The Unrelenting Earth

Book 2: The Rages Trilogy

by Kritika H. Rao

Genres: Fantasy; Epic Fantasy; General Fiction; Action & Adventure; Science Fiction; Post-Apocalyptic sci-fi

Synopsis

In this dazzling sequel to the The Surviving Sky, Ahilya and Iravan risk everything—their lives, their culture, and their fragile marriage—in pursuit of the earth-shattering truth about their existence.

"Breathtakingly inventive" epic science-fantasy inspired by Hindu philosophy, for fans of N.K. Jemisin and Tasha Suri.

Two months have passed since Ahilya and Iravan learned the devastating truths behind the earthrages. As the cosmic creatures struggle to break into the world, and Nakshar's architecture disintegrates, the desperate council summons their sister ashrams to a Conclave, to discuss the future of life in the skies.

Ahilya, now a councillor, is determined to share the truth about the cosmic beings and the nature of Ecstatic trajection so she can liberate ordinary citizens and save the condemned architects. Her conviction has alienated her allies and created dangerous enemies. Only Iravan has a chance of persuading the Conclave that Ecstatics are not unstable, but he returns from the jungle struggling with his own Ecstasy. He has little control over his second-self, the primal falcon yaksha, and finds the Conclave hostile to his cause.

As strange, deadly storms break out, threatening refuge even in the skies, Iravan and the other Ecstatic architects face brutal reprisals. And with the barrier restraining the cosmic beings thinning, Ahilya and Iravan know they are running out of time to save everyone. Thrust into the center of the storm, both will have to confront what matters most to them, who they really are, and what it means for the future of humanity.

Release date: June 18, 2024

Publisher: Titan Books

Print pages: 528

Sample

1AHILYA

The tracker locket in Ahilya’s hands lay silent.

She fidgeted with it, running the chain through her fingers, rubbing her thumb over the glass screen, resisting the urge to glance at it. She had once used similar trackers to mark yakshas, but the other half of this particular locket was not attached to one of those massive, mysterious creatures. The last time she had seen its counterpart, it was hanging around her husband’s neck. He had been atop a gigantic, monstrous falcon-yaksha. That had been two months ago.

She stared toward the jungle, imagining the wild foliage past Nakshar’s briar dome. A part of her could not believe she stood in this tiny clearing within the outer ashram, the twittering of birds filling her ears, afternoon sunshine dappling through Nakshar’s tall trees. She could almost hear Oam preparing for an expedition. She could almost feel Dhruv pull her aside to discuss the price of a council seat. And she could see him, Iravan, accompanying her into the jungle. She’d lost all of them, in unique, immeasurable ways.

Ahilya swallowed, a heaviness in her throat. Her palm pulsed with the imagined rhythms of the inert tracker. The device had been chiming for the last ten minutes, as it had intermittently through the two months since landing, an indication it was being charged Ecstatically. This time it was Iravan charging it, close enough to the landed ashram to appear as a red dot on the screen. By the time Ahilya had arrived at the outer copse, the dot had disappeared. The chiming had stopped.

Naila stood next to her, shifting weight from one foot to the other, surreptitiously watching her from the corner of her eyes. The Maze Architect was dressed in full uniform, a brown knee-length kurta over embroidered trousers, her translucent robe belted over, sharp and regal. She had graduated from Junior Architect during the recent turmoil, yet there was deference and worry in her posture. Naila had followed Ahilya through Nakshar’s morphing paths but she did not speak, as though unwilling to interrupt her thoughts.

Sighing, Ahilya turned to her. “How much time do we have?”

“None at all.” Naila’s veins glowed blue-green with the power of trajection, as vines and creepers articulated themselves over her brown skin. Perhaps she was trajecting the ground they stood on. It would explain why the copse didn’t change, even though the rest of Nakshar was undoubtedly altering into flight architecture. “Nakshar and Reikshar have almost fully merged. Nakshar’s council will convene soon. You can’t be late for the takeoff. Chaiyya-ve will hold that against you.”

It was not Naila’s place to direct her—Ahilya was a member of the council now—but

the Maze Architect had been trained by Iravan for years to occupy the very position Ahilya now occupied. Naila knew the weight of seemingly inconsequential actions far more than Ahilya could after her mere months of councilorship. Ahilya had expected rancor or hostility from the Maze Architect, but Naila had come to Ahilya after her initiation to offer her services most humbly. The woman was nothing short of her lieutenant now.

