Reap the Wild Wind

by Czerneda, Julie E

  “Understand who. Not understand why.”

  Seeing what appeared to be honest bewilderment, Aryl shrugged. “You killed quite a few. They aren’t the sort to forget that.” She took pity on the Human and made it simpler, with gestures. “You killed them.” This was no time to mention what lay beneath the Lake of Fire, or the other Harvest.

  “Accident.”

  “You have too many,” Aryl said bitterly. “Come.”

  Taking his bag despite his protest, she secured it over her shoulder using the braided blanket strip around her midsection. She started walking, her choice to cut across the slope at first to test the footing. It would test Marcus’ ability with this terrain as well, knowledge they’d both need.

  After a moment, she heard him follow.

  * * *

  The Tikitik stayed down, within the grove, their moves furtive and disturbingly quick. The sun, on its way to give day to Grona, soon hid its brightness behind cloud. The rocks surrounding them flattened in that diffused light, confusing the senses. They had to work their way around and between the largest, some the size of the strangers’ building, most taller than they. If Aryl hadn’t been able to sense exactly where she was, she’d soon have been as lost as the Human appeared to be.

  “Where we?” The same plaintive question. He didn’t have breath to spare for it. Sweat soaked his torn shirt, spread the bloodstains. She’d driven them both; as she’d feared, Marcus wasn’t used to physical exertion.

  She hadn’t expected him to endure it as well as he had. “Where are we?” she corrected gently. “We are close to the Watchers. We can rest there.”

  “Safe?” He’d noticed her preoccupation with any view downslope, toward the edge of the grove. He’d begun to watch himself. Now his voice cracked on the word.

  “Better.” Aryl sighed inwardly. In the coming dry season, they would have met scouts and Adepts, as well as those who came to clean the Watchers and prepare them for the next M’hir Wind. Now, if she reached, the rock-littered slope ahead was empty of Om’ray. They were alone.

  Aryl had tried to contact Taisal again and again without success. She tried now as she slipped between two flat-sided rocks that might have cracked, one from the other, leaving this cool, shadowy gap. The same result. Taisal was there; for some reason she wouldn’t connect through the other with her daughter.

  Best guess? Taisal was in another Council meeting, or with other Adepts.

  If ever there was a time not to be careful, Aryl thought ruefully, it was now. A shame she couldn’t explain that to her mother. But she didn’t bother trying to force that link.

  They came out of the shadow and she halted in dismay. A giant blocked the straight path, its slanted surface pitted and worn. It looked like a minor mountain itself.

  “What are . . . Watchers?” Marcus asked, a hand on the nearest rock.

  “You’ll see.” She assessed his condition and the barrier ahead. They’d have to go around it. Which way, was the question. It was more than kindness to spare the Human extra steps; there was only so far will could safely carry him. Push a body too far, Aryl knew, and the clumsiness of fatigue became the greatest risk of all. “Wait here. Here,” she pointed to the cool shadow, when he didn’t move at once. Marcus turned to put his back to the smooth wall of rock and slid to the ground, his relief obvious.

  She removed her stranger-boots to free her toes, eyeing the huge rock.

  “What do?”

  “You’ll see that, too,” she told him, her lips twitching into a half smile.

  It was a different kind of climbing, not difficult. The slant of gray-and-white rock was easier than any rastis stalk; her fingers and toes fit into its fine cracks as easily as they’d fit cracks in wood. The footing was rough, but secure— once she learned to avoid depressions filled with loose pebbles. Aryl remained instinctively wary of the few deep crevices in its surface; such could have inhabitants to object. She had a great respect for even small things that could bite.

  The reach and pull, the extension of muscle though sore and tired, exhilarated her. It was a moment’s work to reach the top and stand.

  Finally, she thought. A decent view.

  The mountainside ahead changed its nature. Instead of an even, downward sweep of rubble, it turned into a maze fractured by sharp, irregular drops. Beyond these the slope ended in a chasm that cut deep to disappear into the mountain’s own shadow. Or was this the join between two mountains? she wondered, unable to discern the top of the opposite side amid the lowering clouds. Regardless, she knew what she saw. The first pass to Grona. A hard road, according to those who made it through on Passage, and a hard place to live, trapped between rock and sky. She’d dismissed it thus, Aryl realized, without comprehending what that meant.

  She lowered her gaze to the mouth of the pass, where the grove claimed a foothold between mountains. She could see the bare crowns of rastis mixed with the tips of nekis past the rocky edge. From there, she followed the rise of rock until she found the Watchers, their outline familiar from images shared mind to mind.

  The reality was oddly smaller. If she hadn’t known what she would see, Aryl might have missed them completely.

  The Watchers looked like holes near the top of the sheer cliff that began not far from where she stood. The cliff itself rose to slice the side of the mountain, scarred along its length by other holes, most larger and less regular. At its base was a wide ledge that ended in another plunge of rock, its end hidden within the canopy far below.

