Riders of the Storm (11 page)

Hush!
But before she could comfort Seru, Aryl found words spilling from her own lips. “The other leads to a second room, as long as the first, with shelves.” She could almost touch them, the image was so vivid in her mind. “On the shelves are bowls with lids, carved of wood. There are seeds inside, seeds for the next growing season.” She knew their names. Knew which were husked in brown, which were shiny and black, which must be soaked for days or fail to sprout at all.

Seru gasped. “You see it, too! How?”

“I don't know.” Aryl remembered the whispers in the
darkness,
her mouth trying to speak another's words—and fought back her own fear.

They stared at one another. Seru spoke first. “A storage place, like a Yena warehouse. Maybe,” for the first time, her voice sounded hopeful, “there's food inside.”

If any could last this long. “It's worth a look.” Aryl wrapped her arms around her cousin and held her tight.
Whatever this is, Seru,
she sent, making sure the other felt her pride and love,
you may have saved us all.
When she stepped back, she added, “We'll go with Haxel—”

“No. I can't. What if what we—what we see—what if it isn't there?” Seru's eyes were bright with tears. “They already think something's wrong with me. Please, Aryl. Don't tell anyone that I—about this.”
Promise!
The sending was as forceful as she could manage.

“I won't, unless I must.” Aryl gestured apology. Lines of dark smoke rose, bending at the top of the mounds as the wind caught them. “They're ready. I'll go. Will you be all right?”

Will you?

She had no answer.

 

In that short time, Haxel had set everyone else in motion. The Kessa'ats and the Uruus, not coincidentally those with the youngest in their families, headed back to the village to improve the exiles' shelter before firstnight. The weather smiled on them now, but no one trusted the mountain sky. Weth and Ael had already left, returning to their injured Chosen. Juo, who should have gone, refused. She sat with Husni, Cetto, and Lendin, their backs against the opposite mound. Morla paced, claiming her arm preferred it. Her tightly netted white hair caught the sun.

Rorn stood outside the opening, his longknife in hand. Guarding what, against whom, Aryl couldn't imagine, but Haxel took no chance she could avoid. Which left Enris and Gijs to enter with her, fire held high in their fists.

Motioning Seru to sit with Juo, Aryl followed hurriedly. She made it to the doorway before Haxel stopped to frown at her. “Wait here, Aryl. We don't know what's inside.”

For some reason, Aryl glanced at Enris. Something in her face—for her shields were tight—made his eyes narrow in speculation.

“I do,” she said, facing Haxel.

“You.” The First Scout nodded toward Seru and Juo. “I thought they were the sleepwalkers.”

Feeling her cheeks warm, Aryl stood her ground. “There are stone steps. Two storerooms. If we're lucky, they'll contain something still of use.”

“Lead the way.” Haxel sidestepped, motioning Aryl ahead.

With one stride, Enris was beside her. “Light,” he explained, raising his burning stick. With a twist of his lips,
I hope you know what you're doing.

She hoped so, too.

There were steps. To the unsuspecting, without light, the threat of a fall. With light, they were a broad roadway. Aryl took them without hesitation, hearing the others close behind. A bright circle bathed the stone before her feet; Enris' height gave that advantage here. Other circles bounced and overlapped along walls she could touch, if she reached out with both hands.

“Cold,” Gijs observed, a disembodied voice. The word echoed.

Silently, she counted steps. At twenty, she slowed. “We're almost at the bottom.”

“This shouldn't be here,” protested Enris. “Om'ray don't trespass underground. The Oud forbid it.”

“They didn't destroy it,” Haxel countered.

“They'd killed everyone. Why bother?”

She laughed. “Comforting, aren't you, Tuana?”

“Here we are,” Aryl interrupted. The mound's heart was as her mind expected. The firelight pushed back the dark on either side, through wide archways easily two Om'ray high. Colder here, much colder. She could see her breath; her warm Grona coats did nothing to stop her shivers. Or was it fear? She made a choice. “This way.”

“Wait.” There was a sound of metal sliding, a faint
whomp,
then the steps were illuminated in warm, yellow light. “Good. Still oil,” Enris commented, using his stick to ignite another of the round fixtures. There were a pair on each arch. “Glows don't last long in the cold,” he said self-consciously as he noticed the others, including Aryl, gazing at him in wonder. “We make something similar. Good for working outside in winter.”

Gijs snorted. “You go out in truenight.”

“I do many things you don't, Yena.”

Tension.
Aryl hesitated, looking from one to the other. Something was wrong between them. What?

