Rift in the Sky

“Which baby?” She’d been gone less than a tenth. Aryl vaguely remembered Juo’s gasp in the meeting hall, but birthing couldn’t be that fast. Could it? “Juo’s?”

“Of course, Juo’s. The baby’s impatient. It’s the wrong time.”

“Are you sure?”

Seru shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what I believe—when I tried to convince her to relax and wait, that’s when I discovered something.” She drew up her knees and looked miserable. “The baby won’t listen to me!”

“Are you doing it right?” Whatever “it” was. Aryl had to admit she knew almost nothing about Seru’s special Talent. Oh, everyone knew Om’ray births often required a Birth Watcher to convince the baby to relinquish its tight hold on its mother. Otherwise—there was no otherwise. The baby had to be willing to be born. Or, apparently, not to be born. “It’s your first time—”

This drew a withering look. “I’ve helped my mother since I was four, Aryl di Sarc. You know that. This is . . . Juo’s baby is different.”

“Different?” Did being pregnant herself explain why the word twisted inside her? “Is she all right?”

“Healthy, yes. But the baby—Aryl, she’s only aware of her mother. She can’t sense other Om’ray. She can’t believe me. What do I say to such a child? How do I tell her she won’t be all alone when she leaves her mother, when she always will be?”

Another one?

Aryl shivered, though the slanting sun was warm on her skin. “We need Oswa,” she told Seru.

Oswa di Gethen, who’d given birth to a daughter with the same affliction.

Yao.

By dint of hard work—and a plentiful supply of weathered wood and rock—Sona could boast that each pair of Chosen, and their children, if any, had a home of their own. The Yena unChosen—Cader, Fon, and Kayd di Uruus—shared one building and had invited Worin Mendolar to join them, much to the young Tuana’s joy. Oran’s brother, Kran, stayed with Deran di Edut of Tuana, when not with his sister. The di Licor sisters would have happily moved away from their parents also, but when they were not scouting with Haxel, their mother kept them close. Not Choosers yet—but soon.

Myris would have known, Aryl sighed to herself. Beko di Serona would be first, already prone to such wild swings of mood that Husni suggested she move to the other side of the valley until Chosen. Instead, she lived with Menasel and her Chosen Kor d’sud Lorimar.

Only Naryn lived alone. She had kin. Her cousin Caynen di S’udlaat was Joined to Yuhas, once of Yena. But the invitation to live together hadn’t been offered. Aryl wasn’t sure if it was Yuhas, who was Enris’ closest friend at Sona, or Caynen, with her own reasons.

The homes were small by Grona standards, adequate by Yena. Aryl didn’t know what the Tuana thought, though Enris muttered about improvements—usually after he bumped his head on the lowest end of their roof. As “improvements” required materials they didn’t have at Sona, she tended to ignore him. Every home had the essentials: a door, walls, and roof. Some had a window opening; all had a hearth for a fire and a hole in the roof for its smoke. Floors were dirt or uneven paving stones. Better floors could wait until they had food growing between their homes.

Gijs and Juo had built a bed platform and roughed a table and bench. For the baby, Haxel, being Juo’s closest relative at Sona, had given the Chosen her cloak. The cunning fabric, tightly woven from wing thread, was both light and waterproof. It made a fine hammock.

A touch of home in a place not yet one, Aryl thought, de terminedly looking away. Four of them stood shoulder-to-shoulder by Juo’s bedside: she and Seru, Naryn and Lymin di Annk. All pregnant and offering support.

All worried this might happen to them next. That, they didn’t say.

Here. The door opened, cooler air swirling around their ankles. Oswa and Gijs. She looked ready to bolt the other way; he looked desperate.

Juo’s eyes were half-shut, her face beaded with sweat. Her hair, freed of its net, lashed futilely at the mattress. She was conscious. And afraid. Her fingers crawled toward her Chosen; he went to his knees and caught her hand in his.

After a quick glance at Juo, Oswa looked to Aryl. “I don’t know what you expect me to do.” Her hands twisted in the folds of her jerkin. “I’m no Watcher.”

“You survived Yao’s birth,” Naryn said coolly. Her shields were in place; only a trickle of compassion came through. And an unsettling curiosity. “Tell us how.”

“How?” Under its Grona cap, Oswa’s hair fretted.

“Was there anything the Birth Watcher did?” Seru asked eagerly. “Anything you remember could help.”

“She left us to die.”

Terror. That, from Lymin. She was furthest along. Seru had predicted she’d give birth with or before Juo.

Juo’s eyelids snapped open. “Seru—?” She grunted with pain, half sitting up. “What’s happening?”

Dread. That from Seru, her shields almost nonexistent under the wash of emotions. “It’s time.”

“We’re here,” Aryl said promptly, taking her hand. Courage, Cousin, she sent privately. Tell us what to do.