Short of the riverbank, the lead vehicle abruptly turned toward her. The platform it towed slewed to one side and small forms flew off, rolling in the snow.
“Stupid Oud!” she shouted. “Stop!!!”
For a wonder, they did.
For a moment, all that moved were snowdrops, sighing and whirling through the air.
Then the forms on the ground began to stir. One groaned. Aryl ached to go to them, but she had to be sure the Oud wouldn’t start their machines again. She marched up to the closest and put herself in its way, her hand on the front of the machine. “I’m the Speaker.” Loud and clear. “Wait. Let us look after our people.”
The Oud loomed over her, a shadow made indistinct by the snow and down-pointed light. “Speaker,” it agreed. Then, “Yours. Goodgoodgood.”
Aryl doubted the poor Om’ray, unsteadily climbing from the platforms into the snow, would agree, but she didn’t budge. “Wait here while we help them. Don’t move. Do you understand?”
“Cold is. Leave. Quickquickquick.”
Somehow, she didn’t think this was a statement of concern for the Om’ray, though it was interesting to learn the Oud didn’t like the cold any more than she did. She sent urgently: Get away from the vehicles! The Oud are moving.
Sure enough, the Oud in front of her flung itself back down with every appearance of haste, snow flying from its cloak. She had to dive out of its way as its vehicle swerved and bounced back to the tunnel, the others following as if pursued.
Taking their lights went with them.
For a moment, the only illumination was from Aryl’s small oillight. She raised it over her head, reached for the others, found them. Help comes! she sent, adding reassurance and welcome.
The Oud were gone. The Om’ray they’d unceremoniously dumped on Sona’s road were disoriented and afraid. Aryl hurried to the nearest group, brushed her hand over a shivering shoulder, across a hunched back, sent strength through each contact. She rushed to the next, seeing a blur of pale faces and outstretched hands, hearing muted sobs. She didn’t bother to speak, merely touched, gave, and moved on.
Thankfully, Seru was there, too, a shadow helping others stand, murmuring words of comfort.
Four of the last group, those who’d been thrown, were back on their feet. They parted to let her light through, let her through. Aryl touched hands, arms, a leg, then dropped to her knees, dizzy with effort, to reach the last—an Om’ray crumpled in the snow.
Behind her, Haxel and the others charged up the riverbank, bearing lights and blankets. Voices shouted—orders, greetings, questions.
Aryl found her own. “You’re safe.” That they needed to know, first and foremost. “This is Sona. We’ve food for you, shelter. A Healer.”
“Sona.” From one of those standing. Female. “Who are you?”
Before she could answer, another voice intruded. “The Chooser.” Deep, male, and regrettably loud. “I told you, Kor. She Called me here.”
She had? Aryl crouched lower, as if the snow would hide her.
“I offer you Choice, unChosen.”
Aryl twisted around. Seru? “Wait,” she began, knowing only that this couldn’t happen. Not here, not now. Not like this. These were strangers, moving hulks in the dark only their senses said were Om’ray. Seru hadn’t met them. She didn’t know who they were, why they’d come. Who was kind…“The storm! We have to get to shelter first!”
She didn’t exaggerate. The snow now fell in a flood, each ’drop thick and sticky, their sum filling the machine tracks and coating the shivering forms around her. The wind was less, but the air hurt to breathe. Marcus had been right. They couldn’t stay out much longer.
An Om’ray who rivaled Enris in size staggered forward, shoved another out of his way. Seru stood waiting, her hand now outstretched.
Stop them!
The mindvoice was unfamiliar; the message set Aryl in motion. “No!” She lunged to intercept him—another Om’ray got in her way. She dodged him—they were all slow—too slow for a Yena. Unworthy! “Wait!”
Stop them!
The stranger grabbed Seru’s hand, roughly, pulling her off-balance toward him. One of them cried out. Exultation or despair—she couldn’t tell. The rest backed away, leaving the two isolated in the snow, heads bowed.
Too late… The figure on the ground, the one who’d protested, struggled to her feet. Numbly, Aryl took her hand to help, gave what strength she could spare.
Thank you. The gratitude came through impenetrable shields. This was no ordinary Om’ray.
Aryl couldn’t take her eyes from Seru, dwarfed by the larger unChosen, both motionless. Whatever occurred between them, it was on a level her inner sense didn’t touch. She knew better than to try to find it. She could only hope for the best, for someone Seru would have wanted.
And, more practically, for them to come out of their trance before they froze to death.
You should have stopped them. Almost exhausted. Who lets a Chooser…a Chooser… the mindvoice faded.
“Here.” Slipping her shoulder under the other’s arm, Aryl took a grip around her waist. The rest were forcing their way through the knee-high snow to the lights and sound; she didn’t blame them. “There’s a short drop, a climb, then we’re home. Don’t worry. You’ll have help.”
Help now arriving. Too slow. Too late. Taen passed her, heading for Seru, urgency in every step.
“Our Chosen know what to do.”
Too late…
The Om’ray she assisted was taller by a head, though slender. Dressed for warmer weather, Aryl thought unhappily as they labored through the snow drifts. The fabric of her coat was soft and too thin. At least they had Grona-style boots, from what she glimpsed by her light.
Or were they?
The Oud hadn’t taken a direct route here. They all been puzzled by the twists and redirections as the others approached, unsure which Clan had lost these members. “Tuana,” she guessed abruptly.
“Yes.” The hoarse voice broke into a cough. She shifted back to mindspeech. We believed the Oud took us from the world. A hint of terrible fear, quickly hidden. Thank you. I am in your debt. We all are.
Reeling herself, Aryl took more of the other’s weight as the footing grew treacherous. Almost to the others now, to more light, to help. She strained to look back. Another group followed. Seru and Taen, with Seru’s Chosen. “No debt,” she managed to reply. The plight of these poor Tuana could well be her fault, something she wasn’t about to explain.
Who are you?
“Aryl Sarc.”
I am Naryn S’udlaat. And your friend, Aryl Sarc, from this moment.
Chapter 16
THE STORM SETTLED IN THE VALLEY, laying down snow, packing it into cracks and crannies with fitful pats of wind. The village became so many lumps in the landscape; what was restored indistinguishable from what had been destroyed. No one stirred outside. A curl of smoke was the only argument for life.
As far as Aryl could tell, no one cared. This latest storm was an excuse for the exiles’ first prolonged rest and the arrival of the Tuana, whole if battered, had ignited a celebration that showed no signs of ending.
As for Seru’s Joining? With a supple adaptation of tradition, Husni and Taen had whisked Seru away to Sona’s third building, home to both Uruus and Vendan families, there to spend her first truenight as a Chosen. Receiving, no doubt, a great deal of unsolicited and highly intimate advice.