Page 8 of The Surviving Sky
Bharavi strode toward him still enveloped in her translucent robe, though like the other architects assembled in the courtyard, her skin no longer glowed with the light of trajection. Her eyes were narrowed in displeasure. Off-duty architects hurriedly made way for her.
The Senior Architect stopped right in front of him and crossed her arms. A slim woman with dark chin-length hair and rosy brown skin, Bharavi was short, reaching only to Iravan’s chest. Somehow that didn’t deter her from looming over him. Closer, the wrinkles on her face were more pronounced, the shadows dark and heavy under the eyes. He probably looked much the same.
“Did you hear me?” she said. “You can stop now.”
Iravan trajected.
As a dust mote, he sailed over the stars until he reached Nakshar’s perimeter. The outer maze, where the ashram bordered the jungle, was a tangle of disconnected lines. Iravan watched a dozen dust motes hover there: the Maze Architects on duty, currently trajecting from the Architects’ Disc. The motes generated fresh constellation lines, connecting disparate stars, but the lines shattered before they could snap together in place.
Iravan frowned. He recognized the dust motes, Megha and Gaurav and Kriya among them. His superior skill and ascension to the council had created a natural distance between him and them, but they had once been nominated to the same council seat he now occupied. Each was a competent Maze Architect. Then why were their constellation lines shattering? The lull in an earthrage, and the subsequent landing, should have made trajection easier.
He leapt into the fray, generating his own constellation lines, exerting the force of his desire to influence the plants of the ashram. Iravan connected the star containing the briar bush, looped around the redwood, and fastened his lines to a hundred other stars in a complex net-shaped pattern. A dozen dust motes reached toward him, extending their own simpler lines. His constellation lines vibrated almost to their breaking point, fighting him, denying his will. Iravan focused his entire being into the action. He spun and wove between the motes, twisting andturning—
The outline he’d created snapped into place. Several thousand stars connected. Another part of the maze unfolded and settled. The dust motes soared, cheer and gratitude in their zipping streaks.
Iravan grinned. Here was a place where he was needed, where he was necessary. His breathing eased. He left the hovering motes and began to drift within the Moment again.
In the temple courtyard, Bharavi drummed her foot. “You’re not listening to me,” she said.
“Trajection was hard this time, Bha,” Iravan said. “Don’t tell me you didn’t feel it. The Disc needs all the help it can get.”
“Your landing design was new. A period of adjustment for the Maze Architects is expected.”
“My landing design was simple. And still our constellation lines kept crumbling. That wasn’t because the Maze Architects weren’t familiar with the design.”
“Maybe everyone is just exhausted because of the terribly long earthrage we’ve had,” she said.
Iravan gave her a level look.
Both knew the length of an earthrage didn’t matter. The rationale behind strict shift duty was for an architect to never overextend themselves; it was so the ashram could sustain flight forever. The lull was a mere opportunity for Maze Architects to traject with ease. During lulls, all plants of Nakshar became easier to traject, the closer they were to the jungle. It was why the council had decided to land.
“It wasn’t exhaustion,” he said flatly. “I’ve watched the Maze Architects since the time the earthrage was announced. Viana made so many mistakes I had to send her back to the Academy. Karn struggled with basic patterns to the point of tears. It’s a sign. Theplants—theyaren’t responding to us as they once did. Trajection is getting harder. The Disc needs my help.”
He paused within his second vision.
He had been patrolling the outer maze, assisting the Maze Architects. But there, behind the glow of a gigantic star,hovered…something. He’d noticed it before, through all the months of living in the temple, hidden behind his every trajection. At first, he’d thought it a dust mote, just another architect whom he didn’t know well enough to recognize in the Moment. Yet unlike other motes, the particle didn’t spin around the stars. No constellation lines were attached to it. Instead, it undulated like mercury, silvery and molten, throbbing like a heart.
Iravan approached it. The particle pulsed, approaching closer.
He stopped. The particle stopped.
He darted to the left, and it darted, mirroring him.
What are you?he thought, startled.
Bharavi shifted her feet. “Iravan, are you saying you didn’t leave the temple at all during the flight?”
He barely heard her. Slowly, very carefully, he drew closer. The particle lingered, pulsing. He saw himself in it, although it was not his face he saw, not within the Moment. Instead, he perceivedhis…echo. Like he had fallen into a mirror to see his own eye reflected a hundred times over, until any image became meaningless. It felt likea—
Resonance, he thought. He could find no other term for it.
“Bha,” he said in a low voice. “There’s something in the Moment. Something strange.”
She uncrossed her arms and tapped at one of her rudra bracelets. A hologram arose over herwrist—Iravan’spicture next to a roster of names. It hung there for an instant before it collapsed. Bharavi dropped her hand.
“I see you signed up for watchpost duty,” she said. “Wasn’t it Chaiyya’s turn?”
He waved a hand to shush her.
