Rift in the Sky

by Julie E. Czerneda

  He couldn’t do that. Not if he grasped what Marcus offered. “Will I still understand real words—Om’ray words?”

  “Yes yes yes. Sleepteach adds information to the memory, not take any away. You won’t notice any change. But if you hear Comspeak words,” Marcus nodded vigorously, “you will hear what they mean. You will be able to answer, using those words. With my innerworldaccent,” he added confusingly. “Sorry. Don’t know how to reprogram. You’ll sound like someone from Stonerim III. That’s not a bad thing. Proper vowels.”

  Enris found he had taken the device. It was warm from Marcus’ hands. There were no controls or markings. He made to put it on his head.

  “Not yet. Lie down, ready for sleep. Put over eyes, then say these words: activate . . . standard . . . teach . . . mode. You say them.”

  “ ‘Activate standard teach mode.’ ” The little eggs went from pink to white.

  “To stop, take it off, or say end . . . session.”

  “ ‘End session.’ ” Pink again. Enris wanted to try the words again, to see the colors change, but didn’t. The Human was used to such effects. He didn’t want to seem like a child caught up by novelty.

  He could do it later anyway.

  “Thank you, Marcus.”

  Enris? Calm, but this time with the faintest touch of confusion. So much for the water. If Aryl couldn’t convince the Oud, no one could. Shaking his head to himself, he headed for the door.

  “Come again to visit.” The Human sounded almost wistful. “Before I go.”

  Enris glanced over his shoulder. “We’ll try, Marcus. Hard to spare anyone right now, with water so . . .” he let his voice trail away, eyes searching the room, jammed with devices and technology and crates. And dirty clothes. “You know our problem. You watch us, don’t you? From above.”

  The Human’s cheeks turned pink. “Surveillancemandatory. Not my choice.”

  “We understand. But—” An idea took hold. An idea worthy of Aryl di Sarc, if it worked. “Can you see us outside in truenight?”

  Marcus hesitated, then shrugged. “Yes.”

  Enris smiled broadly. “I need a favor, my friend. A favor that could let us visit you as often as you want until you go.”

  Marcus Bowman raised one eyebrow. “What?”

  “Make sure no one watches Sona this truenight. Can you do it? No vids, no recordings. No eyes. Of any kind,” Enris added hastily, thinking of the Strangers who looked nothing like Human or Om’ray. “Just for this truenight. That’s all.”

  “That’s all. Interrupt surveillance. Leave a hole in the record.” A corner of Marcus’ lips twitched upward. “You don’t ask what’s easy, do you?”

  “We didn’t ask you to watch us,” Enris countered.

  “Good point.” The Human nodded to himself. “All right. I can give you privacy for one night. But don’t wander through the site after dark. The security fields and autodefense will still be on. Those need a pair of idents to be deactivated and I don’t want to explain that to Vogt or Tsessas.”

  “No need. Privacy for Sona, until dawn. Thank you.”

  “Do I want to know why?”

  “If it works, you’ll find out tomorrow.” Enris smiled warmly. “You’re a good friend, Marcus. A good friend.”

  The Human’s fond yet skeptical expression at this reminded him of Jorg. His father had had the same look whenever Enris tried to blame Kiric for the latest abuse of the family kitchen. Their mother, Ridersel, would hide a smile. They’d known him so well.

  They were dead now. Because of the Oud.

  “Enris?”

  “Nothing.” He restored his smile. “Time to see what’s happening outside. Good-bye and thank you, Marcus.”

  First, Enris pushed his wonderful new idea as far down in his consciousness as he could. After all, if it worked, he wanted his Chosen surprised.

  If it didn’t, the fewer who knew the better.

  Chapter 3

  TO SPEAK INTELLIGIBLE WORDS, an Oud had to rear and expose its limbs. There were many, most with hooks or claws, but a clustered few worked together—somehow—to produce sound.

  Making sense of those words, Aryl thought impatiently, was the hard part. The Oud Speaker, it turned out, believed the Om’ray had received exactly what they’d been promised.

  “No, we haven’t,” she told it again. “The Oud still get more. You haven’t sent enough to Sona. You promised we’d get most of the river!”

