother? It wasn’t just those with Forbidden Talent. How did you decide who to exile?
Taisal fought free, began to vanish. But then, ever-so-faint, came her answer.
We dreamed.
The branch on which she sat was larger and stronger than any of the stalks grown at Sona, the nekis itself a mountain by comparison. A frond from the neighboring rastis crossed over her head, seeking light. As for light…it was time. Standing on her toes, Aryl ran her fingers along the soft gray down of its underside. A farewell.
The branch swayed and she staggered to regain her balance. The thick Sona boots.
She bent to take them off.
“Won’t you need those?”
Enris. Suddenly there, in front of her. Like turning on a glow in the dark.
He glanced down and sat quickly, hands grabbing hold of the branch. “Why did I think cliffs were bad?”
Aryl frowned at him. “Why are you here?”
“You Called me.”
She hadn’t. She’d quenched the slightest urge. Which had been, she realized desperately, much easier before he arrived. “I didn’t. Go away.”
The annoying Tuana merely made himself comfortable. “I came to bring you home. It’s getting dark.”
“This is home,” Aryl told him. “This is what I am—nothing else. Not their leader. Not a Speaker. Just me, here. Nothing else.”
He made a noncommittal sound, and shooed a biter interested in his bare arm.
No coat. Clean clothes. Mended scratches. His hair shone. Aryl narrowed her eyes. “You used the ’fresher.” She felt itchy under her damp coat.
“Worin needs to stay with Marcus. Yuhas took the rest back to Sona. To meet those coming from Sona,” he corrected. “My guess is Haxel wants to know about the new arrivals.”
“What will they say about—about how you—Enris, we can’t let them tell the others about moving through the M’hir, not until they understand the dangers!”
“Oh, I’d say they all know what we can do now. Stop worrying. Marcus warned us until his face turned blue, and no one else knows how until we show them.” The big Tuana shifted and frowned. “You could have run somewhere with padding.”
“I didn’t,” Aryl said stiffly, “run.”
“’Port, then.” His lips quirked. “In order to run. From me.”
“Go away.” She walked out to the tip of the branch, feeling it dip under her weight, riding the motion.
Then it dipped a great deal more.
Aryl whirled around. “Stay where you are.”
Enris stopped, knees partially bent, arms out and tipping from side to side. He looked ridiculous. And anxious.
And oddly determined. “Come here, then.”
“No.”
He took another step, almost losing his balance, seriously risking hers.
“Do you want me to fall?” she complained. “Stop!”
An eyebrow lifted. “Thought Yena don’t fall.”
“They do if a clumsy oversized Om’ray fool shakes the branch! Stop!” Quickly, when he raised his foot.
He was impossible. Aryl took three quick steps. “There.”
“Closer.”
“Move back.”
Enris looked over his shoulder, teetered alarmingly, then eased toward the trunk, where the branch was wider and stronger. One step. Two. A slip and Aryl’s heart pounded. “Be careful!”
Another two steps put him on better footing. “Your turn,” he challenged. “If you can.”
“I live here, remember?” Aryl began to walk easily along the branch, Sona boots or not.
Without warning, Enris stepped forward again, meeting her where the branch was not wide enough to pass.
She’d forgotten how tall he was.
“This is no place for games, Tuana,” Aryl warned him. “You’ll fall.”
“Then you’ll have to catch me.” He held out his hand. “You will, won’t you, Aryl Sarc?”
This wasn’t about falling or catching.
She couldn’t move. Could hardly breathe. “Don’t.” The urge within her was rising, nameless and wild.
Enris didn’t smile, didn’t laugh. His face was weary with grief, his eyes unutterably sad. “Don’t what, Chooser of my heart?” he asked softly. “Don’t reach for the only joy I can feel in this world? Don’t hope, in case I fail? Some risks are worth—”
Aryl stopped his mouth with hers, his taste ending all
thought. Her right hand found his arm, trailed the rise of muscle and bone, reveled in the fine hair and warmth of his skin, until their fingers met and intertwined, until their palms met and…
…Power sought Power, mind sought mind.
Found!
Fire struck metal and took away its shape. Water found slope and carved its own channel. The M’hir Wind screamed through chasms and split rock, reached the canopy and tore limbs, found the rastis and freed its wings to soar in a sky…
…a sky of heartbreaking color and movement and life, as if every moment of happiness had been tossed too high to reach, waiting until they could lift each other there…until two…
…became one.
