Their children were already there.
Interlude
WATER GLINTED IN THE LIGHT from the oil lamps, black and slippery. Enris boldly stepped in and lowered his. “See?”
“The wet boot or the foolish Om’ray in it?” Yuhas asked. He’d caught up to them on the roadway.
Worin snickered.
“The water. See how it builds up behind the boot.”
“And over it.”
Enris smiled to himself. “Because the boot’s not big enough.” Before his brother found this funny, too, he sent a fond Behave, youngling. “That’s why you’re here. All of you.”
The Om’ray he’d summoned stood with him on the dry pebbled floor of the river, each carrying as many small lamps as they could manage, doubtless wondering if he’d lost his mind. Worin. Yuhas. Fon, Cader, and Kayd. Kran with Deran, leaking distrust through their shields. Though they’d come. Anything to do with secrets and Power, Enris thought ruefully. The Licor sisters, Josel and Netta.
Steps away, in the dark, Naryn di S’udlaat. Uninvited. He spoke knowing she listened.
“We’ll use lights to mark our line. Put them on the ground, spread out. We don’t have very—” The unChosen, delighted to be out when most of their elders were heading for bed, bolted to the opposite bank, lamps waving. “Watch for moving rock,” Enris shouted after them. Not that the hunters would risk the water, but he felt a twinge of Chosen responsibility.
A small twinge.
He resisted the urge to look up; clouds obscured his stars. He’d have to trust Marcus had been able to give them privacy. There was no way to know.
Enris took his lamps and placed them on either side of the narrow New River, splashing across and back with noisy relish. Yuhas met him, having placed his.
“What now?”
The unChosen returned, led by Worin, and stood waiting. From their anticipation, they’d decided this was a game worth playing. “Now,” Enris said, ruffling his brother’s hair, so like their mother’s, “Sona stops wasting water.”
Some things were better shown than told. Having picked his prize beforehand, he walked to it as briskly as the loose footing allowed. Confidence. That was the key. This would work.
Or he’d look like a fool.
Wouldn’t be the first time.
The chunk was a broken piece of Sona’s bridge. A disturbing reminder of the Oud’s strength. Enris patted it, stepped back, put his fingertips together, and concentrated. You, he told it unnecessarily, there. And concentrated.
Power answered.
The chunk quivered, then moved. Not through the M’hir—he didn’t dare risk where it might reappear—but through the air, graceful and slow. Larger than it first looked, having dug its own hole in the riverbed. He tried not to grunt with effort. Confidence.
When over the water, he let go. The chunk dropped and tilted and came to rest with a grind of rock to rock. And, he thought with glee, a much bigger splash than his boot.
The river spread and spread, before it found the way around.
“That’s the idea,” Enris added unnecessarily.
“Like the vat in our shop,” Worin said excitedly. “How our father—” his voice faltered, but he recovered. “It’s how we kept the melted metal flowing where we wanted. Into the right molds.”
“Or stopped it altogether.”
Yuhas leaped to the top of the chunk and let out a whoop that echoed out into the surrounding darkness. “This time we stop the river!”
Hush, Enris sent hastily. He’d prefer not to have the rest of Sona—and Aryl—arrive until this worked. The Yena couldn’t move a pebble with Power; on the other hand, nothing would move nearby he wouldn’t notice. Go be our scout.
To the rest: “Line them up on this side of the—” A loud chink! “—lights.” Enris turned with the rest to see a second chunk of stone, big as a home, sitting where one of the oil lamps had been.
“Sorry,” Fon said.
“Try to save some of the lights,” Enris suggested. “Husni will count them tomorrow.”
They moved the largest chunks and boulders first. Josel was steady and controlled; Netta’s rocks tended to swoop from side to side, prompting the others to dodge out of the way. Kran, silent and determined, worked as hard as anyone, but Deran’s control was worse than Netta’s. For the sake of everyone’s toes, Enris soon moved him to the far bank.
As he should have known, it quickly became a contest between Fon and Worin. Cader and Kayd, without this Talent but there because Fon was, busied themselves running through the dark to find the biggest possible hunk of bridge for him. Worin, Enris noticed with an inward grin, wisely picked smaller ones, so he moved more. There was laughter and a good amount of teasing. Kran edged closer while this went on, something wistful about him. Enris, between his own efforts, told himself he should speak to Worin and Fon, help the young Grona find a place.
His sister wasn’t his fault.
All the while, water found its way between the chunks, as if to mock them.
When they ran out of broken bridge, they began pushing smaller boulders into line. Many were still half the size of an Om’ray. Not so many laughs now. Enris wiped sweat from his face with his sleeve, wondering at Fon. The slight young Yena stood in the circle of light from one lamp, face composed and peaceful, while rock floated toward him from the darkness.
From where Naryn watched. He could almost feel her eyes burning the back of his neck. Why she was here was beyond him; it wasn’t her habit to seek him out, knowing he tolerated her solely because of Aryl. The Oud were easier to bear, despite what his Chosen might think. The not-real were beyond understanding or trust or blame, like bad weather. Naryn . . .
Suddenly furious, Enris almost released the boulder he was pushing too soon. He made himself focus and placed it with extra care.
This was why he avoided her, he thought bitterly. Naryn undermined his self control. Just standing there, in the dark, alone . . .
Always alone.
How did she bear it?
If it weren’t for the warmth of his link to Aryl . . . today’s loss, Ael and Myris . . . it had felt like losing Tuana all over again, his mother and father, all of them. If it weren’t for Aryl, he couldn’t imagine existing with that terrifying emptiness. That pain. His next heavy breath was closer to a sob. He reached for the link that held him to the calm clarity of Aryl di Sarc’s mind, and steadied.
Naryn had to feel the same. But she endured it alone.
Because she’d offered him Choice.
If he hadn’t been able to reject her, they’d be Joined now.
Enris stood very still. That was it, wasn’t it? The reason Naryn so thoroughly unsettled him. She’d never blamed him. Not for the baby, not for her fate. She’d accepted responsibility for what had happened to her, because of him. She’d done nothing since arriving but help his Chosen and their new Clan. The one Om’ray he’d considered utterly selfish proved herself otherwise day after day.
No unChosen should have been able to reject her Choice, as he did. How could she have been prepared for that? Could she have stopped herself? Was it even possible for a Chooser, once committed to Join?
Questions he’d never thought to ask, until feeling the irresistible Power of Aryl di Sarc, until being Joined himself.
Until now.
“Enris?”
“I’ll be right back, Worin,” he said, turning away. “More rocks.”
Naryn waited as he approached, invisible to his inner sense, a silhouette against the lights of the village. He halted a few steps away, finding himself in the unfamiliar situation of not knowing what to say.
She drew her own conclusion from his silence. “I’ll leave.”