“The M’hir,” Oran corrected sharply. Aryl winced.
But the Yena Adept gestured a gracious acceptance. “I defer to your greater experience, Sona’s Keeper.”
Oran flushed with pleasure, though Aryl doubted Sian meant it as a compliment. Sona’s Cloisters had used her. It had somehow known its new Keeper was different from other Om’ray. It had sent Oran’s knowledge of the M’hir not only to the Adepts, but to all who’d come here. How and why? More questions in urgent need of answers.
Gur di Sawnda’at spoke up. “Nothing has changed our Joinings to our Chosen, our bonds with heart-kin and children. We still sense all other Om’ray.” The Rayna shared her relief. “We’re part of Cersi.”
“It doesn’t matter. We’ve been caught by the Dark!” Aryl couldn’t see who spoke. “It won’t let us go!”
Before she could reply, others did. The Council Chamber erupted, those who’d sat surging forward, their anxiety spilling through the rest.
Aryl went to rise to her feet, but Taisal captured her hand and leaned close. “Wait,” she said in an urgent low voice. “The Sona Adept—the one the Vyna implanted in an unborn. Anaj di Kathel. Does she have memories of this Cloisters?”
Aryl threw a desperate look at those around them, most shouting at the top of their lungs. “I should do something—”
“Let them howl. It’s one thing to accept travel through the M’hir—quite another to accept it as part of us. Calmer heads will prevail soon. Tell me about Anaj.”
“She remembers her life. Why?”
“Because this,” Taisal laid her hand on the floor, “is more than a home for Adepts and the aged, more than a place to store records. A Cloisters is what makes a Clan, Daughter. Remember Cetto’s proposal, that we trade Yena’s to the Tikitik for safe passage? It would have ended us.”
“Because without a Cloisters, Adepts could no longer dream.” Which might, Aryl thought grimly, be for the best.
“Dreams only let us share knowledge between ourselves and with those gone before us. Dreaming together—” Aryl might have imagined her hesitation; Taisal must have decided secrecy no longer mattered between them, “—can produce new approaches to a problem.”
“Like exiling us.”
A sharp look. It wasn’t denial. “Dreams aren’t essential. This is.” Again the hand on the floor, now a caress. “Cloisters are part of what binds us together and shapes the world itself.”
Aryl was used to the Human bending her perceptions of reality. Her mother? “What binds us is inside us,” she objected forcefully. If it was somehow the Cloisters, Yao and the babies wouldn’t be alone, would they?
“Yes. But the strength of that binding within a Clan lies in the Cloisters.” Taisal tapped the hilt of the longknife at her side. “And it can be undone.”
“I don’t understand.” She was afraid she did.
Sian had stayed silent, though Aryl knew the Adept listened. Now he crouched beside them, careless of his robe. “We’re healers of mind as well as body, but there’s nothing we can do for Om’ray of great Power who lose the inner battle. Such can’t be left a risk to the rest, but to toss them into the Lay is not enough. Their minds would drag others with them. The device your mother means lets us cut that mind free of the world first.” He turned to her mother. “Taisal, even if Sona’s Maker is still usable, we don’t know if it can be set to sever only connections through this M’hir. We could risk losing ourselves.”
“Maker.” The word dropped so casually from Sian’s lips chilled Aryl’s blood. “ ‘Maker’ is Tikitik,” she said numbly. “They use it for everything that matters to them. Their ancestors. The moons. Holes in the ground.”
The looks on their faces, the astonishment leaked through their shields was almost funny. Almost.
“They do?” Taisal asked. “What do Tikitik know of Makers?”
Anaj, from another time, hadn’t reacted to the Tikitik’s use of the word; today’s Adepts were shocked. More knowledge, Aryl thought bitterly, lost to the past. Thought Traveler had been right. They existed within too few years, within too little space.
Om’ray were trapped in themselves.
“It’s time I told you about Tikitna,” she said.
I can almost see it . . . an inner caress as tangible as any touch . . . how your skin would glow if the Makers were out.
Aryl flinched.
What did I say? What’s wrong?
Nothing. She eased her hip on the bench. The sun will be what’s out and soon, Enris. Get some sleep. Not to mention they weren’t alone. Every bench held an Om’ray, most strangers. The new Adepts had proved useful at last. They’d known how to dim the lights in the areas used for sleeping.
Makers.
No chance of sleep with that word in her head. She’d told the others about Tikitna, including the Makers’ Touch and her promise. Amna and Rayna had the Tikitik for neighbors; their Speakers had grown quiet as she shared, too quiet. They’d gestured approval when she finished. Approval, but beneath, in every mind, shivered the same apprehension.
How would the Tikitik react to the new Sona? How would the Oud?
The Adepts, no surprise, dismissed the Strangers and the destruction of their camps as irrelevant.
They were wrong, but Aryl didn’t waste her time trying to convince them, not when she couldn’t offer more. Where was Marcus? He’d promised to contact her. Did he find promises impossible to keep as well?
Was he . . . ?
She struggled to quiet her thoughts, to keep her mind as still as her body; Enris, at least, should rest. Husni had imposed this effort on them all. Being eldest, other than Anaj, she’d even quelled the Adepts. Hadn’t hurt that she’d brought their fretful, overtired children into the Council Chamber to make that announcement.
Aryl smiled to herself.
I felt that.
Sleep.
Makers. The Tikitik. Whatever their connection to Om’ray, Aryl knew Thought Traveler would come. It would demand to know the worth of her promise. She couldn’t force the others to leave. She didn’t know what she could say.
You’ll think of something.
Stop prying.
I didn’t have to. He might have been pressed, warm and comforting, along her back, instead of lying on the floor. Enris was, unfortunately, too big for a bench. You need to relax. What should we name Sweetpie?
Of all the odd . . . You know perfectly well the Cloisters will give her a name when she’s added to the records. Seru had insisted Juo and Lymin should introduce their babies to Sona’s later today. It would ease tension for them all.
Her Chosen was amused. And more awake than ever. You? Follow tradition? Sweetpie deserves more than the next name on a list.
He tried to distract her. Aryl stroked the gentle swell at her waist and let him. How else would you name a child?
Hesitation and a certain shyness.
She grew intrigued; not such a casual topic after all. You’ve a name in mind?
We could call her Ridersel.
A Tuana name. His mother’s. Ridersel di Sarc. Aryl mouthed the words to herself. If you like. It’s better than Sweetpie.
Aryl! Feigned outrage. His joy ran through her bones.