In the air? From the glint in Daryouch’s eye, he knew better than to ask. Dutifully, Enris copied Etleka’s position.
Hold. No matter what.
Enris braced himself within the metal leaf, boots against a floor bar, his back to the one that crossed the width.
Power. This time not to move anything, but to summon.
It was like the Call of a Chooser, but immeasurably stronger. And, like so much of Vyna, Enris realized it was not…quite…
…right.
Even as he grasped that the summons wasn’t meant for him, a small shape appeared in the mist, flinging itself toward them. It collided with the net, and Etleka grinned. Denos, he sent. Supper!
Then the mist was full of flying shapes. The denos seemed oblivious to the net, quickly becoming entangled in such numbers that Enris copied Etleka and fastened his rope to the bar. The two plucked the swimmers free and dropped them to the floor where they fell through the gaps, a writhing harvest of silver and black that soon spilled over the bars and flopped around their feet.
The summons ended. With a final splash, the last denos dropped into the water on the other side of the float, safe for the time being.
Etleka clapped Enris on the shoulder then began folding up the net.
“Let me help,” the Tuana said without thinking.
HUSH!
No missing the fear. The Vyna looked horrified; Daryouch furious as well. Both froze in place, staring into the mist.
Something was there.
Enris wasn’t sure how he knew, but he stared as well.
The float rocked once, gently.
Something approached.
His inner sense. That was it. But how? How could he sense something in the water?
Not with his inner sense, he realized with a shudder, but with what connected him to the M’hir. That was where he felt that cold, strange touch. It wasn’t Om’ray. But real. Alive.
The Vyna had summoned something from the depths, something to terrify the denos into their net.
And now it hunted his voice.
He pulled his knife, gripped the bar with his other hand, and readied himself.
Put that away. For once Daryouch didn’t feel angry. A rumn can swallow three floats with one gulp. Stay still and make no more sound. It should leave.
That was a rumn?
No wonder the tiny swimmers thought leaping into the air was safer.
Enris wanted to join them.
Two days in a row and he hadn’t been eaten.
Enris decided he was pleased. He also decided to avoid extremely large hungry creatures on the premise a third encounter could be his last.
After an endless tenth waiting for the rumn, whatever that was, to choose not to eat them, they returned to the platform. He helped Etleka unload their catch, now fully understanding why the Vyna didn’t care to speak out loud—particularly by the water.
How do you eat them? he asked Daryouch, eyeing the still-flapping denos with ravenous intent. If they said raw, he’d take that plump one first.
Flatcakes. This from Etleka, with an image of white flesh, shredded and spiced, shaped into disks and fried a crisp brown.
Stomach growling, Enris licked his lips. I’ll take a few of those.
Stranger! A harsh summons. The Tuana glanced up at the grim-faced pair on the platform. They could have been Daryouch’s brothers and were dressed like the denos-catcher, except for the green metal rod each carried, about the length of an arm. Tool or badge of office?
An escort, that he knew. Enris gave the dying denos a wistful look, shrugged at his companions—who turned away to become too-obviously busy with their catch—and climbed out of the float. Supper? he asked.
In answer, they pointed the rods left.
Not up? Enris shrugged again and started walking. The pair set themselves one to each side, as if to make sure he didn’t elude them by diving into the mist-covered, rumn-infested water or choose to walk into a rock wall. As he had no intention of harming himself, he projected a mild amusement.
They didn’t respond. He hadn’t expected they would.
The platform met another that turned a sharp corner. One of the bridges loomed ahead, a black tongue tasting the mist. Enris lengthened his stride to get past the dangerous thing. To his dismay, his escort stepped in his way, rods pointing where he least wanted to go. Enris stopped dead. “You—” before they could object, he switched to a sending, a most emphatic one. You can’t expect me to walk on— “OOF!” The sound whooshed out as a rod poked him firmly in the stomach.
Hush!
Enris braced himself to grab the next bit of metal aimed his way, but the two merely waited.
If you plan to feed me to the rumn, he sent, keeping his feelings—which were intense on the subject—firmly behind his shields, you’ll have to pick me up and throw me in. If they tried, he vowed, they’d go in first.
The pair exchanged looks. You’ve been summoned to Council, stranger. We’re to make sure you arrive safely.
He stood a better chance with Vyna’s elders than their odd Choosers, Enris assured himself, feeling more cheerful. He had the right smile, according to his grandmother. Resisting the urge to rub his abused middle, he gave a little bow. Lead the way.
One did. The other motioned him ahead. Enris took a deep breath and followed, taking the smallest possible steps once on the bridge. It was worse than climbing a branch in the canopy. At least there, he could hold on to something. Here he felt as though he tipped from side to side. Not to mention the mist obscured the footing. He slowed. Despite that care, one foot slipped. He stopped.
Take hold.
Of what? His escort? These Vyna, however, were better prepared than those who’d met him on his arrival. Rather than offering a hand, the one in front swung his rod back, taking hold of the rod from his partner.
Railings.
Enris stifled a laugh sure to attract the wrong kind of attention. Clever.
Take hold.
Trust them, or knock them all into whatever lay hidden in mist. Enris locked his right hand around the rod to that side, his left to the left.
Whether their confidence came through that contact, or it was their matter-of-fact strides, Enris soon found himself able to ignore what was—or wasn’t—under his boots. Mostly. But just as he estimated they’d passed the halfway point, his escort slowed, then stopped.
Why? There was nothing here. Just as Enris was about to point this out, and suggest a return to ground wider than his shoulders, he realized they weren’t alone.
Om’ray.
Not ahead…
Below.
The mist ahead blazed yellow, then parted, sliding from the bridge with palpable reluctance. Enris found himself staring down at a familiar pair of metal doors, slowly turning open. Their movement pushed aside the mist, let light from within touch his face.
Vyna’s Cloisters.
The bridge ended here, with these doors. Between them, a set of stairs carved from black rock led down, steeply down. Enris couldn’t see the end of them. Water lapped, unseen. Mist began to slink back around his legs, explored the opening.
The rods in his hands twisted, he let go and their owners reclaimed them. Go. You will be met.
He gestured gratitude. I thank you for your care.
Both Vyna stared at him, their heavy lids half closed. Then, Do not expect a welcome.