Not when the new generation was threatened. She’d felt it; Seru must.
“What’s the proposal?”
We cannot survive inside this Cloisters. The M’hiray must leave Sona, Anaj sent. The not-Om’ray will help us find a place of our own.
Of all M’hiray, Seru was the last one she’d expect to share her Chosen’s high hopes for Stranger technology, or to convince others. “How?” Aryl countered reasonably. “He has nothing left.”
He’s done what none of us has. Seen past the waterfall. Gone over the cliff and seen what’s there.
“Of course he has—” Aryl stopped, understanding at last. “No.”
Naryn’s hair whipped her shoulders. “Everyone’s afraid for the future, Aryl. Afraid of what we might have to become. If we stay here—there’s been talk of taking what we need from other Clans.”
“No.”
It’s the Council’s decision, child. We will use the Maker to cut the last link between M’hiray and Om’ray, freeing us from Sona and Cersi itself. We will ’port to a new home, taking what we can carry. All we need is a locate.
Which they wanted her to rip from Marcus’ mind. She’d be no better than the mindcrawler. She’d be worse—she already knew the pain she’d cause.
She already knew he’d let her.
Aryl backed away from Naryn, from Anaj. Put herself in front of the “door” to the Human’s pitiful shelter. “I’ll take some Yena. We’ll ’port to the cliff. Climb to the top, and come back with what we see.”
“Haxel suggested that. Council—they argued if she only saw bare rock, we’d be no better off.” Naryn lifted her hands in a hopeless gesture.
The Human loses more of his mind while we delay. Soon his body will die. Not callous, but with certainty. This is the Council’s decision, not yours.
NO! Aryl didn’t care that the sending stung, or that her fury disturbed Enris into an anxious question she ignored. The M’hiray can rot here. No one touches Marcus’ mind again. No one.
Her Chosen appeared beside her, a storm ready to strike. “What’s going on?!”
“Our new Council’s ordered me to scan Marcus. To find a locate for the M’hiray.”
At this, Enris planted himself beside her in the doorway and crossed his huge arms, a pulse beating slowly along his jaw. He’d been with her, in the Human’s damaged mind. “There has to be another way.”
I’ll find it, Aryl sent.
She had to.
Two days was time enough to find chairs for the dais of the Council Chamber, if not to polish clean the floor or windows. Time enough, Aryl thought bitterly as she walked down an opening aisle of silent M’hiray, to go from being her people’s leader to a solitary voice of dissent.
She’d never asked to be either.
The new Council waited for her. Naryn, with a woeful look her way, took the last chair. Cetto and Seru sat beside one another. Her cousin’s skin grew blotchy when she cried; it was flawless.
So, Aryl thought. Seru was sure of this course.
Gur, Dann, Mia, and Ruis.
It changed them all, sitting up there, side by side. Their clothing was a mismatch; of the four Choosers, two wore nets, the others’ hair wandered over their shoulders. Different ages, different faces, different Clans. But there was no mistaking common purpose, or that these individuals accepted their responsibilities.
They weren’t going to listen.
Aryl kept her shoulders straight and kept walking. When she reached the cluster of Sona, hands reached out to hers, fingertips brushed her skin. Encouragement. Belief. Haxel scowled; Rorn looked weary. Oran wrapped offended dignity around herself like a coat; Bern didn’t meet her eyes. Yao clung to her mother but reached out, too. Husni and blindfolded Weth. Syb and Fon. Gijs with Juo, their baby in her arms. Sona understood what Marcus had done for them: the rescue from Yena; the negotiations with Oud and Tikitik; keeping their secret from his own kind.
To the rest assembled here, the Human was not-real, not-Om’ray, and had only one remaining use.
Someone stepped close as she slowed before the dais. Ezgi, Seru’s Chosen. He touched the back of her hand. Aryl, Seru loves you. We all do. She doesn’t see any other way. Forgive her, please.
She glanced at his round, earnest face. Enris’ cousin, Galen’s son. He’d age well, she thought with an odd calm. The bones of his face were strong and clean, his brown eyes wise beyond their years. A Councillor himself, one day.
If any of them survived.
Peace, Ezgi, she sent. This isn’t about love or forgiveness.
It was about duty to a friend.
Cetto rose to his feet. “Greetings, Aryl di Sarc.” His rich deep tones filled the Chamber. Feet and minds settled. “We are the first Council of the M’hiray. Anaj tells us you have come to discuss—”
“I’ve come to refuse.” She’d pitched her voice to carry, too. “And to tell you—all of you—that my Chosen and I will protect Marcus Bowman.”
Naryn closed her eyes.
The Human would not risk our survival, Aryl di Sarc, Anaj sent, driving the words through the M’hir to them all. How dare you?
“Do swarms climb these walls?” Aryl sent scorn beneath the words. “Are we on rations and forced to starve our elders? No. We’re safe and comfortable. We have the ability to get whatever we need. We will make a good future, here or elsewhere. We’ve time. Marcus doesn’t.” Doubt. She sensed it from someone on the dais and pressed the advantage. “Let him die in peace, with friends.”
“Is it your opinion, Aryl di Sarc, that more Strangers will come to Cersi?” Gur asked.
They couldn’t stop them if they wanted to. Aryl settled for a calm, “Yes.”
Gur leaned forward, her eyes intent, gray hair twisting. “We can speak their words. Is your opinion, Aryl di Sarc, that we should greet these new Strangers? Befriend them? In case we do need help to create our good future.”
Trapped. She could admire the skill of it, even as her pulse hammered in her throat. “No,” Aryl said, having no other choice. Seru averted her face.
“Explain.”
“We can’t risk contact with any Strangers who might have been part of the attack against the Oud.”
Gur sat back, touched fingertips to her pendant. “And is that the only reason?”
“No.” Aryl stood straight. “We can’t let any Stranger close to us. If they learn we can move through the M’hir, some might try to take that knowledge.” War, Marcus had called it. “We have neither numbers nor technology on our side.”
“By what you say, Aryl di Sarc,” Gur said soberly, “And be sure that I—all of us—value your opinion in such matters above any other’s. By what you say, there is only one Stranger we can ever trust. One Stranger innocent of harm, who has protected our secrets. And he is here. Now. Able to help us, in the small time he has left.”
“Help who?” Aryl’s violent gesture swept the Council Chamber. “Us? Who are we? No longer Om’ray. No longer anything. We’re the threat to Cersi. What if Sona’s Cloisters brought us together to keep us from harming anyone else? In your opinion, esteemed First Council of the M’hiray, won’t the world be better off without us?”
Footsteps rang in the ensuing shocked silence. Everyone turned as Taisal walked quickly through the crowd to stand beside Aryl. Her face was like ash. “The Tikitik have left Yena.”
“And Rayna!” Karne shouted. He followed at a run, skidding to a halt in front of the dais.
Rayna’s Speaker, Gur di Sawnda’at, leaped to her feet with a look of horror. “What do you mean?