Free Reap the Wild Wind by Julie E Czerneda

the ladders and in a hurry— impatient, Aryl decided, as well as anxious. The Council and their Speaker, her mother, would be last.

To the right was less crowded; the two headed that way, moving around the massive buttresses that rose up through the platform to support the rastis itself. The flattened outer sides of those roots had been draped with fabric laced with toxin; in front of the fabric hung thick benches supported by rope. Most were full of Om’ray, sitting cross-legged to give their neighbors below more space. Seru glanced up and stopped abruptly. “Wila saved us seats!” Without waiting, her cousin climbed from one bench to the next.

Aryl ducked her head and pretended she hadn’t seen. She slipped through the milling crowd, seeking anywhere alone.

As she passed where a buttress arched overhead, a figure stepped from its deep shadow to confront her. Her inner sense knew it was Bern even as her eyes saw a stranger, his normally cheerful face pale and set in grim lines, his hands clenched at his sides. There were red marks— burns— on his cheek and neck.

“What did you do to me?” His voice was wrong, too, high-pitched and hoarse. “Tell me!”

“Hush,” Aryl pleaded, appalled. A quick glance over her shoulder showed no one paying attention, but she slipped into the shadow he’d left, relieved when he followed. “I don’t know,” she told him, quick and quiet. “I don’t!”

“I shouldn’t be alive.” It was an accusation. “You did something. I felt your Power, Aryl!”

“I couldn’t let you fall—” she began.

“So you brought me back to life?”

He was making less than no sense; the glint of eyes was all she could see of his face. “What are you talking about?”

“I died, Aryl,” he said. “I was gone. You— somehow you brought me back.”

“You think you died?” she repeated, stunned. “That’s ridiculous.” Everyone knew what made them Om’ray faded to nothing once the flesh died. Adepts waited for that moment before allowing the husk to be discarded. There was no putting the two back together.

“What else could have happened?” His anguish filled her mind until she feared it would betray them before their voices. “I was in— it was dark . . . moving . . . cold— I wasn’t real—”

Guessing where his mouth was, she put two fingers across his lips. “Listen to me, Bern. You didn’t die. I— yes, it was something I did, but it was a—” she hesitated, loath to use Taisal’s description, even to repeat it, “— a place I pushed you into, trying to keep you safe. Not death. All I could think—” She was aware of his turmoil, of the tension and fear of others, suddenly aware of too much, as if Bern’s closeness weakened her ability to keep what-was-Aryl separate and safe. A wave of guilt, sickening and strong, surged up through her. She tried to contain it, but couldn’t. She heard him gasp.

I wished you safe, she sent, giving up the struggle. You, not the others, not Costa. I wanted you on the bridge and you were. That’s what happened.

Bern’s arms came around her then. She leaned her forehead against his shoulder; he was taller than she remembered. The unChosen finished their growth in spurts. Maybe she’d be taller next.

Aryl. Heart-kin. I’m so sorry. Images of Costa flickered past under the words, of her curled on a sheet looking— looking dead?— then of those falling past him, one after another . . . the shock . . . the grief . . .

Fighting back tears, Aryl shoved Bern’s thoughts from hers. “Enough!” Pulling free wasn’t as easy; he kept staring down at her without moving, his fingers pressed into the flesh of her arms. Did he see her or visions? She took another anxious glance. The crowd was thinning as those left climbed to the benches, but they were still unnoticed. “Bern, you great oaf,” she said gently, quietly. “Let go. I’m not a branch.”

His hands opened and she rubbed her sore arms.