  “Did! YESYESYESYES!” It reared higher, rocking back and forth to emphasize its point. Having descended from its vehicle—she assumed to knock on the Human’s door—the rocking made it sink slightly into the ground. Rather, mud. Wherever Oud treads hadn’t torn up the dirt, small plants sprouted, a single leaf curled just so. Nekis, most likely. The waterfall’s spray reached this far with the right breeze. Water was everything, Aryl thought with longing. She even missed the rains that drove Yena under roofs for days. “Sona enough.”

  “No.” She tried to think of a more mature response. “No. Not enough!”

  “Sent share. Sent enough. YESYESYES. Oud good. Sona waste.”

  “ ‘Waste . . . !’ ” Aryl bit her lip, holding back a satisfying but likely useless retort. The accusation made no sense. How could they be more careful with the trickle that arrived at Sona? They took turns filling buckets for the plants and spared little for themselves. She couldn’t remember her last proper bath. If the rest of her Clan hadn’t been suffering, too, she’d have leaped into the Human’s marvelous fresher device. With Enris.

  A tendril of hair tickled her ear, expressing its opinion.

  Aryl poked it into the net. “We don’t waste a drop,” she told the Oud. “We must have more than you send us!”

  It reared and fell silent. A few lower limbs fidgeted. Throughout the clearing, other Oud stopped moving, as if she’d said something remarkable. Well, not all. One vehicle ran into the carts towed by another, both drivers unconcerned by the collision. But otherwise, she felt their attention. Eyes or not.

  What had she said?

  “ ‘More than,’ ” the Speaker said at last. “Why?”

  “To grow food.” Oud lived with Tuana, who’d been farmers. The Grona, also neighbors to Oud, planted fields. The concept couldn’t be new to this one, Aryl thought, exasperated.

  “Not fill courseways.”

  Courseways. That was what the Tikitik called the shallow stone-lined ditches that crossed the valley floor. The only value they had, so far as Sona’s Om’ray could tell, was to deter rock hunters, who avoided them.

  Because in the past they had filled with water.

  Water the Oud clearly didn’t want them to have. Was this why it had gone back on its promise, that Sona would have the greater share? Had it realized—or been told by other Oud—what might happen?

  What the connection might be—if there was one—she had no idea. Aryl drew herself up and lifted her pendant. “As Speaker for Sona, I promise we won’t fill the courseways if you return more water to the river.”

  “Not fill if not water more than.” The creature managed to sound smug.

  The not-real were different, not stupid. She usually didn’t forget, having Marcus as an example.

  She winced inwardly. So much for her negotiation skills. “We’ll starve!” An exaggeration, given the stores at Sona, but the Oud might not be aware of those. “I thought you wanted us here.”

  “Food enough. Water enough. Sona waste.” The cluster of limbs it used for speech folded into a tight knot.

  No mistaking the end of a conversation.

  I’m done, she sent to her Chosen, keeping her disappointment to herself. They could share the details on the walk home. A slow walk, she decided, in no hurry to explain her failure to Haxel. Finished your snack?

  But before she could turn back to the Human’s shelter, the Oud Speaker lowered itself and approached her, slowly. Almost in reach, it hurriedly backed away, a flurry of small stones and mud hitting her legs. Before Aryl could p
rotest, it did the same again: a slow approach, then hasty retreat, but not the full distance. This continued until it came to rest where she could have stretched out her hand to touch it—not that she would. She watched it rear, slowly, as if to assure her of its good intentions.

  No, she realized suddenly. Despite its swollen bulk shading her from the sun, it was wary of her.

  This was different.

  The new Humans, or Human-shaped Strangers, gave up any pretense of ignoring what was happening and leaned in the doorway of the storage building to watch.

  Enris?

  Our Human’s being his confusing self.

  He’s not the only one. She trusted Enris to deal with Marcus—or was it the other way around? Sometimes, Aryl thought distractedly, she wasn’t sure which of them she could trust to be sensible.

  From this proximity, she had a too-good view of the Speaker’s underside. The flesh was glossy and pale, flushed in places with blue. The black limbs, hard and jointed like a biter’s, were in rows. Most were folded, like rows of neatly aligned utensils, though a few jutted at odd angles as if forgotten. Or broken. This close, it smelled of dust and the oil they used on their vehicles.

  And decay.

