And without a word, the Tikitik had vanished into the growing shadows . . .
Aryl felt her heart hammering as she relived Haxel’s memory. Her own dismay, or finally some emotion from the First Scout, despite her training?
... Arguments broke out. Questions. If the Tikitik dared go this far, what was next? Were they safe in their beds? Haxel had stayed quiet. No one knew the answers.
Infants had cried, giving voice to the fear that raced from mind to mind, fed on itself, and grew.
YENA! The Speaker’s powerful sending had silenced that as well. She would take the most vulnerable with her, mothers with infants, children, the eldest. They would race truenight to the Cloisters. As an Adept, she could open that shelter to them; as Speaker, she would defend that decision to Council. But they had to leave, now . . . and they had to run—
Aryl broke the contact to stare at Haxel. “She saved them,” she half whispered. Because her mother had believed her warning, or felt one of her own?
“Those she chose to save,” the First Scout said, her lips tight. The stripped bones on the bridge had been one of hers, Till Parth. Seru’s mother, Ferna, had fled to the Cloisters with her infant. Was she Lost or dead? Aryl was afraid to reach and find out; Seru, who well knew she could, hadn’t asked. “The Tikitik hadn’t gone. They rushed back the moment Taisal and the others were out of sight. They didn’t hurt anyone— they simply overran us. Took every glow. Pushed or smashed their way indoors to take the rest. Left us for the swarms.
“If it hadn’t been for you and the stranger?” Haxel snorted. “Taisal didn’t save Yena, Aryl Sarc. You did.”
Aryl didn’t miss the irony of Haxel’s so-proper reference to Enris Mendolar. As for the rest? “There’s not much left of Yena,” she pointed out.
“What do we do, Aryl?”
She blinked at Ael’s anxious question. Why was he asking her?
Others approached, filling the platform but not crowding it.
Even if all were here, she thought with that constant grief, would there be enough Yena left to crowd it? She spotted Enris nearby, a head taller than the rest. To her inner sense, there was no fear left, only anticipation. They were all waiting for her to speak. Why? Aryl thought desperately. She wasn’t the oldest here, or the wisest, or anything more than they.
It didn’t matter. Haxel’s smile twisted her scar. “Care to save us again?”
* * *
Haxel and Ael moved among the rest, brushing fingers to confirm unheard instructions. Aryl hadn’t needed to warn them the Tikitik could be hiding nearby, listening.
They weren’t attacking. She believed they wouldn’t, not directly. She’d gained a sense of the creatures’ preferences. Tikitik liked to sidle up to a problem and assess it from safety. If they had a goal, they’d rather have something else take the risk to achieve it for them. Ambush over confrontation.
And always, always, claim to be the innocents.
As for saving anyone . . . there was only a single path left open. They’d hardly, Aryl thought, needed her to tell them what they already knew.
The village was gone; they had to leave.
Like others, Aryl had thought to search the wreckage for hooks and ropes first, to collect any supplies. She’d discovered fire was a rot, weakening floors and walls, ruining what it didn’t consume. No wonder the Tikitik abhorred it.
She wished them fire in abundance, when she had time to think about such things.
“What’s happening?” Enris hadn’t so much washed as dumped a bucket over his head, revealing black hair and a magnificent, though fading, bruise around one eye.
“We’ll join the others at the Cloisters. It’s a short—” Short to a Yena. Aryl reconsidered what she’d been about to say. “It’s not far, but with bridges gone, we’ll need to climb. I’ll help you.”
Instead of the unChosen posturing she’d half-expected, he gave her that quirky smile and gestured emphatic gratitude. “Help would be appreciated. I can see why poor Yuhas found Tuana overly flat. I’d vastly prefer not to fall, Aryl, here or off another cliff.”
She gave him a wary look. Enris definitely shared Costa’s sense of humor. She’d had trouble deciphering her brother as well. She changed the topic. “Your boots.”
He glanced down, then raised a brow at her. “What about them?”
“Take them off.”
* * *
Home felt like a dream, less real than ink on a pane. Aryl walked behind Haxel, Enris beside her, the last to take the main bridge. She couldn’t imagine anything restoring what had been destroyed. As for what remained? Without caretakers, it would disappear before the next M’hir, the stubs of rafters and floor boards home to flowers, the last span of the bridge smothered in vines. Stitlers might live in the meeting hall, luring prey inside. Nothing of the Om’ray would last, here, not the way mammoth structures popped out of mountains or lurked beneath lakes. No future seekers would know they’d existed.
Present-day seekers? Aryl deliberately avoided looking overhead, sure she’d glimpsed something that didn’t belong, hovering as no flitter could. She suspected the strangers had sent one of their spies; maybe the tower of smoke drifting up through the canopy had made them curious.
They suffered from an affliction of it.
At the end of the bridge, where it met the first ladder, Haxel turned. “Aryl, do we have everyone?”
