Not that she would see its mouth. Aryl unconsciously leaned into the solid comfort of Bern’s side as she stared at the strange being.
The Tikitik rode astride, its pair of long, thin legs a match to those of its mount. From a distance, there were similarities to an Om’ray’s form as well, but only from a distance. There were two arms attached to a body, but the body was concave and gaunt, its surface covered in small, knobbed plates instead of skin. The arms were too flexible and bore short spines from wrist to shoulder. The shoulders, though flat and broad, met at a too-long neck that curved forward and down so the head was held in front of the chest.
Aryl’s stomach protested.
The head was triangular, widest at the back, and framed by two pairs of eyes that reflected cold white disks from the glowlight. Each eye sat at the tip of a cone of flesh. The hind pair were large and aimed forward; the front pair were tiny, their cones kept constantly in motion as if a Tikitik worried about its surroundings at all times. To make it worse, in Aryl’s opinion, the small eyes moved independently of one another unless the Tikitik was interested. Then, all four would lock into a forward stare.
The mouth was obscured by fleshy, fingerlike protuberances, pale gray and of unknown function. Tikitik could hear, but no Om’ray knew what passed for Tikitik ears. Or nose, for that matter. It wasn’t because their bodies were hidden from view. They wore no clothing, though they wrapped their wrists and ankles in cloth patterned with more of their symbols, and used belts to carry longknives like those they traded to the Om’ray.
Their Speaker wore its pendant attached to a broad swathe of plain cloth that went from right shoulder to left hip, ending in long tasseled braids that swept down the side of its mount. Aryl couldn’t tell, at this distance, if its pendant matched the one around her mother’s neck; she had no desire for a closer look.
“We see you,” Taisal said again. She managed to gaze up at her counterpart without losing her dignity, even though beast and rider towered the height of three Om’ray over her small form. Aryl felt a sudden fierce pride.
The Tikitik bobbed its head, twice, a sharp motion involving the joint at the neck, not the shoulder. Taisal raised her hand slightly, the signal for those carrying the bundle of dresel to approach. The two Om’ray eyed the esask warily, but the beast did nothing more than widen its nostrils. They put down their burden, opened it to show the purple lumps of flesh within, and backed away.
There should have been a steady stream of more with bundles, accompanied by those with empty baskets to take away the contents of the gourds. There should have been Om’ray waiting to transfer the dresel into the gourds.
Instead, there was a moment of awkward, outward silence, while to Aryl’s inner sense, Om’ray tension made it hard to breathe.
The Tikitik grouped together made hissing sounds. The Speaker’s head bobbed again, once, and they quieted.
Then it spoke, the words and voice shockingly normal. “There is less, Yena Speaker.”
“There are less of us,” Taisal replied.
It seemed to notice the gathered Om’ray for the first time, swinging its head slowly as if counting. “How are these observations related?” it asked when done. “Has an independent faction taken the Harvest to establish themselves elsewhere?”
This brought an unhappy murmur from some of those assembled. Aryl didn’t say anything, but then, she had no idea what the creature meant. She suspected it was stupid.
“There was an accident. Caused by others.” Taisal beckoned a second time to bring the First Scout to her side. Tall and white-haired, her features hidden behind gauze, Haxel held a curved piece of something that wasn’t metal or wood in her gloved hands. Aryl leaned forward for a better look, but her neighbors had the same idea and blocked her view.
Before she could object, everyone sat back as if startled.
Easy to understand why. Against all custom, the Tikitik Speaker had dismounted. Water rained from the plates of its esask as the beast rose from its crouch. “What is this?” the Tikitik demanded, taking too-quick strides to loom over Taisal. “What is this?” again, as if she were deaf, but it didn’t reach for the piece, only stood and looked at it with all eyes.
Haxel had taken a half step back, but not her mother. Slim and straight, Taisal stood within arm’s reach of the tall creature. “This is part of a flying device that exploded in the midst of the Harvest. Seventeen Om’ray died then. Three more—”
“Making you less,” it interrupted.
Stupid and rude, Aryl decided, frowning.
“Yes. We—”
The Tikitik bobbed its head twice, then turned its eyes to stare at Taisal. Lit now by glows from two sides, Aryl could see its knobby patches of skin were actually concentric rings of very small, even bumps, the whole having a fine texture almost like coarse cloth. Ugly cloth.
“Where is the rest of the Harvest?”
Anxiety flashed from so many minds at once that Aryl shivered violently. She felt Bern’s hand on her back, then, warm and strong. Through the touch, he sent reassurance.
Which might have worked better if she hadn’t sensed his fear, too.
Taisal gestured to the single bundle. “That’s all there is.”
The Tikitik Speaker didn’t bother to look. Aryl took slow breaths, waiting with the others. “No,” it said at last. “That is all you have brought.” The pronouncement drew more hisses from the other Tikitik. “We require more. You will bring what you have stored, now.”
For the first time, Aryl heard an edge to her mother’s voice. “We’re entitled to keep a supply to last us until next M’hir.”
The Tikitik uttered a soft guttural bark, a sound echoed more loudly by its fellows. Aryl feared it was a laugh. “You are less,” the creature observed, “thus need less, while our needs remain unchanged. Keep one third. Bring us the rest. Now. Or we will leave. What is your choice, Speaker?”
More murmurs from the Om’ray; words of unease slipping from mind to mind like a chill gust of rain. One third wouldn’t be enough . . . not until the next M’hir . . . they’d starve . . . Aryl’s fingers clenched the sides of pane.
Taisal’s fingers were carefully positioned at her sides. She offered no threat to the Tikitik. How could she? Aryl thought desperately. Her mother’s white-gowned figure was dwarfed by the black creature. Taisal’s Power could likely push it into the swamp but not influence the empty space that was its mind. She couldn’t make them free the gourds from the esask. Without their contents?
The Tikitik were no fools. Each M’hir they brought sufficient power cells to last the Yena, with care, only until the next Harvest.
Without power cells, water pumps would fail, food couldn’t be cooked, the night chill would penetrate. What mattered most, however, was light. Glows needed to be powered as well, before homes and bridges turned dark.
And deadly, Aryl thought, now thoroughly frightened. There were things that hunted the canopy during truenight, things only kept from the Yena by light.
“For everything you’ve brought, we will share half the fresh material from our stores,” Taisal answered, stressing the word “share.”
Another bark. “Unacceptable. Two thirds for us. Two thirds of what we have brought for you. Or nothing. You cannot survive without our technology.”
“We can’t survive without food. As for technology?” Taisal’s sudden smile was the most forbidding thing Aryl had ever seen. “There’s always fire.”
“Fire!” The Tikitik flung up its head with a quick snap of its flexible neck as if avoiding an attack. It looked painful. The others did the same, staying in that posture. Their gigantic mounts dozed, oblivious to the distress of their riders. Aryl thought that just as well.