“Wrong again.”
Thought Traveler’s head lifted slightly. “Which does amuse me.”
All four eyes, Enris told himself. Blind it. Then kill it.
I have my knife. Aryl’s pragmatic offer startled him to sanity.
What was he thinking? Kill Thought Traveler for the truth?
Kiric wouldn’t live again.
Om’ray violence here would end any hope of negotiating with the Tikitik.
No. As much to himself as his fearsome Chosen. More calmly, though I do appreciate your willingness to slit throats for me.
“We’re falling behind,” he told the waiting Tikitik, and turned back to follow Naryn.
Watch your step.
The sending from Aryl came before they caught up to her.
“What—?” Naryn’s foot skidded sideways. Enris lunged for her, only to have his boot sink deep, black mud bubbling over it. Bubbles that released fresh rot.
I told you to be careful.
You call that a warning? Naryn sent indignantly, pulling free to take a second lurching, sliding step. Her boots sank in as well. After a few steps, the white hem of her Adept’s robe was thoroughly stained. You get to explain this to Oran.
Mild dismay fading as Aryl’s concentration shifted.
No Aryl-sized footprints marred the path ahead. Enris glanced up at the branches and shook his head. “She cheated.”
Thought Traveler passed them, barking good humor, its long-toed feet spread wide and not, Enris noticed, sinking at all.
Leaving him alone with Naryn. “Wait.”
She looked at him, raised one dark-red eyebrow.
Enris dug into his inner pocket and drew out the sleepteach device. “Take this, Naryn. Put it somewhere safe.”
He might have asked her to touch an Oud. “What is it?”
“We don’t have time.” He thrust out the hand with the device. “Keep it safe. And don’t let them see it. Or Aryl,” he added.
If anything, the eyebrow went higher, but Naryn took it in her long-fingered hand. He wondered belatedly where she could put it, but she simply slipped it within what had looked a seam. Why was he surprised? Adepts needed pockets, too.
They were still alone—but not for long, he was sure. Aryl would take what risks she must; he was only as safe as his Chosen. Someone else had to know, be able to use it. He offered his right hand. “Naryn, please,” as she hesitated, her expression strange. “I have to show you how it works.”
She crossed her arms, rejecting any touch. Of course, he realized, chagrined. He’d offered the hand of Choice. Cold, distant. It’s from the Human, isn’t it? Just to him.
Yes. It can teach us their words. If his feet hadn’t been stuck in mud, he’d have bounced from one to the other with impatience. Not a good idea, with Naryn.
Show me, she sent at last.
Enris shared the memory of how the device was used. Not enough, he realized. He lowered his shields to let her feel his conviction , his urgency. Naryn, if anything happens to us, ’port to Sona. Warn them. If the Tikitik come after you, use this. Go to Marcus for help—
Her revulsion hit like a blow. Never!
Impossible, stubborn Om’ray. Shields back, Enris grabbed her hand, ignoring her wince. Do you think an empty Cloisters can save us? Naryn tried to pull free; he held tighter. She had to listen. The Strangers have technology beyond anything on Cersi. Marcus is the only hope left if the others turn against us. You can trust him—
The only one I trust is Aryl! She threw PAIN at him. LET ME GO!
Enris opened his hand and she flung herself back, glaring at him. With an effort, he made himself not glare back. Aryl trusts Marcus—
The stir of concern, from a mind occupied elsewhere. He sent a quick reassurance and felt Aryl’s focus ease and shift away.
What I know, Enris, still with force, is I will not risk Sona. I will not reveal our ability to the Tikitik. I will not run home and draw them after me. I will not—will not!—trust Sona to a being who isn’t even of our world. I’ll die first.
And she would. Hair lashed against her shoulders. Her dark eyes defied him.
Aryl, for all her fondness for Marcus Bowman, refused to add any of his technology to their daily lives. Now here was Naryn, ready to die before seeking the Human’s help.
Was he the only one to grasp the superiority of the Strangers’ technology? The only one to see it might be better to reach beyond Cersi?
Then let’s hope all goes well. Enris held out his hand for the sleepteach device.
No. Naryn smoothed the panel over her pocket. Aryl must know about this. You can’t use it without her consent.
She was right and he knew it, much as the realization galled him. “Keep it, then,” he said aloud, unwilling to trust inner speech. “But I tell her when I’m ready, not you.”
If Naryn felt the warning beneath the words, she didn’t react to it. “You’re her Chosen.”
Which wasn’t a promise, but the best he’d get. Enris gestured ahead.
Without another word, Naryn turned and left.
Enris followed.
Tried.
His right foot wouldn’t move.
He pulled.
And pulled.
Finally, his boot came free with a splot, mud flying in most directions. Enris heaved that foot forward, relieved, only to find his other foot glued to the ground. How much of this is there? he sent to Aryl, dismayed.
You’re almost here. A sense of awe.
Enris stopped struggling and looked up, trying to see ahead, but the path took another of its twists. What?
Hurry up.
He muttered to himself about Chosen who didn’t have to walk the ground like normal Om’ray, about the additional layer of mud his boots accumulated with every step, about the appalling STENCH, while Naryn, somehow less attractive to mud and stench, vanished around the twist. Sweat stung his eyes.
The harder he tried to move, the deeper each step sank.
On the bright side, Enris told himself, he no longer wanted to wring a certain Om’ray’s delicate neck.
A loper carrying a bright blue bag ran by, its tiny feet not breaking the surface, and stopped to chirp at him. A laugh, person or not. Enris fumed and made it three whole strides before his boot went too deep again.
Don’t be startled—
A scream, from Om’ray lungs!
Somehow, Enris found the strength to break into a sloppy, halting run. He followed the path around the corner, leaving ruin behind him.
He broke into sunlight and came to a stop beside Naryn, who wasn’t moving at all. Her hands covered her mouth, and she stared ahead.
At . . . he didn’t scream.
But only because Aryl stood grinning in reach of what was, most certainly, a monster able to swallow her with one gulp. “Look what I found.”
Four monsters. With more moving knee-deep along a muddy stream, a muddy stream that splashed over each time one lifted a foot and dropped it down again.