That both of the Chosen pairs received tokens didn’t surprise her. Other decisions did. Taisal wasn’t the only one with exceptional Power to remain safe. Joyn and his parents were to stay, while her cousin Seru, with about as much useful Power as a flitter, sat with other exiles by the door. She cradled her brother in her arms and thus far had ignored everything but the task of shielding his desires from others. Alejo, for his part, slept the oblivious, preoccupied sleep of all babies, eyes squeezed tight and mouth working.
There, Aryl thought sadly, was a problem.
Sixteen Chosen all told, though four were too old for strenuous climbing and one, Juo Vendan, awkward with her first pregnancy. Five unChosen, counting herself but not Seru; were they the ones Sian had picked as most able to learn a new Talent? Twenty-three in all, several superb climbers. She didn’t understand how Yena could spare them.
Nor, she added bitterly, how they could be let fall, like scraps into the Lay.
“Aryl? We should leave.” Myris said quietly. “They’re turning the doors.”
“I’ll—” She’d sensed the arrival she’d expected. “Go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
Other than two Adepts to open and close the way to the bridge, only exiles gathered here, sheltered by the overhang of the great doors. They’d left the chamber like unChosen taking Passage— quickly, as if already gone. A kindness, to give them a chance at composure. Most Yena couldn’t shield intense emotion; lingering with their grief-stricken families would have been cruel to both.
Exiles plus one. Aryl waited as Rimis Uruus appeared in the arch, then ran across the platform to join her. Raindrops streaked her fine-boned face, disguising tears. She hadn’t come alone; a small figure watched from inside the Cloisters, hands pressed against the transparent material of a window. What did Joyn think of the story now? Aryl wondered.
“Thank you, Aryl.” Rimis kept her voice low. “How did you convince her?”
“She didn’t have to,” Seru answered for herself as she came beside them. “I’m not always a fool, Aunt.”
“I’ll do my best for him. You know I will.”
I know.
Seru opened the blanket to uncover Alejo’s sleeping face. She pressed two fingers to her lips, then to his small forehead. If there was a sending, it was nothing shared beyond the two of them.
The baby gave a piteous cry as Rimis took him from his sister’s arms and hurried away. Seru turned, her shoulders hunched, and headed for the open doors and the bridge.
Unfair. Unjust. Enris had the right of it.
The taste of change she’d felt since the M’hir was finally gone. It had, Aryl realized with a pang, been a warning against her own kind and this moment.
She walked toward the bridge. Most were on it; Enris and Ael waited for her, relaxed against one door. “You like climbing, I take it?” Ael was saying to the Tuana. His keen eyes wouldn’t miss how exhausted the other was, nor the bruises and returning limp.
“Climbing’s fine,” Enris replied with his easy smile. “Looking down’s another thing altogether.”
“Good thing we don’t recommend it.” Ael’s expression grew guarded. “Aryl,” he warned with a gesture behind her.
Aryl glanced over her shoulder. Another figure waited within the Cloisters arch, this one wearing a long white robe, stiff with embroidery.
“Don’t climb without me,” she told Enris. “I’ll be quick.”
“Take your time. I’m not in a hurry.” He’d lifted his gaze to the arch. He brought it back to her, his eyes wary. Is this trouble?
Aryl shrugged helplessly. “It’s my mother.”
* * *
The light in the Cloisters discouraged shadows. It glinted at the edge of the frames on the walls; gilded the meaningless angles and curves of the metal symbols they enclosed. Where Taisal stood was lit well enough to reveal any expression, had she shown one. She didn’t speak as Aryl approached. She seemed less real, all of a sudden, than one of the Humans.
Aryl stopped in front of her mother, torn between hope and bitterness. When Taisal didn’t speak at once, bitterness won.
“Come to wish me joy, Mother?” Aryl snapped a finger against the token pinned to her stranger-shirt. “That is the role of the Speaker, when saying good-bye to those on Passage.”
“I have a question,” Taisal said, each word soft and precise.
She felt hope struggling to be born and held it still. “About the strangers,” she guessed. “Why they’re here. I can tell you—”
“The strangers are not of Cersi. They matter not to Om’ray.”
“But what they’ve found—”
“Hush,” Taisal said with impatience, as if Aryl wasted her time. “The Tikitik have their puzzle solved. Let them war with the strangers if they wish. It’s nothing to us, which of them kills the other.”
“Nothing? Is that why you lied to Council?” Aryl accused, her hands clenched at her sides. “The Tikitik can’t sense our Power in use— that’s why you answered me when I was their captive. You knew! Just as you know their attack last night was provoked by the strangers, not any new Talent. Why didn’t you tell them? Why did you let this happen?”
“Why?” Taisal lifted a brow. “Council deals with Yena— that’s their role. The Adepts must deal with the world. Your strangers?” A toss of one hand. “Flood. Famine. Strangers. Plague. Any one could have pushed us to the brink. We tasted this day coming. I tried to warn you, Daughter,” a hint of pain in her eyes. “This—” those eyes shifted to look outside “— this was what we feared would be necessary.”
