Rift in the Sky

Chapter 7

THE ESASK POUNDED ITS FOOT into the water, splashing the backs of her legs. They could move silently; this was a display, of temper or warning. Or both. Aryl didn’t react, her eyes on the Thought Traveler who’d brought them to “lunch” and then followed them here. She was gaining a feel for this place and its rules, enough to test it. The Tikitik wouldn’t impede her movements; they wouldn’t direct them. As usual, they waited to see what others would do.

To some consequence. That, she didn’t doubt. It had goaded Enris, possibly to discover the extent of Om’ray self-control. Had that sparked his dispute with Naryn? UnChosen Yena who clung to anger were put on a branch to resolve their differences. Maybe this was the Tuana version. She’d kept her distance. They weren’t shouting anymore, at least.

The impatient esask was part of the Tikitik’s game, there to take them wherever they must go next. She could easily scale its side; so could Thought Traveler, his kind being marvelous climbers. Naryn, unlikely. Enris, with his greater bulk? He’d likely pull the poor creature’s hair out trying.

The esask she’d seen before knew to crouch for a rider to dismount or mount. What signaled this convenient cooperation was a Tikitik secret. So. Wait. Watch. Without looking away from Thought Traveler, not even to feast her eyes on Enris or check on Naryn, already weary. If it wanted a contest of will, Aryl smiled to herself, she was ready.

Child, do you know what you’re doing?

No.

That set the Old Adept back for an instant, but only an instant. Are you a fool?

Sometimes. Not this time, she sent, keeping it private as the other did. Power granted such fine touch. It waits for me to break the rule here, to ask a question. Or to abandon you. It tests my resolve. The Tikitik were Sona when you were its Speaker, Anaj. You know them. Can I afford to appear weaker?

No. Immediate and sure. Never back down from them. Never allow them to ridicule or offend you. They respect determination, when used to a purpose. Something eased between them. I knew a Yena, once. Fierce, like you. Strong. I remember he made a room smaller by being in it. Her sending expanded to the others, became light. You wouldn’t be from Pana, would you, giant Chosen of Sarc? My cousin’s son took Passage there. Big, too. Bit of a dreamer. Good at making things, but always eating.

Sounds right, this from Naryn, bravely trying to keep the conversation going. Her shields were tight. But Enris and I came from Tuana.

Thought Traveler’s smaller eye cones had begun to track the esasks and riders moving down the river. Aryl didn’t need to look to know they were now fewer, with longer intervals between. The sun beat down on her head. Nice to be warm for a change.

I had a great uncle from Pana, Enris added cheerfully. Chosen by my grandmother’s sister. Dama claimed he ate so much they had to make a new door to the metal shop.

Aryl made a point of shaking her head. To joke about food—sometimes she didn’t understand these Om’ray.

Images, then, from Enris. A very large door, wide to allow a cart full of fragments of green metal scavenged from the Oud, a short ramp into a vat that burned with fuelless flame. The metal, melting, flowing, becoming what was new and useful. The images abruptly stopped. It was a good door. Despite shields, his grief tolled through her mind.

No more Tuanas, Aryl vowed, no more Clans destroyed. If it took staring at this Tikitik until her legs collapsed under her, so be it. She’d know every bump and knob of its skin soon. Blue-black skin, white spines and cones. Bold, unique coloring. Why? Not for Om’ray benefit. What did it mean to other Tikitik? Importance? Age? Or was it their neutrality, for Thought Travelers insisted they belonged to no faction and spread their news to all. To help Tikitik decide what to avoid, she remembered. To stay away from any course likely to be wrong. A Thought Traveler had told her that.

This one was scarred. Fractures crossed several of the hard knobs. Perhaps old, for its kind. A survivor. The wristbands were of the finest weavings she’d ever seen, as was the sash across its shoulder. Important. Or particular.

There were tiny hairs on the protuberances that obscured its mouth, hairs like those on the backs of her fingers. Sensitive. She’d had such thrust into her mouth to suffocate her into unconsciousness; she’d had them feed her dresel.

Of course, the Tikitik stared back. The large hindmost eyes never left hers. Without eyelids, it didn’t blink, but the eyes themselves rolled back and forth in their sockets, replenishing their moist coating.

Remind me to tell you how beautiful you are.

Aryl smiled, shared it inwardly.

Chosen could do that.

At some point, no more esasks traveled by; their own waiting mounts were sound asleep, lips loose and backs sagged in two places. Enris made a nest of sorts of sticks to keep Naryn out of the mud and took turns sitting with her or pacing where the ground was firmer, careful not to cross Aryl’s line of sight. If there was a will stronger than hers, she thought fondly, it was his. Stubborn, that was her Chosen.

He’d never let her leave alone.

