All she’d accomplished was death. “Why kill them?” Numbly. “Why kill Sona?”
“I did warn you, Apart-from-All. The Oud do not appreciate your fragile nature. They came seeking their metal, water for their industry, and found secrets from the past. Their desire made them impetuous. They reshaped to supplant us and killed Sona’s Om’ray instead.”
Abruptly, its face thrust at hers—she refused to pull away, even when the writhing protuberances around its mouth patted her lips and chin, tasted the tears from her eyes.
“Delicate, your flesh.” This so quietly she doubted anyone else heard. “Dangerous, what lies within. I will tell you another truth, Apart-from-All. The Oud cherish what could destroy them. We are not such fools.”
Then it was gone, running on top of the snow.
Aryl lifted the pendant from her neck, over her head, yanked it free of her scarf. Raised her hand and drew back her arm to throw it away.
The Oud Speaker lowered itself until its speaking limbs were barely free of the platform. “Sona Oud? Goodgoodgoodgood? Water want?”
She hesitated, her arm shaking.
Starvation. Flood. Storm.
The Tikitik stole Yena’s defenses, invited what climbed in truenight to eat their flesh…watched and laughed.
The Oud dug the ground from beneath Tuana’s feet…and seemed surprised they were upset.
The Oud “cherished” them?
“Marcus.”
He pushed between her and Enris, slipped in the snow. The Tuana caught his arm to steady him. “I’m here.”
“Triad First,” the Oud agreed, whether in greeting or identification Aryl wasn’t sure.
But it was right. The Human was the only one used to the confusion of many kinds of being, of thought. He’d said the Oud’s lifecycle was different.
She lowered her voice, though no one knew how well Oud could hear. “Marcus, could they have destroyed Tuana without realizing it would kill its people? Could they make that kind of—mistake?” Enris flinched at the word. She didn’t blame him.
Marcus gave her his troubled look. “We saw them kill Tikitik. I don’t think by mistake. Might be,” he glanced uneasily at the creatures, “might be they don’t value life as we do. Colonial-society—”
“Our words.”
“The Oud may be less individual, more group-minded. If some Oud die, it doesn’t matter to them so long as the group continues.”
“They have individuals,” Enris countered harshly. “They know who we are, who you are.”
“Other Oud not.” In his urgency to be understood, Marcus struggled to put words together. “I’ve see—seen Oud who work and never talk. Seen Oud who talk and decide—make decisions. There could be more kinds. Castes. Or some stage of lifecycle when an Oud could be an individual, at other part of life, not. Complicated life—I don’t know, we didn’t ask. Do you understand? But nothing like Om’ray or Human. Actions are not like Om’ray or Human. You can’t think of them that way.”
Aryl chewed her lower lip. If she understood him—something she hoped but couldn’t be sure—then the Oud might not feel remorse or guilt. Or any other emotion she could grasp. “What can I do?” she asked hopelessly.
Marcus put his back to the Oud, faced her and the other Om’ray. “Let me talk to them.”
“No! I don’t know what you are,” Naryn objected hotly, “but you don’t speak for us. Aryl—you can’t let it.”
Aryl looked at Enris. His face was pale where he’d wiped away soot. Pale and hard and desperate. Anything, that expression told her. Anything that keeps us alive.
Marcus waited in the snow, shivering, in his not-quite-Om’ray clothes. He should have seemed the weakest here, out of place. Instead, suddenly she saw him as she thought others of his kind must: a leader of exceptional skill, confident of his abilities, experienced and brave.
Frightened, yes. But no fool.
She nodded, and the Human turned to the Oud. “Speaker. What happens to Oud who die?”
Not what she’d expected, nor, from Enris’ expression, had he. Who cared about those already dead? Or the Oud’s dead?
The Oud Speaker reared to answer. “Dead reshaped.”
“Reshaped to what?”
The Oud rose higher, its pendant dangling from a limb. “Tikitik.”
Aryl blinked. Naryn choked.
Marcus didn’t appear surprised. “What do Tikitik become when they are reshaped?”
“Om’ray. Better is.”
Aryl opened her mouth to protest. The Human, perceptive as always, reached back and signed her to stop. “And Om’ray?” he asked.
The Speaker rocked gently.
“What do Om’ray become, when reshaped?” Marcus persisted.
She’d been wrong to let him speak. This was madness.
“Oud. Best is.”
Did he expect her—expect anyone—to listen to such nonsense? That the Oud believed the bodies of each race somehow became the other?
“Did you destroy the Tuana Om’ray to make more Oud?”
How could he ask that?
What if it were true? They’d never be safe. The Oud would surely kill them all…
“Oud less,” the Speaker denied. “Tuana reshaped. Tikitik more.”
Marcus shook his head. “I don’t understand,” he objected, sounding shaken for the first time. Aryl agreed. “Where are the Tuana Oud?”
“Oud reshaped.” The Speaker shook its pendant vigorously. “Tikitik more. Balance.”
The Oud had died, too? Some mass suicide, required to remove themselves from land that was now Tikitik?
If they expected her to feel guilt for Oud deaths, Aryl thought darkly, they should have let the Om’ray escape first.
Before the Human could ask another question, the Speaker spoke again, quickly. “Om’ray live, best is. Om’ray more, Oud more. Goodgoodgoodgood.”
Ever-curious, Marcus asked, “How?”
In answer, all three Oud reared, their limbs clenched together.
And all three Om’ray cried out.
Aryl fought to keep her focus as SOMETHING twisted inside. Her Power, her inner sense, all that connected her to other Om’ray was being disturbed, pulled and pushed away, taken and replaced…until she retreated into the comfort of the M’hir and could find herself again.
Enris. She summoned him there, felt the link between them form and grow strong, Power reaching to Power. Naryn, she called.
No!
She ignored his objection. They were Om’ray. They had to survive.
Naryn. Clinging to her at first, then, gaining confidence. Naryn extended a link to Enris.
The M’hir churned with his hate. His revulsion!
No. Aryl refused to allow it. The others! Worin! Had they been—what had the Oud done?
These are Oud Torments. We’re taught not to use Power near them. Naryn’s mindvoice, clear and sure. This…this is why. I told you. They have their own Power, too different from ours. But it doesn’t affect us here… with wonder.
She could feel Enris reaching for his brother, for Yuhas and Caynen, felt the three minds drawn into the M’hir, how he held them there, safe from the Oud.
Away from her. From Naryn.
Aryl didn’t waste time feeling hurt. Safe from the Oud didn’t mean safe from the M’hir. And they’d left Marcus, their own bodies…
She eased herself from the M’hir, regaining cold feet and a foul taste in her mouth.
The twisted sensation was gone. All the Oud were lying on their vehicles.
Marcus had her by the shoulders. He gave her a shake. “Aryl! Aryl!”
She grunted something, busy recalling the rest. “That was—”
“Painful,” Naryn supplied. “Stupid not-Om’ray.”