by Jade Mere
His father raised an eyebrow and took a slow sip of tea.
“But you have to admit, the temple looked amazing,” Tahki said. “For a moment, anyway.”
His father set his cup down with a gentle clink. “You could have been badly hurt. Possibly killed.”
Tahki shook his head. “I must have miscalculated something. Something in the support structure. It was a simple mistake anyone could have made.”
“What if your brother had been hurt? Or one of the monks? Do you ever consider others before yourself?” His voice was calm but deep.
Tahki scowled. “I’m doing this for other people. I have a lot to offer the world. I can make it better. I can improve it.”
“By destroying a five-hundred-year-old temple?”
“By making the world a better place to live in.”
His father shook his head. “I don’t understand.”
Tahki folded his arms. “I don’t need you to understand. I just need you to see that this is what I want to do with my life.”
His father took another slow sip of tea. His patience was agonizing.
Tahki sighed. “I already know you won’t let me attend the fair this year.”
When his father looked at him, he didn’t appear angry or frustrated but sad. Something about his expression said pity, not disappointment, which confused Tahki.
“I’ve spoken to the monks,” his father said. “Gotem is deeply troubled by your actions, as am I.”
Tahki bit his tongue. If he spoke badly about Abbot Gotem, it would only make things worse, even though Gotem was always out to make trouble for him, like when Gotem had told his father Tahki had stopped meditating, or when he’d caught him stealing a bottle of blessed rum.
“I’ll help clean up the rubble,” Tahki said. “I can even design a new temple. I won’t do anything special to it. Just a plain, boring temple.”
His father rubbed his eyes. “Tahki, you’re very gifted. Your mother’s blood runs strong in you. Even if you don’t think I see it, I do. But this obsession you have with architecture, with technology, has fogged your judgment.”
“My judgment is fine. I’m just not great at construction,” Tahki said.
His father sat back. “I let you pursue architecture because I could see how much you loved it. You’re imaginative and clever. But I can’t overlook your actions today.” His voice turned sharp and stern. “I’m sorry, Tahki. I can’t allow you to continue this hobby any longer. You will turn over your tools, books, and drawings to me, and you will no longer pursue architecture.”
Tahki opened his mouth, stunned. He stared at his father. “What do you mean?”
His father’s face hardened with resolve. “Things might be different if you pursued normal architecture. But your designs… they are not architecture. They are dangerous. You are grasping for technology you don’t understand. You need to find a more suitable career.”
Tahki shook his head. “You can’t. You can’t.” His father had never punished him before. He’d been sent to his room for mouthing off when he was a child, but nothing like this. The gods taught forgiveness, not punishment.
“You’ll find something else to occupy your time,” his father said.
“What if I promise not to build anything ever again? Just draw?”
“I’m sorry, Tahki. Gotem says I have to follow through on my punishments or you’ll never learn.”
“I’m an adult.”
“I haven’t seen any proof of that. You’re still living under my roof. You have no apprenticeship to rely on, no form of career you can support yourself with. If you want to continue to live the lifestyle you’re accustomed to, you’ll abide by my wishes. And my wish is to have no thoughts of architecture or technology in our home.”
“You can’t do this to me.” Tahki felt like a beetle on its back trying to pull itself upright. He’d come to terms with not entering the fair this year, but why did he have to give up what he’d spent the last ten years of his life learning?
“The servants will clear your room today. I think it will be easier if all temptation is removed,” his father said.
Tahki’s face burned. “You have no right.” His father had always hated architecture, or more the idea of modernism and change, but he’d never restricted Tahki from doing what he loved. He knew he should walk away, cool his head, give his father a week to reconsider. Instead, he looked his father dead in the eye and said, “Mom would have never let you do this to me.”
His father clenched his jaw but kept his voice steady. “It’s because of your mother I’m doing this. Do you think she would want you buried alive by your own mistakes?”
Tears stung Tahki’s eyes. “She understood me. She loved me.”
“Tahki, everything I do I do because you are my son, and I love you and your brother more than anything.”
“You love Sornjia. You tolerate me.”
“You’re being overly dramatic.”
“Architecture is my life. You can’t take my tools and books away!” Tahki hit his teacup with the back of his hand, and it shattered against the window. Pieces of glass slid across the marble floor, and tea dripped down the wall.
His father stood slowly. “My mind is set. We will speak no more of this.”
Tahki didn’t trust himself to speak again. He didn’t want his voice to quiver or tears of frustration to start.
His father opened the door but didn’t leave the room. “I truly am sorry, Tahki.” And then he disappeared into the hall.
THEY TOOK everything.
Tahki sat motionless on the edge of his bed. None of the servants looked at him as they stripped his room. Gotem stood in the doorway, watching over the defilement. The servants put their grubby fingerprints all over Tahki’s things, but it didn’t matter. He’d never see his tools again.
The room felt hot and stuffy and exposed. Tahki couldn’t remember the last time his curtains had been open. He squinted, watching as they moved out his rosewood drafting table, collected his schematics and designs, and shoved them into a box to be disposed of. How many hours of work had they tossed away? Five hundred? Two thousand? Ten thousand? He’d poured hours of his life into those designs.
