Rift in the Sky

by Julie E. Czerneda

  She’d do no such thing.

  When she didn’t answer, a glance assessed her expression, then the Human sighed. He dug into a pocket, brought out a small disk she’d seen it before, the one that held images of his family. He handed it to her. “Keep this safe for me. Promise that?”

  As a trick, it wasn’t up to his usual standard. Aryl took the image disk and put it in a pocket. “What I promise is to give it back when we’re all safe.”

  “Stubborn,” he commented, but almost smiled.

  Behind them, Enris chuckled.

  The Lake of Fire took its name from strange clouds, like curls of smoke, that often rose from its still surface. Aryl pressed her nose to the now-transparent side of the aircar but could see only one. She’d meant to ask Marcus if the Strangers knew what caused the smoke, if it was something to do with the structures beneath the surface.

  Today wasn’t the time for curiosity.

  Marcus wouldn’t talk to her, busy with the controls when he wasn’t staring at the small screens as if their flow of color and symbol offered some final hope. She’d seen him afraid for his life, but this was different.

  Odd. The solitary curl of smoke was taller and darker than those she remembered. “Marcus?”

  He lifted his head and looked out. “Site One,” Marcus announced grimly, his face set in unfamiliar lines.

  Meaning the smoke was from the Strangers’ platform over the underwater ruins, where Marcus and his Triad had been working when she’d first met them. The aircar veered toward the nearer shore.

  If the buildings were still on fire, why was he heading away? For their safety? “Don’t worry about us,” Aryl said quickly. “We’ll help. Go back!”

  Marcus tapped the small screen. “No one to help,” he said. “No lifesign.”

  Enris got to his feet, loomed between Marcus and Aryl. “Who did this?”

  The Human looked up. “No proof who. Could be accident, malfunction. Artrul—her Triad. Evacuationprotocol. Means they go to Site Two. Damaged tower. Local coms down, that’s all. Confusion.” A too-casual shrug. “See? Take you home now.”

  He tried to get rid of them again. “Site Two,” she insisted. It lay a ridge beyond Grona.

  “Not safe.”

  Now the truth, or some of it. “What is?” Aryl said gently. “You waste time arguing, Marcus.”

  At last, the hint of a smile in his eyes. “I should know better by now.” He slumped in his seat. “Stubborn Om’ray.” One finger pushed a button and the aircar shot forward, faster than Aryl had known it could go. “Sit.” This to Enris, who put his hand on the Human’s shoulder and squeezed gently before returning to the bench.

  Naryn closed her eyes and put her head back, hair fretting across her shoulders. This flight wasn’t going to improve her opinion of Marcus Bowman or his kind.

  Aryl checked her longknife.

  For all the good it might do against what could bring fire down in the midst of a lake.

  They flew over the canopy. Over Yena, her inner sense told her. Aryl kept her shields tight and felt the others do the same. Taisal could have reached through the M’hir, demanded an explanation; that her mother ignored their passing overhead was one less worry.

  Eyes fixed to his screens, Marcus ignored the view. They were higher this time. Higher than wastryls flew or wings could rise on the M’hir. Higher and faster. Without her inner sense to give her perspective, she wouldn’t have recognized the Sarc grove, or spotted the ring of old rastis that surrounded the Cloisters.

  How high could they go, she wondered, before they reached the end of the sky?

  Site Two was carved into the side of a mountain ridge. Though Aryl had only seen it in truenight, the Strangers had stuck glows everywhere, turning the darkness to day. Easy to remember the long sharp ledge where they landed their machines—she trusted Marcus was capable of landing this one there—then the short walk up a slope to a second, higher ledge where the Strangers had set up camp using the same plain white constructions as at Sona. Why? Because here they’d dug into the mountain itself. They’d freed a series of massive structures, exposing them once more to light and air. She’d had the barest glimpse at the time, busy planning to escape with Enris, but the buildings had been like those under the Lake of Fire, smooth curves and unfamiliar angles. Perfect, undamaged. Not like the ruins of Sona.

  The Hoveny Concentrix.

  The Strangers had made a discovery. Something important enough to draw Marcus and his Triad—and her—here.