He and Naryn were busier than they looked. Anaj was full of questions. Who were the Sona now? What did they mean, the river had been emptied? Which buildings were rebuilt? Why hadn’t they trimmed the nipet vines to encourage more blossoms? As for rokly, everyone knew it started underground each new season.

And the purple plant was a weed. Naryn laughed out loud at this.

Harder questions; Adept questions. What was the M’hir? How had Om’ray come to use it? How did Yao manage, blind to her own? What were the Lost?

They didn’t tell Anaj about the Strangers or Marcus; they couldn’t help it, Aryl thought. A Speaker, an Adept, an elder—she’d read the awkward gaps, understand there was more to know. Perhaps she waited for a time Aryl wasn’t preoccupied.

Preoccupied. She was that. Tikitna told her there was more to know about the Tikitik than she’d imagined. Their control over beasts was nothing compared to what they could do with plants. The wood here grew as the Tikitik required. It explained the pieces they used to build Yena’s homes, shaped rather than cut.

That was only the beginning. The buildings here, for they were true buildings, were a blend of many different plants somehow convinced to grow together without choking. She’d seen sweetberry vines growing in polite rows, recognized flowers that opened to glow through truenight, but here arranged to form symbols, even small round balls of tasty plethis—a scarce find in the canopy—in easy-to-harvest clusters.

Costa would have loved this place.

As for the life that ran, crawled, or scurried everywhere? This was more than a bargain to carry a rider or provide blood. This was technology, every bit as impressive as the Strangers’, if not more so. The plants were meticulously cared for, not by Tikitik but by a host of crawlers and biters. Some were familiar, normally fond of Om’ray flesh. Some were rare, in her experience, or ate one another. Here they worked together, gathered to a purpose other than their own survival.

For all Thought Traveler’s talk of will, here theirs was imposed on everything else.

What did that mean for Om’ray?

The world moved around them, the world as she could feel it. An unChosen made the journey from Rayna to Amna. She wondered what he thought, sensing Om’ray where no Om’ray should be, and wished him a safe Passage.

Shadows crept over the esasks, dulled the reflections in two of Thought Traveler’s eyes. No chill yet, as there would be in the mountains. Anaj slept. Naryn and Enris argued silently about how best to improve their dam. At some point, this involved building small dams in the mud to make some point.

Before today, she’d accepted there’d be no more than cold courtesy between the two closest to her heart, for Naryn was that. Oh, she loved her family, had close friendships within the Sona, but Naryn . . . ? They were of a kind. If things had been different, they’d be heart-kin. If her Chosen hadn’t good reason to despise her friend . . .

At this rate, maybe they’d all eat at the same table one day.

Fool! You wouldn’t know a good idea if it cracked your thick skull!

One day.

Aryl hid her amusement and watched Thought Traveler.

Had it shifted?

She braced herself, knowing the not-Om’ray quickness of its kind. Stiff, she’d be slower than usual, though she’d tried to flex what muscles she could.

But Thought Traveler merely swiveled its eyes to the esask, took a leisurely step as if it hadn’t stood motionless for the better part of an afternoon, and smacked the first leg. The tall creature shuddered awake, then bent all six knees until its belly touched the muddy water. The Tikitik gracefully stepped on a knee, grabbed a handful of hair, and swung itself astride. A smack on the neck and the esask thrust itself up and began to walk upstream after its fellows.

The remaining three esask, now awake and seeing themselves left behind, pounded the water to a froth. But when Aryl smacked the leg of the nearest, it crouched quickly and waited, as if relieved she’d come to her senses. “See that?” she asked Enris.

He laughed. “I thought everyone knew that trick.”

Congratulations, Speaker.

The game’s not over. Aryl stepped on the esask’s knee and lifted her leg over its back, settling on the hair.

Anaj’s reply chilled her to the bone.

It could have been.

Unlike the lumbering osst she remembered all too well, the esask glided along the stream, the lift of its legs barely perceptible to a rider. Easy to see why they were effective predators, Aryl thought. The head was in constant motion. This close, she could see the short stiff hairs on its neck were as well. If they were hairs. Every so often, they went still for a moment, then rippled in perfect order from snout to body, like the many small limbs of an Oud.

Curious, she wanted to touch them; she didn’t, and warned the others. These were somehow sensitive to something other than light, making the esask a predator of truenight as well.

As if truenight needed more.

The esasks set their order. Hers quickly caught up to Thought Traveler’s and persisted in staying alongside. Enris followed, Naryn’s trailing behind his where she couldn’t see her. Naryn felt confident. The substantial body hair, however uncomfortable against bare skin, did offer a good grip; the creatures moved smoothly. The water in the stream’s midst came no higher than their scaled bellies.

Nonetheless, a fall from even this low height—

You call this “low?!”

