Riders of the Storm (12 page)

“This Oud-reshaped pile of broken wood and stone? It's not possible. You can't stay here—”

“It's not possible Om'ray have technology like the Oud or Tikitik,” she snapped back. “It's not possible Vyna is the only Clan who still has it. It's not possible, Enris Mendolar, that they'll accept you on Passage as their own, then give their wisdom to you to share with the rest of us. Is it?”

Enris burst out laughing, deep and loud enough to echo in the distance. Despite herself, Aryl's mouth twitched up at the corners. “We're a great pair,” he chuckled. “Come with me, Aryl. Vyna won't stand a chance.”

He didn't mean it.

Knowing that, Aryl had no problem finding a smile. “Make a proper fire, Tuana,” she told him, “and I'll do better than that.”

She had a promise to keep.

 

They made camp where an upthrust of paving stone reflected the warmth of their small fire and protected it from the wind. Easy to scavenge dry splinters of wood here; not so once Enris left Sona. As well, Aryl decided, he'd agreed to linger here until dawn. When the Tuana, apparently always hungry, went to dig in his pack for food, she offered the rokly she'd tucked into a pocket, along with her last chunk of Grona bread. The way he ate, he'd need all his supplies and more.

Yawning, Enris stretched his legs and arms, then shifted with a grunt to retrieve a sharp rock from where he sat. He tossed it into the darkness that walled their bit of light. “You sure you want to sleep out here?”

“We're not going to sleep,” Aryl warned him, then temporized, “not until you've learned what I can teach you. If I can teach you.”

He shoved back his hood, as if too warm. Aryl sat as close as she could to the flames and left her head well wrapped. “I'll have you know my father considers me a quick study.”

Her father had died when she was young. Her mother had somehow recovered and grown strong…Aryl pushed away thoughts of Taisal di Sarc. Her mother could touch the
other
. Not attention she wanted to court.

“Think about when I moved us from the strangers' camp on the mountain to Yena. Did you sense the
other
?”

“
‘Other?'
Someone else? No.”

“A place. A moving
darkness.
” That wasn't the word she wanted. Taisal called it the Dark, but it wasn't. Aryl raised her eyes from the fire and stared into the real thing: nothing, black, an absence of light. Even peaceful, without hunters. The
other place
wasn't like that. Its
darkness
was ablaze with sensation, churning with powerful, chaotic movement that affected everything in its path. Like the M'hir Wind when it struck the canopy—a force to be understood and resisted, or it would destroy.

“Call it the M'hir,” she decided. The naming gave her comfort, as if it brought the inner
darkness
into the light of day, harnessed it for her people's good. Her fiches were designed to ride one wind—maybe Om'ray were, too.

“The M'hir, is it?” Then he startled her by adding matter-of-factly, “Guess that's where I
pushed
the roof this morning. I was afraid it would land on someone outside. Good to know it's really gone. It is really gone, isn't it?”

Aryl blinked. “Roof?”

“What was left of the supports. About to collapse on us.” Enris paused and his voice took on an edge. “Impressed Gijs.” He'd relaxed his shields. Now she felt
anger
and a curious
shame
. “Too much.”

That reaction, she understood. And something else. “You thought I was Gijs, didn't you? That he'd followed you to demand you teach him.”

His lips quirked as he gestured apology. “Don't ask me why. Gijs has young Fon now. I wonder who'll be the next surprise? Oh, yes. You.” This with a sly glance. “Wish I could be here to see their faces. Haxel's in particular.”

Insufferable Tuana. Aryl refused to react. She'd tell the others about the M'hir when she chose and not a moment sooner. “Are you ready to learn this or not?”

“If you won't let me sleep—” a dramatic sigh, “—I'm ready. Do your worst, Aryl Sarc.”

If he could use the
darkness
—the M'hir, she reminded herself—this might be easy.

Or not.

She'd promised to try. “There's more you should know about the M'hir before you touch it. It—it hungers. It will take you into itself, make you forget who you are. The Lost. Somehow they are part of it, or it's part of them. I felt it.”

