The Surviving Sky, page 17
“—worthy one day—”
Tension rose in Ahilya’s shoulders. Iravan’s mouth became a hard line. He had heard, he had remembered the fight that had precipitated his absence for seven months: their argument about making children of their own, Ahilya’s misgivings about a non-trajecting child. She made to move, to bid him goodbye, to get away from there before they fought again, but Iravan extended a hand.
“Wait,” he said. “Please—”
She paused, glanced over her shoulder.
But Iravan’s eyes were growing wide in shock, the expression familiar from the jungle before the earthrage. He opened his mouth—
The ground under Ahilya’s feet cracked in an explosion of noise.
Her heart jumped in her throat.
She had a moment’s horrified glimpse of her husband’s lips forming her name—
Ahilya screamed as she fell.
15
IRAVAN
AHILYA!” Iravan bellowed as the clearing around him erupted into chaos.
The ground cracked, dust swirling, cries and coughs echoing in the air. Iravan’s wheelchair skimmed away from the widening hole without his command. Almost he entered the Moment—for a chilling second, he thought he had, as the silvery Resonance blinked behind his eyes. Then he wrenched himself away from the urge. Iravan coughed, searching frantically for Ahilya through the eddying dust.
A small hole gaped where she had been. Balloons of earth rose and fell. Dust climbed his nose, settled in the back of his throat. Student architects were clambering back from other holes, cries of shock and consternation rising from them. Some of the older ones pulled the younger ones away. The smallest were in tears, and even Junior Architects looked shaken, their translucent robes layered in thick dust.
Yet all of them seemed unhurt.
And there was no trace of the other citizens.
No, Iravan thought, his heart sinking. No, no, no.
The ground moved again. More cries rang through the broken clearing as architects jumped back. The dozen small holes undulated like waves toward the center, snaking past the architects, who watched stunned. The holes turned into a bowl of depressed earth. Water splashed into the crater, filling it, as though the ashram was trying to fix this error before it was noticed.
Cries of wonder and shock echoed through the crowd. Several children wept, shivering as they watched.
“Gather yourselves,” Iravan commanded sharply. “You are architects of Nakshar.”
His words rang loud, cutting through the clamor.
The students quieted, staring at him with wide eyes.
Iravan searched the crowd, and his eyes settled on Naila as she pushed her way to him. “You’ll have to direct them,” he said curtly. “We have to pull up the earth—”
“The Academy,” she gasped at the same time. “It must all be in shambles—”
“Rage the Academy,” Iravan said. He pointed at the bowl. “There are citizens trapped there.”
“But sir! The architects in the Academy are our priority!”
“Your priority is what I fucking tell you, Junior Architect,” Iravan snarled, his hands balling into fists.
She recoiled in shock. The others exchanged nervous glances. They had never seen him this furious; he had always been patient with the children. His eyes ran over them, his heart pounding; he had no time to explain, but all of them had been taught how architects preserved the ashram, how architect lives mattered more. Iravan’s wrath coiled in him, for what he had been forced to teach them, for the fact that Naila made more sense to them now than he did.
He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. “I don’t care if the Academy is under,” he said loudly. “The Academy is empty. But every citizen trapped in there embodies the potential of the ashram.”
The children shifted on their feet. Exchanged nervous glances.
“Even if the Academy isn’t empty,” he went on, meeting as many gazes as he could, “all architects are protected by the permissions of the rudra tree. It’s why none of you were sucked in.” It was why his healbranch chair had retracted on its own, sensing the danger.
“But the citizens there are in peril. They can’t traject. So, you need to do your duty.”
The children murmured. Some of the older ones stood up straighter.
Naila’s face grew considering. “What do we do, sir?”
“Follow my instruction,” he said, gazing at them, this army of children, the youngest perhaps eight and the oldest barely a decade more. “Naila, arrange them in order of skill. Quickly, now; we don’t have much time.”