I call this prying. But she smiled to herself. Do you think she’s all right?

Which one? She felt him grow distant and waited. A moment later, Anaj says you know what to do, and I should leave you in peace. Also that she’s most emphatically not interested in what’s happening at the moment so long as Naryn sits up straight, so would I leave her in peace, too. There was a growing fondness to his sending, as if something about the Old Adept’s feisty nature appealed to him.

Naryn?

She’s not as strong as she wants us to believe, but she won’t fall off while I’m watching. You could ask about me, you know. I’m stuck on one of these towers of flesh too. Did you see those teeth?

Rather walk?

She imagined him looking to the side, where very few paths broke the solid vegetation. Up was the same. The sun shone through the occasional gap, a gap that revealed the plant buildings had more than tripled in height. The water itself was sluggish with mud and scraps of floating vegetation. With the occasional v-ripple against the current she didn’t bother mentioning.

I’m fine riding.

“We approach the Makers’ Touch.”

Aryl started, having grown used to Thought Traveler’s silence. She swallowed her question and waited.

An eye swiveled her way. “The Makers’ Touch is where Cersi’s name was carved into the world’s skin by its creators. All Tikitik come here at least once. It’s supposed to encourage strong progeny. Some believe . . .” A pause.

She could swear it looked smug. The despicable creature knew how hard it was for her not to ask. Aryl gritted her teeth.

“. . . most do not,” it continued. “But we won’t kill each other here, which makes it a useful place. Tikitna was built over the generations to house those who come to trade, to exchange information, and, of course, what’s most important of all, to explain themselves in such a way that those listening won’t kill each other upon leaving.”

From no information to an ominous tangle of it. Thought Travelers were consistent. “I’d rather know what you want from me,” she pointed out, keeping her voice level with an effort, “than the consequences.”

“The consequences stay the same,” it countered, “while only you, Aryl of Sona, know what needs explanation.”

It had her trapped; by the serene cant of its head, it knew. By not asking questions, by giving her nothing more than the opportunity to speak, the Tikitik left her no way to judge how much explanation would be enough.

Aryl fell silent, inwardly and out, watched the stream for ripples, and wondered for the hundredth time if they wouldn’t be better to ’port home now, admit the reality of it, and be done. What stopped her?

Taisal’s reaction. Her mother refused to accept moving through the M’hir, for herself, for Yena. She’d warned trying to spread this knowledge would divide Om’ray into those who could and those who could not—and worse, those who would not. They needed a place like this, Aryl thought desperately. A place where she could explain her ideas and others would have to listen in peace.

Have to? That was the other lesson here, she thought suddenly, staring at Thought Traveler. What gave her the right to impose her will on all Om’ray? Was she so sure ’porting through the M’hir was the only possible future?

Nothing . . .

And yes.

The plants that encompassed the stream abruptly spread apart, creating an entry every bit as impressive as the ceremonial doors in a Cloisters. Flowering vines framed it—not flowers, Aryl realized, as the bright red suddenly dropped away, to reveal themselves as flitters rising and circling into the vast opening beyond.

To announce their arrival?

The esask continued forward, its feet silent in the water. For water floored the space ahead. Living wood, taller than any she’d seen here yet, arched high above and met in a weave of branches tight enough to bar the sun. Glows provided light, glows like any at Yena—except these were underwater.

Dark, murky water flowed around the outside edge, blurred, and escaped through the weave of plant structures that surrounded the open space. It was kept from mixing with the water in the center by a barrier of—she had no name for the material from which it was made. The top edge, the width of her hand and polished, barely rose above the water. What she could see of it was as clear as a Cloisters’ windows. The water in the center—“It’s like the Lake of Fire,” she said involuntarily.

Thought Traveler bobbed its head. Agreement or surprise—she couldn’t tell.

Like that lake, this water was impossibly clear. From the esask’s back, she could see to what had to be the bottom of the world, lit by floating glows somehow held at varied depths. That bottom was pale and smooth, with muscular curved lines like the flow of an impossible river, a river that didn’t move.

Enris, do you see this? What could it be?

He surprised her with a calm answer. “Melted rock, gone cold and solid again.” His esask and Naryn’s moved up beside hers, then all three mounts stopped, perhaps because Thought Traveler’s had. “I saw the same outside Vyna. Melted rock used to make a dam. I thought they’d made it.” She felt his unease.

Made. The barrier was a made thing, too. Aryl let her gaze follow its shape, how it outlined the clear, lit water. Inward there, out again. Another sharper curve. On the far side, narrowed to no more than a few strides wide, wrapping back around to almost touch the larger portion. Another such protrusion, circle back, and narrowing. Around it all, the brown muddy, natural stream. “It’s a symbol,” she said in amazement. The full shape would be more obvious from above, but still . . . it looked familiar.

