Rift in the Sky

by Julie E. Czerneda

  HEREHEREHERE!

  Aryl winced.

  “Sorry.”

  No one else reacted to the mind-numbing shout. Aryl knew what that meant. It had been sent to her through the M’hir, with a precision few matched in normal sending. “Thank you, Yao,” she said numbly, gesturing gratitude. “Now go tell your mother I said you were clever and helpful. She’ll be pleased.”

  The child disappeared with a giggle.

  To reappear in front of her mother, who let out a not-so-pleased shriek before gesturing apology to her startled neighbors.

  Too late, Aryl abruptly realized, to debate whether Om’ray belonged in the M’hir or not.

  Their children were already there.

  Interlude

  WATER GLINTED IN THE LIGHT from the oil lamps, black and slippery. Enris boldly stepped in and lowered his. “See?”

  “The wet boot or the foolish Om’ray in it?” Yuhas asked. He’d caught up to them on the roadway.

  Worin snickered.

  “The water. See how it builds up behind the boot.”

  “And over it.”

  Enris smiled to himself. “Because the boot’s not big enough.” Before his brother found this funny, too, he sent a fond Behave, youngling. “That’s why you’re here. All of you.”

  The Om’ray he’d summoned stood with him on the dry pebbled floor of the river, each carrying as many small lamps as they could manage, doubtless wondering if he’d lost his mind. Worin. Yuhas. Fon, Cader, and Kayd. Kran with Deran, leaking distrust through their shields. Though they’d come. Anything to do with secrets and Power, Enris thought ruefully. The Licor sisters, Josel and Netta.

  Steps away, in the dark, Naryn di S’udlaat. Uninvited. He spoke knowing she listened.

  “We’ll use lights to mark our line. Put them on the ground, spread out. We don’t have very—” The unChosen, delighted to be out when most of their elders were heading for bed, bolted to the opposite bank, lamps waving. “Watch for moving rock,” Enris shouted after them. Not that the hunters would risk the water, but he felt a twinge of Chosen responsibility.

  A small twinge.

  He resisted the urge to look up; clouds obscured his stars. He’d have to trust Marcus had been able to give them privacy. There was no way to know.

  Enris took his lamps and placed them on either side of the narrow New River, splashing across and back with noisy relish. Yuhas met him, having placed his.

  “What now?”

  The unChosen returned, led by Worin, and stood waiting. From their anticipation, they’d decided this was a game worth playing. “Now,” Enris said, ruffling his brother’s hair, so like their mother’s, “Sona stops wasting water.”

  Some things were better shown than told. Having picked his prize beforehand, he walked to it as briskly as the loose footing allowed. Confidence. That was the key. This would work.

  Or he’d look like a fool.

  Wouldn’t be the first time.

  The chunk was a broken piece of Sona’s bridge. A disturbing reminder of the Oud’s strength. Enris patted it, stepped back, put his fingertips together, and concentrated. You, he told it unnecessarily, there. And concentrated.

  Power answered.

  The chunk quivered, then moved. Not through the M’hir—he didn’t dare risk where it might reappear—but through the air, graceful and slow. Larger than it first looked, having dug its own hole in the riverbed. He tried not to grunt with effort. Confidence.

  When over the water, he let go. The chunk dropped and tilted and came to rest with a grind of rock to rock. And, he thought with glee, a much bigger splash than his boot.

  The river spread and spread, before it found the way around.

  “That’s the idea,” Enris added unnecessarily.

  “Like the vat in our shop,” Worin said excitedly. “How our father—” his voice faltered, but he recovered. “It’s how we kept the melted metal flowing where we wanted. Into the right molds.”

  “Or stopped it altogether.”

  Yuhas leaped to the top of the chunk and let out a whoop that echoed out into the surrounding darkness. “This time we stop the river!”

  Hush, Enris sent hastily. He’d prefer not to have the rest of Sona—and Aryl—arrive until this worked. The Yena couldn’t move a pebble with Power; on the other hand, nothing would move nearby he wouldn’t notice. Go be our scout.

