The Surviving Sky, page 28
Iravan fell silent, watching as she circled the cage. His heart began to thud in his chest, but it was a low beat; he had exhausted his energy already on this day.
“If I let you out,” he said, at last, “what will you do?”
Bharavi whipped around from her corner, her eyes on him. “The truth?”
“The truth.”
She raised both her hands. “I’ll release the architects from the bindings of the ashram. Everything we’ve built is… wrong. We need to start anew. Isn’t that what you want, too? I know you’re tired.”
Iravan watched her. His hands were cold in the night air, his face still. A bone-deep fatigue weighed him down. Without getting off his bench, he leaned forward to the closest glass pane and unlocked it. The glass retracted with a whisk.
Bharavi watched from her corner, making no sudden moves, but her skin exploded with light so Iravan could discern no shapes, no patterns. His eyes watered, but he flicked open the deathbox from his pocket and tossed the spiralweed inside the glass cage.
The spiralweed engorged in a blink as he’d known it would.
Bharavi uttered a howl of rage and agony, but before she could move, Iravan locked the cage again. The glass pane shot back down, severing several whips of spiralweed vines that fell on his side of the deathcage. The dismembered vines crawled toward him like worms, but he sat in layers of nearly a hundred deathchambers and did not traject. The vines grew brown, withering away into dust before they could reach him.
Iravan closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands.
The sounds coming from inside the cage were terrifying.
They went on and on, the thrashing and whipping, Bharavi’s enraged screams, her calls asking him to release her, Iravan, IRAVAN! And then they changed, into whimpers, into gurgles. The spiralweed was strangling her like it had tried to strangle him in the library, like he’d known it would.
Iravan rocked himself back and forth, not looking up, trapped in this eternal hell.
He did not know if he was crying again.
The sounds of Bharavi dying consumed his mind; every other memory, every thought, vanished; nothing existed except for this horror. He choked, barely able to breathe, this was a nightmare, this was eternal punishment.
It took him a long time to realize the garden was still again.
Very slowly, as though in a dream, he looked back up. The deathcage was dark. A small leaf vibrated on the stone floor, barely visible. The spiralweed had become innocuous again, satiated. It fluttered limply, unable to move.
Bharavi lay slumped in the corner by one of the glass panes.
He must have gotten to his feet. He must have entered the deathcage. The next thing Iravan knew, he was picking up the single source leaf of the spiralweed and trapping it again in the deathbox.
He approached Bharavi’s lifeless body.
She looked so tiny.
A million stars reflected in her still brown eyes.
Iravan picked her up in his arms and carried her to the stone slab. He closed her eyes.
Except for the welts around her neck, she might have been sleeping. Except for his self-absorption, she might have still been alive.
For a long moment, he gazed down at her. He tried to absorb the enormity of what he’d done. She would never advise him again. They would never argue.
But Iravan couldn’t muster any more tears. He had wept himself dry, holding on to Ahilya, bidding Bharavi farewell. All he felt was a terrible emptiness, a deep desire to sleep and never wake again. He bent down and kissed Bharavi’s forehead softly.
Then activating all the locks, Iravan turned and walked away, feeling a hundred years old.
31
AHILYA
On the morning of Bharavi’s funeral, Ahilya descended into darkness.
She clutched Arth to her, her eyes blurred with tears. Around her, Maze Architects shuffled and murmured to each other. Someone nudged her, and she turned around to see people clearing the garden path of the reclamation chamber.
Ahilya couldn’t see the pallbearers yet, not with the press of bodies, but she had a sudden urge to laugh. Bharavi’s funeral was occurring a day after her death, keeping to the traditions of Reikshar from where she had immigrated—and only a few Maze Architects had been able to make it at such short notice, but at least the Senior Architect was receiving a funeral. Oam had gotten nothing; he had been left behind. A sharp pain arose in Ahilya. She suppressed a sob.
And then she caught sight of the four pallbearers carrying Bharavi’s body.