She twisted to look at Thought Traveler’s wristband. The paired wavy lines meant “traveler”; the trio of widening circles, “thought.” The rest of the complex markings she’d been told represented important names and tasks from an individual’s “kin-group.”

One, set by itself above the rest. One that matched the shape she saw here.

Four eyes locked on her. Then, a long clawtip touched the shape. “Cersi.”

“CERSI!! CERSI!! CERSI!!” Aryl and the others looked up at the cries. There you are, she thought, very carefully not reaching for her knife. All the Thought Travelers who’d preceded them.

And more. From the overlapping voices, more Tikitik than she’d known existed.

Interwoven branches roofed the huge space. Thin shapes walked within its shadows, bold with color or shadow-black themselves. Some lay flat, dangling an arm, the tasseled end of a sash. Others sat with feet hanging through. All at a height she envied.

To see this, she realized. The symbol for Cersi. The name of their shared world. “Can—I want to go up there,” she told their Thought Traveler, changing from a question just in time.

“No, you don’t,” Enris objected.

Hush.

NO. YOU DON’T.

“Some other time,” Aryl said, gesturing a discreet apology to her Chosen. He was right. She shouldn’t think only of herself, not now.

Though this structure—it was the first thing about Tikitik she envied, the first indication of something common between them and—if not Om’ray—then those Clans who lived high in the canopy. Yena. The long-ago Xrona.

The echoes of “Cersi, Cersi” were swallowed by the still, humid air. The canopy was like that, the warmth of midday stifling sound.

Then her esask stamped its foot. Slowly. The result was more expanding ring of ripples than splash. With a sidelong twist of its long neck to stare at Thought Traveler’s. Which did the same.

If they started squabbling like esans, Aryl intended to smack hers. Though maybe that would make it crouch—not a good idea, away from any solid surface other than the narrow barrier. Not a good idea at all.

Thought Traveler, this one, continued to watch her with all four eyes. For once, the protuberances writhing around its mouth stilled. Waiting, she thought. For what? She hoped it wasn’t another staring game; she may have won the first, but she’d looked into its face more than anyone should.

“Aryl. Aryl!”

She glanced over her shoulder to see the esasks of Naryn and Enris moving away. Naryn looked desperate. Enris, grim-faced, had his big hands on the short-bristled hair of his, pulling hard enough to raise its neck. The creature opened its toothed mouth in a soundless protest, but kept walking.

“There is food and drink,” Thought Traveler informed her. “An opportunity for cleanliness.”

Having experienced the Tikitik’s notion of a bath—which involved the application of things to bare skin that ate any dirt, as well as some skin—she hastily called out to the others, “It’s all right. They’re offering more food. Just don’t take a bath.”

Enris drummed his heels into the sides of his poor esask, kept pulling. I WON’T LEAVE YOU.

Must you shout? Anaj’s mindvoice, with a pronounced snap of irritation. Let the Speaker do her work! You Chosen can be such a nuisance.

As this was unlikely to do more than increase her Chosen’s resolve, Aryl turned to the Tikitik. “I thought you wouldn’t impose your will on others here.”

“I do not.” With a bark of amusement. “It is their choice to stay on the esasks. Or not.”

“Or not” meant the water. None of them could swim; no telling what hunted beneath the muddy surface.

You must go, she sent to Enris, with all her love.

He stopped punishing his mount, but his shoulders were hunched.

Enris?

Not hungry. Not leaving.

Stubborn, annoying Tuana.

By this point, their esasks were between the wide lower supports of the outer wall, brown-and-black bodies merging with the shadows.

Aryl wasn’t the least surprised when her Tuana, who so hated climbing, stood on the back of his moving esask, caught his balance with a wild swing of his arms, then leaped to one of the wide overhanging branches. Tikitik scurried out of his way. Not the most graceful landing. He hung half over the branch, kicking the air, then hauled himself up by brute force.

She was a little surprised when Enris reached down to pull Naryn up with him. Their esasks disappeared into the shadows, probably relieved.

I’m always right, he sent smugly, taking a seat. What’s next?

As if it somehow heard, Thought Traveler smacked his esask. As it lowered itself into the water, hair spreading around it, the Tikitik stepped from its back to the barrier and began to prance along that edge, one foot ahead of the other, clawed toes spread to hook over the sides.

If she hadn’t been close enough to see the barrier, she’d have believed it walked on water.

Its right side was bathed in soft light, filtered up from the clear depths; its left was shadowed and cast a dark reflection that jostled and moved over the dark, turbid stream. Things rose to that reflection, snapped at it, thought it prey. Things she didn’t want to see more closely, like what lived within the Lay Swamp and devoured Yena’s husks.

