Rift in the Sky

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.

She paid attention only to Marcus. Sat on the bed. Took his right hand in hers as if offering Choice. When her hair slid down her arm to touch his skin, he smiled in wonder.

She closed her eyes.

He closed his.

Enris held his breath, his shields.

And when the Human began to scream, Naryn bowed her head.

Chapter 13

THE WORLD, ITS END, HER LIFE . . . nothing mattered as Aryl ’ported except speed. Something was wrong. Something was wrong . . .

... the shelter took the place of the frantic crowd in the Council Chamber . . .

A horrible scream filled her ears! Her longknife leaped to her hand, and she struck without waiting for a target. Hands gripped her arm, deflected its movement. There was a flash of pain, then a grip like stone.

On one arm.

Without pause, Aryl brought her second knife up to kill.

IT’S ME!

Enris?

Both knives dropped with a clatter as her eyes snapped into focus. Blood ran down his cheek. A superficial cut; she’d missed the eye. “You shouldn’t get in my way,” she reminded him calmly.

He grabbed her other arm. “Aryl—”

Another SCREAM, this ending with a rasping sob.

From somewhere, she found the strength to push her giant Chosen out of her way, or he let her pass.

Then . . . she saw.

Naryn was holding Marcus! He writhed in agony, and she held him against her!

“No!” Aryl lunged forward. Naryn’s hair tried to evade her—whipped at her face to blind her—but she was too quick and grabbed handfuls, heaved to pull the other to the floor. “What were you doing?!”

But she knew. Even as she dropped to her knees beside Marcus—too still, too quiet—even as she didn’t dare touch him but leaned close to use her open mouth to wait for his breath—she knew.

And there were other weapons than knives. The M’hir boiled behind her eyes; hers to command, waiting like the swarm.

Take her away, she begged Enris with her last shred of control, trembling on the brink. Kill a friend, for a friend?

She’d lose both.

As you love me, take her away. Go.

Because he did, because they did, Enris and Naryn vanished.

Aryl couldn’t move.

Dark lashes bridged hollows of shadowed skin. Drying tears left a crusted stream.

Then. Warmth in her mouth. A stomach-sour taste.

A breath.