These were the first stars he’d ever seen for himself. Two were bright—and hammered deeper—three the same in a line below, then another below these and to one side, faint and blue, invisible if either moon shone. He marked this last with the lightest possible dimpling, unconsciously holding his tongue between his teeth until done.
Enris ran his forefinger lightly over what was a familiar face. Through the seasons, he’d watched them slip around the night sky as if on Passage themselves. Unlike the Om’ray, the stars stayed with their Clan as they traveled; unlike the Om’ray, they always found their way home again.
At the thought, he sent a possessive look around the shop, its benches and furnace generations old. This was his place, all he wanted in the world. Not even for Choice would he leave it.
The metal band grew warm, reclaiming his attention. Enris let a strand of his Power touch it, explore it, know its elegant shape. He would remember this piece. His smile widened. As it would remember him. Hammering his signature was duty to his family and expected, but to him, unnecessary. Everything he made and touched with Power sang his name back to him. Not a Talent of use, since he’d yet to find another able to feel it, but it pleased him.
A quick buff with a polishing leather, and the wristband was ready for its owner. Enris wrapped it carefully and locked it in the concealed drawer beneath his father’s bench. The Oud expected their scraps to be turned into useful things—blades and hooks and fasteners—not adornments for the Om’ray. This close to Visitation, it was prudent to tuck such gauds out of sight.
His lips twisted in a grimace. If only he could tuck Naryn and her followers in a drawer. That would solve a few problems. But the unChosen were rarely asked their opinion. He shrugged on his longcoat before making his rounds. The furnace was already set for the night, its bellows now blowing heat away from the melting vat and throughout the village, carried by pipes embedded within building floors. The air outside Tuana’s homes chilled rapidly after sunset. During the day, the furnace vented to the sky and they worked shirtless.
Sunset also brought lopers. The sly little thieves loved anything with a sparkle, and would carry off whatever fit their paws. For something brainless, they were disconcertingly good with fasteners. He’d had to design locks for the ceiling vents and windows. He tested these now, one after another, ignoring his stomach. Supper could wait; their livelihood lay within these walls and he didn’t take chances.
On that thought, Enris took a moment to check the interior of the shop. The Oud rarely entered buildings; that didn’t mean one wouldn’t this time. The door would do—it passed the wide cart well enough—but the well-swept shop floor was split into two narrow aisles by this summer’s new bench, a wonderfully solid structure positioned beneath the main sky vent to catch the natural light. His idea.
Against the far wall with it, then. He gave the massive wooden structure a tentative push. It didn’t budge. Taking off his coat, Enris flexed his arms, planted his hands on the bench, and leaned into it with a grunt.
It still didn’t budge.
He frowned.
Need he care? If an Oud wanted in tomorrow, the bench would move out of its way, all right. In pieces.
“Not good,” he muttered. Intact, this bench matched all the others. Broken, the pieces would reveal its wood had been used before. Solid beams like this were reserved for tunnels, Oud tunnels. Granted, these came from an abandoned spur and the Om’ray had permission to use what they could take, but all such within Tuana territory had been picked clean before he’d been born. Wood was something precious in his generation, traded for other goods, reused, or hoarded by Council decree.
With Enris coming of age, the shop’s workspace had been increasingly cramped, his father doing his best to share with his son. That son? Enris wasn’t sure if he’d lost patience, common sense, or both—but he’d wanted his own bench.
To get it, he’d traded with runners.
The tunnels beneath the Om’ray stayed as they were. That was the Oud’s side of the Agreement; theirs was to stay where they were. Go outside Tuana territory and Oud tunnels were no longer reliable. For no reason shared with Om’ray, a tunnel would lose its light and heat, remaining empty and unused, a temptation of wood and metal and other supplies. A day might pass. Or a full set of seasons. But the moment would come when, without warning, the Oud would remember this tunnel and violently reshape it, collapsing ceiling and walls, smashing the floor. A tunnel could fill in seconds, obliterating everything within, or restored lighting could reveal new openings, a different direction or slope. There was no knowing.
Except that an unlit tunnel was a trap.
Runners dared go beyond where Om’ray were tolerated. Never to trespass on the Oud—no one was that stupid—but where no others would go. Everyone knew it. They gambled they could glean from such tunnels before their reshaping. Questions weren’t asked, by Council or those seeking what they had to offer. Runners weren’t of one family, or one Talent, though those with the ability to sense imminent change were persistently if quietly courted. They were risk takers, not fools.
Enris laid his hand on the innocent, so-useful bench. The Oud didn’t care if Om’ray took wood. They didn’t care if they died trying. What provoked them was an Om’ray stepping beyond agreed boundaries. This much new runner wood in one place would be proof.
There was nothing else to do. He lowered his barriers to let his inner sense explore the village, finding the warm lights of his Clan. Without making contact, he couldn’t tell who was family, friend, or acquaintance, but he cared more for privacy. No one was near or approaching.
Good enough. He pulled back into himself, raised his shields, then concentrated.
The tools on the bench began to vibrate.
Blinking away sweat, Enris pushed harder. The bench shuddered, then moved. The legs left gouges in the floor, but when he was done, the bench, with its incriminating wood, was safely out of the way against the far wall.
He retrieved a jar of polish that had rolled off and replaced it, then scattered sand over the gouges, grinding it in with his boot until the marks were no longer obvious. Satisfied, Enris picked up his longcoat and turned off the lights.
Chapter 5
“TAISAL?” THE DOOR PANEL SHIFTED, as if whoever had come three times already in search of the Adept had lost patience. Shifted, but didn’t turn open. There were firm understandings among Om’ray. Without permission, you didn’t touch a person. You didn’t open a door.
You didn’t enter a mind, Aryl thought numbly.
Unless you must. The words slipped among hers, layered with emotion. Remorse was there, and pity, but over and through all pulsed determination. Do not regret this sharing, Daughter. You’ll need every protection I can give you.
Was the fear drying her mouth hers, her mother’s, or something they now shared? Aryl didn’t look to where Taisal continued to pace, back and forth. She laid her hands on the cool table and moved them in small, light circles. She could feel the wood grain through generations of polish. Tikitik didn’t work thus in wood; they wouldn’t take carvings in trade. No one knew why. “Syb’s at the door,” she said out loud.
Power surged and Aryl pulled her head between her shoulders in reflex. Not directed at her, she realized. “He’ll wait,” her mother stated with confidence. “But we don’t have much time.” You’ve touched the Dark that waits inside us all, Daughter. Seen it. Used your Power within it. Few can.
So it was real. Aryl pressed her palms flat, the old table’s tangible strength a comfort. Where is it? That other place.