Rift in the Sky

“If he ss-stole from us-ss, he was-ss!” Drops of black spittle landed on the vase of waiting flowers, drops that sizzled and spit and left holes behind. The stems bent, the flowers shriveled.

“Why don’t I order another round?”

Chapter 1

...SHE TOOK A STARTLED BREATH, heard others do the same. From above, beside, below. Sighs afloat in darkness.

The air in her mouth was warm and dry and tasted of dust. A word settled in her mind, an awareness bathed in peace and happiness.

Home.

The skin of her hand cooled as fingers fell away from hers.

Hold still!

Curiosity stirred. Why?

A cough, not hers, quickly stifled.

A shuffle. Something fell and shattered.

Hold!

She obeyed the thought. She waited for more, hoped for sense.

There. There’s light.

Light? She blinked to be sure her eyes were open, then turned her head slowly to find it. When she did, she blinked again to be sure.

Not much. Distant, like the gleam of a star through leaves. Below, far below where she stood. For she was standing. Steady, without flicker.

Don’t move until I turn on the mains.

That couldn’t have been her thought. Could it? Self became a new curiosity; she contorted her face, yawned wide, then pursed her lips. Rolled her head on her neck. Moved her shoulders and discovered weight on her back. Darkness pressed everywhere against her skin, soothing and close, except for the tiny gleam.

Except for the sounds of breathing, she might have been alone.

Breathing and now steps. Fumbling steps with frequent hesitations. The brush of fabric along a rough surface.

She tilted her head, tracking whoever moved with so little care. Step, brush, step. Until the sounds become fainter than her breath, so she must hold it to follow.

I’m at the panel! Shut your eyes.

She obeyed, then flinched at the dazzling brightness that spotted her closed eyelids, flinched but opened them as soon as she could bear it. Gasps of indrawn breath echoed her own.

“Hold still” had been excellent advice, for she stood on a ledge, one of many, one of—a glance up—the highest. At her feet, more and more ledges descended; they shortened and converged, like a three-sided staircase too large and awkward for use, scarred surfaces littered with crumbled debris and ash. Opposite, three facing walls, not as wide, similarly angled. Centered at the bottom, where the dim light had been, was a flat area covered in neatly separated stacks of—something.

Above was a pool of deep shadow. Where its edges met light, the darkness pulled away from shapes carved into the walls, shapes she didn’t know, one supporting another all the way down, until they seemed not walls but crowds of watchers eagerly looking back at her.

At them. She wasn’t alone. The lights—hanging, leaning, everywhere lights—shone on figures shaped like her. They stood on ledges, amid debris, looking as startled by the bags in their hands as they were to be . . .

Where?

Abruptly, where didn’t matter as much as who. A visceral shock, the need to know one another again, a need more necessary than her next dusty breath. She joined the mutual reach for identity through the M’hir. Identity and connection.

There . . . Chosen to Chosen.

There . . . baby to mother, children to parents.

There . . . as more subtle connections overlapped the rest: family, heart-kin, friendship . . .

Above all, Power. Within the M’hir, the Watchers remained silent as the lesser M’hiray slipped aside while the stronger held their place, a natural sorting without word or conscious thought. And once they knew one another . . .

Everything became real.

Aryl di Sarc shuddered back to herself. Enris!? All around, a general shifting as everyone set aside burdens and hurried to be with their Chosen and family.

Here. Always. He was at her side that quickly. They touched each other with trembling hands. She worried at the angry scratch down his cheek, then forgot as their lips met.

Enris pulled away and smiled. Then, with growing wonder as he looked around. “Here being where, exactly?”

“Aryl!” A small figure jumped from ledge to ledge toward her. “We did it!” Yao di Gethen thudded into Aryl’s hastily raised arms. “We did it! We’re here!”

The next question. Aryl put the child down, tugged a curl gently. “Yao. Do you know where we are?”

“No,” with a child’s equanimity. “But it’s not where we were. That’s what everyone wanted, wasn’t it? To go far?”

“It was.” Another figure approached, one ledge below. “A new life, for all M’hiray. Welcome, Aryl! Enris!” Golden hair rose in a joyous cloud.

“Oran.” Her heart-kin’s Chosen. Aryl smiled a warm greeting, feeling better by the moment. “And Bern?”

“Here.” From above.

Enris crouched by Yao to point. “There’s your father.” Hoyon d’sud Gethen was hurrying in their direction. Yao gave a happy cry and ran to meet him.

“Any idea where we are?” This to Oran and Bern as well as Aryl.