Aryl snorted. “Trust me, Marcus. You can do this.” She gave the rope they both held a gentle tug. “Let’s go.”
“Help. Help comes.” Weary, rather than convincing.
“Your help is late.” She saw him wince and relented. He’d been unable to explain either his hope for help or its lack of appearance. “If we’re safe,” she said as persuasively as she could given her impatience, “help can find us.”
A nod, followed by a frankly terrified stare at the cliff.
“You’ll see,” she told him, tugging the rope again.
They entered the cliff’s shadow together, both shivering at the sudden chill. Water stained its front. Condensation from the mist, Aryl guessed, since there was no sign of water anywhere else. She licked a drop caught on her finger; the acrid taste made her spit. They continued along the cliff until she found the place that matched the image in her mind. “Wait here,” she told Marcus.
“Not l-l-leave,” he chattered through his teeth, clutching the blanket.
Aryl handed him her boots, then began to climb. Her target was an oval opening, three of her body lengths above. Not far, but this wasn’t like her other ascent. The rock was wet and smooth, its surface unlit. She relied on touch to find tiny cracks; it took her remaining strength to wedge her fingertips and toes into them for a grip. Carefully, slowly, she made her way up.
By the time her hand hit the edge of the opening, Aryl was gasping with effort, but that solid grip was all she needed to pull herself up and through. She lay flat for an instant, then stood, leaving Marcus’ bag on the ground. Yena came here annually, to clean and prepare the Watchers. As she’d expected, there was a sturdy ladder rolled inside, ready to drop.
Letting it fall, she hurried down it herself. “Your turn,” she told Marcus.
Although he brightened at the sight of something more manageable than the cliff, and started with enthusiasm, Aryl treated the Human the way any Om’ray parent would a child. She followed close behind, so close his back pressed against her chest, and braced her arms each time he released a handhold and reached for the next.
Just as well. He began to slow, then tire. The last few rungs were agony for them both, as Aryl did her best to support his weight, and he did his best to keep moving.
“Close, Marcus,” she urged. “One more.”
At the top, she put her shoulder under his rump and shoved, throwing him forward and out of her way. While he gasped for breath, she pulled the ladder up behind them.
Just as well. “Look,” she said.
He rolled over. Aryl could see the gleam that marked his eyes. “What is? Help?”
“Not help,” she snorted.
With sunset, the cliff’s shadow had grown to lap over what had been the first of the rocks. Had been, for where she and Marcus had stood to look up at the cliff was now well-populated. Small ones, large ones, some atop the others. Nothing moved; several things had.
“Not help,” he agreed, making a strained noise she decided might be a laugh. “You know these?”
“No.” She shrugged. “Many creatures have their seasons. Om’ray only come here before the M’hir. Until now,” she added ruefully
“Good.”
It was Aryl’s turn to almost laugh. “Rest, Marcus. Then we continue.”
“Here stay?” A pat on the stone. “Safe is.”
She shared the longing to rest in his voice, but knew better. “Not really. Wait here.”
What she hunted should be at the back of this hole. It was too dark to see, so she moved with her hands held out, her bare feet feeling their way along the grit-covered, though level floor.
Suddenly, she could see.
“Better?” Marcus asked, one hand pulling his bag over his shoulder, the other leaking light through its fingers.
Aryl restrained any mention of how she could have used it sooner. Considering she’d assumed anything he’d bring would have no practical use, that wasn’t fair. “Thank you.” She continued searching with the Human and his glow at her shoulder. “There,” she exclaimed in triumph as the light revealed a door.
Not any door, she frowned, making the connection, but a beautiful metal door, twin to those guarding entrance to the Cloisters.
At least this didn’t need an Adept to open. Aryl reached to the top and, remembering what she’d been taught, pulled the correct sequence of four latches to unlock it, ignoring the fifth, which would lock it again. The door turned open obediently. Beyond was dim, but welcoming light. “Through here,” she said, glancing around for Marcus.
His free hand stretched toward the door, not touching it.
The light from his other hand revealed an expression that, on an Om’ray, Aryl judged, would have signaled severe indigestion. “What is?”
The obvious answer died on her lips. “This is the way to the Watchers, Marcus. It belongs to my clan, the Yena Om’ray. There’s no harm here. Safe,” she resorted to the word he kept using.
“Old, is.”
That again. She scowled at him. “Of course it’s old. Come or stay here.” She suspected her smile was the thoroughly unpleasant one Taisal used when required.
It had the same effect. Marcus mumbled something to himself, but followed her.
The construction within resembled the Cloisters as well, with the same yellow material underfoot and on all sides. The lighting, barely adequate, came from the joins in the tall tubelike wall. Aryl led the Human up wide steps that circled a central pillar, grateful herself not to climb anymore. She’d offered to carry his bag again, now curious what might be inside. He’d refused, hugging it to his chest.
Something was bothering him. From past experience, Aryl thought wearily, best she didn’t learn what.
At the top was a landing with an identical door, opening on a flat, arched space within the rock. As she locked this door behind them, Aryl was almost too tired to reconcile the images in her mind with what she saw.
Close at hand, a homely pile of Yena flasks and slings hung from hooks on the wall. No beds, but mattresses leaned below the hooks, ready for use. A table and six chairs. Comfort for the caretakers.
Their charges filled the rest of the space—the Yena Watchers, their smooth surface agleam with polish. They descended from the ceiling to within her height of the floor. To the right, they passed through the wall to where, unseen from this vantage, they opened their mouths to the outside world. To the left, they rose in long parallel curves, the floor and ceiling climbing with them, until all disappeared in the distance.
If they walked—or, rather, climbed, for there were ladders—the length of the great tubes, they’d arrive just below the mountain’s upper ridge. There, the Watchers gaped, ready and waiting for the M’hir to howl down their length, producing the alarm to rouse the Yena to Harvest.
Aryl pointed to the nearest before Marcus could spout “what is?” “A Watcher. When the M’hir Wind comes over the mountain, it blows thus.” She cupped her hands together in front of her mouth, and blew through them. It produced little more than a whoosh, but he nodded.
“Watchers,” he replied. “Loud.” This with a grimace.
From his reaction, he’d heard them. Implying he’d been close to the Harvest, Aryl realized. Something else she didn’t care to think about.
“Supplies,” she suggested, hoping she was right about that. If not, they’d have to leave at dawn to search for water and food. She doubted the Tikitik would be gone.
On the bright side, the living rocks might be.
Interlude
THE OUD WAS TRYING TO KILL him. It just didn’t know how.
Only possible explanation, Enris assured himself. He imagined he could hear someone snickering. Probably Mauro and Naryn, having a last laugh at his expense. He couldn’t blame them. The not-quite death of Enris Mendolar was a joke on them all.