The Surviving Sky, page 18
The Resonance—or perhaps its memory—danced behind his eyes, tempting him. Iravan tensed. He’d have to do it. He’d have to enter the Moment. Nausea rose in him. He braced himself, gathering the shreds of his courage and judgement—
“They’re here,” Naila gasped. “Other dust motes. The Maze Architects.”
Iravan’s eyes widened.
Someone had seen his message—either the councilors or the administrating team at the temple. “Get these children out,” he said at once, sitting up.
One by one, the little bodies around him relaxed, their lights winking out, their trajection vines disappearing. A few teetered to their knees. All of them appeared breathless and shaken.
“Naila, stay in the Moment,” Iravan ordered. “Tell me what’s happening.”
The Junior Architect frowned and stared in front of her. “Looks like they’re turning the roots we engaged into a platform. They’re raising it, sir.”
Relief so powerful burst through Iravan that he became light-headed for a second.
The Maze Architects, with their resources in the temple, had directed his roots perfectly. They had repowered the citizen rings of those below, seen where the people waited, seen the broken architecture with sungineering holograms. They would be able to build around the citizens, ensuring they were safe, ensuring Ahilya was safe.
The waterfall in front of them drained to a trickle, confirming Iravan’s suspicions.
The earth groaned and cracked open, chunks rendered apart like waves that undulated and lapped at his wheelchair. A chasm opened on the far end of the bowl and rippled in the beginning of a staircase, and Iravan thought abstractedly with a kind of dull anger, Stairs. It is always fucking stairs.
He skimmed his wheelchair forward carefully, the rocks under him flattening because of his desire.
Heart thundering, Iravan waited for Ahilya to emerge.
18
AHILYA
It was the hardest thing Ahilya had done.
Her mind slid from the task, unable to hold her desire steady. Hair-thin roots swept across her face, terrifying her. Once or twice, the whorls curled around her neck, almost lovingly, before moving on as though condescending to her broken will. Her helpless fear darted in her mind, trapped. Sweat dripped down her back.
Water rose to their knees, then their chests.
Ahilya opened her eyes, saw the panicked faces around her, heard their shallow breaths. Reniya swayed, as though about to slip below. Someone gulped, and the sound echoed around them. Vihanan began to cry softly. I’m sorry, Ahilya thought. I couldn’t save you after all. Her heart weighed her down, obliterating her desire. In her mind, she saw Oam fall from the sky, heard his panicked voice asking what Iravan was doing.
Time slowed down. Ahilya lifted her trembling hand to her mouth, noticing the drip-drip in the cavern, the sweat that drenched her hair, the water level that kept rising. Eyes blurring, she reached for her sister, moving sluggishly through the cave.
The ground shook, ripples of water cascading.
Tariya cried out. Ahilya lurched—
Then the ground rose.
Ahilya staggered as the floor moved upward. The water level lowered, to her waist, her hips, her knees. Above them, roots parted and earth broke open, thin showers of debris raining down. She heard someone weep in relief; Ahilya nearly wept too. Her hand clutched her sister’s tightly. Tariya trembled, and Ahilya drew her close, murmuring soothing sounds. More of the roof cleared, and then—
Blessed sunlight.
Steps formed along the edge. The others rushed for them at once. Ahilya waited, her eyes checking and rechecking every crevice. Was she leaving anyone behind? Did everyone survive? She counted them as they went past her, one, then three, then seven.
Tariya pulled her through at last, and the two emerged into the sunlight and collapsed on the grass next to each other, gasping. Ahilya covered her face with a trembling hand. Her other hand still clutched Tariya. She knew she should calm her sister down, but her entire body shook uncontrollably. Ahilya had trouble breathing herself.
It took her a long time to realize that both her citizen ring and Iravan’s bracelet on her wrist were chiming insistently.
Ahilya rolled over and sat up. She had emerged at the lip of a bowl; it was all that remained of the clearing that had led into the Architects’ Academy. The waterfall had stopped. On the far bank, Iravan leaned forward in his wheelchair, his posture tense. He waved and tapped at his wrist.
