Rift in the Sky

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Both had to exist, to write the name of the world. Was that the true meaning of Tikitna and the Makers’ Touch?

  If so, she wasn’t here to explain Sona or Tuana.

  She was here to explain herself.

  Why not?

  Why, she thought fiercely, not.

  Their attempts at secrecy were worse than futile. The Tikitik could follow them—somehow—no matter if they walked, climbed, or ’ported. They’d been caught in Vyna, traveling as no Om’ray could, where no Om’ray Chosen would.

  If she could explain its value to Om’ray, to peace and safety, this might be a chance to gain acceptance for their Talent.

  And she’d feared to walk over water?

  Courage. From Enris. From Naryn. Even from Anaj. Her anxiety must have spilled through her shields.

  Encouraged, Aryl wrapped her fingers around the Speaker’s Pendant. “All my life, I’ve been told the Agreement forbids change.” Were her words lost in this space, deflected among the branches above or smothered in moisture?

  She refused to doubt. The Tikitik made this; they brought her here. They wanted to hear her.

  They would.

  “I’ve been told change was forbidden so that all races would stay as they were. That the Agreement preserves the peace of our world. But Om’ray exist in more than what you see. There is another place we—some of us—can sense with our minds.” A hint of shock from Naryn or Anaj, quickly hidden. They still trusted her.

  Would they?

  Aryl walked, her toes out, balanced along the callused edge of her arches. “Some Om’ray call it the Dark,” she continued. “To our inner sight, it’s like storm clouds building against truenight. Or sometimes like water, black and turbulent. The minds of Chosen Join through it. That’s why the death—” she fought the tightness in her throat, “—the death of one dooms the other. It wasn’t always so. I believe this change must have been happening inside Om’ray for a long time, where no one could see or notice.”

  Thought Traveler was heading toward her now, on the same side of the symbol. A time limit, she guessed. When they met, she must be done.

  When done, she must succeed.

  “No one noticed, until me. I found I had the Talent to move not only my thoughts, but my body through the Dark. It was nothing I intended. It’s part of what I am. Something new. Because of that, because my change couldn’t be hidden, I was exiled from Yena.” Because of that, Costa, Leri, so very many . . .

  Aryl forced away the past. “Because change risks the Agreement, I knew using my ability again would be the worst thing I could do—not only for Yena but for Cersi.” Step. Step. A larger ripple than most followed alongside, then sank away. “But when my people were in danger, I didn’t think. I acted. I used my ability to help us survive.” Survive the Tikitik attack on Yena, something else they knew.

  “I tried to keep it a secret, but it isn’t only me. There are other Sona with this ability—to ’port through what we call the M’hir or move objects through it. Because Om’ray continue to change inside.”

  Her path wove back toward its start. Thought Traveler matched its steps to hers. Closer. Closer.

  “We value the Agreement,” Aryl stated firmly. “I value it. But this change isn’t something we control. All we can control is what we do with our new Talents.” Its eyes angled downward in their cones to meet hers, expectant.

  What else could she say?

  The truth.

  Aryl let go of the pendant and lifted her chin. “My Clan wants to live in peace. But we won’t allow Om’ray to die at the whim of another race again. Ever. We have the means now to survive—and we will.”

  Her next step took her to Thought Traveler. They both stopped.

  “The whims of Oud kill Om’ray,” it reminded her. “We do not.”

  “I see no difference.” Aryl frowned. “You make it impossible to survive.”

  “We make it difficult. A profound difference.” With a bark of amusement, Thought Traveler gestured to their surroundings. “Life must struggle, Little Speaker. Which is why we regret losing Sona as it becomes interesting. I only hope Tuana’s survivors prove as resilient and entertaining as your Chosen.”

  Enris . . .

  For a wonder, his sending felt amused. Almost. I’m fine. Imagining breaking its neck keeps my mind off where we are. Why did I think it was a good idea to perch like a Yena?

  Her lips twitched, but she concentrated on Thought Traveler. To stand on the narrow edge was “difficult.” She bent her knees slightly, settled for however long this took. Aryl wished she could sense its emotions, read meaning in how its eyes shifted or its mouth protuberances writhed. It was, she thought glumly, easier talking to the Human.