Her heart began to pound in great, heavy beats.

Her esask stomped the water, impatient to join its fellow now wandering after those of the other Om’ray. The Tikitik hissed to each other and leaned down, eyes catching fire from the lights below. The smell of wet wood mixed with that of stirred rot.

Gorge rose in her throat.

I can’t do this.

Enris might have held her, so real was the sensation of his strong arms around her, his breath in her ear, his warmth. You won’t fall. Not teasing, not a goad. What he truly believed.

A ground dweller’s opinion. This was no healthy branch or trusted braid of rope. The Tikitik, superb climber that it was, stepped carefully and used its long clawed toes, a natural advantage. At a guess, the smooth surface was slick with moisture. There’d be no second chances if she lost her footing, no grasp for safety.

A short fall, but into what might as well be the Lay, for her chances of survival. Would she be eaten alive or drown? She’d almost drowned twice; had drowned and died once, according to Marcus, who’d somehow revived her.

He wasn’t here now.

There was no one else here who could do this.

Aryl took a deep breath. She sat cross-legged atop the esask to undo her sandals and tie them to her belt. She rubbed her bare feet against the creature’s long hair to rid the soles of mud and sweat.

Acting on a less practical impulse, she unclasped her hairnet and tucked it safely in a pocket. Her hair took a heartbeat to realize it was free, then spread in joyous waves. Red-gold obscured her left eye and she batted it away, but before she completely regretted her decision, the mass settled over her shoulders, soft, warm, and thoroughly Om’ray.

Now that’s not fair. With gentle heat.

Not fair. But if it was for the last time?

Later, my Chosen, she sent, refusing fear.

Cold. That was her foot’s first impression of the barrier. The chill sent a shudder up her leg.

Cold, and curved. Higher in the middle. Without conscious thought, Aryl turned her foot slightly, let its curve follow the barrier’s. Turned her other foot the opposite way. Found her balance.

Easier, once committed. Now that she could fall into the water at any moment, Aryl no longer paid attention to it. The Tikitik above were silent. When she’d looked up, all she could see were heads, all eyes reflecting points aimed at her. For some reason, they pressed their long necks against the nearest wood. To brace themselves?

Her Thought Traveler walked one way around the world’s name. She would walk the other, for no better reason than she wouldn’t follow anyone else. Not on this journey.

If she was wrong—well, this could all be wrong.

Paired v-ripples followed her shadow. Let them.

See? I told you it’d be easy.

Don’t distract her! Naryn, doing her best to keep her own dismay and fear to herself. The sooner she’s done, the sooner we can be out of this appalling smell.

Done.

Done what? So far, she was walking around the symbol. Surely the audience above expected more, even if they’d doubtless be entertained by a fall.

A fall . . . unlikely. Aryl gained confidence with every step; the motion helped warm her. If they wanted to watch Om’ray drown—or be eaten—they could have had the esasks throw them from their backs. This place, this symbol. These were important to the Tikitik. To share them with another species?

They believed they had good reason.

She was here to offer an explanation.

Of what?

Start somewhere, Aryl told herself. Anywhere. She slowed and cleared her throat, choosing words with care. They were more dangerous here than any lurker underwater.

“My name is Aryl di Sarc. You named me Apart-from-All, and once it was true, but no longer. Now I am Chosen, a mother-to-be, and Speaker for Sona’s Om’ray. Sona’s new Om’ray. Yena’s exiles.”

They knew, of course. Three factions claimed Yena: one willing to follow the Agreement, one too cautious to change, and one eager to seize the Strangers as an excuse to end it. There’d been Tikitik laughing in the grove that truenight. Laughing as Yena’s homes burned and her people were divided. Because of her.

“We stayed at Sona where Oud, not Tikitik, made us welcome. We would not have wanted any to die on our account, but the Oud protected their claim on Sona. One of you came and insisted on the Balance being maintained. If we’d known—” her hair rose and snapped, “—if I’d known that meant destroying Tuana, I would never have permitted it. We would have left Sona first.”

She reached a point where the barrier turned back on itself and had to stand on tiptoe to make the turn. The next section was straight, and she took longer strides, possibly gaining on Thought Traveler, though one thing she grew sure of: this wasn’t a race. They moved together, somehow, it and she.

“There are Tuana with us. Most, including my Chosen, came because of the Oud. They value us for their own reasons. You know that, too. The others—some escaped the reshaping.”

Clear water, lit from within, swept a gleaming curve ahead of her, matched by a curl of thick brown stream. The two began to seem less like water as she walked between them, and more like symbols themselves. Was the brown the M’hir; the clear, the real world? Or was the brown what lived and the clear what did not, but rather was made by the will of intelligence? Which made little sense when the Tikitik made what lived—or at least so some factions claimed. Perhaps, Aryl thought, she made it all too complicated. Maybe the two simply represented life or death. Survival or failure.