“Let's go,” Haxel ordered.

The first room wasn't, as Seru had feared, empty. As Enris hunted more of his oil lights to ignite, Haxel and Gijs walked a wide aisle between tall baskets and gourds, opening lids, exclaiming at what they found inside.

Not empty—but not the same. Aryl clung to the arch, feeling empathy for Weth, their Looker. Her mind demanded to see what it “remembered,” arguing against the reality before her eyes until her stomach threatened to lose the nothing it contained. The baskets should be shorter, wider. The gourds should be in clusters nearer that side, and why were they colored in elaborate symbols instead of plain?

Whatever was in her head, it wasn't this moment, or even a moment close to it.

“Seru's dream or yours?”

Aryl focused with relief on Enris, who was as he should be, though with a thunderous scowl she ignored. He was leaving; let him worry about Vyna, not her.

“Mine,” she told him. It wasn't a lie. “But not like a dream. I know things about this place—I can't explain how. The other storeroom—somehow I'm sure it was used for seeds and tools. I can tell you names, words for things I never learned. This room was for food and—” as Gijs pulled out a length of fabric, “—other supplies. But it's not the same. It's changed…

“…I think,” she warned hastily, feeling an abrupt lurch inside, “I'm going to be sick.”

She shut her eyes, numb with more than the cold, and fought her unhappy stomach.

Aryl…
Fingertips brushed her cheek.
Power
followed, a shock like icy rain down her back. She opened her eyes and glared. “Why did you do that?”

“You don't feel sick now, do you?” Enris smiled at whatever showed on her face. “I'm hungry. As the one who ‘knows things,' how about finding food?”

About to deny any such ability, Aryl found herself walking forward. The Tuana was right. The room grew longer as Gijs and Haxel continued to find more lights on its walls. There had to be dozens of baskets, some shoulder-high. Even more gourds. Whatever else Sona had been, they'd been rich beyond any Clan she knew. “Why so much?” she mused, fingers leaving trails on a dust-covered lid.

“This?” Another laugh. “You should see what my Clan stores for the winter—and we barely have the cold. Grona spends most of the warm weather putting away supplies and still has lean times. You Yena are spoiled. Food grows for you all the time.”

“Dresel can only be harvested once a year,” she reminded him. Om'ray couldn't live without it, not in the canopy. Once a year, the M'hir Wind would blow over the mountains. The Watchers would sound their alert and Yena would climb. They'd risk their lives to snatch pods from the air. Once, she'd never imagined or wanted another life.

Would any Yena climb a rastis in the coming M'hir? Would any hooks flash, stealing treasure from the snatch of a wastryl?

Would she even know?

“Starving,” Enris prodded. “Skin and bones.”

Aryl flushed and lifted a lid at random. “Here.”

He peered inside. “You're not serious.”

She looked, too. The basket was filled to its brim with wizened red lumps the size of her smallest finger, utterly unappealing.

Aryl popped one into her mouth before she realized what her hand was doing. About to spit it out, she stopped, entranced by a sweet, rich flavor. A tentative chew released more.

Seeing this, Enris put two in his mouth, his face taking on a comic look of rapture.

Aryl swallowed and smiled. “They called it rokly. It grows on a vine, like sweetberries.”

“So it wasn't a game.” He wiped his lips with the back of his hand. “I was afraid of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Ziba.” Enris sighed heavily. “She's too young to sort dreams from real memory. Taen and Syb should be told. Maybe they can shield her.” He glanced to where Haxel and Gijs were moving a gourd into an open space, both of them needed to tip and turn it on its base. “You should all be careful,” he urged quietly. “Something's put this knowledge in your heads, Aryl, or put it where your mind can find it. We don't know how—or why.”

She brought her lower lip between her teeth.

He gave her a quizzical look. “You do agree, don't you?”

“About Ziba? Of course. And Juo's unborn. We should protect them. But I don't see the harm, Enris. Look at all this,” she gestured at the room. “We'd never have found it on our own.”

She felt a jolt of
dread
before he buried it behind shields. “Tell me you aren't planning to stay here,” Enris demanded, leaning forward. A lock of black hair fell over one eye, and he shoved it back impatiently. “Tell me you're going to pack all you can and leave for Rayna as soon as Chaun can walk. Aryl, please.”

Her heart raced. “Om'ray lived here once—”

“And the Oud ended them!”

“Tell me Rayna will take us,” she retorted fiercely. “Tell me they won't be sorry if they do.”