  Aryl squinted up the slope, trying without success to see where the Watchers began. Cloud obscured the upper reach of this mountain too. Not just cloud, she worried. Mist was beginning to trail through the rock around them, fingers of it sliding up from the great groves themselves. It would soon be thick enough to hide the Tikitik, should they venture from that shelter.

  She licked condensation from her lips and stared at the thick, lush green. When had it become a threat, instead of home?

  Turning, she considered her return climb. Her gaze lifted, reluctantly, to look for the wreckage of the aircar.

  Aryl tensed.

  She knew where they’d been. If she needed proof, the litter of white boxes from the crash showed the way. But the aircar itself, its broken pieces, were no longer in sight.

  Something was wrong. She frowned, unwilling to believe her eyes, then ran to the far edge of the rock for a better look.

  “Oh, no.”

  From that perspective, the wreckage— what remained of it— was again visible. She hadn’t seen it not because it had been moved, but because the rocks around it had changed their position. They were now crowded around, some on top, crushing the bodies beneath. Amna Om’ray buried their dead, she thought numbly.

  This wasn’t a burial. The rocks— which weren’t rocks— were feeding.

  Suddenly, the last place Aryl wanted to be was on top of the largest one on the slope.

  She ran more than climbed down, jumping free as soon as she could, her bare feet scattering pebbles. “Marcus!” she shouted. She’d left him between two “rocks,” Aryl realized with horror. What if . . .

  “Here.” He stood nearby, looking better for the rest, if alarmed by her tone.

  Aryl looked past him, at the paired rocks. Was it her imagination, that the gap between had narrowed? These things, whatever they were, could move too slowly to catch in action. As scavengers, such might not be a threat during the day, but at truenight, when she and Marcus would have to stop? If they were attracted to blood, she thought worriedly, plenty of it coated them both.

  If the “rocks” were hunters? They could work together— build traps for those foolish enough to wander between them.

  Was this why the Tikitik hadn’t left the grove?

  “We have to hurry,” she told the Human, feeling trapped already.

  * * *

  They raced truenight through the maze of living rock, Aryl’s nerves growing more and more frayed as the shadows deepened. They were spa
red rain, though it fell in the canopy and fed cold mists that slithered around their legs. In their brief but necessary pauses, she could hear the grind of stone against stone over their ragged breathing. Hunters, then, she decided, as if it made any difference.

  They had to reach the Watchers.

  She’d done her best to explain to Marcus why they had to hurry; there was no sign he understood. But he didn’t argue. When he began to stagger more than walk, Aryl undid her makeshift rope from around her waist and pressed it into his hands, holding the other end. When he began to shiver, she wrapped the section of stranger-blanket over his shoulders, amused by his startled recognition.

  It wasn’t until they literally stumbled out on the wide, flat ledge that she believed they’d make it. “The Watchers,” she announced with relief.

  There was more light, away from the rocks. Aryl didn’t know why there were none below the cliff, unless there was some inexplicable danger to them here. She’d never heard of the things, but Yena came here from the canopy, not the slope. For a moment, she let herself face where the vegetation burst from the chasm, breathing in the heady aroma of real living things. There would be bridges and ladders reaching to this place, leading back home.

  There would be Tikitik. As far as she could tell, some, perhaps many, had matched their course along the mountain, still staying within the groves.

  Aryl sighed and turned back to the now-impressive cliff, assessing their next steps. Deep in shadow, it towered easily the height of ten Om’ray here. To the right, it reared skyward before dropping straight into the chasm, but that wasn’t their goal. Not yet.

  “There,” she told her companion, indicating those openings above their heads.

  “Oh.”

  The dismay in that wordless syllable caught her by surprise. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “We’ll be safe. Om’ray stay there. There could be supplies.” Her stomach growled its complete approval.

  “You go.” Marcus reeled where he stood, as if too stubborn to fall. “Aryl stronger. Climb good.”

  Aryl snorted. “Trust me, Marcus. You can do this.” She gave the rope they both held a gentle tug. “Let’s go.”

  “Help. Help comes.” Weary, rather than convincing.

  “Your help is late.” She saw him wince and relented. He’d been unable to explain either his hope for help or its lack of appearance. “If we’re safe,” she said as persuasively as she could given her impatience, “help can find us.”

  A nod, followed by a frankly terrified stare at the cliff.

  “You’ll see,” she told him, tugging the rope again.

  They entered the cliff’s shadow together, both shivering at the sudden chill. Water stained its front. Condensation from the mist, Aryl guessed, since there was no sign of water anywhere else. She licked a drop caught on her finger; the acrid taste made her spit. They continued along the cliff until she found the place that matched the image in her mind. “Wait here,” she told Marcus.

  “Not l-l-leave,” he chattered through his teeth, clutching the blanket.

