Rift in the Sky

Anaj, from another time, hadn’t reacted to the Tikitik’s use of the word; today’s Adepts were shocked. More knowledge, Aryl thought bitterly, lost to the past. Thought Traveler had been right. They existed within too few years, within too little space.

Om’ray were trapped in themselves.

“It’s time I told you about Tikitna,” she said.

I can almost see it . . . an inner caress as tangible as any touch . . . how your skin would glow if the Makers were out.

Aryl flinched.

What did I say? What’s wrong?

Nothing. She eased her hip on the bench. The sun will be what’s out and soon, Enris. Get some sleep. Not to mention they weren’t alone. Every bench held an Om’ray, most strangers. The new Adepts had proved useful at last. They’d known how to dim the lights in the areas used for sleeping.

Makers.

No chance of sleep with that word in her head. She’d told the others about Tikitna, including the Makers’ Touch and her promise. Amna and Rayna had the Tikitik for neighbors; their Speakers had grown quiet as she shared, too quiet. They’d gestured approval when she finished. Approval, but beneath, in every mind, shivered the same apprehension.

How would the Tikitik react to the new Sona? How would the Oud?

The Adepts, no surprise, dismissed the Strangers and the destruction of their camps as irrelevant.

They were wrong, but Aryl didn’t waste her time trying to convince them, not when she couldn’t offer more. Where was Marcus? He’d promised to contact her. Did he find promises impossible to keep as well?

Was he . . . ?

She struggled to quiet her thoughts, to keep her mind as still as her body; Enris, at least, should rest. Husni had imposed this effort on them all. Being eldest, other than Anaj, she’d even quelled the Adepts. Hadn’t hurt that she’d brought their fretful, overtired children into the Council Chamber to make that announcement.

Aryl smiled to herself.

I felt that.

Sleep.

Makers. The Tikitik. Whatever their connection to Om’ray, Aryl knew Thought Traveler would come. It would demand to know the worth of her promise. She couldn’t force the others to leave. She didn’t know what she could say.

You’ll think of something.

Stop prying.

I didn’t have to. He might have been pressed, warm and comforting, along her back, instead of lying on the floor. Enris was, unfortunately, too big for a bench. You need to relax. What should we name Sweetpie?

Of all the odd . . . You know perfectly well the Cloisters will give her a name when she’s added to the records. Seru had insisted Juo and Lymin should introduce their babies to Sona’s later today. It would ease tension for them all.

Her Chosen was amused. And more awake than ever. You? Follow tradition? Sweetpie deserves more than the next name on a list.

He tried to distract her. Aryl stroked the gentle swell at her waist and let him. How else would you name a child?

Hesitation and a certain shyness.

She grew intrigued; not such a casual topic after all. You’ve a name in mind?

We could call her Ridersel.

A Tuana name. His mother’s. Ridersel di Sarc. Aryl mouthed the words to herself. If you like. It’s better than Sweetpie.

Aryl! Feigned outrage. His joy ran through her bones.

She smiled and thought of a deep, lingering kiss. Sleep.

After that?

Her hair slipped over her bare arm. Aryl brought a fistful of the soft stuff against her cheek. With that.

The sun rose over Amna, spilled its light across the world, and nothing else, Aryl thought, was certain today.

“You tell the children there’s no breakfast! Haxel has to listen!”

All right. Maybe one thing. She shook her head at her indignant cousin. “Seru. We can’t risk going to the mounds for supplies before the scouts report back. You know that.”

“Then they can bring something back.”

Enris, walking beside them, chuckled. “I’d help.”

He’d come to tell her Haxel and her scouts were preparing to leave for Sona. Aryl had excused herself from the Adepts—already up and deep in discussion. Last ’night, Enris had shared what little they knew about the Strangers’ troubles with the First Scout. According to him, she’d taken the news very calmly.

That couldn’t be good, Aryl fussed to herself. She had to talk to Haxel first.

As for food? If Haxel expected trouble, her scouts wouldn’t carry packs, empty or otherwise. “Being hungry won’t hurt them. Or you,” to her Chosen.