She hadn't meant to say it. She hadn't, Aryl thought with a pang of guilt, known she would.

Enris drew back, his eyes bleak. “Is that what you believe? That Yena's Council was right after all? That your people deserve to be thrown out on their own?”

Insufferable Tuana. “Think what you like. You're leaving.” She started to turn away. His big hand trapped her arm. “Let go of me.” It was like trying to shake off a mountain. Haxel and Gijs were ignoring them—too obviously. Aryl felt her face grow hot. “Let. Go.”

His fingers opened, but stayed on her arm. “I'd like to think you'll be safe. All of you.” His voice deepened to a distressed rumble. “Staying here isn't the answer, Aryl. Listen to reason. You're too few. You need other Om'ray, a Clan. Your people will go wherever you lead—”

Let GO!
Her sending hurt him; his hand dropped to his side and he gave her a stricken look.

She didn't care. “We're no longer your concern, unChosen. Take your Passage. Find joy.” If the traditional farewell came out as a snarl, the Tuana deserved it.

Maybe he'd leave now. Aryl half ran past Haxel and Gijs, both of whom exchanged looks but didn't say a word. She stopped at a group of baskets and began tossing lids aside without seeing what was in them.

He didn't understand. It wasn't about fault or guilt. It was about what they were. The exiles would change whatever Clan they tried to join. They'd bring Yena names. They'd bring new Forbidden Talents: hers, Fon Kessa'at's, others' yet to be revealed. By existing, they'd upset the Agreement.

Sona offered what she'd never imagined—the possibility of living apart from other Clans, to be themselves, to risk only themselves.

To become something new.

I
T WAS CLOSE TO FIRSTNIGHT before they finished exploring the mound and returned to the village. Ziba pounced on the rokly, but made faces at a stone jar of a spicy paste she personally detested but others could eat if they wanted. Her parents had been appalled, Haxel amused. With Aryl's help—as best she could offer—they'd sorted the bulk of their trove into what could be carried back to the village and used immediately, and what should be left. Stones were used to seal the opening. Ideally, they'd enter the next mound through its door.

For there was no mistaking the value in what they'd found, or where. Whether by some unknown technology within the mound itself or a combination of excellent packing and the cool mountain air outside, the stored goods were remarkably intact. Along with still-edible, if unfamiliar, preserved food—most from plant sources, though there were hard purple twists Aryl “remembered” as flesh from a kind of swimmer—there were thick woven blankets, tools, clothing in various sizes. The big sealed gourds were found to contain a fine oil. There were devices to use it for cooking as well as light.

Everyone who could helped bring baskets and gourds to the village. Enris carried more than his share, conversed easily with others, laughed his big laugh.

Kept his distance.

Those who'd gone back to improve their shelter and care for the injured found themselves with supplies better than anything they could have brought from Grona.

By truenight?

It wasn't the same place, Aryl thought, leaning exactly where she had the 'night before.

Blankets of yellow and green and red lined the floor and hung from the walls to keep out drafts. On advice from Enris, the roof was left open above the fire, but elsewhere?

Let it storm. The Om'ray would stay snug and dry beneath Sona winter coats, woven and warm.

There was ample space to move as well. A neighboring building had been cleared of rubble and made habitable. Their packs were there, as well as their wounded and youngest, resting comfortably on extravagant layers of blankets. By the cheery oil light—as good as glows, Husni proclaimed the new devices—there was animated talk of two more homes in need of nothing more than roofs and doors, simple to accomplish with tools now at hand. The search for a water supply would begin at dawn, but no one seemed to doubt Sona would provide that, too.

As for food? Aryl wrinkled her nose. Only the dried fruit and swimmer twists were ready to eat. Everything else needed to be soaked or combined or cooked. Inconveniently, nothing had come to her or Seru on how to prepare what they'd found while Ziba's explanations centered on rokly and sweets they hadn't. Juo had only the faintest sense of likes and dislikes.

Leaving Haxel and Ael to experiment.

From the smell of the current concoction, something they were cooking was either in the wrong combination, or intended to wash cloth.

Seru slept now, in their other shelter, a true, deep sleep. She was happier, Aryl thought, to see something good come from something so frightening. They were no closer to understanding what had happened here, but most agreed Seru's first dreams must have been a warning, generations too late. The latest, though, seemed intended to help Om'ray survive here.

For her part, she hoped for more—so long as they didn't involve the
darkness.
One to tell her where to find water. One to tell her what to expect from the weather. One to explain how to avoid angering the Oud. She had a growing list.

