She climbed down to Enris, stopping above him.
He was clinging to the rastis with both arms, looking thoroughly soaked and miserable. “What was that about?”
“Where’s your token?”
This drew a frown. He tightened his grip, but answered. “An Oud took it.”
“Why?”
“I don’t—look, isn’t there somewhere else we can talk? Somewhere flat?”
“Sorry.” He was right. “Here.” She climbed below him, and took his left foot in her hand. Tried to take his foot. “Relax!”
“How? I’m going to fall, you know.” Costa’s words, the voice as deep. For a heartbeat, Aryl felt all the old grief. She focused on placing Enris’ foot on a nekis branch that conveniently crossed the fronds.
“Flat,” she announced.
“That’s your opinion.” He tested the footing; he didn’t let go of the rastis. “What did it want?”
Persistent, she’d give him that. “Us, gone by truenight. I have to agree.”
“Will the swarm come back?”
“They always do.” Aryl swatted his leg. “Move faster. Unless you want them to find us here.”
Interlude
THE MARVEL OF THE CLOISTERS bridge stopped Enris in his tracks. That, and the desire to heave air back into his starving lungs and ease weight onto his better side. He’d thought they’d been climbing quickly, despite the terrible rainstorm. He’d prided himself on keeping pace with a Yena.
After Aryl’s encounter with the Tikitik—who, Enris decided, came a close second in ugly to Oud—he’d realized she’d been coddling him like an infant learning to climb stairs. He’d tried to go faster, but for each move he made, she made five, going ahead, checking behind, guiding his hands and feet. She moved like a restless animal and wasn’t, as far as he could tell, breathing hard yet.
She hadn’t left him.
He glanced at her through his tousled hair as he poured water from his boots, then pulled each on over the wet liner. From that impatient scowl, she might.
Enris forced a laugh. “Done resting?” he panted.
Aryl rewarded this with a by-now familiar look of exasperation and respect. Enris rather liked it.
He lurched after her as she half-ran along the bridge, drawn as much by the lure of Om’ray ahead as fear of what lay behind. It didn’t matter these weren’t his birth Clan. The presence of so many of his kind—closest this way—was too strong to deny.
Though he managed to snatch looks at the bridge’s construction. The intricate weave of fine metal strands, more like cloth than chain, was beyond anything he’d seen or imagined. It actually held out the rain. The slats over which they ran—or more accurately over which he staggered and Aryl flew lightly—were ordinary enough, until he noticed they were connected by round flexible fasteners. An admirable way to accommodate any bend or twist, but completely unfamiliar. Who made this? he sent, astonished enough to slow down.
A snap of impatience was his answer. Enris grinned. He’d felt some curiosity, too.
Abruptly, Aryl slowed.
Easy to see why. Those who’d preceded them hadn’t gone through the Cloisters doors after all, though both were turned wide open. Instead, they waited here, most leaning wearily against the walls of the bridge. He spotted Haxel and Ael, other faces already familiar.
“Took you long enough!” This loud complaint came from an old Adept standing in the opening. “Hurry, hurry. I won’t leave the doors open all day.”
Aryl hesitated. Her shields tightened until she vanished from his inner sense.
Powerful. But he already knew that. He knew something else. She couldn’t refuse them. He did his best not to glare at these Om’ray who, consciously or not, justified or not, forced responsibility on an unChosen.
He heard Aryl take a deep breath. Before she could move, he bent and whispered in her ear. “After last night, I expect sweetpies.”
She let her breath out in a rude snort and gave him that look again.
Enris smiled to himself.
Chapter 28
THEY DIDN’T SPEAK, THOUGH THEY followed her with their eyes.
They fell in behind her without a word; if Enris hadn’t limped beside her, Aryl thought miserably, she would feel the thorough fool. What were her people thinking? Haxel should lead them into the Cloisters. Anyone else should.
Haxel, like the rest, had waited for her to be first. Impossible to argue.
Impossible, she thought wryly, also included having survived truenight.
“Hello, Pio di Kessa’at.” Aryl greeted the old Adept and waited to be mocked.
As if infected by the others, Pio politely stepped to one side. “Welcome, Aryl Sarc,” she said, then gave a toothless grin. “Interesting clothes.” A squint at Enris. “Mendolar. Timing’s not a Talent, is it?” Before Aryl could do more than bristle, the Adept gestured sharply to those behind her. “Come through. Hurry up. We’re all expected, and I need to lock the doors.”
Pio di Kessa’at led Aryl, the rest trailing in silence, to the ceremonial doors. Instead of opening those, she stopped and Aryl gave her a questioning look.
“Council’s in session. Don’t interrupt your elders,” the old Adept ordered. “Manners, manners,” she complained to herself. “The young should be taught; adults reminded.” Without warning she laid her palm, dry and cool, along Aryl’s cheek. Her expression seemed wistful. “There were such expectations.”
Then Pio di Kessa’at was away, striding along the yellow-floored hall in a swirl of brown robes, her movements as easy and quick as anyone half her age.
Aryl didn’t bother to look to the others. They, like she, could sense that most of Yena were on the other side of these doors. Council session or not, that was where they belonged. She turned one open; Enris did the same for the other. Together, they stepped inside.
And into an argument.
“Tikitik politics have disrupted our peace before. We need only wait them out—”
“Never like this!”
“You can’t be serious—”
The voices died to echoes as the Councillors seated on the dais stopped to face those coming through the doors.
They brought the reek of smoke and sweat into the beautiful room. It didn’t matter. Those already here rose from their seats on blankets and chairs clustered against the windowed wall, rushing forward with glad cries to greet their families. Aryl moved aside, savoring the joy rushing from mind to mind. Those who’d survived the swarm mingled with those who’d outrun it. There was no difference, she thought, in how haunted they looked.
“Impressive.” Enris tilted his head back, studying the chamber ceiling. Like her, he appeared content to let everyone else move. Or, perhaps he tactfully avoided being too close to any one of Yena’s Choosers, before making his Choice. She spared a moment to wonder what he thought of his sorry Clan-to-be; surely he regretted this end to his Passage.
“It’s big,” she commented absently, watching Chosen find Chosen, parents reunite over their youngest. Cetto stepped down to greet his son and daughter. Adrius stayed on the dais, but happily wheezed and coughed at his eldest, who climbed to be with him. Families became a blur. Aryl focused on Enris, who had no one else. “Tuana’s Council Chamber is the same, isn’t it?”
“I wouldn’t know.”
She’d thought all unChosen were taken to the Cloisters before leaving on Passage, to learn from the memories of the Adepts. Perhaps Tuana followed another custom. If so, credit to Enris for surviving without them. She changed the subject. “What are these sweetpies you want?”
Enris shook his big head at her, eyes now laughing. “And you call yourself an Om’ray . . .” his voice trailed away as her expression changed. “What’s wrong?”
Aryl gestured apology, but couldn’t speak. She’d spotted Joyn and his family among the rest. His mother, Rimis Uruus, held an infant.