Rift in the Sky

Aryl comprehended one thing quite well, as attendant Tikitik busied themselves for departure, attaching baskets to the legs of the esans, barking softly.

Thought Traveler had enjoyed “protecting” the Vyna.

Under other circumstances, their flight by esan would have enthralled her. In Yena, Aryl had spent fists building models of wastryl wings she’d called fiches; her triumph a shape able to glide great distances on a wind. The esan’s two pairs of wings, once opened from their fold over the back, were like those of most flitters, being clear with dark veins. They stiffened like one of her fiches as the esans flung themselves from Vyna’s walls, gliding down through the mist toward the platform below. To rise over the mountains, the stiff wings beat in powerful strokes, then began to vibrate in place, like a biter’s.

The gliding, Aryl thought with a certain satisfaction, she could do.

The basket suspended between the middle pair of legs wasn’t uncomfortable, mostly because Enris held her in his arms. They’d protested when Naryn had been put in one of her own, but the Tikitik were surprisingly gentle with her. There’d been some kind of cushioning within.

Not enough.

Anaj. Her distinct mindvoice made it easy to forget she wasn’t standing with them. An oddly familiar voice. Like, Aryl decided, unexpectedly amused, an older Haxel.

“More like my grandmother,” Enris countered, and their esan shook vigorously. His deep voice irritated the creature more than hers.

Mountains swept beneath them, their shapes muted. The sun was hidden behind cloud. She shivered in the chill and Enris rearranged his grip so his warm forearms covered hers. A Tuana’s skin must be thicker. This is much better than my first flight, he sent cheerfully. Think they’ll let us keep one?

She eyed the body above dubiously. Thin and muscular. An abundance of long bones beneath the skin when it flexed. Looks tough.

His laugh rumbled through her. Not to eat, my bloodthirsty little Yena. To carry things. Us, for one.

It wasn’t often he managed to shock her. There are machines for that

, she countered, and found she quite liked the notion. Machines that weren’t Om’ray, that was the problem: the Strangers’ aircars, the Oud’s version, which required an Oud willing to fly it. Unless . . . I could ask our Oud for one, she mused, snuggling against Enris. We could take it apart, see how it was made, change it to suit us.

We’d need tools, a metal shop. She’d surprised him in turn, but his clever, bold mind took hold of the idea and began to puzzle at it.

Anything was possible, if they survived this day. On that thought, she opened her shields, let her inner sense reach. She didn’t need the Vyna’s revolting intimacy or to intrude into the other’s mind. This was her Talent, Aryl thought gratefully, and sought Naryn.

There. A solitary glow, no longer knotted to another by Joining. Aryl sighed with relief as she traced only the connections natural among Om’ray: Naryn to her, to Enris, to the rest of their kind . . .

... to Anaj.

She sleeps at last, child. Let her be.

And you? Enris sent. How does it feel in there?

Trust her Chosen to ask what she hadn’t dared, Aryl thought with an inner grin, waiting for the answer.

Suddenly, her body felt too small, too warm; the arms about her too tight; the sound of wind and breathing replaced by the POUND of a stranger’s heart. She couldn’t see, couldn’t feel, couldn’t taste or smell, could only squirm and struggle futilely against—against—

STOP! His sending was intended to sting. That’s enough!

You asked.

Not contrite. If anything, the old Adept’s mindvoice sounded pleased, as might Haxel after a lesson successfully delivered.

Aryl had been imprisoned within a rastis once; had fought her own inner battle for sanity. The memory tasted like Anaj’s sharing: terrified, abandoned, alone. She’d have given anything to have help. I could try to let you see through my eyes.

Aryl!

Hush, young hothead, Anaj told him. I can hear if I wish. I don’t want to see. I don’t want to be here. Bad enough sensing where we are.

Where they were was passing over Rayna, aimed at Amna, though Aryl doubted that was their final destination. Sona was farther away every moment, a temptation easy to resist. They couldn’t abandon Naryn—or Anaj. We’ll get you to our Birth Watcher as soon as possible, she promised.