Rift in the Sky

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Enris tried not to listen. Chairs. Anything to sit on. That was his job. As if the precious Adepts needed anything more than their rears.

  Not his problem.

  Aryl depended on him in other ways right now, including keeping his frustration to himself.

  “Fools,” he grumbled once safely past the Council Chamber doors. “If they’d listen instead of making accusations, they might learn something.”

  Of course, most of the Adepts were no longer doing that much. They’d sorted themselves, how he couldn’t guess, until the majority sat in their Clans as far from those with Aryl as they could. Which made no sense.

  Except for one who’d nipped through the doors after Enris and Naryn, Rayna, by his appearance. While some wore the stiff white robes of their rank, others were dressed in soft layers of bright fabric, with twists of more tied to the bottoms of sleeves and hems to flutter when they walked. Aryl thought it ridiculous to wear something that would not only catch on every twig, but draw attention. A shame, Enris decided. She’d look lovely.

  The Rayna themselves were small and slightly built, with skin darker than a Yena’s, striking against their fair hair and pale blue or yellow eyes. Their female Chosen left their hair free, but had somehow convinced it to hold colorful fabric twists in loose knots.

  Somehow, he couldn’t wrap his mind around Aryl’s hair being that cooperative.

  As for the Rayna Adept himself? Enris scowled. “Why aren’t you staying?”

  “Karne d’sud Witthun,” the other replied stiffly. “I could ask you—or them—” with a nod to Naryn, “—the same question. Your place is with the rest.”

  “Chairs.”

  “Chairs?”

  “Someone has to make you Adepts comfortable.”

  Don’t mind him, Anaj sent. He gets irritable when he’s hungry. Unharmed by the ’port, the Old Adept had been remarkably calm since arriving at Sona, perhaps because she was the only one of the hundreds here in her proper place, however that place had changed. Her home, not theirs.

  Theirs now, too, if Enris could believe it. Without asking any of Sona’s present members if they wanted more. He’d have said yes in a heartbeat to another twenty or so. Seven hundred?

  Including Adepts who paid no attention to Aryl di Sarc’s leadership?

  He growled deep in his chest, and Karne gave him a worried look.

  Noticing, the former Tuana gestured apology. “Welcome to Sona. I’m Enris—” he stopped there. Among the many things yet to be explained to the new arrivals was the clever way Aryl had convinced Sona’s locks to open for them all. It hadn’t seemed the right time to say they’d simply given themselves the ‘di’ of Adepts. Instead, he nodded at the doors. “Why do you think we belong in there?”

  Because we DO! came from Naryn. I do!!

  No, I said. I need a rest, Anaj answered firmly. Find us a bed before you fall on your face.

  Enris hid a smile. Poor Naryn. Anaj might be her baby, but the Old Adept left no doubt who was eldest and in charge. “While I’m off to hunt chairs,” he informed the Rayna. “So why are you here and not there?”

  “I’m lesser.” From his tone, Karne was beginning to wonder if Enris was capable of understanding anything but chairs. “They don’t need me.”

  “Ah. Another body to carry chairs. Good.”

  Don’t be mean to the child, Enris, Anaj sent, just to him.Once trained, Adepts sort themselves by individual Power. The strongest act as Council for the others. Only First Level Adepts will gather close to Aryl—hers is the greatest Power here. Karne can sense yours. He’s brave to speak to you at all.

  Like Dama. Chastise and compliment in the same sending. A laugh bubbled up from his chest and Enris sent a rush of affection to Anaj. Grandmother.

  Charmer. Then, with worry. Naryn can’t take much more.

  He knew. The only rest they’d had was after Tikitna, and she’d wasted it pacing the sand. She knew it herself. She might protest, but hadn’t Naryn listened to Anaj and left the meeting?

  The Rayna wasn’t done. “I thought you’d have some answers.” Karne stepped closer, his arms waving at the corridor. “What happened to this place? Why are you living like this?”

  “We don’t actually live inside—”

  The young Adept didn’t stop. “You’re both Tuana—that Clan was attacked after you came here. Why? Is that going to happen to our former Clans?”

