The Surviving Sky, page 33
Dhruv’s face became thoughtful. “It would explain why the tracker charged itself right before Nakshar was mangled. Bharavi was in Ecstasy then, too. I just assumed it was malfunctioning.”
“I don’t understand,” Ahilya said, glancing at Iravan. “Isn’t trajection during Ecstasy the same as normal trajection? Just out of control?”
It was Naila who answered. “It’s what we believe, but the only ones who would know for sure are Ecstatics themselves, and all of them have been excised. They’re in no condition to tell us anything.” The Junior Architect turned to Dhruv. “If your device is picking up on some strange energy that is only available when an architect is in Ecstasy, then perhaps Ecstatic trajection isn’t the same as normal trajection. Perhaps it’s a completely different energy signature.”
“Maybe,” Dhruv answered. He removed his glasses and began wiping them again.
“That could help the council, couldn’t it?” Naila continued, voice eager. She turned back to Iravan. “It could contribute to better safety measures in the ashram. Dhruv may have invented something that detects Ecstasy.”
“He may have invented something that uses Ecstasy,” Iravan said quietly, studying the sungineer.
Dhruv’s eyes looked disturbed behind his glasses. “Maybe. I don’t like the implication.”
“Neither do I,” Iravan agreed.
On both their faces, Ahilya saw the same thought that she had. Technology that used Ecstasy would inevitably create a need for Ecstatic Architects. It would depend on architects losing their minds. Naila bit her lip, frowning, evidently realizing all this.
“I think we’re getting carried away,” Ahilya said into the building silence. “The tracker charged itself in the jungle for the last five years. How could that be if this Energy X is the same as Ecstasy?”
“We already know Bharavi-ve was capable of trajecting the jungle,” Naila said. “We don’t know what Ecstatics are capable of.”
“But for five years?”
“It could be the same principle as before,” Dhruv said, shaking his head. “The tracker could have been feeding off of Ecstatic trajection from all the other cities. We’d have to ask for an account of Ecstatic Architects from every ashram.”
“We will never get that,” Iravan said. “That’s not information the councils of various ashrams share openly. I agree with Ahilya. I think this hypothesis is wrong. If Energy X were truly Ecstatic energy, then you’d need a steady supply of Ecstatics from all the ashrams powering the tracker. But Ecstasy is a rare event. And Ecstatics are immediately excised. This entire theory hinges on Ecstatic trajection being different from normal trajection, and we have no evidence of that.”
“Ecstatic energy or not,” Ahilya put in, looking from one to another, “that’s not our priority. Something down there blocked Energy X. And we should be thinking about that.”
Iravan’s face became thoughtful. “You think the same thing blocking Energy X is ruining trajection?”
“It’s possible, isn’t it?”
“Unless whatever is down there has nothing to do with anything,” Dhruv said, “and Energy X is blocking trajection.”
“There are too many unknowns,” Naila said, in frustration. “We don’t even know what is down there.”
“Yaksha habitation,” Ahilya said firmly. “It has to be.”
The others gazed at her, but for the first time, Ahilya saw something in their faces that she’d never seen before while claiming this: consideration.
“What kind of habitat could survive the earthrages?” Naila asked, her voice soft.
“Something powerful,” Ahilya replied. “Something unbelievably strong. Something that we in our obsession with flight may have forgotten even existed. My theory is that it’s architecture humans built a long time before in an early attempt to escape earthrages.”
“There’s no evidence of that,” Naila said.
Ahilya swept out a hand. “Our data shows that the elephant-yaksha’s tracker stopped recharging each time it went to a single area within the jungle. That is hard evidence. There’s something down there.”
“But for it to be made by humans? Our ancestors? For it to even be around still? Ashrams began flying nearly a thousand years ago.”
“Yes, but flight was not the only method that our ancestors tried,” Dhruv intervened. “Our histories tell us there were other attempts made to survive in the jungle.”
