Rift in the Sky полностью

Aryl ignored this last. “Not your fault. The trap was set first. It had to be,” she insisted when he looked doubtful. “Marcus told us there’d be extra protection soon. Whoever this was must have planned to ambush him as he left with the artifacts, before that protection was ready.” Vulnerable prey, out of its normal place, alone. “When a better chance presented itself, they sprang the trap early, that’s all.” She might not understand trading and the value of things; this, she did.

“What are these Strangers?” Suen was appalled. “They kill each other. They kill Oud. Why do you want to help them?”

“Because we hope they can help us,” Haxel said grimly.

Because they were friends . . . Aryl kept the words to herself.

In too short a time, the Tuana were ready. Aryl stood where she could watch. Galen went first, eldest and most experienced—and toughest, in Haxel’s estimation. Instead of trying to climb, he simply sat on the side of the hole and let himself slip down with the crumbling mud. She reached through the M’hir. Galen had the Power to answer. As I thought. There’s a proper tunnel in sight and a nice easy-to-follow mess where they’ve dragged the bodies. And there’s some good wood down here.

Enris’ uncle. She shouldn’t be surprised, Aryl told herself, that her Chosen’s family was every bit as blithely cheerful going into danger as he was.

As if he’d heard her thought, Enris laid his palm against her cheek. Back soon. Then, with a ridiculous “Whoop!,” he jumped and slid into the darkness.

The twins went together, holding hands. Suen last.

Don’t make me come down there to save you, Aryl sent.

We’ll ’port from the merest sniff of trouble, I promise. Despite his light tone, she knew better. Enris wouldn’t leave Marcus or anyone else with the Oud. And he believed in the Strangers’ superior technology.

“And now we wait,” Haxel said grimly.

“We wait,” Aryl agreed.

She went to the open door and leaned her back against the frame, taking deep breaths of air free of the stench of dead Oud. The others gave her space.

Because, she thought wearily, they believed. They believed she’d calm the Tikitik, return Om’ray where they belonged, and prevent the Oud from reshaping the world.

What she’d give to throw one of Ziba’s tantrums, to scream at her elders and demand they find their own solutions. To be . . .

To be young again and home.

Self-pity. And she called herself Yena? A Sarc? Would she rather be ignorant and powerless?

Aryl’s lips twisted.

She’d fall first.

Waiting was pointless. She dove into the M’hir, and reached.

Naryn.

Aryl. Their connection locked at the instant of recognition. The Tuana appeared like lightning, an eye-burning brilliance within the storm. Not peaceful, in any sense. Naryn never would be.

It didn’t help that she was furious. Good thing you left. Rayna and Amna are arguing about the seniority of their Speakers, as if any of them could do better.

She’d love to hand the job to either, Aryl thought. She couldn’t. Listen, Naryn. My mother talked of a device in the Cloisters, called a Maker.

Yes. Anaj’s been discussing it with the Adepts. A fleeting wonder, supplanted by dread. To cut an Om’ray’s binding to the rest? If it weren’t for Yao and the babies, I wouldn’t believe it possible.

Can the Maker do anything else?

That isn’t enough? She could almost see Naryn’s eyebrow lifting.

Can it remove a memory? An idea she hadn’t shared, not even with Enris. Wrong, desperate, doubtless Forbidden.

A chance.

Their connection thinned as Naryn fell silent; Aryl poured Power into it to keep their minds together. Can anything? she insisted.

Faint. Troubled. You want the others to forget the M’hir.

Yes. Then we send them home to their Clans. They’ll have questions, but no way to learn the truth.

This isn’t what you wanted for us. For all of us.

She’d wanted too much, too soon. Now, Aryl thought bitterly, she’d settle for survival. The Oud and Tikitik will be at peace. Sona will keep apart from the rest. Safe.