Page 21 of The Surviving Sky
Oam extended his hand and Ahilya gripped it. “It doesn’t matter about our histories,” the young man said. “You’ll find something from the yaksha. It’ll all be worth it.”
Realization dawned on Iravan. All his talk of the architects and their importance, all his speech of theirhistory—normalcitizens had nothing of their own to relate to. The existing histories had practically erased them. His arguments about survival had beenright—butall he had done was discourage Ahilya on the brink of her expedition. In this group of three,hewas the interloper. The thought took him aback. He glanced at Ahilya, but what could he say? He’d only make it worse.
Iravan held his tongue. Leading the way, he stepped through the briar doorway into the jungle.
6
IRAVAN
The cry of the jungle slammed into Iravanfirst—breathless,feverish, ominous.
It pierced him like spikes under his veins. The rudra bead bracelet began to vibrate on his wrist, barely able to maintain its hold on the briar wall. The moment Oam emerged from the outer maze, Iravan tapped the bead again. The briar wall recoiled viciously and snapped away.
Iravan swallowed. The cry was a raga, a residue of trajection, a way nature harmonized an architect’s workings with a plant’s natural state. Architects interpreted ragas as melodies, but in all of his years, Iravan had never sensed anything like the jungle raga. It sounded like the last ravaging echoes of an ancient scream. The hairs on his neck rose.
The doorway they had entered through disappeared. Creepers and vines slithered over the briar, thickening. Above them, branches knit themselves together. The leaves on the trees were already ripening, plump white berries ready to burst. The grass at his feet was now up to his knees. The growth was astonishing, far more accelerated than he would have anticipated so soon after an earthrage. That there were trees herealready—andladen with fruit, noless—itwas unbelievable.
Ahilya’s eyes were darting everywhere, from her satchel to the expanding white-beech trunk, to Oam, and finally to Iravan. When their gazes met, Iravan opened his mouth, but she strode over to where Oam stared at the jungle. She whispered something, and the two opened their satchels, digging through them and removing various pieces of equipment.
Iravan began trajecting and followed her. “You can feel it too, can’t you?”
She eyed him warily. “Feel what?”
“The jungle. Something isn’t right.”
As always with trajection, his vision had split into two. In the first, he could see what Ahilya and Oam did, the bushes thickening, the rubber plant dripping sap, leaves and shoots unrolling in all directions at dizzying speeds.
In his second vision, existing as a dust mote, Iravan saw the jungle as a field littered with stars. It had been years since he had visited the jungle, but he did not remember its Moment being so sinister. He drifted through it, feeling the wildness, the dark casual cruelty as weeds and stems existed only in possibilities of violence, throttling each other for precious sunlight. The early architects must have contended with a Moment much like this when they flew the species to the skies for the first time, nearly a thousand years before.
Ahilya said nothing. She and Oam continued to unpack, pulling out their machetes, shaking and elongating the equipment with soft clicks, attaching things to their harnesses.
Non-architects could not hear ragas, but there was something furtive in Ahilya’s manner, a nervousness in the way she moved. Surely, she had seen the hostility of the jungle. Could she be so angry that she wouldn’t validate his concern?
Iravan generated his constellation lines, tying together various stars in complicated patterns, but even as he did, his lines trembled violently.
“Is this normal, Ahilya?” he pressed. “Did any of the other architects during previous expeditions ever mention the jungle feeling strange?”
“All of them did,” she said. “But it was always their first time in the jungle,so…”
She met his gaze and he could see her open appraisal. He knew what she was thinking; he had been thinking it too. Even if the jungle had disoriented a Junior Architect in previous expeditions, Iravan should have been above that.
“Doyoufeel any different?” he said. “Does the jungle feel different to you?”
“Not any more than usual. Itis, technically, a new jungle each time.” Ahilya slung her satchel over her shoulders again. She lifted a hand to her chiming locket, studied it for a moment, then began walking into the trees. “This way.”
“Stay close,” Iravan said. “You too, Oam.”
The boy threw him a contemptuous look and scurried after Ahilya, hacking at the engorging creepers with his machete. The chopped pieces fell to the ground, writhing, before they slithered toward each other. Oam’s eyes grew wide. He followed Ahilya, a mere step behind her.
Ahilya herself looked more comfortable than Iravan had ever seen her. His wife’s eyes were trained on her locket, and she glided instinctively through the jungle. Unlike Oam, who seemed intent on decimating a path, Ahilya ducked under growing branches, swept away feathery leaves, and only used her own machete to split vines that reached for her. The vines changed direction instead of dropping and re-seeding themselves.
She knew this jungle. Better than Iravan did, despite his drifting in the Moment. When she disappeared from view for long moments, his heartraced—not,he realized, out of concern for her but with concern for himself. Oam looked panic-stricken, turning round and round in circles, slashing at the jungle in wild swings. Iravan trajected, harshly, to retract the plants from smothering the boy. He used his own machete, cutting a path to Oam. The two exchanged a nervous look. Iravan opened his mouth to shout for Ahilya, but before he could gather his breath, she emerged again, visible through the trees, settling her clothes with a satisfied smile.
“Don’t do that again,” Oam muttered as they caught up to her.
She merely grinned and waved them forward, confidence in her steps.
Iravan trajected a path, pushing back the itchweed on the forest floor. The weed resisted, and sweat broke out on his chest and neck with the effort. Instinctively, he reached for Ahilya.