“Necessary?” Aryl cried. “Sending twenty-three to their deaths?”
“Twenty-three who would use any means to survive, risk any Talent, however dangerous or unknown!” The first passion on her face, in her voice, but it was cold, cold and harsh. “We won’t allow desperation or carelessness to ruin us. Power must be controlled, not only to preserve the Agreement, but for the future of our kind. We know you.” Taisal curled her palm, then turned it over as if she emptied a cup. “You are discord.”
“I’m your daughter,” Aryl whispered.
The words might have been a blow. Taisal’s lips parted without sound and her eyes glistened. For an instant, her hands lifted toward Aryl. “All I have,” she admitted, a tear sliding down her cheek. “All that’s left. Aryl, if I’d trained you as an Adept,” her words like an old, worn grief, “you could be trusted now. If you hadn’t failed me—” her mother’s voice caught, “— if you hadn’t failed me last night, you could have stayed. Do you understand?”
“Failed you?” Before Aryl could touch her, reach for her mother, Taisal drew herself straight, her hands on the Speaker’s Pendant.
“How did you arrive in time to save the others from the swarm?”
This was the question? Aryl stammered “The-the Oud brought us—”
Taisal cut her off, her face gone so white, her eyes were like holes. “The truth—” her Power surged, pressing against Aryl’s shields, “— or must I drag it from your mind again? You traveled the Dark, didn’t you, as you did when you put Bern on the bridge instead of Costa. You used it.”
Aryl flinched. “Yes, but—”
“Now do you see, Aryl?” Her mother’s long fingers clutched the pendant, as if it were a ladder to safety. “You can’t be trusted. All it took was being desperate.”
Desperate.
Aryl remembered the sending from those about to perish, their horror and pain. At that memory, she felt the blood drain from her own face, taking with it every emotion but rage.
“What if I did?” Her voice was a stranger’s, stern and edged. “You talk about Yena’s future, Mother. What gives Adepts the right to say what that should be?” Rage, she found, could be cold. “What gives you the right to say who gets to breathe tomorrow?”
Rage could offer strength.
“You’re right. I can’t be trusted. To save my people,” Aryl finished with scorn, “I will do anything.”
&
nbsp; Taisal closed her eyes, lashes sparkled with tears. “I can’t save you,” she whispered. “I can’t.”
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Aryl turned and walked away.
Interlude
CLEARLY, THAT GOOD-BYE HADN’T gone well. Enris straightened from his restful slouch as Aryl crossed the platform. The rest had gone through the open doors to the bridge, fingertips brushing as loved ones exchanged private messages.
Aryl hadn’t offered a hand to her mother.
“Ready to go—” The words died as he saw her face. In his nightmares of Kiric, when he’d shared his brother’s worst moments of emptiness and despair, he’d seen that same look. He felt strangely paralyzed.
Then that familiar determination firmed her lips and caught fire in her eyes. “Ready when you are,” Enris finished, as if he hadn’t paused.
“I’m ready. There’s nothing here.”
“There had to be at least one bed,” he complained as he fell in beside her, not having to force the yawn that threatened his grit-filled eyes. “You do realize I haven’t slept in— I don’t remember sleeping properly since we met. Naps, yes. Bed, no. I need my sleep, Aryl Sarc.”
His reward was a lessening of the tension that surrounded her like a cloak, as if he’d drawn her back ever-so-slightly from some hurt. “Here I thought someone your size would have more stamina,” she told him. “Come on.”
As they passed through the doors, the two Adepts turned them closed with such alacrity Enris felt a breeze. He whirled to scowl; with no target, he admired the colors blended through the metal. It was similar in result to Tuana work, but the technique was new to him.
A bell began to toll, deep-toned and slow, each beat separated by a breath. If this were Tuana . . . he guessed the custom was the same for all Om’ray. A death bell. “Bit premature,” he commented, fighting to control his voice. Unfair. Unjust. His anger for these people wouldn’t help.
Aryl’s lips moved. She counted in silence. “Twenty-two,” she said calmly when the echoes of the last peal died away. Her smile surprised him. “Guess you can’t be mourned if you didn’t officially arrive, Tuana.” The smile faded. “Too late to go back.”
“I don’t want to go back,” he told her, gesturing toward the long curve of bridge. The others were at the halfway point. “Although I must say, it’s their loss.”
Fingertips brushed the back of his hand. You weren’t welcome because of how I brought you. There wasn’t regret, but something of apology.
Yena was never my goal.
Enris started walking, favoring his sore side. Aryl matched his pace. “It’s true,” he said aloud. “No offense to your Choosers, but I’m on a different type of Passage.”
Aryl tilted her head, regarding him from the corners of her eyes. “The Om’ray who make things. And if you find them, what then?”
“When.” He left it at that as they reached the first of the other exiles.
They’d caught up? Enris looked toward the end of the bridge, wondering why those farthest ahead were sitting among their small bundles of belongings. Wasn’t daylight crucial? He couldn’t believe the bells had done anything but stir their anger, as it had his.