Naila’s face drew into a frown. “The lull was longer than ever this time, but another earthrage was inevitable. Why does that bother you so?”

“Is this earthrage a new cosmic being dividing itself? Or the same one Iravan and I trapped?”

“Does it matter?”

It mattered. Two months before, Ahilya had discovered the truth behind the earthrages in a discovery that had shaken all her assumptions about their culture. The images still haunted her—the furious split of a cosmic creature, the painful separation of a yaksha and an architect, the desperation to choose annihilation over erasure. She and Iravan had nearly been destroyed while trapping the cosmic creature within the Moment.

“If it’s the same being,” she said, “then the rift we closed won’t hold, not by the measures I know. We might never be able to end the earthrages. And if it’s a new one…”

“You fear retribution?”

“We know nothing about those beings except that all architects came from them. They’re more intelligent, more powerful, more advanced than we can imagine. Maybe we’ve angered them by trapping one of them, denying them new life.”

Naila’s fingers curled around her robe. She gazed toward the briar wall as though she could see the beginning of the split occurring. Somewhere out in the jungle, a yaksha existed, formed or formless, that belonged to the Maze Architect. It might even be one that Ahilya had tagged so long ago—the tiger-yaksha, or the

bear-yaksha, or the elephant-yaksha.

Ahilya nodded at the tattoos glowing over Naila’s veins. “Is trajection still difficult for you?”

“An earthrage is going to occur soon. It’s normal.” Naila’s eyes tightened, but she didn’t look away from the jungle.

Ahilya didn’t probe. Trajection was known to be harder during an earthrage, but Ahilya had learned that only architects who had denied Ecstasy in their past lives found it so. For Naila to feel it, as she so clearly was—

“I can’t be an Ecstatic,” Naila whispered, evidently following the same train of thought. “I… I haven’t felt anything like you said Iravan-ve had.”

Iravan’s symptoms of Ecstasy were not the only ones, but Ahilya did not say so. Instead, she reached out a hand and lightly touched Naila’s elbow, bringing the younger woman to meet her gaze.

“I won’t let you be excised,” Ahilya said softly. “Not you, not any of the other architects. I promise you I will speak of this at the Conclave.”

As a councilor, the weight of excision hung heavy on her. Four Ecstatics had been discovered in Nakshar in the last two months alone, a statistic both unusual and alarming. All four captured architects currently awaited their excision within the sanctum.

But, unlike they had once thought, excision did more than merely cut an architect away from their trajection. It destroyed an architect’s chance to unify with their yaksha. It mutilated the sentient part of their personality. It rendered an architect insensate.

On her return from the jungle, Ahilya had told the council everything that had occurred there, but even that had failed to stay their hand in wanting to excise the Ecstatics. To prevent the atrocity from occurring, she had divulged her information to all of Nakshar—an action that had confused non-architect citizens, but won her Naila’s loyalty. It had earned the wrath of the other councilors too, yet Ahilya was planning to enrage them even further by

announcing the same news to the Conclave. The meeting with Nakshar’s sister ashrams was to discuss precisely why trajection was getting harder. With innocent lives at stake, Ahilya could not stay silent.

Beyond the copse, the briar wall began to curl into itself, growing thicker, approaching them more quickly. Soon Nakshar would need to take to the skies again. The Maze Architect glanced at Ahilya, and she nodded. They turned away from the jungle toward Nakshar proper.

Ahilya tucked the tracker locket back into the pocket of her kurta. Among all the rudra bead necklaces and bracelets she now wore, her due as a councilor, the locket was a heavy burden, confusing her mind. Yet she couldn’t bring herself to leave it at home. Iravan was somewhere out there, and he hadn’t said goodbye; he had deliberately not said goodbye. How could she leave this device that connected him to her? Especially now? She needed him, not just to corroborate everything she had said to Nakshar, but for herself.

Her hand drifted to her stomach. She could feel her pregnancy in the twinges and tucks by her pelvis—but fear gripped her. Was her pregnancy growing at all? The last few weeks had brought her terrible, sudden pain, and Ahilya had not dared to examine it too closely. Instead, each time she was in the throes of agony, she thought of what she had done by chasing after Iravan in the habitat, by leaping after him into the vortex. She had saved the both of them, and the world, but at what cost? This pain… what did it mean? What would Iravan say?

