Reap the Wild Wind Read Online Free PDF Page A

toward them. Toward the harvesters. It dipped and rose, out of sequence with the wind or what drifted through it.

Not Oud. An image filled her mind: a large ovoid half buried in a rock slide, its surface gray and edged with black protrusions, most of those broken. Nothing like the dainty thing floating in the wind. The Oud device had two flat arms, long and bent. Wings, she realized. One of their fliers, Costa told her. Probably tried to cross the mountains during a M’hir and crashed. Leri saw it the summer she helped clean the Watchers.

With the ease of practice, Aryl shielded herself from the rush of heat that flowed beneath the name of his Chosen; the recently Joined were indiscreet at best. “Tikitik, then,” she shouted aloud.

“Why?”

Good question, she acknowledged to herself, stretching to keep the object in sight. The Tikitik, cued by the Watchers and the M’hir itself, would be coming for their share of dresel. Why distract the harvesters?

The object, as if oblivious to its surroundings or too curious for sense, dropped lower and lower until it collided with the stream of red filmy wings still being released by the rastis grove. It disappeared and then reappeared as the billowing masses simply slid over its surface. It slowed and seemed, if such a thing were possible, now to be watching the Om’ray.

Had Bern noticed? Aryl sought and found his figure among the rest. His hook was out and working, a small but respectable line of wings and their pods hanging from the nearest web. Their practice together had paid off. Then she scowled, remembered she was angry. It should be me up there, she sent full force, not caring if the oaf heard or not.

The M’hir gave the crown an extra push and Costa’s arm tightened around her waist as the rastis swayed in response. “It’s not bad, being Joined,” he shouted in her ear, half laughing. “You’ll find out when your time comes.”

Aryl felt her face burn under its coat of dust, hoping against hope this was Costa being annoyingly old and not some veiled warning. They’d been careful, she and Bern. They’d made sure to be alone before slipping inside each other’s thoughts to forge their inner connection, delicious and secret. They would be heart-kin forever, able to reach each other’s minds more easily, closer than siblings. It was the bond of the best of friends, but they intended more. They’d touched trembling fingertips, made breathless promises in the dark. When Aryl’s time came, there would be no other, for either of them. Her Choice was made, despite her age.

Even if Bern Teerac was the single most obtuse and irritating—

A shadow swept over them, fast and cold. The next flock of wastryls. Aryl twisted to watch and tensed. These weren’t flying as before, spread apart and claws ready. No, this flock moved as one, claws aimed forward, intent on the gleaming intruder.

Costa’s mindvoice was amused. This should be interesting.

The wastryls keened their defiance as they dove to attack. The M’hir, as if on their side, sent another sudden gust against the rastis. Wings whirled and twisted, caught and tore. Costa and Aryl slid to their knees within the stems and hung on. Her arms ached with the effort but she kept looking.

The wastryls struck.

Thunder and lightning shattered the open sky. A blast of hot air slammed into the rastis from the opposite side, against the M’hir, and Aryl was blinded and falling. Her hands grabbed and held. Her body slammed into whatever it was— a stem that broke— then the ladder— which didn’t.

Everyone was still falling, leaving her behind!

Bern?! She didn’t need eyes to find him. Her mind rang with his terror, his horror as he dropped.

No!

He had to be safe. He had to be . . . the bridge below, the safe, solid bridge. Aryl wanted Bern on the bridge, safe. Bern had to be on the bridge. NOW!

Something inside Aryl pushed.

The crown shifted back; the M’hir reclaimed the sky. She sobbed and