of sight.
His lips twisted in a grimace. If only he could tuck Naryn and her followers in a drawer. That would solve a few problems. But the unChosen were rarely asked their opinion. He shrugged on his longcoat before making his rounds. The furnace was already set for the night, its bellows now blowing heat away from the melting vat and throughout the village, carried by pipes embedded within building floors. The air outside Tuana’s homes chilled rapidly after sunset. During the day, the furnace vented to the sky and they worked shirtless.
Sunset also brought lopers. The sly little thieves loved anything with a sparkle, and would carry off whatever fit their paws. For something brainless, they were disconcertingly good with fasteners. He’d had to design locks for the ceiling vents and windows. He tested these now, one after another, ignoring his stomach. Supper could wait; their livelihood lay within these walls and he didn’t take chances.
On that thought, Enris took a moment to check the interior of the shop. The Oud rarely entered buildings; that didn’t mean one wouldn’t this time. The door would do— it passed the wide cart well enough— but the well-swept shop floor was split into two narrow aisles by this summer’s new bench, a wonderfully solid structure positioned beneath the main sky vent to catch the natural light. His idea.
Against the far wall with it, then. He gave the massive wooden structure a tentative push. It didn’t budge. Taking off his coat, Enris flexed his arms, planted his hands on the bench, and leaned into it with a grunt.
It still didn’t budge.
He frowned.
Need he care? If an Oud wanted in tomorrow, the bench would move out of its way, all right. In pieces.
“Not good,” he muttered. Intact, this bench matched all the others. Broken, the pieces would reveal its wood had been used before. Solid beams like this were reserved for tunnels, Oud tunnels. Granted, these came from an abandoned spur and the Om’ray had permission to use what they could take, but all such within Tuana territory had been picked clean before he’d been born. Wood was something precious in his generation, traded for other goods, reused, or hoarded by Council decree.
With Enris coming of age, the shop’s workspace had been increasingly cramped, his father doing his best to share with his son. That son? Enris wasn’t sure if he’d lost patience, common sense, or both— but he’d wanted his own bench.
To get it, he’d traded with runners.
The tunnels beneath the Om’ray stayed as they were. That was the Oud’s side of the Agreement; theirs was to stay where they were. Go outside Tuana territory and Oud tunnels were no longer reliable. For no reason shared with Om’ray, a tunnel would lose its light and heat, remaining empty and unused, a temptation of wood and metal and other supplies. A day might pass. Or a full set of seasons. But the moment would come when, without warning, the Oud would remember this tunnel and violently reshape it, collapsing ceiling and walls, smashing the floor. A tunnel could fill in seconds, obliterating everything within, or restored lighting could reveal new openings, a different direction or slope. There was no knowing.
Except that an unlit tunnel was a trap.
Runners dared go beyond where Om’ray were tolerated. Never to trespass on the Oud— no one was that stupid— but where no others would go. Everyone knew it. They gambled they could glean from such tunnels before their reshaping. Questions weren’t asked, by Council or those seeking what they had to offer. Runners weren’t of one family, or one Talent, though those with the ability to sense imminent change were persistently if quietly courted. They were risk takers, not fools.
Enris laid his hand on the innocent, so-useful bench. The Oud didn’t care if Om’ray took wood. They didn’t care if they died trying. What provoked them was an Om’ray stepping beyond agreed boundaries. This much new runner
His lips twisted in a grimace. If only he could tuck Naryn and her followers in a drawer. That would solve a few problems. But the unChosen were rarely asked their opinion. He shrugged on his longcoat before making his rounds. The furnace was already set for the night, its bellows now blowing heat away from the melting vat and throughout the village, carried by pipes embedded within building floors. The air outside Tuana’s homes chilled rapidly after sunset. During the day, the furnace vented to the sky and they worked shirtless.
Sunset also brought lopers. The sly little thieves loved anything with a sparkle, and would carry off whatever fit their paws. For something brainless, they were disconcertingly good with fasteners. He’d had to design locks for the ceiling vents and windows. He tested these now, one after another, ignoring his stomach. Supper could wait; their livelihood lay within these walls and he didn’t take chances.
On that thought, Enris took a moment to check the interior of the shop. The Oud rarely entered buildings; that didn’t mean one wouldn’t this time. The door would do— it passed the wide cart well enough— but the well-swept shop floor was split into two narrow aisles by this summer’s new bench, a wonderfully solid structure positioned beneath the main sky vent to catch the natural light. His idea.
Against the far wall with it, then. He gave the massive wooden structure a tentative push. It didn’t budge. Taking off his coat, Enris flexed his arms, planted his hands on the bench, and leaned into it with a grunt.
It still didn’t budge.
He frowned.
Need he care? If an Oud wanted in tomorrow, the bench would move out of its way, all right. In pieces.
“Not good,” he muttered. Intact, this bench matched all the others. Broken, the pieces would reveal its wood had been used before. Solid beams like this were reserved for tunnels, Oud tunnels. Granted, these came from an abandoned spur and the Om’ray had permission to use what they could take, but all such within Tuana territory had been picked clean before he’d been born. Wood was something precious in his generation, traded for other goods, reused, or hoarded by Council decree.
With Enris coming of age, the shop’s workspace had been increasingly cramped, his father doing his best to share with his son. That son? Enris wasn’t sure if he’d lost patience, common sense, or both— but he’d wanted his own bench.
To get it, he’d traded with runners.
The tunnels beneath the Om’ray stayed as they were. That was the Oud’s side of the Agreement; theirs was to stay where they were. Go outside Tuana territory and Oud tunnels were no longer reliable. For no reason shared with Om’ray, a tunnel would lose its light and heat, remaining empty and unused, a temptation of wood and metal and other supplies. A day might pass. Or a full set of seasons. But the moment would come when, without warning, the Oud would remember this tunnel and violently reshape it, collapsing ceiling and walls, smashing the floor. A tunnel could fill in seconds, obliterating everything within, or restored lighting could reveal new openings, a different direction or slope. There was no knowing.
Except that an unlit tunnel was a trap.
Runners dared go beyond where Om’ray were tolerated. Never to trespass on the Oud— no one was that stupid— but where no others would go. Everyone knew it. They gambled they could glean from such tunnels before their reshaping. Questions weren’t asked, by Council or those seeking what they had to offer. Runners weren’t of one family, or one Talent, though those with the ability to sense imminent change were persistently if quietly courted. They were risk takers, not fools.
Enris laid his hand on the innocent, so-useful bench. The Oud didn’t care if Om’ray took wood. They didn’t care if they died trying. What provoked them was an Om’ray stepping beyond agreed boundaries. This much new runner
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