Luckily, neither was Enris. “I’m Tuana Om’ray,” he said easily. “The Oud fly us where we want. If they understand. Hard to talk to, aren’t they?”
She relaxed as Marcus chuckled. “Hard is. Easier, you.”
“Glad to hear it. The Oud are like these Tikitik, you know,” Enris elaborated, obviously relishing his role. “No sense of manners. Rude. Uncivilized. It wouldn’t let us say good-bye—”
She sent a snap of caution, hoping he’d pay attention.
“Hush!”
Urgent, quiet. The word drew them all to their feet, eyes on Haxel. She’d shielded her eyes against the glare of the stranger-light, trying to see beyond it. Aryl joined her.
Some thing comes. The First Scout drew her longknife, passing the shorter blade from her belt to Aryl.
Stay behind, Aryl sent to Enris. Guard Marcus. Watch for Om’ray at our backs. This last with a touch of shame.
The dark outside the light exploded into a mass of legs and jaws, into thick heavy bodies black and glistening with rain. Stitlers. Out of their traps, doubtless forced here by the Tikitik; they fled the swarm as much as hunted.
Aryl ducked and drove her blade into the swollen pouch dangling below the first, ripping more than cutting it open. As she’d hoped, it was full of still-living prey. The squirming mass dropped to the planking of the bridge, an irresistible magnet to the others. How many others, she didn’t bother to count, too busy finding and severing spines as the mass of creatures struggled to be first to eat, Haxel doing the same.
Done. Nothing moved beyond a spasm, or twitch. She turned to check on Marcus and Enris—
“Aryl!” Another stitler launched itself over the rest. Haxel’s blow removed a leg, but it kept coming. Aryl readied her short knife, knowing it was nothing compared to the jaws aimed at her . . .
Her attacker was pushed into the night.
It had been Enris.
And it had been Power. The hair rose on her arms. A great deal of Power.
Haxel’s eyes met hers, her lips stretched in a grim smile. “I like your friend.”
There was no time for more. Another stitler met Haxel’s longknife. But the next, smarter or more stupid than the rest, snagged the stranger’s light box as its prey, pulling it away with great heaves of its legs.
Darkness swallowed them.
She had to trust her Power, now. Always, the other darkness was too easy to find, calling to her. Aryl fought to keep her focus on her companions, to keep them with her. Where to go . . . where to go . . . the cavern of the Watchers . . .
Stop! It was Enris. Aryl gasped, eyes opening only to squint against a new, far brighter light. There was a rapid burst of incomprehensible words, answered from nearby.
The aircar was back.
Chapter 31
“WILL HE KEEP HIS WORD?”
Aryl shrugged, wincing as the movement involved a part of her shoulder well past sore. Something she’d done during the stitler attack. Nothing rest wouldn’t cure. “How can we know, Enris?” she admitted, eyes locked on the retreating dot of light that carried away Marcus Bowman and the flitter-stranger. “He means well by us. I wish he wasn’t so curious.”
“If he hadn’t been, we wouldn’t be standing here,” with his quiet laugh. “Welcome to solid ground, Yena.”
Surrounded by the few bags that were the exiles’ belongings, they stood before another bridge, but this was of stone, not wood or metal, and rose over light, not darkness. Its upward curve offended Aryl’s sense of proper structure. The light beneath filled a long, shallow hole—she didn’t know what else to call an artificial depression in the ground. Within the hole moved machines of various sizes. Looking down at them, Aryl had yet to see any pattern to their constant movement, beyond that some disappeared into the stone walls while others came out.
“Oud.”
“I know,” she said, taking a deep breath. She managed not to gag on the dry, dust-filled air. “We’d better go.” Aryl reached for a bag.
“Leave it,” Haxel ordered, already moving. “Let’s join the others first.”
The pull of other Om’ray was strong and warm. Like Haxel, Aryl was drawn by her awareness of the rest of the exiles on the other side of Grona’s bridge. Them, and others. Many others. Grona wasn’t as large a clan as Yena—as Yena had been—but all were out to greet the new arrivals. She eased her shields the slightest bit more, feeling surprise, welcome, curiosity. Strongest of all, the bone-deep relief of her people, as their pain and shock began, ever-so-slightly, to ease.
There was, she could finally believe, safety in reach. An Om’ray village. A Clan. From here, Aryl could make out well-lit homes along a wide, flat path. Mountains ridged the night sky, like walls of black. Grona itself sat on the lower reach of one, here a gentle slope discernible underfoot, blissfully free of loose, predatory rock. First of the other buildings on the far side of the bridge, their Cloisters rose on a short stalk, more like an improbable blossom than a beacon.
And everywhere, though she couldn’t sense or see them, Oud. They tunneled the mountains, hunting metals and other ores. They were beneath her now. Enris had said so, on their journey here; a turnabout of expertise he gave willingly.
He had said the Oud were unlike the Tikitik, that they asked little of the Om’ray in their midst.
He’d warned they were like Tikitik, in being dangerous if disturbed. That some had a form of Power, disturbing and painful to Om’ray. They should be cautious.
Cautious was fine. Peaceful was fine. Aryl was fully prepared to be the quietest, most peaceful Om’ray ever to walk the world, given she was allowed to rest and soon. She’d asked Marcus to promise never to contact her or other Om’ray again. Not to spy on them, ever. To ignore them.
She hoped the Oud would do the same.
Haxel was halfway across the unusual bridge; Aryl followed with Enris. The worked stone underfoot also made low walls on either side of the structure, smooth and cool under her hands. Polished with care, she decided, like the Sarc’s table.
It wouldn’t burn.
Aryl pushed the thought away. There were no swarms here, no other predators. The Grona were like Enris’ Tuana, living where only the growing of their own food was of concern, their stone homes ample protection against the elements.
Her people were clustered at the base of the bridge; they were surrounded, outnumbered, by unfamiliar faces and shapes. Someone saw her and gave a glad cry. “Aryl!”
She used the downslope to walk faster, eager to be with Myris and Ael, to see Seru and all the rest, to make sure they’d made the trip by air to this new kind of place without being somehow changed.
It was only when Aryl reached the bottom of the bridge, only when the others, smiling despite their tears, moved aside, that she saw who had called her name and who now waited with the widest smile of all.
Bern Teerac.
“You’ll like her.” Bern dropped to the bench on the other side of the table, depositing a bewildering array of mugs and steaming baskets between them.
He’d gained weight—or she remembered him thinner. Aryl smiled fondly and took something warm and soft in her hand, too tired to eat or even look at it. Enough that he was here. Enough that they were all here.
All around the large room, their version of a meeting hall, the Grona kept pulling out more tables and benches. Their arrival apparently required a celebration.
She wasn’t the only Yena numbed by their hosts’ enthusiasm, though the youngest took it in stride. Ziba, for one, had joined a vigorous game of chase-me. Every so often, Aryl could hear an outraged shout from one of her pursuers, less swift on tabletops or at jumping up the stone stairs set, oddly, around the walls. Her elders watched with bemused weariness. Except Cetto and his Chosen, Aryl fretted to herself, having the news from Myris. Husni had been dizzy after her ride in the aircar. They’d insisted she go to healers in the Cloisters; naturally, Cetto had accompanied her. Nothing serious, he’d proclaimed. The wear of events on an older body.