Both had to exist, to write the name of the world. Was that the true meaning of Tikitna and the Makers’ Touch?

If so, she wasn’t here to explain Sona or Tuana.

She was here to explain herself.

Why not?

Why, she thought fiercely, not.

Their attempts at secrecy were worse than futile. The Tikitik could follow them—somehow—no matter if they walked, climbed, or ’ported. They’d been caught in Vyna, traveling as no Om’ray could, where no Om’ray Chosen would.

If she could explain its value to Om’ray, to peace and safety, this might be a chance to gain acceptance for their Talent.

And she’d feared to walk over water?

Courage. From Enris. From Naryn. Even from Anaj. Her anxiety must have spilled through her shields.

Encouraged, Aryl wrapped her fingers around the Speaker’s Pendant. “All my life, I’ve been told the Agreement forbids change.” Were her words lost in this space, deflected among the branches above or smothered in moisture?

She refused to doubt. The Tikitik made this; they brought her here. They wanted to hear her.

They would.

“I’ve been told change was forbidden so that all races would stay as they were. That the Agreement preserves the peace of our world. But Om’ray exist in more than what you see. There is another place we—some of us—can sense with our minds.” A hint of shock from Naryn or Anaj, quickly hidden. They still trusted her.

Would they?

Aryl walked, her toes out, balanced along the callused edge of her arches. “Some Om’ray call it the Dark,” she continued. “To our inner sight, it’s like storm clouds building against truenight. Or sometimes like water, black and turbulent. The minds of Chosen Join through it. That’s why the death—” she fought the tightness in her throat, “—the death of one dooms the other. It wasn’t always so. I believe this change must have been happening inside Om’ray for a long time, where no one could see or notice.”

Thought Traveler was heading toward her now, on the same side of the symbol. A time limit, she guessed. When they met, she must be done.

When done, she must succeed.

“No one noticed, until me. I found I had the Talent to move not only my thoughts, but my body through the Dark. It was nothing I intended. It’s part of what I am. Something new. Because of that, because my change couldn’t be hidden, I was exiled from Yena.” Because of that, Costa, Leri, so very many . . .

Aryl forced away the past. “Because change risks the Agreement, I knew using my ability again would be the worst thing I could do—not only for Yena but for Cersi.” Step. Step. A larger ripple than most followed alongside, then sank away. “But when my people were in danger, I didn’t think. I acted. I used my ability to help us survive.” Survive the Tikitik attack on Yena, something else they knew.

“I tried to keep it a secret, but it isn’t only me. There are other Sona with this ability—to ’port through what we call the M’hir or move objects through it. Because Om’ray continue to change inside.”

Her path wove back toward its start. Thought Traveler matched its steps to hers. Closer. Closer.

“We value the Agreement,” Aryl stated firmly. “I value it. But this change isn’t something we control. All we can control is what we do with our new Talents.” Its eyes angled downward in their cones to meet hers, expectant.

What else could she say?

The truth.

Aryl let go of the pendant and lifted her chin. “My Clan wants to live in peace. But we won’t allow Om’ray to die at the whim of another race again. Ever. We have the means now to survive—and we will.”

Her next step took her to Thought Traveler. They both stopped.

“The whims of Oud kill Om’ray,” it reminded her. “We do not.”

“I see no difference.” Aryl frowned. “You make it impossible to survive.”

“We make it difficult. A profound difference.” With a bark of amusement, Thought Traveler gestured to their surroundings. “Life must struggle, Little Speaker. Which is why we regret losing Sona as it becomes interesting. I only hope Tuana’s survivors prove as resilient and entertaining as your Chosen.”

Enris . . .

For a wonder, his sending felt amused. Almost. I’m fine. Imagining breaking its neck keeps my mind off where we are. Why did I think it was a good idea to perch like a Yena?

Her lips twitched, but she concentrated on Thought Traveler. To stand on the narrow edge was “difficult.” She bent her knees slightly, settled for however long this took. Aryl wished she could sense its emotions, read meaning in how its eyes shifted or its mouth protuberances writhed. It was, she thought glumly, easier talking to the Human.

Or a chair.

Nonetheless, this being was the one she had to convince, and through it, the rest of its kind. “With you as neighbors,” she began, “the Tuana will be forced to change, too. Change is against the Agreement—”

“It is not.”

The water, clear and mud-stained, suddenly loomed closer. Regaining her balance was easier than believing what she’d heard. “I don’t understand.”

“Perhaps you can’t.” Thought Traveler tilted its head to regard her from another angle. “Om’ray have never grasped the essence of the Agreement.”¹⁹

She glowered at the creature. “We aren’t stupid.”