Aryl relaxed and watched the others. She watched Enris, too, when she thought he wouldn't notice. His pack wasn't with the rest; it leaned casually near the door. She was the only one to know why.

While he'd been busy helping move Chaun and the others, when no one was watching her, she'd added a few things. No sense having him stint himself on food, when they suddenly had so much. No harm giving him the Grona bread, some of the dried twists of swimmer, a bag of sweet rokly.

Her longknife.

A new blanket, tightly rolled and tied. A coil of rope. He might not climb willingly, but sometimes it was necessary.

A lock of her hair, tied into a Highknot. Every Yena child made one to leave at the top of that first true climb away from their mother. It was a matter of pride to go as high as you possibly could before the longing drew you back.

It didn't matter that Enris wouldn't know its purpose. She did.

Enris himself was presently Haxel's most willing taster. While he waited for his next spoonful—the Tuana had the constitution of a rock—he filled another kind of light. It had the ropelike wick of the wall lights and a reservoir for oil, but within a small, sturdy metal frame with a handle. His head lifted and she looked away, sure now.

Such a light was meant to be carried.

He wasn't going to wait for dawn. Enris would leave when no Yena would dare, in the middle of truenight.

Aryl settled herself against the blanket-shrouded stone.

 

The wonder was that the big Tuana didn't wake everyone else. Aryl listened to Enris' attempt at stealth, grinning as he put a foot squarely on a scrap of wood, then set a row of hanging tools in motion with his shoulder. When he picked up his pack and boots, half the Om'ray in the room grunted or turned over. Passing through the doorway would have been silent, except that its blanket curtain caught on his head and he muttered something desperate under his breath as he struggled free.

That made her stifle a giggle with her hand.

She gave him time to put on his boots, coat, and pack. Another few moments for his light and orientation—and to negotiate his way past Syb, on watch outside. One more for her own courage. Then she slid from under her blanket, fully dressed and booted, and moved to the door without a whisper of sound.

Even so, a hand found her ankle.
He'll be back.

Haxel's mindvoice. Did the First Scout ever sleep? Aryl looked down to meet the gleam of very alert eyes.
There are things I need to say.

It's truenight.
Curiosity.

I've been out in it before.

True.
Amusement.
Tell the flatlander his walk's improved. Slightly.

Before opening the curtain, Aryl
reached
with care. As she'd expected, Enris and Syb were standing together, away from the door. She slipped through, careful to avoid the twinned circles of light from Syb's small fire and Enris' device. The older Om'ray had his hand on Enris' broad shoulder. While they conversed, she moved around the corner of the ruin, close to the wall, placing weight on each foot only when sure she was on solid stone.

It wasn't shadow here, it was truenight. Darkness pressed against her open eyes, real and tangible. Her nerves sang desperate alarms along her skin. Despite the heavy Grona coat, she could feel the hairs rise on her arms and neck. It was bitterly cold. She'd see her breath, if there was any light. But there was no light. No Om'ray should be outside in this…

Listen, she scolded herself. No screams. No screams meant no swarm. There was nothing here that hunted in the dark. Nothing. Her worst enemy was unfamiliar ground, where a false step could land her in one of the Sona ditches, or worse, one of the deeper pits left by the Oud.

Her heart slowed its hammering. Slightly.

She
reached
again. Enris was on the move; Syb by his fire.

Time to go.

 

Om'ray defined their place and world by each other. It was simple to follow Enris—the effort came in moving away from the comforting
sense
of so many more of their kind behind. As for avoiding Syb's well-intentioned interference?

Climb and seek, Aryl smiled to herself. Few could discern one Om'ray from two or three—she was the only Yena who could discern who. She ran on her toes to the second shelter, guided by a hand on the wall between them. Those asleep inside would hide her glow from Syb. Once past that?

Aryl felt the door curtain, then the rest of the wall. There should be a beam leaning here; Tilip planned to use it tomorrow. She crouched to pass underneath, growing more confident in her memory as a guide. Three more steps should…her outstretched hand found stone and she turned to face the road.

Her breaths were drowned out by solid footsteps, though to be fair to the Tuana, sound was exaggerated in the still air. The tiny light from his hand danced over the paving stones and his boots, as strong a beacon as the lives behind her.

Enris slowed and lifted the light, sending brightness skittering over the ruins. Aryl backed out of its reach, making her inner self as invisible as she could. She saw his face, how his eyes searched the shadows for a moment. He lowered his hand and continued walking, footsteps echoing.

The brief illumination had reflected from the metal disk Enris now wore on his coat. A token.

