Aryl didn’t take her eyes from Haxel. “Go.”
“She’s mine,” said the voice from Seru’s lips. “Mine forever. Get out of my way. It’s time to rut. Maybe she’ll scream. Scream for me, my Chosen.”
Grim-faced, the First Scout whirled and left, hand on her knife.
Aryl’s mind was already elsewhere. She opened to the M’hir, sought within it for Seru. Drew her close.
Aryl? There…wistful…so small…
Sought Mauro. Drew him, too.
WHAT IS THIS PLACE!??
She ignored his loud gibbering fear, though it set the M’hir into wild motion. She concentrated, searching the chaos for the bond connecting the Tuana to her cousin.
There. As she’d dared hope, it was still forming. Pulses of Power attached themselves one to the other, most being drawn from Seru to Mauro. Nothing peaceful about it, nothing willing. Nothing of joy. He took, causing harm for his own gain, as a Tikitik would drink blood from an osst.
She would not allow it.
GET AWAY FROM US!
He was powerful. Brave, in his way.
Another part of Aryl heard: “We’re here.” Another part of Aryl stretched out a hand, felt a palm, clammy but strong, took hold.
Most of what she was remained in the other and sought the new arrival there.
Ezgi.
A blaze of light, of Power. Solid, afraid but unshaken by his surroundings. A song in the Dark. Aryl fought the temptation to go closer.
SERU! As she called, she gathered, tearing what she tasted as her cousin free of Mauro. As the M’hir seethed and boiled in protest, she thrust Seru toward Ezgi.
Eagerly, they reached for one another. Aryl pulled back, readied herself.
NOOOO!!!
Mauro resisted, grabbed for Seru. Aryl struck, severing each link as he made it. Each time, a new one sprang into life between Ezgi and Seru. Over and over. The two slipped closer and closer.
The two were one.
And all that remained in the M’hir was Mauro Lorimar.
CHOOSER! I AM FREE!
He was a storm within a storm, riding its violence with his own, triumphant. COME TO ME NOW!
Links began to form between them, pulsing, potent. She reeled, tried to evade, to escape. Others were helpless. She felt them, their fear for her. All it did was stir the force within the M’hir, weaken her.
She was losing…no matter how she fought…no matter how he repulsed her…she would be his…
MINE!!
Then, she was alone, the M’hir almost peaceful.
Aryl opened her eyes and promptly threw up, gesturing an apology to the owner of a too-near pair of boots.
Boots already splattered with blood.
Explaining the peace.
She staggered to her feet, helped by strong hands from behind, and gave Mauro’s husk barely a glance. “Seru?”
Haxel, busy cleaning her knife, tipped her head. “There.”
Seru stood with Ezgi, right hands clasped, left hands exploring one another’s face and hair with a tender preoccupation that answered any question she might have.
Husni’s wrinkles creased deeper. “This won’t do,” she declared. “It won’t.”
Aryl opened her mouth to argue, but Taen’s fingers brushed hers. Don’t worry.
The elderly Om’ray took Seru by the shoulders and pulled the two apart. “I’ve never seen such foolishness. There must be time apart, then a proper bathing. Go at once, young sud Parth.” Ezgi’s shy smile and blush matched Seru’s. “Someone find him decent clothes. Haxel, clean up your mess. Hurry now!”
The First Scout carefully didn’t smile. “At once, Husni.”
Seru looked at Aryl, her eyes dancing. “How can we…”
“Tradition!” Husni insisted. “As for you, Aryl Sarc.” A summons not to be ignored.
Aryl stepped up to the tiny Chosen, wiping her mouth on a sleeve.” Yes, Husni.” In her best, most polite tone.
Husni beckoned, and Aryl bent. Cool, crooked fingers stroked her cheek, sending a flood of gratitude and pride, then snapped smartly under her chin. “Some sleep this truenight, if you don’t mind?”
“I’ll do my best, Husni,” Aryl vowed.
“Impressive.”
Aryl shrugged, regretting the motion as it sent a thrill of pain across her forehead. Breakfast might help. Or time. She wouldn’t ask Oran. “It shouldn’t have been necessary.”
“It shouldn’t,” Naryn pointed out, “have been possible. Tamper with Choice? Switch Chosen in the midst of Joining? How did you know how?”
Aryl didn’t want that kind of Power. To meddle in Choice. But seeing Seru herself again, seeing her joy with Ezgi, who was as thoroughly besotted and kind as her cousin had ever wished?
Safe from whatever Mauro Lorimar had been?
She’d do it again.
“It shouldn’t have happened at all,” she repeated. “We need to protect those who are—who can’t protect themselves—before it’s too late.”
The Tuana hung the next blanket over the line, straightening it with great care. Most had been soaked from below as the dirt thawed during the ’night. They could use, Aryl thought with distraction, a proper floor.
“In Tuana,” Naryn said slowly, “an unChosen first seeks the approval of the Chooser’s family. We receive more strangers on Passage than most Clans. Pana, often. Amna. Rarely Grona or Yena. A meal together, conversation. Time together, a chance to find a good fit. UnChosen aren’t rushed.”
Criticism? Aryl bristled. “Seru waited a long time. It’s no wonder—”
“It’s no wonder,” Naryn agreed. A lock of red hair writhed free of its net; the Yena fashion had pleased her, but she would need more than braided thread. “Denied, the urge becomes overwhelming. If you have to wait long enough, you might be tempted by Deran.”
Never, Aryl thought grimly.
Haxel would be watching to see how closely Deran had followed his friend. Mauro had been an abomination, however tolerated or ignored by the Tuana.
As for Naryn…“Did you have to wait too long? Is that why you tried to force Enris Mendolar?” There, she’d said it.
Long, shapely hands paused on the next blanket, then continued moving, spreading it along the line. “He’s here?”
“He was. He took Passage.”
Naryn tilted her head, like a flitter studying a biter. “You wanted him, too.”
“I never hurt him.”
“No,” the Tuana said softly, “I don’t suppose you did. He left before you were ready.”
“What does that—”
“It means that Choosers of exceptional Power, like you, like me, are not comfortable partners.” Naryn’s smile was bitter as she brought out a flat, wrapped package, small enough to hide on her palm. It was so like a portion of dresel that Aryl’s stomach growled. “A gift for your future, Aryl Sarc. What Tuana’s Adepts use to ease the Joining of those of greater Power. A quarter, dissolved in water. Share a cup with your Candidate. If I’d known—well, I no longer need it. You may.”
“What is it?” Aryl didn’t touch the package; she couldn’t take her eyes from it.
“Somgelt. We trade with the Oud for it.”
Somgelt was found in some rastis pods, a parasite on its seeds. Yena used an extract to coat their stairs and ladders, to keep away the hunters of the Lay Swamp. “Poison.”
“Safe,” Naryn countered, “if used properly.” She tucked it away. “I’ll keep it for you.”
Aryl ignored this last, worried by something else entirely. The Oud could only obtain somgelt from the Tikitik. Wood for the Oud tunnels, she could understand. Metal for the Tikitik. But this? “Do the Oud know how you use it?”
A puzzled frown. “You ask the oddest questions.” At Aryl’s look, “No. Why would the not-real know or care what happens in a Cloisters?”