As they spoke, Caitlin felt the pull of the tower beneath them. It was causing the hammock to sway, to sag. She threw her arms around her son and looked up at Standor Qala.
“I’m sorry about the galdani,” she said.
Qala smiled graciously. “The winds are unusually restive. I must see to the course.” She started toward the curtain.
“Thank you for all you’ve done,” Caitlin said. “If this doesn’t work, if the boy and I are separated—”
Qala stopped and looked back. “Whoever is here, I will look after him,” she said.
The Standor left the cabin and Caitlin broke the embrace with her son. “Jacob, I want you to do exactly as I tell you. All right?”
“I heard everything you just said,” he said, grinning.
“That’s fine, just make sure you do it,” she replied. “I’m going to hold your left hand and point to the ground like this.” She demonstrated how to extend two fingers out and down. “I want you to do the same with your right hand. Got it?”
He nodded.
“We’re both going to feel kind of tingly, but that’s how we’re going to wake from this dream.”
“Like Dorothy Gale did.”
“That’s right,” Caitlin said, smiling.
“That’s better than being attacked by a giant squid like Captain Nemo did,” Jacob said.
“I would think they both present problems,” Caitlin replied. She took his hand and pointed. “Just hold your hand like this, no matter what you feel. And don’t get itchy like you do before you talk in front of class, because you can’t say, ‘Hold everything!’ and scratch.”
“I won’t,” he said. “This isn’t my body. Maybe it won’t even happen.”
“True enough,” Caitlin said, letting go and scooching closer on the hammock. This time she took his hand for real, holding tight to his precious life itself.
As she did, she heard yelling outside, on deck.
“Something is wrong!” someone was crying. “Steam is covering Falkhaan!”
“Stay here!” Caitlin told Jacob as she flung herself from the hammock.
“What about going home?”
“I have to see what’s happening, baby,” she replied. “Promise me you won’t move!”
He crossed his heart. But as Caitlin made her way through the cabin she already knew what was wrong: the tiles were losing power, which meant that something had breached the tower. Pumped outward by the overzealous Source, magma must have broken through under the shallow shoreline and boiled the sea.
Stepping onto the deck she saw Standor Qala aft, ordering maximum speed from the flipperlike wings as, beyond, the water surged onto the shore and around the tower. It wasn’t a tsunami: water was bubbling hotly, violently around a red maelstrom just off the coast, sending waves slamming into every vessel and structure on that side of the harbor. The simu-varkas was cracking from bottom to top and literally sinking into the ground below. The topmost section broke as the tower sank, sending workers to their deaths, destroying the ancestral road beyond, kicking up clouds of sand where structural stones struck the beach. The glowing tiles within fell in arclike pieces, like a shattered ring; they were quickly submerged beneath a wave of silt and water, magma and stone, as well as homes and shops to which people were desperately clinging as they swirled out to sea.
The Standor turned and hurried forward.
“All speed to Aankhaan!” she shouted to a crew member on an open platform outside the control room.
“All speed!” a femora-sita shouted back.
His eyes settled briefly on Caitlin. “We have to warn them about the Source!”
CHAPTER 23
Mikel Jasso got back in the cab of the dead truck. Sunlight scintillated brightly but evanescently on the liquefying surface of the ice sheet. It sparked, then died, flashed somewhere else, then vanished. Thousands and thousands of beads of light appeared as the thin coating of water spread.
“What is going on?” Dr. Cummins asked thickly. “Is it still that portal you opened?”
Mikel watched through the windshield. “Possibly,” he admitted. “The ice should have muted it.”
Dr. Cummins looked out at the nearest column of light. “Maybe this is what it looks like muted. These tiles—is that what’s causing this?”
“I assume they are, but—”
“But what?” Dr. Cummins hugged herself as she waited for his answer. Without power, the car was cooling very quickly.
Mikel did not seem to notice. “You’re right, I think,” he told her.
