The dread none of them— Yena’s eldest and wisest— could fully hide.
Was there no future?
No need to be warned of consequences if she repeated a word from this meeting. If it upset her to hear all this, Aryl couldn’t imagine how Seru or others might react.
Tikva di Uruus, hitherto silent, lifted her hand to catch Aryl’s attention along with the rest. Two of her fingers were wrapped together; from the purpled tip of one, a break. Despite her rank as Adept, the wiry head of Uruus had been among those out hunting before the rains.
“Before we climb to the unknown,” she said, the words crisp and sure, “I suggest we look closer for our salvation. To the Power that lies within us all.”
NO!
That denial slammed through Aryl’s mind, ripping past any shield. She winced. It wasn’t Taisal’s. She found herself staring at Sian d’sud Vendan, who’d surged to his feet.
Not Taisal’s sending, but her mother rose as well, her expression equally defiant as the two faced their fellow Adept.
Tikva raised one brow, seeming unaffected by their protest. “It’s Council’s duty,” she stressed the word, “to consider any and all means to save our people.” She deliberately looked away, focusing on the four Councillors who weren’t Adepts.
Aryl was puzzled. Adepts didn’t acknowledge a leader among themselves, but Tikva acted like one. Did they answer to their eldest member after all, like families? If so, she grimaced, they were lucky Pio di Kessa’at was a season younger.
Then she hurriedly checked her shields.
No one appeared to notice. Taisal and Sian sat back down, though they looked no less angry.
“An option that divides Adepts?” Morla asked. “Now I’m curious.”
Yorl frowned. “And I hope you aren’t wasting our time, Tivy.”
Aryl tried not to squirm at the nickname.
“Then let me be quick,” Tikva said smoothly, “I propose we increase our chance of survival here. Thus.” She lifted her hand once more.
A carved mug floated from the table to meet it.
This demonstration was greeted with an astonished wheeze from Adrius, narrowed eyes by the other Adepts, and a dismissive shrug from Cetto. Aryl wasn’t sure if she should try to look surprised; her mother’s great uncle certainly wasn’t.
Morla remained still, then her white brows knotted. “A skill of Adepts,” she observed.
“One we can teach.” This with a confidence that rang through the immense chamber.
Aryl couldn’t take her eyes from the mug in Tikva’s hand. This was her mother’s Talent. If she could learn it . . . breakfast in bed, she decided without hesitation. Doubtless more significant and important uses would follow, but that first.
“Teach to who?” Cetto growled. “Everyone? Or those with the most Power?” Another shrug of broad shoulders, still well-muscled from a life of climbing. “How many could learn this, Adepts? Do you know? Can you?”
“We know.” Sian glanced sideways at Tikva, as if asking permission. When she did and said nothing, he continued. “Five among the unChosen. More of the very young, but until they mature . . .” Adrius wheezed vigorously at that, likely, Aryl decided, imagining the trouble his already infamous great granddaughters would cause. “Few, if any, of our Chosen— understandable, since those of exceptional Power are already Adepts. Those who didn’t die in the Harvest— or of it.”
“A good start,” Tikva claimed brusquely, pushing aside Sian’s final comment. “The use of Power to move objects will help everyone.”
Yorl rested his chin on a fist, as if deep in thought.
Cetto’s palm smacked his chair arm for the second time. “Help! Instead of Adepts, trained and sworn to work for the benefit of all, we would have those with this ability and those without, choosing to do what they will. Do you not see it, Tikva?” He lowered his voice until it vibrated through Aryl’s bones. “You would stratify our kind, sort us by the strength of our Power instead of family. You would divide us, when we must stay together.”
Tikva made a dismissive gesture. “Power has always varied among Om’ray. Even now, our youngest reach each other over greater distances than before— better shield their thoughts— healers help speed recovery as well as ease pain—”
“This is not the same. You know it isn’t. Those are Talents that bring us closer, help us communicate, one to the other. An ability like this?” Cetto reached as if for something far overhead, then brought his hand down as a fist to wave at the Adept. “To be able to have a thing in your hands, without climbing for it? How long before it becomes the ability to take a thing, without right to it?”
“You are old, Cetto. Old and old-fashioned; our people will die of your ideas.”
“You would have them battle each other because of yours?”
PEACE!
They quieted, but Aryl flinched as anger spilled over shields. The ability to push an object had seemed almost trivial, but the passions regarding its use were, she realized with dismay, anything but. What she’d done, using Power to move Bern and now her thoughts through the other place? If they knew, would they argue about its use like this— or would it be worse?
Best, she glanced at Taisal’s expressionless face, never to find out.
Morla, for it had been her sending, spoke aloud. “It’s time to hear from all. I call a vote on Yorl sud Sarc’s initial proposal. Shall we, as Council, prepare Yena to leave the canopy and seek safety elsewhere? All must agree.”
Aryl kept very still, hoping to continue unnoticed. A Council vote? Only Councillors and the Speaker attended such. It would be full of ceremony, she knew. Dignified. The result was vitally important . . .