  “Marcus, what did they find? At Site Two.”

  He gave her a bemused look, as if this was the last thing he’d expected. For a moment she thought he’d evade the question, as he most often did when it concerned his work, then he replied, “A door.”

  Doors, in her experience, were only useful under one condition. “A door you could open?”

  “Could? I think so. But we’re not ready yet.” He cupped his hands tightly together. “The inside has been sealed a very long time. Still intact. We want to know about the internalenvironment—the air—inside. Vital to detect any systems still operational.” He lifted his thumb to make a small opening. “Tyler’s Triad made controlledaccesspoint, lockdown rest until ready. Send tiny vidbots to look for us. They’ll finish the first level soon, then move to the next. Takes time.” His gloom lifted as he spoke. “Hoveny structures are almost always empty, as if the owners moved out and then locked the doors. Best finds so far have been what was missed. Objects left on a floor, perhaps dropped in a hurry. Artifacts. Tell us little alone. Have nocontext. What we really want to find are workinginstallations. Parts of building that couldn’t be moved. Remarkable preservation inside. They might still work.”

  Aryl thought of the tables filled with objects she’d seen being sorted. “You have artifacts at Sona.”

  He grimaced. “Oud don’t respect doors. Made big mess.”

  Enris laughed.

  TRILLLLLL!!

  The noise burst from the control panel. Lights flashed. Marcus bent over it, muttering in his own language. He did something to silence the sound, but the lights reflected on his pale skin, turning it red, then blue, then yellow. Red again. He stood to stare through the clear ceiling at the scattered clouds overhead, then dropped back into his seat. “Watch,” he ordered. “Tell me if you see anything approaching.”

  “From above?” Naryn asked in disbelief. Aryl shared her reaction. What was the Human thinking?

  “From anywhere.”

  The aircar began to descend, quickly.

  “Don’t crash this time,” Aryl reminded the Human, her hands gripping the edge of the seat.

  For some reason this made Marcus choke on a laugh of his own.

  Down. Down. The lights played over them like biters hunting a spot to bite. Aryl did her best to ignore them, staring out as Marcus directed. Enris and Naryn did the same.

  They had to be close to Site Two by now, Aryl thought. Looking down, she could see the slope of the mountain, littered with loose rock. Loose rock with an appetite. A patient, seldom rewarded appetite—not much wandered here.

  “Something’s behind us.” Enris. What is it? he asked her, sharing the image of a distant speck.

  Wastryl—or not.

  Marcus didn’t look around. “Is it getting closer?”

  “I can’t tell.”

  TRILLL!!!

  The aircar swung violently to one side and back again, like a branch pulled and released with a snap. Aryl clung to her seat, her eyes on Marcus.

  Who now looked furious.

  “What was that?”

  “A suggestion.” Unhelpfully. “Don’t talk now.”

  A suggestion? Enris sent. What’s going on?

  Maybe he avoided a wastryl. She’d seen a vidbot explode when attacked by the flying creatures.

  Can he land at this speed?

  Aryl glanced out the side and flinched. The mountainside roared by, too close, a blur of shadow and jagged edge. We have to trust him.
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  Privately, through the M’hir, their link as solid as flesh touching. No, we don’t. We could leave, now.

  I won’t risk Naryn. Or Anaj.

  This doesn’t?

  We must know what’s happening to the Strangers. Aryl pulled free, refused to be distracted. Some risks had to be taken. She focused on Marcus. His hands were sure on the controls, as if anger had burned away all fear. Anger at what?

  The aircar tipped to one side, answering her question.

  No one spoke as they flew past what had been Site Two. Wisps of smoke marked the remains of buildings. Crumbled machines, scorched and useless, lay on what had been the landing ledge.

  No one had escaped that way, Aryl thought.

  The Hoveny buildings were unscathed. Rock lay shattered around them, mixed with bits of machine, but the structures were as flawless as she remembered.

  Marcus did little more than glance at the devastation before turning back to the small screen. A muscle along his jaw twitched. It was the only expression left on his face. He sent the aircar upward again; faster than before.

  This time, no talk of taking them home first.

  Or of accidents.

