Swallowing another scream down her raw throat, Aryl made herself stop struggling. Where was she? The darkness seemed to press against her face. She blinked to prove her eyes were open; that nothing covered her face. It was still dark.
More than dark. There was no light at all. Was she in that other place?
No. This was nothing more than the absence of light. Being in the other place was like being in the M’hir—to stay still, to stay yourself, you had to hold on. She took a breath, reassured by the sound of air moving in and out of her body.
Alive. In the dark. She tested her body with more care. Something held her arms against her body. Not painful, but snug. Her legs were slightly apart as if she stood naturally, but immobile. She could rock her head forward and back, but her body . . . her body . . . a scream tried to force its way out.
Calm down! she told herself. Think. Her body wouldn’t move, though she could take deep breaths.
And those breaths . . . Aryl closed her mouth and sniffed, then gagged. “I know that smell,” she whispered. Her voice echoed, as if there was space overhead. The smell was what mattered. Damp wood. Rot. Water.
The Lay Swamp. Why would the Tikitik . . . ?
They’d kidnapped her! “Let me go!” Aryl shouted. “Let me go!” The echoes were harsh and punished her ears, but she didn’t stop. “You’ve no right to keep me here! Let me go!”
She was blinded by a circle of light and lifted her face to meet a rush of fresher air. Her triumph lasted as long as it took something like hooks to grab the corners of her mouth and force it open. Something was pushed into her mouth, then the hooks, light, and air were gone.
About to spit, a wonderful, familiar taste changed her mind. Fresh dresel, sweet and ripe and moist. She chewed slowly, with relish, and licked her lips when done.
Not killing her, she told herself, faintly surprised.
Aryl closed her eyes and sought her inner sense, reaching. No others were close; she was relieved at first. They hadn’t taken Joyn or the others.
But no others were close at all.
The cluster of Om’ray that must be Yena was appallingly dim and distant. She could barely tell it from that of Pana or Tuana. When she tried, she couldn’t sense who anyone was.
Had the Tikitik taken her to the edge of the world?
She concentrated, pouring all her Power into a frantic sending. Mother . . . I’m here . . . Mother . . . !
And reached no one. The perfect time to discover her limit, Aryl scolded herself weakly.
There was another way.
Without giving herself time to hesitate or doubt, she threw open her thoughts to the other, seeking the feel of Taisal’s clear, ordered thoughts within its wild current, doing her best to remember her mother’s face.
It wasn’t as easy as before. The inner darkness threatened her, pulled at her. Desperate, she refused to stop, feeling the drain as though blood poured from her body.
Here.
With the word, an easing of effort, as though their meeting in that Dark formed a bridge. Across it poured a torrent of worry, anger, fear . . .
Mother! Aryl drowned in emotion: Taisal’s, her own. All she could think for a moment was that she wasn’t alone—no matter how far they’d taken her—she wasn’t alone.
Where are you, Daughter? I can’t find you. Sudden, overwhelming dread. Are you still within the world?
A question too close to Aryl’s initial fear for comfort. I’m all right, Mother, she hastened to send. I’ve been unconscious—I don’t know how long. When I woke—Pana’s as far. Tuana. But I can barely sense Amna from here. She fought panic. Or home.
It has been two days. A burst of images and sensations, as if Taisal sought to tell her too much at once. Or did their strange connection allow more than words and emotion through? Did it grant access to memory, too?
For Aryl might have been there at the interruption of a Council meeting . . . might have seen Ael’s face as he gasped the news of her kidnapping. She might have been Taisal, demanding the right to see where it happened . . . insisting on leaving at first light . . . overriding every argument . . .
She might have shared the exhausted pain of muscles no longer used to hard climbing, the desolation at its end . . . made the decision herself to continue despite protests from her companions . . . been determined to follow Haxel, for the First Scout had never left her captors’ trail, leaving markers behind . . .
Aryl might have come face-to-face with the weary, returning First Scout, frustrated to lose the trail in the waters of the Lay, and now sincerely furious to be responsible for Yena’s Speaker and others so close to truenight . . . watched lengthening shadows while curled within a makeshift shelter high in a nekis, with only strings of glows for protection . . .
The images stopped there. Either her mother had found a way to stop them spilling free, or Aryl had pulled away, shocked by what she’d learned.
Her mother had spent truenight in the open?
You shouldn’t be here, she sent, startled by her own anger. What if the Tikitik Speaker went to Yena? Who would speak to it?
Her mother sent an image of the Speaker’s Pendant, hanging free in front of what had to be a scout’s thick tunic. If it wants conversation, let it find me. Let it explain why the Tikitik have taken my daughter!
The fury was matched by determination. Taisal di Sarc might be away from Yena’s protection, but Aryl sensed no fear.
That was fine. She felt more than enough for them both.
You must go home.
Not without you! Her mother’s sudden desperation disturbed the other, weakening their link. I can’t lose you, too!
Aryl fought to keep them connected. She projected confidence, hid her fear. Don’t worry. She sent the taste of fresh dresel, careful to avoid thoughts of being pinned in the dark. They’re taking care of me. I’m safe. I’ll get home.
The link firmed as Taisal calmed, but only slightly. Come home. Now. The way you sent Bern.
Aryl opened her eyes and stared at the real darkness. You can’t mean that.
I do. Come home! I know how you’ve reached me, where we are. You control the Dark, Aryl. Use your gift!
The urgency to escape, to be home, ripped through her like pain. Aryl tasted salt on her lips and blinked away the rest of her tears. Even if I knew how—even if I dared, she sent at last, I can’t. Where I am—it’s someplace impossible to leave. If I make myself disappear, the Tikitik will know it must be by Power. The mug will break.
Aryl thought her mother gone then, so faint did her presence become.
Then, their connection was restored.
Restored, but with a difference. Taisal’s anxiety for her was gone, replaced by cool satisfaction. My trust was not misplaced, Daughter.
A test?
Aryl found if she bent her head forward as far as it would go, she could rest her forehead against something hard, that crumbled slightly but held. Is that why you climbed after me, Mother? she asked, feeling something inside crumble too. Did you risk truenight to save me—or to stop me saving myself?
If she’d thought she’d felt Taisal’s determination before, that emotion was nothing to the wall of will that surged across their connection. What makes you think those are different?