He didn’t understand. It wasn’t about fault or guilt. It was about what they were. The exiles would change whatever Clan they tried to join. They’d bring Yena names. They’d bring new Forbidden Talents: hers, Fon Kessa’at’s, others’ yet to be revealed. By existing, they’d upset the Agreement.
Sona offered what she’d never imagined—the possibility of living apart from other Clans, to be themselves, to risk only themselves.
To become something new.
Chapter 6
IT WAS CLOSE TO FIRSTNIGHT before they finished exploring the mound and returned to the village. Ziba pounced on the rokly, but made faces at a stone jar of a spicy paste she personally detested but others could eat if they wanted. Her parents had been appalled, Haxel amused. With Aryl’s help—as best she could offer—they’d sorted the bulk of their trove into what could be carried back to the village and used immediately, and what should be left. Stones were used to seal the opening. Ideally, they’d enter the next mound through its door.
For there was no mistaking the value in what they’d found, or where. Whether by some unknown technology within the mound itself or a combination of excellent packing and the cool mountain air outside, the stored goods were remarkably intact. Along with still-edible, if unfamiliar, preserved food—most from plant sources, though there were hard purple twists Aryl “remembered” as flesh from a kind of swimmer—there were thick woven blankets, tools, clothing in various sizes. The big sealed gourds were found to contain a fine oil. There were devices to use it for cooking as well as light.
Everyone who could helped bring baskets and gourds to the village. Enris carried more than his share, conversed easily with others, laughed his big laugh.
Kept his distance.
Those who’d gone back to improve their shelter and care for the injured found themselves with supplies better than anything they could have brought from Grona.
By truenight?
It wasn’t the same place, Aryl thought, leaning exactly where she had the ’night before.
Blankets of yellow and green and red lined the floor and hung from the walls to keep out drafts. On advice from Enris, the roof was left open above the fire, but elsewhere?
Let it storm. The Om’ray would stay snug and dry beneath Sona winter coats, woven and warm.
There was ample space to move as well. A neighboring building had been cleared of rubble and made habitable. Their packs were there, as well as their wounded and youngest, resting comfortably on extravagant layers of blankets. By the cheery oil light—as good as glows, Husni proclaimed the new devices—there was animated talk of two more homes in need of nothing more than roofs and doors, simple to accomplish with tools now at hand. The search for a water supply would begin at dawn, but no one seemed to doubt Sona would provide that, too.
As for food? Aryl wrinkled her nose. Only the dried fruit and swimmer twists were ready to eat. Everything else needed to be soaked or combined or cooked. Inconveniently, nothing had come to her or Seru on how to prepare what they’d found while Ziba’s explanations centered on rokly and sweets they hadn’t. Juo had only the faintest sense of likes and dislikes.
Leaving Haxel and Ael to experiment.
From the smell of the current concoction, something they were cooking was either in the wrong combination, or intended to wash cloth.
Seru slept now, in their other shelter, a true, deep sleep. She was happier, Aryl thought, to see something good come from something so frightening. They were no closer to understanding what had happened here, but most agreed Seru’s first dreams must have been a warning, generations too late. The latest, though, seemed intended to help Om’ray survive here.
For her part, she hoped for more—so long as they didn’t involve the darkness. One to tell her where to find water. One to tell her what to expect from the weather. One to explain how to avoid angering the Oud. She had a growing list.
Aryl relaxed and watched the others. She watched Enris, too, when she thought he wouldn’t notice. His pack wasn’t with the rest; it leaned casually near the door. She was the only one to know why.
While he’d been busy helping move Chaun and the others, when no one was watching her, she’d added a few things. No sense having him stint himself on food, when they suddenly had so much. No harm giving him the Grona bread, some of the dried twists of swimmer, a bag of sweet rokly.
Her longknife.
A new blanket, tightly rolled and tied. A coil of rope. He might not climb willingly, but sometimes it was necessary.
A lock of her hair, tied into a Highknot. Every Yena child made one to leave at the top of that first true climb away from their mother. It was a matter of pride to go as high as you possibly could before the longing drew you back.
It didn’t matter that Enris wouldn’t know its purpose. She did.
Enris himself was presently Haxel’s most willing taster. While he waited for his next spoonful—the Tuana had the constitution of a rock—he filled another kind of light. It had the ropelike wick of the wall lights and a reservoir for oil, but within a small, sturdy metal frame with a handle. His head lifted and she looked away, sure now.
Such a light was meant to be carried.
He wasn’t going to wait for dawn. Enris would leave when no Yena would dare, in the middle of truenight.
Aryl settled herself against the blanket-shrouded stone.
The wonder was that the big Tuana didn’t wake everyone else. Aryl listened to Enris’ attempt at stealth, grinning as he put a foot squarely on a scrap of wood, then set a row of hanging tools in motion with his shoulder. When he picked up his pack and boots, half the Om’ray in the room grunted or turned over. Passing through the doorway would have been silent, except that its blanket curtain caught on his head and he muttered something desperate under his breath as he struggled free.
That made her stifle a giggle with her hand.
She gave him time to put on his boots, coat, and pack. Another few moments for his light and orientation—and to negotiate his way past Syb, on watch outside. One more for her own courage. Then she slid from under her blanket, fully dressed and booted, and moved to the door without a whisper of sound.
Even so, a hand found her ankle. He’ll be back.
Haxel’s mindvoice. Did the First Scout ever sleep? Aryl looked down to meet the gleam of very alert eyes. There are things I need to say.
It’s truenight. Curiosity.
I’ve been out in it before.
True. Amusement. Tell the flatlander his walk’s improved. Slightly.
Before opening the curtain, Aryl reached with care. As she’d expected, Enris and Syb were standing together, away from the door. She slipped through, careful to avoid the twinned circles of light from Syb’s small fire and Enris’ device. The older Om’ray had his hand on Enris’ broad shoulder. While they conversed, she moved around the corner of the ruin, close to the wall, placing weight on each foot only when sure she was on solid stone.
It wasn’t shadow here, it was truenight. Darkness pressed against her open eyes, real and tangible. Her nerves sang desperate alarms along her skin. Despite the heavy Grona coat, she could feel the hairs rise on her arms and neck. It was bitterly cold. She’d see her breath, if there was any light. But there was no light. No Om’ray should be outside in this…
Listen, she scolded herself. No screams. No screams meant no swarm. There was nothing here that hunted in the dark. Nothing. Her worst enemy was unfamiliar ground, where a false step could land her in one of the Sona ditches, or worse, one of the deeper pits left by the Oud.
Her heart slowed its hammering. Slightly.