“I never said you were. To you, the world is Om’ray, the past a few generations long, and time moves into the future with each birth. Without comparison, without history, you cannot observe how change is part of all life, including yours. You said it yourself, Apart-from-All. When Om’ray discover something new among themselves, their reaction is to conceal or stop it. Unsuccessfully, let me assure you, though we may appear oblivious. Watching for change,” a grand and meaningless sweep of its arms, “is what we do.”

What it did was be confusing. Aryl’s hair lashed its agreement, stinging her cheeks. She should have left on the net. “Cersi is divided among the Tikitik and Oud,” she recited grimly. “Om’ray may trespass outside their Clan only during Passage. Change is forbidden, for all sakes. What ‘essence’ do you think we miss?”

It didn’t protest the question. “You say the words, Little Speaker, but apply them only to yourselves. The change the Agreement forbids is in the Balance among our races, not within any one.” Thought Traveler leaned so close, the writhing worms of its mouth brushed her chin. Her hair retreated; Aryl did not. “The Balance keeps the world fit for us all. Think of it, Apart-from-All. A Cersi perfect for Oud would be too dry for us.” A gesture to the living building overhead. “A Cersi perfect for Tikitik would not only be too wet for Oud, but swarm with life beyond even a Yena’s ability to survive. While a Cersi perfect for you—could not exist here without Oud to drain the ground and Tikitik to replenish it. Without the Balance, none of us survive.”

Aryl’s breath quickened. If she understood, the Adepts were wrong. There was no reason to fear new Talents among Om’ray, to forbid them. If she understood. Don’t ask a question, she reminded herself. Don’t fall in the water. Don’t make a mistake.

“If what I learned was wrong,” she said carefully, testing the concept, “then it’s not against the Agreement for Om’ray to be different from one another.”

A feathery touch across her eyelids, then the Tikitik drew back slightly. “You continue to impress, Aryl di Sarc. I wonder if you could possibly grasp the source of our delight at Sona.”

Another Clan? A restored Clan? That wasn’t it, Aryl thought, frustrated. The Tikitik had lost Sona to the Oud.

It said they watch for change. What’s Sona if not the biggest one of all?

You’re brilliant, she informed her Chosen, receiving a thoroughly deserved smug in return. Aloud, “It’s not only differences between Om’ray you care about. It’s differences between our Clans, too.”

This brought its head bobbing upward in its double nod, then down to stare with all four eyes. She could hear hissing above, but didn’t dare look away. “Astounding. Few of your kind could reason thus. Fewer still would trouble themselves to try.”

She bristled. “If you talked to us, instead of pushing us into ‘difficult’ situations for your amusement, you’d find we reason as well as you.”

“Point taken. Though to be fair to my predecessors, you’re the first Om’ray to endure our attempts at serious conversation.” A chill ran down her spine. “We do indeed care—a great deal—about the differences between Om’ray Clans. Every one is unique. Every one must stay distinct to promote the diversity of your kind. Your understanding is not required—” proving it could read her gathering scowl. “Your cooperation is.”

A promising turn. Cooperation implied a future, didn’t it? “If it means we can live in peace . . .” she let her voice trail away.

“It means you have become dangerous, Little Speaker. Your people now walk the name of the world, as we did here, and to either side is death. For the first time in our shared history, Om’ray could disturb the Balance. By accident. By design. And we cannot survive without one another.”

Like the stupid Oud, she decided in frustration. Trying to enlist her, or Sona, or both, against a rival. “Then leave us in peace—”

It pushed her. Quick and hard.

Even as she cried out and slipped toward the brown water, Thought Traveler caught her arm in a grip that hurt. It pulled her upright again, held until she tugged free. “None of us,” it insisted, “survive alone.”

Aryl!

She sent reassurance to Enris, to the others, wishing she could do the same for herself. She was missing something here. Something vital. The Tikitik wasn’t trying to annoy or scare her. It was—it was trying to make her understand. What?

Words. Words weren’t enough for Om’ray. How could she get more from such a being?

The Yena game. The trust game.

Using her left hand, Aryl took hold of Thought Traveler’s left wrist, below the band of cloth with its name. It didn’t avoid her touch; it didn’t resist when she tugged the wrist toward her. Their balance so connected was precarious; both had to use their opposing arms to compensate. “Cooperation,” she said.

“Yes.”

The Tikitik’s skin was cool and dry, almost pebbled. More like stone than the covering of flesh, except for the pulse beneath her forefinger and thumb. Too quick.

Might be normal. Hers raced, too. She’d never imagined playing with it, nor any game for such stakes. The world itself? What could it want from her?

They, not it. Thought Traveler spoke for more than itself. So must she. How could Om’ray be dangerous?

It had taken them from Vyna, said it was to protect the Vyna.

