Reap the Wild Wind

by Czerneda, Julie E

  “The strangers use them to spy on us,” Aryl said bitterly. “I suppose our deaths will be entertaining.”

  “A machine to watch from a distance . . .” From her tone, Haxel wanted one of her own. Trust a scout, Enris thought, to see the possibilities.

  He took a step toward the oddly cooperative machine, blinking raindrops, and scrutinized the varied shapes exposed by its clear underside. Some looked like eyes, which made sense. Some, he judged. “I think it hears, too,” he concluded, pointing at something that could be a voice holder.

  Aryl didn’t look surprised. “He heard the Watchers,” she murmured, almost to herself.

  “Then he can hear you.”

  “Who?” Haxel demanded, looking from one to the other. “Hear who?”

  “Long story.” Enris grinned. “Seems to me time for a trade,” he added, looking at Aryl. “You did save his life.”

  She stared up at the device, her lips twisted to one side. Rain drummed on the platform, collected and dripped from every leaf tip and frond.

  It soaked his hair and slid like chill fingers down the neck of his tunic. “What have we to lose?” he coaxed.

  “Nothing,” Haxel said flatly, an unexpected ally. “We’ve no retreat. The bridge can’t be defended against the swarm. We’re trapped. If there’s anything this machine can do for us—” she gave it a dubious look.

  “I think Aryl knows exactly what it could do.” His heartbeat sounded loud in his ears as he waited.

  Save them again, he sent then, with all the urgency he felt. Save us.

  Aryl looked at him; her eyes were wide and wild. “What if the Tikitik then go after the others?” What if saving us makes it worse?

  “The others,” he pointed out dryly, “are behind nice big doors. We’re the swarm-bait. Which I might add you’ve tried for yourself and didn’t like.” Underneath, he sent, Too much conscience and you think too much. “It’s better than doing nothing while we wait to die a horrible death. Probably won’t even work. Feel better?”

  Her lips quirked at one corner. “I think you need more sleep.”

  That made him laugh.

  Then Enris held his breath as Aryl walked under the hovering machine and looked up at it.

  “Marcus Bowman!” Her call startled a frenzy of hisses from their watchers. Aryl raised her voice above it. “Help us!

  “Please.”

  Chapter 30

  TWENTY-ONE LIVES.

  Aryl stood in the rain, feeling them behind her, safe for the moment inside the Cloisters bridge. They believed in her. She felt that too, an inner warmth they freely sent mind to mind. She’d arrived in time to save them last truenight, brought light to the darkness. They trusted her now.

  Or, her lips twisted, they saw no other hope and, being Yena, were too stubborn to admit it.

  Plus one. Enris Mendolar had stood with her, or rather sagged against a bridge support, asleep on his feet, until she’d insisted he go inside to check on the others. Ael had reported the Tuana nodded off within moments of sitting with Myris and was snoring, loudly.

  Enris was stubborn, too.

  The Tikitik, no less persistent, remained on watch. Most now squatted, their larger eyes shut as if they dozed. The device hadn’t moved in four tenths. She chose to consider that promising, though what took the strangers so long?

  Or were they waiting, too?

  Aryl shivered.

  “Your turn inside. It’s dry.”

  So much for Enris getting his rest. “I’ll stay.”

  “Go. They could use your company.” That just-awake grumble roughened his voice, but she thought he moved more easily.

  The idea of rest— Aryl couldn’t imagine it. She motioned to the device. “I have to stay.” It was their only hope, now. She couldn’t abandon it. “He has to see me.” As if she could be sure Marcus Bowman was even looking at the image from the machine.

  “The strangers know my face, too, remember?” Enris shrugged and squinted upward, blinking away drops. “How long?”

  He wasn’t asking about the Human. “The rain makes it hard to tell— maybe a couple of tenths to firstnight.” She didn’t say the rest: after firstnight, too few moments until truenight. And the swarm.

  The Tuana’s shields were better than most. Now, he allowed mindspeech, but reserved any emotion behind that barrier. Can you move so many?

  I don’t know. She let him feel her uncertainty. She didn’t know what she’d done or could do. This wasn’t the way to learn. Aryl wiped water from her face and chewed her lower lip, thinking of her mother, thinking of the dangerous lure of the other, of Bern’s horrified reaction. It didn’t upset you, she sent, curious. Moving through the other.

  He didn’t laugh, but his reply held an undercurrent of amusement. I thought you were tossing us to our deaths, remember. Finding myself still alive in the village was a distinct improvement.

  Aryl didn’t argue, but she had a feeling Enris Mendolar wasn’t easily dismayed by Power or its use. She sighed. The others would be. “Flying machines— most have seen the Oud’s. What I can do would be—” she vacillated between “devastating” and “terrifying,” and settled for “— disturbing. I’ll try. If nothing else, I’ll try.”

  When, Aryl told herself, aware of the irony, she was again desperate.

  “So we hope the Human comes.”

  “He’ll come,” Aryl said, as much to herself as Enris. “Whether he can help? That’s another question.”

