Riders of the Storm (40 page)

“Hello, Aryl.” Juo was on watch tonight, a pair of eyes and a nose peering from a bundle of coats, scarves, and blankets. “Come to join me?”

Enris had
sensed
her unborn was a daughter, a Chooser-to-Be. Aryl felt a sudden rush of sympathy.

“Haxel sent me to check on the Oud,” she said. Which the First Scout likely would have done, had she not been preoccupied.

“In truenight?” Juo shuddered. None of the Yena had lost their aversion to the dark. “I thought they'd stay in their tunnels. They have glows down there. Enris said so.”

Enris. The fire grew brighter, the air colder, the fog of breath from her nostrils detailed and strange. She felt
something
shift, the M'hir close in, and desperately focused on Juo. “They use glows to work outside with their machines—did you see that at Grona?”

“True. Are you sure you don't want to sit with me? Watch for them from here?”

She didn't know what she wanted.

“I'll be back soon.” Lighting her oillight, Aryl took the road toward the empty river and the Oud. Within a few steps, the snow surrounded her in its dance of white and gray.

It made her alone, set her apart. She wasn't sure why that felt a relief.

Short of the river, Aryl stepped off the road and made her way into the mass of tossed and half-buried beams that marked Sona's original hall. There, she ducked beneath a lean of stone, out of the snow, and pulled out the geoscanner. Nothing new showed on its screen. The green symbol when she pointed it toward the tunnel mouth meant all quiet.

Her thumb found the control on the side and pressed. He could hear her now, she thought, or rather his machines could pick up words and sort them into his
database
.

The Human claimed not to listen. Still, she mused, shifting her feet under her long coat, he was curious. That above all.

“I know what happened to the first Oud Speaker,” she told it. Talking to a machine was very un-Om'ray. Naughty. Something her mother would scold her for…

…Taisal hadn't wanted Mele?

Aryl jerked her thoughts back where they belonged. “There was a hunter hidden beneath the dirt—it strikes at whatever touches it. It might have been there by its own will, or a surprise left by the Tikitik. They use living things—make them.”

She leaned forward, her hood drooping, her eyes locked on the device in her hand. “There are Om'ray coming to Sona. The Oud are bringing them here through their tunnels. I don't know why. I don't understand them. I don't trust them. You should be more careful.” This with a snap of worry.

Aryl listened for a moment, hearing nothing but the kiss and slip of fresh snow on drifts, the frustrated hiss and snarl of the wind beyond the shards overhead.

“I wish you were
real,
” she said at last. “Then I'd know you were alive—where you were. That the Oud hadn't hurt you or taken you with them. How can you exist like that—not being able to sense one another?” The images of his Chosen, their children, his sister…if the Oud had buried Marcus in the ground, how would they ever know?

She could go there, find out. Her hand clenched on the device. Should she? Was it wise, to continue a friendship that could lead nowhere, that could be dangerous to both of them?

Or was it too late? The Oud and Tikitik had seen them together. Her people had Marcus' image in their minds—she'd given it to them, so they wouldn't fear him or his help. Now, it exposed him. She gestured a futile apology with her free hand.

“Aryl?”

She looked up, startled, then realized the quiet voice had come from the device.

Curious and prone to surprises, her Human.

“Aryl, it's me.”

She almost smiled. Who else on Cersi would refer to himself as “me?” “I can hear you,” she said. “How—” No, that didn't matter. “Are you all right?”

“Tired. Once they decided to show me what they'd found, they kept at it all day. I recorded all I could, but I'll need more
archivalbags.
Some will have to be shipped
offworld,
there need to be tests—I'll stop now.”

He'd have that abashed expression on his face, she knew. “I'm glad you're enjoying your work.” More than glad. Her hands trembled. Moisture chilled on her cheeks. Had she been so afraid for him—or was it the relief of having someone to talk to who couldn't comment on her “condition?”

“How about you? You don't sound right.”

Now she did smile. “I'm fine. Just cold.”

“You're outside?” A note of alarm. “There's a bad
lowpressurecell
on the way. The
forecast's
heavy snow—colder. You shouldn't be out tonight.”

