Riders of the Storm

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Maybe she could go live underground with the Oud. Aryl leaned against the stone slab of the doorway and gestured a mute apology.

  “Never hurt an unChosen to suffer. How are you?” A triumphant grin twisted her scar. “Besides louder than Taisal ever was.”

  Underground wasn’t far enough, Aryl decided. Maybe Marcus would take her to his world. That had to be at least beyond the mountains. “Can we not talk about…” she waved her hand vaguely.

  As well as ask the sun not to rise. Haxel gave a wicked chuckle. “Enjoy it while it lasts, Chooser. You’ve ruined a ’night’s sleep for an entire village. Probably started every unChosen in Cersi on Passage here. Next time—”

  Chooser, Aryl thought with a pang of guilt. “How’s Seru?” she interrupted.

  “Seru.” Something flickered in those pale eyes. Caution?

  “Yes, Seru.” She tensed. “Something’s wrong. What?”

  “Choosers don’t get invol—”

  “Answer me.” Aryl didn’t intend the flick of Power.

  Haxel winced then scowled fiercely. “Listen to me, Aryl. It’s none of your—”

  Not waiting to hear the rest, Aryl pushed past. She’d find out for herself.

  Trails had been forced through the snow between the four homes. Only one led out to where she and Naryn spent truenight. Aryl disregarded it, forcing her way through the stuff in a straight line to where she knew Seru was.

  The First Scout caught up. “There’s nothing you can do. She’s Joined to him now. It’s too late.”

  Aryl moved faster.

  Husni opened the door, slipping its rope latch onto a hook. She didn’t say a word, only backed out of Aryl’s way.

  Taen rose to her feet, eyes darting between them. Silent.

  She ignored them both, going to where her cousin sat on a bench, a blanket around her shoulders, another on her lap. Seru’s hair moved fitfully, as if tossed by a dying wind. “I’m here,” she said gently.

  “You shouldn’t be.” Her cousin looked at her.

  Aryl thought she’d seen every expression of those huge green eyes.

  She’d never seen them dead.

  Seru held out her hand, turned it, let something small and tangled fall to the floor between them.

  Her dayknots. Her waiting. Her wishes.

  Aryl went to her knees. “Seru—”

  “You shouldn’t be here. Mauro—” the name twisted her lips, “—doesn’t like you. He doesn’t like me. He doesn’t like anyone. He won’t let me…”

  Aryl flinched. What had the Oud brought them? “Of course you like me, silly Seru,” she coaxed desperately, shields tight. “You just need to show him how to like us—”

  “He shows me blood. He likes blood. Likes Om’ray who cry in pain—” Seru’s eyes filled with tears that spilled without heed. “He almost killed Enris. Wanted to kill him. Beat him. Kick him. Bones break. Feels good—”

  HUSH! If Mauro shared that sending, Aryl thought, blind with fury, she hoped it hurt.

  Seru wilted. She caught her, Taen helping. “What did you do, Aryl?” Husni demanded.

  He’s taken the babies…Aryl…I can’t feel the babies…all I feel is HIM.

  “Hold her.” Aryl rose to her feet and turned to find Haxel, hovering in the doorway. “Restrain Mauro,” she ordered, her lips numb. “I don’t care how. Bring Ezgi Serona here.”

  “I don’t know what you think—”

  “I will not allow this Joining.”

  The others froze, staring at her. Seru gave a wild laugh. “You? Dirty little Yena animal. Think I care what you will allow or not? You’re pathetic. All of you!”

  Aryl didn’t take her eyes from Haxel. “Go.”

  “She’s mine,” said the voice from Seru’s lips. “Mine forever. Get out of my way. It’s time to rut. Maybe she’ll scream. Scream for me, my Chosen.”

  Grim-faced, the First Scout whirled and left, hand on her knife.

  Aryl’s mind was already elsewhere. She opened to the M’hir, sought within it for Seru. Drew her close.

  Aryl? There…wistful…so small…

  Sought Mauro. Drew him, too.

  WHAT IS THIS PLACE!??

  She ignored his loud gibbering fear, though it set the M’hir into wild motion. She concentrated, searching the chaos for the bond connecting the Tuana to her cousin.