  To the rest: “Line them up on this side of the—” A loud chink! “—lights.” Enris turned with the rest to see a second chunk of stone, big as a home, sitting where one of the oil lamps had been.

  “Sorry,” Fon said.

  “Try to save some of the lights,” Enris suggested. “Husni will count them tomorrow.”

  They moved the largest chunks and boulders first. Josel was steady and controlled; Netta’s rocks tended to swoop from side to side, prompting the others to dodge out of the way. Kran, silent and determined, worked as hard as anyone, but Deran’s control was worse than Netta’s. For the sake of everyone’s toes, Enris soon moved him to the far bank.

  As he should have known, it quickly became a contest between Fon and Worin. Cader and Kayd, without this Talent but there because Fon was, busied themselves running through the dark to find the biggest possible hunk of bridge for him. Worin, Enris noticed with an inward grin, wisely picked smaller ones, so he moved more. There was laughter and a good amount of teasing. Kran edged closer while this went on, something wistful about him. Enris, between his own efforts, told himself he should speak to Worin and Fon, help the young Grona find a place.

  His sister wasn’t his fault.

  All the while, water found its way between the chunks, as if to mock them.

  When they ran out of broken bridge, they began pushing smaller boulders into line. Many were still half the size of an Om’ray. Not so many laughs now. Enris wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve, wondering at Fon. The slight young Yena stood in the circle of light from one lamp, face composed and peaceful, while rock floated toward him from the darkness.

  From where Naryn watched. He could almost feel her eyes burning the back of his neck. Why she was here was beyond him; it wasn’t her habit to seek him out, knowing he tolerated her solely because of Aryl. The Oud were easier to bear, despite what his Chosen might think. The not-real were beyond understanding or trust or blame, like bad weather. Naryn . . .

  Suddenly furious, Enris almost released the boulder he was pushing too soon. He made himself focus and placed it with extra care.

  This was why he avoided her, he thought bitterly. Naryn undermined his self control. Just standing there, in the dark, alone . . .

  Always alone.

  How did she bear it?

  If it weren’t for the warmth of his link to Aryl . . . today’s loss, Ael and Myris . . . it had felt like losing Tuana all over again, his mother and father, all of them. If it weren’t for Aryl, he couldn’t imagine existing with that terrifying emptiness. That pain. His next heavy breath was closer to a sob. He reached for the link that held him to the calm clarity of Aryl di Sarc’s mind, and steadied.

  Naryn had to feel the same. But she endured it alone.

  Because she’d offered him Choice.

  If he hadn’t been able to reject her, they’d be Joined now.

  Enris stood very still. That was it, wasn’t it? The reason Naryn so thoroughly unsettled him. She’d never blamed him. Not for the baby, not for her fate. She’d accepted responsibility for what had happened to her, because of him. She’d done nothing since arriving but help his Chosen and their new Clan. The one Om’ray he’d considered utterly selfish proved herself otherwise day after day.

  No unChosen should have been able to reject her Choice, as he did. How could she have been prepared for that? Could she have stopped herself? Was it even possible for a Chooser, once committed to Join?

  Questions he’d never thought to ask, until feeling the irresistible Power of Aryl di Sarc, until being Joined himself.

  Until now.


  “Enris?”

  “I’ll be right back, Worin,” he said, turning away. “More rocks.”

  Naryn waited as he approached, invisible to his inner sense, a silhouette against the lights of the village. He halted a few steps away, finding himself in the unfamiliar situation of not knowing what to say.

  She drew her own conclusion from his silence. “I’ll leave.”

  “No. Wait. What do you think?”

  Glints marked her eyes, as if she’d tilted her head. “Of a dam? Clever. If it held enough water, some would overflow into the ditches to the fields. But it won’t work.”

  “Why?”

  “See for yourself.”

  Enris looked over his shoulder at what was now a wide wall of stone and rubble, taller than two Om’ray, and growing. He was impressed. The water, however, was not. It still escaped easily through the gaps between stones. “We need more rocks,” he said stubbornly. “Smaller ones.”

