Reap the Wild Wind

by Czerneda, Julie E

  Powerful. But he already knew that. He knew something else. She couldn’t refuse them. He did his best not to glare at these Om’ray who, consciously or not, justified or not, forced responsibility on an unChosen.

  He heard Aryl take a deep breath. Before she could move, he bent and whispered in her ear. “After last night, I expect sweetpies.”

  She let her breath out in a rude snort and gave him that look again.

  Enris smiled to himself.

  Chapter 28

  THEY DIDN’T SPEAK, THOUGH THEY followed her with their eyes.

  They fell in behind her without a word; if Enris hadn’t limped beside her, Aryl thought miserably, she would feel the thorough fool. What were her people thinking? Haxel should lead them into the Cloisters. Anyone else should.

  Haxel, like the rest, had waited for her to be first. Impossible to argue.

  Impossible, she thought wryly, also included having survived truenight.

  “Hello, Pio di Kessa’at.” Aryl greeted the old Adept and waited to be mocked.

  As if infected by the others, Pio politely stepped to one side. “Welcome, Aryl Sarc,” she said, then gave a toothless grin. “Interesting clothes.” A squint at Enris. “Mendolar. Timing’s not a Talent, is it?” Before Aryl could do more than bristle, the Adept gestured sharply to those behind her. “Come through. Hurry up. We’re all expected, and I need to lock the doors.”

  * * *

  Pio di Kessa’at led Aryl, the rest trailing in silence, to the ceremonial doors. Instead of opening those, she stopped and Aryl gave her a questioning look.

  “Council’s in session. Don’t interrupt your elders,” the old Adept ordered. “Manners, manners,” she complained to herself. “The young should be taught; adults reminded.” Without warning she laid her palm, dry and cool, along Aryl’s cheek. Her expression seemed wistful. “There were such expectations.”

  Then Pio di Kessa’at was away, striding along the yellow-floored hall in a swirl of brown robes, her movements as easy and quick as anyone half her age.

  Aryl didn’t bother to look to the others. They, like she, could sense that most of Yena were on the other side of these doors. Council session or not, that was where they belonged. She turned one open; Enris did the same for the other. Together, they stepped inside.

  And into an argument.

  “Tikitik politics have disrupted our peace before. We need only wait them out—”

  “Never like this!”

  “You can’t be serious—”

  The voices died to echoes as the Councillors seated on the dais stopped to face those coming through the doors.

  They brought the reek of smoke and sweat into the beautiful room. It didn’t matter. Those already here rose from their seats on blankets and chairs clustered against the windowed wall, rushing forward with glad cries to greet their families. Aryl moved aside, savoring the joy rushing from mind to mind. Those who’d survived the swarm mingled with those who’d outrun it. There was no difference, she thought, in how haunted they looked.

  “Impressive.” Enris tilted his head back, studying the chamber ceiling. Like her, he appeared content to let everyone else move. Or, perhaps he tactfully avoided being too close to any one of Yena’s Choosers, before making his Choice. She spared a moment to wonder what he thought of his sorry Clan-to-be; surely he regretted this end to his Passage.

  “It’s big,” she commented absently, watching Chosen find Chosen, parents reunite over their youngest. Cetto stepped down to greet his son and daughter. Adrius stayed on the dais, but happily wheezed and coughed at his eldest, who climbed to be with him. Families became a blur. Aryl focused on Enris, who had no one else. “Tuana’s Council Chamber is the same, isn’t it?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  She’d thought all unChosen were taken to the Cloisters before leaving on Passage, to learn from the memories of the Adepts. Perhaps Tuana followed another custom. If so, credit to Enris for surviving without them. She changed the subject. “What are these sweetpies you want?”

  Enris shook his big head at her, eyes now laughing. “And you call yourself an Om’ray . . .” his voice trailed away as her expression changed. “What’s wrong?”

  Aryl gestured apology, but couldn’t speak. She’d spotted Joyn and his family among the rest. His mother, Rimis Uruus, held an infant.

  It wasn’t hers.

  Fearing the worst, Aryl reached.

  She was right; Ferna Parth was Lost.

  Seru. Aryl made the sending as gentle as she could, buried her own pain so it wouldn’t make the other’s worse. She watched her cousin as she walked through the crowd to Rimis; understanding spread with each slow step, until around her Yena grew still and silent.

  Without a word, Seru collected her brother and buried her face in his blankets. His tiny hands grabbed her netted hair.

  You saved the rest. Soft, carefully free of pity.

  Had she? Aryl sighed and met Enris’ eyes with hers. But not all.

  YENA.

  At the summons, heads turned to the far end of the room. The other entrance, Aryl thought, and looked with the rest.

  In came the Adepts, not in brown but in ceremonial white. Thirteen in total, they walked one behind the other; the assembled Yena parted to make room. There were no words or gestures of greeting, though the Adepts were also family to those here.

  Weren’t they?

  Aryl found her mother, second from last in the line before Pio. Taisal didn’t acknowledge her daughter’s presence. Instead, with the Adepts, she climbed the dais and took her position standing behind the row of Council seats.

