The second item was as strange as the ’box was familiar: a featureless wafer that fit within the palm of his hand. It was thin but solid, with five unequal sides. Unlike metal, it didn’t warm as he held it, instead stealing heat from his skin. The material was clear; it might have been cut from the window of a Cloisters, if that were possible. Unlike his other finds, the wafer glittered as if new. Baffled, he put it in the pouch with the fireboxes. It would be pretty, made into an ornament. When he had time to make things for their beauty again.
The grayed bones weren’t fresh leavings. Enris frowned. The wood was still strong and whole. Despite its finish, it would have rotted quickly in hot, humid Yena; perhaps the coolness of the mountainside preserved it, the way it had the reshaped road and landscape. Though even in Tuana, such bared soil would be carpeted by tall, waving nost or other hardy plants within a harvest. Despite the little mountain streams and dusting of snow, he guessed this was a dry place. No wonder it was barren.
Bones that weren’t fresh. Intact wood. What else did he have? The Oud metal. Something he’d believed impervious; the darkened blade in his pack was proof it wasn’t, though he’d never tried leaving the precious stuff outside on the ground.
Old. But how old?
Enris grinned. Other Om’ray wouldn’t care. What was now, had always been. After all, the Agreement among Cersi’s three races was built on things staying as they were. He wouldn’t have cared before he met the strangers, with their preoccupation with the long-buried and longer past. But he’d seen with his own eyes the incredible structures from another time that they’d freed from a cliff face.
Things had been different once.
Faced now with his own puzzle, he began to see the fascination. Maybe he should keep digging. If this had been an Om’ray on Passage, there would be a metal token with the bones, twin to one Enris kept in a pocket. The tokens granted the bearer the freedom to trespass anywhere on Cersi.
He grimaced. Maybe not anywhere, after his experience with that crazed Oud in its tunnels. Instead of leaving him be, the creature had taken his original token from him. He owed the one he carried now to Yena’s paranoid Council.
A token with the bones would make this a normal, if lonely, death—an expected hazard facing those who left their own Clan to seek a Chooser in another. If there was no token…
Enris gave himself a shake, then retied his coat to his pack with unnecessary force, almost snapping the tie. His imagination wasn’t usually out of control. It was this place. What was he doing here? Of course there was a token. No need to waste precious time digging for what had to be there. He stood, settling the pack over his shoulders. A Clan couldn’t abandon one of its own, any more than a member could stray too far. There would be family, a Chosen, who would feel and react to distress. Only those on Passage lost that protection.
“Bitter, are we?” He snorted and started walking.
It was the way things had always been. His family grieved him as dead, as was natural and proper. His friends might talk of him, tell stories. Hopefully, those fit to be heard. Naryn S’udlaat…
A mistake, to think of her when he was alone. Enris gritted his teeth and walked faster, driving the shaft of wood deep into the pebbles, his feet slipping with each careless stride.
Naryn…
She thought herself powerful. She’d make Adept; of that he had no doubt, if only so others could keep her in the Cloisters and under watch. She thought herself entitled to whatever and whomever she wanted; as a result, her failed attempt to force him into Choice had left him…damaged. Whatever she’d done, the Adepts warned he might never be able to Join.
He certainly didn’t feel inclined to try.
No?
Enris blew out a harsh breath, unable to lie to himself. He was unChosen and eligible for Choice. Seru Parth might not interest him, but the mere thought of Naryn brought the heady remembered lure of her Call to speed his pulse, make his hands clammy despite the cool air. No matter how thoroughly she disgusted him, there was a part of him desperate to go back, to let her do whatever she wanted, turn him into whatever she wanted, if only he could touch her hand….
The length of wood snapped, stinging his knee. One way to get his sanity back, he thought ruefully.
Enris picked up the broken pieces and put them in his pack. He walked at a more rational pace, finally paying attention to his surroundings. The freshening wind couldn’t decide between a pleasant mildness—doubtless chill to the Yena—and a truly bitter cold.
He feared the storm played with them. Fine for those under a roof, with a warm fire, or for those used to such weather. On that thought, he reached to find the Yena. The glow of Haxel and her companions was still too far, farther up the valley. How long did it take to find some kind of shelter? The rest of the exiles were closer than he’d expected, and lower. Coming toward him. Maybe they’d finally grown sensible.
He lowered his shields and reached for one mind in particular. Aryl.
Here.
Strain. Worry. He could sense them despite her control, and couldn’t help looking up the slope beside him. The mountain ridge was every bit as awful as he feared, an impassable conflict of vertical shapes and loose, snow-streaked rock, soaring into ugly cloud.
Distinct amusement. That was the easy part.
How had she seen what he saw? An image could be drawn from memory and sent mind-to-mind—this was something new. Enris surreptitiously checked his shields, though he should be used to surprises from Aryl Sarc by now. Be careful, he sent. I don’t trust this storm.
Good advice. Here’s mine. Walk faster, or we’ll eat supper without you.
He laughed. You forget who’s carrying the pots.
A whisper of contrition, quickly silenced. It left a warmth, like a smile. We’re coming down. Truenight’s too close.
Afraid of the dark? Enris shared his instant regret. The Yena had excellent reason to be. Sorry.
With the honesty he’d come to expect, I’m afraid of everything until my people are safe. Move those big feet of yours, Tuana.
His awareness of her faded and he didn’t try to regain it. If this part of the ridge was “easy,” he couldn’t imagine what Yena might consider difficult.
Enris found himself walking faster, and smiling.
It wasn’t only the reminder of supper, scant as that would be.
Chapter 3
THAT WAS…INTERESTING.
Aryl tiptoed along an edge to avoid a patch of loose stone. She came last, as usual, but now stayed with the rest of the exiles. If Enris needed help, she’d reach him faster going ahead, as they were. It shouldn’t be long before they met again.
Very interesting.
He’d effortlessly shared what he saw—along with his aversion to it, which she chose to ignore. No denying his Power or skill. Few Yena could send with such ease in sight of one another, let alone at any distance. She’d learned to use the other place to reach her mother. Yet Enris took his ability to contact her at will for granted. Perhaps all Tuana were as gifted. Though this time she had the impression he hadn’t realized what he was doing, that instinct, not concentration, had opened that path to his senses. Another new Talent?
At her turn, she jumped to the ledge below like the other exiles, arms out to balance her pack as she landed lightly. A few steps to the next. Another, longer drop. The eighteen moved almost as one, in a flow of confident quick steps.
Until they reached Rayna, there was no Council to dictate what they were to do, she mused, and no Adepts to enforce those dictates. A freedom she didn’t trust. Not that she…