  “You could add them for the next fist and it wouldn’t stop the flow.” Before he could protest, Naryn added thoughtfully, “Or you could try something else.”

  Enris gestured toward the useless dam. “I’d appreciate your help.”

  “My help?”

  He understood the astonishment in her voice. Deserved it. “I never thought you were stupid,” he said finally. “I’m—”

  Don’t you dare pity me! With sufficient fury to sting.

  Clear enough. “What do you mean by ‘something else’?”

  Naryn went to one knee in the pebbles, brushing them aside to expose the hard-packed dirt beneath. “This is what I mean.”

  The rest stood around, at a distance. Naryn appeared not to notice. She did a great deal of that, Enris realized. Being neither Chooser nor Chosen made others uneasy from the start; being quick to take offense and powerful did the rest. Only Aryl was completely comfortable near Naryn.

  Then again, she was powerful, too.

  “You saw how the Oud used dirt as well as rocks,” she said, looking up with a frown. She pressed with her fingers. The fine-textured stuff was almost like rock itself, but cracked under pressure. “The river didn’t sink into the ground because of this. It’s what we need in the dam.” She stood.

  “How can we move it?” Worin asked.

  Good question, Enris fretted, scuffing the toe of his boot against the ground. When he pushed something, he could see its size and shape. Touch it. This? How did you push grains too small to see?

  “We should have brought shovels.” This, from Cader, brought nervous laughter from the unChosen.

  They could dig the dirt, Enris thought bitterly. If they had a thousand times their number, or were willing to become like Vyna, where unChosen toiled deep underground for a lifetime, using blocks of black stone to hold back the molten rock in Vyna’s Heart . . .

  We have until firstlight, he sent to Naryn. The Human protects us from their eyes until then.

  “I see.” Beneath, disapproval. Aryl had said Naryn no longer tried to convince her to avoid Marcus; it didn’t mean a change of opinion. “Then it should be done now.” And she walked away.

  No, not away. Naryn followed the course of New River, away from the wall but staying in the middle of the original riverbed. Into the dark. Alone.

  He sensed when she stopped.

  Get out of my way.

  Power built. Raised the hairs on his arms. “Go!” he shouted, waving his arms at the unChosen. He grabbed Worin by the shoulder and shoved. “Up the bank. Hurry!”

  When Fon hesitated, staring back at Naryn, Josel and Netta took his arms and carried him.

  Power. No one could be deaf to it. He could barely breathe through it. Enris threw himself to the top of the bank and whirled around. “Naryn!”

  For Aryl’s future.

  The ground roared.

  Chapter 5

  DUST AND SOOT SHIVERED from the rafters above. As the floor trembled and Om’ray cried out in surprise, Aryl pulled out the device Marcus had given her. Nothing. Not Oud, she sent, making sure it reached everyone, knowing that was their first fear.

  The trembling stopped, ending her next one. The Grona had shared memories of shaking mountains and, while Aryl didn’t mind a branch moving under her, she was not happy about the ground doing the same.

  “Check the hearth and lamps,” Haxel ordered, mindful of fire when they had no means to fight it.

  Aryl!

  You’re all right?

  Come to the river—quickly.

  Aryl ran, hearing the pound of feet behind her. They all came. To her inner sense, Sona moved as one.

  None were faster.

  Some had grabbed lights. She needed none, ran without regard to the tilted stones or chance of injury. Enris called, and nothing else mattered.

  From no lights, to a confusion of them. A wavering line of illumination stretched across the empty river. There were gaps. As Aryl came closer, a light winked out, then another. Then more.

  Enris!

  “Down there!” A shout. It wasn’t her Chosen, whose mind was preoccupied. Worin. He met her at the river’s bank. “They’re on the other side.”

  Other side of what? Then Aryl’s eyes adjusted. As more Om’ray came up beside her and raised their lights, it became clear.

  Enris’ idea.

  If she wasn’t so alarmed by his call, she’d have been impressed by the wide wall of rubble. As it was, the wall—and the dust cloud above it—were in her way. Enris!

  Here. Look out for the hole.