  There. As she’d dared hope, it was still forming. Pulses of Power attached themselves one to the other, most being drawn from Seru to Mauro. Nothing peaceful about it, nothing willing. Nothing of joy. He took, causing harm for his own gain, as a Tikitik would drink blood from an osst.

  She would not allow it.

  GET AWAY FROM US!

  He was powerful. Brave, in his way.

  Another part of Aryl heard: “We’re here.” Another part of Aryl stretched out a hand, felt a palm, clammy but strong, took hold.

  Most of what she was remained in the other and sought the new arrival there.

  Ezgi.

  A blaze of light, of Power. Solid, afraid but unshaken by his surroundings. A song in the Dark. Aryl fought the temptation to go closer.

  SERU! As she called, she gathered, tearing what she tasted as her cousin free of Mauro. As the M’hir seethed and boiled in protest, she thrust Seru toward Ezgi.

  Eagerly, they reached for one another. Aryl pulled back, readied herself.

  NOOOO!!!

  Mauro resisted, grabbed for Seru. Aryl struck, severing each link as he made it. Each time, a new one sprang into life between Ezgi and Seru. Over and over. The two slipped closer and closer.

  The two were one.

  And all that remained in the M’hir was Mauro Lorimar.

  CHOOSER! I AM FREE!

  He was a storm within a storm, riding its violence with his own, triumphant. COME TO ME NOW!

  Links began to form between them, pulsing, potent. She reeled, tried to evade, to escape. Others were helpless. She felt them, their fear for her. All it did was stir the force within the M’hir, weaken her.

  She was losing…no matter how she fought…no matter how he repulsed her…she would be his…

  MINE!!

  Then, she was alone, the M’hir almost peaceful.

  Aryl opened her eyes and promptly threw up, gesturing an apology to the owner of a too-near pair of boots.

  Boots already splattered with blood.

  Explaining the peace.

  She staggered to her feet, helped by strong hands from behind, and gave Mauro’s husk barely a glance. “Seru?”

  Haxel, busy cleaning her knife, tipped her head. “There.”

  Seru stood with Ezgi, right hands clasped, left hands exploring one another’s face and hair with a tender preoccupation that answered any question she might have.

  Husni’s wrinkles creased deeper. “This won’t do,” she declared. “It won’t.”

  Aryl opened her mouth to argue, but Taen’s fingers brushed hers. Don’t worry.

  The elderly Om’ray took Seru by the shoulders and pulled the two apart. “I’ve never seen such foolishness. There must be time apart, then a proper bathing. Go at once, young sud Parth.” Ezgi’s shy smile and blush matched Seru’s. “Someone find him decent clothes. Haxel, clean up your mess. Hurry now!”

  The First Scout carefully didn’t smile. “At once, Husni.”

  Seru looked at Aryl, her eyes dancing. “How can we…”

  “Tradition!” Husni insisted. “As for you, Aryl Sarc.” A summons not to be ignored.

  Aryl stepped up to the tiny Chosen, wiping her mouth on a sleeve.” Yes, Husni.” In her best, most polite tone.

  Husni beckoned, and Aryl bent. Cool, crooked fingers stroked her cheek, sending a flood of gratitude and pride, then snapped smartly under her chin. “Some sleep this truenight, if you don’t mind?”

  “I’ll do my best, Husni,” Aryl vowed.

  “Impressive.”

  Aryl shrugged, regretting the motion as it sent a thrill of pain across her forehead. Breakfast might h
elp. Or time. She wouldn’t ask Oran. “It shouldn’t have been necessary.”

  “It shouldn’t,” Naryn pointed out, “have been possible. Tamper with Choice? Switch Chosen in the midst of Joining? How did you know how?”

  Aryl didn’t want that kind of Power. To meddle in Choice. But seeing Seru herself again, seeing her joy with Ezgi, who was as thoroughly besotted and kind as her cousin had ever wished?

  Safe from whatever Mauro Lorimar had been?

  She’d do it again.

  “It shouldn’t have happened at all,” she repeated. “We need to protect those who are—who can’t protect themselves—before it’s too late.”

  The Tuana hung the next blanket over the line, straightening it with great care. Most had been soaked from below as the dirt thawed during the ’night. They could use, Aryl thought with distraction, a proper floor.

