The harness cut into her waist and made it hard to move. She struggled to stretch one, then both arms over the gourds. This pulled her head high enough to see her surroundings.
She was closer to the strangers’ platform than ever. Aryl twisted her neck to look back and wished she hadn’t. She was too close to where the water was torn by splashes and spurts of red. The osst, mercifully silent now, was being ripped apart.
She couldn’t see by what. She didn’t want to.
This had been the Tikitik’s plan all along. For all their ability to talk and reason, they were outside her understanding. That was plain.
She hoped for better from the strangers.
What other choice did she have?
Interlude
THE TUANA CLOISTERS rose above the plains and town, its rounded roof easily twice the height of any other building. Had Om’ray needed a beacon to guide them at truenight, its rings of soft light would ensure none were lost, for the flat land of the Oud stretched well beyond Tuana territory. But only those on Passage traveled there.
And those who left on Passage did not look back.
Enris leaned on the wide solid rail that encompassed the Cloisters’ uppermost tier and watched the moons rise. He wasn’t curious where they’d been until now. He didn’t care that the sun had abandoned the day or how. He only knew that the light of moons and sun fell on places he didn’t want to be.
As Yuhas had said. “So much for what any Om’ray wants.”
Tomorrow, he’d be leaving in truth. On Passage. Council had made its decision. For Naryn’s sake, he must go beyond her Call. Where? That was why he’d come outside, to try and find a direction that wasn’t away from everything he cared about.
As if such could exist.
“Shields, Enris.” A cane tip smacked against the floor. “Any grimmer and you’ll give the Lost nightmares.”
He straightened and turned, gesturing respect. “Grandmother.” There was, he checked, nothing sloppy about his control over his thoughts and emotions.
No surprise. Councillor Dama Mendolar had always been able to read him without using Power. And his father. She admitted to difficulty with young Worin, complaining he took after her daughter too much. Ridersel’s lips would tighten at such comments, restraining a response. Theirs was a tumultuous relationship at best; at more than a few family gatherings, the two managed not to speak at all.
Dama came to stand in front of him, moving ably with her canes’ support. An accident before Enris was born had ruined her knees; an accident involving unsettled Oud and a section of street collapsed with no warning.
“Unfair,” she said now, in her dusty voice. “Unjust. Good words?”
“With respect, they are pointless ones,” Enris replied, stiffly. “Choosers never leave.”
“Naryn S’udlaat is an abomination.”
Surprised, Enris gave a bitter laugh. “Everyone else tells me how desperate she must have been, how drawn to me, how impetuous in her love. Her drive as a Chooser overwhelmed her senses. Surely I’d wanted to respond . . .” He leaned back, elbows against the rim, and stared at the softly-lit arches behind his tiny grandmother without seeing them.
“Didn’t you?”
That got his attention. “I’d rut with an Oud first.”
“Hush, Enris. My delicate ears.” But her thin lips curved, wrinkles cascading over her face. “I do hope a better option awaits you.”
He shrugged. “The Adepts can’t be sure—did they tell you?”
“That there was injury they couldn’t repair? Yes. But also that you may heal on your own. In time.”
“Or I may never be able to Join at all. No one’s tried to force Choice before.”
“That we know.” Dama tapped her canes against the strange yellow flooring, one and two, one and two, paying careful attention to their tips as if this were some task of note. Then her gaze rose to meet his, clear and cool. “What I tell you, son of my daughter, goes no further.”
“Who would I—” he began.
“Hush,” she said impatiently. “No further. Understand me? Good,” at his nod. “To protect the Agreement, we prevent change, say we Forbid it. Bah! A scandalous lie. We cannot. There’s no hope of it. We ride a storm, Enris.” Taptap. “Each generation afflicts us with children of new Talent. Each shows an increase in Power among all, however slight. The Power itself may be changing its nature.”
“Matters for Adepts, Grandmother.” Enris raised a skeptical brow. “What do they have to do with me?”
“Everything.” She edged closer, looking from side to side as if she wouldn’t trust her inner sense that they were alone on the platform. “We have kept secret something else. Power can affect a Joining.”
He flinched as if she’d touched an open wound. “I don’t—”
“Listen to me. It’s true. Those weak in Power have always Joined with ease. But those with great strength . . . sometimes there are difficulties. An Adept must be called, quietly, to assist. There is a drug, a drug that eases—”
“I will not!” The harshness of his voice startled them both. Enris gestured apology, but he didn’t back down. “You called her an abomination. You can’t imagine I’d try to Join with her. Not after this.”
“An abomination we have to keep.” In that moment, Dama looked every one of the Harvests she’d seen. “I fear the consequence, Enris. There are more like Naryn to come. Those who care nothing for risk to others or even themselves—only their Power and its use. You could be a good influence. As her Chosen—”
“No.”
“You wouldn’t have to leave.” Lightly, Dama tapped her left cane against the side of his shin. “Your father needs those strong legs.”
“He has Yuhas.”
She frowned, her eyes all but disappearing. “That one? He still carries the weight of his former Clan, though safe and Chosen and one of us. Ungrateful, I say.”
Despite her shields and complaint, Enris sensed sympathy for the Yena Om’ray. “He has reason to fear for those he left behind, his family and friends.” As her frown deepened into a scowl, he added gently, “It’s not unlawful, Grandmother, to care about those you leave.” He took a deep breath. “I know I will.” There. It was done. Somehow he felt safer, just saying the words aloud.
“We,” she said haughtily, her small frame stiff, “will forget you. That is what must be. You go to a new life. Find joy.”
Seeing the glisten in her eyes and the way she fought her trembling lips, Enris simply nodded. “Yes, Grandmother.”
There was no ceremony when Enris left on Passage, no feast or gathering of well-wishers—Council wanted no witness. No new shirt to wear for his Chooser-to-be, lovingly given by his family—they would learn he was leaving when distance faded him from their inner sense and no sooner. No landscapes or other useful memories had been set in his mind—the Adepts remained cautious of his still-damaged state. There was only this hurried departure from the Cloisters after moons set, the light cut off as doors were turned closed behind, so he made his way down dark stairs to the empty street.
Well enough. Enris shrugged the pack given him over his broad shoulders and started walking. He hadn’t found a Chooser’s Call to lure him in a particular direction. He hadn’t tried.
Oh, he had a goal, of sorts. The Om’ray device might be locked in its hiding place at the shop, but it haunted his thoughts. Who could have made it? None of the Clans he or his father knew.
Suggesting the one Clan no one could claim to know: Vyna. There had never been a Vyna unChosen arrive at Tuana, not in the memory of any Adept he’d asked. Nor had other clans claimed one. Beyond Yena, Vyna was past distant Rayna as well. Some said a broad and dangerous sea lay between, or unclimbable mountains. The Adepts had smiled at him, and told him not to be tempted. Pana was closer, the largest clan other than Amna. Both would offer more Choosers-to-Be.