“Karne and I ’ported to Yena to examine its Maker,” Taisal said quickly and firmly, a scout making a report. “The Adepts confronted me, demanded to know if the Tikitik had left because of us. I sent Karne to Rayna, while I went to the Tikitik grove nearest Yena to see for myself.” Her eyes flicked to Haxel, then back to the Council. “It was deserted.”
“There are towers of dirt all around Rayna.” Karne tried to match Taisal’s tone, but his voice quivered. “Everyone’s locked in their homes or Cloisters. No one knows what to do! What does it mean?”
The Oud. Comprehension burned from mind to mind. Oud. Oud. Oud.
A memory shivered through her mind, leaving ice behind . . . a mug struck the floor, splintered on contact, fragments sliding in all directions, connected by a spray of dark liquid that was the Om’ray . . .
“It means the Agreement has broken,” Aryl said quietly. “It means the end of the world.”
“Whatever plan you had to leave this place,” her mother told the M’hiray Council, “start it now, before Om’ray die because of us.”
It wasn’t until several moments had passed—moments during which the Councillors rushed down from their seats, during which voices and emotions and sendings surged like waves against sand until those with experience in running for their lives, Haxel foremost, began to bark orders—it wasn’t until order began to shape itself from terror that Aryl realized Naryn di S’udlaat wasn’t with them.
There was only one place she could have gone.
Aryl concentrated with furious speed . . .
Interlude
“WHAT’S... GOING ON?”
Enris turned and went under the blanket roof, giving the Human his best smile. “A difference of opinion between our new Council and Aryl. She’ll win.”
“About me.”
Never underestimate Marcus, he reminded himself. “We have a small problem,” he evaded, testing the crate the others had used as a chair. When sure it would hold his weight, he relaxed and sat. “It seems there are now two kinds of Om’ray. Those who can—” he fluttered fingers as Marcus would do to refer to ’porting, “—and those who can’t. It wasn’t just the three of us pulled to Sona. It was all the M’hiray. Over seven hundred. It’s a bit crowded right now.”
“Stratification.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You’ve a word for it?”
Marcus smiled. “Not exactly . . . If you put . . . different things together . . . in water . . . shake hard . . . let all settle . . . layers of the . . . same kind . . . form. Stratification.”
Probably the best description he’d heard, Enris decided. Especially the “shake hard” part. As for settling? “This layer,” he commented dryly, “has a problem.” He waved at the flood beyond the open doorway. “No home.”
No smile now. “What say . . . Oud? . . . Tikitik? . . . Where you go? . . . What say, Enris!” with a rasp of urgency.
The Human knew their world. Enris shrugged. “As I said, we have a problem. Aryl did her best, but the Tikitik are in a panic—and the Oud?” If any were left in Sona who weren’t floating corpses. “We don’t know. They have their own ideas about where Om’ray should and shouldn’t be.”
“M’hiray—you—” a stab with a too-thin finger, “—can escape Oud. . . . Rest Om’ray can’t.” His eyes were like dark pits. “Danger . . . like your Clan . . . like Tuana. Everywhere.”
There was nothing he could say to that, no evasion, no clever argument. Lost in fear, Enris dropped his head and shuddered.
A hand touched his, cold and dry. Shields tight, he looked up to meet a gaze as warm and compassionate as any real-Om’ray’s could be. “I can . . . help, Enris,” Marcus offered, the words gentle; the gasp for breath to speak them almost an afterthought. “On rest of . . . planet . . . on Cersi . . . no Oud . . . no Tikitik. Only . . . here. With Om’ray. . . . Do you understand? . . . Only here.”
How could he possibly understand that? The world—he could feel its extent, know it—there was nowhere else.
Marcus saw his battle. “Enris. Trust me . . . what I know . . . Most of Cersi . . . empty . . . Safe places . . . Better places. I . . . have been to many . . . seen planetarysurveys . . . Trust me.” He touched his temple with one finger. “All in here . . . for you. For Aryl . . . for Sweetpie. Take it.”
Om’ray or M’hiray—his kind was tied together; to damage another’s innermost self would endanger every mind in range. Madness would spread like thought itself. They couldn’t do to one another what the mindcrawler Stranger had done to the Human.
Not to another of their own . . .
The Human understood what he suggested, better than any Om’ray could. Enris had never imagined such courage, never expected to find it here, in a creature who fought to breathe yet looked at him with such tranquillity in his eyes he was ashamed of his own fear.
“We’ll find another way.”
“Not in time . . . M’hiray need my . . . help.”
Wiser. Older. Braver. He had to ask. “Are all Humans like you?”
“Better . . . same . . . worse. Like any . . . people.” The hint of a smile. “Take what you . . . need, Enris. . . . My gift.”
Better? Enris shook his head in disbelief, then gestured profound gratitude. “Thank you, Marcus. But no.” He fought to keep his voice even. “Aryl’s gone before our Council to make sure no one touches your mind again. She won’t allow it.”
“Someone must . . .” As if he was the only one being reasonable. “Aryl wrong . . . Can you?”
Enris was on his feet and almost backed into the wall of crates—which would have brought them down on their heads and be a fine way to care for their friend—before he could stop himself. “No!”
Marcus nodded. “Naryn can. You . . . bring . . . Naryn here.” He moved his fingers on the blanket.
He’d rather be in an Oud tunnel beneath a shaking mountain.
“Trust me,” the Human urged. “Let me help.” His throat worked and a fresh stain of red marked the bandage. “Before I’m . . . not so brave.”
Or in the canopy, with the swarm eating his knees.
The swarm. He’d burned homes to save Yena that ’night. Watched the smoldering wreckage fall into the dark, chased by embers like dying stars. The question in his mind hadn’t been if he’d die. He’d been sure of that. No, Enris remembered vividly. He’d worried if he could bear to wait with Aryl to be eaten alive, or would his courage fail him and he’d jump like his brother.
It hadn’t failed. But this? This was worse, so much worse.
Naryn. Through the M’hir, as tight and focused as he could. NARYN!
He had her attention. Now isn’t the best time—
COME TO MARCUS, NOW. Would she feel his desperate grief? Would she . . .
She did. The sun coming through the doorway turned Naryn’s hair to flame. “What’s wrong?” she demanded, stepping inside.
What are we doing here? Go back to Council at once!
Hush, Anaj. “Enris?”
His voice wouldn’t obey him.
“Take safe . . . place for M’hiray.” Marcus offered his hand. “Take everything . . . to help. Hurry.”
For the second time, Enris saw Naryn vulnerable. “No. Aryl—”
Do it. The Old Adept’s sending contained compassion and respect.
“Do it for Aryl,” the Human said, as if he’d heard.
Enris edged out of Naryn’s way, brushed fingertips along her wrist as she passed him. No words; he couldn’t speak. Only support.