  “In Tuana,” Naryn said slowly, “an unChosen first seeks the approval of the Chooser’s family. We receive more strangers on Passage than most Clans. Pana, often. Amna. Rarely Grona or Yena. A meal together, conversation. Time together, a chance to find a good fit. UnChosen aren’t rushed.”

  Criticism? Aryl bristled. “Seru waited a long time. It’s no wonder—”

  “It’s no wonder,” Naryn agreed. A lock of red hair writhed free of its net; the Yena fashion had pleased her, but she would need more than braided thread. “Denied, the urge becomes overwhelming. If you have to wait long enough, you might be tempted by Deran.”

  Never, Aryl thought grimly.

  Haxel would be watching to see how closely Deran had followed his friend. Mauro had been an abomination, however tolerated or ignored by the Tuana.

  As for Naryn…“Did you have to wait too long? Is that why you tried to force Enris Mendolar?” There, she’d said it.

  Long, shapely hands paused on the next blanket, then continued moving, spreading it along the line. “He’s here?”

  “He was. He took Passage.”

  Naryn tilted her head, like a flitter studying a biter. “You wanted him, too.”

  “I never hurt him.”

  “No,” the Tuana said softly, “I don’t suppose you did. He left before you were ready.”

  “What does that—”

  “It means that Choosers of exceptional Power, like you, like me, are not comfortable partners.” Naryn’s smile was bitter as she brought out a flat, wrapped package, small enough to hide on her palm. It was so like a portion of dresel that Aryl’s stomach growled. “A gift for your future, Aryl Sarc. What Tuana’s Adepts use to ease the Joining of those of greater Power. A quarter, dissolved in water. Share a cup with your Candidate. If I’d known—well, I no longer need it. You may.”

  “What is it?” Aryl didn’t touch the package; she couldn’t take her eyes from it.

  “Somgelt. We trade with the Oud for it.”

  Somgelt was found in some rastis pods, a parasite on its seeds. Yena used an extract to coat their stairs and ladders, to keep away the hunters of the Lay Swamp. “Poison.”

  “Safe,” Naryn countered, “if used properly.” She tucked it away. “I’ll keep it for you.”

  Aryl ignored this last, worried by something else entirely. The Oud could only obtain somgelt from the Tikitik. Wood for the Oud tunnels, she could understand. Metal for the Tikitik. But this? “Do the Oud know how you use it?”

  A puzzled frown. “You ask the oddest questions.” At Aryl’s look, “No. Why would the not-real know or care what happens in a Cloisters?”

  “They care,” she assured the Tuana. Hadn’t an Oud spent days trying to dig into Sona’s? Wanted her help to enter?

  Curious? Or something more?

  Naryn smiled suddenly. “He liked you—all of you. Didn’t he?”

  “Enris?” Aryl fingered the rope. “He was welcome.”

  “Of course.” Her smile faded. “Enris could have been an Adept—should have been—but he didn’t want it. I did, and he thought less of me for it. For wanting to be powerful, to use my Talents. I shouldn’t have cared. I should have ignored him. He didn’t like me. Or my friends. He would never have come to my family to be my Choice. In front of everyone—he ignored me at Visitation—”

  “We should get breakfast,” Aryl interrupted.

  “You wanted to know why.”

  Not anymore. “You don’t need to explain—”

  “I do. I must. There was something about him I couldn’t ignore. You’ve met him—you know. When my time came, there wasn’t anyone else. I had to Call Enris. But instead of answering, he—he forced me away.” Naryn’s hair slithered over her shoulders. Her face, always pale, was like ice. “I hope you never feel pain like that.”

  “Because he didn’t want you,” Aryl snapped. “You should have stopped. You should have let him go.”

  “I couldn’t. He was pain and anger—” her voice broke, then steadied, “—he was everything wonderful. I had to hold on or lose him…but he was stronger. Too strong. He left me. Ruined me. I lost—”

  “So did Enris,” Aryl snapped.

  “I know.” Naryn lowered her shields, until Aryl felt sorrow laced with guilt, a growing determination. Then, You’re right, Aryl Sarc. We who can must protect our Choosers and unChosen, ease their Joining. If we don’t, we risk losing those of greatest Power. Like Enris and me. Like you.

  There could be no lies here, mind-to-mind. Aryl knew, beyond any doubt, that Naryn cared about the future of their kind. However she’d come to this moment, whatever she’d done before, she would do anything to ensure no one else suffered as she had.

