Reap the Wild Wind Read Online Free PDF Page B

time he’d tried, the cart had toppled sideways and spilled its load the width of the tunnel. His strength lay elsewhere, when he could settle long enough to use it, designing ways to bring water to their crops. “C’mon. You know you’re impressed,” his cousin suggested slyly. “Wasn’t it you who said she’d never dare?”

Enris thought of Naryn S’udlaat and shook his head, dark hair tumbling across one eye. “I said she shouldn’t,” he growled. “I knew the fool would.”

He didn’t have to ask what she’d done. The willful daughter of Adepts believed herself a child of destiny as well, one with great Talent about to show itself any day. Unfortunately, it had, and at him. When he’d refused to let her take her pick from their shop’s display, Naryn had used Power, not her hands, to launch a hammer at his head. Her amazed triumph had been somewhat dampened by his refusal, having dodged the hammer, to relent. When she’d failed to repeat her accomplishment for anyone else— Enris himself bluntly vowing he’d never testify for her without mentioning her attempt to take what wasn’t hers— he’d hoped that was the end of it.

He hadn’t been the only one. They’d tried to hide their relief, back then, the Adepts, the older ones, but Enris had felt it and understood. The Tuana Om’ray lived a fine line between Oud and sky. Troubling those underfoot wasn’t wise; their Clan had paid the price before this. But there’d be no stopping Naryn now.

The vast expanse of tunnel behind him seemed to listen to his thoughts. Enris felt the skin of his neck tighten, tasted change.

The Oud didn’t care for that either.

    Chapter 3

     
    B ELLS TOLLED ONCE, THEN AGAIN. Aryl heard each deep mournful sound; felt it tremble the bed, crawl up her fingers. She counted ... ten ... eleven ... then lost track. Tears leaked from her closed eyelids. Which had been for Costa? She should know, shouldn’t she?

A breeze lifted the hair stuck to her forehead. She shuddered and drew herself into a ball under the sheet. She couldn’t find Costa. She couldn’t find anyone. That couldn’t be. No one was alone. The world was Om’ray, given shape by their presence.

Where was she, if there was no one else?

Aryl. An identification more than a name, shrouded in grief and worry. She clung to it without understanding. She was alone. How could there be a voice?

The sheet lifted, leaving her cold. She squirmed and whimpered until a gentle hand rested on her forehead and granted her sleep.

     
    * * *

     
    Low, passionate voices. They belonged to no one. There was no one else. Aryl lay still, wherever this was, and heard without caring.

“We don’t have time. Wake her.”

“I would if I could. This is more like retreat than sleep.”

“She’s unChosen. A child. I thought only Adepts could disappear within their own thoughts.”

“Truer to say only Adepts first learn how to return by their own will.” A sharp breath. “Aryl is no longer a child. We must bring . . .”

The voices left.

Or Aryl stopped hearing.

     
    * * *

     
    “Can she hear me?” Warm, worried.

Aryl buried her head within her arms, pressing their bare, cold flesh over her ears. Not that voice. Never that voice! She hummed inwardly to drown it.

Aryl?

The mental voice was worse, rippling with its own grief. Aryl did her best to shut it out, too.

How could she hear Bern, sense his mindvoice, yet not feel his existence? He couldn’t be here and not here . . . but where . . .

The wrongness overwhelmed her— she slipped toward a darkness of her own. It was so close. She knew exactly where to find the seething black cloud. There. She had only to let it take her, pull her from whatever kept her in this empty, soulless place.

ARYL!

The Other was there, this time not to offer the surcease of sleep, but to force her back from that edge. No matter how Aryl fought, she couldn’t evade it. She tried hiding in memory— the Other refused