Rift in the Sky

And he was fascinated. That couldn’t be good. Aryl glared at the Oud, as if it were to blame for her Chosen’s curiosity and the Human’s unlimited ability to provoke it. Say no. To whatever it is.

He immediately tightened his shields, letting her feel only a vague reassurance.

As if that helped.

Then she forgot all about Enris and the dangerous allure of Human technology as the Oud Speaker brought together two limbs and made a sound that was no sound at all.

Because she heard it in the M’hir.

It rang along her nerves and through her mind, like a distant bell. Once only. Larger than the world, smaller than a breath. Undeniable.

Aryl wasn’t sure what startled her more: that this Oud could make a sound in the M’hir, or that it did so as if expecting her to hear it.

Good thing her Chosen was distracted.

“Oud tunnel. Under. Safe is. Goodgood,” the Oud Speaker said next, word-making limbs working quickly, hunched as if to keep those words private or in a bizarre—and unsuccessful—attempt to whisper. “Sona Om’ray tunnel. All ways. Safe is. Secret. GoodgoodgoodGOOD.”

The Oud Speaker had been present for one ’port: when she’d been forced to save herself and Marcus from being buried alive during the Oud attack on the Tikitik. When the Oud had said nothing on the matter, she’d assumed they’d been too busy committing murder to notice how she and the Human survived.

If they had proper eyes . . . but who knew what they could or couldn’t sense?

Who knew what they thought?

“Good we talk. GoodgoodgoodGOOD!” The Oud Speaker swayed toward her as if about to topple. Aryl flinched but stood her ground. “Careful. CareCareCare.” Again the unheard bell. “Tikitik. Count. Follow. Measure.”

Not attention she wanted. “Tikitik here?” She tried not to look obvious as she searched the encircling edge of the grove for their lean shapes. The creatures were adept at skulking, their skin able to match their surroundings, but Haxel’s scouts knew what to look for—surely trespassers would have been noticed.

“Nonononono. Balance. Agreement.”

Something she’d find comforting if she didn’t know exactly what “Balance” meant to both Oud and Tikitik. Bad enough this Oud appeared able to comprehend their movement through the M’hir. At least it didn’t seem upset. Aryl was quite sure the reaction of the Tikitik would not be as calm. “How—?” She stopped.

Even the question felt dangerous.

The folded limbs opened along one side, moving with blinding speed in sequence to convey something from the lowermost part of its body. Aryl frowned. Oud had pouches of some kind down there. She’d yet to have a gift from one that didn’t come with trouble attached. “I don’t want—” She closed her mouth.

A Speaker’s Pendant came to rest, dangled from an upper limb. It was attached to a scrap of filthy fabric patterned black and white in the fashion of its former bearer, the Tikitik Speaker killed before her eyes by the Oud. The gruesome relic wasn’t offered to her. Instead the Oud shook it vigorously. “Count.” Another shake. “Follow.” Again. “Measure.” Then it passed the pendant to the opposite row of limbs. Each set went into opposing motion; when they stopped, the pendant had been replaced by something else.

A token.

What did it mean? Tuana’s Oud Speaker had given Enris his first; another Oud had taken it. Could this be the same one? Not that they were rare. A token was given to each Om’ray unChosen who took Passage, granting the right to trespass through the lands of Tikitik and Oud. The Yena exiles had had tokens when they arrived at Grona; only Enris had kept his, intending all along to seek Vyna. He’d brought it back with him, along with a handful collected from one of Vyna’s traps, to prove no unChosen should go there again.

Enris? she sent, this time sharing her confusion.

“Count. Follow. Measure.”

All of Cersi’s races had the pendants. Only Om’ray wore tokens. If she assumed she understood the Oud—which was like stepping on an untried frond over the Lay—then it was claiming the Tikitik somehow used both pendant and token to keep track of . . . what?

Count. That was easy. One Speaker per Clan, one Speaker per neighbor. Eight Om’ray Clans, seven with neighbors, meant no less than fifteen pendants. Tokens? Every Clan knew how many it sent out, how many arrived. Easy to believe the Tikitik, being inclined to spy on others, kept track of such movements between Clans.

Follow. A Tikitik had followed Enris to Vyna; it had found him afterward. So it could be done. But how could a token help?

As for “measure.” That made even less sense. Tokens and pendants were metal ornaments, not devices like the geoscanner presently riding her hip in a hidden pocket. And what would Tikitik measure if they could?

Profoundly annoyed, Aryl shook her head. “You’re making no sense at all.”

“YESYESYES.” As if the Oud were made desperate by her inability to understand. “Tikitik do. All life. Tikitik count. All life. Tikitik follow. All life. Tikitik measure. All.”