She and Iravan had parted in love, but there was still so much left unsaid between them. A fragile dream filled her mind of a home with him, of toddling children, and a world that was finally fair, where Ecstatics were free to unite with their yakshas and non-architects had their rightful place. She and Iravan could make such a world. They could find happiness. She had to believe it. She pictured him like she had seen him last, a mere speck in

the sky.

She and Naila emerged from the copse directly at the base of the rudra tree. The architects had decided to use Iravan’s ellipsoidal model to conserve trajection, though much had been altered to match Reikshar’s architecture as it merged with Nakshar. During landing, Nakshar had tentatively expanded and stretched itself, but now that they were making ready to fly again, the rudra tree was the ashram, holding all of its citizens in its boughs. A winding ramp led up from the base and disappeared into the foliage. Ahilya couldn’t see it, but she knew that far above the topmost tier, a dome covered the ashram—a dome that would soon become Nakshar’s outermost shell.

For a moment an image of the rudra tree flashed behind her eyes, of how it had looked a mere two months ago, shriveled, burned, a near desiccated corpse, rendered helpless by the combined damage sustained from Bharavi’s Ecstasy and the falcon-yaksha’s attack. Nakshar’s landing had allowed the core tree to heal, but it would not have been possible without Reikshar’s Maze Architects.

Perhaps that explained the tree’s current design. Thin gray vines crept over its dark, almost black trunk—vines that belonged to Reikshar’s bael tree. The ashram had been the first to respond to Nakshar’s distress call, the first to accept Nakshar’s invitation to the Conclave. Ahilya imagined the rudra tree held up by the bael, like one person supporting another.

She and Naila started up the ramp that wound around the wide tree trunk. Through the foliage, Ahilya glimpsed platforms built from branches circling the tree, like rings hidden in the boughs. Hushed voices rustled within the whispering leaves, guarded and tense. Naila briefly trajected, and through the light of her skin, Ahilya noticed citizens crowded together, shoulder to shoulder, barely an inch of space between them. A child’s face peeked out from the dark leaves, but a woman pulled

them back. Her cold gaze swept over Ahilya before she was lost to the darkness again, and Naila continued to climb.

Startled, Ahilya followed more slowly. She did not know the woman but there was no denying her hostility. Things had changed so much in the last two months. Ahilya’s ascent to councilor had been welcomed by non-architects, but their regard had changed into suspicion ever since she’d defended the Ecstatics. Nakshar’s citizens carried such grief for all they’d endured and lost. They did not trust her anymore, and in truth Ahilya could not blame them. Was she really their councilor?

A few tiers higher, tiny sungineering glowglobes blinked at her, their twinkling caught among the leaves. The sounds changed too, a laugh here, excited chatter there. Ahilya stopped, and spun slowly, gazing past the waving leaves, taking in the carved railings of the platforms, the seats trajected from healbranch, the faces of the citizens she recognized—citizens who were all married to architects, Reniya, Vihanan, and Lavanya, Senior Architect Chaiyya’s own wife. Off-duty architects sat together with their families, as though this were a park. Ahilya bit the insides of her cheek in sudden rage. Where was Ahilya’s sister Tariya, now that Bharavi was gone? Where were Kush and Arth, their children? If Ahilya had not been a councilor, would her place under this new design have been down there in the darkness and crowds of the lowermost tiers with other non-architects?

“What’s wrong?” Naila asked. She had come to a stop a few feet away.

This had been one temple under Iravan—one space with the same safety for all, whether a citizen was an architect or a non-architect. To see it like this… this design that was so clearly prejudiced—

With effort, Ahilya worked her jaw, trying to relax herself. “Iravan once told me that the quality of trajection depends on how far it is from the core tree, but did he mean the Architects’ Disc?”

“The Disc has always been a part of the tree… but yes, that’s probably what he meant.”

“But now the Disc is at the topmost tier, and the citizens at the lowest. Is that safe?”

“Not as safe as Iravan-ve’s original design,” Naila admitted. “At least not right now, when we’re pressed for trajection energy.”

“Do the citizens even have healbranch to help them through the flight?”

“Our healbranch has not grown as fully as we’d hoped, and…” Naila’s skin lit up as she entered the Moment. “You’re right, I don’t see any down there.”

“How is that possible? He told me healbranch grows everywhere in the ashram. That it’s an unalterable permission embedded into the core tree. Not even Senior Architects can change that.”