They took his compass and all his books, even the ones that didn’t have anything to do with architecture. When one of the servants picked up his favorite pencil, he leaped off his bed and snatched it from her hands.
“No,” Tahki said. “Not this one.” It had been his mother’s pencil, crafted from black coral with a refillable graphite chamber. His mother had designed it herself.
The servant shot a hesitant look to Gotem. Gotem nodded, and the servant left Tahki alone.
Gotem sighed and walked over to Tahki’s bed with his hands behind his back. His long yellow and red robes dragged across the floor, his bald head reflecting sunlight from the window.
“So, this is your revenge?” Tahki said. “I destroy your things so you destroy mine, and we’re even?”
Gotem sat on the bed and straightened his robes. “That’s not how I want things to be between us. Your father and I thought it best for your own safety that you give this up, before you hurt yourself or your brother.”
“You need to mind your own damn business. You’re not part of our family,” Tahki said. Gotem was the abbot monk. His father sought his advice on every sort of matter after Tahki’s mother had died. Personal. Political. Parental. Like sitting on your ass all day gave you the right to dictate how people should live.
“I know how badly you wanted to enter the fair,” Gotem said. “Even though you’re angry at me, you must believe me when I say Vatolokít is no place for you. It’s no place for anyone from Dhaulen’aii. The people there are wicked and foul. They will hurt you.”
Tahki scowled. “You don’t know anything about them.”
The World Fair of Innovation and Invention had been held annually in the northern country of Vatolokít for the last seventy years. Every country around the world was invited to
share and discover new technology. Even Tahki’s mother had attended one year when she was younger. Anyone who wanted to make a name for themselves entered their designs in competitions at the fair. It was where all the greatest architects and inventors of this century got their start. But ten years ago, borders between Dhaulen’aii and Vatolokít had been closed. Every Dhaulenian living in Vatolokít had been forced to move out. His father had said it was due to political and religious disagreements. But the reasons didn’t matter. All Tahki knew was that if the borders had been open, he wouldn’t have needed his father’s permission to enter the fair.
Tahki was eighteen. He would have gone to the fair in a heartbeat, but he’d needed his father’s diplomatic influence to gain him special access. Without his father’s help, he’d be arrested if he tried to cross, possibly killed. Which meant this really was the end for him. Even if he moved out, winning at the fair was the only way he’d ever make a name for himself. And if he couldn’t make a name for himself, if he couldn’t be recognized by the world as great, he was nothing.
Gotem patted him on the back. Tahki pulled away.
“I know everything seems dire at your age,” Gotem said. “But trust me, this is for your own good.”
Tahki didn’t reply, and Gotem took his leave. The servants completed the raid, then left as well. His empty room looked like every other part of the palace now. There was nothing of him left in it. It could be anybody’s room.
He felt his mattress bounce. Sornjia scooted up beside him.
“The good thing about an empty room,” Sornjia said, “is that it can always be refilled with something new. Something better.”
Tahki held the coral pencil close to his chest. “There is nothing better to fill the room with. They took everything I care about.”
Sornjia flopped back on the bed. “You shouldn’t be angry with Gotem.”
“Traitor. How could you defend him?”
“I’m not. But Gotem knows things. Normal people see the world in a fog, and Gotem is the wind that sucks in all the fog so people can see where they’re going.”
He didn’t expect Sornjia to understand. Sornjia never had anything taken away. Everyone loved him. The servants, the monks, the merchants, and children. Even the animals liked him. Stray dogs would lick his hand. They only ever growled at Tahki. That had been another reason he so desperately wanted to travel. Here, Tahki wasn’t Tahki. He was “one of the twins.” He was “Sornj-Tahki.” He had no outer identity, so he had to work extra hard to make an inner one. Not like his brother ever minded if they got mistaken for each other. Sometimes Sornjia would even pretend to be Tahki. If Tahki was rude to a merchant, Sornjia would go back and apologize. Sornjia was like a housemaid, following Tahki around, cleaning up his mistakes. He’d even tried to stop Tahki from fixing the temple.
“Leave me alone, Sornjia.”
Sornjia sighed and sat up. “I have something for you.”
“Whatever it is, I don’t want it.”
Sornjia pushed him off the bed and dug his hands under the mattress.
“What are you doing?” Tahki said. He watched his brother pull out a handful of oversized papers.
“I hid them before the servants took everything. I only saved a dozen or so, but I think they’re some of your best work,” Sornjia said.
Tahki took the papers. He looked down at his architectural schematics, floor plan designs he’d worked on over the last few years, both interiors and exteriors. Sornjia had been right. They were some of his best work. He wanted to tell his brother how thankful he was, but he’d never been good at expressing gratitude.
Sornjia smiled. “Your drawings are good. Sometimes I look at them when you’re at the markets, and it’s like watching a spider craft a web. Your study of the Timber Cathedral is my favorite. I thought it was the original. You know, if you wanted, you could make a career in forgery.”
Tahki stared at his drawings. “Forgery?”
Sornjia sat back on the bed. “Well, forgery isn’t honorable. I only meant that you’re good at replicating work.”
