A ploy. Through that touch came a flood of memory. Aryl saw a device . . . somehow heard words from inside it . . . felt Enris’ astonishment at how well it fit his hand . . . his conclusion.
Om’ray? she sent, not holding back her disbelief. You think all of this, everything the strangers seek—what they found—was made by Om’ray?
“Who else?” he said out loud, attracting a startled look from the Human.
Aryl had no answer to that she’d care to have overheard.
Om’ray?
They made almost nothing of their own. Had almost nothing.
Were almost nothing.
Strange how the realization of her people’s insignificance made her sad instead of bitter. This Enris—he didn’t feel that way. She’d tasted his fierce pride; she envied it. But Om’ray, responsible for these marvels? Easier to believe the Tikitik sealed the sun away at night.
They were approaching the first building, Aryl losing herself in visions of the strangers’ wonderful “fresher,” when the sending struck.
DANGER!!!
She bent double and cried out, hearing Enris do the same.
DANGER!!
They straightened as one, to look out into truenight. Toward Yena.
The Human, who’d stopped when they did, raised her hands. Perhaps she said, “What is?” but neither Om’ray responded.
DANGER!!! A third sending, this time mixed with DEATH!
There was no time to think, no time to ask herself if she could do it.
Aryl only knew she must.
She grabbed Enris by the hand. TRUST ME! she sent, flooding his mind with all the Power and need in hers.
Then she pulled him with her into the darkness that marked the cliff . . .
Chapter 26
... THE DARKNESS SWALLOWED THEM whole . . . flung them . . . they were wings in the M’hir . . . she couldn’t breathe . . . couldn’t feel him . . . only knew where they had to be . . .
. . . HOME!
Aryl choked, fighting for air, fighting to see. Why was it still dark? Hands closed on her, big hands and strong. Enris? she sent, finding it easier to think than speak.
Here. A surprising burst of humor. Wherever here is.
She drew strength from him, managed words. “Home. My home. Yena. I pushed us here.”
DANGER! DEATH! DEATH!!!
Aryl tightened her shields until she barely sensed Enris, fighting to think past the screaming in her head. It wasn’t only in her head, she realized, her heart pounding. It was coming from all around them.
Her eyes grew accustomed to the darkness and she moved toward what faint light she did see. “This way.”
Her next step slammed her into the table. She warned him with a touch, then strode with more assurance to the door.
Where were the glows? Why weren’t they lit?
Aryl turned the door open and stepped outside.
The faint light came from inside the meeting hall, where she could sense the Yena gathered. The homes—hers, her neighbors, all other buildings—were dark, their windows torn, their roofs ripped open. The bridges . . . two were lit their entire length, but the rest disappeared into the dark of night.
Truenight.
“Aryl,” Enris said urgently. “Look. Over there. Something’s stealing the glows.” Without waiting for her, he began to run, taking heavy, limping steps along the main bridge. “Stop! Shooo!”
Were Tuana insane?
As she followed, Aryl hoped he didn’t realize he was running along thin strips of wood high in the canopy.
Above the Lay.
Above the swarms.
She ran faster.
Something dodged past her on the bridge, tiny and quick. A second . . . a third . . . ahead, Enris paused to kick something small out of his way. “Iglies,” he announced, letting out a relieved huff of air. “That’s all?”
She had no idea what he was talking about. What mattered was ahead. She knew that shape, that abrupt speed. Tikitik were stripping the glows from the bridge, tossing them down. They hissed to themselves as they worked.
Enris reached them first. He grabbed one. Though taller, it didn’t strike back or protest, going passive in his hold. Beyond, a dozen more kept working. More than a dozen. Aryl could make out their forms on the roof of the meeting hall, see them everywhere.
“Leave it,” she shouted, taking Enris by one arm. The Tikitik scampered away with a bark. “They aren’t the danger,” she told him. “We have to have light, now. Fire. Can you make fire? Lots of fire!”
Please, she pleaded to herself. Please.
Enris reached inside his waist and drew out a small box. A soft shhh, and a miniature flame appeared in his hand. He touched it to his bag, holding that out by a strap. The flames licked over its surface like a beautiful rot.
The Tikitik noticed. Finished with the glows on the bridge, they turned and leaped away. The ones on the meeting hall hissed and worked faster. They were pulling away the pod halves that formed its roof, reaching in to steal the glows from inside.
All around, Aryl could hear movement, clicking, snarls, the myriad sounds of the swarm climbing toward them.
“We need more,” she said. “What burns?”
“In this wet?” Enris pushed past her. “Back inside.” He rhymed a list as they hurried to retrace their steps. “Wood, cloth. Do you have fuel for cooking or heat?”
“What? No,” Aryl replied, hurrying with him. “We use power cells and ovens. The Tikitik don’t allow burning.”
“Cooking oil?”
“A little. If Myris didn’t—” Saying a name sent Aryl into a panic. She reached, desperate to know where everyone she loved was . . . were they safe . . . ?
STOP.
Aryl started to protest, then understood. Enris, running with fire licking at his hands, kept her from a fatal distraction.
She dodged ahead to turn the door for him.
The bag flew past her, skidding to a stop against the wall. It burst open, sending flames running up the panels, across the floor. It was too bright now. It made a sound. A roar. Aryl flinched.
“Oil!” Enris shouted. He tore the gauze from the first window with one easy motion, then the next, and the next. As Aryl rushed through cupboard after cupboard—Myris had moved it . . . why would she move it—he ripped free the nearest cupboard door and smashed it against the table, gathering the pieces. “The oil!”
“Found it!” She grabbed the wooden cask and took it to him.
He was wrapping gauze around the end of each long piece of wood. “Pour it on the cloth,” he ordered, handing her the first done, making another. “Not too much. We have to get it hot before it will light.”
Hot wouldn’t be a problem. Aryl ducked as flames found the storage slings among the rafters, sending smoke and scorched fragments of clothing down. She kept pouring oil, refusing to regret the destruction of the Sarc home.
If it would save Yena? Let it burn.
When the cask was empty, Enris grabbed a wrapped stick, oil dripping to the floor. “Like this,” he shouted. He pushed the gauze end close to the fire on the wall; she did the same with another. Nothing, nothing. It felt as though she was suffocating, the skin of her face about to fall off. Just as Aryl was about to pull back, fire seemed to leap to the gauze. She raised it, amazed.
“Let’s go.”
They ran, each with fire in one hand, a second stick in the other. Enris shoved the rest into his belt.
The bridge heaved and moved in front of them. The swarm was already here, clinging to every surface. Aryl held out her fire and the creatures fled with wild clicks, most falling off the bridge. But they didn’t leave.