If she was ever home. If they’d listen. If . . . if her mother hadn’t tried to make her . . .
“Where Yena? Show me?”
For a being with a dead mind, Marcus had an uncanny knack for reading hers, Aryl decided. She went to stand beside him. He gave her a still-tired smile, the skin below his eyes smudged with shadow. He already moved with exaggerated care; she worried how stiff he’d be by the morning.
A breeze, dry and bitter cold, pulled at her hair. The Human had no idea how vulnerable he was, she thought abruptly. No idea how dangerous she was. The violence of her mother’s command still shook her. Had she not been able to resist, his body would be feeding the rocks below.
Aryl couldn’t blame Taisal for fearing the Human. To kill what wasn’t real—it was something hunters did daily. Trying to force her to that act—she shuddered and hugged herself.
“Aryl?”
“You want to know where Yena is,” she said, and looked out.
The rains were late today, or they came late here. The remaining sunlight struggled to reach the groves—already, the vegetation looked more gray and black than green. She raised her hand to point without hesitation. “There. Where are your people? The other strangers?”
Marcus shrugged. “Know not.”
She frowned. “Why don’t you know?”
He regarded her quizzically. “Lost are. Aryl and Marcus, both. Lost.”
“Of course not. We’re here,” she objected, patting the metal side of the Watcher. “Om’ray there.” A quick reach and she pointed to Grona, Rayna and Vyna, Amna and Pana, then Tuana, behind them.
Then, unexpectedly, her inner sense found something else. Someone else. “And there,” she said, forgetting who or what she was with. Another Om’ray on the mountain. Who could it be? With sudden hope, she reached deeper. But this was no mind she knew, no rescue. An unChosen, doubtless on Passage, perhaps from Grona, though he was well away from the pass. Seru, still waiting for Choice, would be happy.
She wished him luck passing the Tikitik.
“Always know?” Marcus pressed, his voice with an edge.
“Don’t you?”
“Here, know,” he continued, staring at her. He patted the smooth metal tube. “Not been before. How Aryl know?”
Aryl hesitated. If the most ordinary ability caught his attention, what would he think of other Om’ray Talents? She couldn’t know what would be new—possibly Forbidden—to a Human. “I was taught,” she said cautiously. “We all learn about the Watchers, so we can care for them.”
Satisfied by her explanation, or needing to think about it, Marcus eased down to a sit again, his back against the curved wall. He stretched out his legs, hissing as they straightened.
Aryl copied his position, gazing outward.
Truenight was near; it edged the horizon beyond the canopy in dark blue, swallowing more of the sky every time she looked. The rains were moving past, leaving a fresh dampness to the air. The mists hugged the grove and played among the now-abundant rocks on the flat ledge below. More than abundant—they formed a growing pile beneath the hole where she and the Human had entered the cliff, as if able to follow tracks or scent. She gave them a worried look. There was no other exit.
And they couldn’t stay here.
There weren’t enough supplies, even if they shared their “awful” food with one another. His bag had contained objects she’d recognized as coming from Janex, a ring from Pilip, and a flat box he’d tapped with a mournful look, called vidrecord. The hand-carried glow was the only useful item, but she didn’t say anything. “We’ll leave in the morning,” she told him. “Try to find your people.”
“Morning,” Marcus echoed in a tired voice. “Thank you, Aryl.” he added.
If he understood gratitude, the way an Om’ray would . . . Aryl crossed her legs and sat up, gazing across the opening of the Watcher at the Human. “I helped you,” she affirmed, trying for simple words, using gestures he should be able to follow despite the dim light. “To thank me . . . you—all strangers—must stay away from Yena. From all Om’ray. From the Tikitik. From the Oud. Away. Do you understand me? There is an Agreement among us. A peace here. Do you understand ‘peace’?”
Marcus’ eyes were bright. He nodded. “First,” he said, confusing her, and “Commonwealth. Trade Pact.” At her frown, he held up his hands, spreading the fingers. “Peace we. All we. Carasian, Human, Trant, Tolian. Many, many. All peace. Understand you.” He put his hands over his face, pantomimed looking through his fingers at her. “We hide. Stay hide. Contact no.”
Aryl’s frown deepened. Did he think her a fool? “You’ve been in contact already. Who taught you real words?” she accused.
“Oud,” readily. “Good. Better soon. Hide, Om’ray.”
Could the strangers be that ignorant of the world? What he said next confirmed her worst fears. “Talk machine, understand? Years. Talk. Invitation. Seekers, we.” He spoke with great satisfaction, as if coming here was an accomplishment . . .
... instead of a disaster. “The Oud,” Aryl informed him grimly, “don’t rule Cersi. They can’t make their own Agreement with strangers. Do you understand? You put us all in danger. No peace, Marcus. No peace with Humans! Go away!”
He was silent, hopefully thinking. She let him be, too shaken by the audacity of the Oud to know what else to say. Inviting the strangers? No wonder the Tikitik were on edge, suspicious of what was happening. Taisal had been right. The balance of power on Cersi had never included Om’ray; its peace was not their doing. To be caught in some struggle between Oud and Tikitik? Over what . . . a drowned ruin?
Aryl found her voice. “What’s so important under the Lake of Fire? What do you seek, Marcus, that the Oud want found and the Tikitik do not?”
He clasped his knees, resting his chin on top. “No.” Terse and low.
Not: I do not understand.
“ ‘Thank you, Aryl,’ ” she threw back at him. “I deserve an answer, Human. This is my world, not yours.” There, she’d said it. Because she believed it at last. They were too different in every way to have come from the same place. “Tell me what you seek that’s worth all this death!”
Another, longer silence. Then, “Morning. Home, me. Aryl help.”
She made a noise her mother would not have approved. “No. I can’t. I don’t know where your home is.”
The Human looked troubled. “Why? Aryl knows where, Yena, all Om’ray. Why not people mine?”
He thought she could sense Humans, too, she realized abruptly. From his side of things, she supposed it made sense. Aryl stood more slowly. “It isn’t like that,” she explained reluctantly. “Om’ray are—” What? Nothing was right anymore. Om’ray weren’t the extent of the physical world. They didn’t speak the only words.
Her universe grew larger at the expense of her own kind.
Aryl studied the Human, his face, his shape, his expressions. Nothing was unfamiliar.
Even the Om’ray form was no longer special.
“I can only feel Om’ray. Those like me,” she admitted. “If you can’t show me where to look for your people, more Humans, I—” she swallowed once, “—I’ll take you home, to Yena.” Past the waiting rocks and Tikitik, to bring her people a walking nightmare her mother most definitely wanted dead.
As plans went, Aryl told herself wearily, it was the worst she’d ever had. She wished she could tell Bern.
“Take me, Yena? Do that?” She’d startled him somehow.
“I can’t leave you here,” she snapped, then gentled her tone. They were both afraid, both sore and well past exhausted, but the Human had his own burden. “I’m sorry about Janex and Pilip.”
“Thank you. Sorry, Pilip. Triad Second. Good. Janex—” Marcus leaned his head back against the Watcher’s curve. His exposed throat worked for a moment. “Special, she,” he managed at last. “Friend, long time.”