The rain sounded wrong beneath the stone arch.
Iven heard it while they were still approaching: a succession of low, round notes, as though someone were striking bowls too large to lift. Water ran down the cliff in dark sheets. The path had become slick enough that Safa shortened the intervals between the animals and asked everyone to take their hands out of their pockets.
They had spent two days climbing above the seed gardens. The green lights were behind them now. On the northern slope, wind drove the rain almost sideways. No one was cold enough to be in danger, but everyone was wet enough to be offended.
At the arch, the weather changed its voice.
Neri put her hand against the inner wall.
“Hollow.”
“Several hollows,” Iven said.
A drop struck somewhere above them. One of the deep notes answered. Then another, higher and slower.
