Rift in the Sky

“Marcus hasn’t left the valley since the last snow. He lets the others come to him. Why would he be flying about? Why this way?” Her hair strained against its net. “He must be leaving Cersi.” Aryl drew her knees to her chest and hugged them. “I thought he’d warn us first.” Had she offended him? Missed some vital Human courtesy? Made him sick with the turrif after all?

Or had she misunderstood their friendship all along? There was hurt in the thought. That didn’t make it wrong.

“You’re the one who says look before you take hold,” Enris soothed, one hand shading his eyes. “Marcus wouldn’t go without telling us. And when he does leave, he’ll be back soon. He wants to see our beautiful Sweetpie.”

“Will he be back?” Aryl countered. “What do we know of his kind, beyond the few here?”

They were few, she thought, because their technology did so much for them. Site One, the Lake of Fire, held only the three of its Triad. Site Two, the mountain near Grona, had Henshaw’s Triad and the flitterlike being who’d helped Marcus rescue the exiles. Marcus, with a vague wave toward the sunset, referred to Site Three as inactive and explained they used it now for re-supply . Six lived there, two comtechs,

the pair of archivists sent to help him pack, and the non-Humans who comprised the rest of Marcus’ new Triad. She hadn’t paid attention to his babble of incomprehensible—and unpronounceable—names, but she had to the numbers. The camp at Sona was called Site Four, implying no others. Four sites and fourteen Strangers were, in Haxel’s dour estimation, four and fourteen too many.

From what else Marcus had said, and not said, there were far more involved in his work. They lived on other worlds. Gave orders by comlink. Traveled between in ways he’d never quite explained. Which had been fine, Aryl thought in frustration, until now.

“He told us he answers to others. Coming back might not be his decision to make.” She dropped her head to her knees. What if she hadn’t called Marcus? What if they’d ’ported home, only to find him gone from the world?

Enris traced the back of her hand with a sandy finger. “Don’t underestimate our resourceful Human,” he said gently. “Even if you’re right—and I’m not saying you are—he talks to his family from here, doesn’t he? So he can talk to us from there.”

She raised her head to glare at him. “Where, Enris? Where is ‘there’? We don’t know the full shape of this world, let alone his!”

What’s wrong? Naryn had stopped pacing. Too far away to hear, not far enough to escape carelessly spilled emotion.

Nothing. Aryl tightened her shields. We’ll be leaving soon.

Her Chosen freed his feet and brushed them off, shedding sand like snow. “I should have known.” He pulled on a still-damp boot with a grimace. “A peaceful Cersi isn’t enough for my wild little Yena.” Utterly sincere, if not for the teasing beneath the words. “But I’ve the answer. Om’ray-sized fiches. We’ve no lack of cliffs to jump from.”

Cheering her up, was he?

She should be happy. The future she wanted for her people was here, now. That could be the change she tasted. Not a warning, a promise. Aryl managed a smile. “You hate cliffs.”

“I wasn’t volunteering to try the things,” with an exaggerated shudder. “I’ll leave that to those with less sense.”

“Meaning me.”

He laughed. “Hoyon comes to mind. Might inspire him to ’port.”

“And you call me bloodthirsty?”

His grin, the relief beneath it—they only added to the guilt she was careful to keep to herself. How could she care so much for a not-Om’ray? She’d known Marcus would leave. If not today, then one day. One day, he’d leave forever.

Wasn’t that for the best?

Of course it would be, Aryl told herself sadly.

For everyone else.

“There he is.”

The sun sat over Grona. Naryn and Enris shaded their eyes, gazing where Aryl pointed. She was sure the glint in the sky could be nothing else. Nothing living moved that fast, or in a straight line against the wind.

Fast? Aryl frowned as it approached. Too fast. The glint became a machine that plunged at them like a rock falling. She and the others flinched as the aircar came uncomfortably close overhead before it dropped to rest, throwing a stinging cloud of white almost at their feet.

The opaque roof lifted before the sand settled again. Marcus popped up like an Oud from a tunnel. “Let’s go!” he shouted at them, beckoning with both arms. “Hurry!”

Fear of the Tikitik?

Naryn scowled but followed Aryl and Enris. Her displeasure aroused Anaj, silent for some time. Naryn? What’s happening? A pause as they climbed into the aircar, then: ANSWER ME!

The Old Adept, Aryl winced, had very little patience and a very loud mindvoice.

“We’re flying home,” Naryn said aloud, her face like ash. Aryl took her arm, poured strength through that link. Her friend gave her a determined smile. “Hopefully a quick trip,” she added fervently.