Rift in the Sky

“It will hurt Naryn and Anaj,” Seru declared, green eyes flashing. “They’re weaker than the rest.”

“I don’t need—” We’ll be fine, child—

Once assured Naryn’s pregnancy was “normal,” Seru had put herself firmly in charge. Now she was unmoved by either the former’s sharp temper or the Old Adept’s superior tone. “I’ll say what you need and what’s fine around here.”

Aryl hid a smile. How her cousin could think of Anaj as an unborn she couldn’t begin to guess. For her part, she was constantly tempted to look for the Old Adept, so real and strong was her inner presence. She imagined her standing straight, the only sign of age the wrinkles playing around keen eyes and firm lips. With hair confined by metal links.

Even Naryn, who’d shed Oran’s filthy robe for a mismatch of clothing from several different Om’ray, appeared cowed by Seru’s determined responsibility. “We slept,” she offered.

You call that sleeping?!

“I’ll mention the food,” Aryl said hastily.

Gesturing gratitude, Seru smiled. Before she turned back, she reminded them. “Don’t forget the naming ceremony. At firstnight. Cetto’s agreed to speak for the new ones. Don’t be late.” As if nothing could matter more.

Life as it should be, Aryl thought, warmed by gratitude of her own. That’s what Om’ray like Husni and Seru gave the rest. “We’ll be there,” she promised.

Ridersel, Enris sent privately.

I’ll let you tell her, she replied, amused when his smug faded to mock dismay

.

They reached the section of pale yellow corridor marked by dusty footprints. Ahead, the tall arched windows to either side of the metal doors were obscured. They didn’t bother cleaning them. Fresh dust arrived with every breeze, spattered into sticky rounds when a stronger wind carried droplets from the waterfall beyond the grove. Only the frames on the walls looked as bright as they had in Yena, with their inexplicable arrangements of rectangles and disks. A puzzle for another day, Aryl told herself firmly.

Haxel leaned against one of the doors, arms folded. Syb, Veca, Gijs, and Yuhas, along with four of the Tuana runners, stood nearby. Only Sona. All were armed as if going after stit lers, with extra longknives in their belts. All were waiting.

For her? Aryl slowed. “What’s wrong?”

The First Scout rolled her head, leaning an ear against the door. “Listen.”

Aryl walked forward, put her ear to the chill metal.

taptaptaptap . . . TAP . . . taptaptap

Marcus. It had to be. Eagerly Aryl grabbed for the door.

Haxel blocked her way. “It isn’t your friend.”

“How do you know?”

By way of answer, the other pulled her knife and rapped the hilt on the metal.

SMACK! All but Haxel jumped back as a huge dark form crashed against the nearest window and slid down out of sight. “It doesn’t like that,” she said calmly, replacing the knife in its sheath.

An Oud.

taptaptap . . . TAP . . . taptaptap

Knocking on their door, as it had on the Human’s.

“It’s a Visitation,” Aryl heard herself say in a remarkably normal voice. “It wants to talk to me.”

“Or wants a way in.” Haxel scowled, the scar white on her cheek and jaw. “They tried it before.”

“I’m sure.” And she was.

But where was Marcus?

A lake stretched at her feet, not clear or dead, but a rich blue, with clusters of floating yellow-and-pink flowers, and flitters that snatched gleaming swimmers in their fingers. Water tumbled over rocks to rejoin the great river. Something sang from the grasses nearby. Children tried to find it, laughing, splashing. The sound would stop when they came close, to start again at a short distance; willing to play, if not be caught.

Reflections, where the water grew still. The soaring white petals of the Cloisters, the dark, red-streaked stone of the cliff behind it, nekis and vines and shrubs adding their softness between. The sky itself, the glow of the setting sun.