She tapped at her citizen ring, answering it. Iravan’s face hovered over her palm.
“Thank rages,” he rasped. “Are you all right?”
“I’m all right. We’re fine—for the most part.”
His hologram trembled; she didn’t know if it was him or her own palm shaking.
Ahilya glanced around her, wondering if they were all fine. Tariya had sat up too. Her sister shook, and Ahilya could hear her nephew’s soft voice. Tariya was speaking to Kush on the citizen ring, not Bharavi—why? Was the Senior Architect busy? Bharavi had never been too busy for Tariya before, and this—this ordeal—it would take a toll on her sister. Tariya was likely to lash out. She would need help.
It was as though Iravan had heard this thought.
“I’m sending architects over to you,” he said. “To take you to the infirmary. To heal and counsel.”
“What happened, how did this—”
“The trajection,” he said. “It must have—I’m coming to you. I’ll explain.”
Ahilya glanced around her. The others were recovering too. Reniya had stood up and was massaging her throat. Vihanan was attending to the person with the injured scalp. Tariya had finished speaking with Kush and was looking over at Ahilya, her face withdrawn. Except for her sister, the rest were all married to mere Maze Architects. How much of what Iravan had told Ahilya was privy to them?
“No,” she said, looking back to him. “I think—you should speak to the council first.”
“Ahilya, no! I’m coming to you—”
“Iravan, please.” She took a deep breath. “You know I’m right.”
“But—”
“I’m unhurt. Trust me.”
For a long moment, her husband’s face was still, his jaw clenching and unclenching in indecision.
Then he nodded reluctantly.
“I’ll return as soon as I can.” His voice became quiet. “Ahilya, take care—trajection isn’t—”
“I know,” she said hurriedly, aware of the listening ears. “I know, Iravan.”
He ran his hand through his hair; she glanced up to see the action across the crater. Iravan waved at her. Then the message disconnected and he was turning away in his wheelchair.
Ahilya looked away from her citizen ring to where Maze Architects in their brown kurtas and translucent robes hurried down a staircase. The temple—or perhaps Iravan himself—had already sent people to manage this crisis. The rest of her group rose on shaky feet, a couple of them limping. Tariya gestured to Ahilya and they joined the others.
“—was lucky,” one of the Maze Architects was saying. “Had you not focused your desire at the same time as the architects were rebuilding, you would not have made it out safely. Whose idea was it to do that?”
The others turned to Ahilya.
The architect, a short man with a thin mustache, nodded, impressed. “I did not think a non-architect could be so astute about these matters.”
“She’s Iravan-ve’s wife,” Reniya muttered.
“Ah! That explains it.” He turned away, gesturing to the other architects.
Irritation bubbled in Ahilya. After everything she and the others had endured because of an architect-made mistake, the casual insult of the statement burned her. She opened her mouth but Tariya placed a hand on her arm. “No, forget him. Look at what you just did—with all of us—”
“Look how little it mattered.”
“It mattered,” Tariya said flatly. “You saved us. Have you considered you’re stronger when you want the same things as everyone else? That the ashram is stronger when we all want the same things?”
Stunned, Ahilya stared at her sister, momentarily robbed of speech. People like us, Oam said, we don’t know anything about flight and architecture. Survival is the council’s business.
Her mind spun. A thousand objections rose to her lips, about the council wanting the wrong things, about the justice she had always wanted for people like her, those who couldn’t traject. That was what all her work was for. But, in the face of death, did any of Ahilya’s ambitions matter? She had always dismissed Tariya’s perspective before—the two of them had never seen things the same way—but was Tariya right? They all knew the power of their own desire, even Tariya—especially Tariya—who had struggles even Ahilya barely understood. Ahilya blinked and said nothing.
“Come,” Tariya said. “Let’s go to the infirmary.” She grabbed her hand and followed the Maze Architects up the stairs.