Ten-year-old Kush, who had grown taller in the last weeks, and a woman Ahilya didn’t know, presumably a native of Bharavi’s ashram, carried the rear ends of the pallet. In the front, leading the ceremony, was Tariya, her face glazed with tears. And next to her was Iravan, whose eyes were unseeing even as he marched.
Ahilya clutched Arth to her, choking, trying to inhale, but a hand had seized her lungs; she couldn’t get a full breath. The thicket disappeared from in front of her. All the fifty or so assembled Maze Architects melted. She was back on the terrace above the temple, unable to speak, unable to move, condemned to watch as Iravan murdered Bharavi.
She had tried to look away when the spiralweed had strangled Bharavi. She had wanted to. Ahilya had moved toward the deathcage, but her legs had collapsed under her. She had sunk to her knees instead, paralyzed in shock, her tongue too heavy to make any sounds. The night had become cold, and Bharavi had screamed, calling out Iravan’s name, and Ahilya had watched in horror and fear, complicit in his crime, images of Oam flashing in her head as his vine snapped away from hers.
She embraced Arth closer, and her nephew whined, wriggling in her grasp. Ahead, the procession came to a halt. The pallbearers placed the pallet on an earthy platform.
Iravan stepped forward and began to speak.
Ahilya closed her eyes, fighting nausea. Disjointed words came to her.… “The best friend a man could ask for”… “the kindest mentor”… “reborn in a better age”…
Revulsion and anger so great gripped Ahilya that she had to forcibly remind herself not to crush Arth. The fight nearly eight months before flashed in front of her eyes, the way Iravan had kissed her yesterday, the lies he’d uttered. Trust me, he’d said, before he’d proceeded to kill Bharavi. Trust me, but he had only wanted to send her away. The taste of him turned to ash in her mouth. Ahilya saw again, all the times she had trusted him and the consequences of doing so—the chasm he’d opened in the floor with her and Dhruv, the words he had said in the temple, after Oam. I saved you. If I hadn’t been out in the jungle, you wouldn’t have made it back to Nakshar.
Within the reclamation chamber, Iravan stopped talking. The woman from Reikshar picked up a basket from the floor and threw a few wood chips onto Bharavi’s body. Iravan and Kush followed, and Tariya scattered the rest. Cries of surprise echoed around the chamber as showers of white gardenias fell over the assembled from the canopy. Leafy vines grew from the soil, sheathing Bharavi in a gentle embrace. The Senior Architect disappeared into the earth in a final sacrifice to Nakshar.
Tariya began to wail then, an awful heart-wrenching sound that broke Ahilya’s heart.
Ahilya moved without knowing. One moment, she was watching her sister crumple, and the next she was by Tariya’s side, holding her, wrapping her arms around her. Tariya grabbed her, sobs twisting her body, breathless. Tears filled Ahilya’s eyes, too, and Iravan hurried toward them, raw dismay on his face, but a stab of fury flashed through Ahilya, piercing her grief. She clutched Tariya to her, protectively, against Iravan’s reach.
He blinked and drew back in confusion, but the next second, Tariya had pulled him into the embrace, too. Iravan wrapped them both in his arms, the boys between them.
Ahilya disengaged immediately, leaving Arth with Tariya. She took a few steps back, her chest heaving up and down, close to hysteria. Iravan’s brow creased as he studied her, but at Tariya’s sobs, he turned to her.
“She loved you very much,” he said abruptly. “It was the one thing she always returned to. You and Kush and Arth. Right to the very end.”
Fresh tears ran down Tariya’s face. She patted Iravan’s cheek—a gesture so like what Bharavi would do—motherly and loving—that Ahilya’s stomach clenched in hot fury. Iravan gripped Tariya’s hand with both of his, the sorrow in his eyes almost sincere. Ahilya’s entire body trembled.
And in that moment, she saw, very clearly for the first time, as she stood there in the clearing reclamation chamber, how her marriage had always been a lie. How she had never known this man who was her husband.
She had excused Iravan, one machination after another, one rationalization after another, determined to see the best in him despite proof to the contrary, despite advice, but the last vine had been snipped, and there would be no return to the illusion again. He had lied, betrayed every trust, and Ahilya might as well have traded places with her sister, for something precious had died, and she was now all alone.
