Had those on Passage felt this way?
Had Bern?
She lowered her face into the crook of her arm, shutting it all out. Maybe she should wish for the Tikitik to be wrong, and swarms to consume them all. Make an end to it . . . Bern might hear, one day . . .
“Apart-from-All. Look.”
She didn’t obey at once; having her head down was unexpectedly comfortable. But curiosity, morbid or otherwise, couldn’t be denied.
She rolled her head to the side and opened her eyes.
Then Aryl straightened, slowly, her eyes growing wider.
The clouds had retreated to become pale gray walls of their own, exposing the sky over the lake. That sky was now the deepest blue Aryl had ever seen, almost black at its edges and where it met cloud tops. Holes in that blue let through sparks of light, like glows through leaves. Stars.
Brightest of all were two that sat exactly where the Tikitik had pointed, one larger and so white it hurt to stare at, the other a warm gold, its surface marked with dimples and swirls. Their light didn’t just puncture the sky, but spilled over the lake in two endless lines that never crossed, the sum bright enough to pick out green from the tops of the canopy. Bright enough to send the swarms hunting within the darkness deep under roots and stalks, not out here.
Cersi’s moons.
She’d heard of them; she’d never imagined being out in truenight to see them with her own eyes. “What did you call them?” she asked. “The ‘Makers’?”
“Some believe everything on Cersi was made by beings who now reside within those orbs. The Makers. They say we see their lights because the Makers never cease their labors to make this world perfect for Tikitik.”
“What about the Om’ray?” Aryl demanded without thinking, then shut her mouth.
The Tikitik was a silhouette; it might have been one of her kind—save for its height, the depth of its voice, and the lack of a head between its shoulders. As well as not, Aryl thought firmly, being real. “Those who populate the moons with powerful beings consider the Om’ray no better than the Oud. A flaw.”
She shivered, though the air wasn’t cold and the osst shared its heat. Taisal should be here, not her. This wasn’t a conversation for an unChosen. She suspected the only reason for Traveler’s frankness was exactly that. She wasn’t important. He could indulge his version of curiosity by getting her reaction.
Aryl scowled at the Makers in the sky, knowing one thing for sure. The Om’ray weren’t a “flaw.” “We trade with you,” she said, pleased at the calmness of her voice. “We harvest the dresel you need. There’s no harm in us.”
“The dresel you supply is nothing. We gather a thousand times more for ourselves. What—” Traveler continued when she sat silent and stunned, “—did you think your contributions were significant?”
Her grip on the post was painfully tight. “Then why did you take most of the Harvest?” she asked finally, her voice unfamiliar to her ears. “We’re starving. Some of us will die—some already have!” Bern, the rest on Passage . . . for nothing?
A bark. “I am gratified.”
Aryl stared at its dark form. “Because we’re dying?”
“Be at ease, Apart-from-All. I am gratified because I recognized your value from the beginning. Now you have told me something I need to know. Thank you.”
“You didn’t know we were starving?” Aryl wanted to hit the smug creature. “Why?”
“Much like Om’ray exist in Clans, my people are divided into factions. By ideas, not place. There is a faction that looks to the moons for guidance. Others who mourn our past or fear the future. Most care only for what is important for the survival of our groves and our kind, season by season. The Yena live within the influence of three different ideologies: one faction continues to honor the Agreement; one wishes to avoid that duty, but dares not; and one . . . from you I learn that this one does so dare, doubtless inspired by the arrival of the strangers.”
Not curiosity. By the moons’ light, at the edge of the Lake of Fire, she, Aryl Sarc, was being given information vital for all of her kind. Factions? Strangers? Feeling woefully inadequate, she licked her dry lips and tried to think like her mother. What would the Speaker ask? “Which—which faction are you?”
“Each has its Thought Travelers, like myself, who move between to gather and share information. This is how Tikitik decide what to avoid—to stay away from any course likely to be wrong. Thought Travelers are neutral and act only to better understand a situation. I have an opinion, of course.”
“An opinion.”
“The Agreement was made for a reason. Our races are together, here, for that reason. Until we know what that is, my opinion is that only a fool would break it. And you?”
“Me?” Aryl hesitated. “What about me?”
“Do you honor the Agreement that arranged the world as it is?”
It didn’t seem a safe question. Not that silence was an option. She took advantage of her osst’s loud series of pained grunts, something the rest were now doing as if to keep better track of one another in the dim light, and tried to reach Taisal.
Nothing.
When the creatures quieted, Traveler repeated his question. “Do you honor the Agreement?”
“Yes,” Aryl said carefully. About to say “as do all Yena,” she thought of Haxel and substituted the more truthful, “Our Council makes such decisions. Most of us worry about survival, too.” She ran her hand up and down the leather wrapping. “Can you help us?” she dared ask. “Can you tell your Council what’s happening? That the Yena have been put in danger?” It would all be worthwhile, she thought with abrupt, fierce hope. All of it. Even Bern. “We need more dresel; more glows and cells.”
“There is no Tikitik Council,” it replied. “I tell other factions what I learn, not what each or all should do about it. Om’ray are resourceful. Yena will survive.”
Bitterly disappointed, she almost didn’t answer. But it wasn’t this Tikitik’s fault. By feeding her for days, it had unwittingly provided more for those at home. She sighed. “We will try.”
“If you succeed tonight, I’ll send what I can with you. It will be what we have left. I can’t do more.”
Back? She’d be going home? Aryl hadn’t realized how sure she’d been that this was a one-way trip, that she was already as good as dead, until relief made her dizzy. And supplies? About to thank the Tikitik for its offer—any supplies would help—the rest of what it said sank in. “Succeed at what?”
“You will solve this puzzle. You will learn if the strangers did interfere with a Harvest. Such an act is offensive to all Tikitik. The faction who tolerates their presence here will no longer.”
As well fly over the lake, she thought. “I don’t understand. How can I do that?”
“Search their belongings for a device like the one you drew. I require this confirmation. I am sure—” it said with a bark, “—you will find it, Apart-from-All. Be sure to take nourishment.”
Aryl had never felt less like sucking blood from an osst. Or anything else, for that matter. “The strangers are here?” She looked up at stars and darkness. How would she spot their flying machine?
“Look to the right of the Makers, low on the horizon.”
She did, finally spotting a group of white-and-blue stars, twinkling like the rest. Or were they? “Glows?” she hazarded, realizing they were in front of the clouds.
“Yes. The strangers dared settle on the Lake of Fire. We’ll be there by the time the sun returns from its visit with the Grona Om’ray. Shall we watch for it, Apart-from-All? Discover how it sneaks past Yena every night before dawn?”
It made fun of her. From an Om’ray, such teasing would be an attempt to lighten her spirits. From Thought Traveler, she decided gloomily, it was because she’d revealed herself to be ignorant, like those it disdained for making up incredible stories to explain what they couldn’t. “If you know,” she challenged, “tell me.”