She closed her eyes.
What Naryn had done—she wished she could believe it would never happen again. But she couldn’t.
Aryl reached, feeling strangely fragile. Enris?
Beloved. With joy and relief.
Almost—almost enough to ease the turmoil inside. I felt your Power, she ventured, sharing curiosity. So much safer than anything else.
We locked the door. With pride. Then, something dark stirred. Tell me he’s dead. That Human.
Peace, Enris. Naryn’s dealt with him. She learned what we need to do. Even better—she tightened her shields—we know how to influence his mind.
You mean control. That’s what he wanted to do. Make you obey him.
He’ll save the M’hiray. He has no choice. Aryl opened her eyes and stared at KaeCee’s too-peaceful face. We’ve left him none.
Interlude
THEY’RE IN SIGHT.
Come back.
When Veca appeared beside her, Haxel snapped aloud: “How many?”
The Chosen held up both hands, fingers outstretched. “Syb and I could have handled them.” With barely restrained frustration.
Enris shook his head. “Not with knives,” he said, remembering Louli’s threat. That it involved his blood still made him flinch inwardly, as if he’d betrayed his own. “And not if more keep coming.” And they would. He and Haxel had shared with the M’hiray what they’d seen above; he’d added what Aryl had shown him of the homes built one upon the other, the rooftops filled with Humans and other beings. No M’hiray doubted there were even more above.
“He’s right.” Haxel turned to the waiting Council.
Enris lost whatever was said, whatever he could see around him, his mind suddenly consumed with heat and need and something twisted and dark . . . It was in their Joining. After his Chosen!
ARYL!?
The sense of violation was gone as quickly as he’d felt it. Are you all right? What was that?
The Human. With revulsion. He has some kind of Power. He touched me.
Enris could hardly breathe for the rage coursing through him. I’m coming!
But even as he formed the locate . . . No. Stay. Protect the others. With reassuring calm. Naryn and I will handle this. That, not calm at all.
His hands were fists. Enris made himself relax. Protect the others. She was right.
“You paying attention?” Haxel asked. “Council’s agreed.”
“Move everyone back,” he warned. Everyone but those he’d picked for this task: Worin and Fon, Kran and Netta. UnChosen and young. They were nervous, not afraid. We can do this, he told them, believing it.
Though he couldn’t have explained why.
Once the M’hiray had climbed to the uppermost ledges, Enris and the others positioned themselves on the lowest. “Those first,” he said, pointing to the crates of rattlers. An easy start that rid them of a potential threat.
Power surged from all four. Stacks of crates rose in the air. Disturbed, the creatures made their rattling sound. “Don’t drop them,” Enris advised mildly.
Worin made a face, but concentrated.
Stack by stack, the crates were carefully placed across the opening.
“Now.”
He’d shown each what to move. Worin and Netta displaced the supports within the opening. Kran and Fon raised a mass of rubble into the air and flung it at the crates. While Enris concentrated, focused . . .
. . . . and dropped the wall above.
As the roar subsided, they grinned at one another, faces covered in dust. Cheers broke out from the others. A swell of pride and relief moved from mind-to-mind. They were safe, Enris thought.
For now.
Haxel jumped down beside him. “Good. The lights still work.”
He squinted at her in disbelief. “You let us do this without being sure?”
“Weth was ready,” with absolute calm. “We’ve oillights.”
Pebbles tumbled; stone continued to groan into place. He cast an eye over the rest of the wall. Some carvings had lost their faces—if those had been faces. A crack snaked upward from where he’d tugged rock out of position. But nothing else appeared ready to fall. Enris ruffled Worin’s dusty hair. “Well done. All of you.”
Coughing, Fon frowned. “What’s to stop the Humans using Power to remove it?”
“They can’t.” Gur had joined them. “Feel the M’hir, unChosen. Do you sense anyone there but us? Of course not. It is ours alone. As for the Humans? Our most Powerful Adepts have reached to their limit. Some open minds, none capable of answering. Humans are lesser beings. The feeble Power of a few is no threat.”
