Rift in the Sky

The stone of pavement and bridge, the jagged arch and plunge of bare rock, gave way at the head of Sona’s valley to ruin and riotous growth. The Oud had done this, Aryl thought. They’d heaved corpses and buildings and gardens into a mound to dam the mighty river; dug a pit into the depths to divert its source, the sky-touching waterfall beyond; and refused to share more than a trifle. Even now, she didn’t know why.

A curiosity she’d leave to others.

“Our waterfall.” Enris nodded to where a single metal pipe cracked the paving of the roadway at the base of the mound, aimed down the valley. By chance or Oud design, the gush of water coming from it splashed on a tilt of rock that directed it to the side, where it disappeared into the chasm of the river’s original course.

Though the water came out with force, Enris could touch the top of the pipe with an upraised hand. Their share. Compared to the abundance that roared down the cliff and sent spray into the clouds? As well call a sigh the M’hir. “They can’t mean this to be all we get,” Aryl said, as much to herself as her Chosen. “Their Speaker agreed we’d have more than the Oud.”

“More than. Less than. Past that, who knows what they mean?” But he didn’t move immediately, instead shading his eyes and staring at the mound. She felt the distance between them she’d learned was her Chosen lost in thought.

“What is it?”

“Nothing.” Enris looked self-conscious. “A notion.” With that highly unsatisfactory response, he began to climb the slope, boots crunching bone. Impossible not to step on remains, though Aryl tried to move lightly over the loose material. The rock hunters, able scavengers elsewhere, refused to risk any chance of water.

From the top, they followed the trail the scouts had made. Like the new Sona, it blended their habits. The Yena had thrown a swaying bridge over the froth-filled abyss, anchored to the largest of the stalks leaning inward; the Tuana continued it with a wide flat swath cut through the grove, avoiding as much of the Oud-bared space before the Cloisters as possible before swinging to meet the ramp over the Cloister wall. Aryl ran along the bridge, enjoying the spray hitting her face. Enris, to his credit, no longer clung to the hand ropes. He did, however, give an exaggerated sigh of relief once on solid ground.

Aryl grinned. “You know it can hold all of Sona plus Veca’s cart, fully loaded.”

“But one of me? That’s the question.”

He had no complaint as they took the path through the nekis. Yellow-throated flowers littered the ground, like a carpet of sunshine. Leaves and stalks glistened with spray. Droplets shook free in miniature rainstorms, complete with bows of color in the air.

Lovely. She shuddered. Leaves shouldn’t be perfect. Flowers shouldn’t fall without making fruit. There should be other plants here: vines and thorns and—weeds. More sounds than footsteps and the drumming of the waterfall. “I miss biters.”

Enris chomped noisily and gave her a hopeful look.

She shoved him with her shoulder. “You know what I mean.”

“Tell me what’s wrong with keeping one’s skin intact and blood where it belongs.”

“And there should be flitters.” The clear-winged ones, with bright blue bodies. They hovered over the flowers, like blooms themselves. Others sang or danced in the air. In the canopy, senses were flooded with movement, color, sound. Smell. This grove, she decided with disgust, was as barren as Oran.

“Cader saw a wastryl on the cliff last fist.”

The black-and-white gliders soared over the valley, never more than two. Haxel believed they searched for carrion wherever the rock hunters were less. Only during the M’hir Wind did they gather in numbers and head for the canopy. “Dresel thieves,” she snorted.

Dresel. Her mouth watered. Something in the Sona diet satisfied her body’s need for it; nothing replaced Yena longing for the taste. Maybe this M’hir, she’d go to Yena, help with the Harvest in return for . . . aghast at the turn of her thoughts, Aryl rushed to hide the idea from her Chosen.

Too late. “Craving dresel?” To her relief Enris laughed. “Feel free to get it for yourself,” he assured her, an arm around her shoulders. “You won’t catch me waving a hook with nothing below but swamp.”

When they reached the opening, they fell silent. Enris let Aryl go first; he stayed close. Their practiced caution was likely unnecessary, she knew. Nonetheless, she surveyed the edge of the grove, checked the dirt around the Cloisters for new disturbance, and glanced at the sky before taking the step that exposed her to non-Om’ray watchers.

“We could surprise our Adepts. See how they’re coming.”

Aryl eyed the Cloisters. “Hardly a surprise.” The Om’ray hadn’t wasted strength to dig the lower portion free of the Oud’s dirt, so no one could look out the windows and watch their approach. Even so, she restrained a childish impulse to make a face. “The instant Oran has any success, be sure everyone will know.”

“Some feel it should be you.”