“Dangerous. What else?”

“This is no joke, Enris!” Aryl felt her cheeks warm. “The longer you touch it—the closer you let it come to who you are—the easier it is to let go. It came in my sleep last night, and I—” She stopped there. “It's more than dangerous.”

Instant
concern,
deep and real, proved he wasn't taking this as lightly as she'd feared. “Aryl, you don't have to do this.”

“Yes, I do.” Aryl laid another splinter on the fire, just so. “Don't be careless. That's all. Don't look at the scenery. Treat the M'hir like fire. A tool that can burn you.”

“So how does this tool work?” Enris picked up a pebble, shot through with sparkles. “How do I move this from here,” on the flat of his right hand, “to here?” a quick toss to his left.

“You need me for that?”

Enris grinned. The pebble lifted from his palm, moved through the air between them, and landed with a quiet
click
among the others in front of her boot. Aryl barely sensed the Power he expended. “But that's not what you do,” he pointed out. “Not how you brought us faster than a heartbeat to Yena.”

“No.” Nor was what he did something she could do, Aryl thought wistfully. Her mother could
push
with her mind, like Enris. So far, she hadn't found that useful Talent in herself. “To move us—” or to move Bern Teerac, that fateful Harvest, “—was what I wanted most at that moment. I wanted us in my home, helping my Clan. I pictured us already there, until that image was more real to me than being on the cliff with the Humans. And there we were.”

She'd wanted Bern safe on the bridge, not falling to his death, wanted that to be real more than anything in her life. Bern, but she hadn't thought of Costa, or the others who'd fallen…screaming…

Aryl forced the memory away. “Somehow,” she explained as best she could, “it means going into the M'hir, then out of it almost at once. It's as if the M'hir is a place, but one where distance doesn't matter, only will, so it lets a traveler ignore distance, too.” She threw up her hands. “Which probably makes as much sense to you as it does to me.”

Enris' eyes almost glowed. “An image of your destination. Perhaps it's necessary to have been there in person. To know the place well.”

“Why do you say that?”

“You said it: first, you envisioned a place you wanted to be. Then, you used your strength of will—which I'm guessing means your considerable Power—to
move
there through the M'hir. If you didn't have a strong, clear location in mind, a target for your will, maybe you wouldn't go anywhere.” He chuckled. “Or maybe you'd vanish like my roof. Go in, but not come out. Wonder what that's like.”

She glowered at him. “Not funny, Tuana.”

No smile now. “I think it's important to consider what could go wrong.”

Maddening unChosen. Bad as her brother for being ridiculous one moment, serious the next, without bothering to let her know which to expect. Enris returned her look with one of complete innocence.

Aryl pressed her lips together. He was right. She knew almost nothing about traveling through the M'hir, nothing of the risks. How could she teach anyone else until she'd learned herself?

“We'll start with sending.” Before he could object, she went on quickly: “Yes, you can
send
mind-to-mind an impressive distance. But even you have limits.” Her glare defied him to argue. Enris merely smiled. “The M'hir can carry your thoughts like the wind, to anyone else able to touch it. I've found no limit, no effort except to keep from being swept away. Interested?”

“Very.” He held out his right hand, palm up, the gesture natural, as between trusted friends. Offering touch.

He meant nothing more by it. After all, who better than an eligible unChosen to know she wasn't a Chooser?

Yet.

If not now, it didn't matter when. It would be too late. Enris would be gone.

Within a fold of her long coat, Aryl's right hand curled into a fist, nails digging into her skin.

“Close your eyes,” she ordered, proud the words sounded normal. She laid her left hand on his. Different calluses marked his palm; his hand was wider and longer than hers. Warmer. The irony that someone so physically strong should possess the Talent to
move
what he wanted by Power didn't escape her.

But not everything required force.

Wait for me,
she sent.

She'd spent the day avoiding the
darkness,
but it was always there if she dared look for it. The M'hir. The instant Aryl turned her perception inward, she found herself fighting to keep her place within its now-familiar confusion. She concentrated, then
reached
.

Enris.