Naila moved away, calling out names. Grim but confident children strode forward, rolling the sleeves of their dusty robes back, readying for battle.
Iravan gripped his chair to keep from shaking.
The sungineered waterfall was filling the bowl quickly. The water was likely trickling down through crevices. Why weren’t the Maze Architects responding to this? They ought to have seen the accident in the Moment. He tapped one of his bracelets, fighting dizziness, but the message didn’t connect to Ahilya.
Sweat broke out over him. This is normal, Iravan told himself. It’s normal. Rudra beads weren’t directly connected to the Moment; they were a combination of sungineering technology and trajection, the first casualty if active trajection failed. And no architect had fallen inside the crater to sustain trajection. It was to be expected.
His fingers shaking, Iravan connected a message to the temple administrators, and to all the councilors. Why hadn’t they reacted yet? Maze Architects ought to have been swarming the Academy—
“We’re ready,” Naila said, returning to his side.
“Enter the Moment,” Iravan commanded. “Find the stars of the Academy.”
All around him, the skins of nearly fifty children lit up. The Resonance flickered at Iravan—for a terrible second, he thought he had obeyed his own command, his visions split—then the feeling subsided, and Iravan panted, winded.
“What do you see, Naila?” he asked, gritting his teeth.
“The constellation lines,” she gasped. “They’re all broken.”
“Maze Architects?”
“There are none here, sir. I—I don’t see any other dust motes, at—at least not near the Academy stars.”
Iravan swallowed. He had known this already. The citizens had been sucked in, but no architects were hurt, because the rudra tree had reverted to its base permissions. Until there were strong, active, unbroken constellation lines, the citizens would not be able to mold the architecture to their desire. Ordinarily, Disc Architects would have been patrolling the maze, repairing old constellation lines. The fact that this accident had happened at all—it indicated the absence of those architects.
“All right,” he said, jaw tightening. “You’re going to rebuild.”
Shocked cries echoed around him. The children gazed at each other, flustered. They had never done anything as complex, not outside the protection of the practice Academy, not without careful supervision.
“Sir,” Naila said quietly. “Won’t you help?”
A deep shame seized Iravan. He imagined the Resonance flapping behind his eyes, terrifying. He saw himself tumble through the Moment, watched his Two Visions merge, watched as he trajected better than ever before with an ability that was dangerous.
Naila’s question carried among the crowd. Scared faces regarded Iravan. They were so young. Some had their eyes closed; they had to have their eyes closed to focus on their second vision. That’s how untrained they were.
I could do it, he thought desperately. I could rebuild it alone without breaking a sweat. The two paths opened behind his brows again, wavering in and out of each other for the first time, like they had been a single path all along. His hands trembled. You don’t have three weeks, Bharavi said. You have until your next mistake.
“I’m right here,” he said, swallowing. “You can do this. You’re gifted and brave, and I’m counting on you.”
Some of them stood up straighter. They nodded at each other.
“Ready, architects,” Naila called out, pushing back her sleeves.
Iravan shifted his attention to the Moment. He didn’t enter it—he didn’t have to—he knew Nakshar’s universe intimately.
“Generate your constellation lines. Don’t traject them into any stars yet, but be ready. Naila,” he added in a quieter voice. “Some of them won’t be able to traject more than short lines. Make sure those are strong, then bind them together and wait for my command.”
She nodded grimly. Simple vines grew over the brown skins of all the children collected.
In his mind, Iravan floated in the Moment. Citizens lay buried underground, potentially injured. He’d have to build around them without knowing where they were, a blind trajection liable to go awry. He’d have to brace the earth first, interlace roots bottom to top, lest all of the debris come crashing down. What if the plants attacked the citizens under his instruction as he did this? He was using untrained architects. Their constellation lines would not be as strong as a Maze Architect’s. Even if the citizens used their desire to keep themselves safe, there was no telling if the roots would respond, not with weak constellation lines. It would take a concerted strength of will by the citizens to aid this amateur trajection.