  What hole? Aryl ran down the bank, one arm back for balance. Ran farther down than she remembered, the footing softer. Wrong. Her feet began to slide more than step. Suddenly, she found herself lower than Enris.

  The “hole,” she told herself in disgust, unable to slow until she came to its bottom. Dust filled her mouth and nose. She sneezed and spat. Why was there a hole?

  A light from above—from the river’s bed. Yuhas held a lamp out to show her that side of the hole, then shrugged helplessly. “No rope.”

  And a rope it would take. For the hole was a pit, three Om’ray deep, running as far as the light showed, possibly all the way across the riverbed. The material of its sides was a fine dirt, laced with pebbles still dropping and rolling around her.

  It wouldn’t, Aryl judged, hold a biter’s weight, let alone hers. There was only one thing to do, despite who might be watching. She concentrated . . .

  ... with admirable presence of mind, Yuhas grabbed her as she staggered at the brink. She wrenched free, already running to Enris.

  There. On his knees, supporting a crumpled figure. Yuhas, having followed, lifted the light.

  Naryn?

  Her friend lay as pale and still as Myris, as death. Aryl reached, unsurprised to find Enris already there, pouring his own strength into Naryn. She dropped down beside them, took hold of Naryn’s hand and did the same. What happened?—unsure if she asked about Naryn, the dam across the river, or the hole.

  The memory Enris immediately shared answered it all.

  The ground roaring and lifting! Naryn, throwing Power into one incredible effort. A rain of dust and dirt and pebbles on the wall, coating it in a thick layer. More Power, to push and push at dirt until it packed every crevice and space. Everything she had.

  Until she had nothing left for herself.

  FOOL! Aryl sent, furious. Her hands were shaking as she stroked Naryn’s arm, tried to replace the lock of red hair that had escaped from its net to lie with horrifying limpness along the other’s cheek. Don’t leave me.

  “She won’t. We were in time.” Enris eased his position, so Naryn’s head rested against his chest. “She’s recovering.”

  He was in little better shape, drenched with sweat, panting with effort. Aryl sent strength to her Chosen, too, along with a snap of annoyance. “This would be your fault.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “And when the Strangers look at their vids? See Om’ray moving rocks the size of buildings through the air?�
�� When they see her ’porting out of a hole, Aryl added to herself with an inward wince. “What then?”

  Under worry for Naryn, a definite flavor of smug. “They won’t see a thing till firstlight. And then? It’s the work of our helpful Oud neighbors, of course. What else could it be?”

  Meaning Marcus was involved. She would never, Aryl vowed, leave Enris alone with the Human again. Ever. Then the enormity of what he’d done—what they’d done—sank in. “You’ve stopped the river.”

  “With Naryn’s help.”

  “She almost killed herself.”

  Just to her, as grimly as she’d ever felt him.

  I’m sure that was the idea.

  If staring could move water, Aryl thought, amused, then the ditch would already be full. They’d all taken turns here, beside where the wide pebble-filled ditch scooped out the riverbank. It had been a curiosity before: easy to see from the exposed side, if less to imagine how it might work.

  Firstlight and, at last, water lipped the bottom line of white pebbles, turned them dark, covered them. Rose to the next. Gurgled along. All down the bank, Om’ray—who’d laid on their bellies to lean over and watch, cheered and patted one another. Warmth and affection surged from mind to mind. A tinge of awe.

  As if Enris needed any encouragement. Aryl leaned against him. “It worked,” she commented, gazing out at the rippled surface of what was, undeniably, becoming a lake. Only firstlight, but water filled the former riverbed from bank to bank, lapping gently against the wall of stone and dirt. “If it overflows into the courseways, the Oud will complain.” She wouldn’t. The courseways flowed first through the dead grove of nekis. Watered, perhaps they’d grow again.

  “It won’t. The ditches from Sona drain back into the river below the dam and before the courseways.” Brimming with content, Enris wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her into his lap. The sun was warm on her skin. The lake made the air softer, somehow.

  The lake was deep. A new worry. She’d been in water over her head before. “We’ll have to warn the young ones.”