“They can’t… but…” Naila’s skin grew a touch brighter. “I think within this architectural design, the lowermost tiers are not recognized as a part of the ashram at all. They’ve manipulated the design so they can restrict the healbranch to only the highest tiers.”

“Where the architects are.”

“I think they’re trying to reassure the architects—especially Reikshar’s—that they are still a priority. With Iravan-ve and Bharavi-ve gone… well, we are taught the council must always have more architects than not. Now that there are only two on Nakshar’s council instead of five… I know many architects find it troubling. This is clearly some kind of overcompensation.”

Horror and anger churned in Ahilya’s stomach. That’s what they had chosen to do. Not recognize non-architects as people, as part of the ashram, at all. With her defense of the Ecstatics, she had been party to this. She had served the architects, Ecstatic or otherwise, before those of her kind. No wonder the mother in the tree had studied her with such resentment.

“I know this is wrong,” Naila said, breaking the silence. “But the enslavement

of architects for their trajection is a true fear, even more so after what happened to Airav-ve. It’s why we were taught the council must always have more architects.”

“Architects are already enslaved,” Ahilya bit out. “But not all of them see it.”

Naila nodded and rubbed her arms as though suddenly cold. The foliage thickened the higher they climbed until the ramp straightened, to be replaced by a short corridor of thick bare wood. The two stopped at the end, facing a wall of black moss. Ahilya brought up her wrist, but Naila cleared her throat. The sound was deathly quiet in the tunnel.

“Perhaps I should accompany you?” she asked.

“You can’t. You’re overseeing construction at the solar lab. Besides, this is for the council only.”

“Yes, but the council—how they treat you—how you stand there—” The Maze Architect broke off, eyes lowered in embarrassment.

Once, Ahilya would have thought that Naila was embarrassed for her. But she had spent enough time with her to know that she was embarrassed on behalf of the architects of the council—specifically, Senior Architect Chaiyya. In that, Naila was unlearned—but Ahilya had once been married to a councilor. She hoped she still was. She had known the games they played. She had known the consequences and the contingencies of accepting the offer of the council seat, of divulging everything she had to Nakshar.

It was no secret that Chaiyya already regretted inviting Ahilya to the council. Clearly, the woman had thought Ahilya’s proximity to the architects, her pursuit of Iravan in the jungle, her cooperation with the council, all indicated her consideration for architect welfare. She must have thought Ahilya would make a good puppet for the changes occurring in the ashram, and a good scapegoat if matters went awry. She hadn’t known Ahilya well enough. By announcing to the ashram everything she had learnt in the jungle, Ahilya had disabused the Senior Architect of her illusions. Unsurprisingly, Chaiyya had mounted

a full offensive against Ahilya and her plans. There was no safety in the council for Ahilya. Only traps and machinations.

“I can take care of myself,” Ahilya murmured.

“I know you can,” Naila said. “I just… I wish they treated you better.”

Ahilya shook her head. She couldn’t fully blame Chaiyya for her hostility. The consequences of being so open with her discoveries in the jungle had already made themselves apparent in non-architect citizens. Architects had been affected even worse. Yakshas intrinsically connected to architects? Cosmic beings that caused the earthrages? Ecstasy that ought to be encouraged instead of being excised? Architects were growing confused about their loyalties. Some, like Naila, had offered greater allyship to non-architects. Others had grown hostile, angry at the changes. Some continued to fear Ecstasy like they always had, but many more had been vocal about desiring it. Ahilya’s news had brought discord already. By sharing it at the Conclave, she would change their entire culture.

She made to tap at one of her many rudra bead bracelets, but the Maze Architect touched her arm.

“Ahilya-ve,” Naila said. “Please remember. There is precedent for councilors to be dismissed. A vote of no confidence can be passed. For Senior Architects, it usually precedes excision. But non-architects can be dismissed if they do not comply with the wishes of the council or have at least one Senior Architect supporting them through their critical decisions.”

“Don’t worry—”

“Please, Ahilya-ve. I know you are relying on Airav. But he can’t traject anymore, not after what happened with the battery. Chaiyya-ve could argue that he does not count as an architect at all. His influence may not be enough.”

Ahilya’s chin trembled. It was because of her that Airav, a Senior Architect, could

no longer traject. She had forced him into using the battery.

“You don’t want to lose your position, Ahilya-ve. You’ll be powerless again, and the architects need you, all of us need you, to set the record straight about Ecstasy. You won’t be able to do that if you’re no longer a councilor.”

