A muddy stream that stank.
Why was it always monsters? Enris took a second, calmer breath, wiped sweat from his brow, then looked down. Black mud coated his pant legs to the thighs and liberally streaked everything else. He didn’t remember getting any on his left arm, but the evidence was there. His boots looked like strange growths and he casually kicked one against the other, spraying mud on Naryn. “You said hurry.”
Beneath, through the M’hir, only to his Chosen: They measure your will. That’s what this place is about. That’s why no direct questions are allowed, only hints and statements. Be careful.
Games. With a resigned disgust that made Enris smile. I hate games. Aloud, “These are esask.” As she might have said “rastis” or “dresel” or any other word that meant more to Yena than anyone else on Cersi. “Young ones. I think.”
Young? Something as tall as two Om’ray?
Like the esan, these had six legs and narrow bodies, with heads carried low on a curved neck. The head boasted the same four large eyes, but the nostrils were wide and open and there were two curves in the neck, the first lumpy.
Fed, he hoped.
Only the upper half of the body was covered in hair: thick, shaggy, and pale brown; the rest, including the legs, bore heavy black scales. A short brush of stiff hair followed the neck, to end at the snout. One esask yawned, displaying twin rows of needle teeth.
The heads of those waiting moved restlessly from side to side. Others passed, going upstream, disappearing around more branches and foliage. They had riders.
Thought Travelers.
The Tikitik sat astride, their thin legs dangling. They paid no overt attention to the three Om’ray, though they hissed at one another. If it was conversation, one guess, Enris decided, about the topic.
“His” Thought Traveler appeared perfectly content to stand on the shore and be passed by.
As was Aryl. All she said to it was: “I will wait for you.” I’m sorry, Enris, Naryn. Anaj. Patience. I ask your patience. This could—a hint of irony—take a while.
What’s she up to? Anaj, a hint of frantic in her voice.
She didn’t know them, Enris reminded himself. She had nothing to trust. Aryl is Sona’s Speaker, but she’s of Yena. She’s dealt with both Oud and Tikitik before. She won’t let us come to harm.
He eyed the tall, narrow esask and sighed inwardly.
Of course, insisting on the uncomfortable and terrifying wouldn’t bother Aryl di Sarc at all.
Chapter 7
THE ESASK POUNDED ITS FOOT into the water, splashing the backs of her legs. They could move silently; this was a display, of temper or warning. Or both. Aryl didn’t react, her eyes on the Thought Traveler who’d brought them to “lunch” and then followed them here. She was gaining a feel for this place and its rules, enough to test it. The Tikitik wouldn’t impede her movements; they wouldn’t direct them. As usual, they waited to see what others would do.
To some consequence. That, she didn’t doubt. It had goaded Enris, possibly to discover the extent of Om’ray self-control. Had that sparked his dispute with Naryn? UnChosen Yena who clung to anger were put on a branch to resolve their differences. Maybe this was the Tuana version. She’d kept her distance. They weren’t shouting anymore, at least.
The impatient esask was part of the Tikitik’s game, there to take them wherever they must go next. She could easily scale its side; so could Thought Traveler, his kind being marvelous climbers. Naryn, unlikely. Enris, with his greater bulk? He’d likely pull the poor creature’s hair out trying.
The esask she’d seen before knew to crouch for a rider to dismount or mount. What signaled this convenient cooperation was a Tikitik secret. So. Wait. Watch. Without looking away from Thought Traveler, not even to feast her eyes on Enris or check on Naryn, already weary. If it wanted a contest of will, Aryl smiled to herself, she was ready.
Child, do you know what you’re doing?
No.
That set the Old Adept back for an instant, but only an instant. Are you a fool?
Sometimes. Not this time, she sent, keeping it private as the other did. Power granted such fine touch. It waits for me to break the rule here, to ask a question. Or to abandon you. It tests my resolve. The Tikitik were Sona when you were its Speaker, Anaj. You know them. Can I afford to appear weaker?
No. Immediate and sure. Never back down from them. Never allow them to ridicule or offend you. They respect determination, when used to a purpose. Something eased between them. I knew a Yena, once. Fierce, like you. Strong. I remember he made a room smaller by being in it. Her sending expanded to the others, became light. You wouldn’t be from Pana, would you, giant Chosen of Sarc? My cousin’s son took Passage there. Big, too. Bit of a dreamer. Good at making things, but always eating.
Sounds right, this from Naryn, bravely trying to keep the conversation going. Her shields were tight. But Enris and I came from Tuana.
Thought Traveler’s smaller eye cones had begun to track the esasks and riders moving down the river. Aryl didn’t need to look to know they were now fewer, with longer intervals between. The sun beat down on her head. Nice to be warm for a change.
I had a great uncle from Pana, Enris added cheerfully. Chosen by my grandmother’s sister. Dama claimed he ate so much they had to make a new door to the metal shop.
Aryl made a point of shaking her head. To joke about food—sometimes she didn’t understand these Om’ray.
Images, then, from Enris. A very large door, wide to allow a cart full of fragments of green metal scavenged from the Oud, a short ramp into a vat that burned with fuelless flame. The metal, melting, flowing, becoming what was new and useful. The images abruptly stopped. It was a good door. Despite shields, his grief tolled through her mind.
No more Tuanas, Aryl vowed, no more Clans destroyed. If it took staring at this Tikitik until her legs collapsed under her, so be it. She’d know every bump and knob of its skin soon. Blue-black skin, white spines and cones. Bold, unique coloring. Why? Not for Om’ray benefit. What did it mean to other Tikitik? Importance? Age? Or was it their neutrality, for Thought Travelers insisted they belonged to no faction and spread their news to all. To help Tikitik decide what to avoid, she remembered. To stay away from any course likely to be wrong. A Thought Traveler had told her that.
This one was scarred. Fractures crossed several of the hard knobs. Perhaps old, for its kind. A survivor. The wristbands were of the finest weavings she’d ever seen, as was the sash across its shoulder. Important. Or particular.
There were tiny hairs on the protuberances that obscured its mouth, hairs like those on the backs of her fingers. Sensitive. She’d had such thrust into her mouth to suffocate her into unconsciousness; she’d had them feed her dresel.
Of course, the Tikitik stared back. The large hindmost eyes never left hers. Without eyelids, it didn’t blink, but the eyes themselves rolled back and forth in their sockets, replenishing their moist coating.
Remind me to tell you how beautiful you are.
Aryl smiled, shared it inwardly.
Chosen could do that.
At some point, no more esasks traveled by; their own waiting mounts were sound asleep, lips loose and backs sagged in two places. Enris made a nest of sorts of sticks to keep Naryn out of the mud and took turns sitting with her or pacing where the ground was firmer, careful not to cross Aryl’s line of sight. If there was a will stronger than hers, she thought fondly, it was his. Stubborn, that was her Chosen.