A tendril of hair tickled her ear, expressing its opinion.
Aryl poked it into the net. “We don’t waste a drop,” she told the Oud. “We must have more than you send us!”
It reared and fell silent. A few lower limbs fidgeted. Throughout the clearing, other Oud stopped moving, as if she’d said something remarkable. Well, not all. One vehicle ran into the carts towed by another, both drivers unconcerned by the collision. But otherwise, she felt their attention. Eyes or not.
What had she said?
“ ‘More than,’ ” the Speaker said at last. “Why?”
“To grow food.” Oud lived with Tuana, who’d been farmers. The Grona, also neighbors to Oud, planted fields. The concept couldn’t be new to this one, Aryl thought, exasperated.
“Not fill courseways.”
Courseways. That was what the Tikitik called the shallow stone-lined ditches that crossed the valley floor. The only value they had, so far as Sona’s Om’ray could tell, was to deter rock hunters, who avoided them.
Because in the past they had filled with water.
Water the Oud clearly didn’t want them to have. Was this why it had gone back on its promise, that Sona would have the greater share? Had it realized—or been told by other Oud—what might happen?
What the connection might be—if there was one—she had no idea. Aryl drew herself up and lifted her pendant. “As Speaker for Sona, I promise we won’t fill the courseways if you return more water to the river.”
“Not fill if not water more than.” The creature managed to sound smug.
The not-real were different, not stupid. She usually didn’t forget, having Marcus as an example.
She winced inwardly. So much for her negotiation skills. “We’ll starve!” An exaggeration, given the stores at Sona, but the Oud might not be aware of those. “I thought you wanted us here.”
“Food enough. Water enough. Sona waste.” The cluster of limbs it used for speech folded into a tight knot.
No mistaking the end of a conversation.
I’m done, she sent to her Chosen, keeping her disappointment to herself. They could share the details on the walk home. A slow walk, she decided, in no hurry to explain her failure to Haxel. Finished your snack?
But before she could turn back to the Human’s shelter, the Oud Speaker lowered itself and approached her, slowly. Almost in reach, it hurriedly backed away, a flurry of small stones and mud hitting her legs. Before Aryl could protest, it did the same again: a slow approach, then hasty retreat, but not the full distance. This continued until it came to rest where she could have stretched out her hand to touch it—not that she would. She watched it rear, slowly, as if to assure her of its good intentions.
No, she realized suddenly. Despite its swollen bulk shading her from the sun, it was wary of her.
This was different.
The new Humans, or Human-shaped Strangers, gave up any pretense of ignoring what was happening and leaned in the doorway of the storage building to watch.
Enris?
Our Human’s being his confusing self.
He’s not the only one. She trusted Enris to deal with Marcus—or was it the other way around? Sometimes, Aryl thought distractedly, she wasn’t sure which of them she could trust to be sensible.
From this proximity, she had a too-good view of the Speaker’s underside. The flesh was glossy and pale, flushed in places with blue. The black limbs, hard and jointed like a biter’s, were in rows. Most were folded, like rows of neatly aligned utensils, though a few jutted at odd angles as if forgotten. Or broken. This close, it smelled of dust and the oil they used on their vehicles.
And decay.
Whirr/clicks settled to the ground around it—and her. She eyed them uneasily. The small black things were too like biters to be trusted, though none had shown an interest in Om’ray flesh. Yet. They clung outside tunnel entrances until an Oud came out, followed that particular Oud in an annoyingly noisy cloud, and would wait like this, occasionally milling around, unless another Oud moved nearby. Then they’d desert the first in a flurry of whirrs and clicks. Not that any of the other Oud in the clearing were moving.
She was stuck with them.
Worry that wasn’t hers.
Enris?
It’s complicated.
And he was fascinated. That couldn’t be good. Aryl glared at the Oud, as if it were to blame for her Chosen’s curiosity and the Human’s unlimited ability to provoke it. Say no. To whatever it is.
He immediately tightened his shields, letting her feel only a vague reassurance.
As if that helped.
Then she forgot all about Enris and the dangerous allure of Human technology as the Oud Speaker brought together two limbs and made a sound that was no sound at all.
Because she heard it in the M’hir.
It rang along her nerves and through her mind, like a distant bell. Once only. Larger than the world, smaller than a breath. Undeniable.
Aryl wasn’t sure what startled her more: that this Oud could make a sound in the M’hir, or that it did so as if expecting her to hear it.
Good thing her Chosen was distracted.
“Oud tunnel. Under. Safe is. Goodgood,” the Oud Speaker said next, word-making limbs working quickly, hunched as if to keep those words private or in a bizarre—and unsuccessful—attempt to whisper. “Sona Om’ray tunnel. All ways. Safe is. Secret. GoodgoodgoodGOOD.”
The Oud Speaker had been present for one ’port: when she’d been forced to save herself and Marcus from being buried alive during the Oud attack on the Tikitik. When the Oud had said nothing on the matter, she’d assumed they’d been too busy committing murder to notice how she and the Human survived.
If they had proper eyes . . . but who knew what they could or couldn’t sense?
Who knew what they thought?
“Good we talk. GoodgoodgoodGOOD!” The Oud Speaker swayed toward her as if about to topple. Aryl flinched but stood her ground. “Careful. CareCareCare.” Again the unheard bell. “Tikitik. Count. Follow. Measure.”
Not attention she wanted. “Tikitik here?” She tried not to look obvious as she searched the encircling edge of the grove for their lean shapes. The creatures were adept at skulking, their skin able to match their surroundings, but Haxel’s scouts knew what to look for—surely trespassers would have been noticed.
“Nonononono. Balance. Agreement.”
Something she’d find comforting if she didn’t know exactly what “Balance” meant to both Oud and Tikitik. Bad enough this Oud appeared able to comprehend their movement through the M’hir. At least it didn’t seem upset. Aryl was quite sure the reaction of the Tikitik would not be as calm. “How—?” She stopped.
Even the question felt dangerous.
The folded limbs opened along one side, moving with blinding speed in sequence to convey something from the lowermost part of its body. Aryl frowned. Oud had pouches of some kind down there. She’d yet to have a gift from one that didn’t come with trouble attached. “I don’t want—” She closed her mouth.
A Speaker’s Pendant came to rest, dangled from an upper limb. It was attached to a scrap of filthy fabric patterned black and white in the fashion of its former bearer, the Tikitik Speaker killed before her eyes by the Oud. The gruesome relic wasn’t offered to her. Instead the Oud shook it vigorously. “Count.” Another shake. “Follow.” Again. “Measure.” Then it passed the pendant to the opposite row of limbs. Each set went into opposing motion; when they stopped, the pendant had been replaced by something else.
A token.
What did it mean? Tuana’s Oud Speaker had given Enris his first; another Oud had taken it. Could this be the same one? Not that they were rare. A token was given to each Om’ray unChosen who took Passage, granting the right to trespass through the lands of Tikitik and Oud. The Yena exiles had had tokens when they arrived at Grona; only Enris had kept his, intending all along to seek Vyna. He’d brought it back with him, along with a handful collected from one of Vyna’s traps, to prove no unChosen should go there again.