“Failed attempts,” Naila said scornfully. “Abandoned attempts. We already know flight was a miracle—that people had tried different methods, until architects discovered flight. Just because the tracker stopped working doesn’t mean it’s a habitat down there that survives earthrages. It just means there is something that sungineering cannot get to. And whatever is blocking sungineering could be another trick of evolution—a way the jungle plants evolved over the years somehow. It’s a leap to think it’s habitat of some kind—”
“It’s not a leap; it’s deduction,” Ahilya said. “Jungle plants wouldn’t be able to evolve in such a manner, not in the exact same place, not when there are constant earthrages shattering them apart. The better logic is that whatever is down there is a remnant of archeology. We don’t know what materials our ancestors used—once upon a time, they created core trees, embedded them with flight and permissions—something we can no longer replicate. For all we know, they had other means to create a different kind of architecture. Our histories have preserved only what the architects thought was useful—but we know that architects were frightened of the jungle proper, they wanted to be separate from it even when they lived within it. Perhaps it was the non-architects who built something.”
“If non-architects built something that could successfully withstand the earthrages, why did they abandon it?” Naila argued. “Why didn’t they just stay in the jungle? Why did we fly at all?”
“Perhaps,” Dhruv said mildly, “that was an architect decision. Maybe the political situation back then was different. It’s not like we have indisputable records of anything. Our history is the history of architects. We don’t know what happened then between the citizens. Perhaps the habitat was abandoned when flight was discovered, not because of its failure but because flight was a better alternative for a civilization that had always feared the jungle.”
“You’re blaming the architects again,” Naila said, incensed. “If it weren’t for us, we’d all have been extinct—”
“We’re not blaming anyone,” Dhruv answered. “All we are saying is that there’s architecture down there that can survive earthrages, presumably created by our ancestors, potentially used by yakshas.”
Naila fell silent, but resentment still contorted her features. Ahilya exchanged a glance with Dhruv, who shrugged callously. She could tell even in that one gesture—something had changed in the sungineer, perhaps since Iravan’s attack in the solar lab or maybe because of the city’s circumstance now. He had stopped caring about appearances, about being on the safe side of the architects. Dhruv had lost something precious and emerged clear on the other side.
Iravan sighed after a moment. “The problem is not just that trajection is becoming harder—regardless of whether something is blocking it or not—but that earthrages are getting longer and lulls shorter. I suppose this brings us back to the question—what causes an earthrage? And how is that connected to trajection?”
Naila stirred. “Pardon me, Iravan-ve,” she said, her gaze hovering a couple of inches above his head. “But don’t we know this already? An earthrage is an explosion of disrupted consciousness.”
“There’s more to it,” Ahilya muttered, and Dhruv nodded.
“It’s a pretty complete theory,” Naila said, shaking her head. “A million billion consciousnesses exist on the planet, all of them in conflict with each other, which leads to pressures at a global scale. When the pressure becomes dense, the pressure explodes. That explosion? Earthrages.”
“This architectural theory implies that the consciousnesses of all living creatures in the world are connected,” Dhruv said skeptically.
“Our consciousnesses are connected,” Iravan said. “That’s what the Moment is. The Moment doesn’t just show the possibilities of plants. It shows the possibilities of every creature.”
“This is why Nakshar’s plants are easier to traject closer to the jungle during a lull,” Naila said, looking at Dhruv. “When the disruption ends and an earthrage settles into a lull, the consciousnesses of jungle plants and an ashram’s plants are in low conflict with each other. They are aligned much more closely. That’s essentially what a lull is. And that is the connection earthrages have with trajection.”
Dhruv’s eyes met Ahilya’s across the table. She knew what he was thinking. They had both known this theory, but far from being complete, the theory failed to answer some glaring questions. How had earthrages begun in the first place? When had the first one appeared? Had their planet always been besieged by the deadly storms? The architects liked to pretend that earthrages were as old as humankind, but Ahilya had found glimmers in records hinting of a time where there had been no rages at all, when there had been no trajection. The very book Iravan had given her, with the glorious mid-leaf drawing of jungle creatures, had indicated such a time, and nearly forgotten songs and ancient folklore within non-architect circles had hinted at the same.
