She hadn’t, Aryl realized guiltily, thought about it at all, too grateful for a familiar voice. Taisal had almost been Lost. Having felt the almost irresistible pull of the other, its lure to dissolve herself in its darkness, she should have understood how hard this was for her mother.
Her hands gestured apology, even as she let Taisal’s mind slip away from hers.
The Tikitik on her right opened its hind eyes, its neck bending to orient its face toward her with stomach-turning ease. “Do you require something?”
“I need to walk around,” she said truthfully. “Stretch my legs. Do you understand?”
That bark. “I understand that my legs need to not stretch for a change. Do not go far.”
A joke—or at least humor she could grasp. Aryl got to her feet and stood looking down at the two creatures.
They had no more weapons than she. Their knobby skin was thicker, affording more protection from small biters, but hardly a barrier to anything with teeth. They couldn’t have stayed outside through truenight and survived the Lay’s swarms.
Could they?
“You are not walking around,” observed the Tikitik. “Do you require something?”
“Where were you last night?”
A drop landed on its face and four eyes blinked together. Another hit Aryl. She didn’t bother looking up. She could smell the rain above.
“We were here,” it said at last. “Our place is with the Sacred Mothers. There are many dangers.” It tapped the back of her hand with one finger. “Om’ray know of fire.”
Aryl couldn’t tell if the cryptic statement was a warning or simple fact. She did wondered if Taisal had known why Tikitik couldn’t tolerate fire within the groves, or if her threat had been a lucky guess. “There are many dangers,” she agreed, “including what comes from the water in the dark.” She pointed toward the Lay, its waters too close for any peace of mind. “I heard—I could hear the swarms climb.”
The one with two eyes shut barked.
“As they should,” said the first. “They have their work to do.”
“Work?” Aryl repeated, sure she’d misunderstood. “They kill everything they find!”
Its head lifted as if in surprise. “Of course. The swarms clean the groves of what would harm the rastis. That is their function. By so doing, they protect both the Harvest and our Sacred Mothers. Why else would we have made them?”
She took a step back. “What do you mean . . . ‘made them?’ ”
Both Tikitik barked, their eyes open, as if she entertained them. “We made everything here, little Om’ray. Did you not know? Our needs.” An expansive gesture. “All this.”
Rain began to rustle its way through fronds and leaves, big drops thumping against the ground, splashing in the swamp.
Aryl stared at the Tikitik. “You didn’t make us.”
One hissed. The other raised its head sharply, the fleshy protuberances of its face flailing about as if it wanted to smother her again.
“You didn’t make us,” she insisted, unsure why that mattered so much to her. They could be teasing her—making fun of a stranger. Why believe the creatures anyway?
But she did. With a sense of her world shifting into something unutterably alien, she did.
“No. We did not make you.” This was followed by a long, venomous-sounding hiss. “We endure you.”
She eased back on her right leg. The rain plastered her hair against her cheeks, produced puddles at her feet. The Tikitik endured that, too, she noticed numbly, their skin easily shedding moisture, their eyes blinking more quickly.
In an instant, the rain became deluge, erasing the creatures from view. Aryl spun on her heel and sprinted for the nearest stalk, hands out to find and take a grip. Four strides, slipping through the mud and debris. Five. Six. Let her climb—they couldn’t catch her. She didn’t care what else did.
Three strides short of her goal, she slammed into something huge and warm, something that grunted in her face with righteous indignation and awful breath as she rebounded to fall on her back.
Something that lifted her into the air before she could scramble up to run.
Interlude
YUHAS PARTH, NOWYUHAS SUD S’UDLAAT, waited to take over the cart five steps inside the tunnel mouth, an accomplishment Enris was careful not to praise. Natural good humor and a willingness to work let Yuhas fool everyone but his thoroughly smitten Chosen, Caynen.
And Enris himself.
Each day he watched the former Yena force himself deeper into the mold of Tuana. Yuhas studied how others took slow strides to cover the hard dry ground and walked slower. He saw Tuana clump up stairs one at a time and did the same, though it wasn’t natural to a body with perfect balance, easily able to leap five stairs at a time. But once Yuhas had noticed that his graceful, careful movements caught everyone’s eye—some admired, while Mauro and his ilk sneered and made mocking noises with their boots—he’d worked hard to change.
And now wore heavy boots.
Yuhas worked well in the shop and Jorg was pleased. Other than a tendency to spend as much time as possible near the melting vat, he’d noticed nothing unusual about their new helper. Enris hadn’t told his father how Yuhas had panicked his first time within the Oud tunnel, falling to the floor, then half crawling, half running in his desperation to reach daylight. He kept to himself Yuhas’ vow—to overcome his aversion, to take his turn pushing the cart.
Each day, Yuhas walked one step deeper into the world of the Oud, trembling and shaking like one of the giant leaves he’d tried to describe to Enris. It was an achievement of such magnificent will, Enris knew himself privileged to be the only witness.
“A good load,” Yuhas complimented breathlessly, hefting the handles as he pushed.
A scrap tumbled free, and Enris caught it before it hit the sand. “Not bad,” he agreed, tossing it back in as he walked alongside the cart. “Should fill the vat. Good thing. We’ve seventeen cutting blades to pour. Geter ran over a joop mating line and half the blades snapped.”
“The joop—whatever it is—can’t have liked that.” Yuhas’ voice eased the moment the sun hit his face. It was the light, Enris decided. There wasn’t enough below for him—for some reason, Yena feared the dark.
They made their way along the still-quiet road. Enris chuckled. “Oh, they probably didn’t notice. Joop are almost impossible to kill—they’re shelled, you see. If they’d die above ground, we’d collect them for bricks, but they only come up to mate. Almost the size of the cart,” he nodded at it. “They tuck themselves between the rows. I’ve heard of forty hooked together in one line.” A grimace. “It doesn’t take that many to be a nasty surprise for anyone operating a harvester.”
“You use these machines?”
From the sudden intensity of Yuhas’ green eyes, this wasn’t a casual question. “Of course. Oud-built, but we make replacement blades. There are tillers as well as harvesters. Don’t you?”
“This nost you grow,” the Yena said instead of answering. “Is that for the Oud or for yourselves?”
“Only an Oud could stomach the stuff,” Enris assured the other, making a face. “We grow our own food—which I’ve noticed you like well enough. Why?”
Yuhas shrugged and leaned into the handles. “Lucky for you,” he said obliquely.
About to pursue the issue, Enris spotted someone waiting outside the shop. Recognition slowed his steps. “What does she want?” he muttered.
Yuhas chuckled. “The same thing she wanted yesterday. And the day before that. You really should give up, Enris.”
“You Chosen want everyone to be like you,” he complained, not without cause. His cousin was equally unrelenting in his zeal to improve Enris’ love life.
It’s a good thing, my new brother, to find someone to complete you. You’ve seen my joy.