Five days of doing whatever he was told, without argument or complaint. Of giving the Vyna time to grow used to his presence. Hopefully, time enough so they wouldn’t feed him to the denos’ unseen nightmare.
Any stranger had to prove his worth. But what Etleka held in his hand?
There was, Enris thought cheerfully, always the moment best behavior ended. “You can’t make me wear it.”
Stop talking out loud. Etleka held out the cap, a sparkling confection of blue and green, complete with yellow tassels. Everyone stares at your head when we go out. It’s embarrassing.
“Doesn’t bother me.” Enris deliberately ran his fingers through his thick hair and added to his list of having behaved very well five days of talking—not talking—to no one but the two denoscatchers, neither of whom communicated a thought that wasn’t about either denos or catching them. Unless it was to complain about his strangeness and having to put up with him.
He tried not to think of the five truenights he’d been left alone in this windowless bedroom. Every ’night, once asleep—he could only stay awake so long no matter how he tried—once asleep, he would hear the chant of Vyna’s Council and Adepts echoing through the corridors of the Cloisters, an incoherent howl like something with teeth and terrible appetite, watched by bodiless eyes that pressed against the windows.
“You have no idea, my friend,” Enris said peacefully, leaning back in the chair and crossing his long legs, “how long I can talk out loud. Let me start with my grandmother. Did I tell you she had a—”
You’re impossible. Etleka placed the rejected cap on the table and flopped gracelessly into the other chair. Those furnishings and a narrow bed competed for what space there was. The other two rooms were no larger.
The Vyna had done more than cut into the island, they’d tunneled completely through it, like Oud. Enris had discovered the massive shard of rock was hollow, as if rotted from within. Where the rock narrowed—at its peak and ends, a single room might have doors to the outside piercing three of its walls. At its thickest, like here, along the lower levels, rooms opened only to other rooms. Vyna had no hallways inside its rock. Workrooms, including the one where he’d gutted denos were on the outside, with windows. Anyone going home had to walk through them first, then continue through whatever other rooms were in the way.
Many of those rooms were empty. Vyna had been more populous once.
I’m not impossible, he sent, inclined to peace now. I work hard. I’m pleasant.
You think that matters? Etleka replied scornfully. You’re lesser Om’ray. That you made it here past the mountains and water doesn’t change anything. You can’t be here, and you can’t leave. You have to die.
Enris grinned. Haven’t yet.
Even a Vyna’s laugh was soundless, a gaping of the mouth, a shake. No. You tossed a rumn into Council, that’s for sure. The younger Om’ray’s mindvoice was decidedly pleased. They’re still in session, arguing. Until that’s settled, you can help with the denos.
Arguing about what?
I shouldn’t talk about such things.
Oh, he knew that look. He’d see it on Worin’s face, when his little brother ached to tell a secret to someone. If they’re going to kill me eventually, Enris sent, with a deliberate hint of amusement, why not tell me? I’m curious.
Beyond curious. Desperate.
Patience, he told himself, keeping his body and face relaxed.
Tarerea Vyna, the High Councillor. She claimed the Glorious Dead for her unborn, used it before the others had a chance. There should have been a vote. Disdain. Not that they’d have agreed on anything.
What’s a “glorious dead”?
Etleka’s eyes widened. You really are lesser, aren’t you? Don’t you know anything?
The Tuana imagined a certain Yena’s response to this and gave his best smile. Maybe not. Tell me.
When an Adept can no longer be kept alive through the gifting—that is my future, the unChosen added with pride—I am strong. One of their servers will fail soon, and I’ll be Called. They won’t Call you. I’ve heard they fear your taste will be sour.
Remembering the unChosen waiting to give their strength to those too-old bodies, Enris was mutely grateful.
When an Adept is close to death, Etleka continued, another scours the memories from her mind and puts them in a Vessel. When an unborn is ready, she receives the Glorious Dead. It doesn’t always work. The unborn can be willful and refuse the gift. If it does work, a new Adept is born, with the memories and Talents of the one gone before.
Vile. Horrible. Enris fought the urgent desire of his stomach to express its own opinion, fought to keep his shields tight and to project only curiosity. How could they do this to the unborn? What were the minds behind those old eyes?
So the argument is about Tarerea?
Another grin. Etleka had likely never had so eager a “listener.” They argue about you, Enris. You brought a new Vessel to Vyna, the first ever. They want more, badly, but no Vyna would leave and be contaminated by the world beyond. They could send you. You are already ruined. But you can’t be trusted to return. You can see their problem. Some want you dead now. The rest argue for a delay, saying you could be neutered, made useful while they try to find a way.
Neutered? Enris didn’t care for the feel of the word—or the satisfaction that came with it.
Not that any Vyna Chooser would crave a lesser Om’ray, but if it happened? Nothing can stop Choice and Joining. All that can be done to protect the Chooser from her misjudgment is to remove— Rather than send an image, Etleka spread his legs and pantomimed the slash of a knife. Those of feeble Power cannot be allowed to breed.
“You expect me to believe you mutilate Chosen?” The outburst rang against the walls. Enris didn’t care. “I may be new to Vyna, my friend, but I’m not stupid.”
The other jumped to his feet, pale face flushed with anger. Ask Daryouch, then.
“Your father?”
At the door, Etleka gave Enris a scathing look over his shoulder. I had none. Not with grief—with pride.
Once the incomprehensible Vyna was gone, Enris leaned his head back and closed his eyes. If his future was set, this lesser Om’ray needn’t risk his life “helping” catch denos.
What should he do?
The irony didn’t escape him. If there was any unChosen on Cersi the Vyna shouldn’t worry about contaminating their precious Choosers, it was him. He hadn’t come in answer to a Call. To be honest, he found the one Vyna Chooser he’d met as appealing as an Oud and had no higher expectations from the rest. He felt no urge whatsoever to Join any of them.
He fingered the knot of hair at his throat. He’d come here to help all Om’ray and found the only ones who wouldn’t. No wonder Thought Traveler had been amused.
If the Vyna thought he was going to sit here while their strange Council and withered Adepts decided his fate…
He laughed loud and long.
…time to misbehave.
Enris delayed only to change into his own clothes. The Vyna garments, he left lying on the floor.
Now to find something worth taking.
Each truenight, sent to his bed, he’d listen to the door being locked. It wasn’t now, Enris discovered when he went to break it open. Either he’d angered Etleka to the point of carelessness, or the unChosen had no idea how uncooperative a lesser Om’ray could be. Grinning, the Tuana investigated the main room, where Daryouch prepared and served their meals, but its few cupboards contained nothing but dishes, utensils, and clothing. Perhaps the Vyna had no need for preserved or dried foods, going out daily to catch the hapless denos.