Rift in the Sky

“What do you plan to eat next winter?” Aryl found herself honestly curious. The Tuanas of Sona shared a past and future, but remained distinct: Naryn and the Runners, who worked as hard as any Yena, and Deran and his once-privileged kin, who had the oddest notion they should be entitled to not work at all. The two groups spared no words or kindness for one another.

Oran lifted her head, golden hair flooding over her shoulders. “Peace, Aryl. They work here, for us. We must concentrate on our task; we are helpless while dreaming. Without any Lost—” A shrug.

As if it was a detriment, not to have mind-shattered Chosen to serve her. And she never would, Aryl hoped fiercely, though what she could do against a fact of Om’ray life was beyond her imagining. The death of one of a Joined pair meant the loss of the other’s sense of self, if not another death. The only exception had been her own mother, Taisal. “You brought me here, Adept,” she stated grimly, regretting that decision. Though now she could return to this sanctum of theirs at whim; from the unsettled feel of their Power, the others realized it too.

Hoyon scowled. “Why, Oran?”

Oran gestured a perfunctory apology. “You need more than I can give you.”

That was it? Oran wanted her to restore Hoyon’s strength with her own. Aryl’s hand wanted to find the hilt of her longknife. Not helpful. She rested her fingers on her belt. “Strength for what?”

“The Cloisters must accept him—” Oran flinched and fell silent, but her eyes were hot.

Aryl had felt it, too. A crack of Power, stinging even to those not its target. Oran wasn’t the leader of this pair, as she’d believed. Hoyon d’sud Gethen was.

Leader of nothing else. Don’t think to challenge me, she sent to the Grona Adept. She’d kept it private, but his defiant glare at her didn’t fool anyone. Fear spilled past his shields, thick and cloying. The others exchanged troubled looks.

Aryl felt unclean.

“Explain yourselves,” she pressed. “Now.”

“He’s tried and failed.” Bern was clearly pleased to have Hoyon put in his place. “A gift of strength won’t help. The Cloisters doesn’t want him.”

Would none of them make sense? “The Cloisters is a building.”

“It’s much more.” Oran gestured at the room. “This is the Dream Chamber. Here, we can learn whatever we need. Once the Cloisters accepts Hoyon as its Keeper.”

“You talk of what’s forbidden to non-Adepts!” Hoyon subsided at Aryl’s lifted brow, though he looked as if he’d bitten into a rotten fruit.

“ ‘Keeper?’ ” she repeated. “What’s that?”

“Not what. Who.” As if goaded by Hoyon’s warning, Oran spoke quickly. “The Keeper is the one Adept given the ability to open the dream records for the rest. But Sona’s hasn’t listened to Hoyon.”

Adept babble. Aryl decided to leave the question of how a building could listen alone, though she did approve this one’s taste. “Will it listen to you?”

A reasonable question. Hoyon jerked as if she’d hit him.

From the joyous lift of Oran’s hair, this wasn’t the first time she’d considered stepping into Hoyon’s place. However, she schooled her face and bowed very properly toward the other Adept. “I would not presume. Hoyon d’sud Gethen is my senior. My teacher.”

A poor time for Oran di Caraat to exhibit humility, false or real. Aryl was conscious of their audience: the pair of Tuana, Kran and Bern, Gijs. Nothing that happened with such wit nesses would be secret for long.

Which worked both ways.

She smiled. “I’ll ask Naryn, then. She’s had Adept training—”

“No!” from Hoyon.

“She can’t,” from Oran, whose lips twisted. “Even if she were a full Adept, there’s what grows inside her. The Cloisters won’t accept a pregnant candidate.” She rose to her feet, shaking off Bern’s solicitous hand. “I will make the attempt, with Hoyon’s permission.”

“But you’re pregnant,” Aryl protested.

“I’m hardly so careless.”

“You were seen opening the lock—”

Before Oran could reply, Menasel spoke up. “We all can,” the Tuana Chosen boasted. “They added our names to the records—”

“Only yours?” Aryl cut in.

In the ensuing silence, she looked at each of them in turn. Gijs lowered his eyes. “Only yours,” she repeated, sure now. Poor Juo.

Games and secrets. They destroyed bridges. They left Om’ray stranded and alone. They risked everything. Sona had forty-six Om’ray. Barely enough to plant and tend a crop. There would soon be babies needing care. The eldest among them could fail in the coming winter.

The river had yet to flood.

The blood pounding in her ears was louder than their breathing. A presence filled her mind—Enris, alerted, not yet alarmed. Aryl sent a pulse of reassurance she most assuredly didn’t feel, then tightened her shields.

She looked at the Grona Adepts. “Every name. By truenight.”

Oran’s hair flailed, but she didn’t argue.

“Everyone to see this place and understand what you would do here.”

Hoyon opened his mouth, then closed it.

“And if you succeed—anyone who wishes dreams with you.”

That was too much. “Only Adepts dream to order!” Hoyon shouted.