Page 40 of The Enduring Universe
A bell rang somewhere, and children rose from under one of the trees. They collected their books and returned within the building, chattering the whole time. In airborne ashrams, every child went to a common school—at least until they displayed trajection abilities. After that, students who could traject were transferred to the Architects’ Academy, while the rest continued in the same place. Iravan had never liked the system—it created too much division between the children, too much animosity. With trajection come to an end, the ashram had finally obliterated the need for separate establishments.
“Does Eskayra want children too?” he asked quietly. He had not meant to say it out loud, but the question escaped without his consent, and what did it matter anymore whether he asked it or kept it to himself.
The question seemed to surprise Naila. She watched him a long second as if to judge his sincerity, then her expression softened.“Maybe,” she said in a low voice. “It is easier for them. Children have been a sore subject for architects, not complete beings. I certainly never wanted them, or ever to be married—you know this already. All our attempts to make me a Senior Architect in Nakshar challenged material bonds in a more profound way than your childless seat. Still. I am beginning to think that we’ve never actually deserved them.”
Children were an essential part of survival. It was another reason they were tied to material bonds, and to airborne ashrams fleeing destruction. Iravan’s path to parenthood was forever closed; it was the price he and Ahilya had paid for stopping the cosmic creature all that time ago from breaking into an earthrage. But would more and more architects like Naila choose to close that path themselves? What would that do to the odds of survival? To rebirth and reincarnation?
Yet was it not a choice architectsoughtto be able to make? Had he not wanted to give them such a choice? For generations, architects had been trapped by the need for material bonds, made to marry and bear children. Now, when they knew who they were, and the reasons behind the creation of those bonds in the first place, perhaps children would be borne out of love, instead of duty. What better reason to bring a life into the world than that?
He and Naila had discussed it often, though never as openly. The both of them had thought the compulsion to bear children a barbaric need of their society. He had never told Ahilya of it—another secret he had kept from her—not wanting to muddy his desire for children. She had accused him of wanting to have children solely because of his needs as an architect, but Iravan had been unable to refute her; it would only show the council that he did not respect material bonds as he should. Back then, any indication of swerving from the council’s line would have been construed asan indication of his Ecstasy. What would have happened if he had been allowed to be honest with his wife from the very start?
Voices drifted toward them, and Iravan and Naila turned to see more people enter the courtyard, chatting quietly to each other. Parents had come to take their children home. Iravan stepped back, following Naila toward a courtyard with a few scattered benches. A shape caught his eye, sitting silently on a bench.
Iravan’s breath faltered.
Tariya.
She was studying him, her gaze unflinching. She had been sitting there a while. He had not noticed her. Without thinking, he stepped toward his sister-in-law while Darsh and Naila followed.
Tariya watched him come, her once-bright eyes dull, her beautiful face etched with deep lines of sorrow. This was the first time he had seen her since Bharavi’s funeral. Next to her, he could almost feel Bharavi. He could almost see her roll her shoulders and give him an impatient glance, as though to tell him to find his courage. The words were already forming on his tongue, to argue with his dead mentor, the way they had so often. Tears pricked Iravan’s eyes. Tariya and Arth and Kush were Ahilya’s family, but they were his family, too—more than his parents in some way. He had lived in Nakshar far longer than he had in Yeikshar. He had formed bonds.
Weaving through the moving bodies, he was almost upon her, past the crowd, when something hit him hard in the midriff.
Iravan staggered, more surprised than hurt. He looked down, and there was Kush, a fierce little boy no older than eleven, his face reminiscent of Bharavi. His hand was clenched in a fist. He looked like he was about to cry. Instinctively, Iravan dropped to his knees to capture him in a hug, but Kush reared back his fist again.
“Stay away from her,” the boy gasped. “You killed—you killed—”
Stunned, Iravan could form no words. Bharavi’s death flashedbehind his eyes again, her pacing in her deathcage, coolly telling him he would become an Ecstatic. Movement flashed in the corner of his eyes, and then Kush was sprawled on the ground, Darsh looming over him. Manav hovered behind Darsh, evidently having followed him, but his gaze was uninterested and listless as always.
“Stay away from him,” Darsh said coldly. His body was lit with trajection, a terrible intent in his threat, but Kush jumped back to his feet.
“He killed my mother.”
“You don’t know anything about it—”
“This has nothing to do with you—”
“Break it up, break it up,” Naila barked. “Both of you.” She darted forward, putting herself between the two boys.
“Darsh, leave,” Iravan said, finding his words. The boy shrugged and obeyed, his face expressionless, but he gave Kush a dispassionate glance, and a chill ran through Iravan. Darsh no longer was in the Deepness—his skin did not glow blue-green—but he had intended to attack Kush. The boy was prone to violence; Iravan had not forgotten how Darsh had been deeply interested when Iravan had trajected Viana unto her death. He’d have to keep a closer eye on him, but for now Iravan turned to Kush, who was brushing his clothes. Iravan extended a hand, but Kush gave him a dirty look and walked away too.
Iravan watched his nephew’s bent posture, and the fury in the lines of his body. What had life been like for the boy after Bharavi’s death? Tariya had clearly told him Iravan had killed his mother, but had she told him why? She had not moved, silently watching all this occurring. Carefully, Iravan approached her, sitting down next to her on the bench. Manav followed but remained standing. The excised architect’s eyes widened on seeing Arth, as though amazed to see a baby. Arth extended his chubby arms, reaching for Iravan,and Tariya allowed it. The baby—Bharavi’s baby—pulled at Iravan’s collar gurgling.
They sat in silence for a time. Iravan’s mind swirled with grief and confusion and heartache.
“I miss her,” he choked out, finally. “I miss her all the time.”
Tariya’s eyes filled with tears. He didn’t know what to do. Did he have any right to talk to her? Was he simply imposing his presence now, intimidating her with his power? He had become such a terrible monster, he could not tell anymore if he was welcome in any sincerity.
“I can leave you alone if you want,” he began in a low voice, but Tariya shook her head, wiping her tears.
“What you did,” she whispered. “It was what she wanted. I know this.”
Her words were forgiving, but there was fury there, the same fury Ahilya had. Tariya was right—Bharavi had wanted to be killed. Death was a mercy that both she and Iravan had preferred over excision.
But he had betrayed Bharavi too—him and all his other lives. Behind his brows, he saw Nidhirv with Vishwam again, he saw Mohini and Askavetra and Agni with their families. If his past lives had not chosen their bonds, if they had found Ecstasy all that time ago, then perhaps they would havedestroyedthe Virohi long ago. Their capital desire would have manifested in a previous life, and Iravan would have remained unborn, and civilization—and life in the ashrams—would never have outlawed Ecstasy. Bharavi wouldn’t haveneededto die to escape excision. Excision would never have been. The very fact that he lived now—Bharavi had died for it.
Anger curled his fingers into a tight fist. He smoothed it out, patting Arth on the back, trying to keep control of himself.