“I—”

“Please,” Naila said again, and there was a tinge of desperation there. “There has already been so much chaos. The architects are not taking to it well. Risks in the council must be carefully assessed, and your news has challenged the need for material bonds. Iravan-ve tried to do that too, you know—challenge the bonds—but he understood what the consequences of such change could be on the architects. He was… circumspect.”

Ahilya nodded slowly. She had once accused Iravan of being imprisoned by his material bonds; she’d thought he’d wanted a child simply because of those, not truly believing he would use his power to change the world.

But Iravan had picked his battles carefully. He’d progressed to a Senior Architect without having children. He’d wanted Naila, who had then been a mere Junior Architect, to become a councilor—not merely a woman who had no children, but one who was not married, her selection as big a challenge to the importance of material bonds as his own.

Iravan had tried to change Nakshar, but he had taken a winding course to it, typical of an architect. Ahilya had come in with her news and obliterated the need for such a course at all. She had created Chaiyya’s hostility. She’d made her own position on the council tenuous.

Ahilya closed her other hand over Naila’s and squeezed. “I’ll be careful, I promise. I’ll see you afterward.”

The Maze Architect didn’t move, biting her lip in worry, but Ahilya turned away. She tapped at one of her rudra bead bracelets. The curling leaves in front of them parted into a doorway, and murmurs rose from within. Ahilya entered the chambers, determined and alone.

 

2IRAVAN

The silence of unity rippled through Iravan.

It threaded through him demanding attention even as the world prepared for another death, another annihilation.

He sat upon the falcon-yaksha, his shoulders tense. Under him, the falcon was rock still, a gigantic bird perched on an earthy outcrop. An expanse of jungle spread out in front of him, a construct of soil illuminated by afternoon sunlight, green clutched in a birthing storm.

Leaves curled and withered. Bark groaned and crackled, crumpling from the inside. Wind rustled, fierce and gusting, lifting seeds that poured out of trees, carrying them away in a promise of new growth. The sounds of destruction filled his ears, but Iravan sat motionless, aware only of the silence that occupied his heart.

The silence was not his, not truly; it belonged to the falcon—

But then he grinned, a tight twisted smile—for weren’t he and the yaksha part of the same being? There was no other sign of life in the immediate jungle, no birds, no squirrels, neither animals nor humans. For two months, he hadn’t even seen any other yakshas except for his own falcon. Those had disappeared far from the habitat, and he had spent his time with only himself for company. He was still unaccustomed to the deathly quiet of loneliness. It was more marked now than ever before, with the full fury of the earthrage imminent.

He sank his fingers into the falcon’s silvery feathers that, after all this time, still smelled like smoke. He and the falcon had burned together when they had separated into an earthrage. Iravan had forgotten it once. He would never forget again.

That was the silence—a memory he had repressed far too long, angry and vast and relentless. There was no forgiveness in what they’d done. No absolution. Shame formed a tight ball in his throat. It embossed a lasting image on his heart.

The earthrage built like a long drawn out scream.

The yaksha’s silence remained.

Iravan took a deep, shaky breath.

All his instincts told him to nudge the yaksha, to leap into the air where it was safe, but he had not landed here of his own accord. They had been gliding in the open skies, and the falcon had brought him to this outcrop. He knew it would not leave, not until it had shown him what it wanted.

Iravan waited, embedded in the Two Visions of Ecstasy. He and the falcon watched the storm come in their first vision. The ground trembled. Tree trunks burst like overripe melons. Massive balloons of dust rose, racing toward them from all directions.

In their second vision, within the infinite velvety darkness of the Deepness, Iravan and the Resonance fluttered around each other. The Resonance was the falcon’s form in the Deepness; he would forever think of the silvery molten particle in those terms. The thing had haunted him for so long, but it was still familiar, more familiar than the creature whose feathers he clutched. What was it doing? Why was it waiting? In his first vision, Iravan gripped the falcon tighter and licked his lips.

Under them, the jungle roiled, a deep tremor.

A trembling dewdrop reflected a ring forming around the falcon’s eye.

Powered by the yaksha, the tracker locket around Iravan’s neck began to chime. A thrill rose inside him.

Silvery light emanated from the Resonance in the Deepness. The particle summoned the Moment, a globule of stars reflecting the possibilities of all the lives of their world. The Resonance aimed its jet of light toward the globule, its ray invisibly thin. Fibres leached from the source, like branches attached to a stem, reaching toward the part of the jungle where Iravan and the falcon were perched. The yaksha was creating a web of supreme complexity, Ecstatically trajecting the jungle from the Deepness into the Moment.

