“Taisal used to say the same about the Tikitik.”
Aryl’s thoughts scattered like biters tapped from a window gauze, settling in a new pattern. She hadn’t tasted Taisal’s presence in the M’hir since that day. It didn’t mean she wasn’t there; Taisal’s control in the other had advanced, too, and she had an Adept’s trained discipline. She might be able to hide among its currents.
As a comfort or threat? It would, Aryl decided, feeling as old as the ruins below, depend on whether they were on the same side or opposed.
“Did she find a way? To contact them?” She tried to sound vaguely uninterested and doubted it worked.
“No. We tried following them once, she and I.” Haxel stretched like a predator. “Before she was Speaker and Adept. I, First Scout. They lost us within a tenth.” As if that long-ago failure still rankled.
Aryl couldn’t wrap her mind around the image. Her mother…racing through the canopy after Tikitik on a whim? Taisal di Sarc had never been that young, or foolish.
Had she?
“Don’t worry, youngling,” Haxel went on. “I happen to agree with Cetto. The Oud showed some sense there, making you Speaker. You’ve already talked to strangers—which is more than Taisal or any Clan Speaker can say.” A too-innocent pause. “I wonder how our Marcus is doing?”
Aryl checked her shields, but it was only habit. Haxel couldn’t read her thoughts without her permission. The gibe was dangerously accurate, though; she hoped her face hadn’t shown anything. “All he wanted was to dig for the past in some hole.” The truth was always safer. “I’m sure that’s what he’s doing.”
“If it had been up to me…” The First Scout didn’t bother completing that sentence. Instead, she went off on another topic. “You’re right. We need the Oud back here. Get them to put water back in the river. Hoyon tells me going down their tunnel is out of the question—”
Only Haxel would consider such a thing. For once, Aryl was in complete agreement with the Grona Adept. Go beneath the ground, where the sun couldn’t reach?
Enris had barely hinted what it had been like. He hadn’t wanted to think about it. And he was Tuana—used to spending truenight under the pathetic glow of stars.
”—so what we should do is backtrack the one who did come. Either find more Oud, or find out what happened to that one. Have a story to tell its relatives, if need be.”
“You want me to go back up the valley.” Aryl paused, suspicious. “Alone?”
“The rest are busy.” That scar-twisting grin was a challenge. “You can practice that new Talent of yours without an audience.”
Other than Taisal, Aryl thought with an inward wince.
So much for the First Scout’s unusual patience over the last few days. She managed to gesture gratitude. If her gloves made it less than gracious, Haxel could take it as she wished. “While I appreciate the thought—” not much, “—I don’t need practice. I need—” She hesitated.
An esask would quail under the anticipation in those eyes. “Need what?”
To be desperate…?
The First Scout would gladly supply such a situation, Aryl knew. “Among other things, a peaceful, clear mind—” this, sincerely, “—which I won’t have until we’ve a water supply.”
Haxel settled back, again the image of patience. “You’re the Speaker.”
Patient only to a point. “I’d better get going.” Aryl tried not to climb down in haste. It might feel like an escape; unwise to make it look like one.
Husni had been right to warn her about Haxel’s “notions.”
Marcus Bowman lifted the lid from the first pot and waved his bioscanner over its contents.
“That’s no way to treat a gift,” Aryl complained from her perch on his table. She’d come straight here, reasoning it was the best place from which to launch her search for Oud—given there were some busy at work in the distance.
Besides, Marcus needed real food.
The Human grinned at her. “This is the right way. You don’t want me to be green and die. I don’t want that, too.” He went to her next offering, a fragrant loaf baked with pieces of rokly. The ’scanner shrilled a protest and he showed her its agitated display, for all the good that did. “See? You can eat this. I can’t.”
“Fine. You can have all of Lendin’s swimmer stew. I’ll eat the treat.” As she helped set out a pair of dishes, she glanced at him curiously. “You’re speaking much better.”
“I practiced.” He looked suddenly uncomfortable. “Would you like sombay?”
“Yes, please.” She’d never had to learn a language, but this seemed exceptional progress for a single fist, when he’d told her they’d studied words from the Oud for years. “I’m impressed.”
Instead of getting cups, the Human sat on his bed with a thud. “Geoscanner,” he said with a heavy sigh.
“Do you need it?” She hoped not, but it was his. She drew the device from its pocket and held it out. “If you don’t, I’d like to keep it.”
Instead of taking it, he tapped the side with one finger. “Comlink.”
The device he used to talk at a distance. Aryl opened her mouth, closing it as she understood. No wonder he looked like Costa when she’d caught him sneaking the last dresel cake. “You’ve been listening to me.”
“No. Not listening. Not. Collecting. Words. Phrases. Sentences. How Om’ray put words together. Syntax. When I had enough data, I ran through sleepteach.” A hint of pleading in his voice. “I don’t want to sound like an Oud.”
After sorting all this out, Aryl held up the geoscanner. “Show me how to make this so you can’t listen—collect—” when he tried to protest, “—any more words without my permission.”
He leaned forward and pressed a depression on one side. “This is off. Press again,” which he demonstrated, “and it is on.”
“And ‘on’ means you can hear me.” Satisfied, Aryl pressed the depression once more. “Off,” she asserted, putting the valuable device back in her pocket. “Now, how about that sombay?”
As Marcus moved to get their cups, Aryl considered him. They weren’t the same; there was, nonetheless, a tantalizing possibility. “You called it ‘sleepteach,’” she began. “Does that mean Humans dream to learn?”
“What is ‘dream’?”
“When you sleep, sometimes you feel awake. You can see things. Hear things. Dream. Don’t Humans?”
“Ah!” Marcus looked pleased. “Yes. Humans dream. Good dreams.” He feigned a shudder. “Bad dreams. Sleepteach is different.” Putting down the cups, the Human went to one of the many crates stacked on the counters, returning with a clear bag filled with metal threads and disks. “This sleepteach device.” He pulled out the contents and showed her how the disks fit against the sides of his forehead. “I sleep, this teaches what I want to learn. When I wake up, I remember new things.”
So it was the same, only under his control. “It gives you dreams,” Aryl concluded.
Marcus grimaced. “It gives me a headache. Pain here.” He pressed his fingers into his temples where the disks would go. “But works.” After a moment’s hesitation, as if debating with himself, he thrust the device at her. “You could use it to learn Comspeak, the language of the Trade Pact.”
Silly Human. Aryl chuckled. “Why would I want your words? I have my own.”
“With Comspeak, you could talk to any visitor, from any world, and be understood.”
“You understand me.” She had no intention of being drawn into more. “This is the world that matters to me.”
He shoved the sleepteach back in its bag, tossed that on his bed. Made unnecessary clatter getting the sombay into the cups and adding water. Bumped into the table and muttered in his own language. Put the cups down so hard they sloshed.