Tahki stared at the lines. He wasn’t just good at replicating work. He was perfect at it. A perfect forger.
“Do you think I could forge a document?” Tahki said.
Sornjia’s smiled drooped. He didn’t frown. At least Tahki couldn’t remember him ever frowning. Sornjia only had variations of his smile. This one wavered at the edges of his mouth. It was his “slightly troubled” smile.
“I don’t think forging documents is safe,” Sornjia said.
“It’s only not safe if you get caught,” Tahki said. He couldn’t get across the borders, not with a Dhaulen’aii passport.
But he could with a passport from another country.
All he needed to do was create false travel documents. He could find some examples in his father’s workshop. He could travel west before heading north, cross the borders into Vatolokít as a citizen of Lapanrill or Swikovand.
“You’re thinking so hard I can hear the knobs in your brain click,” Sornjia said.
Tahki looked up at his brother. “I don’t need Father’s permission to enter the fair.” Hopeful excitement surged through him. “I can do this. I think I can really do this.”
Sornjia shook his head. “Please, stay here.”
“Don’t you want me to be happy?”
“I want to see a bright sunny day when I look at you. But all I can see now is a thunderstorm.”
Tahki folded his designs. He could enter them in a competition at the fair. He could win with them.
“I won’t be gone long,” Tahki said. “It’s not like I’m staying in Vatolokít for any length of time. Two weeks over, three days attending the fair, and two weeks back. I’ll be home before Dunesday.” He would return home with a trophy and display it in the dining hall. Maybe he’d even find work in another country, no longer needing to live under his father’s rule. He could buy more tools, make a new life for himself. He didn’t need servants or a palace. Winning first place in the architectural competition at the World Fair would open up opportunities all over the world.
Sornjia put his hands over his ears. “Something bad will happen if you go. I can feel it strong as the tide feels the moon.” His voice sounded hazy now. Sornjia said strange things every day, but once in a while, it was like his consciousness would go on holiday, and no one could make sense of him for a brief time, the way a day fever hits hard but heals fast.
“You could try to support me, you know,” Tahki said.
Sornjia shut his eyes. “I’m drifting in a dark fog.”
“And Father calls me dramatic.”
“Black fangs and yellow eyes.”
“I’m an adult. Adults leave home.”
“There are walls of glass and faces looking back.”
“This is my chance, Sornjia. If I don’t win at the fair, I’ll know architecture isn’t my calling. I’ll come home and work for Father. But I won’t know until I try.”
Sornjia’s eyes popped open. “You and I have never been away from each other.”
Tahki had thought hearing those words aloud would feel good. It meant he could finally live without a walking mirror behind him. But Sornjia’s words felt weighted. Tahki tried not to show his apprehension. “It’s not like I’m going away forever.”
Sornjia’s irises clouded over. “Promise me you’ll watch for signs of danger.”
Tahki sighed. “Of course I will. Now, are you going to help me pack, or are you going to sit there all day moping?”
Chapter 2
ESCAPING THE palace had been easy. He’d written a note to his father explaining that he needed to be alone and had taken a carriage to their winter cottage in Phoritha. Sornjia said he’d deliver the letter to their father the next day. Then in the waning hours of night, Tahki had found a northbound carriage and left home.
The first week of travel had been excruciating. He had tried to ignore the other passengers, thinking he’d get in some good
sketching time. But the carriage jostled about so violently that he couldn’t get a single line down without running off the paper. Then he’d tried to make light conversation with the other passengers, something his father always excelled at, but no one seemed interested in architecture. For the next six days, he occupied his time by counting trees out the window and daydreaming about the fair.
He switched carriages when they arrived in Swikovand. The crossing from Dhaulen’aii into the mountainous territory had been easy. No one bothered to check documents. Snow-covered mountains towered over the small town that smelled like pine and rich chocolate. This was the farthest north he’d ever been. His father had brought him and his brother here once for a diplomatic meeting. Tahki remembered eating a chocolate bar the size of his arm and getting sick for most of the trip, but it had been the first time he’d seen snow. The sight of it, as well as the crisp and cool air, still delighted him.
He exchanged his Dhaulen’aii money for Vatolok coins at the travel shop, traded his silk clothing for leather garments, and then found another carriage. Instead of sandbulls, the carriages were pulled by gingoats, mountainous ramlike creatures with thick white coats and dark horns. Twelve out of the fifteen carriages were heading to the World Fair. He chose one with other foreigners who had even darker skin than him, thinking he’d blend in better, and they set off for another week of overwhelming body odor and hard wooden seats. He tried his hardest not to drink or eat anything. The carriage only stopped once every five hours for them to pee in the bushes or stretch their legs, and peeing in front of strangers was not something Tahki would do.
At dawn on the twelfth day of his journey, the border gate came into sight and excitement stirred in him. The carriages lined up to be examined. The gate was a large iron obstruction with no doors. It had been built for show, not function. There were no fences, but patrols rode in strict lines for miles where people might cross. When the borders first closed, some Dhaulenians tried to sneak across, because they offered better jobs in Vatolokít, but those who ran were arrested. Since then, security had become tighter and less forgiving.