Naryn stepped forward, head high, face and hair perfectly composed. Her shields were impenetrable. “We will not forget the gift of Marcus Bowman to the M’hiray,” she announced, then looked to Aryl. “I will need your help with the Human’s memories.”
Aryl nodded. His gesture.
Sian spoke next. “The two of you will choose where we will go. When you have the locate, hold that image. Oran, Anaj, and I will add our strength so all will
Who finished smoothly, “—when the Maker completes its task and we are free.” She turned gracefully and lifted her hands to the pillar.
“Wait.” Aryl heard the word before she realized she’d said it, before she knew why.
Taisal glanced over her shoulder and smiled the most beautiful smile.
She couldn’t move, couldn’t think.
A hand took hers.
“Then who’d pull up the ladder?”
Taisal di Sarc pressed her hands to the Maker and it began to glow. Brighter and brighter and brighter. Until . . .
...
All she could hear was a voice.
All she could see was rock and water and strange twisted growths like bone . . . rock, water, bone . . . over everything crawled numbers and lines . . .
...
More voices.
No more despair. She wanted peace. And happiness. Anything familiar. She
And there it was.
Aryl di Sarc poured Power into that image, felt others do the same, felt
With the others of her kind, she concentrated and let the M’hir take her . . .
...
As the M’hiray disappeared, Watchers roused to follow, became voice and force and purpose.
...
Daughter,
Epilogue
THE M’HIR WIND BEGAN out of sight, out of mind. It stirred first where baked sand met restless surf. It became fitful and petulant as it passed over the barrens, moving dunes and scouring stone. Sometimes it sighed and curled back on itself, as if absentminded. But it never stilled.
It only grew.
It roared over the mountains and brought Sona a storm of hot, dry dust. Ditches hid their moisture beneath pebbles. Low walls and sturdy buildings protected the fields. But the harvest spoiled on stems and rotted in the ground.
The M’hir gave thunderous voice to Yena’s Watchers. But no one danced among the rastis groves or lifted gleaming hooks to the sky. Dresel flew free on its wings, the prize of wastryls.
Cersi was not to change.
Everything had.
The Om’ray of Cersi
SONA CLAN:
Ael sud Sarc (Chosen of Myris, once Yena)
Anaj di Kathel (Adept)