  “Think he answers to the Human version of a Council?” A short laugh. “Then we’re doomed.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that.

  * * *

  “Go.” A tenth later, it was Haxel ordering her inside. This time Aryl didn’t argue. She could feel the growing anxiety of those within. What she could do about it, she didn’t know, but she had to try.

  The exiles sat as families against one or the other mesh walls of the bridge, no farther than a few steps from the bridge opening. None slept; none moved other than to shoo one of the many biters who sheltered here as well. Kessa’at, the most numerous, had Morla at their center, looking frail. Uruus had taken in Seru, the sole Parth; their young daughter was curled on her lap. Teerac, without children, listened to the low deep voice of their eldest, Cetto. Vendan, Haxel’s niece and her Chosen, listened, too, though Cetto wasn’t talking but hummed a weaver song.

  Haxel’s Chosen, Rorn sud Vendan, stood with Syb apart from the rest. In the gathering gloom they were little more than silhouettes, their strong arms strangely elongated. Longknives, Aryl realized.

  They faced away from the opening, down the long curve of the bridge. There was nothing that could come at them from that direction. Nothing but other Om’ray, other Yena.

  She’d thought herself immune to shock by now. Seeing this, Om’ray prepared for violence against one another? Her heart missed a beat.

  “Aryl?” Myris came up to her. “Is everything—” She gave a nervous laugh. “I suppose that’s a pointless question.”

  “There’s been no sign of the strangers,” Aryl admitted, aware everyone was looking at her. Cetto stopped humming. She didn’t know what else to say.

  “What are they like?” Ziba squirmed to sit in Seru’s light hold, her eyes solemn. “Are they ugly?”

  From the attentiveness of the others, it was a question on everyone’s mind.

  With some misgivings, Aryl summoned a memory of Marcus when he was smiling. She offered her fingers to Ziba, taking care to tightly shield every thought but the image. Young unChosen weren’t always able— or willing— to keep out of other minds. Hers, she knew, held too much to share with a child.

  Ziba rested her small hand on Aryl’s, after a smirk at her brother who was not so entitled. Then she took her hand away. “That’s only an Om’ray,” she said, clearly disappointed not to see a monster.

  “Humans only look like us,” Aryl explained. “The way a brofer-sneak looks like a real brofer.” It wasn’t the most flatterin
g comparison, but among canopy dwellers, mimicry usually involved a fatal trap. A brofer-sneak only borrowed living space from its confused host. Aryl pushed Ziba’s hand gently toward her brother’s. “Share it for me, please. I should be outside.”

  Aryl made sure to brush her hand against her aunt’s as well, and added a message. Share with the older ones— this is a being who means us well, but there are other strangers, different in form. I don’t know their intentions. We must be aware and stay together. And, after a moment’s indecision. Myris, they are not real to the inner sense. It will be hard to be near them.

  Myris paled, but she understood. Aryl knew she’d make sure the others were ready. As much as they could be. “Be careful,” her aunt told her out loud. Beneath, I’d ease your pain, but it’s become your strength. We need you strong.

  “I’ll be careful.”

  She didn’t reply to the sending, unless walking away was an answer of sorts.

  * * *

  Aryl stepped out to find the gloom within the bridge extended outside as well. Firstnight was close, hurried by the clouds. It wouldn’t be long before wysps sang through the rain. Aryl gazed over the curve of the bridge to where the Cloisters stood, tall and aloof, its petal-walls upturned to keep its secrets. Then her eyes widened at a glint moving downward through the canopy above it.

  “There he is,” she told Enris, watching what was, in truth, the strangers’ large aircar as it slowly descended.

  The Tikitik hissed, rising to their feet, their heads swinging low before their bodies. There was a throbbing shriek from higher in the stalk, an answer from below. Aryl walked to the edge of the platform and stared at the one closest, her hands on her hips. “Tell the rest. Interfere,” she said firmly, “and the strangers will use fire.”

  They could, she reminded herself. Whether they would?

  “What’s it doing?” Enris asked.

  Aryl turned to watch the aircar lazily circle the top level of the Cloisters, once, then again. “Being nosy,” she guessed. Before she had to talk to the device again, the aircar’s path paralleled the bridge on its way to them.

  Finally, the machine came to rest alongside the platform. Intensely bright lights snapped on at the front and sides, their beams slicing through the vegetation. The Tikitik withdrew, hissing their fury. “Handy,” Enris commented.

  At the least, Aryl thought, she would ask for one of those. Last another truenight.

  But she wanted more. “You and Haxel keep the others back,” she said. “They’ll be curious, but the fewer who see him . . .” she let her voice trail away.

  He made a rude noise. “The fewer who’ll feel sick. I’ll take care of it. But you’re sure you won’t need me? We Tuana are great traders.”

  “I’m sure. Go.”

  She was alone on the platform when the opaque roof of the machine lifted, revealing Marcus Bowman and the flitter-stranger. The latter immediately fluffed its feathers at the damp and clicked its mouth at her. Marcus beckoned her inside. “Hurry!”