It was all connected somehow to the erasure of the yakshas, the erasure of non-architects. The interference in the jungle, the histories Ahilya had studied, the early architects’ arbitrary terror—somewhere, they were missing information that linked all of this together. She had thought Iravan would have the missing pieces, but her husband—her husband still—only looked thoughtful. He would not keep silent about it, not right now, not when their very survival in the skies was at stake.
“I don’t think this theory is as complete as you believe,” Ahilya said slowly. “I’ve been studying earthrages too. And my data does not coincide with your theory.”
“What data?” Naila asked.
“Census data. I have a record of the numbers of births and deaths from all of the ashrams. If consciousnesses really did affect earthrages, then why are earthrages becoming longer even though there hasn’t been a relative increase in the population of the ashrams?”
“You’re talking about consciousness,” Naila answered, sounding scandalized. “Such a heavy concept can’t be reduced to data points. Each consciousness is expansive, infinite. We can never measure the exact effect a consciousness has on the earthrages, least of all with numbers.”
“I’m sorry,” Dhruv said. “Aren’t you a mathematician?”
“Rages, that doesn’t mean numbers,” Naila said, throwing her hands up. “Do you know how rudimentary a tool numbers are? Mathematics is a pursuit of truth!”
Dhruv snorted. He opened his mouth, perhaps to retort, but Ahilya cleared her throat and interrupted before he could speak.
“Look,” she said. “Even assuming the architects’ theories about earthrages are right—”
“They are,” Naila muttered.
“—there’s still nothing we can do. Even if there is greater conflict between the combined consciousnesses of life forms on the planet, we can’t control it.”
“Another dead end,” Dhruv said, leaning on the table.
“I have something to offer,” Naila said. “But it’s a rather technical architectural model.”
“By all means,” Dhruv said dryly, “please talk down to us.”
Naila threw the sungineer a look of deep disgust.
“I’ve been studying the basic equation of trajection,” she said. “Architects have been taught all along that trajection converts a plant’s existing state of consciousness into a new state of consciousness, and each trajection releases a raga. But I think there’s another byproduct of trajection. I call it Nakshar’s Constant.”
The Junior Architect took another deep breath.
“I measured Nakshar’s Constant. And I think it is a raga too.”
“I thought ragas were melodies,” Ahilya said, glancing at Iravan.
“They are,” he said. “Usually. Or at least that’s how architects interpret them. But to be absolutely honest, ragas are more… abstract. They’re… an entity that provoke a certain kind of emotion.” He frowned. “If Nakshar’s Constant is a raga, then architects ought to feel it. They ought to hear it.”
“Yes, Iravan-ve, but Nakshar’s Constant”—a note of frustration entered Naila’s voice—“it measures beyond the frequency of other ragas. It’s possible we feel it, but it’s not surprising that we don’t hear it. Even architects don’t have the sensitivity.”
“How sure are you about this?” Ahilya asked.
“I’m positive. I don’t know if this is connected to anything we’re discussing, but every trajection an architect does, there are two ragas that emerge. One is the base raga, like the flight raga, or the landing raga, or the raga of healing—almost always discernible as a melody. And the other is Nakshar’s Constant. Each architect projects this raga every time they traject, and each projection is unique.”
“Unique how?” Iravan asked.
“I—I don’t know,” Naila said. “I can only explain it in metaphors. It’s like all the Nakshar’s Constants being projected were the color blue, but each architect’s emission was its own unique shade of the color.”
“And Nakshar’s Constant,” Dhruv asked, pushing up his glasses. “Is this new?”
“It’s as old as trajecting itself. Base ragas dissipate and die off in the act of being produced—they’re heard only briefly, and then too only by architects. But Nakshar’s Constant is continuous. It doesn’t die.”