  Or a chair.

  Nonetheless, this being was the one she had to convince, and through it, the rest of its kind. “With you as neighbors,” she began, “the Tuana will be forced to change, too. Change is against the Agreement—”

  “It is not.”

  The water, clear and mud-stained, suddenly loomed closer. Regaining her balance was easier than believing what she’d heard. “I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps you can’t.” Thought Traveler tilted its head to regard her from another angle. “Om’ray have never grasped the essence of the Agreement.”19

  She glowered at the creature. “We aren’t stupid.”

  “I never said you were. To you, the world is Om’ray, the past a few generations long, and time moves into the future with each birth. Without comparison, without history, you cannot observe how change is part of all life, including yours. You said it yourself, Apart-from-All. When Om’ray discover something new among themselves, their reaction is to conceal or stop it. Unsuccessfully, let me assure you, though we may appear oblivious. Watching for change,” a grand and meaningless sweep of its arms, “is what we do.”

  What it did was be confusing. Aryl’s hair lashed its agreement, stinging her cheeks. She should have left on the net. “Cersi is divided among the Tikitik and Oud,” she recited grimly. “Om’ray may trespass outside their Clan only during Passage. Change is forbidden, for all sakes. What ‘essence’ do you think we miss?”

  It didn’t protest the question. “You say the words, Little Speaker, but apply them only to yourselves. The change the Agreement forbids is in the Balance among our races, not within any one.” Thought Traveler leaned so close, the writhing worms of its mouth brushed her chin. Her hair retreated; Aryl did not. “The Balance keeps the world fit for us all. Think of it, Apart-from-All. A Cersi perfect for Oud would be too dry for us.” A gesture to the living building overhead. “A Cersi perfect for Tikitik would not only be too wet for Oud, but swarm with life beyond even a Yena’s ability to survive. While a Cersi perfect for you—could not exist here without Oud to drain the ground and Tikitik to replenish it. Without the Balance, none of us survive.”

  Aryl’s breath quickened. If she understood, the Adepts were wrong. There was no reason to fear new Talents among Om’ray, to forbid them. If she understood. Don’t ask a question, she reminded herself. Don’t fall in the water. Don’t make a mistake.

  “If what I learned was wrong,” she said carefully, testing the concept, “then it’s not against the Agreement for Om’ray to be different from one another.”

  A feathery touch across her eyelids, then the Tikitik drew back slightly. “You continue to impress, Aryl di Sarc. I wonder if you could possibly grasp the source of our delight at Sona.”

  Another Clan? A restored Clan? That wasn’t it, Aryl thought, frustrated. The Tikitik had lost Sona to the Oud.

  It said they watch for change. What’s Sona if not the biggest one of all?

  You’re brilliant, she informed her Chosen, receiving a thoroughly deserved smug in return. Aloud, “It’s not only differences between Om’ray you care about. It’s differences between our Clans, too.”

  This brought its head bobbing upward in its double nod, then down to stare with all four eyes. She could hear hi
ssing above, but didn’t dare look away. “Astounding. Few of your kind could reason thus. Fewer still would trouble themselves to try.”

  She bristled. “If you talked to us, instead of pushing us into ‘difficult’ situations for your amusement, you’d find we reason as well as you.”

  “Point taken. Though to be fair to my predecessors, you’re the first Om’ray to endure our attempts at serious conversation.” A chill ran down her spine. “We do indeed care—a great deal—about the differences between Om’ray Clans. Every one is unique. Every one must stay distinct to promote the diversity of your kind. Your understanding is not required—” proving it could read her gathering scowl. “Your cooperation is.”

  A promising turn. Cooperation implied a future, didn’t it? “If it means we can live in peace . . .” she let her voice trail away.

  “It means you have become dangerous, Little Speaker. Your people now walk the name of the world, as we did here, and to either side is death. For the first time in our shared history, Om’ray could disturb the Balance. By accident. By design. And we cannot survive without one another.”

  Like the stupid Oud, she decided in frustration. Trying to enlist her, or Sona, or both, against a rival. “Then leave us in peace—”

  It pushed her. Quick and hard.

  Even as she cried out and slipped toward the brown water, Thought Traveler caught her arm in a grip that hurt. It pulled her upright again, held until she tugged free. “None of us,” it insisted, “survive alone.”