A keening sound escaped her. Iravan’s face distorted in concern, and he dropped Tariya’s hands and reached toward her, but it was more than Ahilya could bear. She uttered a sob, and then she was running past the dispersing architects, her hand to her mouth, her vision blurred.
Ahilya was not aware of where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get away from Iravan. She ran through the ashram, a hatred like she had never known coursing through her. Again and again, she saw him unleash the spiralweed at Bharavi. She saw Bharavi’s body spasm. She saw him walk away. His face flashed in front of her eyes, speaking words of duplicitous remorse, the things he had dared to say to Tariya, the things he had dared to say to her. Trust me, he had said. Trust me. She had trusted him and lost it all now, her marriage, her work, her family, and Ahilya ran past trees and startled faces, sobbing relentlessly. She should never have tied her future to Iravan’s. She should never have made that bargain. She should have ended it when she could.
Somehow, she found herself back home.
Firemint assaulted her as soon as she entered, Iravan’s scent. Ahilya grabbed a satchel and snatched her clothes and books, hurling them into the bag. She would go to Tariya’s. She would live with her sister for a little while. The boys would need her, Tariya would need her. The despair would take her sister soon; there was nothing to compare this event to, no other provocation.
Ahilya reached for her kurtas, her hands brushing over her crimson wedding saree, clutching it, releasing it, when the bark behind her creaked open. She jumped, startled, and there was Iravan.
He strode in, running his hands through his thick salt-and-pepper hair.
“I looked for you,” he said, then stopped as his gaze took her in. “What are you doing? Were you going to Tariya’s? She won’t be home—the nurses have taken her and the boys to the citizens’ infirmary to heal. They will allow you to visit but not to stay. Tariya will need treatment and counsel—and they will help her. One of the councilors will speak to her.”
Ahilya said nothing. A cold clarity had descended over her; she was suddenly seeing everything for the first time. She reached for the rest of her clothes, and Iravan watched her, pressing the base of his neck, confused. When she continued to remain silent, he shook his head.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, beginning to pace in front of her. “I have to set things right. I can’t go down that path—I can’t—You are my only salvation—I should have known that. Without you—All of this—It came home to me after the—But that’s not relevant. This entire time, it’s been like I’m in the middle of another earthrage. My life—the council, being an architect—none of these matter. I don’t care about the things you’ve done—the spiralweed, the smuggling—and the council and its secrets—I don’t care anymore. If this tragedy has taught me anything, it’s that you are my life, Ahilya. You are my priority—it should have been the obvious path, but I was too blind. It was a mistake from the very beginning—”
Ahilya’s heart pounded in her chest. Even now, his words burrowed in her heart, contaminating her clarity. Despite everything, his face was relentlessly handsome, the laugh lines visible, his eyes brooding. He’s a charmer, Ahilya. Stop lying to yourself.
“What are you trying to say?” she asked bluntly.
Iravan stopped pacing. He turned her away from her packing.
His gaze held hers, and his hands gripped her shoulders.
“I love you. I love you so much, Ahilya. I need you. You’re the only one who can save me. I know I’ve been a terrible husband, but I can be better. I can be whoever you want me to be.”
For a long moment, Ahilya stayed unmoving. His grip on her shoulders was tight, intimate. His scent was almost overpowering. Very nearly, she leaned into his embrace, but she saw herself from afar, the temptation, the need for him like the acutest hunger, the urge to make things right and forgive him. A cold anger washed over her.
Iravan’s earnest gaze faltered. He released her but didn’t move away.
“You’re right,” Ahilya said slowly. “It was a mistake from the beginning.”
Iravan’s brow creased. Ahilya took a step back. “I’m leaving,” she said. “We’re done.”
There was a long silence.
They stared at each other.
“I don’t understand,” Iravan said at last.
“I’m finished,” she replied. “Finished with us, finished with this farce. You said it yourself. It was a mistake from the beginning.”