  Aryl came as far as the side of the aircar then stopped, her hands on its cold metal. “Thank you for coming, Marcus. I need your help.”

  “Here, help,” he agreed, giving the dark vegetation on all sides a worried look. “Come! Safe!”

  Sweat, not rain, beaded his face. He’d either seen what had happened last night or its aftermath. Not, she knew, that he’d ever trust Tikitik again. “All of us, Marcus, please?” she pleaded, pointing to the now-dark mouth of the bridge and then patting the machine. “Take us to the mountain pass. Near the Watchers. Safe from the Tikitik.”

  “All?” He looked his doubt.

  She held up her hands, flashing her fingers to count. “Twenty-three. A few bags. Please. Just to the mountain.”

  The hissing intensified. Instead of frightening the Human, he seemed to take offense at the sound, snapping a harsh-sounding phrase at their watchers in his own language. “All,” this with a brusque nod. He conferred with the flitter-stranger, speaking quickly. The other answered. Marcus held up both hands. “Ten. Understand? Ten come. Then ten. Then three and bags. All safe.” His face softened as he looked at her. “Aryl. Promise. All safe. Help you.”

  She tasted salt with the rain, only then aware she was crying. “Thank you. Thank you. But—” It was unfair, what she had to ask, but the others would be upset by his not-Om’ray presence. “Two trips, this one only, please?” she indicated the flitter-stranger. “You stay with me, out of sight, till the last.” As his face darkened, the Human surmising who-knew-what of her motives, she gestured to him, then to herself. “Not-Om’ray. I understand.” She ran her hand down his sleeve, dared touch his hand. Next, she pointed to the bridge. “They don’t know you. They don’t know Humans.” She mimed fear. “You’ll scare them more than the swarm.”

  Like Enris, the Human sometimes laughed when she didn’t expect it. Then he climbed from the aircar, pulling up a quite sensible hood against the rain. The flitter-stranger gave a resigned click of its mouth. “Tell P’tr sit ’Nix where go,” Marcus said. “Hurry, all. Understand?”

  Aryl gestured gratitude to them both, quickly. “Hurry” was exactly what they had to do.

  First, however, came the slight detail of showing Marcus where he would hide from the exiles— suspended from the platform by their one rope, with only Enris, another non-climber, to help him.

  She didn’t think either would laugh about that.

  * * *

  There’d been no debate over where to go. Aryl had told Haxel her hope, to use the aircar of the strangers to take them out of danger. The other hadn’t blinked; the First Scout had, however, been adamant in her belief that there was only one feasible destination. Without weapons, without food, with truenight close, anything less than secure shelter was pointless. Haxel wanted them taken to Grona itself.

  Which would have been fine, had the strangers arrived midday. The first flight of ten had left quickly, none hesitating to enter the aircar, though each paused to brush fingertips with Aryl, a wordless sending of gratitude and renewed hope. But the second flight had left only moments ago. Her fingers still tingled from their touch, her mind still brimmed with emotion.

  Including a very healthy amount of fear.

  Grona, it turned out, was almost a tenth away roundtrip, even by aircar, so truenight had arrived before the machine returned for its second load of passengers, leaving the rest to wait but not, thankfully, in the dark. Marcus had brought a powerful type of glow. Now it sat, their guardian, where the metal span met the platform. The light carved a safe passageway between the bridge and the aircar. Beyond that safety, the air throbbed with the canopy’s normal evening chorus: the distant clicks of innumerable small feet; the screams of the dying. The swarm was at work.

  “Safe are.” This assertion from Marcus. The four of them crouched within the opening of the bridge. He regularly consulted the stick he called a comlink that produced voices, including this latest reassuring report. Haxel watched with calculation; Enris with curiosity.

  “Thank you,” Aryl told him, finding a smile. The Human was remarkably cheerful, almost relaxed. Either he had greater trust in his technology than she, or he didn’t appreciate how vulnerable they were here, light or no light. It kept the swarm at bay, that was all. Should the Tikitik wish them dead by other means, they were easy prey.

  That wasn’t all. She was so desperate for sleep it took all her energy to keep alert, but she must. Those in the Cloisters had mourned their deaths, however prematurely. She was quite sure they hadn’t expected to feel them live to truenight, let alone rise into the air and fly like wings on the M’hir to another clan.

  Hard as it was for Aryl to feel wary of her own kind, she knew she wasn’t the only one. Haxel divided her vigilance between the platform and the empty bridge behind them.

  And the Human. The tough First Scout wasn’t, Aryl observed with a certain satisfaction, immune to the contradiction of his form to her inner sense.

  Enris had
no such difficulty. “Why are you here?” he asked Marcus abruptly, as if frustrated by a puzzle.

  “Aryl—” the Human began, stopping as the Om’ray held up one hand.

  “I mean here, in the world. All of you.”

  “Seekers, we.” The answer he always gave, that caution in his eyes.

  Haxel paid close attention to this exchange, Aryl noticed.

  “Your technology, the things you make,” Enris persisted, indicating the light and the comlink. “They’re better than ours. Why seek what’s older here?”