  Aryl!

  She sent reassurance to Enris, to the others, wishing she could do the same for herself. She was missing something here. Something vital. The Tikitik wasn’t trying to annoy or scare her. It was—it was trying to make her understand. What?

  Words. Words weren’t enough for Om’ray. How could she get more from such a being?

  The Yena game. The trust game.

  Using her left hand, Aryl took hold of Thought Traveler’s left wrist, below the band of cloth with its name. It didn’t avoid her touch; it didn’t resist when she tugged the wrist toward her. Their balance so connected was precarious; both had to use their opposing arms to compensate. “Cooperation,” she said.

  “Yes.”

  The Tikitik’s skin was cool and dry, almost pebbled. More like stone than the covering of flesh, except for the pulse beneath her forefinger and thumb. Too quick.

  Might be normal. Hers raced, too. She’d never imagined playing with it, nor any game for such stakes. The world itself? What could it want from her?

  They, not it. Thought Traveler spoke for more than itself. So must she. How could Om’ray be dangerous?

  It had taken them from Vyna, said it was to protect the Vyna.

  Why?

  Unless . . . “Our new Talent lets us travel to other Clans, not just at Passage. Or instead of Passage. That’s the danger,” Aryl guessed with a surge of triumph. “You want us to stay away from each other, to keep the Clans as different as possible.” So much for Enris and his plans for trade. “We can do that.” She’d be glad to keep Sona to itself. They’d have to be sure Oran’s dreams truly stopped, but she’d be glad of that, too. Life would be simple. Peaceful.

  Thought Traveler moved its left arm outward; Aryl adjusted automatically. “Vyna knows it must not be contaminated by other Om’ray, Little Speaker. For the rest, change is essential. We would not impose restrictions on your Talent, even if we could.”

  Bubbles disturbed the brown water beside her, as if something hung below the surface and laughed at her. “The Vyna can drown in their own poison,” she said coldly. “They’re hardly Om’ray anymore. But if you don’t care about our Talent or what we do with it—” how she wished her mother listened to this, “—I don’t know what else you could want.”

  “Stability. Numbers matter, Little Speaker. Your numbers. Clans are supposed to stay together. An unChosen here or there is accommodated by the Agreement. You’ve seen the result when several Om’ray move from one Clan to another at once. The Oud react in reckless fashion. The Balance changes. Too much change and—”

  She was ready, barely, for its sharp pull. Knew to bend her knees and resist, to ease the pressure as it suddenly moved toward her again. Thought Traveler played the game well, for all it was something Om’ray, something Yena. She didn’t let go. She didn’t dare.

  “Sona won’t happen again,” Aryl protested. “We prefer to stay with our Clans, with our families. We must. Like Chosen, we’re linked to one another, inside.” Except Yao, she thought suddenly. Except Yao and the new babies.

  Tomorrow’s problem.

  Today? If all the Tikitik wanted was for Om’ray to live as they normally would, of course she’d agree. “If we’re left in peace, I promise we’ll stay where we are.” She offered her right hand, her left still locked on Thought Traveler’s wrist. The final stage of the game: commitment.

  The bubbles increased, as if what watched them from beneath sensed they would fall any moment.

  Aryl. More than her name. Everything Enris saw in her, believed about her, felt for her. Hair caressed her neck, slid over her shoulders.

  Rippled down her arm to where the Tikitik’s clawed hand closed gently over hers, and explored that black strangeness, its shining red gold like a glove. Thought Traveler canted its head to watch, eyes swiveling in their cones, until her hair relaxed to lie against her body as hair should.

  All four eyes lifted. “Then we understand one another, Aryl di Sarc, Speaker for Sona and all Om’ray of Cersi.”

  A loud rustle overhead made Aryl look up. The branches had emptied. They were alone.

  Thought Traveler, its balance as sure as her own, released her hand. She let go its wrist. Then it barked. “Congratulations, Apart-from-All. You’ve exceeded every claim I made on your behalf, and I was most extravagant in my belief. There were those,” in a confiding tone, “sure you’d try to kill me on the way here, a breach of Tikitna that—it doesn’t bear mentioning, now.”

