Rift in the Sky

M’hiray. Lower your shields and trust your Council. No matter what happens, wait for the locate. Go together to the future!

TOGETHER!

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 share it. We ’port when—” he faltered. For some reason, he looked at Taisal.

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. I did, Daughter. I waited for you to become who you are, who our people need. I need wait no longer. “Don’t let them fall.”

She couldn’t move, couldn’t think. Mother . . .

A hand took hers. An Adept must control the Maker. The locate, heart-kin. They’re waiting. Naryn dropped her shields. Sent image after image of rock and water and empty spaces.

MOTHER! You can come with us!

“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 . . .

... the world flowed away,

Om’ray became as sand,

and there opened a rift in the sky . . .

All she could hear was a voice. The locate . . . Aryl . . . where do we go . . .

All she could see was rock and water and strange twisted growths like bone . . . rock, water, bone . . . over everything crawled numbers and lines . . . Site report 58323 . . . Site report 58324 . . . Site report 58325 . . . rock and water and growing bone . . . numbers and lines . . . rocks . . .

... none of it was real.

More voices. Where do we go . . . ? Where can we go? DESPAIR.

No more despair. She wanted peace. And happiness. Anything familiar. She reached with all her strength and will . . .

And there it was.

Lights hanging from wires. Lights attached to walls. Lights on poles. A vast space, angled and rising away in polished steps. Steps with carved seats . . . a wall danced . . . more carvings, with eyes and forms, and postures that were and weren’t beautiful but which had meaning to a different kind of mind.

Happiness.

Peace.

Safe.

Aryl di Sarc poured Power into that image, felt others do the same, felt confusion become purpose.

With the others of her kind, she concentrated and let the M’hir take her . . .

... a bracelet turned around and around,

became rock etched by water,

became metal again and turned. . . .

As the M’hiray disappeared, Watchers roused to follow, became voice and force and purpose.

... While a mind became voice,

Daughter,

to be lost on the wind . . .

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

(Note: Names shown as first encountered in this book.)

SONA CLAN:

Ael sud Sarc (Chosen of Myris, once Yena)

Anaj di Kathel (Adept)