The pendants betrayed them to the Tikitik. The Cloisters hid them.
Caught in the possibilities, Aryl hesitated too long.
“I would, I see.”
“We’ll send them back—” If they’ll go, she added to herself.
“To their Clans?” It stepped closer. “They cannot go home. They’ve been changed forever, little Speaker, and only belong here. Did you not realize this?”
It couldn’t know about their new connections through the M’hir. But it was right, she realized, feeling her blood turn to ice. Those who’d come to Sona, who knew how to move through the M’hir, were no longer the same as the rest of their kind.
She wasn’t.
Closer still, with menace, forcing her back. “They cannot leave. And the moment your Om’ray set foot on the ground, the Oud beneath—busy as we speak, producing new Mindeds to make their decisions—will know how many now live in Sona. More than should. They’ll want to keep you, prattle about ‘Oud, best is,’ and to do that—” it moved again; she retreated, stumbled in loose dirt, waved Enris back, caught herself, “—to do that, they’ll go to their lists and they will reshape as much of Cersi as they deem necessary to redress the Tikitik for this Gift of Om’ray. One Clan? Two? Three? Tikitik factions will be split, some favored, others not. Our Balance will be changed.”
Thought Traveler stopped. So did she, near enough to smell its musty breath, to see its body soften and bend as if too weary to stand straight. “The moment they step outside, Apart-from-All, your Om’ray destroy both our peoples. And, though it matters not,” a careless flick of its fingers, “the Oud will not long survive on their own.”
“We’ll live inside the Cloisters,” she promised desperately. “Only come out in the same numbers each time.”
“Do you believe that’s never been tried? Ask yourself, Apart-from-All. Why did Sona’s Adepts die outside?”
Its face approached, filled her sight. Eyes swiveled on their cones to bore into hers. A whisper, so quiet she doubted anyone else could hear: “Prepare, as we must, for the doom of the world.”
One heartbeat there, the next, gone. The esans, responding to no signal Aryl could see or hear, swooped down like a storm to pick up their passengers. The Thought Travelers didn’t look back, didn’t speak again. They climbed into their baskets and sent their mounts climbing.
Leaving only Om’ray.
They were looking at her, Aryl thought wildly, sick inside. At her. Haxel and Galen sud Serona, the grizzled runner from Tuana. Her Chosen. Naryn. Everyone. As if somehow she could save them. As if she knew anything at all to do.
“Marcus,” she heard herself say. “We have to find him.”
Chapter 10
AVOIDING THE PATH, Haxel led them through the grove. If there was a trap, it would be along the wide, flat, easy route the Human had made. Aryl came next, Enris behind her. To one side, out of sight if not beyond their inner sense, Syb and Yuhas, followed by Galen. To the other, Veca, Suen d’sud Annk, and the Licor twins.
Naryn? She’d returned to the Cloisters, her thankless task to tell the others what had happened to the Oud. With Anaj’s help, she hoped to find those among the new arrivals with more experience with the other races, who might have answers, a plan. Aryl wished them success; she didn’t expect any.
Om’ray had never paid attention to the not-real.
Which would have been reasonable, she thought wryly, if the not-real had cooperated and not paid attention to them.
Her nerves settled as they moved through the grove. A hunt. Finally something normal, something Yena. Where their skill mattered.
Even Enris moved quietly.
SnickCrack! A faint apology.
Quietly for a giant Tuana with big feet. Aryl almost smiled.
Where the grove thinned, Haxel stopped. She glowered at its unclimbable sticks as she waved Aryl to her side. Their hands touched. What do you think?
Aryl pressed herself against the nearest stalk, sank below Om’ray height, then eased around until she could see between the young leaves.
The buildings were intact; the ground its familiar morass of mud and vehicle tracks. No burning. No destruction as at Site Two.
All wrong, she sent. The buildings stood white and exposed, their illusions gone, doors open. A shirt, socks, other belongings were strewn before the one Marcus used as a home. The rest . . . Aryl eased back and touched Haxel. The storage buildings are empty.
Before or after? Not waiting for an answer, Haxel slipped to the others, brushed hands, gave her orders. Syb, Yuhas, and Galen went one way, fading into the grove; Veca, Suen, and the twins the other. They’d circle wide. Haxel flickered in and out of sight, choosing her own path.
What about us? Enris asked, crouching beside her.
Aryl stood and brushed at her no-longer-blue dress. “We,” she said calmly, “are here to visit our friend.”
“You mean walk out there and be Haxel’s bait.”
She shrugged. “That, too.”
Deliberately casual strides took them across the opening to Marcus’ door. Strides during which Aryl’s shoulders tensed and her eyes searched for the telltale shine of a vidbot or other watchful machine. Shadows shortened as the sun moved higher overhead. Her feet sank in the loose dirt.
Once there, she paused beside the inviting doorway. Lights were on inside. These weren’t Om’ray, she reminded herself. Her other senses had to do. She listened, not breathing.
Nothing.
Aryl danced in and to the side, crouching with her knife ready. Enris burst through behind her, an intimidating bulk. But they were alone.
And everything was broken.
They moved through the mess. The mattresses, used or not, were torn apart, the beds ripped from their wall supports. Cupboards and crates were open or upended. Marcus’ jars of dirt were smashed. Not a struggle. Something else. Aryl frowned. “If this was a hunt,” she wondered aloud, “did they find what they were after?”
“Wasn’t these.” Enris pointed to the devices on the counter. All looked as if someone had taken a hammer to their faces—or used a body part suited to violence. There were Strangers, Aryl remembered, who could do such damage with a limb.
“Or they didn’t want them used . . .” At the thought, Aryl pulled out the geoscanner and turned it on. Its glow was reassuring, though the red display wasn’t. Oud below. But she knew that.
Not the “Minded.” Not decision makers. Not yet, somehow.
They had time.
She thumbed on the device. “Two. Howard. Five.”
Is that a good idea?
“He answers or he doesn’t.”
“How long do we wait?”
She propped the ’scanner on what had been a table. “As long as we can,” she said quietly.
“Well, then.” Enris used his arm to clear a section of counter, brushing debris to the floor. When he sat, it creaked under his weight but held. “We wait.” He smiled with a cheer she didn’t believe for an instant. His shields were at their tightest; without an effort, she could only sense their connection, nothing of how he felt.
“You don’t think he’s coming back.”
“From beyond the world? Do you?”
Aryl found her own perch. I must, she admitted. Aloud, “Don’t underestimate—”
Come. A summons.
“Galen’s found something.” Enris stood, his hand out to her. Aryl.
“I’m all right.” She retrieved the ’scanner, her hand wanting to shake.
There’d been a warning with the sending. What Galen found hadn’t been good.