  The last came with such fear, Enris strengthened his shields to keep it out. “We don’t know,” he said. “Not yet. But you’re safe here.” Before he could say more, like a flash of light, Ziba appeared in the corridor, laughing. At the sight of them, she covered her mouth and disappeared.

  Yao appeared in the same spot, disappeared. Followed by three children Enris didn’t know, holding hands. They giggled and were gone.

  Karne looked dazed.

  Worin appeared next.

  “No, you don’t!” With a lunge, Enris had his brother by the arm. “Who said you could ’port in the Cloisters?” He’d looked at the M’hir. It remained coiled around itself like a towering summer storm. Complete with lightning. “It’s not safe yet. Even if Ziba thinks so,” he warned at the beginnings of a rebellious frown.

  “Husni sent us to look for benches,” Worin announced virtuously, black hair tumbling over his bright eyes. In other words, Husni had had enough of the mischievous pair.

  They thought of the M’hir as another playground. What had Aryl told him? The M’hir was already part of their children. With an inward shudder, Enris brushed back Worin’s hair, ruffled it. “Why benches?”

  “For beds. Did you see how many Om’ray have come?” He radiated joy. “We found a whole room of benches, but they’re fastened to the floor.”

  “If they’re fastened, they serve some purpose where they are,” Karne warned. “You’d better check with your Adepts first.”

  Enris shook his head. “They’d debate it all ’night.” Making it pointless to find beds. Anaj? he sent.

  Show me, child.

  Worin’s eyes widened. “You’re Naryn’s baby!” You can talk already?? Can you play?

  Enris snickered. Naryn gave an impatient sigh.

  Not with children who don’t mind their elders, Anaj replied. Now show me these benches. You can. This as Worin hesitated.

  Enris gestured approval. His brother had never shown this particular Talent, but he had the Power for it. Like this, he sent, offering a remembered view of Sona’s new dam. Think about the place you want to show us—

  Like this? Images spilled out, vivid, overloading the senses. The uppermost level. Dimmed light. A slice of dark sky. Giggles. Shouldn’t be here. Running along curved benches. Jump! Can’t catch me. Can. Can’t. Let’s play ’port and seek. Husni won’t know . . . The images stopped there. Worin gazed at the floor, the ceiling, anywhere but at his brother.

  Mischief indeed. Enris bit his tongue.

  You can’t move those benches, Anaj sent calmly. They’re part of the floor. Let some sleep up there. It won’t be the first time.

  And, hopefully just to him, Try it when the moons are overhead. Kynan liked their light on my skin.

  Old, not dead. Enris laughed so hard, Naryn began to frown. He gestured a mute apology. “Hungry. We missed supper.” Most of the new arrivals had finished their evening meal before being summoned. He hadn’t, something he planned to fix.

  “Sorry, Enris.” Worin’s face fell. “Husni said there’s nothing to eat here. There’s water, though. Fon and the other unChosen went for it.”

  Sending out the youngsters wasn’t a decision he’d have made, not when they didn’t know what was happening outside. The Human had warned them to stay in the Cloisters until he contacted them; he’d had a reason.

  Contacted how? Enris wondered suddenly. He hoped the Human didn’t plan to knock on the Cloisters’ doors. Explain that face to their new Clan?

  Explain how a being could fall out of the real world and return . . . not something
he could do, Enris thought, swallowing hard. He’d thought he’d begun to grasp what the Human and Thought Traveler meant when they said Cersi was only one world, one place, of many; he’d prided himself on his imagination when he looked up at the cliff and told himself there could be more mountains and rivers beyond it.

  Then he’d almost left the world himself.

  The effort to reconcile what his mind remembered and what his inner sense knew upset his empty stomach. Impossible.

  “Why did all these Om’ray come here, Enris? What’s so special about Sona? No one’s saying.”

  About to reassure his brother, Enris noticed Karne’s attention and changed his mind. “No one knows,” he admitted. “Not yet.”

  The young unChosen straightened his shoulders. “Don’t worry,” he said solemnly. “What matters is that everyone made it. Even Seru, who couldn’t reach the Cloisters before.”