  Whirr/clicks settled to the ground around it—and her. She eyed them uneasily. The small black things were too like biters to be trusted, though none had shown an interest in Om’ray flesh. Yet. They clung outside tunnel entrances until an Oud came out, followed that particular Oud in an annoyingly noisy cloud, and would wait like this, occasionally milling around, unless another Oud moved nearby. Then they’d desert the first in a flurry of whirrs and clicks. Not that any of the other Oud in the clearing were moving.

  She was stuck with them.

  Worry that wasn’t hers.

  Enris?

  It’s complicated.

  And he was fascinated. That couldn’t be good. Aryl glared at the Oud, as if it were to blame for her Chosen’s curiosity and the Human’s unlimited ability to provoke it. Say no. To whatever it is.

  He immediately tightened his shields, letting her feel only a vague reassurance.

  As if that helped.

  Then she forgot all about Enris and the dangerous allure of Human technology as the Oud Speaker brought together two limbs and made a sound that was no sound at all.

  Because she heard it in the M’hir.

  It rang along her nerves and through her mind, like a distant bell. Once only. Larger than the world, smaller than a breath. Undeniable.

  Aryl wasn’t sure what startled her more: that this Oud could make a sound in the M’hir, or that it did so as if expecting her to hear it.

  Good thing her Chosen was distracted.

  “Oud tunnel. Under. Safe is. Goodgood,” the Oud Speaker said next, word-making limbs working quickly, hunched as if to keep those words private or in a bizarre—and unsuccessful—attempt to whisper. “Sona Om’ray tunnel. All ways. Safe is. Secret. GoodgoodgoodGOOD.”

  The Oud Speaker had been present for one ’port: when she’d been forced to save herself and Marcus from being buried alive during the Oud attack on the Tikitik. When the Oud had said nothing on the matter, she’d assumed they’d been too busy committing murder to notice how she and the Human survived.

  If they had proper eyes . . . but who knew what they could or couldn’t sense?

  Who knew what they thought?

  “Good we talk. GoodgoodgoodGOOD!” The Oud Speaker swayed toward her as if about to topple. Aryl flinched but stood her ground. “Careful. CareCareCare.” Again the unheard bell. “Tikitik. Count. Follow. Measure.”

  Not attention she wanted. “Tikitik here?” She tried not to look obvious as she searched the encircling edge of the grove for their lean shapes. The creatures were adept at skulking, their skin able to match their surroundings, but Haxel’s scouts knew what to look for—surely trespassers would have been noticed.

  “Nonononono. Balance. Agreement.”

  Something she’d find comforting if she didn’t know exactly what “Balance” meant to both Oud and Tikitik. Bad enough this Oud appeared able to comprehend their movement through the M’hir. At least it didn’t seem upset. Aryl was quite sure the reaction of the Tikitik would not be as calm. “How—?” She stopped.

  Even the question felt dangerous.

  The folded limbs opened along one side, moving with blinding speed in sequence to convey something from the lowermost part of its body. Aryl frowned. Oud had pouches of some kind down there. She’d yet to have a gift from one that didn’t come with trouble attached. “I don’t want—” She closed her mouth.

  A Speaker’s Pendant came to rest, dangled from an upper limb. It was attached to a scrap of filthy fabric patterned black and white in the fashion of its former bearer, the Tikitik Speaker killed before her eyes by the Oud. The gruesome relic wasn’t offered to her. Instead the Oud shook it vigorously. “Count.” Another shake. “Follow.” Again. “Measure.” Then it passed the pendant to the opposite row of limbs. Each set went into opposing motion; when they stopped, the pendant had been replaced by something else.

  A token.

  What did it mean? Tuana’s Oud Speaker had given Enris his first; another Oud had taken it. Could this be the same one? Not that they were rare. A token was given to each Om’ray unChosen who took Passage, granting the right to trespass through the lands of Tikitik and Oud. The Yena exiles had had tokens when they arrived at Grona; only Enris had kept his, intending all along to seek Vyna. He’d brought it back with him, along with a handful collected from one of Vyna’s traps, to prove no unChosen should go there again.

  Enris? she sent, this time sharing her confusion.

  “Count. Follow. Measure.”