The First Scout’s expression was studiously neutral; asking a question she could answer for herself was not. “Yes,” Aryl answered, aware of Enris’ attention. He, she concluded, was overly curious, too.
“Good. Has Ael reached the Cloisters with the first group yet? Come, Aryl.” This with precise impatience, as if the other had planned exactly how and when to insist on her Talent’s use. To make her expose her secret.
Aryl scowled, but reached outward, touching and moving past each small glow of Om’ray until she identified her uncle. Then she drew back into herself. “He’s at the Cloisters or close to it. That’s the best,” she added dryly, “I can do.”
“Good enough. Let’s catch up to him, shall we?” Haxel jumped to the third rung of the ladder and disappeared behind a whorl of fronds.
“Show off.”
Aryl glared at Enris. “I didn’t want—”
He grinned and nodded at the ladder. “I meant her.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t look so worried,” he added, and flexed one big arm. “I can do ladders. Better than bridges, if you ask me.”
“Go ahead,” she told him, and stood back to watch, reassured when he didn’t attempt to copy Haxel’s leap, even more when he tested each step— not too slowly, but careful, particularly of his weaker side. He’d taken her advice, in part, hanging his sturdy, too-stiff boots around his neck. They’d proved to have a softer inner lining which wouldn’t hold up for long, but gave his feet some protection.
Biters, Aryl thought, gazing back at the smoldering husk that had been her home, were the least of their worries now.
* * *
The climb to bypass the fallen bridges wasn’t much, by Yena standards. A spool and a half up, two rastis and a nekis over, down five Om’ray-heights from that. Aryl’s experience with the Human made her see it with new eyes, however, and she made no assumptions about the Tuana’s ability or perception. She climbed beside him, taking riskier holds to show him the better ones.
When the rain started its faint drumming overhead, Enris froze in place. “What’s that?”
“What?” At first fearing a threat, Aryl paused to look around, her hand seeking the longknife that wasn’t in her belt.
“That sound.” By this point, the first heavy drops were making their way through the canopy.
“Ah,” she relaxed. “That would be rain.” As if to prove she told him the truth, the showers began in earnest, though luckily not with the drowning power of later in the day. Aryl lifted her face to it, rubbing the soot from her skin.
“Where do we go now?” His h
air was a dripping fringe over his forehead. She was surprised to see he looked anxious.
“To the Cloisters. Let get moving.” They’d fall farther behind, now, she worried.
“Not to shelter?”
“From this?” she laughed. “This is refreshing. Wait till you feel real rain, Tuana.”
They climbed to the next spool in silence, Enris proving a quick learner. When it came to the physical aspect of climbing, Aryl corrected herself. He had no idea what he climbed, so she kept a wary eye out for them both.
“This ability you have,” he began abruptly. “Knowing who someone is—”
“I don’t want to talk about it. Try that hold. No!” to stop his reach for a tempting hole, doubtless with an irritable occupant.
“There.”
He pulled with more strength than needful. A Yena would have relied on that good foothold to push, saving his arms for later. “There are Tuana with that Talent,” Enris revealed and Aryl gave him a startled look. “It’s true. Our Council doesn’t forbid its use. In fact,” another grunt of effort, “some charge for the service.”
“Charge?”
“Trade. Ask something of value in return. Don’t you?”
Aryl stopped. Now she frowned. “With Tikitik. Not each other. What Yena have, we share.”
“No one goes hungry in Tuana,” Enris retorted, clearly offended. “Our lives—” he glanced down, then closed his eyes for an instant as if to erase the view. “Our lives—” this more slowly, seriously, “— are easier than yours. Maybe too easy, in a way. There are no threats. We have time to spare. Some of us make things. My family . . . I worked in metal. Others hardly work at all. So we trade.”
Aryl couldn’t imagine it. And right now, she thought, wasn’t the time to try. “Enough rest. Keep climbing.”
“That was a rest?” He laughed when she least expected it. She wasn’t sure whether to join in or scowl; she settled for showing him the next hold for his fingers.
His hand stopped in midreach. Aryl! Above!
Aryl’s eyes flashed up to find a too-familiar face peering down through the next whorl of fronds. With all four eyes on her.
A long-fingered hand beckoned.
Don’t move from this spot, she sent to Enris.
Without him, she could climb the rastis stalk at full speed, and pulled herself to an easy balance atop the frond. The Tikitik looked equally at home, rainwater polishing its knobby skin. “Apart-from-All,” it greeted.
Her eyes flicked to the symbols on its wristband, though she didn’t doubt who this was. “Thought Traveler. Are you responsible for the attack on Yena?”
Its mouth protuberances writhed a moment. “There was no attack.”
Aryl wanted to strangle it. She forced herself to think like a Speaker. “Are you responsible for the decision to take—” as it hissed, “— to reclaim the glows?”