Enris? Quiet. Too quiet.
Beloved. Enris didn’t hide joy or relief. The something loathsome was gone from their link. It had been like a whiff of rotting food . . .
I felt your Power. Familiar curiosity.
We locked the door. Gur claimed Humans were no threat, but he’d felt what one had tried to do. Tell me he’s dead. The Human. To dare touch his Chosen—not only her skin, but her mind. He fought to keep his shields tight.
Peace, Enris. So much for that effort. Naryn’s dealt with the Human. She’s learned what we need to do. Even better, an underlying unease contradicted her words, we know how to influence his mind.
His blood pounded in his ears. You mean control. That’s what he wanted to do. Make you obey him. What were Humans, to conceive of such a thing? The enormity of that trespass—
“What’s wrong?”
He didn’t acknowledge Worin’s question. Couldn’t.
Why isn’t he dead? Enris asked with what remained of his control.
He’ll save the M’hiray. He has no choice. With a bleakness he’d never sensed from her before. We’ve left him none.
Enris shut his mind. Closed his eyes. Wished he didn’t understand.
But he did.
This was the price of their future.
Chapter 5
NARYN’S EYES WERE HALF-SHUT, her face beaded with sweat. Her hair, freed of its net—the M’hiray no longer confined their hair—lashed against the mattress. She was conscious. And impatient. “How long will this take?”
Seru didn’t laugh, but dimples appeared in her cheeks. “As long as it does.” She busied herself rearranging towels.
Aryl perched on the windowsill and poked the senglass with a finger. Still hard. “Nippy outside,” she commented. The transparent stuff responded to its environment as well as the wishes of those inside. As the day warmed, it would open to let through the breezes and whatever smells or sounds Naryn had decided to enjoy. She wasn’t fond of florals.
The warming was controlled, too. As befitted an Innersystem world, Stonerim III had civilized weather, thoroughly planned and implemented. Necessary rain was scheduled during sleep cycles, unless other arrangements had been requested. For a fee—there was always a fee—a rousing thunderstorm could be supplied to order, or an evening kept summer warm and dry for an outdoor party.
“No one else is coming.”
Aryl met Seru’s troubled look, then hopped off the sill to sit on the end of Naryn’s bed. “Who else do you need?” she asked lightly. “You’ve our Birth Watcher and me. I can call Enris if you like.”
“That big oaf?” Naryn almost smiled. “No, thanks.” She grimaced as another powerful contraction rippled over her abdomen. The sheets were dark purple na-fiber—nothing but the best for the M’hiray—but she’d tossed off her coverings. “Hurry up, will you?”
Don’t you listen, Aryl sent inwardly, her hand on the so-far quiet bulge at her waist. The presence within acknowledged this attention with a cheerful ticklemeticklemeTICKLEME that she quickly shielded from the other adults, then obliged, fluttering her fingers against a protruding foot. Conversation would come eventually, she supposed, but babies were all about needs and wants.
There should be others here. A birth was attended by the other pregnant Chosen. Should be celebrated by family and friends.
And the fat
her.
Which was the problem. Aryl gazed at Naryn, filled with her own curiosity. No one, not even Naryn, could explain how she’d Commenced and become pregnant without a Joining. At first, they’d assumed she’d somehow survived when her Chosen had failed to make the journey from the Clan Homeworld, or been left behind during the Stratification.
A place and event with names now, the beginnings of M’hiray history, kept with care.
But none of their Healers, not even Sian, with his ability with the mind, could find any trace of a Joining. Worse, they’d found no trace of a mind within the developing child.
No one else was here, because no one, Aryl thought sadly, expected a live birth. The M’hiray respected Naryn too much to be witness to her failure.
Not that Naryn di S’udlaat admitted the possibility.
“Oh,” she said suddenly. “Oh. I think something’s going on,” in a strangely calm voice. “Seru?” That, not so calm.
Seru bent over Naryn, ran fingers lightly over the distended skin.
“OH!”
