Rift in the Sky

Aryl studied the other as she rose to her feet. Naryn’s Clan had been Tuana, but she’d been exiled before the Oud brought her here. Like Yao, she was different. Her willful red hair might be tamed by a net much like Aryl’s—though Aryl’s was of ancient metal, a treasure cleaned and repaired for her by Enris—but it hadn’t been the result of a true Choice and Joining. Her abdomen thickened with new life, too—larger, since her time would be early summer—but the baby within had no father.

And its birth would kill both mother and child.

You have bigger worries. The sending was tinged with impatience . Naryn hid any fear for her future behind shields stronger than any Om’ray Aryl had known. She refused sympathy, using her strength and training to help the rest of Sona. She also refused friendship other than Aryl’s, though she had an understanding of sorts with Haxel Vendan, their First Scout. The two, powerful in their own ways, shared a contempt for those they considered fools. Aloud, “We have a problem.”

Especially fools who caused problems. Aryl sighed, wiping her knife blade on her leggings. The purple plant looked smug; weed, she warned it silently. “For once, tell me it isn’t Oran.”

Her former heart-kin’s Chosen was almost as Powerful as Naryn. Better schooled, having made full Adept as part of Grona Clan. Not a day passed when Oran didn’t find some way to remind them of their great good fortune in having her decide to make her home at Sona.

Naryn raised a shapely eyebrow in mock surprise. “How did you know?”

If there was anyone Aryl would exile herself, it was Oran di Caraat.

If there was anyone they couldn’t afford to lose, it was their only Healer.

“What did she do?”

“Came out of the Cloisters this morning, bold as you like. Ezgi was there to see.”

“Is that all?” Relieved, Aryl slipped her knife into its sheath on her belt, then dusted her hands. “She’s welcome to it.” She couldn’t help the bitter note to her voice.

The Cloisters made the perfect destination for those practicing their new skill. Easy to remember, while safe from surprises and watching eyes of any kind.

So far, it was good for nothing else. No one but Aryl could unlock its doors. She had an Adept’s Power; Naryn had taught her the trick. In the end, it had taken the child growing within her, the touch of one who belonged to Sona. She’d hoped that meant Seru could as well, being pregnant, but her cousin’s attempt had failed, leaving her miserable and Oran contemptuous.

Inside? Empty halls and silence. They’d all explored, heard nothing but their own voices and footsteps, turned doors to vacant rooms. Either Sona’s Adepts had abandoned their haven to die with their kin, or their bodies lay together in some hidden place. Unlike the mounds, no treasures of food or supplies beckoned. No water flowed from its outlets. The lights shone, as if someone had forgotten to turn them off.

There were secrets. Some doors couldn’t be opened. Some levels couldn’t be reached.

Secrets that could wait, all had agreed, until the vital spring seeding was complete.

All but two, she recalled with a grimace. Their pair of Grona Adepts had envisioned moving right in, eager to live apart from the rest and do whatever Adepts did alone.

Not, Haxel ordered in no uncertain terms, while Sona needed every hand to dig dirt and carry water. The Cloisters wasn’t going to feed them.

Naryn tilted her head just so. Impatience, by any measure.

What had she missed? “He saw her ‘come out,’ ” Aryl repeated, then blinked. “She can unlock the doors?”

“With no trouble at all.”

“Then Oran’s finally pregnant.” Aryl wasn’t sure how she felt about that, though it was, she realized with a wince, the right timing. The Adept and Bern had, to his obvious relief, finally consummated their Joining. Though she detested the notion, it was apparently her doing. She and Bern had been heart-kin, a connection that encouraged a certain resonance, Myris had explained, with dimples, when Aryl and Enris had so robustly consummated their own.

Enris, wisely, had refrained from any comment whatsoever.

“Seru’s problem.” Naryn dismissed the subject of Oran’s pregnancy with a callous shrug.

Aryl felt a rush of sympathy for her cousin. Well aware of the Adept’s opinion of her, Seru kept her distance. Now they’d be forced into one another’s company, for the sake of the unborn.

Pregnancy, however, didn’t explain why Oran would bother with locks. If anything, she ’ported more frivolously than the children. “Why the doors?”

Naryn’s smile was unpleasant. “Her friend can’t get in otherwise.”

“Hoyon.” Who had yet to ’port.

Like any Talent, there were those who took to it like breathing, those who struggled, and those who possessed no ability at all. The Adept could send objects into the M’hir, just not himself. His Chosen, Oswa, though less powerful, had needed only to share Aryl’s memory of how it was done.