“No. You are.”
“I— what do you mean?”
The front eyes wandered. “Your actions have been a provocation. There is dispute among the factions who view themselves as interested in Yena Om’ray. Disagreements. Last night should be viewed in that light. Things have grown more serious.”
“More?”
“Now you have used Forbidden technology. Fire—”
“We defended ourselves from the swarm,” she snapped. “You can’t have expected us to die without a struggle.”
The eyes came back to her. “Can you so quickly explain how you arrived here from the mountainside? With fire and this strange Om’ray who bears no token of Passage? Without being seen?”
“Your scouts aren’t as good as you think,” she replied, feeling cold.
“I think you had the strangers’ help. I think they continue to help you and the Yena. Does their device not follow you like a pet-thing? I think together you plan to ravage the graves of the Makers and steal their secrets!”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about—”
“Shall we push this stranger Om’ray? Shall we throw him to our pets?” The fronds on every side rustled as more Tikitik made their presence known.
“No!” Aryl held up her hands. “Leave him alone!”
Aryl? with alarm.
They’d been shouting, she realized. Hush, Enris. Stay still.
“You’re right,” she said to the waiting Tikitik. She thought quickly. Suggesting the Oud were involved could only make it worse. “We flew here in the stranger-aircar. If they’re curious about us, I can’t stop them. I know nothing of graves or Makers. I only want my people safe. Our life back.”
“I give you one thing, Apart-from-All. Advice. Good advice. You can take it, or not.” Its head lowered so its eyes looked up at her balefully. “Do not be here for another truenight.”
Then it was gone, moving more quickly through the rastis than anything she’d seen before. Rain filled where it had stood.
She climbed down to Enris, stopping above him.
He was clinging to the rastis with both arms, looking thoroughly soaked and miserable. “What was that about?”
“Where’s your token?”
This drew a frown. He tightened his grip, but answered. “An Oud took it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t— look, isn’t there somewhere else we can talk? Somewhere flat?”
“Sorry.” He was right. “Here.” She climbed below him, and took his left foot in her hand. Tried to take his foot. “Relax!”
“How? I’m going to fall, you know.” Costa’s words, the voice as deep. For a heartbeat, Aryl felt all the old grief. She focused on placing Enris’ foot on a nekis branch that conveniently crossed the fronds.
“Flat,” she announced.
“That’s your opinion.” He tested the footing; he didn’t let go of the rastis. “What did it want?”
Persistent, she’d give him that. “Us, gone by truenight. I have to agree.”
“Will the swarm come back?”
“They always do.” Aryl swatted his leg. “Move faster. Unless you want them to find us here.”
Interlude
THE MARVEL OF THE CLOISTERS bridge stopped Enris in his tracks. That, and the desire to heave air back into his starving lungs and ease weight onto his better side. He’d thought they’d been climbing quickly, despite the terrible rainstorm. He’d prided himself on keeping pace with a Yena.
After Aryl’s encounter with the Tikitik— who, Enris decided, came a close second in ugly to Oud— he’d realized she’d been coddling him like an infant learning to climb stairs. He’d tried to go faster, but for each move he made, she made five, going ahead, checking behind, guiding his hands and feet. She moved like a restless animal and wasn’t, as far as he could tell, breathing hard yet.
She hadn’t left him.
He glanced at her through his tousled hair as he poured water from his boots, then pulled each on over the wet liner. From that impatient scowl, she might.
Enris forced a laugh. “Done resting?” he panted.
Aryl rewarded this with a by-now familiar look of exasperation and respect. Enris rather liked it.
He lurched after her as she half-ran along the bridge, drawn as much by the lure of Om’ray ahead as fear of what lay behind. It didn’t matter these weren’t his birth Clan. The presence of so many of his kind—closest this way— was too strong to deny.
Though he managed to snatch looks at the bridge’s construction. The intricate weave of fine metal strands, more like cloth than chain, was beyond anything he’d seen or imagined. It actually held out the rain. The slats over which they ran— or more accurately over which he staggered and Aryl flew lightly— were ordinary enough, until he noticed they were connected by round flexible fasteners. An admirable way to accommodate any bend or twist, but completely unfamiliar. Who made this? he sent, astonished enough to slow down.
A snap of impatience was his answer. Enris grinned. He’d felt some curiosity, too.
Abruptly, Aryl slowed.
Easy to see
why. Those who’d preceded them hadn’t gone through the Cloisters doors after all, though both were turned wide open. Instead, they waited here, most leaning wearily against the walls of the bridge. He spotted Haxel and Ael, other faces already familiar.
“Took you long enough!” This loud complaint came from an old Adept standing in the opening. “Hurry, hurry. I won’t leave the doors open all day.”
Aryl hesitated. Her shields tightened until she vanished from his inner sense.
Reap the Wild Wind Page 38