Why?

Unless . . . “Our new Talent lets us travel to other Clans, not just at Passage. Or instead of Passage. That’s the danger,” Aryl guessed with a surge of triumph. “You want us to stay away from each other, to keep the Clans as different as possible.” So much for Enris and his plans for trade. “We can do that.” She’d be glad to keep Sona to itself. They’d have to be sure Oran’s dreams truly stopped, but she’d be glad of that, too. Life would be simple. Peaceful.

Thought Traveler moved its left arm outward; Aryl adjusted automatically. “Vyna knows it must not be contaminated by other Om’ray, Little Speaker. For the rest, change is essential. We would not impose restrictions on your Talent, even if we could.”

Bubbles disturbed the brown water beside her, as if something hung below the surface and laughed at her. “The Vyna can drown in their own poison,” she said coldly. “They’re hardly Om’ray anymore. But if you don’t care about our Talent or what we do with it—” how she wished her mother listened to this, “—I don’t know what else you could want.”

“Stability. Numbers matter, Little Speaker. Your numbers. Clans are supposed to stay together. An unChosen here or there is accommodated by the Agreement. You’ve seen the result when several Om’ray move from one Clan to another at once. The Oud react in reckless fashion. The Balance changes. Too much change and—”

She was ready, barely, for its sharp pull. Knew to bend her knees and resist, to ease the pressure as it suddenly moved toward her again. Thought Traveler played the game well, for all it was something Om’ray, something Yena. She didn’t let go. She didn’t dare.

“Sona won’t happen again,” Aryl protested. “We prefer to stay with our Clans, with our families. We must. Like Chosen, we’re linked to one another, inside.” Except Yao, she thought suddenly. Except Yao and the new babies.

Tomorrow’s problem.

Today? If all the Tikitik wanted was for Om’ray to live as they normally would, of course she’d agree. “If we’re left in peace, I promise we’ll stay where we are.” She offered her right hand, her left still locked on Thought Traveler’s wrist. The final stage of the game: commitment.

The bubbles increased, as if what watched them from beneath sensed they would fall any moment.

Aryl. More than her name. Everything Enris saw in her, believed about her, felt for her. Hair caressed her neck, slid over her shoulders.

Rippled down her arm to where the Tikitik’s clawed hand closed gently over hers, and explored that black strangeness, its shining red gold like a glove. Thought Traveler canted its head to watch, eyes swiveling in their cones, until her hair relaxed to lie against her body as hair should.

All four eyes lifted. “Then we understand one another, Aryl di Sarc, Speaker for Sona and all Om’ray of Cersi.”

A loud rustle overhead made Aryl look up. The branches had emptied. They were alone.

Thought Traveler, its balance as sure as her own, released her hand. She let go its wrist. Then it barked. “Congratulations, Apart-from-All. You’ve exceeded every claim I made on your behalf, and I was most extravagant in my belief. There were those,” in a confiding tone, “sure you’d try to kill me on the way here, a breach of Tikitna that—it doesn’t bear mentioning, now.”

Oh, there’d have been no “try” about it.

Not a thought she’d share when all was going well.

More than well.

Aryl felt giddy as she stepped back. The future she’d imagined as a dim possibility was here. Now. They could ’port without fear. Be whatever they were to be. Stay together? What could be easier to promise?

Being together was life to Om’ray.

She’d done it!

Her joy threw itself to the others, came back threefold. Joy with an underlying distrust doubtless from Anaj. The old Speaker thought she knew the Tikitik. But she’d admitted this wasn’t her time.

It was theirs. Hers. She’d done it!

Now can we go home? Naryn asked.

Home it is. Aryl gestured gratitude to Thought Traveler, then drew the locate of Sona in her mind and . . .

NO!!! The hysterical protest broke her concentration. She almost fell into the water.

It’s safe, Anaj. Naryn shared her sending with the rest of them, as well as her own weary longing. Relax. You don’t have to do any—

NO!!! You can’t know it’s safe!

It doesn’t hurt our babies, Aryl interjected. She felt Enris keep his distance from the conversation. Coward.

I am not one of your babies! NO!!!

Naryn shared her loathing of Tikitna, all things Tikitik, and of sitting on a branch over filthy, swimmer-infested water. Do you want to stay here? Memories of soft Sona blankets, fragrant soup, and crisp mountain air.

Walking was good enough for your parents. It’s good enough for me.

With real fear.

Justified, Aryl decided ruefully. They couldn’t promise travel through the M’hir was safe, not for Anaj, not until they knew more of what she was. At any rate, they couldn’t ’port if the powerful Old Adept continued to resist Naryn’s efforts to concentrate. Or leave Naryn behind.

Aryl sighed and looked at Thought Traveler.

“We need a ride.”