  After the Adepts came seven Lost in their long robes, their faces empty, movements eerily identical. Ferna Parth was not yet among them; Aryl let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. Each carried a black woven bag. They came to the side of the dais and stopped, faced in whatever direction they happened to be. Other Yena eased away until the cluster of Lost stood alone.

  The Councillors took their seats; Adrius brusquely waving off his family. Aryl, like the rest of Yena, moved closer. Here, she thought, were those who governed them. Did anyone else notice that Morla’s hands trembled in her lap until she clenched them together? Did anyone else dare reach for their minds and find how tightly they were shielded?

  Something was wrong, she decided with dread. Something more. Enris tensed beside her. Though a stranger, he felt it, too.

  Morla Kessa’at collected herself and rose gracefully to her feet. “Greetings, Yena,” her voice calm and serene. “A joy to be together, regardless the reason. We would hear your news. Who speaks for you?”

  Catching Aryl’s eye, Haxel tipped her head toward the dais. Aryl pressed her lips together in denial.

  The First Scout shrugged and casually stepped on the dais. She held out her hand to Morla. The other Councillors touched finger to arm until all were connected. There was a moment of silent concentration— though Aryl suspected Adrius closed his eyes to nap— while they shared Haxel’s report.

  Yena waited. They’d seen this before.

  Though they’d likely never seen such ashen expressions on the faces of their leaders as a result. Cetto looked ill, once Haxel returned to the floor. Morla kept hold of his hand, her eyes bright with tears. Tikva and Yorl were grim and pale. Sian— Aryl’s eyes narrowed. The Adept looked remarkably composed, all things considered. He might have known what Haxel would share— or it didn’t matter, Aryl thought suddenly. Why?

  Morla rose and made the gesture of gratitude to all, pausing to wipe a tear. “We share the pain and hardship you’ve endured. With you, we grieve for those no longer here. Above all—” this with a warm smile at Aryl and Enris, “— we are grateful to those who came in time to help—”

  “Help?” Haxel interrupted. “Where’s the food, Morla? Why did our people spend the night here, on the floor? Where’s the welcome?” Her scar flamed red. “The Cloisters must take us in— that is Council’s decision, isn’t it?�
�� The First Scout curled her lip. “Yena’s as good as dead otherwise.”

  There were gasps throughout the chamber. Aryl supposed most had taken their welcome here for granted. She hadn’t, she realized numbly. Maybe it was because her mother had yet to meet her eyes. Maybe it was because so far, she’d had to save herself.

  On another level, Aryl admired how the First Scout got to the point. She could sense the hope of those around her. Council had to feel it, too.

  But not all minds were open.

  “Yena’s survival is our concern, too, First Scout,” Sian d’sud Vendan said smoothly. “We must ensure the village is rebuilt as quickly as possible. The situation must be stabilized. Peace restored.”

  “Until that time, will the Cloisters shelter us?” Haxel’s voice rose to the roar she used when training scouts. “Answer the question!”

  Confusion and fear spread, mind to mind. Aryl tightened her shields, feeling a superficial calm descend as others did the same.

  “Speaker.” Sian gave the summons, not Tikva or Morla. It suggested a shift in leadership. Disquieting, Aryl thought, if so. Sian was difficult to grasp at his most open.

  Taisal di Sarc stepped from her place with the other Adepts to stand alongside the Council. “Yena, hear me!” she said, her eyes bright, her voice filling the room. “There is no need for fear. I will negotiate with the Tikitik Speaker. Ask their forgiveness—”

  “Forgive us?” someone shouted. “What did we do?”

  Other voices rose. Passions flared past weaker shields. Children began to add their own distress to minds already worn and scared, their high-pitched cries to the bedlam.

  YENA!

  The answering silence was almost worse, Aryl thought.

  Sian rose from his seat. “Our Speaker will ask the Tikitik to forgive us for failing the Agreement that has kept our people safe throughout time. We believed— I admit it, even I— that there was no harm in the careful use of a new Talent, no risk in children using more Power than their parents. But there was. By encouraging these changes, we’ve threatened the balance of real power on this world. The Agreement itself is now in peril— not just for Yena, but for all Om’ray. It is our fault.” He paused, as if inviting reaction.

  Such was the shock in the chamber that no one uttered a word.

  “There is a solution,” Sian continued, matter-of-fact and confident. “We must purge Yena of further temptation. Those who imperil the Agreement must go.”

  “What is this?” With that roar, Cetto surged to his feet. “We did not debate such a thing. We would never agree!” Morla looked shocked as well. Aryl noted that old Adrius and her mother’s great-uncle sat quietly, the former half asleep, the latter’s face set in implacable lines. Tikva might have been in a trance.

  “This is beyond a Council vote,” Sian informed them in a cold, remote voice. “This is about the future. Yes, First Scout. To answer your impertinent questioning, the Cloisters will provide shelter until the Tikitik agree to rebuild our village. To those who deserve to stay.”

  Haxel’s scar was pale and etched; Aryl saw a muscle jump along her jaw. But she said nothing.