“We’ll help you stand. Aryl?”
They eased Naryn to her feet. Her abdomen flexed in and out, each powerful contraction driving air from her lungs. Her hair lifted in a blinding cloud and Aryl batted it away with her free hand, holding her friend tight with the other.
If her hands were busy . . . Seru, how are we going to catch—
Before she could finish, the birth sac slipped free with a rush of clear liquid, landing on the pillows her more experienced cousin had wisely put in place. Easing Naryn into Aryl’s arms, Seru went to her knees to pick up the sac in a towel.
Welcome . . . The sending died away. “There you are,” her cousin said aloud instead, cradling the sac. She turned her back to them, hair limp to her waist.
“Let me see her.” Aryl, please!
She slipped an arm under Naryn’s shoulder and helped her to where Seru stood before the hammock.
The sac was as black as Seru’s hair, flecked with starlike patches of pale, new-grown skin. It steamed in the room air.
It didn’t move. It should move.
“Naryn—” Aryl began, her heart thudding in her chest.
“She knew,” Naryn said, the strangest look on her face. She reached a trembling hand to the sac, touched it lightly. “She couldn’t come with us. All along, she knew but didn’t say a word.”
“Who knew?”
“This wasn’t her time.” Naryn staggered, and both Aryl and Seru supported her.
Fingers brushed Aryl’s. Get her back to bed. I’ll look after this.
Wait! She knew what—who—Naryn meant. Didn’t she? Someone old but strong, someone . . .
The memory slipped away, no matter how hard Aryl tried to hold it.
“To bed,” Seru insisted. “You’re getting cold.”
Naryn didn’t move. “The vessel is empty. Look in the M’hir. See for yourself. Please, Aryl!”
The M’hir? Aryl eased into that other place, rested in its steady motion, then tried to see what Naryn meant.
Their glows—Naryn, her cousin and her baby, the life within her own body—lit the darkness. The glorious pulse of Power that was her Joining to Enris, his comfort there if she needed it. Always.
Nothing more.
But something made her keep looking, though the M’hir reacted to the effort and became turbulent and distrustful. Looking, looking until . . .
Something looked back.
Something interested.
A Watcher. Or more than one. No M’hiray was sure of their number, only that they’d brought with them from the Homeworld a presence—or more than one—that existed in the M’hir and nowhere else.
Benign, declared Council. Guardians of the M’hir. They never spoke, only watched. But this . . . she almost grasped identity.
Who are you? Aryl demanded.
And was answered by a mindvoice so different and distant, she wasn’t sure it was real. We are you.
Meaning what? What do you want?
What do you want?
Not an echo. Not her imagination. She held on as the M’hir crashed against her, held on and poured Power into her sending. I want the baby to live! Fill the vessel!
Where is it?
A question so ordinary and impossible to answer, it threw Aryl out of the M’hir.
She stared at the sac. “Make her move.”
“Aryl—it’s—”
“I’ll do it.” Naryn grabbed the sac in both hands.
Seru pulled it away from her and put it down again. “Naryn. Come to bed. I’m sorry, but there’s nothing more we can do. Aryl. It’s time to remove the husk—”
“She still has a chance to live,” Aryl said bluntly. “The Watchers have to find her. She has to move.”
“What are you—” her cousin stopped, her hair lashing her shoulders. “Stop this, Aryl. You aren’t helping.”
Cousin, trust me, Aryl sent, encouragement and love beneath the words. We have to try.
For a heartbeat, Seru hesitated, then gave a tiny shrug. “Naryn in bed first,” she insisted.
“Aryl?”
“Listen to your Birth Watcher,” Aryl told Naryn and helped her lie down. The other was shivering and spent. Seru brought over a soft blanket and set it to warm.
“Stay there,” she ordered.
Naryn’s eyes filled with tears. “You’ll try, Seru? Promise me.”
“That’s all I can promise.”
“It’s enough.” Naryn closed her eyes.
The sac was hard, hard and cold. Aryl shuddered to imagine her own like this. “A force blade?”