  Could Sona ask more?

  She wouldn’t.

  Tell me about somgelt.

  Before she Called again and someone answered.

  Interlude

  WHEN THE CALL STRUCK, ENRIS Mendolar was doing his best to sleep on top of a wall. Between the rumn and a healthy fear of rocks, he’d decided to wait out truenight where neither could surprise him. Aryl would have approved. His arm and leg dangled over the drop he hadn’t been ready to chance while exhausted—though given the mist, firstlight might not reveal much more of what lay below. Still, he hadn’t heard water, which meant solid ground. Probably. At firstlight, he’d…

  The Call wiped every rational thought from his drowsy mind—including where he was and why standing suddenly would be a bad idea. He tipped, slipped, and dropped—not that he cared, his mind still caught by a Chooser’s NEED.

  Unfortunately, the Call ceased before he hit the ground and Enris cared a great deal about the jolt of impact through every bone. He lay still, hoping his every bone wasn’t broken, and used the moment to gingerly explore the lingering taste in his mind.

  Not the Vyna’s summoning.

  Definitely not a succulent reflection of his mother’s cooking. This Call had been nothing so peaceful or welcoming.

  It had been sheer demand, backed by extraordinary Power. Blunt, careless, utterly selfish.

  Which didn’t mean his heart wasn’t pounding or that he wasn’t drawn to it. Irresistible. His right hand curled into a fist, denied.

  Enris laughed, stopping when his body protested. Irresistible or not, he wasn’t going anywhere fast, for this new Chooser or any other reason.

  “Now, where’s the door?”

  The words bounced from walls to either side. Because he was in a narrow box. A warm, mist-filled, featureless box.

  Could be worse. He would, if he walked in the only possible direction, put distance between himself and Vyna.

  Could be better. No one chased him.

  Ordinarily, Enris would take that as a good sign, but not here. They must have expected their locked door to hold him for the rumn—or for those who’d gladly feed him to the rumn, the result being regrettably the same. When he’d removed the door as an impediment, he’d expected to be chased by rumn-feeders. But not one Om’ray had followed him inside.

  The hall had become a downslope tunnel—not a surprise. Of polished black rock, lit by those fire-powered glo
ws—that had been, since there were no doors or intersections. Only a numbingly straight tunnel. He ran past a hundred glows before he slowed to a jog—after fifty more, he walked. After that, he stumbled forward, away from Vyna. Unpursued.

  The first breaths of fresh, cooler air had been as good as a meal, a hint of natural light a lure. He’d found the strength for one more run, bursting from the tunnel into a narrow gap, sided in smooth black rock, roofed by a starred sky. Freedom!

  Almost.

  Too soon, the gap ended at another wall, this of cubes of black rock, providing ample hand-and footholds even for a Tuana. He hadn’t hesitated to climb, though it bore an unpleasant resemblance to the wall underground old Jenemir had shown him, the one that kept back molten rock.

  At the top, seeing—or rather not seeing—what lay below, he’d wisely decided to take his rest before climbing down the other side.

  Only to fall down it.

  Still, as escapes went, Enris assured himself, growing more cheerful as he surveyed his new surroundings, he could definitely have done worse.

  This was still Vyna. Their lights were embedded in the walls at waist height, a dazzling row reflected over and over in the polished rock. The mist that lipped against the wall behind him hung overhead like a ceiling, hiding any stars. Hiding him, too, he grinned.

  Best of all, there were no suspicious rocks, only the solid slabs of black the Vyna felt were the appropriate construction material for everything. There wasn’t so much as a speck of dirt.

  Enris started walking. The floor sloped downward, gently, no more than the tunnel. A good sign. With luck, he’d come out at the bottom of the mountain ridge, where reasonable Om’ray could walk in safety. Not to mention find a mountain stream with clear, lovely—

  Crunchsnap!

  He looked down and lost any cheer he’d felt.

  It was a bone.

  He looked ahead.

  More bones.

  Om’ray bones.

  Scattered here. He kept walking, careful of his feet now, finding more and more until they lay in untidy heaps he had to step around. Most were old, weathered gray and brittle. Some were newer, bound together by wisps of skin and clothing. Was this how the Vyna disposed of their husks?