  Enris stared at his brother. Worin was right. All of Sona had ’ported. There’d been no time to comprehend what was happening, to help one another. The two newborns had been in their mothers’ carryslings, but the older children had been roaming free. Yet they’d come, too.

  The urgency of the summons chased along his nerves as he remembered it. Was that the key?

  Naryn spoke, her voice low and urgent. “Enris, remember watching the plows dig the fields? The second pass was easier because the soil was broken. Maybe having so many aimed at the same destination through the M’hir opened an easier path. Something the ‘lesser’—” with a dismissive glance at Karne, “—could use.”

  It made sense. “I—”

  “But I think I should sit now.” With that, she began to sink toward the floor.

  Enris threw an arm around Naryn’s waist to draw her up again. “You need a bed, not debate.” Without hesitation, he tried to give her strength through their contact, but she shuddered free of his hold to stand, barely, on her own.

  “I just need to rest,” she snapped. LEAVEMEALONEDON’T TOUCHME! Karne and Worin backed a step.

  “Can you walk to the Dream Chamber?”

  “Can you?” Her scornful look would, Enris decided, be more convincing if her face had any color at all. Between that, and the filthy Adept robe Oran had adamantly not wanted returned, Naryn di S’udlaat looked disturbingly like a corpse. An ill-used one.

  He stepped smoothly in her way before she could try to move—and likely land on her face—and held out his left hand, palm up. “For Anaj. Take what you need. Or—” as he felt her resistance, “—I will carry you, like it or not.”

  Temper flared her nostrils and narrowed her eyes. “Without supper?” Disdain.

  “I’ll manage.” You’d let Aryl help.

  “I won’t be hauled through the Cloisters like a bundle of sticks!”

  Let me help.

  You hate me. You’ve reason to. With all the despair she’d never revealed, betrayed by her own weakness. I don’t trust you.

  Why should she? Until last truenight, he’d tolerated her presence for Aryl’s sake. Since then, he’d given strength to her unasked, shared what she didn’t want to learn, and brought her to the Vyna to be forced to accept a Glorious Dead.

  Oh, and hadn’t he finished by hauling her up on a branch in Tikitna like a sack of scraps, then flying her out of the world with a not-Om’ray she feared?

  Which, though not his fault exactly, probably hadn’t helped.

  Nothing had gone as it should since the dam. His Chosen had known better. He’d felt her distrust but ignored it, sure he was right about the Vyna, assuming Aryl was being her Yena-self, prone to worry over anything that worked the first time or looked easy to walk.

  Enris gestured apology with both hands; it wasn’t only to Naryn. “What do you want me to do?”

  About to speak, Naryn tilted her head as if listening. The strain in her face eased slightly. “Anaj asks,” almost a whisper, “for some of your gift.”

  Silently, Enris offered his hand again.

  Her fingers trembled as they approached and she clenched them into a fist, eyes flashing to his. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, smiling at Worin who watched in fascination.

  A little too much fascination. Might be time for a Chosen to unChosen talk. Especially with Ziba around. You could never start too soon.

  Fingertips.

  He ignored them.

  A palm against his.

  Only then, easily, gently, Enris let strength flow through that contact. He kept his shields in place, offered no other sharing, let the outpouring continue until she lifted her hand away.

  Their eyes met. For that instant, he saw a Naryn he’d never known, perhaps the Naryn only Aryl knew: vulnerable, scarred, passionate.

  With the cool lift of a brow, her guard returned. “I know my way.” She pushed past him and walked down the corridor, red hair uneasy on her shoulders.

  She’ll do. Anaj, to him.

  Enris half smiled.

  “I thought you didn’t like her.”

  He ruffled Worin’s hair. “It’s complicated.”

  “Is Naryn still going to die when her baby is born?”

  “How did you—” Apparently there were no secrets left in Sona. “She won’t die.”

  Not if a brave old Om’ray could endure until summer.

  Not if the world itself endured.

  How had everything become fragile? There was nothing he could make or fix; nothing all the questions and answers being traded in the Council Chambers could change. This was the life Aryl had led in Yena: every step over certain death, any day the last.

