Rift in the Sky

Anaj must have listened, Aryl thought with relief. “I’m going to climb down and find Thought Traveler.”

Her Chosen peered over the edge of the basket, probably assessing the height. You can’t do it without a rope, she sent fondly.

Enris straightened, rocking the basket, and laughed without humor. “Which one?”

“What do you mean?”

He jerked a thumb over his shoulder; Aryl looked down.

Black Tikitik sat in the lowermost branches of the growths around them. Fifty, perhaps more.

Every wristband she could see bore the symbol that meant “Thought Traveler.”

She really should have changed before leaving Sona, she thought, brushing shreds of green-mauve from her tunic, plucking one from her hairnet. The basket was full of shattered plants, courtesy of the esan’s flailing about. She looked like a child caught playing in the canopy. Where was dignity when she needed it?

Probably, Aryl told herself, hiding someplace safe.

“If they all have questions,” her Chosen commented, “make sure they give us lunch first. We missed it.”

Make sure we aren’t lunch first, Anaj added.

Naryn was silent, but let Aryl feel her confidence.

They believed in her.

She wished she did.

Interlude

THERE WAS LUNCH. Too much of it, Enris thought queasily. The sinuous stepped construction that was the Tikitik version of a table was crammed with bowls of varying shapes and sizes. Bowls of the revolting dresel jelly, shiny and purple, that Aryl and the Yena prized, bowls of swimmer flesh floating in a brown sauce exactly as his uncle from Amna had remembered for him, bowls of what Anaj proclaimed to be fresh rokly, bowls of this and that, even a bowl of denos cakes, steaming hot.

Sweetpies that might have been his mother’s. He tried not to look.

Favorite foods from different Om’ray Clans, some he didn’t recognize. Proof the Tikitik knew more about his kind than he did.

Of course, it wasn’t only the food and its implications that ruined any appetite he’d had.

It was the audience.

Tikitik surrounded them, silent, attentive. Most squatted on wide branches, branches that curled down to a convenient height, that aligned to provide the best view, that made easy steps to upper levels, that walled away secrets. Overhead, finer growth interlaced to make roofs, with short, stubby leaves tilted to direct sunlight where it was wanted and shade everywhere else.

They’d seen the Tikitik buildings from the air, Enris thought with disgust, and not known it.

These Tikitik were hard to recognize as well. He’d expected them to be mottled mauve and brown to match their surroundings, or black like the Thought Travelers. Instead, their knobby skins blazed with color. Yellow pulsed along pendulous throats. Heads were bright blue and more of that color flared along the short spines of each arm. Eye cones were more variable.

Did they have to come in fleshy pink?

Fur brushed his hand and Enris managed not to flinch. Another loper. The things had no fear or caution. And weren’t alone. Everywhere he looked, something moved. All to a purpose. Lopers used their clever paws and teeth to carry objects. What he’d at first thought were biters after his blood—and promptly swatted, to the amusement of the Tikitik—turned out to be busy picking up wastes. An assortment of them had almost finished removing a spill near the denos bowl, flying off with flecks of yellow on their tiny limbs.

Another reason he wasn’t hungry.

“Mothers must be strong.” Thought Traveler—the one who’d accompanied them here—stretched its fingers toward the bowls. “Any of these contain what your bodies require. You should eat.” This close, its skin wasn’t black, Enris noted, but a blue so dark as to lose its color. The cones were startling white, the eyes themselves black beads sitting on top. To draw attention where it looked? Its mouth protuberances, like those of the rest of its kind, were gray.

As far as he was concerned, those looked more like a meal trying to escape than body parts.

Another reason.

“Something more familiar, perhaps.” A tall gourd stood beside one bend of the table. The Tikitik lifted its lid and indicated Enris should come closer. “Young Oud? These are quite fresh.”

The gourd was full of small pale rocks. Moving rocks.

Young . . . Oud?

Familiar indeed. Remembering that taste, Enris swallowed bile. Never eating again, he decided. Ever.

Naryn eyed the selection, then chose rokly. Enris guessed Anaj had a share in that choice. Aryl merely lifted an eyebrow. “How do you know what we need?”

“We know what everything needs.” Thought Traveler lifted its head. Its smaller rear eyes moved ceaselessly, as if it was as important to keep watch on its fellows as on them. “And that is the last question I will answer in Tikitna.”