Silently, Ahilya let herself be led away.
19
IRAVAN
The wheelchair impeded his speed, he wasn’t allowed to traject, and the ashram was not back at full capacity.
All in all, it took Iravan nearly two hours to return to the temple.
He noticed the passing scenery in flashes—the drying grass, the decaying trees, the popping bark that indicated just how poorly Nakshar was being maintained. Relief and anger throbbed in his head. He had been so close to trajecting. Even now, when he was not in the Moment, he could almost see the Resonance, familiar and tempting. What if Ahilya had not emerged? Would Iravan have let her die, rather than enter the Moment? Shame coursed through him; he was sickened with himself. If their positions were reversed, Ahilya would have damned the consequences and come to save him, no matter what.
Iravan entered the temple’s extensive main chamber and immediately skimmed toward one of its honeycomb corridors, away from the rudra tree. He tapped at his bracelet and a wall opened to reveal a lush green elevator. The temple had recognized him; the elevator was already attuning itself to Iravan’s preferred design, with bark opening to let in sunlight and a view of the open sky. How much trajection was being used to maintain this? Iravan saw again the earth cracking open near the Academy and Ahilya slipping through his grasp. His jaw tightened in anger at this magnificent waste. He emerged into a plumeria-lined corridor and skimmed to the council chamber.
Grown in the highest levels of the temple, the council chamber was a large, luxurious room with a massive mahogany table at its center. Thick, sweet-smelling moss layered the floor, and the walls were a tessellation of dark flowers. No windows were open—the councilors on their high-backed rosewood chairs had clearly been discussing sensitive matters—and a hologram hovered on the table: Manav smiling, a picture from before his excision. And beside him, Iravan’s own face.
Airav smoothly waved the holograms away, and all five councilors turned to Iravan as he entered. Laksiya, who had been leaning forward, closed her mouth and sat back.
For one disoriented moment, Iravan saw himself sitting with them, in his own rosewood chair. He had once looked at Manav with the same expression the others had now, as though considering a dangerous animal.
Then Chaiyya spoke. “Iravan—what happ—”
“I take it you know what occurred at the Academy?” he asked, cutting in.
The others exchanged a guarded look across the table.
“We’re aware,” Airav said slowly. “The reports are back, and the affected citizens have all received healing. We intend to speak to them further, eventually.” Airav’s voice grew milder. “You were at the Academy at the time, weren’t you?”
Iravan didn’t bother to answer. They had been tracking his citizen ring since the investigation began; they must have seen him with Ahilya, two dots on their map of citizens. Besides, he had sent them a message asking for reinforcements. They had certainly been involved in the reconstruction. Naila didn’t know their dust motes in the Moment, but Iravan had recognized all three Senior Architects in the movement of the earth, the build of the platform, the way stonenut had created edges along the crater.
What would have happened had he been in the Moment himself? If he had trajected? If there’s any indication at all, the slightest rule-bending—
Airav tilted his bald head, his eyes piercing behind his glasses, waiting for a response.
“How could this have happened?” Iravan asked. “Where were the Disc Architects?”
Airav tapped at his wrist and swept a hand so a map of the city hovered over the table. Several portions were yet under construction, with little access to water, sungineering light, or moving architecture. They were all citizen spaces, to be sure; architect spaces stood lush and complete—and anger stabbed Iravan’s chest—at himself and Ahilya and the council, and the fact that this imbalance was not the fight he could fight right now.
“The Disc Architects are exhausted,” Airav said, by way of explanation. “Their constellation lines are becoming weaker, and they’re making mistakes. They’ve been taking shortcuts, unable to patrol the Moment as they should. This is to be expected. We wasted a lot of trajection energy with landing and taking off.”
“Shift duty,” Iravan began.
“—is a precaution; it’s not a guarantee of rest—”
“—negates the possibility of architects becoming exhausted,” Iravan completed, the same thing he’d said to Bharavi not two weeks earlier, when they’d landed in the jungle. “This is happening because trajection is getting harder. Because of an interference.”
