If she could explain its value to Om’ray, to peace and safety, this might be a chance to gain acceptance for their Talent.
And she’d feared to walk over water?
Courage. From Enris. From Naryn. Even from Anaj. Her anxiety must have spilled through her shields.
Encouraged, Aryl wrapped her fingers around the Speaker’s Pendant. “All my life, I’ve been told the Agreement forbids change.” Were her words lost in this space, deflected among the branches above or smothered in moisture?
She refused to doubt. The Tikitik made this; they brought her here. They wanted to hear her.
They would.
“I’ve been told change was forbidden so that all races would stay as they were. That the Agreement preserves the peace of our world. But Om’ray exist in more than what you see. There is another place we—some of us—can sense with our minds.” A hint of shock from Naryn or Anaj, quickly hidden. They still trusted her.
Would they?
Aryl walked, her toes out, balanced along the callused edge of her arches. “Some Om’ray call it the Dark,” she continued. “To our inner sight, it’s like storm clouds building against truenight. Or sometimes like water, black and turbulent. The minds of Chosen Join through it. That’s why the death—” she fought the tightness in her throat, “—the death of one dooms the other. It wasn’t always so. I believe this change must have been happening inside Om’ray for a long time, where no one could see or notice.”
Thought Traveler was heading toward her now, on the same side of the symbol. A time limit, she guessed. When they met, she must be done.
When done, she must succeed.
“No one noticed, until me. I found I had the Talent to move not only my thoughts, but my body through the Dark. It was nothing I intended. It’s part of what I am. Something new. Because of that, because my change couldn’t be hidden, I was exiled from Yena.” Because of that, Costa, Leri, so very many . . .
Aryl forced away the past. “Because change risks the Agreement, I knew using my ability again would be the worst thing I could do—not only for Yena but for Cersi.” Step. Step. A larger ripple than most followed alongside, then sank away. “But when my people were in danger, I didn’t think. I acted. I used my ability to help us survive.” Survive the Tikitik attack on Yena, something else they knew.
“I tried to keep it a secret, but it isn’t only me. There are other Sona with this ability—to ’port through what we call the M’hir or move objects through it. Because Om’ray continue to change inside.”
Her path wove back toward its start. Thought Traveler matched its steps to hers. Closer. Closer.
“We value the Agreement,” Aryl stated firmly. “I value it. But this change isn’t something we control. All we can control is what we do with our new Talents.” Its eyes angled downward in their cones to meet hers, expectant.
What else could she say?
The truth.
Aryl let go of the pendant and lifted her chin. “My Clan wants to live in peace. But we won’t allow Om’ray to die at the whim of another race again. Ever. We have the means now to survive—and we will.”
Her next step took her to Thought Traveler. They both stopped.
“The whims of Oud kill Om’ray,” it reminded her. “We do not.”
“I see no difference.” Aryl frowned. “You make it impossible to survive.”
“We make it difficult. A profound difference.” With a bark of amusement, Thought Traveler gestured to their surroundings. “Life must struggle, Little Speaker. Which is why we regret losing Sona as it becomes interesting. I only hope Tuana’s survivors prove as resilient and entertaining as your Chosen.”
Enris . . .
For a wonder, his sending felt amused. Almost. I’m fine. Imagining breaking its neck keeps my mind off where we are. Why did I think it was a good idea to perch like a Yena?
Her lips twitched, but she concentrated on Thought Traveler. To stand on the narrow edge was “difficult.” She bent her knees slightly, settled for however long this took. Aryl wished she could sense its emotions, read meaning in how its eyes shifted or its mouth protuberances writhed. It was, she thought glumly, easier talking to the Human.
Or a chair.
Nonetheless, this being was the one she had to convince, and through it, the rest of its kind. “With you as neighbors,” she began, “the Tuana will be forced to change, too. Change is against the Agreement—”
“It is not.”
The water, clear and mud-stained, suddenly loomed closer. Regaining her balance was easier than believing what she’d heard. “I don’t understand.”
“Perhaps you can’t.” Thought Traveler tilted its head to regard her from another angle. “Om’ray have never grasped the essence of the Agreement.”19
She glowered at the creature. “We aren’t stupid.”
“I never said you were. To you, the world is Om’ray, the past a few generations long, and time moves into the future with each birth. Without comparison, without history, you cannot observe how change is part of all life, including yours. You said it yourself, Apart-from-All. When Om’ray discover something new among themselves, their reaction is to conceal or stop it. Unsuccessfully, let me assure you, though we may appear oblivious. Watching for change,” a grand and meaningless sweep of its arms, “is what we do.”
What it did was be confusing. Aryl’s hair lashed its agreement, stinging her cheeks. She should have left on the net. “Cersi is divided among the Tikitik and Oud,” she recited grimly. “Om’ray may trespass outside their Clan only during Passage. Change is forbidden, for all sakes. What ‘essence’ do you think we miss?”
It didn’t protest the question. “You say the words, Little Speaker, but apply them only to yourselves. The change the Agreement forbids is in the Balance among our races, not within any one.” Thought Traveler leaned so close, the writhing worms of its mouth brushed her chin. Her hair retreated; Aryl did not. “The Balance keeps the world fit for us all. Think of it, Apart-from-All. A Cersi perfect for Oud would be too dry for us.” A gesture to the living building overhead. “A Cersi perfect for Tikitik would not only be too wet for Oud, but swarm with life beyond even a Yena’s ability to survive. While a Cersi perfect for you—could not exist here without Oud to drain the ground and Tikitik to replenish it. Without the Balance, none of us survive.”
Aryl’s breath quickened. If she understood, the Adepts were wrong. There was no reason to fear new Talents among Om’ray, to forbid them. If she understood. Don’t ask a question, she reminded herself. Don’t fall in the water. Don’t make a mistake.
“If what I learned was wrong,” she said carefully, testing the concept, “then it’s not against the Agreement for Om’ray to be different from one another.”
A feathery touch across her eyelids, then the Tikitik drew back slightly. “You continue to impress, Aryl di Sarc. I wonder if you could possibly grasp the source of our delight at Sona.”
Another Clan? A restored Clan? That wasn’t it, Aryl thought, frustrated. The Tikitik had lost Sona to the Oud.
It said they watch for change. What’s Sona if not the biggest one of all?
You’re brilliant, she informed her Chosen, receiving a thoroughly deserved smug in return. Aloud, “It’s not only differences between Om’ray you care about. It’s differences between our Clans, too.”
This brought its head bobbing upward in its double nod, then down to stare with all four eyes. She could hear hissing above, but didn’t dare look away. “Astounding. Few of your kind could reason thus. Fewer still would trouble themselves to try.”
She bristled. “If you talked to us, instead of pushing us into ‘difficult’ situations for your amusement, you’d find we reason as well as you.”