Rift in the Sky

Yes, it is.

The child had no way to sense his loss. The voice, to her, must seem real.

It’s only an echo, Aryl sent, frantically offering memories of mountains and shouts and laughter. Don’t follow it. Never follow such things.

The glow beside her brightened.

... the murmur of voices, real voices, was a welcome shock. Aryl hugged Yao, pressed her face against her soft, fine hair. “Clever, clever Yao,” she praised, making sure only approval and affection passed her shields. Inside, her stomach twisted. What lay ahead for Yao, for Juo’s baby, for Lymin’s? For her own? To only sense each other through the M’hir . . . to hear a voice and not know if it came from the living or dead? “We’ll have to spend more time together.”

“I could show you how to play ’port and seek!” Yao offered, squirming free. “I’d let you catch me sometimes. I let Ziba. She says I don’t, but I leave her a trail sometimes.” Aryl was shocked by a tugging, deep in her mind—no, in the part that could reach the M’hir. “Or I do this.”

HEREHEREHERE!

Aryl winced.

“Sorry.”

No one else reacted to the mind-numbing shout. Aryl knew what that meant. It had been sent to her through the M’hir, with a precision few matched in normal sending. “Thank you, Yao,” she said numbly, gesturing gratitude. “Now go tell your mother I said you were clever and helpful. She’ll be pleased.”

The child disappeared with a giggle.

To reappear in front of her mother, who let out a not-so-pleased shriek before gesturing apology to her startled neighbors.

Too late, Aryl abruptly realized, to debate whether Om’ray belonged in the M’hir or not.

Their children were already there.

Interlude

WATER GLINTED IN THE LIGHT from the oil lamps, black and slippery. Enris boldly stepped in and lowered his. “See?”

“The wet boot or the foolish Om’ray in it?” Yuhas asked. He’d caught up to them on the roadway.

Worin snickered.

“The water. See how it builds up behind the boot.”

“And over it.”

Enris smiled to himself. “Because the boot’s not big enough.” Before his brother found this funny, too, he sent a fond Behave, youngling. “That’s why you’re here. All of you.”

The Om’ray he’d summoned stood with him on the dry pebbled floor of the river, each carrying as many small lamps as they could manage, doubtless wondering if he’d lost his mind. Worin. Yuhas. Fon, Cader, and Kayd. Kran with Deran, leaking distrust through their shields. Though they’d come. Anything to do with secrets and Power, Enris thought ruefully. The Licor sisters, Josel and Netta.

Steps away, in the dark, Naryn di S’udlaat. Uninvited. He spoke knowing she listened.

“We’ll use lights to mark our line. Put them on the ground, spread out. We don’t have very—” The unChosen, delighted to be out when most of their elders were heading for bed, bolted to the opposite bank, lamps waving. “Watch for moving rock,” Enris shouted after them. Not that the hunters would risk the water, but he felt a twinge of Chosen responsibility.

A small twinge.

He resisted the urge to look up; clouds obscured his stars. He’d have to trust Marcus had been able to give them privacy. There was no way to know.

Enris took his lamps and placed them on either side of the narrow New River, splashing across and back with noisy relish. Yuhas met him, having placed his.

“What now?”

The unChosen returned, led by Worin, and stood waiting. From their anticipation, they’d decided this was a game worth playing. “Now,” Enris said, ruffling his brother’s hair, so like their mother’s, “Sona stops wasting water.”

Some things were better shown than told. Having picked his prize beforehand, he walked to it as briskly as the loose footing allowed. Confidence. That was the key. This would work.

Or he’d look like a fool.

Wouldn’t be the first time.

The chunk was a broken piece of Sona’s bridge. A disturbing reminder of the Oud’s strength. Enris patted it, stepped back, put his fingertips together, and concentrated. You, he told it unnecessarily, there. And concentrated.

Power answered.

The chunk quivered, then moved. Not through the M’hir—he didn’t dare risk where it might reappear—but through the air, graceful and slow. Larger than it first looked, having dug its own hole in the riverbed. He tried not to grunt with effort. Confidence.

When over the water, he let go. The chunk dropped and tilted and came to rest with a grind of rock to rock. And, he thought with glee, a much bigger splash than his boot.

The river spread and spread, before it found the way around.

“That’s the idea,” Enris added unnecessarily.

“Like the vat in our shop,” Worin said excitedly. “How our father—” his voice faltered, but he recovered. “It’s how we kept the melted metal flowing where we wanted. Into the right molds.”

“Or stopped it altogether.”

Yuhas leaped to the top of the chunk and let out a whoop that echoed out into the surrounding darkness. “This time we stop the river!”