How could a family be so shattered? Her father had died, otherwise he could never have left them. It distressed Chosen to be distant. Ael and Myris had been apart for half a day and suffered. Marcus must be in agony. “What happened?” she asked gently.
“Work.” This with a casual shrug. “Send vids between. Message on special times.”
She was appalled. No Om’ray would leave his family except to seek Passage. No Om’ray would voluntarily leave their Clan. Even in exile, the Yena families stayed together. Being this far from hers was an ache inside. “How could you leave them?”
His cheeks colored. “Human way,” he said brusquely, as if stung by her disapproval. “Analyst. Triad First. Long time to be this. Opportunity here of my life. Family happy for me. Proud.”
“But to leave them—” Aryl shuddered. She had no idea how far away Marcus Bowman’s family was, but she feared it was a distance beyond her comprehension. “Om’ray would not,” vehemently, “could not. It would be impossible.”
A sharp look. “Explain.”
“Explain what?”
“Om’ray family. Help me. Need proper words.” A wry smile. “Curious.”
“I’ve noticed.” Aryl settled herself in the warmth and considered “words.” “I am unChosen,” she began, putting a hand on her chest. “Not yet a Chooser. Your Kelly-lifepartner—she Chose you. You are her Chosen. She is yours.”
“UnChosen mean—” he pantomimed someone very small, then pretended to rock his folded arms as if holding a baby.
“No,” she frowned. “UnChosen means unChosen. That’s a child. Your Karina is a child. Howard—” the image wasn’t much to go on. For all she knew, Humans and Om’ray grew at different rates, like rastis and nekis. “If he can leave his mother, Om’ray would call him UnChosen, not child. Do you understand?”
“What ‘mother’?”
“I thought you had words from the Oud.”
“Life words no. Rude to ask.” Not rude to ask her, apparently. “What is ‘mother’?”
Aryl copied his holding-a-baby motion, then put a hand to herself. “Mother. Kelly?” An assumption.
“Yes yes. Wonderful words, Aryl.” Marcus beamed. “Child. Mother. UnChosen. My childs. What me?”
“Your children. You’re their father.”
“I, Father. Aryl, unChosen not child. She can leave her mother. Aryl not can before. Why?”
“Why” was becoming his new favorite question. “Why couldn’t I leave her when I was a child?” she corrected, buying time. Some things everyone knew. Didn’t they? “That’s what a child is—someone who can’t leave her mother. It’s impossible. There is a bond—” she wrapped her arms tightly around herself, “—that pulls them together, always. Only with age does the bond weaken enough for the child to become unChosen, and go anywhere. Is it not the same for Humans?”
“Same. We not call it bond. What word for more than like? For like most of all?” His eyes glistened. “More than any.”
She sat in a stranger-tent, waiting for a crazed Oud, outside in truenight for the second time in a row, discussing word choices for affection with a not-Om’ray. Aryl chuckled. “Love. The word is love.”
“Good word. I love Cindy—same mother, me. I love my children. Kelly love children. I love Kelly. Kelly love me. Family hold together with love. Human. Om’ray. Same.”
Love was only a feeling, an emotion that could be kept behind shields or shared at will. What did he mean? Curious herself, now, Aryl elaborated, wondering what he’d say. “Love isn’t the bond between children and their mother. Or between—” her cheeks warmed, “—Chosen. Love—” led where she couldn’t follow. She coughed and continued. “Om’ray feel love,” she told the Human. “The bond is Om’ray.” She stressed the “is.”
To her surprise, he nodded his head. “Is part of how you know where others are. Sense. I remember. Right?”
Clever Human. “Yes. The bond between Om’ray is strongest between mother and child—between Chosen pairs. Less for all others, but there. You don’t have this, do you?” However incredible, she’d seen for herself that Marcus couldn’t find those of his own kind. To exist in complete isolation…Aryl shivered. “I can’t imagine what it would be like—to be so alone.”
“I can’t imagine what like for you.” Wistful. “How not-love bond feel.”
He hadn’t asked, but Aryl found herself hunting a way. “The heatbox,” she said triumphantly.
“I don’t—”
“Close your eyes.” Once he did, she took his hand, careful to stay behind her own shields and away from his thoughts, and positioned it so his palm faced away from the heat. “Where is the heatbox?”
His hand turned in hers to point. “There.” Marcus opened his eyes and looked at her.
Aryl held up her hand and pointed toward the exiles—hopefully safe and within the shelters by now. “There. My people. Every Om’ray has a warmth, a glow, we feel deep inside.”
“Location. Not telepathy.” He sounded disappointed.
Another of his words. “What’s ‘telepathy?’”
“Talk without words. Mindvoice.” The Human tapped his forehead, then jabbed his finger at her. “Trade Pact has telepathic races. Only few. Special.”
Making Om’ray “special.” Making Om’ray potentially interesting to this Trade Pact. Not an interest she deemed prudent in any way. “Strange,” Aryl commented. “Are Humans—are you—telepathic?”
A shadow seemed to cross his face. “No.” Marcus rose and picked up his sitting pad. “Sleep. We talk, morning.” A sharp shake and the pad elongated to a length longer than he was tall. “Aryl need so much heat?” This with a plaintive look at the glowing heatbox.
Aryl copied his negative gesture, turning her head from side to side. “Not if you lend me your coat,” she suggested. As for sleep? She could miss another truenight without harm. This was no place or time to close her eyes. Or company. The Human slept like the dead; he’d be useless. “I’ll keep watch.” And wait for the Oud.
“No need. Perimeterfield.”
The three sticks? “I’ll keep watch,” she repeated. “Your coat?”
Instead of handing it to her, Marcus laid the garment across her back, tucking it against her neck. She felt the pressure of his hand briefly on her shoulder before he went to adjust the heatbox. “Keep warm, Aryl. Need more again, do this.” He showed her the control.
Like a father, she thought abruptly. Was that why the Human offered his help? Not for what he could gain from her—not entirely—but because he missed his own children?
Aryl slipped her arms into the sleeves. The stranger-version of a Grona coat was warmer and lighter than the real thing. Was it wrong to accept his gifts, to enjoy being cared for instead of needed?
“What about you?” she asked.
Marcus smiled. “Watch.” He ran a finger down the side of the pad and it split open. “Thermobed.” He took off his boots and slipped into the pad, giving a blissful groan as he stretched out. “Nice. You try?”
“Maybe later.”
Without their voices, truenight filled with the powerful rumble of falling water. Not unfamiliar. During the rains, water hammered roof tiles and bridges, and poured in aerial rivers along fronds and branches. This was deeper, no louder. She’d hear screams over it. Their camp was lit by glows, again normal, and she was warm. The only sensation out of place?
The ground. Other than the faintest, constant vibration, it was immobile and hard. Wrong. It should sway, like breathing. There should be life all around her, especially beneath her. A Yena belonged high in the canopy. She missed its life. Missed color and movement. Vines and fronds and clusters of flowers. She even missed biters.