Dried and carefully shared, they would carry Yena two fists closer to the next M’hir.
Bern would leave the Om’ray’s portion of the grove soon; she couldn’t catch him before truenight.
There was a glow in her pack. No one traveled without that deterrent to night hunters—though what protection a small light could afford was open to question.
Her blood quickened. Was she willing to find out?
Urges buffeted her like gusts of wind—constant pushes to follow that each time died away, leaving her confused.
Aryl took a step, then another. She stopped and looked down, startled to find her feet making a decision. “What if he doesn’t want me?” she asked them.
The childish part of her knew that wouldn’t matter, that if she caught up to him, and it was too late for her to safely turn back, he’d take care of her; knew that if she insisted on following, he’d keep her close. That was Bern Teerac.
Not because they were heart-kin, she realized with a jolt. But because he was older. Because he knew Om’ray took care of their own.
Standing there, between swamp and sky, Aryl found herself accepting the truth at last. The person she’d clung to as friend and playmate would never be more. “I suppose that makes me older,” she told the sleepy aspird hanging overhead.
She had to take care of her own.
“Time to go.” Aryl swung around to retrace her steps and burst out laughing.
There, hanging in a familiar net, were four plump pods. They’d been hidden from the other direction by a bent frond.
A parting gift and a message she couldn’t mistake.
“Oh, sure,” she complained as if Bern could hear, wiping moisture from one eye even as she smiled. “Make me carry them home.”
Interlude
THE DRUMS HADN’T LIED. The Oud came down the street with ponderous grace, chased by the long shadows of the setting sun. They were also pursued by clouds of brainless, winged things, brown and the size of a child’s fist, that whirred and clicked through the trails of dust. Pest or sycophant, they appeared when the Oud appeared. No Om’ray knew why or cared; they were merely grateful the noisy creatures left with the Oud as well.
There were three Oud this time; not an unusual number, though most often only their Speaker made the arduous journey from the access tunnel to officially pay a visit to the Tuana Om’ray.
These three traveled one behind the other, a procession necessary since the main street of the village wasn’t wide enough for two of their massive vehicles, not if shopkeepers were to keep their windows intact. Slow, steady, and methodical, the treads of their machines grinding, the Oud would eventually reach the meeting hall where the formalities of Visitation would take place. Along the way, however, they were prone to stop where and for how long they deemed necessary. On rare occasions, an Oud would heave its bulk from the flat top of its carrier and enter whatever building it chose.
They didn’t ask permission; there was no need.
The Tuana Om’ray kept their distance. Those not watching from the doors of businesses or homes waited with Council in the hall. Only those unable to stand—or otherwise confined to the Cloisters—were excused from this duty. Their names were inscribed on a list.
The Oud were also prone to keeping count.
Standing with his father in the shop doorway, Enris shared the unease of his Clan as their visitors approached. Some of it was simple distaste. The Oud were unpleasant at best; Worin described them as uncooked dumplings and that, in Enris’ opinion, was being kind. Their rotund bodies were long and tapered to points at front and rear; the flesh beneath their garb moved as though soft. That garb, featureless and faded brown, more resembled a tent or wrapping over a cart’s contents than clothing. It covered every part of the Oud’s body, save for a transparent dome over the front end. For convenience, the Tuana assumed that was the head, though there were no visible features to prove it.
Oud had an uncounted number of limbs under their bodies, of varied shape and function. Most supported the body’s bulk, but to speak to Om’ray, an Oud must lift its “head” to expose a concentration of appendages. To Enris, these looked more like tools from his bench than parts of a living thing.
To complete the first impression, Oud smelled, at close range, like the spent oil from their own machines.
Far worse than their outward appearance, to Om’ray, was what could be sensed inwardly. The Oud had no self, no mind; they were nothing, bizarrely still able to form understandable words. This, the Tuana had learned to accept.
But once in a while, where an Oud’s thoughts would be if they existed at all, was a disturbance. Touching it was painfully disorienting. Children would cry; Adepts be left incapacitated for the better part of a day.
This was why shields were locked in place; those most capable almost disappearing from the inner sight.
Did the Oud feel anything in return? Enris wondered, not for the first time. Were they uneasy outside their tunnels, watched by silent, unmoving Om’ray? Or did they enjoy the open air and the company of creatures with only two legs?
He had no idea how to tell.
The first vehicle passed them by, silent except for the crunch of tread. Whatever powered the machine was beyond the technology granted Om’ray. Enris felt a familiar frustration. He wanted a look; he knew better than to ask.
The second vehicle passed, the head covering of its rider coated in fine dust from the first. Enris hoped it didn’t need to see to drive.
“You were right. We’re in for it,” his father whispered as the third and final vehicle slowed to a stop in front of their shop. Clouds of whirr/clicks settled with the dust around it, milling in dizzy circles and climbing over one another as if lost. Abruptly, they rose as one to follow the still-moving Oud.
Small mercies, Enris thought, having been ready to slam shut the door if the things tried to fly inside. Which, he realized wryly, would probably not be the welcome their visitor expected.
The Oud moved by humping its body in the middle, thus bringing its limbs into position to thrust it forward. Despite this awkward-seeming process, its size meant every thrust covered significant distance. Enris found himself half running to keep up as it entered the shop.
It stopped in the middle of the open floor, lifting its front to a position slightly higher than his head, thankfully not threatening the skylight. The two Om’ray stood before it and waited.
The creature used one appendage to brush off its head covering. The dust covered Enris’ boots and he spared a moment to be glad he hadn’t bothered trying to polish them. He fought a sneeze as he stared up at the Oud. He’d never been this close to one before.
“Metalworker.” The voice was husky and low-pitched. It originated from the cluster of black moving limbs, but Enris, despite his proximity, couldn’t find a mouth. “Metalworker are you.” It wasn’t a question. “Both are?”
That was.
Enris glanced at Jorg, who frowned, sending a message with his eyes. They had a problem. Any Om’ray could answer questions from the Oud Speaker.
This wasn’t the Speaker. With the dust cleared, they would have seen the pendant affixed to the front of its “head.” He could see the consternation in his father’s face and almost let down his shields. Almost.
The Oud’s limbs stilled except one, which tapped a rhythm against the joint of another, for all the world as if the creature fidgeted. “Both are?” it said after a moment.
Its body almost filled the shop. Enris was amazed it hadn’t knocked into the benches on either side, but it did appear aware of where the rest of itself was. He tried without success to imagine a face within that oblong cluster of black fingers, claws, brushes, and what might be a sponge.