Seru shook her head. “All the technology in the Trade Pact doesn’t change what we are. A birth sac opens from within. There’s only one choice.”
Aryl blinked at her. “What?”
“If the Watchers need to find her,” Seru said simply, “take her to them.”
Her hand found Aryl’s. If this doesn’t work, leave the husk in the M’hir.
The more Powerful called it suspension, to begin a ’port then linger in the M’hir. Those Adepts who studied that other space called it a valuable technique; those who wanted to arrive safely called it reckless. For the longer the mind stayed within the M’hir, the less likely that mind would remain whole.
The longer within, the more likely to encounter the unreal presence of a Watcher. Another reason normal M’hiray nipped in and out as quickly as possible.
I’ll be careful, Aryl promised her Chosen. But I have to try.
I know. A warmth, like his arms around her.
Aryl thought of her favorite place, and concentrated . . .
. . . then HELD . . .
. . . and HELD . . .
Power crackled around her, disturbing the M’hir. She was used to the effect and ignored it. Where are you?
Where are you?
. . . she HELD . . .
Power crackled and bled away, or was it self that diminished?
. . . she HELD . . . but for how long? Where are you?
Here. Here. Here. Here.
She was surrounded. Or was she alone? Aryl fought to keep her wits. Where are you?
A Presence. The vessel awaits.
The darkness boiled with movement. Something was coming.
Not coming. Being forced toward her. Chased. Pursued. Hemmed in despite frantic efforts to flee. Helpless and despairing, it lunged at her!
Aryl flung herself away and . . .
. . . found herself standing on the roof of the Tower, the sun warm on her face. She took a deep breath, savoring the smell of growing things. What had just happened?
Enris appeared beside her and threw his arm around her shoulders. “You did it!”
Aryl looked down at the sac in her hands. It squirmed and flexed, then split open down its middle.
A tiny fist pushed through, then a foot. HUNGER!!!
They both winced. “Back to your mother,” Aryl told the newest M’hiray.
Their first
birth in their new home. Small wonder everyone wanted to celebrate. If there were questions, they’d wait. For now, Aryl thought peacefully, life was good.
“Knew I’d find you here.” Enris approached the roof edge cautiously, then sat beside her. “Though why you like doing this, I don’t know.”
Aryl snuggled against his shoulder. She didn’t know either. But it relaxed her to sit here, dangling her feet over nothing—though the Tower had its safeguards, among them automated netting to catch anything or anyone that dropped off its roof or balconies. The view perhaps. “It’s lovely up here.”
The Towers of Lynn glittered night and day. Each rose almost to cloud height and stood apart. Each was unique in design. All were beautiful, like flowers of crystal and light. Those closest to the M’hiray belonged to methane breathers, and had senglass windows that modified their atmosphere. Though neighbors were always perilous, these were safer than most: unable to leave their homes, unwilling to exert the effort to invite guests. Below was the well-groomed and exclusive expanse of forest, sand, and ocean called the Necridi Coast. It had been a hunting preserve when Humans first colonized Stonerim III, for there’d been an indigenous population. One the Humans had cheerfully absorbed within three generations.
They were good at that, Humans. At changing worlds. At changing those around them. Abruptly chilled, Aryl was glad of her Chosen’s big arm around her shoulders. His fingers played with her hair, or her hair played with his fingers. A meaningless distinction, she thought, nestling closer.
Then his fingers paused on the side of her neck, his touch lighter, curious. Anything?
She tried not to stiffen. No. The deep scar looked like a bite, but from no animal they’d been able to find in a database. Similar ones marred her shins, different ones ran up her arms. More than most M’hiray, less than others. Like symbols none of them could remember to read. “Have you heard if Council’s come to a decision?” she asked aloud, changing the subject.
“They’ll vote for dispersal. I don’t think anyone doubts that. We’re crowded here. Too vulnerable, all in one place.”
“I want to stay here.”
“I’m sure there are death-defying heights on other worlds.”
Rift in the Sky Page 36
