After that came lists related to the village’s impact on the Oud. The area of land used to grow food for Om’ray; the amount of that food harvested; the number of warehouses required. The number of power cells consumed and glows to be replaced; the quantity of other supplies used, from water to cooking oil. The number of blades broken; accidents to equipment; damage to buildings.
And deaths. When their Speaker reached this list, the Tuana hushed and held their children. They were six hundred and sixteen strong this Visitation, their greatest number in memory. But there had been losses. It was a source of dismay, that the Oud wouldn’t leave the dead in peace, though they didn’t ask for names. They demanded cause, and the Tuana Speaker gave it, his voice flat and even. Ten lost to age. One found ravaged by nocturnal hunters in a field. A child succumbed to wasting fever. The worst—a Chosen who had died during childbirth, the final cost three lives.
Eryel S’udlaat and her unborn son, followed at once by her Chosen, Mirs sud S’udlaat. Mirs Eathem had come on Passage from Amna Clan, drawn across the world to Eryel’s Call, entranced by her kindness and mirth.
Enris forced himself to look at the Choosers-to-Be. What would it be like? He tried to imagine being lured, to imagine finding his life’s partner. He made the effort to imagine dying at the loss of his Chosen.
His imagination wasn’t good enough, he decided. All he felt was queasy.
All too soon, it was time. The Oud Speaker had begun its statement on the balance between their two peoples, a fancy way of agreeing to supply its share of the predicted needs of the village for the coming seasons, be that power, water, or seed. The Oud had made those calculations while listening to the Om’ray Speaker. It was always accurate, if never overgenerous. A cagey but reputable customer, as his father would put it.
Soon would come the moment Enris dreaded. With the Oud as witness, the Speaker would reveal those eligible unChosen who’d asked to take Passage and been judged fit by Council to do so. Next, he’d announce those who would be Choosers before the next Visitation. There was, Ridersel had told her sons privately, a fair amount of guesswork involved in the matter, but it let official courting begin.
Last, and most unnerving, in Enris’ opinion, would be the naming of those already committed to one another, to the joy of all present. The resulting swell of emotion pouring from mind-to-mind had been known to inspire otherwise sane unChosen to bolt across the open floor and fall on their knees in a fit of suddenly discovered passion.
That was not, he assured himself after another wary glance at the crowd of costumed gigglers, going to be him.
Startled dismay flooded Enris’ mind. What had the Oud just said? He’d stopped paying attention.
Apparently, he wasn’t the only one who needed to hear it twice. “What did you say?” asked Sole, their Speaker. In no pleasant tone either.
“Too many,” this with emphasis. “Send away.”
“Our Council decides who takes Passage.”
“Who decides Om’ray. More decides Oud.” It nudged the creature on its right. “More tokens we. Decide who.”
From the anxious murmurs behind him, Enris wasn’t the only one taken aback. What was happening? He looked for his family on the stairs, found his father first. Jorg gave a helpless shrug. Ridersel was holding Worin so tightly he should have been squirming. Instead, the youngster stared down at his brother, his face the color of ash.
“Decide who!” This louder, with that abrupt, agitated body shift Enris remembered all too well.
Sole was an intimidating figure, well suited to his role, but now he seemed fragile. He glanced back at the Council members as if for help; they looked equally shocked. Turning back to his counterpart, he gave a slow nod. “We will,” he told the Oud. “But we need time—”
“Decide who! Tokens we!” This with a hard shove against the one next to it.
As if the blow was a signal, the abused Oud humped toward the assembly of potential Choosers.
Every Om’ray rose to their feet with a shout, outrage surging from mind to mind. Enris found he’d taken a step forward with the unChosen, his hands now fists.
“What are you doing?” Sole shouted. “Those are Choosers! Get away from them!”
The Oud might not be able to tell Om’ray apart, but it understood the shout. It immediately humped backward until Enris was staring at its dusty rear. Then it turned in place, little feet drumming rapidly against the brick, and stopped. It rose to speak. “These are?”
It looked and sounded like the one in the shop. But he couldn’t tell them apart either.
“Decide who!” bellowed the Oud Speaker, thrashing its body from side to side twice. The Om’ray on the floor scrambled to get as far away as they could, which wasn’t far. Some climbed the stairs, helped by family.
The other Oud endured what had to be bruising contact without moving.
Hear me, Tuana! The sending from their Speaker quieted the room. Sole bowed to Council before coming to stand before the unChosen. His face was pale and set. After a moment, he bowed to them, a respect that dried Enris’ mouth.
The Speaker moved along the front line of unChosen, his gaze touching each in turn. The silence in the great room was so profound Enris feared the pounding of his heart could be heard.
Sole sud Serona paused before Irm, then spoke at last.
“Irm Lorimar shall take Passage.”
The waiting Oud rose slightly higher. Its limbs rushed in the tidy waves Enris remembered to ferry an assortment of packages from underneath itself. Most were immediately carried back down in a reverse flow almost too quick to see. Sorting through its pockets, Enris thought wildly. Too many packages were caught by limbs near its head and held ready. How many of them had to leave?
Tuana sent at most three or four on Passage, always those who, like Kiric, had petitioned to find Choice outside their village. Everyone knew who they were. There was time to prepare, for farewells.
It wasn’t done like this, not by ambush in front of their families.
Sole took a package from the Oud, opening it to reveal a metal disk. Though smaller and plain, the style resembled that of the pendant around his neck and the one affixed to the Oud Speaker’s head.
Sole fastened it to Irm’s tunic. “Receive this token, that you may Pass unhindered to Choice. Find joy.”
The unChosen looked ready to faint. Mauro, his brother, didn’t hide his relief when the Speaker moved past him.
Next to receive a token was the eldest son of Serona, who smiled and tipped the disk in his hand to admire it. Obviously, one of those who’d asked for this fate.
When his turn came, Enris tilted his chin, prepared, he thought, for anything.
He wasn’t prepared for the grief in Sole’s eyes; his own widened in response. It couldn’t be . . .
“Enris Mendolar. Receive this—”
The Oud, showing unexpected reach and quickness, snatched back the token. “Decide other.”
The Tuana Speaker’s mouth worked without sound for a moment. He looked from Enris to the Oud and then back. “We decide,” he said.
“Yes. Decide other.”The black claw thrust the token at Traud, who frantically backed into those standing behind him to avoid it. There was a faint squeal from the area of the Choosers. “Decide this.”