Free Riders of the Storm by Julie E. Czerneda

across distance, since sending was related to individual Power. But Costa had assured her—many times—that the link gave each a special insight into the state of the other regardless of distance. Her brother had claimed to know when his beloved Leri was lonely or sad or happy. Aryl remembered being convinced this was only so Costa had a ready excuse to leave her for his Chosen.
    Then she’d found her way into the other place, where connection mattered more than distance. She believed now, after Costa was dead and Leri one of the mindless Lost. Aryl’s fingers sketched apology in her lap.
    â€œYou know perfectly well I can’t hear him,” Myris protested. “I’m not like you or—or Taisal.”
    â€œYes, but can you tell me how he feels—right now?” She felt the other’s puzzlement.
    Seru, sitting nearby, leaned closer to catch the answer. Aryl smiled a welcome. Her cousin’s interest in anything about Choice and being a Chosen was reassuringly normal.
    Myris didn’t appear to notice. Her hands clenched on her scarf, then she spoke in a whisper Aryl had to strain to hear. “Afraid. So afraid. He can hardly breathe.”
    Seru scrambled back. “I told you we shouldn’t go this way.” Not quite a shout, but everyone looked their way. “I told you!” That was. She lurched to her feet and broke into a clumsy run, but didn’t go far, perhaps daunted by the glowering cloud and dead landscape on all sides. There she stood, back to her kind, head high and free of its hood; the freshening wind whipped desperate locks of her hair from its net, as expressive as any Chosen’s.
    Though Aryl ached to go to her, she stayed with Myris. “We’re all afraid,” she told her aunt. “Do you feel anything more? Is he comfortable? Warm? Cold?” She had no idea what Chosen truly felt; she did know each Joining was unique. Myris might not have her sister’s Power—but she had her own sensitivities. “Is he anxious to be with you, or for you to be with him?”
    â€œWhat an odd—” Myris blinked. “With him,” she stated, her eyes brightening. “Yes. Wherever Ael is, he wants me there. They’ve found a place for us, Aryl!”
    Though Aryl smiled with relief, her gaze lingered on Seru.
    What did she see, that no one else could?

Chapter 4
    â€œN ICE BRIDGE.”
    Aryl ignored the comment and the deep laugh that went with it, though Veca gave Enris a dour look. Which was hardly fair. He’d been as good as his word, rejoining them soon after they’d begun to march again. He’d willingly taken a share of Chaun’s awkward weight, too. They’d made better speed with his help.
    Just as well. The wind had a bite to it, and smelled of lightning. Sheets of rain obscured the ridge on the other side of the valley; it wouldn’t be long before it reached this one and their coats were still damp. She hoped it wouldn’t freeze on them. Firstnight was upon them, its shadows barely darker than those of the clouds, sure to steal what remained of the day’s warmth.
    As Veca blithely predicted, there was a bridge near the mouth of the next gorge, but it was broken. Luckily for the exiles, the riverbed it had been built to span was dry and empty.
    Aryl wasn’t sure which bothered her more: the twin arches that ended in midair above a tumble of smashed stone, or the missing river.
    No, she was sure. “Where’s the water?”
    â€œWho cares?” Veca pointed to the other side. “Haxel and the others aren’t far now. Let’s go.” She headed toward the riverbank; the others began to follow.
    Aryl frowned. “Do rivers disappear in Tuana?”
    Enris signaled Gijs he was ready to go, but words brushed Aryl’s thoughts. Show me.
    She retrieved her memory of the raging torrent she’d seen from atop the ravine wall. “Veca saw it, too.