Here.
Unmistakably his inner voice. The link formed between them as effortlessly as a smile. She
saw
his presence, a bright, distinct whirlwind in the
darkness.
It suddenly rushed toward her; she instinctively kept her distance, though there was no true movement here. Only the surge and conflict of the M'hir itself.

Listen to me,
she sent, feeling the exchange forge tighter the connection between minds, perversely calming the M'hir.
There. Good. Very good.
Enris was as able here as anywhere. Somehow, Aryl wasn't surprised.
Welcome to the M'hir.

You look like the inside of our vat.
With the unflattering description came an image of metal melting into glittering pools.

Could be worse.
Pay attention
, she warned.
See what's here, but stay with me.

She felt the shift in his attention by the attenuation of their link. She poured more of her own strength into it, letting him be. He was confident, curious…

Horrified.

I know this!!!

On that recognition, the M'hir became a storm, lashing out. Aryl fought to hold Enris, but he was being ripped away…she
felt
him scream…or was she an echo…

PAINPAINPAIN…

…hidehidehide…

He was coming apart…dissolving into the M'hir…pieces of Enris began to scatter…she fought to hold them…

…can't let her…don't let her…hidehidehide…DIE FIRST!

PAINPAINPAIN!!!

Somehow, Aryl struggled free of his agony. She concentrated. She had to hold what she sensed was Enris. He was like a wing fraying at the edges, threads come loose in the wind. The touch of him
burned,
but she wouldn't let go, couldn't let go.

The M'hir itself
stirred
. She felt
others
…Felt…
interest…

They had to pull free of the M'hir. Now. They had to…

They did.

The fire snapped and crackled cheerily; the dark of truenight outside its circle was silent, almost soothing. Stars winked above. The wind caught a spark and swirled it out of sight.

Aryl savored the smoke-scented air, relished the chill of tears on her cheeks. Her hands ached. They were tightly clenched—on what? After an odd delay, she realized she was lying on top of Enris, as if she'd flung herself over his prone form. Her hands still gripped both of his with all her strength.

She let go, gently, and eased to sit beside him. The rise and fall of his chest matched his ragged breaths, as if he dreamed he ran. From what?

Her first experience in the M'hir had been filled with the screams of the dying.

What had happened to Enris there?

And who was “her?”

 

Enris went from unconscious to his feet. Aryl hurried to save the blanket she'd placed over him from the fire. “What happened?” he shouted wildly, staring at her. “Where are we?”

“Not that far from Sona. Hush.” She patted the solid ground. “Sit.”

He sank down, crossing his long legs. “Aryl.” Distantly, as if he had trouble remembering her name. Then in a more normal voice: “Are you all right?”

“I'm not the one who—” Aryl decided “fell to pieces” wasn't tactful, “—who slipped. How do you feel?”

“Hungry.” With a rueful smile. “Foolish.” He ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Guess I panicked. Lost control…was careless. Don't worry. Next time, I'll—”

“There's no ‘next time'!” He couldn't be serious. “Don't you remember? You were almost Lost, Enris Mendolar. Lost! I had to pull you back together. I barely managed to free us both. I—” she struggled for calm, to be convincing. He had to listen, had to believe her. “Enris, you've been in the M'hir before.”

“Of course I have.” He looked more puzzled than concerned. “When you moved us through it, to Yena. But I didn't see anything like—” He stopped abruptly. His shields tightened until he faded from her inner sense; all expression left his face. When he spoke again, his voice was flat and deliberate. “I didn't see what I saw tonight. Why?”

“You weren't aware of it then,” Aryl guessed. Her fingers sketched an apology against her coat. He had to understand. “This time you were. When you stop and notice the M'hir, it—it notices you. Things become…complicated. It's easy to be distracted, confused, to forget who you are. I know. Strong emotion—” She had to explain, to warn him. “Strong emotion makes it much worse. Enris, you were safe until you recognized the M'hir. Until you remembered what happened to you there, and why, and mixed before with now. You felt…what you felt then.” She shivered, having shared that terrible
pain
and
dread
. “That's how the M'hir almost took you.”