“Maybe Nakshar’s Constant is making trajection harder,” Dhruv said.
“You’re saying,” Ahilya murmured, “that trajection is the cause for the difficulty with trajection. That embedded within trajection is its own demise?”
“A dangerous theory,” Iravan said softly.
“But a good one,” Dhruv argued. “If Nakshar’s Constant were somehow contributing to the building pressures of consciousness, it would explain why the earthrages have been becoming longer. It’s trajection itself that could be causing the pressures on our planet to build.”
“Another reason,” Iravan said, “for sungineers to do their part and create a battery so we’re no longer dependent on trajection.”
“As I recall,” Dhruv said, his eyes narrowing, “you destroyed my best efforts at doing just that.”
“As I recall,” Iravan said evenly, “your best efforts endangered the ashram.”
The two men stared at each other across the table.
Naila’s head swiveled from one to another. Ahilya expected Dhruv to break the gaze first, but it was Iravan who looked away, shaking his head wearily. He stood up. Dhruv’s lips trembled in a clear desire to say something more, but Iravan spoke first.
“There are too many open questions,” he said. “What is this mysterious raga, Nakshar’s Constant? What is the block down in the jungle? How is all this making earthrages longer? We have our leads—let’s work through them.”
The rest of them stood up. Naila gave a hasty bow to Iravan and, surprisingly, one to Ahilya, then ran out through the splitting wall. Dhruv muttered something about returning to the lab to give Kiana a report.
Ahilya and Iravan were suddenly alone. She didn’t dare move, not wanting to bring this to Iravan’s attention. He stared unseeingly in front of him, his fists resting on the table, but with the others gone, her breathing became faster. She noticed, abruptly, the blinking of her solarnote: the divorce papers, unread, unseen.
“You didn’t sign them,” Iravan said quietly, reading her as only he could.
“No,” she whispered.
He turned to her then, his eyes glinting, whether in passion or anger, she wasn’t sure. He closed the gap between them, a handbreadth away, careful not to touch her.
“You’ve changed your mind? About us?”
“I just… Iravan.” Ahilya pressed a hand to her forehead. How could any of us tell you this? What would you understand? The guilt grew in her, but she pushed against it, unsure of its fairness. “What you told me in the sanctum, if I’d known before, if you’d shared—” Ahilya looked up. “I understand why you couldn’t, I do. But we make so many mistakes. We get so angry…”
“Anger is honest, at least,” he said, his eyes glittering.
“I’m still furious.”
“As am I.”
Ahilya swallowed. “But I still care, Iravan. I care so much.”
Iravan was unmoving for a long, interminable moment. His jaw clenched and unclenched. She watched him; perhaps she shouldn’t have said anything. Perhaps that time was long gone.
“Rages, Ahilya,” he finally breathed. “I care too. It’s you. It’s us. Nothing can change that.”
Her heart hammered in her throat. Tentatively, Ahilya brushed her fingers against his cheek. He leaned into her touch, closing his eyes as though in pain.
“Do you want to stay here tonight?” she whispered, the words which had been circling her, which she had been too afraid to voice so far.
Iravan opened his eyes. He studied her face.
Then his mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I would like that very much.”
36
IRAVAN
His own response took him aback. Ahilya uttered a small, incredulous laugh. She smiled and looked so pleased, so beautiful, that for a moment, guilt weighed his heart down at how much he had hurt her. Iravan pressed the back of his head in a sheepish gesture and grinned back.
“I—uh—” He shrugged awkwardly. “I should tell the other councilors what we discussed.”
Ahilya didn’t say anything, but her smile faltered.
Iravan reached his hands down to press her shoulders. “I’ll be back. I promise.”
She nodded, her big eyes staring into his. Iravan let go. Waving limply at her, he approached the wall and exited her home. The bark closed behind him, but instead of walking away, Iravan leaned back against the wall. He thunked his head against the bark and closed his eyes.