“God, if only that warmed me! What am I right about?”
“The intensity of the light is the same in all the locations, and the other tiles are still buried,” Mikel said. “This is what the muted light looks like. The question is, will it stay muted for long? The surface of the ice is melting.”
“So the tiles are burning through?” Dr. Cummins asked.
“Perhaps.”
Dr. Cummins made a sour face behind her muffler. “ ‘Possibly,’ ‘Perhaps,’ ” she said. “Is there anything we can pin down?”
“If you’ll allow me one more qualified answer, Dr. Cummins, I believe this is true: we are being held here in order to witness this.”
That caused her to pause. “Held here by whom?”
“What I witnessed in the pit was brilliance to smoke, luminescence to death,” Mikel said. “What we’re seeing on the surface is the reverse—smoke to light.”
“Which is scientifically impossible,” she said.
“As far as we know.”
“No,” Dr. Cummins insisted. “Smoke does not unburn. There has to be another explanation. I’m guessing that wasn’t smoke.”
Mikel considered the possibility. “You may be right. It could be that we’re thinking too small, too local.”
“You lost me,” Dr. Cummins said as she tried the engine again.
“It will start later, I’m sure of it,” he said.
“Glad you’re so confident. But we only have about twenty minutes until we start to lose fingers and toes.”
Mikel opened the door.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Cummins yelled.
He hopped down, splattering the truck with water. “There’s warmth out here,” he said. “Actually, it’s more than that—the air is soothing, almost comforting.”
The glaciologist eased from the truck more gingerly than her companion and turned around. “Holy crap. You’re right. Dr. Jasso, what is this?”
“If I had to guess? Rebirth,” he said.
“Of what? Of Galderkhaan? Of its people?”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so.” His eyes slowly followed the column of light into the fair blue sky. “I think it’s a lot bigger than that.”
Mikel began walking forward.
“Dr. Jasso, I wouldn’t!” Dr. Cummins said.
Mikel half turned and smiled. “It’s what I do,” he replied. “I have to know what’s there.” As he moved closer he said, “I have a connection with something on the other side. Something I have felt before.”
Less than a minute later he was inside the dome of light, invisible to Dr. Cummins, with nothing but static on the radio.
CHAPTER 24
Impulsively, Standor Qala put her arm around Caitlin to steady her as the airship surged forward. Her embrace also had the effect of comforting her at a time when she suddenly felt more helpless and afraid than at any time in her life.
“You will need the tiles of the motu-varkas to return home, yes?” the officer asked.
“If they still exist,” Caitlin said. The wind felt good on her face, though it bore a frightening hint of eternity: the abyss in which they would find themselves when they reached Aankhaan. Either they would likely perish in the blast or be stranded in a dead world.
; “What caused this to happen?” the Standor asked.
“Deceit, mistrust, arrogance,” she said. “I cannot tell you more.”
“Because you’re afraid I’ll interfere,” Qala said.
“It’s too late for that,” she said. “The process has already begun. I felt it before. I feel it now.”
“How is that possible? To have felt it before.”
She regarded the officer. Qala looked proud, tall, majestic in her uniform, in her command. “Where I come from, I am like a physician,” she said. “Galderkhaani tried to burn and cazh with souls in my time in order to transcend. To stop them, I had to come here . . . in spirit.”
“Using the tiles?”
“I believe so,” Caitlin said. She smiled. “The motu-varkas seems to like me. To want me.”
“The tiles are wise indeed,” Qala replied.
Caitlin felt a surprising response to that—a longing, a stirring, a closeness she had not felt in years.
Qala tightened her grip around Caitlin’s shoulder. “What would we find if we turned out to sea?”
“Eventually you’ll reach land, a great deal of it,” Caitlin replied. “Most of it warm, hospitable, green, with rivers and lakes filled with freshwater. Soil where you can grow things, instead of in the clouds.” She looked up. “I believe this airship could make the trip, Standor. In my time, others have.”