The architects were waiting. Water pooled deeper into the crater.
“All right,” Iravan said, taking a deep breath. “Naila, find the rudra star. Thirty-five degrees right ascension; the banyan exists in a state of tangled roots. Tie the first lines to it in a half-hitch pattern, but leave at least nine ends open.”
She nodded, the tattoos on her arms articulating. Iravan tensed as a thick root grew from the edges of the bowl. His breath resounded in his ears, but curt instructions continued to pour out of his mouth.
16
AHILYA
Ahilya screamed, tumbling through darkness, but came to rest almost immediately. She gasped, and a paroxysm of coughing gripped her. Dust blinded her, entered her nose. Debris fell from above, hit her shoulder; she spasmed in pain and squeezed her eyes shut, throwing her arms over her head. Someone cried out; she heard more debris fall. She was back in the earthrage. She was going to die. This was her punishment for leaving Oam. The ground shifted under her, undulating, and she curled into herself, whimpering.
Eventually—it seemed hours—the sounds settled.
Ahilya wrenched open her eyes.
The dust had thinned. Far above them, an earth roof blocked any chance of escape. Others had tumbled in, most of them the citizens she had seen climbing down the ramp to the Academy, all coated in dust, coughing and sneezing. She had been far from them aboveground, but somehow the cave-in had rearranged itself. Now they crouched only a few feet from her.
“Is—is everyone all right?” Ahilya coughed, her tongue thick with dust.
They nodded in shock. Some said yes. A trickle of blood ran down Vihanan’s forehead. A person Ahilya didn’t know touched their scalp gingerly. Undoubtedly, they were all bruised—Ahilya’s own elbow twinged, but there seemed to be no large injuries. Heart pounding, Ahilya searched Tariya’s face. Her sister looked stricken though unhurt.
“Are there any architects with us?” Vihanan called out.
They all listened, their ears straining.
“I think we’re alone,” Ahilya said at last.
In the abrupt silence, the creaky writhing of thick black roots over the debris walls sounded unnaturally loud. The others began murmuring. Some tapped their citizen rings, their faces anxious.
“The architects will save us,” Reniya said, hugging herself tightly.
Ahilya’s eyes remained on the roots. Dread formed a leaden weight in her stomach. The way the roots moved, curling and writhing, reminded her of the jungle. In her mind’s eye she saw again the way the bracken wall had disobeyed her. The delayed permission for her expedition, the protocol Iravan had followed in leaving Oam behind, and now this—
She and the others were safe, but how long would that last? Her stomach churned in growing terror.
Then something chilling seeped through her bamboo boots.
“We just have to wait,” Reniya said, nodding to the others. “They are probably attempting rescue already.”
Water.
“We can’t wait,” Ahilya cut in sharply. “We have to get ourselves out.”
“Not now, Ahilya,” Tariya began, frowning.
“We can’t wait,” Ahilya said louder. “Listen to me—”
“She’s right,” Vihanan said suddenly, sounding alarmed. He stepped back and stared down. “Water. It’s the waterfall. It’ll fill this hole right up.”
“It already is,” the person with the scalp injury said in terror.
“We can’t traject—” Reniya began, her eyes wide.
Her voice cut off. She started to choke.
For one bizarre moment, Ahilya thought she saw fingers curled around Reniya’s throat.
Then she realized—not fingers. Roots.
The others froze, stunned.
Ahilya reacted first. “NO!” she screamed, and jumped forward.
She scrabbled at the roots even as Reniya choked, turning blue. No, Ahilya thought. Not again. Not again. Tears filled her eyes as Reniya gasped. Ahilya’s fingers became bloodied. Oam flashed in her head, grinning wickedly. Don’t worry. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll keep you safe.
The others began pulling at the root. Vihanan climbed a rocky ledge for better reach. Reniya’s eyes fluttered and closed.
“NO,” Ahilya screamed again. “Retract, damn you! Retract!”
To her shock, the root obeyed.
