They slipped, naturally, into those five indentations. He was as startled as if this was the first time. In a way, it was, for now he had a glimmering of what the device could be. Each indentation was softer than the rest of the outer case; the pressure of a finger was enough to push a spot further in or release it. Controls, he decided. The positioning of it in his hand? It was easy to lift and hold it near his mouth.
As for what he’d sensed, before being hit by whatever remnant the Oud had left behind?
“A voice keeper,” Enris exclaimed.
“A what?”
He slammed tight his shields and slipped the precious cylinder beneath his shirt before he turned to face the intruder. “A rude interruption,” he snapped, “by someone who should have better manners.”
The young Om’ray standing inside the door gestured apology, but his eyes were bright and curious as they gazed around the shop, then back to Enris. “I didn’t mean to startle you. But my room went cold. Someone told me you control the heat?” This was offered with caution, as if the other felt the brunt of a joke. He came farther in, ignoring Enris’ warning scowl. A sudden wide grin split his face as he came closer. “I don’t believe it! You do! This is the first warm place I’ve been since I arrived.” He gave an exaggerated shiver despite wearing not one, but two heavy coats.
Enris relaxed at the other’s delight in the heat radiating from the vat doors, recognizing one of the newcomers recently arrived on Passage. A stranger. “Try working here during the day,” he suggested. “Then you’ll want to be anywhere else. I’m Enris Mendolar.”
“I’m good with a broom,” the stranger offered, taking the one near his hand and waving it about. “Yuhas Parth, at your service.”
There’d been a Parth who arrived two generations ago; those vivid green eyes were now part of Licor heritage. Enris, though his Power waxed and waned uncomfortably with the effort, could sense nothing but goodwill through Yuhas’ weak shield. Goodwill and a dark, terrible grief.
Enris withdrew, somewhat surprised to discover himself already nodding. He shrugged. “If you like,” he said. “There’s a place—” he pointed “—by the back wall for anything you sweep up. We don’t waste metal.”
“Who does?” Yuhas took off one coat, putting it on the hook Enris indicated, but kept on the second. As he got to work, he said over his shoulder, “There’s more in this room than is owned by my entire clan—outside the Cloisters. Not that there’s much call for metal in the canopy.”
Enris had gone back to his bench, waiting for an opportunity to put away the cylinder. Now he looked at Yuhas with greater interest. “That’s right. You’re from Yena.”
“Called halfway across the world by the lovely Caynen S’udlaat.” This was said with that wide grin Enris now suspected was the other’s mask. “Her family has given me permission to lay my heart at her feet. We’re having supper tonight. I don’t suppose you could turn up the heat in their home before that?” A comical look of dismay.
“Not really. I can turn it on or off,” Enris admitted. “The Oud built the underground pipes that heat the floors. Some buildings have more than others. You’ll get used to it.”
“If you say so,” Yuhas replied, clearly doubtful.
Both were silent for a time after that. Enris busied himself wrapping the handle of a new carving blade, glancing at his new assistant once in a while. Yuhas plied the broom with such intensity it threatened to wear away the flooring, but he didn’t comment.
The heat continued to rise, now joined by rays of sunlight. Since he couldn’t strip off his shirt while it hid the cylinder, Enris opened the remaining windows, grinning to himself when Yuhas, far from objecting to the sudden cool draft, shed his final coat. Beneath, his muscular arms were bare, since he wore only a body-covering tunic of white-and-black fabric, belted over what appeared to be tight leggings of a gauzy material. No wonder he’d been cold last night, Enris thought, rather amused.
Otherwise, Yuhas appeared ordinary enough, with a strong frame that rivaled Enris’ own. He began to seriously consider the advantages of an assistant who could push a full cart—after all, each stranger would need to find a workplace once Chosen and part of Tuana.
But first . . . his attention was caught by what hung from Yuhas’ belt. “May I see those?” he asked, indicating the unusually long knife and hook.
“Of course.” Yuhas leaned the broom against a bench and handed Enris the knife first. “It’s Tikitik,” he said with a note of apology. “Yena don’t make things from metal like you.”
“It’s fine work,” Enris said sincerely, surprised by the lightness and edge of the blade. He’d never seen such—no surprise, he’d never met a Yena before. The hook was next and he turned it over in his hands, trying to imagine what it was for, then shook his head. “What’s this? To help with climbing?”
Yuhas took it back. His lips quirked oddly as he settled the big curve of metal against his palm. Without warning, he leaped from the floor to the cluttered benchtop in one easy move, the hand with the hook continuing that upward motion in a smooth overhead sweep as if to capture something hanging from the rafters. The metal flashed in the light.
Enris opened his mouth to protest, closing it as he saw the Yena Om’ray balanced on the very edge of the bench, using only his toes. With another too-quick move, Yuhas was on the floor again. He looked, if anything, less confident on that flat surface than he had in the air.
The hook landed in the pile of shavings beside the broom. “Of no use here,” Yuhas said, his voice flat.
He meant himself, too. No need to touch the other’s deeper thoughts to know. They were close in age, but Enris had never felt anything close to the black despair leaking through the other’s best efforts. The Adepts—Council—would have read the memory of Yuhas’ journey here. They would have listened and recorded any stories he brought concerning his kind. But those weren’t always shared with all of Tuana. “What happened to you, to Yena?” he asked, sinking to his stool.
Bitterness now. “Why do you care, metalworker?”
“I—” Enris checked that the door was turned closed. It was early for anyone else to be about; nonetheless, he lowered his voice. “My brother went on Passage three harvests ago. I—I have reason to believe he went to Yena. That he died there. Alone.”
“Kiric Mendolar. You look like him.”
He hadn’t wanted to be right. “How did he die?” Enris asked heavily.
“His Passage was slowed by flood. When he arrived, the Chooser he sought had Joined elsewhere.” Yuhas paused and shrugged. “Now that I see your part of the world, I understand why our Speaker said our way of life killed him as surely as that loneliness. Yena do not set foot upon the ground.” His voice grew husky. “Death waits.”
“Tuana don’t set foot below ground—not without permission.” Enris searched the other’s face. “Kiric’s why I care what happens to Yena—what may have happened. He died there, yes, but he went willingly, full of hope for the future. He wanted to become one of you as much as I—” He stopped there, unwilling to say the rest and offend his visitor.
“As much as you want to stay here,” Yuhas finished for him. “Don’t look surprised, Enris. I didn’t want to take Passage either.” Hard strokes of the broom sent shavings and hook into the collection pit. When done, he leaned his crossed arms on top of the handle and gazed at Enris, his face bleak. “So much for what any Om’ray wants.”
Chapter 17
ARYL SCREAMED.
The echoes were strange and deafening. She tried to cover her ears.
Her hands . . . she couldn’t move them! Couldn’t move her arms . . . her legs . . . her . . .