Adrius staggered to his feet. “To the Lay with everyone else!” This with a spew of droplets that just missed his fellows. “I’m dying in my chair.” With this, he sat, wheezing soundlessly to himself.
“Parth votes no,” Morla said, giving the older Councillor a weary look. She rose. “Kessa’at votes— no.” She gestured apology to Yorl and Cetto as she sat.
Sian and Tikva, however divided on other issues, voted no.
“You doom us,” Cetto said when it was his turn. “Yes. For what it matters.”
Leaving Yorl. He rose to his feet, standing as tall and erect as a much younger Om’ray. The weakness Aryl had sensed might never have been, except for her own now. He spoke with passion and resolve. “We sent our best from Yena to save their lives. Our future, loose on the wind. Do you remember that day, my friends?”
A pause during which he studied the others, including Aryl. She made herself gaze back without flinching; she thought she saw a familiar warmth light his eyes before his expression turned implacable again.
“We told our grandsons and great grandsons there was hope away from here. All of us agreed that was so. All of us.”
There was no answer to this.
“I will not abandon that hope,” Yorl insisted. “We will not.” He gestured gratitude to Aryl, included Taisal, then flattened his hands over his chest. “Sarc votes yes. We should follow our unChosen and soon.” He sat.
“Council is not agreed,” Morla concluded, rising to her feet again. “Your proposal is not accepted. Yena will stay and wait for the next M’hir.”
Yorl closed his eyes briefly. Aryl glanced at Cetto. He showed no reaction. She sighed with relief, as inconspicuously as possible. The mere idea of leaving . . .
Morla bowed her head to the others. “Firstnight approaches. I suggest we end here for today.”
“Wait,” Tikva stayed seated. “I ask a vote on my proposal. Let the Adepts teach those capable the Talent to move objects— to begin immediately.”
“No vote without debate,” Cetto insisted, his thick brows in a frown.
“Which I can start and end with one question to our Speaker,” Sian offered smoothly.
Morla hesitated, then returned to her seat. “Ask it.”
He gestured gratitude, then looked to Taisal. “Speaker�
�� when the Tikitik see pods floating through the air into Yena nets— what will you tell them?”
Tikva scowled as Taisal stood, the fingers of her right hand drifting across her pendant— to remind herself or her elders, Aryl wondered.
“I need tell them nothing,” her mother began. “They will see for themselves the Agreement has been broken. They will have proof for the Oud that Yena Om’ray have adopted a new and potent ability. Such reckless change will disrupt the peace across Cersi, a peace that has held longer than any memory. You would doom not only Yena, but all Om’ray.”
She’d begun to see her mother as powerless and vulnerable, least among the others. Aryl sank deeper into her chair, understanding at last that Taisal di Sarc was none of those things.
“What would they do?” Morla asked, her face bloodless.
Tikva’s eyes locked with Taisal’s. “What could they do?” she countered acidly. “The Agreement is clear. The three races share the world in peace. The Tikitik and Oud may not like the Om’ray gaining Power. They can’t do anything to stop us.”
“And you believe that?” Aryl knew that note in her mother’s voice; it didn’t bode well for Tikva.
“I do.”
“Then let me remind Council exactly how we three share this world. May I?” She reached for the mug in Tikva’s hand; the other Adept gave it to her with a puzzled, not-yet-angry look.
“Cersi,” Taisal named it. She tapped its polished wood with a fingernail. “The Tikitik.” Another tap. “The Oud.” A final tap. “The water beneath us, the sky above, all that grows between.”
Aryl swallowed, unsure why she suddenly felt afraid. Unless it was something from her mother she sensed but couldn’t name.
With a violent sweep of her arm, Taisal dashed the mug to the metal floor. Aryl jumped as it splintered on contact, fragments sliding in all directions, connected by a spray of dark liquid.
Taisal walked to the mess and bent to touch a fingertip to the liquid. “This,” she told them, straightening to hold up that one dark speck, “was the Om’ray.
“Om’ray are the shape of the world,” she continued, the flat calm of her tone more chilling for what it said. “But we are not what binds it together. We are not needful to this world. Om’ray exist at the whim of Oud and Tikitik. If either of those races fails, we fail. If either abandons us, we fail.”
Tikva looked defiant. “You assume the worst. The Tikitik haven’t cared that we speak mind to mind over greater distances. Why? Because they care how much we harvest, not how we do it. Think the Oud care we can better heal ourselves? It’s the number able to work that matters, not why they’re healthy. This new Talent will be no different, mark my words.”
“You’d risk our lives on their indifference?” Cetto growled. “I need proof.”
Yorl’s mocking laugh startled Aryl and tightened Taisal’s lips. “What proof do you expect from Adepts?” he said. “They can’t agree how to tell if the other races are real, let alone if they have the ability to detect Power or its use.”
“They’ll detect this.” Taisal swept her long white hands together. In answer, the splinters and spilled liquid hurried back to the point of impact with muted, urgent slurps, until only a small, messy pile marred the Council Chamber floor.
Aryl was not surprised when Morla Kessa’at declared the debate and Council session over.