Interlude
AND fell.
Not fair, Enris complained as he tried in vain to grab one of the thousands of branches whipping by his face. Just when…
…the M’hir took him, spun him about, and left him…
…standing. He was standing. That was good.
And being held. He looked down, bemused to find Aryl clinging to him. That was better.
Cautiously, he probed at the new something inside. Definitely not the kind of link he’d shared with his mother.
This was—this was—
“You made me fall.” Aryl pulled back to glare at him. “I don’t believe it. You knocked us off the branch and made me fall.”
“I was falling, too,” Enris pointed out, trying not to smile. He also tried not to dwell on the indignant swell of her lower lip. Briefly. Then he leaned down to explore it more thoroughly with his own.
Which found her fingers. “We’re in Sona,” she told him. Her fingers traced his mouth then followed his jaw. “And this, my dear Chosen, is not allowed.” The lightest imaginable slap. “Yet.”
Chosen. The word sang along his nerves. The reality was like having her nestled by his side, instead of walking to a makeshift door to look out. The ache and need he’d managed to ignore might have never existed, save for how wonderful he felt right now. And how much more wonderful he planned to feel as soon as possible.
Aryl went out the door.
That wasn’t right.
Enris followed. “What do you mean…yet?”
“You two stay with me. That’s the way it is.”
There were more Tuana here, including his uncle’s family, a discovery that at any other time would have occupied his every thought.
Today? Enris looked at his cousin Ezgi, who shrugged, then back at Yuhas. “But we’re Joined.” He liked saying it. Loved feeling it. Every breath contained his awareness of Aryl, her joy to be aware of him. It drove the pain and grief to the shadows of his mind, like the rising of the sun.
He didn’t like being told he couldn’t go any closer than that feeling until Husni and the others said so.
His friend laughed. “We all go through it.” A fleeting sadness. “Your father endured me while I wanted for Caynen. It’s the least I can do for you.”
“How long?” It had been, to his mind, too long already.
“Until both are ready. I’m told Sarcs are—” Yuhas looked embarrassed. “They’re unpredictable.”
“Giving you trouble, Yuhas?” asked Galen sud Serona as he entered and put down a tray of steaming cups.
“I’m not,” his son said pointedly. “And I’ve waited longer.” This with a sigh.
His father’s older brother. The resemblance was there if he looked for it, Enris thought. The kindness of the eyes, the careful strength of the hands, the patience. He’d gone to Galen for the wood of his bench. He’d gone to him when Kiric slipped from his mind, unable to share that burden with his parents.
“I—” What could he say now? Their Clan had been destroyed. How dare he be so ridiculously happy? Enris fought for words to explain, to apologize, and failed.
Galen’s hand pressed his shoulder. It’s all they ever wanted for you. Aloud, “Find joy, Enris sud Sarc.”
“Just not yet,” Yuhas added hastily.
Chapter 19
ODD.
Aryl didn’t open her eyes, unwilling to lose the scent. Though how could there be dresel cake in Sona?
…because it’s the best day of your life, Daughter…
Mother?
Silence…she must have imagined the voice.
Though when did the pile of blankets the Sona called a bed become one, so comfortable her body was unwilling to move?
And that sound. A wysp, its three voices trilling an end to truenight. Nothing sang in Sona but the wind.
Wait…that was a giggle.
Her hair moved across her face.
Aryl brushed it away. A breeze.
Her hair moved again, this time slapping her cheek.
Not a breeze.
Another giggle.
Aryl sat up suddenly.
“I thought you’d never open your eyes.” Seru’s sparkled like fresh leaves in a sunbeam; her smile dimpled both cheeks. “Honestly, Cousin. I know Sarcs are different but two days?” She was sitting cross-legged on the end of Aryl’s bed. Her black hair, thicker, shinier, peeked over one shoulder, then spilled forward in a flood. “I think poor Enris is going to burst.”
Enris…?
Here! with a rush of joy and longing and impatience and…
Hush! she replied, trying to catch her breath.
I’ve been hushed all this time…along with images of years passing, harvests being harvested, children growing to adulthood, rocks weathering…I’ve suffered! with distinct glee.