Instantly, it retracted, letting go of Reniya. The woman collapsed in Ahilya’s arms, wheezing. The others stared.
Then Tariya scurried forward and pulled Reniya to her, making soothing sounds, cupping her hand to the rock where water flowed.
“How could this be happening?” Vihanan said, sounding shaken. “The ashram is designed not to hurt us.”
Not us, Ahilya thought. The architects.
Iravan had admitted as much when he’d told her how Nakshar’s original architects had coded the rudra tree. All those other times the city had protected citizens—the Maze Architects had done that. No architects had fallen in with them now—it meant the rudra tree had reverted to its original permissions. Ahilya didn’t know as much about the core tree as Iravan did, but her husband had talked of it often: the rudra only reverted to its base state in case of failed trajection. Trajection isn’t as easy as it’s always been, Iravan said in her head. There’s an interference in the Moment.
His bracelet weighed her wrist down. Ahilya took in the nervousness around her. She couldn’t tell them what she knew. The city functioned on the desires of its people—to tell them trajection was failing would only result in panic; it would worsen their situation.
Another root reached across the citizens. They screamed and ducked as the root knit itself to the other side.
“What do we do?” Tariya said, panicked, as more roots whipped around them, hair-thin.
The water rose to their ankles.
A great powerlessness swept over Ahilya. She saw herself trying to hold the magnaroot nest together with her fingers. She saw herself on Nakshar’s terrace, facing the bracken wall. She saw herself pound at the barrier, crying for Oam. None of it had mattered. In the back of her mind, she remembered how she and Dhruv had once been caught in a cave-in much like this when they had been little.
A thick root crept slowly toward them as though managed by a more skillful hand. It wove between Ahilya and the others, bracing itself to the far rock. Tariya steadied Reniya, tears sparkling in her eyes. Ahilya had saved the woman only to let her die again. She’d broken the roots only to—
“There is a way,” she gasped out.
The others turned to her.
“We can’t do anything about the water,” Ahilya said, her voice louder. “But we can do something about the roots. These roots aren’t trying to hurt us; they’re trying to build a way out. That means the architects are rebuilding their constellation lines, just like Reniya said. They’re trying to rescue us. We have to help them.”
“What do we do?” Tariya asked again, her face worried.
“Focus your desire,” Ahilya replied. “Focus it on one thing and one thing alone, for the roots to not hurt us.”
Understanding flickered in their eyes. These people were not architects, but all of them were likely married to one; they had family who were architects. They knew how the city worked. What Ahilya had suggested—it was akin to landing protocol, when the combined desires of Nakshar’s citizens had provided a catalyst to the Disc’s trajection. The consciousness of the ashram, directed toward a singular purpose, had guided Nakshar to safety hundreds of times before. She and these people would have to do the same for themselves.
Around Ahilya, one by one, the citizens blinked their eyes closed, their faces frowning in concentration, even as thick roots wove between them. Ahilya closed her own eyes, her heart hammering. The water reached her shins, and her trousers stuck to her. She heard everyone’s panicked breathing. A root touched her cheek and she flinched. Ahilya battled down her fear, her shame, her terrible helplessness.
There were many ways to endure, but all of them began at the same place. Desire. Heart beating fast, Ahilya focused her mind into a singular possibility. Survival.
17
IRAVAN
Under Iravan’s instruction, the young architects of Nakshar reconstructed the maze.
Long minutes ticked by. Too long.
Terrifying thoughts circled him.
What was happening below in that cave-in? What if the citizens were injured? What if Ahilya was injured? Had he killed someone again with his actions? Had he killed Ahilya? Oam flipped in the air again, and Iravan watched himself let go of the boy. He watched himself ignore the call of his instinct to not enter the jungle.
Around him, the children shook like leaves in a storm. Iravan gestured to Naila to take the weakest off the Moment. His army was depleting. The children were tiring. None of them would last very long, and then everything they had built would collapse, burying the citizens if they weren’t buried already.
