“Yes, that.” His lips quirked again. “I admit to boundless curiosity. I thought you were tossing us from the cliff to spite the strangers. Seemed as good as any idea at the time.”
“It wasn’t that high,” she said stiffly. He hadn’t promised yet. He had to. “Please. It’s—I did it to help my Clan, but—”
“Which you have.”
“Stop interrupting me,” she snapped. He was as hard as Costa to talk to about serious things. “The Adepts call it the Dark; it’s another place. Dangerous. Forbidden. I wasn’t to use it again. I wouldn’t have, but—we had to be here. If the Tikitik find out what I did—if anyone else finds out—it will cause trouble.”
“Worse than this?” he said with a grim laugh. Before she could object, Enris added, “I promise. On one condition.”
“Condition? What—”
“You show me how to do it. When we get out of this.”
She stared at him. Was this Tuana like Haxel or Tikva, willing to risk anything for Power? “Didn’t you hear me? Using it could destroy the peace!” She shuddered, remembering that place. “Such Power isn’t for us. I won’t try it again. You shouldn’t want it.”
“You’re wrong,” he countered with equal passion. “You met the Humans, too. Power—what we each can do—it’s who we are. It’s what we are. Don’t deny yourself, Aryl. The Om’ray are too few, and our world—our world’s not what we thought, is it?” She felt his mindvoice then, with a swell of dark amusement. I never thought I’d meet someone with too much conscience.
You don’t know what it’s cost.
The firelight was failing. There was nothing left to burn that didn’t hold Yena. Soon, truenight would win, and only the eager swarm would survive it.
Why wasn’t she afraid?
“If Yena sees another dawn, Enris,” she told him at last, “it’s because of you. Keep your word and I’ll do—I’ll do what I can to teach you.” With any luck, she told herself, he wouldn’t be able to sense the other place anyway.
With no luck at all, it wouldn’t matter. They wouldn’t be alive to try.
They stood in silence, watching the darkness consume the light. The swarm would reach them across the main bridge first, she guessed. Cutting the massive support braids would take the better part of the night and buy, at best, a heartbeat. They had no more gauze or dry wood. Enris had already tried lighting the rope rails around the deck. They only blackened and smoked.
“What’s that noise?” Enris whispered.
“The swarm—”
“Not that. Listen.”
Aryl held her breath, ignoring the sullen snaps and echoing crackle of what fires still burned. Too quiet, she realized. She couldn’t hear the clicks, the snarls and snaps of the swarm. Why?
“That.”
A trill, as if three singers competed to see who could make the sweeter sound. Another. A third, more distant.
“A wysp,” she told Enris, her voice unsteady. “They sing to greet truenight.” She reached out in the dark for his hand, gripped it tightly despite her blisters. “And they sing—they sing it good-bye. Dawn, Enris. Above the canopy, it’s dawn.”
Sending the swarm back to the waters of the Lay Swamp.
They’d survived.
Interlude
YENA BEGAN TO EMERGE once sunbeams stroked their way through the maze of giant plants and smoke. Enris sat with his back against the comfortingly solid side of the meeting hall, unable to credit he’d spent the night running over thin bits of wood and rope, suspended so high that . . . he swallowed, hard. They were so high, he’d yet to see the ground. Not that there was ground beneath them, Aryl had informed him while they rested, but rather water and mud, home to those not-iglies who’d done their best to overwhelm and eat them alive.
Other things had taken over that job. Wearily, he flapped his hands in front of his face, trying for room to breathe through the hordes of small flying nuisances. Being filthy had one advantage. There wasn’t much skin available for their tiny jaws. “Ouch!” Still some. He’d given up on sleep.
“Here.” A Yena who could have been Yuhas’ twin bent to offer him a wad of fabric. “Wrap this around your head. Like we do.”
Enris gestured gratitude and did his best to copy what he saw. The too-fine stuff snared on his calluses and cuts. When he noticed most of the Chosen left their faces bare, despite the insects, he did the same. It was still a relief not to have to defend his neck and shoulders. He noticed other things. Their clothing—what Yuhas had worn at first—freed their arms and legs while protecting their skin. He was sweating from every pore under his heavy tunic and pants. With the sun, the air had become oppressively hot and humid. The light fabrics they wore made, he admitted, sense.
Aryl had rejoined her clan the moment the first stir came from inside the hall, bidding him to rest as long as he could. She’d had the look he remembered from Yuhas’ memory, determination rooted in grief. He’d doubted he could stand anyway. She could. Like Yuhas, these were the most athletic Om’ray he’d ever seen, all of them. They moved with that same quick grace. Too thin, though; every face was gaunt. He felt self-conscious, his thicker body a rude reminder of Tuana’s abundance.
There were, indeed, Choosers here. He maintained his shields, but that particular summons had its way of being noticed, like the warm smell of supper on a cold night. He might have an appetite, Enris reminded himself. He didn’t have to eat.
He’d kept count as the Yena came out on the platform. Most stopped at once to stare in dismay at what remained of their aerial village. There should be more of them, he thought. He and Aryl had burned enough homes to house four times this number. By daylight, he could see more abandoned, beyond the bridge network.
There were three Choosers, some older unChosen—though none male—the Chosen. No children. No elderly. No one weak.
Where were the rest? He reached and found part of the answer. There. Not far. But not in sight. Why?
Easing to his feet, Enris limped to the nearest group, a family of four. He was taller, though he doubted stronger, than the two Chosen. The Yena were subdued, their greeting no more than a quiet murmur of names he didn’t need. Tears streaked the face of their youngest, though she didn’t speak. Shock, he thought. And who could blame them?
“Stranger?”
He bowed awkwardly to the family and turned as two more approached. “Enris Mendolar of Tuana Clan,” he said to the new faces.
One was an older Chosen, a scout, by the knives in her belt and scars. To be a scout here—one of those who patrolled the limits of territory for the Clan? Enris made the gesture of respect. That so many had survived until they’d come was no doubt due to this one’s skill.
“Haxel Vendan, Yena First Scout.” Her voice was smoother than he’d expected. “This is Ael sud Sarc.”
Enris nodded to Ael. Family, though no close resemblance. Aryl’s eyes were gray, not brown, and larger, slightly slanted to the outside. Her features—what he’d seen under the soot and streaks of ash—were as strong, with a firm jaw and wide mouth. He’d already noticed how still her face could be, like the crust on molten metal that hid the heat beneath. This Chosen had a face as open and full of expression as his young brother’s, although now lined with strain.
“Yena welcomes you, unChosen,” Ael said warmly. “Though to what—” he didn’t need to gesture to the ruin around them.