The Human knew the weather? Aryl was torn between amusement and annoyance. She'd never thought to ask him something so ordinary. Of course, here was yet another reason Haxel would want access to stranger knowledge and technology. “I'll go inside soon—”

Something caught the attention of her inner sense, a disorientation. The other Om'ray were more than close, they were below! Others were on the move.

“I have to go. The Oud might be—” As if listening to her, the symbol on the geoscanner's screen flashed red. She finished, “The Oud are here. Good-bye, Marcus.” The path of the Oud underground, their speed, had surprised her—had surprised them all. She had to get to the tunnel's mouth.

“Be careful, Aryl.” Quickly, as if he knew she had her thumb on the control: “Leave comlink active. If you need me, need bioscanner, need big help, say: ‘Two. Howard. Five.' I
program
to listen for those words. ‘Two. Howard. Five.' Promise! Say now, I set
program
your voice.”

Numbers. His son's name. Even as Aryl hesitated, she remembered how she'd felt when Marcus and his aircar had arrived, when Marcus had agreed to save the exiles. He was her ally, powerful and wise, in his way.

“Two. Howard. Five,” she repeated carefully, committing the words to memory. “You promise me—don't speak from this device unless I talk first and say I'm alone.”

“Understood.”

Then silence.

Aryl tucked the device back in its pocket, making sure it was safe. Why had she cautioned him? This was his technology. He'd know its weaknesses.

She pulled the Speaker's Pendant free of her coat and scarf, made sure it was lying flat, and prepared to greet who—and what—was about to arrive.

Not alone. A solitary figure already stood on the bank, staring into the dark across the empty river, hair loose on the wind.

Seru Parth.

“Cousin,” Aryl greeted warily as she approached. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you.”

Somehow, she doubted that. “You don't think—I'm not—I mean…” Aryl fumbled and fell silent, thoroughly embarrassed.

Fingers on her sleeve.
Two are pregnant. Their unborn are frightened. They may need me.
An undertone of
amusement
then
contrition.
“About before. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. It's just…We used to laugh about Choosers and their chancy tempers, remember? I never thought I'd be like that. And never with you.”

Aryl took her in a one-armed hug, careful of the oillight.
You're my dear silly Seru. Nothing can change that.
“Let's greet our new arrivals.” As they began to climb down the bank, “You're sure about the babies?”

Seru laughed. “Trust me. I hear them. Juo's daughter will have playmates.”

She'd have to take her cousin's word for it.

All Aryl felt was
change.

 

Thought Traveler had said the Oud didn't appreciate how fragile Om'ray were. Aryl's first glimpse of the vehicles hurtling from the tunnel did nothing to disprove that claim.

Each vehicle—there were three—pulled another behind. Glows girdled each flat platform, spilling light in overlapping, moving circles. An Oud reclined on the leading machine, five Om'ray clung desperately to the one that followed. There were no whirr/clicks. Maybe they didn't like snow driven by a bitter wind.

The Oud didn't slow as they left the smooth ramp of the tunnel mouth for the damaged pavement of Sona's road. They headed for the village, vehicles bouncing and tipping violently. The Oud didn't appear to notice; the Om'ray cried out, sliding from side to side, holding on to one another.

Aryl ran through the snow, trying to intercept the first. Seru followed. Haxel and others were on their way, but there was no time. If the stupid Oud drove their vehicles down the rocky riverbank, they could kill their passengers.

She slipped but didn't fall. “Stop!”

Hard to know if they could hear her above the racket of their machines and the crunch of tread through the hardening drifts, the screams of the terrified Om'ray, but she kept shouting. “Stop! Stop!”

Short of the riverbank, the lead vehicle abruptly turned toward her. The platform it towed slewed to one side and small forms flew off, rolling in the snow.

“Stupid Oud!” she shouted. “Stop!!!”

For a wonder, they did.

For a moment, all that moved were snowdrops, sighing and whirling through the air.