“You will not be there,” she said.
“I pray not,” Caitlin replied. She studied Qala. “That—that wasn’t directed at you,” she added quickly. “You’re a wonderful soul.”
Qala bent and kissed Caitlin. Caitlin kissed her back, hard. She was surprised but also grateful: until now, she hadn’t known whether the act was part of Galderkhaani life. The kiss endured long after it ended; it had not only felt natural, it felt right.
Though it isn’t my body, Caitlin reminded herself. Maybe this body is different. Except that her brain liked it too. Maybe even more.
As the airship plowed swiftly toward Aankhaan, the air became more turbulent, the skies less inviting. There was a taste of ash in the wind. While Qala went to the forward command post, Caitlin retired to the sleeping cabin to be with Jacob, who was still firmly present in Vilu’s body.
There was nothing Caitlin could do, nothing she and Jacob needed to talk about. They did what they often did, just enjoyed each other’s company. She felt a surprising calm, aware that with maybe only a short time left to them she had to enjoy it. Seated in the hammock, they made up a silly game that involved naming the vials they had seen in the physician’s rack. They ranged from Violetamins to Silversand, after which they created backstories for each substance. Ruby Pebs used to be Queen Ruby Pebbles, ruler of the Quarry Folk who was ousted by the abrasive Green Salters. Pink Wood grew in the Pink Sea that took its color from the setting sun. Caitlin savored every moment, every laugh, as though it would be the last they would ever share.
Engaged with commanding the ship, Standor Qala did not appear until the skies blackened with bloody omen. A dusty, rusty smell accompanied her entry into the cabin. Already, Caitlin could feel the pull of the tiles in the main tower as well as those in the smaller columns that were built in a line to the sea.
“We are within sight of Aankhaan,” the Standor said. “The motu-varkas is churning smoke from its mouth and from the columns that serve as vents.”
“I know,” Caitlin said. She did not have to see it. The image was still fresh in her mind from her spiritual visit. “What are your intentions?”
“Clearly, we cannot moor to any of the columns,” the Standor said.
“Nor should you try,” Caitlin said somberly.
Standor Qala approached with her hands open, imploring. “Cayta-laahn,” she said with obvious effort and respect, “the citizens below are anxious. They gather in groups and many are leaving the city by cart or foot. A few are trying to get to boats, though the seas are rough. Many wave to us. The colored banners for the Night of Miracles are blowing unattended in the courtyards and from parapets. I see Priests and Technologists conferring—”
“They’re too late,” Caitlin said. “Too late.”
“I thought—if you could tell me what I can do to help,” Qala said. “We can lower ladders, ropes, but I fear a panic, that people will fall, or that the weight of so many will pull us down.”
Caitlin left the hammock and stood in front of Qala. She looked up into the woman’s golden eyes. They glowed hauntingly in the preternatural darkness. “Standor, I say again, I implore you—take your crew and head to sea,” Caitlin told her, gesturing powerfully in emphasis. “Do this before—”
An explosion from below rocked the airship hard.
Caitlin knew immediately what it was. She had heard it before. “Go to sea now!” she screamed as she pushed past Qala, left the cabin, and braced herself against an unbroken section of railing. She was forced to grip it tightly as the ship shuddered from a second and third shockwave. The sound was loud and ugly, like a clutch of thunderclaps layered one over the other.
Below, Caitlin saw the caldera of a volcano on the outskirts of the capital. It looked more like a sinkhole that had opened up in the foothills of a mountain range. There were low white structures around it—no doubt the control center for the Source, the place where Vol had gone and was still present. These stone buildings were burning and crumbling, falling along the sides of the small volcano like pilgrims before an enraged god.
Red fury rose from that circular mouth, knocking down the first of the long line of tall, glowing columns that led from the volcano to the sea. Some distance away, on the opposite side, the motu-varkas had been spared.