  Aryl handed him her boots, then began to climb. Her target was an oval opening, three of her body lengths above. Not far, but this wasn’t like her other ascent. The rock was wet and smooth, its surface unlit. She relied on touch to find tiny cracks; it took her remaining strength to wedge her fingertips and toes into them for a grip. Carefully, slowly, she made her way up.

  By the time her hand hit the edge of the opening, Aryl was gasping with effort, but that solid grip was all she needed to pull herself up and through. She lay flat for an instant, then stood, leaving Marcus’ bag on the ground. Yena came here annually, to clean and prepare the Watchers. As she’d expected, there was a sturdy ladder rolled inside, ready to drop.

  Letting it fall, she hurried down it herself. “Your turn,” she told Marcus.

  Although he brightened at the sight of something more manageable than the cliff, and started with enthusiasm, Aryl treated the Human the way any Om’ray parent would a child. She followed close behind, so close his back pressed against her chest, and braced her arms each time he released a handhold and reached for the next.

  Just as well. He began to slow, then tire. The last few rungs were agony for them both, as Aryl did her best to support his weight, and he did his best to keep moving.

  “Close, Marcus,” she urged. “One more.”

  At the top, she put her shoulder under his rump and shoved, throwing him forward and out of her way. While he gasped for breath, she pulled the ladder up behind them.

  Just as well. “Look,” she said.

  He rolled over. Aryl could see the gleam that marked his eyes. “What is? Help?”

  “Not help,” she snorted.

  With sunset, the cliff’s shadow had grown to lap over what had been the first of the rocks. Had been, for where she and Marcus had stood to look up at the cliff was now well-populated. Small ones, large ones, some atop the others. Nothing moved; several things had.

  “Not help,” he agreed, making a strained noise she decided might be a laugh. “You know these?”

  “No.” She shrugged. “Many creatures have their seasons. Om’ray only come here before the M’hir. Until now,” she added ruefully

  “Good.”

  It was Aryl’s turn to almost laugh. “Rest, Marcus. Then we continue.”

  “Here stay?” A pat on the stone. “Safe is.”

  She shared the longing to rest in his voice, but knew better. “Not really. Wait here.”

  What she hunted should be at the back of this hole. It was too dark to see, so she moved with her hands held out, her bare feet feeling their way along the grit-covered, though level floor.

  Suddenly, she could see.

  “Better?” Marcus asked, one hand pulling his bag over his shoulder, the other leaking light through its fingers.

  Aryl restrained any mention of how she could have used it sooner. Considering she’d assumed anything he’d bring would have no practical use, that wasn’t fair. “Thank you.” She continued searching with the Human and his glow at her shoulder. “There,” she exclaimed in triumph as the light revealed a door.

  Not any door, she frowned, making the connection, but a beautiful metal door, twin to those guarding entrance to the Cloisters.

  At least this didn’t need an Adept to open. Aryl reached to the top and, remembering what she’d been taught, pulled the correct sequence of four latches to unlock it, ignoring the fifth, which would lock it again. The door turned open obediently. Beyond was dim, but welcoming light. “Through here,” she said, glancing around for Marcus.

  His free hand stretched toward the door, not touching it.

  The light from his other hand revealed an expression that, on an Om’ray, Aryl judged, would have signaled severe indigestion. “What is?”

  The obvious answer died on her lips. “This is the way to the Watchers, Marcus. It belongs to my clan, the Yena Om’ray. There’s no harm here. Safe,” she resorted to the word he kept using.

  “Old, is.”

  That again. She scowled at him. “Of course it’s old. Come or stay here.” She suspected her smile was the thoroughly unpleasant one Taisal used when required.

  It had the same effect. Marcus mumbled something to himself, but followed her.

  The construction within resembled the Cloisters as well, with the same yellow material underfoot and on all sides. The lighting, barely adequate, came from the joins in the tall tubelike wall. Aryl led the Human up wide steps that circled a central pillar, grateful herself not to climb anymore. She’d offered to carry his bag again, now curious what might be inside. He’d refused, hugging it to his chest.

  Something was bothering him. From past experience, Aryl thought wearily, best she didn’t learn what.

  At the top was a landing with an identical door, opening on a flat, arched space within the rock. As she locked this door behind them, Aryl was almost too tired to reconcile the images in her mind with what she saw.

  Cl
ose at hand, a homely pile of Yena flasks and slings hung from hooks on the wall. No beds, but mattresses leaned below the hooks, ready for use. A table and six chairs. Comfort for the caretakers.

  Their charges filled the rest of the space— the Yena Watchers, their smooth surface agleam with polish. They descended from the ceiling to within her height of the floor. To the right, they passed through the wall to where, unseen from this vantage, they opened their mouths to the outside world. To the left, they rose in long parallel curves, the floor and ceiling climbing with them, until all disappeared in the distance.