  All of Cersi’s races had the pendants. Only Om’ray wore tokens. If she assumed she understood the Oud—which was like stepping on an untried frond over the Lay—then it was claiming the Tikitik somehow used both pendant and token to keep track of . . . what?

  Count. That was easy. One Speaker per Clan, one Speaker per neighbor. Eight Om’ray Clans, seven with neighbors, meant no less than fifteen pendants. Tokens? Every Clan knew how many it sent out, how many arrived. Easy to believe the Tikitik, being inclined to spy on others, kept track of such movements between Clans.

  Follow. A Tikitik had followed Enris to Vyna; it had found him afterward. So it could be done. But how could a token help?

  As for “measure.” That made even less sense. Tokens and pendants were metal ornaments, not devices like the geoscanner presently riding her hip in a hidden pocket. And what would Tikitik measure if they could?

  Profoundly annoyed, Aryl shook her head. “You’re making no sense at all.”

  “YESYESYES.” As if the Oud were made desperate by her inability to understand. “Tikitik do. All life. Tikitik count. All life. Tikitik follow. All life. Tikitik measure. All.”

  Biters, too? The silliness of it restored her confidence. The creature might be confused—and confusing—but she made the gesture of gratitude. It was trying, in its way, to convey a warning. “That should keep them too busy to be trouble,” she suggested.

  “Trouble. Tikitik trouble. Tikitik other. Not Makers! Notnot not!! Not First. Not Only. Tikitik Least Is!” The words made no sense, but the Oud flung itself backward in a paroxysm of emotion, limbs writhing. Somehow its cloak remained attached to its back. Whirr/clicks threw themselves into the air and hovered, like a cloud of interested bystanders.

  Aryl, having jumped in the other direction, gazed worriedly at the creature.

  “I’m going to guess this means no more water.” Her Chosen came to stand beside her. If amused by the spectacle of the Oud Speaker flat on its back, Enris kept it to himself.

  “It claims we have enough now, that we’re wasting it.” Aryl let him sense some of her frustration. “I don’t see how.”

  They’d kept their voices quiet, though the sound didn’t appear to bother the Oud Speaker. However the creature, finished whatever display it required, rolled b
ack to its feet and reared, stones and dirt sliding off its cloak, whirr/clicks settling to the ground. “Waste,” it agreed, as if the other matter—of Om’ray “tunnels” and Tikitik and care—had been forgotten.

  Then it made the sound again, to prove her wrong.

  “What was—” Enris gripped her arm, stared at the Oud. “Is it a Torment?”

  “No Power I. Speaker.” The Oud lowered itself slightly. A conciliatory posture, Aryl decided. Hoped. “Balance good. Peace good. Om’ray, Oud. Best is. Us. Best is. Tikitik. NononoNO. Water more than?”

  It couldn’t mean what she feared, could it? Their two races, somehow working against the third . . . Enris?

  And you worry we’ll break the Agreement?

  He was right. The mug would shatter on the floor. The world would end. Taisal had warned there’d be no safety for Om’ray if the Oud and Tikitik weren’t at peace. None for the life inside her.

  “Sona abides by the Agreement,” Aryl said calmly, though inside she trembled. Rage or terror? They felt the same. They were the same. “You will abide by the Agreement, you will keep the peace of Cersi, or I will tell the Strangers to leave, now. You will never know about your past.”

  The Oud sank lower and lower until it was flat against the ground.

  She took a shaky breath. “Good.”

  Good guess. Enris loosened his grip on her arm, turned it into a brief caress. Best we don’t have to test that.

  He was right, of course. Now that Hoveny artifacts had been found, not even Marcus could stop his people from coming. He could stop them cooperating with the Oud. Say they were dangerous. He’d do it for us.

  And it wouldn’t be a lie.

  “I—”

  Every Oud in the clearing suddenly reared and turned to face in the direction of Sona. The Speaker rocked back and forth, uttering that sound, over and over. The M’hir surged closer, pulled at her conscious mind.

  “Stop—” she pleaded. The sound ended; the Oud continued to sway back and forth. “Why did you do that?”

  “Sona Om’ray less than.”

  Enris stiffened. “Who!?”

  She reached, uncaring about Torments or the M’hir. Reached and was trapped by waves of PAIN and NEED and . . .