Council must decide what to do.
That didn’t sound good. He kept his voice down. “With me?” A startled flash from those hidden eyes. Worse. “You can sense what I am, Fikryya,” Enris coaxed. “An unChosen. Eligible. On Passage. My mother thinks I’m good-looking.”
Her blush was spectacular. You are not Vyna.
Enris leaned against the wall and crossed his arms. I could be, he sent, adding overtones of friendliness and a warm hint of interest. Didn’t hurt to show good intentions.
NO! You are not Vyna! A lash of outraged fury. Her shields, he winced, weren’t perfect after all. You are a lesser Om’ray. Choice between Vyna and lesser Om’ray is Forbidden! Council decides if our Adepts should waste their time scouring your mind before you are fed to the rumn, that is all.
With that, and a whirl of fabric that left nothing remaining to his imagination, the Vyna Chooser left the room. The metal door spun closed with a thud.
“I’ll take that as a no,” Enris said mildly.
Not good at all.
They weren’t interested in his belongings either, leaving him the clothes he wore and whatever he’d shoved into his pockets at the Tikitik’s suggestion. For that small favor, he should be grateful, Enris thought grimly as he chewed his last morsel of food, using his tongue to find pieces of lint and swallowing those, too.
On second thought, he’d like to introduce Thought Traveler to Vyna’s strange lake. No wonder the creature had been entertained. He’d demanded to go to the one Clan Forbidden to accept those on Passage.
Why?
More importantly, how was he going to change their minds?
Enris laughed. He sounded like a certain Yena.
Still, these were Om’ray with secrets. He had a few. A trade might be possible.
He needed to know more about them first. From the window, all he could see was what surrounded the island: water, mist, and a soaring wall of rock. The narrow bridge where the esan dropped him wasn’t in sight.
What else? They might be isolated, but Vyna didn’t lack power. There were six glows attached to the walls of this room alone; others in use along the walkways. Their style was peculiar, with outer casings shaped like swimmers and leaves.
A people with time for aesthetics.
He tried taking one of the glows down, but it was inset into the rock wall as if there would never be need to remove it. Another mystery. In Tuana and Yena, glows had to be replaced regularly, along with the sealed cells that powered them. The Oud used a similar arrangement in their tunnels. He supposed the Tikitik did as well.
The lighting within a Cloisters had its own, apparently endless supply of power. Cloisters. Something he hadn’t seen while being hustled to this room. Perhaps Vyna had found a way to extend that power to where they lived.
An exciting thought. To not depend on the technology of others.
As for the strangers…power for their devices had been among the hundreds of questions he would have asked Marcus Bowman, if it hadn’t been too dangerous for all concerned. Aryl had been wise to resist temptation. They were having trouble enough with the Oud and Tikitik…
And now with their own.
Despite Fikryya’s vehement denial, there was only one kind of Om’ray. Vyna were the same as everyone else to his inner sense. What else mattered?
Manners, for one. Enris swallowed his last, very well-chewed mouthful and listened to his stomach complain about its emptiness. Surely they’d feed him before…
Before what? Before they fed him to whatever she’d said?
Om’ray kill Om’ray? He’d never heard of such a thing. That didn’t make him less afraid. Too easy to summon the memory of those kicks and blows in the dark, his own desperate realization that while these were his people, his Clan, their anger was about to send them across an unimaginable line.
Anger, he could understand. A cold decision to end another life? Why?
He fingered his token. When they’d left it untouched, he’d assumed there would be a grand ceremony—with feast—to welcome him. But other than Sona, Vyna was the smallest Clan. How could they not need unChosen, especially—no point being modest—one of his strength, skill, and Power?
And ability to annoy. Enris smiled, remembering the outrage in Aryl’s gray eyes when she suspected he made fun of her.
He’d tied her knot of hair to the thong holding his neck pouch, where his fingers could easily find it. Now he touched that tiny softness.
She’d believed in him.
He hadn’t come this far to fail.
Enris straightened his tunic and checked his boots. He’d been welcomed by the Grona. Sona, too, had he stayed. He’d make these Vyna appreciate him.
Thoughtful of them to leave his things.
The glows might be unfamiliar, but the spindle on which the door turned was as normal as could be. The rings holding it in position would be of softer metal than the back of his knife. A moment’s effort to pry them open and off, then he tugged the door down and toward him, freeing the spindle’s tip from its hole. The door, now turning on the lock rod, tipped inward. With a grin, Enris crouched and crawled underneath.
There was no one outside. He’d have known. Yena’s First Scout might mock his inability to move quietly—something their children could do—but no one had to teach him to be aware of those around him. While working on the Om’ray device, he’d always been careful to check that he was alone.
Not to mention it had helped him avoid Naryn S’udlaat. For a while.
For the first time, he wondered about her reaction. Shocked out of her skin, he imagined, grinning with satisfaction. Hadn’t the spoiled daughter of Adepts had her way from birth, doted on by aging parents, worshiped by her gang of useless friends? He’d been one of the few unimpressed by her Power or beauty. When she’d pushed a hammer at his head in a fit of temper, he’d refused to support her claim to that Talent. The only reason, he supposed, she’d wanted him at all was because he didn’t want her.
Served her right he could refuse.
Though he didn’t envy whomever Naryn had finally claimed. He hoped not one of his cheerful cousins.
And not, he thought, his grin fading, Mauro Lorimar. Lorimar had led the attack against him. Dangerous, indeed, Joining such unnatural violence to Naryn’s selfish Power.
Enris shrugged. He’d only know if another Tuana came to Vyna on Passage. This was his Clan now.
If he wasn’t eaten.
Beyond his room was a short straight hall with arched openings to the outside at either end. No biters, he guessed, the first thing about Vyna he liked. He’d take that as a promising start.
No need to keep out the cold either. The water surrounding the island was warm, the air still. If that was the sum of their seasons, he supposed he could get used to gloom and mist, though the abundance of glows hinted the Vyna themselves didn’t care for it.
The arch he chose led to a walkway, too narrow to call a road, neat, straight, and flat. Its black rock was inlaid with bands of white. The inlay caught the light from the glows, giving the darkness between the illusion of depth. He found himself reluctant to trust his footing.
To his inner sense, the Vyna were scattered throughout their island—all below this level—and on its water. None nearby.
Enris paused, startled. Many—too many—were Choosers. He could taste them, like a sweetness on the roof of his mouth. Everywhere. Yet none were Calling. That he’d feel.
They didn’t seek a Choice? How could that be?
Without knowing the capabilities of these Om’ray, he wasn’t about to lower his shields and reach for any one mind to ask. Nor was he going to let any Adept “scour” his. Whatever that meant.
The being-eaten part was, in any case, completely unreasonable. Whatever a “rumn” was.