“You keep saying that,” Airav said solidly. “Yet all three of us have examined the Moment and haven’t found this Resonance.”
“You might not believe my theory, Airav, but this is not about me anymore. If trajection fails, we’ll crash into the earthrage. We will all die. It’s an end to civilization.”
“Calm yourself, Iravan,” Chaiyya put in tiredly. “We’re aware of the consequences—”
“Then take me off this ridiculous trial, and let me help.”
“You are helping,” Airav said coolly. “By investigating your theory.”
Iravan’s sarcastic laugh echoed around the luxurious chamber. “Without trajecting? Without examining the Moment?”
“No one,” Airav replied carefully, “is stopping you from trajecting.”
A charged silence greeted his words.
Iravan stared at the others. Kiana frowned, and Laksiya looked mildly curious as though waiting to see what he’d do next. But Bharavi—his closest friend and mentor—remained deadpan, her fingers tracing the notebook in front of her.
He could see in her face a warning. This was a trap, though an unsubtle one. He gave you vine to see if you would crawl out of this pit or hang yourself. Iravan’s heartbeat grew faster. He licked his suddenly-dry lips. With an effort, he controlled himself.
“I misspoke,” he said, inhaling deeply. “I only meant I shouldn’t traject in my condition.”
They continued to stare at him. Chaiyya shook her head at Airav, a secret message. The two had always been close, their relationship much like Iravan’s own with Bharavi. Chaiyya would decide what Airav would. They would not listen.
Iravan turned to Kiana. “Did any of the other ashrams land during the lull?”
Senior Sungineer Kiana frowned and pushed up her glasses. “We haven’t tracked that; it would take too much power. But I can show you our landing data.”
She tapped at her own rudra bead bracelets and replaced Airav’s hologram with a record of dust patterns in the jungle and the use of trajection during the last earthrage. Unlike flight, a command given by the uncontrollable earthrage—a command that every ashram obeyed—landing was a cost-benefit analysis. It was contingent on each ashram’s architecture, its core trees, how much energy their Discs expended in landing and taking off again. Nakshar had chosen to land the last time because its architects had needed a reprieve.
“Exactly what is your idea here?” Kiana asked from across the table.
“I think the Resonance interfered with the magnaroot watchpost,” Iravan said at once. “I want to know how many other ashrams registered the same.”
Airav turned to Bharavi. “You were at the watchpost before landing. Did the magnaroot behave unexpectedly to you?”
“It relaxed like it should have when the earthrage stopped,” Bharavi said, shaking her head. “It’s why I called for landing.”
“But it didn’t sharpen for Naila,” Iravan said, frustrated. In quick words, he told them what Naila had reported to him, about the stars of the magnaroot remaining unchanged, the very plant remaining still even after the flight alarm went out. “The Resonance is the only explanation—” he ended.
“It’s not,” Airav interrupted.
There was another silence, this one deeper.
Iravan frowned, glancing from one to another. Kiana blinked and looked away, rolling her cane in her lap. Laksiya cleared her throat, and her gaze trailed to Manav’s empty seat.
And the full implications of Airav’s words hit Iravan.
The holograms he had entered to see, Airav’s unyielding demeanor, Bharavi’s calculating silence—
He had told Ahilya that no one could interfere with the magnaroot at the watchpost, but the truth was an Ecstatic Architect could manipulate the rudra tree’s permissions—it’s what made Ecstasy so dangerous. The architect wouldn’t even do so consciously. In Manav’s case, less than five years before, a newly raised Iravan had caught Manav in the Moment, lashing a dozen constellation lines to the rudra star. Manav had held a whole conversation with Iravan in his first vision, clearly oblivious to what he was doing in his second.
It had been a tiny, unconscious slip.
That was the way of Ecstasy.
Until one day the slip became destruction and endangered all life in the ashrams.