  Site Three, Aryl told the others. She didn’t know where it was, what it was.

  I don’t want to meet what could do this, Naryn protested.

  We must. Enris, as grim as she’d ever felt him. So he shared her dread. Ruthless, coordinated attacks. Technology equal to or superior to that of the Strangers. What chance would Om’ray have, if they became the next targets?

  Or Oud.

  Or Tikitik.

  Courage, she sent, wishing for more of her own.

  Marcus headed away from Grona and Yena, choosing a path that, to Om’ray sense, led to where the sun dropped out of sight, leaving darkness behind. Mountains passed beneath them, a monotonous landscape of ridges and deep valleys, browns and grays. Rarely, a glistening thread marked what must be a river. Proof, Aryl thought, that the world continued beyond Sona’s waterfall.

  Didn’t it?

  Uneasy, she turned the bracelet around and around on her wrist.

  The proof passed beneath. She could see for herself. The world continued . . .

  Didn’t it?

  Aryl . . . something’s wrong.

  I feel it.

  Like a branch with hidden rot, the floor of the aircar suddenly grew soft, untrustworthy. She lifted her feet with a cry.

  The air she breathed turned too warm, then too cold.

  The Human takes us past the end of the world! Naryn, fear leaking past her control. “Turn around!” she shouted. “Take us home!”

  Marcus didn’t look around. “Almost there.”

  Aryl had walked away from her kind before this—so had Enris. They’d been able to leave other Om’ray behind, prided themselves on their strength.

  They hadn’t gone far enough. Hadn’t gone this far . . .

  Too far . . .

  “Marcus,” she gasped. “Naryn’s right. You have to take us back.”

  “Site Three here.”

  Mountains rose beneath them, the sky squeezed downward, there was no room to breathe, no room for them.

  Somehow, she managed not to grab for the controls or the Human’s neck. “We—can’t—be here!” Hard to form words. To think. “Turn around!”

  He turned then, something rousing in his eyes, a spark. “Aryl? What’s wrong?” Even as the Human spoke, she knew it was already too late . . . another instant . . . any further . . . they would become . . . nothing.

  NOOOO!!!!!!!!! the inner scream came from them all. No. It came from outside. It came from everywhere.

  She knew that sound.

  The M’hir Wind was coming. It blew through the great pipes of the Watchers, set into the mountain. Time for the Harvest. Time for change. She could hear their moaning, feel it through her flesh . . .

  Calling her HOME.

  Aryl threw herself into the M’hir . . .

  Interlude

  A LIVE. THAT WAS GOOD. Surrounded by the warm glow of Om’ray. That was better. A head thudded against his chest, small arms wrapped around him, strong enough to threaten his ribs. Aryl. All was right with the world, then. But . . . how?

  The Watchers. He’d heard the drums, felt them. Hadn’t he? Had to answer. Hadn’t he?

  Enris took a shuddering breath. He didn’t know about the others, but he most definitely hadn’t formed a locate before that desperate ’port HOME.

  Which was . . . where?

  He cracked open his eyes, careful not to move. There could be branches involved. And heights, knowing his Chosen.

  He sighed with relief. A floor. They were on a floor. In a room.

  More than a room.

  Enris blinked, and the size and platforms formed into sense. Aryl had shown him images of Sona’s Dream Chamber. She must have directed them here, to the safety of the Cloisters.

  Where—another blink—they were surrounded by Om’ray.

  Too many Om’ray.

  Drowning in the glow of his own kind, dizzy with belonging, he closed his eyes and fought for calm.

  The world had changed shape.

  Someone stirred against him. He stretched back a hand, found a knee that pulled itself away. We’re all right. Naryn, shaken, but aware. And amazed. Do you feel it? The Power here?

  Anaj: Speak for yourself, child. I’m not the least all right. What’s going on?

  WE LEFT HIM!

  Aryl. Hush! Enris winced. We have company—

  WE ABANDONED MARCUS!

  He took Aryl’s shoulders; moved her so he could see her face. Oh, he knew that fierce look. It usually preceded an act of spectacularly careless bravery. He tightened his grip. “We can’t help him. Not now. He’s—” Where did someone go, when they left the world behind? He hadn’t understood. None of them had. Human and Om’ray were not the same. The Human’s world wasn’t theirs.