Then the forms on the ground began to stir. One groaned. Aryl ached to go to them, but she had to be sure the Oud wouldn't start their machines again. She marched up to the closest and put herself in its way, her hand on the front of the machine. “I'm the Speaker.” Loud and clear. “Wait. Let us look after our people.”

The Oud loomed over her, a shadow made indistinct by the snow and down-pointed light. “Speaker,” it agreed. Then, “Yours. Goodgoodgood.”

Aryl doubted the poor Om'ray, unsteadily climbing from the platforms into the snow, would agree, but she didn't budge. “Wait here while we help them. Don't move. Do you understand?”

“Cold is. Leave. Quickquickquick.”

Somehow, she didn't think this was a statement of concern for the Om'ray, though it was interesting to learn the Oud didn't like the cold any more than she did. She sent urgently:
Get away from the vehicles! The Oud are moving.

Sure enough, the Oud in front of her flung itself back down with every appearance of haste, snow flying from its cloak. She had to dive out of its way as its vehicle swerved and bounced back to the tunnel, the others following as if pursued.

Taking their lights went with them.

For a moment, the only illumination was from Aryl's small oillight. She raised it over her head,
reached
for the others, found them.
Help comes!
she sent, adding
reassurance
and
welcome
.

The Oud were gone. The Om'ray they'd unceremoniously dumped on Sona's road were disoriented and afraid. Aryl hurried to the nearest group, brushed her hand over a shivering shoulder, across a hunched back,
sent
strength through each contact. She rushed to the next, seeing a blur of pale faces and outstretched hands, hearing muted sobs. She didn't bother to speak, merely touched,
gave,
and moved on.

Thankfully, Seru was there, too, a shadow helping others stand, murmuring words of comfort.

Four of the last group, those who'd been thrown, were back on their feet. They parted to let her light through, let her through. Aryl touched hands, arms, a leg, then dropped to her knees, dizzy with effort, to reach the last—an Om'ray crumpled in the snow.

Behind her, Haxel and the others charged up the riverbank, bearing lights and blankets. Voices shouted—orders, greetings, questions.

Aryl found her own. “You're safe.” That they needed to know, first and foremost. “This is Sona. We've food for you, shelter. A Healer.”

“Sona.” From one of those standing. Female. “Who are you?”

Before she could answer, another voice intruded. “The Chooser.” Deep, male, and regrettably loud. “I told you, Kor. She Called me here.”

She had? Aryl crouched lower, as if the snow would hide her.

“I offer you Choice, unChosen.”

Aryl twisted around. Seru? “Wait,” she began, knowing only that this couldn't happen. Not here, not now. Not like this. These were strangers, moving hulks in the dark only their senses said were Om'ray. Seru hadn't met them. She didn't know who they were, why they'd come. Who was kind…“The storm! We have to get to shelter first!”

She didn't exaggerate. The snow now fell in a flood, each 'drop thick and sticky, their sum filling the machine tracks and coating the shivering forms around her. The wind was less, but the air hurt to breathe. Marcus had been right. They couldn't stay out much longer.

An Om'ray who rivaled Enris in size staggered forward, shoved another out of his way. Seru stood waiting, her hand now outstretched.

Stop them!

The mindvoice was unfamiliar; the message set Aryl in motion. “No!” She lunged to intercept him—another Om'ray got in her way. She dodged him—they were all slow—too slow for a Yena. Unworthy! “Wait!”

Stop them!

The stranger grabbed Seru's hand, roughly, pulling her off-balance toward him. One of them cried out. Exultation or despair—she couldn't tell. The rest backed away, leaving the two isolated in the snow, heads bowed.

Too late…
The figure on the ground, the one who'd protested, struggled to her feet. Numbly, Aryl took her hand to help,
gave
what strength she could spare.

Thank you.
The
gratitude
came through impenetrable shields. This was no ordinary Om'ray.

Aryl couldn't take her eyes from Seru, dwarfed by the larger unChosen, both motionless. Whatever occurred between them, it was on a level her inner sense didn't touch. She knew better than to try to find it. She could only hope for the best, for someone Seru would have wanted.