Enris gripped her shoulder, bent to whisper in her ear. “Baby Grandmother knows something of the Tikitik’s meeting place.”
Aryl nodded. She forced down her fear for Naryn, concentrated on being Sona’s Speaker. Anaj. Tell me about this place. About the Tikitik.
Frustration. Cersi has changed. This is no longer my time.
The past matters, Aryl sent, confident of this if anything. The Tikitik pay attention to it. Om’ray must. You warned me about the swarm in baskets. It’s something they’ve done before.
Yes. Bleak. That’s how they move them to a new grove. Without warning. As if hoping to kill Om’ray. Or Oud. They can’t be trusted. They don’t think like we do.
They have a purpose, Aryl sent back, feeling Enris agree. Thought Traveler said I was a threat to Vyna, that Vyna must be protected.
They won’t lie, Anaj admitted. Not directly. Confuse and avoid and never say the whole of a thing, always.
Another who’d been Sona’s Speaker, Aryl realized abruptly, flattening her palm over the pendant. You wore this. Adept and Speaker, like her mother. She let out a sigh of relief. I need your help—
Remember what I am. Bitter. Bitter and afraid and hollow. I’m scrapings from when Sona flourished, when we were the largest of the ten Clans. Nothing more.
Ten? There were eight, counting newly restored Sona.
Which are gone? Enris asked.
A moment’s silence. The old Adept must feel the change in her world, know what was missing. Aryl held in her compassion; she didn’t think Anaj an Om’ray who’d value it.
Nena. None came to Sona in my lifetime. My grandfather . . . he remembered an uncle from Nena who did clever rope tricks. Extra thumbs.
The other . . . Anaj’s shields tightened, dampening her emotion. Xrona’s gone, too. My sister’s second Chosen was from there. Their children had his curls. He’d talk all truenight about his Passage, how he’d climbed through the canopy and dropped his glow when she Called so he had to wall himself inside a giant thorn bush to escape the swarms but nothing would stop him—
‘Second Chosen?’ Aryl interrupted. I don’t understand.
What’s to understand? With a return of the old Adept’s asperity. Her first drowned in the river. Fool never did swim as well as he thought. As for the rest of Cersi—
She survived his death? Enris, this time.
This time, Anaj hesitated a long moment. Then, Why does this surprise you?
Aryl steadied herself, then shared her memory of Myris at the instant she was Lost. Enris put his arms around her waist, shared inner warmth through their link. That’s why, Anaj, he sent. Our Chosen end together. Joining is for life.
Your link does feel different . . . it goes—startled—it goes through the Dark as well! How is that possible? What are you?
Something new, Aryl admitted. While the other was off-balance, she sent, with all the confidence she could, Which is why you should trust us, Anaj. Please. We will find a way to help you. Stay where you are. For now.
No answer. For Naryn’s sake, she hoped the old one listened.
A whisper in her ear. “I wonder where they were. Xrona. Nena. What is it?” As she stiffened.
“Nothing.” Aryl tried to relax.
But said aloud, she knew those names. Marcus Bowman had said them, parts of them. He’d claimed they were Hoveny words, spoke them in an order: Vy. Ray. So. Gro. Ne. Tua. Ye. Pa. Am. Nor. Xro. Fa.
She’d never forgotten the shock of that first time, hearing real sounds come out of his not-Om’ray mouth. Ye-NA. TuaNA. Hearing him say the names of Cersi’s Clans.
Eight now. In Anaj’s Cersi, ten.
Had there been more once? A Norna? Fana?
What other names did Marcus know?
It was as well for her peace of mind that the drone of the esan’s wings ceased just then. The ground began rising. They entered air full of a tangy scent, unlike anything she’d encountered before.
The basket tipped forward with the esan. Eager to see, Aryl leaned well over the edge; Enris grabbed for her belt, holding onto the opposite side. “Careful!”
The esan shook irritably and continued to plummet.
She ignored them both. What was below took her breath away.
Paired curves of white held back an expanse of glittering green-blue water, water that swelled and tumbled and roared toward them in matched lines without beginning or end. The curves edged a flat land, shaped like an open pod and covered in unfamiliar growth. Too even to be a grove, Aryl judged. The land stretched into the water, the border blurred as brown spilled into the water to stain it in thick bands.
The ocean.
She’d heard of it, tried to imagine it, failed. Undrinkable water she could comprehend—the Lay was foul. Unlike the Lake of Fire, the ocean had life; Amna Clan harvested swimmers along its edge. She lifted her gaze.
Like her first view of the sky, of stars at truenight, what she saw made no sense at first. Clouds like puffs of winter breath marched away to the horizon, smaller and smaller until they were dots. There, the water lost all texture, became dark as it collided with the sky and clouds in a ragged edge that refused to let her eyes focus. She could see forever. Too far. Too much. Enris . . . now comforted by his hold on her belt, sharing his awe at what confronted them . . . Enris, how big can the world be?
How small is ours?
Calm yourselves, Anaj sent. What you see is illusion, the mind’s trick to fill the emptiness beyond. Om’ray are the world. How could there be anything beyond us?
Not a question she should answer, Aryl decided.
Poor Anaj had enough to bear.
Tikitna.
The mauve-green growth, solid from a greater height, proved to be riddled with gaps as they descended. Some glinted, revealing a multitude of narrow, twisting streams; their brown water was sluggish, as if reluctant to enter the ocean and be lost. Other gaps bustled with movement: Tikitik and their beasts. No structures, but Aryl ran out of time to look. Their esan settled on top of the growth, cracking branches and stretching its long neck to snap and scream at its fellows as they arrived in turn.
“Hang on!” Enris shouted. His voice didn’t appear to bother the beast this time. Good advice, Aryl thought, hoping Naryn heeded it. Their basket swung below, still tied to the middle legs. The esan didn’t appear to care about that either, continuing to vigorously defend its chosen spot from all comers.
Remind me to stay home next time. Naryn’s mindvoice, steady and, if not strong, then reassuringly normal.
Anaj must have listened, Aryl thought with relief. “I’m going to climb down and find Thought Traveler.”
Her Chosen peered over the edge of the basket, probably assessing the height. You can’t do it without a rope, she sent fondly.
Enris straightened, rocking the basket, and laughed without humor. “Which one?”