  Couldn’t be.

  Enris took a deep breath, steadied himself, offered strength to his Chosen. “He’s gone. And we have company.” Then, as if she was as deaf to other Om’ray as Yao. “Look for yourself,” drawing her to her feet with him.

  The chamber was meant to hold an entire Clan.

  It now did.

  Hundreds stood and stared at one another. No one spoke. Shields were slammed tight.

  Not any Om’ray, Enris realized with a jolt. Naryn was right. Power. The white robes of Adepts were everywhere. Even those who weren’t shielded their inner selves with confidence.

  The fierce look turned to a safer wonder. What’s happened? “I’m the Speaker,” Aryl muttered aloud. “I suppose I have to say something.”

  Enris couldn’t help but chuckle. “Good. What, exactly?”

  She dug an elbow into his ribs, but the feel of her eased slightly. “I’ll make it up.” With that, Aryl jumped on the nearest platform.

  Everyone turned to look at her. Too small. Too young. Unknown to most. Aryl shouldn’t have seemed impressive.

  That she was, standing there waiting for their full attention, made him smile.

  “Welcome to Sona,” she began. The words—he felt as well as heard them. Aryl was sending through the M’hir as well, making sure everyone heard and understood. Preventing panic. Good. Beyond the pleasure of being within so many of his kind, Enris was reasonably sure panic would be his next feeling.

  Because they shouldn’t be here at all. The Sona, maybe. Having the advantage of height, he’d spotted them already, at the near end of the room, a tight knot with Haxel at their core. Perhaps Aryl’s desperate ’port had somehow drawn them, too.

  Which didn’t explain the group of dappled Amna closest to him. Or any of the rest.

  Aryl spoke again. “Are there other Speakers here?”

  Not what he’d expected. Why?

  Later.

  Points of movement among the rest, Om’ray stepping aside to let three approach Aryl.

  One with a familiar fierce look on her face.r />
  “Hello, Mother,” Aryl di Sarc said, seeming not surprised at all.

  Over seven hundred Om’ray had arrived in the Dream Chamber of Sona’s Cloisters at once. They’d come from every Clan but Vyna, including three from Tuana who carefully avoided Naryn. Everyone told a similar story: they’d been about their normal affairs when overwhelmed by a sense of loneliness, a need to go HOME. They’d heard the Watchers in whatever variation existed for their Clan. Descriptions of the M’hir itself varied too; some hardly noticed their journey through it, a few were still shaking. Others thought it a calm and peaceful place.

  It might have been, compared to here, Enris thought wryly. Who’d have thought there was such a thing as too many Om’ray in one place? Even Husni had appeared daunted by the bewildering array of strange voices, faces, and clothing. Briefly. Before she and Haxel had taken charge of what they called “the necessities,” enlisting the rest of Sona—more accustomed to dealing with strangers—to assign others to tasks.

  There’d been no arguments, no attempts to leave, no fear. Strangest of all, he had to admit, everyone felt they belonged here, in Sona. This was their Cloisters, Om’ray whose names they’d yet to learn were their Clan, this was . . . this was home.

  Which was fine and natural for Sona’s few, but he had yet to grasp why it was so for the hordes of strangers peacefully milling through their Cloisters. They didn’t speak of families left behind or of a future anywhere but here. It was as if the assortment of young, old, unChosen, and Chosen had arrived on Passage, committed to live with their new Clan, dead to their old one.

  It wasn’t possible, Enris decided firmly. None of them had planned this; none of them should have accepted such a drastic change without question.

  Not that everyone had. The new Adepts might feel Sona as their home as much as any other arrival, but they were curious. They’d gone to the Council Chamber almost at once, to “discuss” the new Sona and discover what had brought them together and how. A discussion that had been going on for tenths.

  With Aryl di Sarc.

  “. . . scan me if you don’t believe what I say. We had nothing to do with this.”

  “You had everything to do with it. Maybe it wasn’t your intention,” as if a huge concession, “but who here doubts we’d be still in our original Clans if not for your reckless behavior?”