  “No,” protested Morla, her face turning red. “You can’t—”

  “Further,” as if the Councillor hadn’t spoken, “we immediately sanction and exile those who endanger the Agreement and the peace.”

  “Exile?” “Send to die, you mean!” Nameless shouts from the hall. “Who goes?”

  Haxel looked ready to use her longknife. “Who dares decide?”

  “The decision is made,” Sian shouted twice to be heard. When the startled murmurs died away, he continued in a quieter, but no less grim voice. “The Adepts, on behalf of all Yena, watch over the Om’ray and assess new Talent.” He took a step back to fill the space Taisal had left among her peers. Tikva di Uruus, the other Adept on Council, rose and moved as well, to take the end position.

  “We let Yena reach this terrible day,” Sian stated. “Never again. We will no longer tolerate danger from within. Yena will endure.”

  At this, Taisal looked directly at Aryl for the first time. There was nothing to read in her face; nothing to Aryl’s inner sense, nothing within the other. Her mother had locked herself behind an Adept’s formidable barriers, even from her daughter.

  Aryl didn’t try to reach her, thinking she understood. Taisal, with her Talent to recall spilled sweetberries to her tray, her use of the Dark to reach her daughter, was one of the dangers to Yena. As an Adept, her disgrace would be absolute— worse, Taisal wouldn’t survive without shelter in the canopy.

  Could any of them?

  “Go,” Sian told them, “for the good of the Clan.”

  Yena flinched aside as the Lost entered the crowd, their steps graceless yet intent. One, Leri, stepped up on the Council dais. She reached into her bag and brought out a token, the same as used on Passage. She gave it to Cetto sud Teerac, who sank into his chair to stare down at what was cupped in his hands. She gave another to Morla Kessa’at, who let out a horrified cry.

  Aryl wasn’t surprised when something cold and hard was pressed into her slack fingers. She didn’t bother to see which Lost had put it there. She gripped it and waited.

  Enris tossed his in the air, where it spun end over end until caught with a casual snap of his wrist. Which made no sense, she protested to herself. The Tuana was what Yena needed most: new blood. Or was that a danger, too?

  Strange, how silent the chamber. Like the hush at truenight, before the clatter of the swarm; it lacked only the trills of a wysp.

  Morla’s was the only outward reaction. Yena after Yena accepted a token, expressions stricken, those of their families numb. Aryl knew how they felt. To survive last night only to be wiped away at the verge of safety, by those who should care for you?

  The betrayal was too deep to comprehend.

  Finished, the Lost returned to their cluster by the dais. They’d given, by Aryl’s rough count, over twenty tokens. Twenty sentences of exile and death.

  Not one to an Adept. Not even Taisal di Sarc.

  Why?

  She could betray her mother. She could say what she’d seen Taisal do. They might doubt her word and motives, but the suggestion, here and now, with emotion ready to win over reason? It might be enough to exile Taisal, too.

  Aryl kept silent. There was nothing to gain. She couldn’t guess why her mother agreed to this; she couldn’t guess why the other Adepts would allow her to stay. But, as a result, someone she loved would be safe.

  The hush continued. No one seemed to know what to do next. Even Haxel seemed dazed by what glittered in her hand.

  Aryl met Cetto’s eyes, read his helpless anger and despair. He’d believed they could leave Yena. He’d hoped for their future somewhere else. Not, she knew, like this.

  She found herself breathing deeply, the way she would before a climb— or before an argument. Then, before she realized what she would do, she jumped on the dais to offer her hand to Bern’s grandfather. “Come,” she told him, including Morla with a somber look.

  Aryl then turned to face Yena. That this put Council and the Adepts at her back didn’t bother her at all.

  “We’re wasting daylight,” she said, making the words loud and sure.

  The echoes followed them out.

  Chapter 29

  “THEY COULD HAVE FED US first,” Enris commented mildly as they assembled before the doors to the bridge.

  Haxel heard as she walked by. “And waste food on the dead?” she tossed over her shoulder.

  “That bad?” he asked Aryl.

  She tapped the token on his chest. “You should go back,” she urged again. “Argue you were on Passage, that none of this is your fault. It isn’t, you know. You came to help us. It’s—”

  “Unfair? Unjust?” For some reason, Enris chuckled. “At least this—” his fingers brushed the token, “— will come in handy.”

  Those nearby looked from Enris to Aryl, then away. She understood their reacti
on. The Tuana was smart, brave, and strong. It wasn’t enough— not in the canopy. They needed proper equipment and supplies to have a chance. All but the two Councillors, Cetto and Morla, had been in the village during the attack. The exiles had nothing but what some had carried to the Cloisters, most of that personal belongings grabbed last night during the panic.

  Haxel made a good show of assessing resources— in her element as First Scout— yet no one but Enris believed it was anything more than show.

  Aryl gave her attention to who, rather than what, they had. She raised her chin, a greeting to Ael. Unlikely the Adepts would have exiled him, in her opinion, if he hadn’t been Joined to Myris. A partner left behind would be Lost; not just a burden, but a living reminder of guilt.