Rift in the Sky

Enris turned and went under the blanket roof, giving the Human his best smile. “A difference of opinion between our new Council and Aryl. She’ll win.”

Never underestimate Marcus, he reminded himself. “We have a small problem,” he evaded, testing the crate the others had used as a chair. When sure it would hold his weight, he relaxed and sat. “It seems there are now two kinds of Om’ray. Those who can—” he fluttered fingers as Marcus would do to refer to ’porting, “—and those who can’t. It wasn’t just the three of us pulled to Sona. It was all the M’hiray. Over seven hundred. It’s a bit crowded right now.”

Marcus smiled. “Not exactly . . . If you put . . . different things together . . . in water . . . shake hard . . . let all settle . . . layers of the . . . same kind . . . form. Stratification.”

Probably the best description he’d heard, Enris decided. Especially the “shake hard” part. As for settling? “This layer,” he commented dryly, “has a problem.” He waved at the flood beyond the open doorway. “No home.”

No smile now. “What say . . . Oud? . . . Tikitik? . . . Where you go? . . . What say, Enris!” with a rasp of urgency.

The Human knew their world. Enris shrugged. “As I said, we have a problem. Aryl did her best, but the Tikitik are in a panic—and the Oud?” If any were left in Sona who weren’t floating corpses. “We don’t know. They have their own ideas about where Om’ray should and shouldn’t be.”

“M’hiray—you—” a stab with a too-thin finger, “—can escape Oud. . . . Rest Om’ray can’t.” His eyes were like dark pits. “Danger . . . like your Clan . . . like Tuana. Everywhere.”

There was nothing he could say to that, no evasion, no clever argument. Lost in fear, Enris dropped his head and shuddered.

A hand touched his, cold and dry. Shields tight, he looked up to meet a gaze as warm and compassionate as any real-Om’ray’s could be. “I can . . . help, Enris,” Marcus offered, the words gentle; the gasp for breath to speak them almost an afterthought. “On rest of . . . planet . . . on Cersi . . . no Oud . . . no Tikitik. Only . . . here. With Om’ray. . . . Do you understand? . . . Only here.”

How could he possibly understand that? The world—he could feel its extent, know it—there was nowhere else.

Marcus saw his battle. “Enris. Trust me . . . what I know . . . Most of Cersi . . . empty . . . Safe places . . . Better places. I . . . have been to many . . . seen planetarysurveys . . . Trust me.” He touched his temple with one finger. “All in here . . . for you. For Aryl . . . for Sweetpie. Take it.”

Om’ray or M’hiray—his kind was tied together; to damage another’s innermost self would endanger every mind in range. Madness would spread like thought itself. They couldn’t do to one another what the mindcrawler Stranger had done to the Human.

The Human understood what he suggested, better than any Om’ray could. Enris had never imagined such courage, never expected to find it here, in a creature who fought to breathe yet looked at him with such tranquillity in his eyes he was ashamed of his own fear.

“Better . . . same . . . worse. Like any . . . people.” The hint of a smile. “Take what you . . . need, Enris. . . . My gift.”

Better? Enris shook his head in disbelief, then gestured profound gratitude. “Thank you, Marcus. But no.” He fought to keep his voice even. “Aryl’s gone before our Council to make sure no one touches your mind again. She won’t allow it.”

“Someone must . . .” As if he was the only one being reasonable. “Aryl wrong . . . Can you?”

Enris was on his feet and almost backed into the wall of crates—which would have brought them down on their heads and be a fine way to care for their friend—before he could stop himself. “No!”

Marcus nodded. “Naryn can. You . . . bring . . . Naryn here.” He moved his fingers on the blanket.

“Trust me,” the Human urged. “Let me help.” His throat worked and a fresh stain of red marked the bandage. “Before I’m . . . not so brave.”

The swarm. He’d burned homes to save Yena that ’night. Watched the smoldering wreckage fall into the dark, chased by embers like dying stars. The question in his mind hadn’t been if he’d die. He’d been sure of that. No, Enris remembered vividly. He’d worried if he could bear to wait with Aryl to be eaten alive, or would his courage fail him and he’d jump like his brother.

She did. The sun coming through the doorway turned Naryn’s hair to flame. “What’s wrong?” she demanded, stepping inside.

“Take safe . . . place for M’hiray.” Marcus offered his hand. “Take everything . . . to help. Hurry.”

Enris edged out of Naryn’s way, brushed fingertips along her wrist as she passed him. No words; he couldn’t speak. Only support.

She paid attention only to Marcus. Sat on the bed. Took his right hand in hers as if offering Choice. When her hair slid down her arm to touch his skin, he smiled in wonder.