Page 2 of The Surviving Sky
Ahilya released her hold on the wall. Loose leaves glided down onto the mossfloor—butthe floor wasn’t moss anymore; it was transforming into bark. The benches and trees were gone. From all sides, thorny bushes rushed toward them, eating the curve of the terrace in their hungry approach. Even the bracken wall had extended, entrapping the terrace in a dome. Leaves and stems crisscrossed in a hundred different layers as the foliage tightened. Darkness would fall in seconds.
Ahilya’s brows furrowed. Nakshar had always been a flat city flying in the sky. Its architect-formed hills, with massive trees that housed the library and schools and homes, usually spanned acres. Checkered fields grew on the edges, and rainwater was harvested in rocky pools and waterfalls. She had never heard of the architecture changing so completely.
“Relax,” Naila said. “The council will release permissions beyond the temple again as soon as we land. Non-architects will be able to mold the architecture, and this part of the terrace will transform into an entry point close to the jungle. Shouldn’t affect your expedition.”
Ahilya frowned and stepped away from the wall, the dust patterns she’d wanted to study forgotten. There was something in Naila’s casual words, a message she did not understand. She glanced at the unresponsive architecture, studied Naila’s insouciant stance, thought about the easy assurances. A prickle of worry climbed the back of her neck.
She had lived in Nakshar all her life, but matters in the city had been changing recently. Hardly anyone paid attention, but Ahilya had kept track. First, it had been the suppression of the architects’ records. Then the fight to get her expedition approved. Now this? Control was being taken away from the citizens slowly and subtly, one way or another; a dangerous pattern.
The weight of this realization grew, pressing her shoulders down. In the end, wasn’t that what life in the flying cities was really about? The lack of autonomy she and others like her had over their own lives? Ahilya’s expedition, her dealings with Dhruv, the vacant council seat she waseyeing—everythingshe had done all her life was to balance this inequity, but things were coming to a head now. She could feel it.
She cleared her throat and returned her attention to Naila. “Why was the design changed?”
“I told you. They’ve enforced higherlimits—”
“Yes, but why?”
The Junior Architect tilted her head and studied her for a long second. Then she smiled.
“For architect reasons,” she said coolly. “Why does a historian care to go into the jungle?” she added, asking her own question. “Aren’t there detailed accounts of our histories in the libraries?”
Ahilya flinched. The questions were calculated insults.
Naila knew Ahilya was an archeologist, not a historian. She knew any histories of the world wereherhistories, architect histories. She knew why Ahilya explored thejungle—lifehad begun there, and Ahilya’s entire research was to find a way to return to it again, to find survival on land instead of in architect-dependent cities in the sky.
This was a deliberate attempt to bait her. Either that or Naila had learned nothing from the documents Ahilya had provided to prepare for the expedition. It was likely beneath the Junior Architect to take any instruction from anon-architect. Refusing to indulge either attempt to shame her, Ahilya snapped the telescope shut and dropped to her knees to place it back into her satchel.
If only they wouldtellher. Naila had mentioned the recent earthrage as a reason behind this new design, and based on that alone, Ahilya could have helped the architects, shared information about what she discovered, even studied somethingforthem.
But she was a non-architect, a pretender. What use was an archeologist in a civilization that had only ever known flight? Ahilya had practically invented the term. They were not going to tell her anything. The Junior Architect was simply reminding her of her place.
Ahilya pushed aside her strain with an effort, closed her satchel, and rose to her feet. In the few seconds it had taken her to repack her instrument, the terrace had closed entirely, so that she and Naila stood face-to-face on a square of bark. Thorny bushes enveloped them from all sides, obscuring any view.
“So, where are Dhruv and Oam?” Ahilya asked, referring to the other two members of her team.
Naila tilted her head. “They’re in the temple. With the rest of the citizens.”
“Why? I told them to assemble here.”
“Iravan-ve. He insisted the temple was the safest place until Nakshar had fully landed.”
The respectful suffix attached to her husband as an architect, but never to Ahilya as an archeologist, grated on Ahilya. Her hand curled tightly around her satchel. Iravan had abandoned her for seven months, and now he thought to give orders to her team without her knowledge? All of her restrained irritation bubbled up, tightening her throat.
“And they listened?” she said. “Even Oam?”
“Oam tried to protest, saying you needed us here. AndDhruv—well,I don’t think Dhruv wanted to go toe-to-toe with a councilor.”
Oam was only as old as Naila. Iravan would have intimidated the boy with a glance. As forDhruv—eversince his last few inventions had failed, the sungineer had become wary of disturbing the council. Ahilya’s closest friend he might be, but Dhruv wouldn’t openly oppose Senior Architect Iravan.
“I see,” she said.
“Iravan-ve requested you go to the temple, too. That’s why I’m here. I’m supposed to bring youthere—”
“Bringme?”
“Escort you,” Naila said. “Request you. He didn’t demandit—”
“But he might as well have,” Ahilya completed, her teeth gritted.
