Rift in the Sky

“I’m gratified you survived, despite refusing my excellent advice, Enris Now-Sarc,” Thought Traveler continued. “The opportunity for your stimulating company shouldn’t be wasted.”

Meaning there’d be no getting rid of the creature. Enris gestured a grim apology to Naryn.

They entered the path. Like the others, it was too narrow to walk side by side, though lopers squeezed past, carrying or dragging bags. Enris let Naryn go first, then put himself ahead of Thought Traveler. Underfoot, a dense twisted growth, like a mat, deadened all sound; its faint spice when trodden on did nothing to counter the miasma of decay. The path’s center was lower—worn, he guessed. Otherwise, there was nothing to give a sense of age.

The plants to either side met over their heads. They were inhabited. He could hear Tikitik voices, distant, sometimes moving. Once, the clatter of what could have been dishes. Rustling. The living walls were inhabited, too. More biters-with-tasks; something that seemed to swim through the foliage, stopping to stare at them with its triplet of stalked red eyes; what he assumed were yellow flowers until one jumped to the path beside him in a flurry of limbs and teeth to pin a squealing loper and drag it away to the shadows. Aryl, ahead, didn’t turn around. Naryn flinched and walked faster.

“It’s necessary to cull the old ones,” Thought Traveler volunteered, raising his voice to be heard over growls and squeals. “They forget their routes.” Crunching.

Wonderful place. His skin crawled as he imagined all four of the Tikitik’s eyes watching for any reaction.

The path kept twisting. All he could tell after the first few turns was that they most often walked toward Amna, its many Om’ray a comfort, if out of reach. Aryl set a quick pace: confident or happier in motion, no matter where she was going. Both, Enris thought fondly.

Maybe their unwelcome companion could be of use. “Is this the way we’re supposed to go?”

“Questions are forbidden in Tikitna. They impose will.”

Or maybe not.

What would Aryl do? Though it rankled, with this Tikitik especially, Enris decided to apologize. “I meant no offense. This is an unfamiliar—” ridiculous and highly annoying, “—constraint on our conversation.”

“We don’t expect Om’ray to know our ways.” Its head appeared over his shoulder, the nearest cone eye almost touching his cheek, fleshy protuberances brushing his jaw like soft moist fingers. With an effort, Enris managed not to leap away or, what would doubtless be worse, swat the things. “You’ve never been curious about them before.”

Not a question, Enris realized. Yet it could express interest. He tried to look the other in the eye, without tripping over his feet. “To most Om’ray,” he admitted, “you aren’t real, so your ways don’t matter.”

Another eye swiveled his way. This close, the movement made a sound like chewing on ice. His stomach protested. “You, like Apart-from-All and this other one, no longer need to adjust to our presence. You consider us real, then.”

Another not-question, he was sure of it. He began to see what compelled Aryl to try and understand not-Om’ray. The slightest success was rewarding.

Though he could have done without the head over his shoulder.

And it was right. He couldn’t point to the moment he’d stopped fighting his inner sense, when he’d accepted the not-Om’ray as being—as being people, too. The Human? No doubt there. Oud? He wasn’t ready for that. Not yet. That they had their own will and desires that affected his kind and their survival?

That he believed, Enris thought grimly.

“We’re learning,” was all he said.

“Another dangerous choice.” Thought Traveler’s head bobbed, then retreated. “You continue to entertain, Enris Mendolar.”

“Enris d’sud Sarc,” he corrected, turning to look over his shoulder at the creature. Its use of “Choice” was no accident. What had it said, that day outside Vyna? “You told me, ‘This would not be a match we favor.’ Sorry to disappoint you.” Quite the opposite. Could the Tikitik grasp the nuance?

That amused bark. “Far from disappointed, Chosen of Aryl di Sarc. Your match was not favored because we deemed you unfit. We would never be in favor of a lesser mate for Apart-from-All, an Om’ray of such . . . interesting . . . potential. I’m gratified you exceeded yourself.”

Thought Traveler excelled at mixing flattery with insult. Enris dismissed both. There was a truth here. Something he should know. He stopped and faced the creature; the narrow path forced the Tikitik to stop as well. “It couldn’t have been my hair,” Enris commented mildly. “My mother claimed it was my best feature. Of many.”

Not humility?

He ignored Naryn.

“This is Tikitna, where explanations may be given.” Four eyes regarded him; something rustled in the shadows. Another something squealed in pain. “Consider, Enris Chosen-of-Sarc,”Thought Traveler said at last, “that some are best not received.”

“That’s my choice,” Enris informed it, and crossed his arms. “I’d like to know.”