The family would search their home for anything that could help their son’s journey. Dried fruits were a popular choice, easy to carry and lasting. Flasks with wide mouths to catch raindrops were another, given the waters of the Lay were not safe to approach, let alone drink. A precious glow and a power cell, for the light to keep hunters at bay.
Finishing with a handsome new shirt, to wear when meeting his new Clan and, of course, to favorably impress the Chooser who waited.
Not in Yena, Aryl reminded herself bitterly.
She hadn’t cried long; perhaps she’d used up her tears already. Now she felt light-headed, almost dizzy. Seru kept giving her worried looks, her own eyes red and swollen. Taisal di Sarc had slowed and nodded gravely as she’d passed Aryl during the processional, but hadn’t stopped.
There was no need, Aryl thought. Yena itself bled today. What was her pain, to that?
In the history of their Clan, there had only been five M’hirs when two unChosen left on Passage at once. In many, including the last four, no one had left at all. Never, to the whispered dismay of those gathered now to say farewell, had all gone.
For that was who stood in line, receiving gifts of dried fruit and flasks, glows and handsome shirts. Every eligible unChosen male, the ten who hadn’t died in this M’hir’s deadly Harvest. Their names were those of friends and playmates, cousins and brothers.
And heart-kin.
Aryl’s gaze slipped to Bern, standing with the rest. His gifts were being carefully packed into an older bag, with metal buckles. It could be the one Ael had found hidden in her bed, though there were several such being filled. The lists—they must have been of supplies like this. Preparing one to leave was a task. Preparing ten?
No wonder they’d scoured every home for relics.
Bern wasn’t the oldest, though most were younger by a M’hir or even two. Seru sniffled loudly and Aryl nudged her to stop. If their families could stand proud and silent, those who’d flirted and dreamed of being Choosers one day had no right to weep.
Once the bustle of gifting ended, the families moved back to join those surrounding the unChosen. The panels of the meeting hall had been turned open, letting the overflow spill out onto the deck and bridge, granting access to all. No one paid attention to the biters who took rude advantage.
Taisal stepped forward, again—or still—in her ceremonial robes. Councilor Sian d’sud Vendan accompanied her, his hands full of metal disks. She stopped before the first in line, Yuhas Parth, and bowed her head to him.
“Receive this token, that you may Pass unhindered to Choice.” With this, she took a disk from Sian and pinned it to Yuhas’ tunic. “Find joy,” she finished.
Was it hard, Aryl wondered, for her mother to wish them what she’d lost?
There was no wasted motion or delay. Daylight was the only safe time to travel; they’d gathered at dawn for this ceremony. The odd wysp trilled its farewell to truenight, a fitting sound. The unChosen had been brought back from the Cloisters, where they’d been given what memories there were of the landscapes beyond Yena. There were Adepts who collected such from each who arrived on Passage, though few made it this far. None had crossed the desert between Yena and Pana, though secondhand information came from other Clans. None had come from Vyna either. The routes to Amna and Tuana were freshest in memory, being the most recent to arrive, but the latter crossed the vast plains of the Oud, alien to Yena in all ways. Those to Grona and Rayna, remembered only by the oldest, would be dimmer and less accurate.
They knew where to go, Aryl assured herself. It was innate. The world was the Om’ray; they could never be lost in it. As for what waited along the way? She suppressed a shudder. Not all were as experienced as Bern; in truth, only he and Yuhas climbed with admirable skill. Some had barely started training, a few seemed bewildered by straps and hooks.
The tokens glinted as their wearers began moving out of the hall, the rest of Yena making way. The existence of enough tokens for all was a surprise in itself. Aryl was glad of the distraction. Had this many come on Passage in the past, leaving their tokens with Council? Or was there a store of new tokens in the Cloisters?
She sighed. Not that it mattered.
Heart-kin. Fingers brushed hers in the crowd. She felt the warmth in his touch. Be well. Then he was moving beyond her.
I didn’t mean it, she dared send, keeping it focused and tight, hoping their connection would protect them among so many. He had to know. About her. You’ll find someone wonderful.
Faint . . . so faint . . . I did.
Heart-kin. Her lips trembled as she tried to smile. Be careful.
Aryl’s wish was being echoed throughout the Yena as the unChosen took their leave. By custom, they would travel separately, to better listen for their Chooser’s call. By plan, they would seek in different directions, aware no one Clan would have so many Choosers to spare. A couple would try to reach distant Vyna, despite the mystery shrouding that path.
It seemed a morning for impossible goals.
She went with the others as they spread along the bridges, looking up to watch Bern climb. They’d use the canopy for their road as long as they could. It had the best light, the most food.
It was marginally safer.
The figures moved quickly, sure on familiar paths, disappearing between one breath and the next. Aryl struggled to see through the crisscrossed fronds of rastis, following the climb in her mind’s eye, knowing each step and reach and pull.
Hear me, Yena.
At the summons, Aryl turned with everyone else to face Taisal and the Council. They stood, shoulder to shoulder, in the main doorway to the meeting hall, their expressions determined and dignified. She would have been comforted, if her inner sense hadn’t felt apprehension from all sides.
“Our unChosen face a difficult trial,” Taisal said. Though it carried well, her voice was hoarse, as if overused. “But by taking Passage, they stand a better chance of survival.”
A startled murmur that died immediately.
“Only those on Passage may leave Yena,” Taisal continued. “The rest of us must stay. That is the Agreement. Neither Tikitik nor Oud will suffer our breaking it. Our Chosen have collected every scrap of dresel, every bit of preserved food, from our homes. Combined with this M’hir’s Harvest, that resource will be shared by all. It cannot sustain all.” She paused, as if to let that sink in, then went on. “We must do whatever we can to find more. Glean what we can from the groves, hunt what comes near.
“Above all,” she said, her voice now loud and sure, “above all, we must preserve the strength of those who will reap the coming M’hir for us, or Yena is doomed.”
“Are you sure this is what you want, Aryl? To stay here alone?” Taisal sat with hands neatly folded in her lap, but she looked distracted, as if already gone. “There’s no guarantee how long this bridge will last. Myris and Ael have room for you.”
The diminished stock of glows and their power cells was another problem facing the Yena. Council had responded by reducing the area to be lit through truenight. Which, thus far, had meant cutting free bridges and ladders leading to already empty buildings.
They’d been more populous once.
The next step would move people from outlying homes. “Sarc joins the main bridge,” Aryl pointed out. “It’s more likely I’ll need to find room for them. Don’t worry. I’ll manage.”
Her mother’s mind came back from wherever it had wandered, her eyes warm. “Yes, you can. You’ve grown, Daughter.”
Just not enough.