* * *
Taisal di Sarc escorted Aryl to the massive doors leading to the bridge. Neither spoke. Aryl didn’t know what to say. She suspected her mother’s thoughts were of other things besides her errant daughter.
When they arrived, she was relieved to find the rain had stopped. The climb home would be easier; she was still weary. Overhead, the canopy was more gray than green, with long shadows reaching beneath. Morla had been right; firstnight was close.
With a wave of her hand, Taisal dismissed Pio di Kessa’at from her post. The old Adept gave Aryl a curious look before she left.
As for Aryl, she hefted her bag over one shoulder, happier to take it home unopened than to reveal the full extent of this disaster to her mother, and waited patiently for Taisal to open one of the doors— however an Adept accomplished that feat. With luck, she’d escape without the scolding she deserved. Never meddle in the business of any Chosen, she reminded herself. Especially her mother’s.
Instead, Taisal hesitated with her hand on the door, staring at her. Aryl did her best not to squirm. “Do you understand what happened?” her mother asked after an agonizing pause.
Memories, too many and too fresh, tumbled through Aryl’s head: the smashed mug that was the world, the alarming notion to abandon their homes, the Cloisters traded to the Tikitik, never being able to summon her breakfast with a thought. She, Aryl thought with some self-pity, now knew far more than any unChosen should and it wasn’t anything to help her sleep at night . . .
“You mean Yorl,” she said at last, recognizing the bewilderment in Taisal’s eyes. “No. But,” she added, “he wasn’t trying to hurt me. He asked for my help.” Taking it before she could answer, she finished to herself.
A flash of anger. “All so he could stay for the vote. Stubborn, opinionated, difficult . . . his only virtue is being harder on himself than anyone else. Still,” the anger faded, “I’d rather keep him around than lose him. Thank you, Daughter. He would have happily died trying to make his point— you did help him survive that misjudgment.” Taisal touched Aryl’s wrist, sending a flood of warmth and caring.
Aryl’s eyes filled with tears. She hunted for words to send back, to tell her mother how proud she was, but Taisal withdrew her hand too soon. She looked angry again. “Don’t think that I approve of what Yorl did, Aryl. Or for that matter, of your coming here without permission, then interrupting a Council session instead of going home as you were told!”
“I knew something was wrong,” Aryl said truthfully, clamping down her shields. She could only hope Taisal had been distracted enough by the afternoon’s events to overlook the discrepancy between her daughter’s sending and her daughter’s arrival. The knowledge of one’s place granted by sensing other Om’ray didn’t involve counting one another. Not usually. But she had no idea what her mother, as an Adept, could do.
“Something was wrong,” Taisal admitted. “The moment I saw Yorl today, I knew he was in trouble.” She looked up at the canopy as if hunting something, then her gaze dropped to Aryl again. Her mouth turned down at the corners. “He hides it, Aryl, but he can barely climb anymore. He should be living here all the time, yet won’t. But today, this— it was the worst I’ve seen him. He denied it; refused to listen to me, refused to admit weakness before the others. When he started self-healing, I felt the drain on his body grow beyond his control.
“It’s a trap, Aryl, using your Power to heal yourself. It’s like trying to make a ladder from one rope. You can unwind the braid and make two ropes from the one, but the ladder’s only half as strong. Stealing strength from one part of the body to help another weakens the whole. No Adept would attempt it unless there was no other recourse.”
“So Yorl stole strength from me instead,” Aryl concluded. She still felt weak, though not as much as before. The sense of betrayal was worse. The head of their family was supposed to care for her, protect her . . .
“You said he asked for your help,” Taisal said gently.
“I thought he needed help to get out of his chair!” Having made her protest, Aryl gestured apology. “It’s all right,” she admitted. “He knew I’d give what I could to him.”
“You gave him his life.” Her mother sighed. “You’re young and strong. What you gave him— what he took— you’ll replace with a night’s rest.” This last with distraction, as if Taisal’s mind was worrying at other, more difficult topics. “Go home. And this time stay there.” She touched the door and closed her eyes briefly.
The massive curve of metal sighed away from its partner, leaving a gap sufficient for Taisal’s hand to wrap around the edge and turn the
door open. Aryl peered down the empty bridge. If Till was at his post, she’d have to explain the still-full bag. . . .
Aryl sighed and pulled it off her shoulder. “I brought these for you,” she confessed.
Taisal took it and looked inside. Her mouth quirked, then she closed the bag. “My room here is bare. Thank you. Reminders of home are welcome.”
“I—” hadn’t thought of that, Aryl almost said, torn by unexpected guilt, but stopped herself in time. The result was what counted. “— I’m glad you like them.”
“I always have,” her mother commented lightly.
There was an ease between them, and Aryl finally knew what to say. “In the meeting. I may have saved Yorl,” she told her mother, “but I think you saved all of us.”
Taisal’s smile faded. “I prevented a vote,” she corrected. “Today. Tikva’s not going to give up— and she’s not alone in her belief that Yena should have greater use of their Power. All we can do for now is keep Forbidden Talents secret. Imagine the temptation, if all Yena knew abilities like mine existed.”
Reap the Wild Wind Page 17