“Ezgi pesters me, too,” Seru said matter-of-factly. “Just tell him Husni’s on her way.”
Husni…
I heard!!! Wild excitement.
He heard? Aryl frowned, very slightly. We’re going to have to talk about privacy, my dear Chosen.
I’m all for privacy… images of frankly incredible beds, fields of fragrant grass, even a brief glimpse of a wide branch, quickly dismissed for a simple blanket on snow. Can we be private now?
Hair caressed her cheeks and slipped around her neck. Opinionated stuff.
Seru giggled and bounced closer. “How do you feel? I feel—I feel wonderful.”
Feel. About to say she felt rested, if a little confused, Aryl stopped. “I feel—I’ve never felt like this.” It was true. Her body was aglow with strength. The accustomed aches, including the one in her left elbow, were gone. She wasn’t hungry, or tired, or cold. But she was, she discovered, looking down, different. “I’m lumpy.”
Seru pressed her hands against her own new breasts. “Aren’t they wonderful? And we’ve hips, too!”
“So long as they don’t interfere,” Aryl muttered to herself.
Show me and I’ll tell you…
HUSH! she sent, feeling heat suffuse her face from eyebrows to throat. And elsewhere.
Enris, wisely, didn’t comment. Aryl smiled to herself.
“Is it wrong?” Seru leaned forward, her smile gone. “To be so happy? All those Om’ray, dead. Naryn and the rest—they’re being brave. Most of them. But I feel—” another giggle burst out, rekindling the smile, “—I just can’t feel guilty or sad.”
“Don’t try.” Myris stepped through the door, followed by Husni. “Your happiness is a gift to all of us. If there’s a future, it’s here, with you four.”
“There’s a future,” Aryl said, making it a promise.
How you glow, her aunt sent softly.
“I will have bathing!” Husni declared. “It’s bad enough you, young Sarc, had to go off and Join away from everyone else. At least you had the sense to come home to commence! Now. There will be respect for tradition if I have to hold the both of you down myself!”
Seru peeled herself off the bed. “Yes, Husni.”
Aryl’s hair twitched with annoyance. It didn’t help that she could feel Enris laughing. “There isn’t water to waste—” the words died in her throat as Ziba came through the door with her mother, Taen. Both held a cup in one hand, a cloth in the other.
Then
Veca and Juo. Morla and Weth. Oswa and little Yao hovered in the doorway until Haxel swept them both through with her.
Naryn and Caynen.
Oran.
The rest of the Tuana: Menasel and Beko, Cien and Lymin, the sisters and their mother, Stryn.
All wore their best, or what they could find to be their best. All held a cup and cloth. They formed a generally solemn semicircle before the beds, though Yao giggled and Ziba couldn’t stand still.
“Bathing.” Husni ordered. Her face wrinkled in a smile. “Now, show us yourselves.”
Some rituals, Aryl grumbled to herself, she’d have gladly left behind. But they looked so expectant…she stood, dropping the blanket as Seru did the same.
Nods. More giggles. Smiles of approval. Weth squinted but managed a smile, too.
“He’ll be happy.” This from Naryn.
Aryl’s hair picked that moment to express its own opinion, lifting into the air, sliding over her shoulders, generally misbehaving. She would, she vowed as she tried in vain to hold it back, be using a metal net.
Still, her hands lingered on it. There was something about the stuff. No longer hair, really. From pale brown, it had lightened to a red gold. Thicker, longer.
A tendril wrapped around her wrist.
Annoying.
“Get on with it, Husni,” Haxel said. “Or those lovesick oafs will break their way out of the meeting hall.” There was an unusually broad smile on her face. The others, even Oran, laughed.
Aryl picked up the wristband she’d taken off before going to sleep. Before becoming what she was and would be. She slipped it over her wrist and ran her fingers over its smooth lovely design. Enris…
Here. Always.
She smiled to herself. There’s to be a bath…
Not entirely mock dismay. How long will that take?
It doesn’t matter, Chosen of my heart, she sent, with all the love and excitement and joy she felt. We have the rest of our lives.
With a roar of laughter, the Om’ray of Sona soaked washcloths in cups of melted snow and rushed forward to scrub their newest Chosen.
I could help with that…
Soon.
Riders of the Storm Page 44