A Chosen beckoned to them. “What’s the delay, Aryl?”
Enris smiled politely. This was the family who’d greeted him in the village, parents and two older children. Too late to wish he’d paid attention to names this morning.
“I’ll go and see,” Aryl assured the Yena, then gestured an apology to Enris. “My manners. Enris Mendolar, Syb sud Uruus,” she introduced, seeming embarrassed. He refused to feel guilt. “Taen,” the mother. “Kayd and Ziba.” The children. Kayd showed the promise of height already, his arms and legs gangly though well muscled, as all Yena; Ziba was smaller, but sturdy, her hair pale gold under its net. She gripped her brother’s hand, something Enris guessed she hadn’t done for a long time.
The bridge protected them from the rain. Enris noticed that only made it easier to see the tracks of tears.
“We’ve met,” he said with a small bow.
“To your detriment.” Syb’s gesture was more fury than apology. “Their treatment of you shames us all, Enris. To condemn someone who—”
“Aryl!! Aryl!!!” Haxel, sharp and urgent. From the end of the bridge.
With an apology of his own to Syb, Enris went with Aryl as she sped off in answer. He tried, anyway. At a plodding jog, his legs protested the recent climb and his side ached. He promised his body rest if it wouldn’t embarrass him in front of all these Yena. Fortunately, the First Scout came to meet them at a run, her steps echoing within the enclosure. The exiles parted to let her through.
The instant she spotted Aryl coming her way, however, Haxel spun about to rush back the other way. “Quickly!” she shouted over her shoulder. To the rest, “Let us by, all of you. Wait here. Stay inside the bridge!”
“This can’t be good,” Enris panted to himself.
It wasn’t good at all, Enris decided, when the three of them met where the Cloisters bridge opened on the rain-swept wooden platform.
The great rastis that supported the platform was empty. An invitation, of sorts.
Tikitik were everywhere else. They didn’t bother to hide behind fronds or stalks. They stood exposed to the downpour, as if prepared to wait forever, their four eyes locked on the Om’ray. There wasn’t a path from the platform or the upper spools that wouldn’t mean having to push one aside.
Somehow, Enris didn’t think they’d let themselves be pushed. If they could be— he hadn’t forgotten the wiry strength of the Tikitik on the bridge before it decided not to struggle.
“Witnesses. They expected this,” Aryl decided. “Or something like it.”
“How?” Haxel looked more annoyed than convinced.
“When Tikitik fail, their fellows toss them into the Lake of Fire to die. This is no different. Yena has failed. They understand the bells. We’re— we’re being tossed.”
“And they plan to help.” Enris set his shoulders against the bridge’s thick support, inside enough to avoid the heaviest rain. “Wonderful.”
“They won’t touch us,” Aryl disagreed. “They’ll watch.”
Haxel, ignoring the rain, laid on the platform to look over the side. “Oh, I’d say they’re helping,” she said as she rose up again. “There’s easily ten esask tied to this stalk.”
A round of smug-sounding hisses greeted this discovery.
Enris had to ask— he wasn’t about to look down. “What’s an esask?”
“Appetite with legs,” Aryl informed him absently, busy taking a look herself. These Yena, Enris decided, had a callous attitude to being eaten he truly didn’t share. “They might have other surprises in mind.”
“We’ll post a watch on the platform.” Haxel ran her hand along a rail. “The glows were stripped before I got here. Tikitiks or our fine Adepts?”
“Does it matter?” Aryl replied wearily.
He’d been here before, Enris realized. With one difference. He wasn’t alone. He closed his eyes, reaching for the others. The glow of nearby Om’ray was steady and strong, giving him his place. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed the companionship of his kind.
Then he felt a chill. He’d been in this kind of situation before— and some of his kind had waited in ambush.
Eyes still shut, Enris blew out a heavy sigh. “Post a watch at the other end of the bridge.”
“They won’t let us back in—” Aryl began.
“That’s not what he means,” observed Haxel grimly. “Is it, Tuana?”
He grunted. “Let’s say I’ve had enough surprises.”
* * *
“Aryl, there it is again. What’s it doing here?”
Enris cracked open an eye. The flexible metal mesh of the bridge side made a surprisingly comfortable back rest, not to mention the slats of its floor were dry. He’d only meant to rest while they sorted out the watches, to be ready for his turn. Not that the
y’d asked.
Haxel, ever alert. This time she wasn’t pointing to any of the Tikitik, who were still, Enris noted glumly, lurking on all sides. Instead, her outstretched finger targeted a shape hovering overhead, its rounded, transparent surface close enough that Enris could see how raindrops beaded and ran off.
A device of the strangers.
It gained the Tikitik’s attention, too. There was hissing and more pointing.
Haxel looked wonderstruck; Aryl’s glare should have melted it. “You’ve seen one before,” Enris guessed, creaking to his feet.
Reap the Wild Wind Page 40
