Aryl sighed and looked at Thought Traveler.
“We need a ride.”
Chapter 8
THE WHITE SAND WAS WARM and soft and glistened in the sun. Enris sprawled on his back beside her, one big arm over his eyes and his feet—free of his ruined boots—buried to the ankles in the stuff. Naryn paced where the water frothed up on the beach, her Adept robe dragging. Aryl supposed this was her way of protesting what they were doing; it wasn’t going to wash the mud stains from Oran’s robe.
She licked her lips, savoring the hint of dresel that lingered. Thought Traveler had pressed food upon them before they left, insisting mothers-to-be must eat. Enris. Dresel. Warmth without rain or biters. The future—the right future—within reach. What more could she want? She stretched luxuriously. “I could stay here all day.”
“That’s good. We may have to,” her Chosen commented, his voice muffled. “Or longer.”
The esasks had brought them out of Tikitna to the sand; they’d refused to step on it. From this vantage point, the Tikitik village—she could use a word for something much more imposing—looked like any dense, wild growth. Another name she needed, Aryl pondered, was for the plants they used for their construction. Not nekis. Not rastis. Something that willingly grew strong, thick, and twisted, with roots drowned in bitter water. She’d learned so much today.
Not least, that rock hunters were Oud young. Haxel would love it, Aryl grinned to herself. The canopy crawled with creatures whose offspring looked nothing like them, as well as parents who abandoned the next generation to fend for themselves. To be fair, the Oud did do something for their young. The adults had done their best to dry out Sona’s valley and argued with her to keep it that way.
Though since their young killed Om’ray without concern, well, Om’ray would continue to return the favor.
Aryl squinted at the sky toward Sona, a more comforting direction than out over the limitless ocean, the direction that mattered. Two tenths until firstnight, she estimated. Three at most. Had they left for Vyna only this morning? It felt, she decided with another stretch, more like a fist.
“It won’t be much longer,” she assured Enris. “He’ll answer.” And he would. The sun rose every morning; the Human wouldn’t fail her. His gift, the geoscanner, was on her lap. Silent as yet. She’d pressed the control as Marcus had shown her, said the special words he’d given her if she needed his help: “Two. Howard. Five.” Howard was his son. She’d seen a recording of him, tall for a child, as well as images of the rest of the Human’s family: a daughter, Karina, little more than a baby. Kelly of the long red hair. His Chosen. Cindy, his sister, with a pleasant smile. Family he’d left to work here; kept close using his clever devices.
Devices that included an aircar. Much better, Aryl thought cheerfully, than walking across most of Cersi and around the Lake of Fire.
“At least we shouldn’t have to worry about Anaj’s reaction. Since her view is of the inside of Naryn’s belly.”
Aryl poked a finger into his ribs, unerringly finding the spot to make him squirm. “A little respect for the Old One, if you please.”
Enris peered at her over his arm. “You know I’m right. The best way to cope with our not-Om’ray friend is not see him in the first place.” Inwardly. Relax. You know the instant we’re back, Haxel will have us in the fields. After, this with a glee that burst through her very bones, we can play ’port and seek all we want without breaking the Agreement. I may not walk anywhere again.
He lifted his arm; she came close but instead of curling at his side, Aryl propped herself with elbows on his broad chest and stared down at him. “This doesn’t mean we can be careless. The Strangers—”
A sandy finger crossed her lips. “I insist. Celebrate. You’ve accomplished a greater understanding of our world than any Om’ray before you. You’ve made us safe! Can you never just enjoy a triumph?”
They never came this easy, Aryl thought, but only to herself. Her Chosen was right; this was a moment for joy, not worry. “Of course I can—”
“Aryl? Aryl? Aryl?” Her name erupted from the device now resting in the sand.
They both lunged for it, ending in a tangle that otherwise Aryl would have relished. “I’ll answer,” she told her overeager Chosen firmly, and sat up. Grinning, Enris leaned on his bent arm to watch.
There was another button to be pressed, so. “Yes. It’s Aryl, Marcus,” she said. Awkward, giving her name to the device. “We need your help to get home. We—”
“Where—Never mind, I’ve locked your coordinates.” He was distracted; she could hear it in his voice. “Turn off the ’scanner and stay where you are. I’m almost there.”
He was?
The device’s clear dome covered its array of tiny glowing parts. Staring at it did nothing to ease her disquiet.
“Almost here?” she echoed. “Why?”
“Turn off the ’scanner. Bowman out.”
Aryl did as he demanded; the lights faded, the device lifeless in her hand. She tucked it away carefully. Some Om’ray could taste change about to happen. She could. And did. A thoroughly unreliable sense, giving little more than a vague sense of dread. But she paid attention to any warning in the canopy. And here.
Enris chuckled. “I thought we’d get to laze about till supper at least. Who’d have guessed . . .” His smile faded as he looked at her. He sat up. “What’s wrong?”
The taste of change.
“Marcus hasn’t left the valley since the last snow. He lets the others come to him. Why would he be flying about? Why this way?” Her hair strained against its net. “He must be leaving Cersi.” Aryl drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. “I thought he’d warn us first.” Had she offended him? Missed some vital Human courtesy? Made him sick with the turrif after all?
Or had she misunderstood their friendship all along? There was hurt in the thought. That didn’t make it wrong.
“You’re the one who says look before you take hold,” Enris soothed, one hand shading his eyes. “Marcus wouldn’t go without telling us. And when he does leave, he’ll be back soon. He wants to see our beautiful Sweetpie.”
“Will he be back?” Aryl countered. “What do we know of his kind, beyond the few here?”
They were few, she thought, because their technology did so much for them. Site One, the Lake of Fire, held only the three of its Triad. Site Two, the mountain near Grona, had Henshaw’s Triad and the flitterlike being who’d helped Marcus rescue the exiles. Marcus, with a vague wave toward the sunset, referred to Site Three as inactive and explained they used it now for re-supply . Six lived there, two comtechs, the pair of archivists sent to help him pack, and the non-Humans who comprised the rest of Marcus’ new Triad. She hadn’t paid attention to his babble of incomprehensible—and unpronounceable—names, but she had to the numbers. The camp at Sona was called Site Four, implying no others. Four sites and fourteen Strangers were, in Haxel’s dour estimation, four and fourteen too many.
From what else Marcus had said, and not said, there were far more involved in his work. They lived on other worlds. Gave orders by comlink. Traveled between in ways he’d never quite explained. Which had been fine, Aryl thought in frustration, until now.
“He told us he answers to others. Coming back might not be his decision to make.” She dropped her head to her knees. What if she hadn’t called Marcus? What if they’d ’ported home, only to find him gone from the world?
Enris traced the back of her hand with a sandy finger. “Don’t underestimate our resourceful Human,” he said gently. “Even if you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—he talks to his family from here, doesn’t he? So he can talk to us from there.”