…and into another Om’ray, who fell back with a startled “Ooof!” The Tuana kept running, now on pebbles. A soundless wail burned through his mind, hungry and enraged. Then a scream from behind, cut short…
The mist fell back. He found himself on a ramp, treacherous with loose stones. Ahead, the tunnel mouth he’d seen from the island.
And what he hadn’t seen.
Its massive, closed door.
Something moved behind him. Something hungry.
Enris lifted his hands, concentrated, and pushed.
With a shriek of stretched, abused metal, the door gave way.
He ran through the opening and never looked back.
Chapter 15
ARYL WASN’T SURPRISED TO FIND Haxel, who would miss nothing that moved near Sona from her perch, waiting by the empty river. “Here,” the First Scout greeted her, holding out a flask.
She gestured gratitude but took only a swallow to clear her throat. Best be blunt. “It’s not good news, Haxel. We have a problem.”
The scar twisted—not quite a smile. “I guessed as much from your rush to get here. Rorn’s cooking’s not that great. The Oud?”
“And Tikitik.” Aryl dropped down beside the other, twisting on the rock so she could see both tunnel mouth and village. “They confronted the Oud, claimed to be first here, demanded the Oud leave Sona. The Oud killed them.”
Haxel stilled.
“Thought Traveler arrived. It didn’t seem to care about the deaths or the Oud, only about what it called the balance. The Oud said they would maintain it.” She remembered something else. “And that more Om’ray were coming here.”
“That we know.” Haxel’s head dipped toward the Lay Swamp. “Quickly, too. Rorn’s put on extra. Mind telling me how many to expect?”
Startled, Aryl reached immediately, finding a tight cluster where no Om’ray belonged. “Fifteen.” She’d been too focused on herself, on Sona…As for their speed…“They can’t be on foot,” she blurted the obvious.
The First Scout gestured agreement. “And too low to be flying in one of your friend’s machines. I’m guessing Oud vehicles—at Grona, I saw one move faster on a road than I could run.” Had she raced with the Oud, just to find out? “Fifteen. Did the Oud say why they were bringing us guests?”
“Only that it had to do with the Agreement and balance.” Aryl shivered. “They almost killed me as well. I’m never sure I understand them, Haxel.”
A too-keen look. “No water?”
“Not yet.” Her hands sketched apology. “I should have stayed—tried to talk to their Speaker—”
Haxel shrugged. She unwrapped her legs from their comfortable folding and stood, Aryl doing the same. “We’ve fifteen people on their way here. Possibly injuries—the Oud being unaware of our limits. Confused and terrified—I’ve no doubt. That’s enough to deal with right now.”
Aryl turned toward the village. Before she took a step, the First Scout dropped a heavy hand on her shoulder. So your time’s come at last. There was no joy in the sending, only concern.
She didn’t look at the other. She couldn’t. I didn’t plan it.
We never do. Aloud, then, as if to avoid emotion. “If you can’t control yourself, tell me. I’ve dealt with a Sarc Chooser before.”
Aryl winced. Haxel meant her mother, Taisal. “I’ll be fine—”
“It’s not you I’m worried about.”
She had no answer for that.
“That’s it, then.”
“Seru—”
Her cousin’s stiff back expressed her opinion as she left the shelter. That, and the way she managed to slam home the stick that kept the door closed against the wind.
“You can apologize to her later,” Myris said gently.
Aryl transferred her glare to her aunt. “She’s the one being unreasonable!” They had Om’ray being dragged here—through tunnels, she very much feared, and undoubtedly against their will. They had Tikitik and Oud killing one another—for whatever reason. Marcus was alone with creatures who’d almost killed them both—not that she could share that bit of worry. And she was to apologize for—for—“It’s not as if I want any of them,” she grated out.
“Do you think that makes it easier to bear when you could have any?”
Aryl threw her armload of Sona bedding into a corner. Rock for a floor and a roof of blankets. Wind whistled through cracks that could fit her arm. No hearth for a fire. Half a wall on one side. Three oillights gave an illusion of warmth.
She kept on her coat.
This excuse for a building was across not one but two roads of tilted stone, with shattered homes and dead fields between. They’d been using it to store the jars of oil, the Grona having warned of the danger of those too close to sleepers.
Suddenly, without argument or discussion, it was necessary to put her here, even though they had room for the new arrivals in one of the four already restored.
“I don’t feel any different,” she grumbled. It was true. That episode with Marcus, when she’d been overwhelmed by her senses, had been the only one.
Myris straightened the blankets into something closer to a bed. “You will.” Her smile was a shade too cheerful. “You know we’re all happy for you. But you’re a Sarc.” A meaningful shrug. “My own time was—let’s say there was a reason I had to stay with our grandparents. Once I started my Call, no one could sleep.” Her smile softened; her eyes grew moist. “It wasn’t long before Ael came in answer. May you find joy soon.”
Given the options of trying to respond to her aunt, or pound a sliver of wood into a crack to hold her coat, Aryl found a rock and pounded. The wood split under the force, and she stung her fingers on the wall.
Myris sighed. “This is temporary, Aryl. You have exceptional control—you always have had. But a sleeping Chooser tends to—can be disturbing.”
“Seru sleeps with the rest.” As soon as she’d said it, Aryl gestured a grudging apology. Parths had less Power; their Chooser’s Call had almost no impact on others. It was the truth, if unkind to mention.
She envied her cousin. That was the truth, too. “I won’t stay here during the day—I’ve work to do. No one should treat me any differently.”
Her aunt came close. Her cool fingers brushed a lock of hair from Aryl’s brow, tucked it into its net, rested against her cheek. You may not feel it yet, little Aryl, but you are different. Since we’ve come to this cold place, being near you has been like finding a warm spot in the sun. Now, you’re like a flame. If I ever doubted what Taisal said about your Power… her sending faded beneath waves of pride and love.
The wind tested the blanket roof. Aryl searched those gray eyes, a mirror to her own. I don’t want this—I’m not ready. With a wrench of honesty. Why am I afraid?
Because Choice isn’t about control or planning or what you desire. Myris seemed much older in that instant, the gulf between Chooser and Chosen wider than the world. Choice is as inevitable and needful as breathing. When the unChosen who can fulfill you stands where I am now, you will lose yourself. When he takes your outstretched hand, you will be unmade. When your Powers merge and you have Joined minds forever, you will become something new. You will be changed by him, as he will be changed by you.
This wasn’t what unChosen eagerly whispered to one other about Choice. She’d feared exposing her secrets—now did she have to fear she’d no longer care to keep them? Was that what had happened to Bern? Have I no say in this?
Only what you are. As a Sarc—an upwelling of compassion— Choice will not come easy. We resist. We fight. We challenge. Only an unChosen able to match his will to ours can succeed.