Aryl sank down and hugged her knees to her chest.

She should go back.

Tokens were for those on Passage. Those who were as dead to the ones left behind, on their way to a new Clan, a new name, a new life. It was Forbidden to say more than farewell to those departing, Forbidden to interfere in any way. She'd watched Bern leave her and obeyed.

Who did she have to obey now? Aryl rose to her feet. This was Sona.

She gazed down the road. A light bobbed in the distance, moving farther and farther away.

There was no Council here.

She started walking slowly, then broke into a run.

Nothing was Forbidden.

 

His long legs and light gave the Tuana the advantage. Aryl wasn't able to catch up before the point where paving stones split around a heave of rock and dirt, forcing her to a cautious walk. She knew where she was. The heave marked where the roadway bent to follow the empty river, and where what had been homes were now piles of rubble and sticks. It made no sense for the Oud to strike harder at the edge of Sona than its core, unless their intention had been to prevent escape.

Not a happy thought.

Nor was how Enris kept on going, farther and farther. She'd been confident he'd stop for truenight once a few steps away from the exiles, take shelter in the ruins, make a bright, warm fire she could enjoy while they talked. He should be exhausted, having carried more per load than anyone else. Hadn't he managed to slip out with—so he thought—only Syb aware so far?

The Tuana had his own ideas. Aryl was forced to follow, sure of her direction, if less so of her footing. At least it wasn't the truenight of the canopy, with its utter dark. There were bright holes in the sky above—stars—the effect like the open weave of a black curtain. Not enough to show details on the ground, though she could see the tall, jagged silhouettes of the mountain ridges that walled the valley. She didn't know why the Makers failed to rise—they would have bathed the land in light.

The only grace was the terrain between Sona and the first dried riverbed, with its tumbled bridge. She never thought she'd be glad of flat.

Flat…almost. Aryl's step went deeper than she'd expected, turning her next into a lurch to recover her balance. Pebbles skittered and she froze in place.

The solid
crunchcrunchcrunch
of Enris' boots stopped.

Aryl crouched and held her breath.

She really should call out. Was it fair to make him wonder who was here?

She grinned.

Then again, she always won climb and seek.

Crunchcrunch
She began to follow again, at a comfortable distance.

Suddenly, his footsteps came faster and faster. He'd broken into that ground-eating lope of his. Aryl hurried as much as she dared, but his light slipped away.

Did he want to leave her behind? Truenight pressed at her from all sides. Leave her in the dark?

She was about to give up the chase and shout when he halted, his light held chest-high.

At last! Aryl rushed into the welcoming glow. There was the light, on a rock. The tiny flame fluttered within its metal case so the shadows around it came alive. “Enris?” She looked around wildly—
reached
.

There.

The Tuana stood beyond the ring of light, impossible to see. His shields were enough to almost—not quite—make him impossible to sense as well. “Aryl?” He sounded startled.

Who else? she wondered, then pushed the thought aside. Now that she'd caught up with him, she found herself fumbling. “I—we've—I—Come where I can see you.”

He loomed from the shadows, gave her a cryptic look, then stalked to his light. Picking it up, he held it out. “Here.”

Aryl took it.

“Now go back.”

“Wait—”

Enris pointed up. “I've been out in truenight by nothing more, Aryl Sarc. Many times. You need the light—take it and go. I've made my decision.”

By “nothing more” she guessed he meant the stars, the little bright holes in the sky. As for his implication? She replaced the light on its rock. “I know you're on Passage,” Aryl told him stiffly. “It's Forbidden to interfere.”

“It's Forbidden to follow me,” with a hint of his laugh. “So why did you?”

Why had she? Aryl watched the flame, struggling to find words for what had been clear and imperative before. “Because you were wrong about me,” she said finally. “I want more for my people. For all Om'ray. Like you, I seek a new future.”

“Here. In Sona.”

“Here,” she insisted. “Where we can be what we are without fear of harming anyone or upsetting the Agreement. Use whatever Talents we possess or learn for our own good. Think about it, Enris.”

“Put aside the fact that you're being influenced by dreams you can't explain,” no laughter in his voice now. “Or that you don't know what the Oud will do. You can't start a Clan with twenty-two Om'ray. Be reasonable.”

“We're already a Clan,” she replied. “By the next M'hir, we're either all that remains of Yena—or something new. The name doesn't matter. Don't you understand? The others didn't leave Grona to follow me. They left because deep inside we know we belong together. Now—” she took a deep breath, “—we have a place of our own.”