  He hadn’t understood, until this moment, what it took to keep walking.

  The other two were staring at him, eyes wide and afraid. Enris found a smile. “Come along, Karne,” he invited, his voice light. “Let’s see what we can find. On the way, you can torture me with tales of the delicacies Rayna would offer a starving guest. Which I trust are better than Vyna.”

  “You’ve been to Vyna?” This with awe.

  Much better than fear, Enris thought, tucking his own away.

  Much better.

  Chapter 9

  ARYL SHOOK HER HEAD, a gesture without meaning to her present companions. She shouldn’t be here. Marcus needed her—she was sure of it. Whatever he’d find at Site Three, it wouldn’t be help. She could call him. The geoscanner sat in its pocket at her waist, turned off as he’d ordered. If the Strangers could talk across the unimaginable void between worlds, surely this could reach the mountains beyond this one.

  It might as well, she thought glumly, be at the bottom of the Makers’ Touch in Tikitna. The existence of a Human, of others capable of attacking him, of other worlds and races and languages was easier to believe than this, that she sat cross-legged on the floor of Sona’s shabby Cloisters with her mother and Sian d’sud Vendan, while Yena’s Adepts seemed completely at home and argued M’hir terminology with Oran.

  As for their audience?

  If there were any Adepts left with their Clans, it was hard to tell from the hordes in white in Sona. Twenty-seven surrounded her, argued with one another as much as with her. The twenty-seven possessed shields so strong they almost disappeared from her inner sense, except for the Power they pressed against each other when making a point, like nirts baring teeth when they met on a frond until the smaller closed its mouth and sidled away. The rest pretended disinterest, sitting in small groups. They waited for commands, she guessed. Games of Power. This was how Adepts ruled themselves.

  How they’d always ruled their Clans.

  She should have seen it before, but she’d believed what she’d been told. About too much.

  Three Speakers in this circle: her mother, for Yena, and those for Amna and Rayna. As she’d feared, each wore their pendants. If the Tikitik could detect those, they’d know what had happened.

  Of course, she told herself grimly, all they’d have to do was count. The shift in their numbers had been anything but subtle.

  Every Om’ray—except Y
ao and the babies—would have felt the extraordinary change in the shape of the world. The other Clans had diminished to Sona’s gain. Gain? Their names alone . . . it was like listening to Marcus babbling in his own tongue. Bowart, Nemat, Paniccia, Eathem, Prendolat, Friesnen. On and on they went. Sona’s handful were overwhelmed.

  These new Om’ray didn’t need her. Didn’t care for her opinion, once gathered in numbers. They took on their accustomed role as Adepts, mighty hoarders of secrets. Did it reassure them to be equally ignorant?

  She grimaced inwardly. Oran might enjoy this pointless babble, but surely even she knew they wasted time debating if ’port was a useful word. The Adepts left the larger questions to fester in the space between minds: what had happened? Why were they here? What might be the consequences? What should they do next?

  As far as the newcomers were concerned, next would be the establishment of a proper Council for Sona. Her Sona. Theirs, for all they asked her advice. A Council, and plans to expand the village to receive their numbers. As if they were welcome to stay and the world would let them.

  Aryl drummed her fingers silently on the floor. Why did they want to stay? These were no unChosen on Passage; these were individuals who—a few tenths ago—had been part of larger families, who’d had roles within their Clans. Most had never left those homes before. Why did they feel that home was here, in Sona’s stripped Cloisters and a mountain valley yet to feed its few Om’ray?

  Each time she broached those questions, the others looked at her as if she’d grown a Tikitik’s extra eyes.

  They were the ones grown bizarre. Something about them had changed, whether the Adepts admitted the possibility or not.

  Convenient, she thought, that the present discussion ignored her completely.

  Aryl loosened her shields and dared reach for her own answers.

  Names became familiar.

  Deeper. She found and followed the bonds between Chosen, between mothers and children. They were intact. It would have been more of a surprise if those had stretched to allow one to ’port here without the other. Deeper . . .