Ahilya turned away, awash in the disbelief of her own words. Her vision tunneled, as the gravity of what she’d said settled into her. Her hands shook as she picked up more books. She was moving involuntarily now, just another device from the solar lab. This had been inevitable, and that it was happening, finally happening, left her empty inside.
Iravan’s voice became very quiet. “You are saying this now. After everything I just told you. After the way we were—yesterday. Why?”
“You know why.”
“Because you think I’m lying? That I’m incapable of change?”
“You did change. That has been the trouble all along. If you did it once, you can do it again.”
“But you’re still ending this marriage.”
“You said your priorities were confounded. I’m making it easier.”
“By making this decision.” He let out a humorless laugh. “Rages, Ahilya. Why now? What has happened?”
That he could ask her this question, that he believed—no, expected her to be oblivious, to be ignorant, and had likely taken her forgiveness for granted—Ahilya shook in silent fury, unable to form a reply.
“Why, Ahilya?” he persisted. “Because you no longer want to try? Because you’ve finally had enough? Because you don’t love me anymore?”
She said nothing. Her hands continued to pack as she placed one book after another in a bag.
His shadow moved, a latent aggression to it. Ahilya felt him right behind her, the vibrations of his energy and his anger, rumbling through the house as though he were morphing the architecture. “Which is it, Ahilya?” he asked, his voice hard. “I deserve to know—”
“And I deserve to know things too, Iravan,” she said, losing her temper abruptly and whipping around. “But it’s not as though you’ve been open with your secrets—”
“This is unfair. I’ve told you as much as I can—as much as I’m allowed to—more—I gave you things I’m not supposed to—”
Ahilya followed the direction of his eyes, to his rudra bead bracelet dangling from her wrist, to the books she still held, books he had provided her from the architect archives that she had never taken to the library alcove. Her body trembled in wrath. I saved you, he’d said. Trust me. She dropped the books back on the shelf and moved toward him, her hands clenched into fists.
“That is your defense?” she spat, furious. “You want me to be grateful to you? Is that why you brought up the spiralweed right now? Another way to get me to submit?”
Iravan blinked. “No, I misspoke; I didn’t say it right. The spiralweed—I meant I don’t care about your crime—”
“My crime? How dare you talk about my crimes when yours have been so great? Did you think no one would find out you killed Bharavi?”
Iravan’s eyes widened.
His mouth fell open.
“I saw you,” Ahilya whispered. “She was going to be excised. She would have returned to Tariya. Is killing people just a habit with you now? First Oam, then Bharavi?”
“Oam was an accident—and Bharavi—”
“Was what? Another accident? Don’t bother lying, Iravan. I saw you use the spiralweed. Did you do it so I’d be implicated with you? To ensure my silence?”
“No, you don’t understand—”
“You think it’ll all be forgiven if you finally tell me you’ve chosen to place me in a position I should have always been in? Because you tell me I’m important to you? Everywhere you go, you destroy so callously—my expedition, Oam’s life, Dhruv’s experiment, and now this—”
Iravan shook his head furiously, raising an imploring hand toward her. “No, Ahilya, please listen. I did it for her own good. Bharavi wanted this—”
“I watched you,” Ahilya shouted. “She was fighting. She was calling out your name, Iravan.”
“No, you don’t understand. Ecstasy—it gives you incredible powers with no regard for the safety of the ashram. And she was deteriorating. I suspected it wouldn’t be long before—”
“You killed her because of a suspicion? You destroyed Tariya’s family—”
“I saved Tariya the pain,” Iravan said, his voice raised. “When excision happens, families erode—”
“Why?” she shot back. “Because architects aren’t architects anymore? Because they’re no longer fucking special? Did Tariya ever indicate she loved Bharavi only because of her power?”
“No. No, of course not! But excision cuts away—The families, they don’t recover—Love has very little to do with it—”
“How, Iravan?”
“Because love is meaningless when a person can’t feel, Ahilya,” he shouted, goaded beyond endurance. “That’s what excision does. Non-architects never fully understand this!”
