Wrong. Like everything else here. You should be together, he sent desperately. Let me take you home.
A hand, light and cool as mist, rested on his. It’s not for long. She slips from me if I’m not careful. Soon I’ll be of no use. Then I can go home.
Enris stared into the child’s patient, weary eyes. I don’t understand.
You’re lesser Om’ray. As if he should accept this.
As if he could. Mist curled over stone, muffled even their breathing. You shouldn’t be here alone. It was all he could find to send.
A shy smile. I think you’re nice, Enris Mendolar. And I’m not alone. Look, here comes Jenemir. Jenemir Vyna, she added formally. My name is Nabrialan Vyna. He can’t send very far. With pity.
Enris rose to his feet and turned to face the oncoming Om’ray. Like the Adepts, Jenemir was older than any Om’ray he’d met outside Vyna. He shuffled more than strode, one hand locked around a staff pressed with care to the pavement, its well-wrapped end preventing any sound.
Much longer here, Enris told himself, and he’d long for Olalla’s hiccups.
The child rushed to the old Om’ray’s side, looked up adoringly as she grasped his free hand. It took Enris a moment to realize the ferocious creasing of Jenemir’s face was a smile. This is Enris, Jenemir. Nabrialan’s sending was powerful enough. He’s nice. For a lesser Om’ray.
Eyes that were slits beneath thick lids gazed at him. A puckered hand wedged the staff under an arm, then was offered.
Enris didn’t dare hesitate, taking Jenemir’s cold and twisted fingers in his. The child is without her mother, he sent immediately, with undertones of urgency and concern. We must take her home.
Nabrialan lives with me. The sending was labored as well as faint. Had too many years sapped Jenemir’s Power as well as his body? It is Vyna’s way. Why are you here? His fingers twitched; Enris could feel the other’s mind fumble at his shields. Strong. Very strong. Shame you are lesser Om’ray.
The corner of Enris’ mouth quirked up, and he restrained a laugh. The Vyna were consistent, he’d give them that. Which is why I’m leaving, he informed the other, once I understand what powers your glows.
Nabrialan looked at the nearest fixture, then back at the Tuana. Powers the glows? Her sending was perplexed, as if Enris had asked why the sun bothered to shine above the mist. They light Vyna.
Jenemir’s face creased into its smile again. And well they do, little one, or we’d have rumn crawling the streets at night.
He hadn’t wanted to know that.
There’d been pride in the other’s sending to the child. You know how they work, he sent to Jenemir.
Definitely pride. Of course. Those who cannot gift the worthy or offer Choice still have their place in Vyna. I worked for many years on the fire below. Important work. Valued work.
You can’t be still unChosen. Enris hadn’t meant to share the thought, but Jenemir’s creases only tightened.
Of course, the Vyna sent again. Only the weak can survive alone. The Power’s need—it eats the powerful from inside. You can feel it, can’t you. A mercy to let them spend themselves to maintain the lives of their betters. The most powerful… He stopped there.
What about them?
If they are Vyna, they are Chosen. Our Choosers refuse any less. A hint of apprehension beneath his mindvoice; the gnarled hand trembled in Enris’. You shouldn’t be here. Your Power will tempt them. It’s Forbidden to Choose a lesser Om’ray. You must go.
Enris forced a smile. I’ll be gone as soon as you tell me about these glows. What is the fire below?
The other thought to refuse, but his shields were thinner than the gauze of Yena’s windows. Memories surged through his mind, memories of a lifetime spent working within an immense cavern, sensations so vivid Enris could feel the searing heat from its floor of molten rock on his skin, imagine his legs cramped with the effort of climbing stairs, his throat rasped by fumes.
A cavern. The Oud, he concluded with disappointment.
We have nothing to do with lesser races. Ground Dwellers dare not enter our cavern. Meddlers dare not cross our lake. The Vyna—this with overwhelming conviction—are not part of the outside world.
Molten rock explained the too-warm lake water, and the mist above it. It didn’t, as far as Enris was concerned, explain glows with no power cells. There had to be more. Something he could learn or take with him. What makes the glows work? he insisted, careful not to tighten his larger hand. Those old bones would break.
Why do you care? Nabrialan broke in, impatience under the words. Come, Jenemir. I’m hungry. Let’s go home.
The old unChosen looked down at the child. Go ahead, little one. I will make sure this lesser Om’ray goes where he belongs, then cook you a fine supper.
Enris watched the tiny figure in yellow skip down the roadway, the only life and color to be seen, her footsteps smothered by the mist. What will happen to her? he asked.
Nabrialan? She will sit on Council one day. Her unborn may even receive a Glorious One. She has great Power. As if this mattered most of all.
To the Vyna, maybe it did. If it led to this? A Council that squabbled over the memories of the dead, their greatest ambition for their children to bring those memories back to life? Om’ray who died were supposed to stay that way.
Vyna was as foul as its air.
The glows? Enris sent gently but firmly. In my Clan, I’m a metalworker. There are many things I can do with fire, Jenemir, but powering light from glows isn’t one of them. Tell me about them, please.
Vyna’s Heart. Instead of more words, another memory, this time deliberately shared. Enris was Jenemir as he stood before a machine larger than a Cloisters. Its lower surfaces took their color from the molten rock lapping against its base, reds and oranges, swirls and eddies of searing white against the black. There were moving parts, none of which made sense, most larger than an Om’ray. Some spun, some turned, others came and went through openings he couldn’t see.
What didn’t move was just as incomprehensible. Five massive “arms” had been driven up and into the ceiling of stone, or the stone had formed around them. Curls of pipe entered the molten pool, unaffected by its heat or seeking it. Openings that couldn’t be reached without wings.
And Om’ray, stripped to the waist, carrying cubes of black rock on their bent backs down long, narrow staircases. Cubes that were stacked by other Om’ray atop a wall of other cubes that ran along the near border of the molten pool, holding it back. From the height and breadth of that wall, the Vyna had been doing this longer than Enris dared imagine.
Not all the Vyna, he realized. Those without Power to give an Adept, or attract a Chooser. Their weakest unChosen.
Their expendable fools.
The glows? he sent, somehow keeping his disgust from Jenemir, though he no longer hoped for an answer. Even if he could understand the workings of this machine, even if he could build another—where else on Cersi was a cavern that melted rock itself?