Caitlin was looking down at the masses of people, at the terrified groups beginning to cazh, at the ritual that brought her here what seemed like ages ago. Houses were burning and collapsing, flaming banners fluttered through the sky and died like exotic birds. Then, slowly, knowingly, Caitlin’s eyes were drawn toward the dark heavens, for she knew—and feared—what she would find there.
Qala came up behind her, shouting back for the boy to remain in the doorway.
“No, come here!” Caitlin called over to him, wriggling her fingers toward her son. He dashed forward, awkward on the rocking deck, and clutched her hand to his chest. Caitlin pulled him close as her eyes sought the Standor. “He must stay with me.”
“But it’s not safe!” Qala said as, suddenly, her own sparkling eyes followed Caitlin’s and were drawn to a glow in the heavens almost directly in front of them. The Standor simply stared for a long moment before uttering, “It is not . . . possible!”
Caitlin had to suppress a scream as she tried to process what she was witnessing. There, before them, her back to the airship, hovered the spirit Caitlin O’Hara. She was extending her arms, throwing power toward the ground, disrupting the deadly ceremony. The body of Bayarma reacted strongly to the spirit’s appearance, lurching forward as though they were harnessed. Qala had to grab Caitlin tightly around the waist to prevent her from going over the side. The boy dug the heels of his sandals into the deck to keep her close.
“Turn the ship away!” the Standor cried to the usa-femora. “Head to sea!”
As the young woman acknowledged the officer’s command, Caitlin felt herself leaving the grip of the Standor, leaving the ship, leaving her body . . .
Magma, boiling water, and ascending souls rose furiously from below, mingling in a holocaust of physical death and spiritual anguish. Caitlin relived the pain. She saw it through familiar eyes, the eyes through which she had seen it at the United Nations . . . when, with the help of Ben Moss, she saved Maanik from an unwanted cazh, prevented her from transcending with the dying of Galderkhaan.
She saw her spirit fall away and fade into the churning smoke of a dying civilization. But then the tableau changed. The destruction grew vaporous and unclear. The souls vanished. The fires
went from red to orange to gold. There was nothing around Caitlin but light.
I am gone . . . yet I am here, she thought as the glow coalesced around her. And she was certain she was not alone but she was too rapt to try and penetrate the glow. She let it talk to her.
The light was now a small, brightly gleaming band, a circle that resembled the olivine tiles but had neither substance nor size—it could be a wedding band or a galaxy. Lights glittered within; but they were not anonymous pinpoints, they were pulsing threads. They were visible but immaterial, undulating and entwining, and growing. Soon she saw other serpentine lights within the outer layer . . . and more within those.
In her mind, Caitlin wanted to panic. But it was only a thought; she didn’t seem able to act on it. She tried to look around for Jacob but she had no body to move and there was nothing to see, save the light and the seemingly infinite gleaming parts that comprised it.
Then the light went out. Simultaneously, in its place was a universe. Space, familiar in its parts but unfamiliar in its crisp definition—or composition. There were red stars within twisting galaxies, nebulae paler than she had ever seen yet no vast distances between them. They were like a drawing Jacob might have made, all the pieces densely arranged, arranged like graceful, overlapping lengths of string that had neither beginning nor end.
String, she thought. Superstring.
Caitlin did not know much about superstring theory, only that some physicists believed that strings were both the smallest and largest structures in existence, and that the small might well be one and the same with the large in some curved concept of time-space.
As she looked out, Caitlin wasn’t convinced this mightn’t be some form of temporary lunacy, or perhaps a delirium transpiring as she died in Galderkhaan. Not her life passing before her eyes but all life, everywhere, that ever was.
There were sounds created by the moving strings. Notes. They rose and fell, had depth and inflection, changed in time with the movement of the strings. It was almost like the Galderkhaani superlatives, arms moving to support speech. Caitlin did not understand, possibly because there was nothing to understand, only to experience.
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