  Oh, there’d have been no “try” about it.

  Not a thought she’d share when all was going well.

  More than well.

  Aryl felt giddy as she stepped back. The future she’d imagined as a dim possibility was here. Now. They could ’port without fear. Be whatever they were to be. Stay together? What could be easier to promise?

  Being together was life to Om’ray.

  She’d done it!

  Her joy threw itself to the others, came back threefold. Joy with an underlying distrust doubtless from Anaj. The old Speaker thought she knew the Tikitik. But she’d admitted this wasn’t her time.

  It was theirs. Hers. She’d done it!

  Now can we go home? Naryn asked.

  Home it is. Aryl gestured gratitude to Thought Traveler, then drew the locate of Sona in her mind and . . .

  NO!!! The hysterical protest broke her concentration. She almost fell into the water.

  It’s safe, Anaj. Naryn shared her sending with the rest of them, as well as her own weary longing. Relax. You don’t have to do any—

  NO!!! You can’t know it’s safe!

  It doesn’t hurt our babies, Aryl interjected. She felt Enris keep his distance from the conversation. Coward.

  I am not one of your babies! NO!!!

  Naryn shared her loathing of Tikitna, all things Tikitik, and of sitting on a branch over filthy, swimmer-infested water. Do you want to stay here? Memories of soft Sona blankets, fragrant soup, and crisp mountain air.

  Walking was good enough for your parents. It’s good enough for me.

  With real fear.

  Justified, Aryl decided ruefully. They couldn’t promise travel through the M’hir was safe, not for Anaj, not until they knew more of what she was. At any rate, they couldn’t ’port if the powerful Old Adept continued to resist Naryn’s efforts to concentrate. Or leave Naryn behind.

  Aryl sighed and looked at Thought Traveler.

  “We need a ride.”

  Chapter 8

&nb
sp; THE WHITE SAND WAS WARM and soft and glistened in the sun. Enris sprawled on his back beside her, one big arm over his eyes and his feet—free of his ruined boots—buried to the ankles in the stuff. Naryn paced where the water frothed up on the beach, her Adept robe dragging. Aryl supposed this was her way of protesting what they were doing; it wasn’t going to wash the mud stains from Oran’s robe.

  She licked her lips, savoring the hint of dresel that lingered. Thought Traveler had pressed food upon them before they left, insisting mothers-to-be must eat. Enris. Dresel. Warmth without rain or biters. The future—the right future—within reach. What more could she want? She stretched luxuriously. “I could stay here all day.”

  “That’s good. We may have to,” her Chosen commented, his voice muffled. “Or longer.”

  The esasks had brought them out of Tikitna to the sand; they’d refused to step on it. From this vantage point, the Tikitik village—she could use a word for something much more imposing—looked like any dense, wild growth. Another name she needed, Aryl pondered, was for the plants they used for their construction. Not nekis. Not rastis. Something that willingly grew strong, thick, and twisted, with roots drowned in bitter water. She’d learned so much today.

  Not least, that rock hunters were Oud young. Haxel would love it, Aryl grinned to herself. The canopy crawled with creatures whose offspring looked nothing like them, as well as parents who abandoned the next generation to fend for themselves. To be fair, the Oud did do something for their young. The adults had done their best to dry out Sona’s valley and argued with her to keep it that way.

  Though since their young killed Om’ray without concern, well, Om’ray would continue to return the favor.

  Aryl squinted at the sky toward Sona, a more comforting direction than out over the limitless ocean, the direction that mattered. Two tenths until firstnight, she estimated. Three at most. Had they left for Vyna only this morning? It felt, she decided with another stretch, more like a fist.

  “It won’t be much longer,” she assured Enris. “He’ll answer.” And he would. The sun rose every morning; the Human wouldn’t fail her. His gift, the geoscanner, was on her lap. Silent as yet. She’d pressed the control as Marcus had shown her, said the special words he’d given her if she needed his help: “Two. Howard. Five.” Howard was his son. She’d seen a recording of him, tall for a child, as well as images of the rest of the Human’s family: a daughter, Karina, little more than a baby. Kelly of the long red hair. His Chosen. Cindy, his sister, with a pleasant smile. Family he’d left to work here; kept close using his clever devices.