Read Online Reap the Wild Wind by Julie E Czerneda - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Julie E Czerneda
Tags: Science-Fiction
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the Lay’s inhabitants to pull the stuff from water-soaked buttresses.
Where he belonged, where he should be in her mind . . . Aryl found herself there, facing only that unreal, churning waste. The Dark, her mother had called it, knowing it, too. She pulled away.
A wysp trilled. There was no time left. As she headed for the door, Aryl scrubbed moisture from her eyes, only afterward thinking to check her fingers for ink. At least she was already dressed, her hair neatly bound, her arms and legs wrapped against night biters. On top, she wore her second-best knee-length tunic, the one her mother liked. The cut was old-fashioned, and its yellow thread made her look a child. Still, tonight being thought young might stop hard questions.
She lifted the gauze cowl from around her shoulders to loosely cover her head and ears. Any biters aimed at her face she would swat herself, with great satisfaction. And there would be some. She didn’t need the faint whine and beat against the gauze panels to know. Most of those who lived in the canopy’s uppermost level moved down for safety while the M’hir blew. Unfortunately, they were then drawn to Yena by the glows.
Another bitter gift. Was there any place without the M’hir? Aryl tucked the drawing of the device under one arm and snorted. If there was, she assured herself, it would have its own problems and things after Om’ray blood.
“Finally,” Seru exclaimed. “What did you do? Bathe?”
Aryl made sure the door turned fully closed. “Why the hurry? Are they here?”
Her cousin wrinkled her upturned nose. “The best seats will be gone if we aren’t first. You know that.”
By “best seats,” Seru meant where they could see the eligible unChosen, and be seen. This preoccupation of those who would be Choosers was encouraged by their elders and the subject of lively mocking by those too young to care. Aryl had teased Costa at the last M’hir; this one, she’d planned to savor having Bern look only at her.
“We don’t want to be obvious,” she told her cousin.
Seru frowned and sent a faint questing thought. Sensing it, Aryl offered a layer of cheerful anticipation. A smile lit her cousin’s face. “You’re right, Aryl. We’ll be oh-so-mysterious. I know just the spot. C’mon!”
Burying her shame, easily from Seru if not herself, Aryl let her cousin lead the way. The Power was uneven in the Parths; they produced few Adepts and no healers or scouts. It wasn’t right to use their weakness against them; Power existed for the benefit of the entire clan, for all Om’ray.
She’d make it up to Seru, another time. It was only that she couldn’t face him . Not this soon and not there. Especially not with the Tikitik and secrets to be kept.
They walked the bridge to the meeting hall and joined the line of others waiting to climb the ladders dropped from its broad deck. Glowbeads wrapped the ropes, a decoration that illuminated the rungs and climbers and, more importantly, protected the area below from truenight’s hunters. Thorn-laced vines, normally encouraged to grow beneath Yena buildings, had been tied back to allow safe passage.
Aryl had secured the pane to her back, careful to keep the face of the drawing hidden. With any luck, her mother wouldn’t ask for it. She moved forward a step with the others, smiling a welcome to various relatives. Her best effort, now she was here, seemed little better than a child’s scribbling, her memories of the device meaningless.
Seru was looking around with interest, waving to friends. “I don’t see Bern,” she announced. “Where is he?” This in a too-loud whisper. Seru knew full well why her cousin always won at seek. Though she kept the secret, she wasn’t above borrowing that skill.
Aryl flinched; Seru didn’t notice. “He’s always late,” she managed. Involuntarily, her deeper sense reached to those nearby, tasting their names and emotions.
The result made her misstep and bump into one of the
Where he belonged, where he should be in her mind . . . Aryl found herself there, facing only that unreal, churning waste. The Dark, her mother had called it, knowing it, too. She pulled away.
A wysp trilled. There was no time left. As she headed for the door, Aryl scrubbed moisture from her eyes, only afterward thinking to check her fingers for ink. At least she was already dressed, her hair neatly bound, her arms and legs wrapped against night biters. On top, she wore her second-best knee-length tunic, the one her mother liked. The cut was old-fashioned, and its yellow thread made her look a child. Still, tonight being thought young might stop hard questions.
She lifted the gauze cowl from around her shoulders to loosely cover her head and ears. Any biters aimed at her face she would swat herself, with great satisfaction. And there would be some. She didn’t need the faint whine and beat against the gauze panels to know. Most of those who lived in the canopy’s uppermost level moved down for safety while the M’hir blew. Unfortunately, they were then drawn to Yena by the glows.
Another bitter gift. Was there any place without the M’hir? Aryl tucked the drawing of the device under one arm and snorted. If there was, she assured herself, it would have its own problems and things after Om’ray blood.
“Finally,” Seru exclaimed. “What did you do? Bathe?”
Aryl made sure the door turned fully closed. “Why the hurry? Are they here?”
Her cousin wrinkled her upturned nose. “The best seats will be gone if we aren’t first. You know that.”
By “best seats,” Seru meant where they could see the eligible unChosen, and be seen. This preoccupation of those who would be Choosers was encouraged by their elders and the subject of lively mocking by those too young to care. Aryl had teased Costa at the last M’hir; this one, she’d planned to savor having Bern look only at her.
“We don’t want to be obvious,” she told her cousin.
Seru frowned and sent a faint questing thought. Sensing it, Aryl offered a layer of cheerful anticipation. A smile lit her cousin’s face. “You’re right, Aryl. We’ll be oh-so-mysterious. I know just the spot. C’mon!”
Burying her shame, easily from Seru if not herself, Aryl let her cousin lead the way. The Power was uneven in the Parths; they produced few Adepts and no healers or scouts. It wasn’t right to use their weakness against them; Power existed for the benefit of the entire clan, for all Om’ray.
She’d make it up to Seru, another time. It was only that she couldn’t face him . Not this soon and not there. Especially not with the Tikitik and secrets to be kept.
They walked the bridge to the meeting hall and joined the line of others waiting to climb the ladders dropped from its broad deck. Glowbeads wrapped the ropes, a decoration that illuminated the rungs and climbers and, more importantly, protected the area below from truenight’s hunters. Thorn-laced vines, normally encouraged to grow beneath Yena buildings, had been tied back to allow safe passage.
Aryl had secured the pane to her back, careful to keep the face of the drawing hidden. With any luck, her mother wouldn’t ask for it. She moved forward a step with the others, smiling a welcome to various relatives. Her best effort, now she was here, seemed little better than a child’s scribbling, her memories of the device meaningless.
Seru was looking around with interest, waving to friends. “I don’t see Bern,” she announced. “Where is he?” This in a too-loud whisper. Seru knew full well why her cousin always won at seek. Though she kept the secret, she wasn’t above borrowing that skill.
Aryl flinched; Seru didn’t notice. “He’s always late,” she managed. Involuntarily, her deeper sense reached to those nearby, tasting their names and emotions.
The result made her misstep and bump into one of the
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