The jungle changed.

All around them, the dust stilled as though it had come up against an invisible barrier. The wind stopped. The churning lessened. They waited there, man and beast, gazing around them, as for an instant, a brief blink, the falcon held back the storm wall in a perfect circle, freezing the earthrage itself.

Awe filled Iravan. The silence was overwhelming.

Is this what the falcon had wanted to show him? Iravan hadn’t seen it traject through an earthrage yet, but he had been studying the bird since their union, learning from it. This trajection was more complex than any he’d seen before. Was the yaksha showing him this

technique so he could replicate it? The infinite blackness of the Deepness was its territory, like the stars in the Moment were his—Iravan was no master here.

But he was no beginner architect either. He was an Ecstatic now.

Goosebumps prickled his neck. He had accepted his own Ecstasy, but lifetimes of conditioning did not make it easy to reconcile with the idea that this was his natural state. Sometimes, at night, he still jolted awake, sweating and trembling. The nightmares had come true, he was an Ecstatic now, an outcast. He had become what he had been taught to fear, to eradicate—

The frozen storm around them trembled.

Iravan tasted wet earth. A crack appeared in the invisible barrier, then more fissures, like glass splitting. He blinked and nudged the falcon with a toe. The falcon could traject in an earthrage, but Iravan was mortal. The storm could kill him.

The falcon didn’t react.

Dust flicked at Iravan, then shards of jagged twigs. Wind whistled through the gaps, bringing in stray leaves and rain. Iravan nudged the falcon again, more urgently, fear replacing his awe.

Finally, the yaksha cocked its head. Uttering an angry yarp, it ruffled its feathers, unfolded its gigantic wings, and leapt into the storm, abandoning the barrier of the circle.

Wind rushed at Iravan at once, making his eyes water. Branches lashed, and grit filled his eyes, blurring his first vision. In the Deepness, the Resonance fluttered around him, and he caught a glimpse of himself over its mirrored surface, a reverberation of cold calculation that thrummed through the ever-present silence.

Iravan ducked low, wary of giving the yaksha any more instruction. The silence filled him again, a void ready to consume him. Twigs scored his skin, as the yaksha flew even lower within the storm. They entered a hurricane of thorns. Boulders

streaked past Iravan. He sunk his head into the smoky feathers. He had thought once that he could control the yaksha, but how foolish he’d been. The creature might be a part of himself, but it was a stranger nonetheless, a higher being, complex and eternal. They had identified each other, perhaps even accepted one another. They had not yet understood each other.

That, perhaps, was why the yaksha had brought them here. That, perhaps, was the reason behind its torturing silence.

His own quiet had grown in him ever since he and the yaksha had repaired and remembered themselves in that vortex within the habitat. At first, the falcon’s silence had been considering but now it built into a roar in his mind and he knew it contained lifetimes of anger, lifetimes of reprisal. The yaksha was wild and feral. It had lived alone for thousands of years, but it had not forgiven him, and it had certainly not forgotten its own pain. The silence was not peaceful, it was punishment. Iravan’s only answer was regret.

He lifted his head slightly. A whipping branch filled his vision, and he ducked again to see it carried away by the earthrage. In the Deepness, the Resonance bobbed as though in laughter, and Iravan recognized in its fluttering a bitter satisfaction at making him flinch. Ahilya flashed into his mind. She had attacked him too when they’d left Nakshar together for her expedition. Had that only been a few months ago? He could hardly believe it.

“Enough,” Iravan growled, as another flying branch nearly took his head off.

The earthrage was coming, the split of another cosmic creature, and here they were performing what could only be described as self-flagellation.

He gathered his own energy in the Deepness, pointed the beam in the Moment—

The Resonance smashed into him.

The ray he had carefully aimed bounced past the star he had targeted. It hit something

else, another star, and Iravan swung himself away from the Resonance in the Deepness, terrified.

What had he hit? What had they done? Had he hit the possibility of an ashram? Of a person? He spun around angrily in the Deepness toward the Resonance, but before he could gather his energy, the silvery particle trajected, and a stray vine looped itself around Iravan’s neck, choking him.

“Wh—” he gasped. What in rages? His hands scratched at the vine, scrabbling, even as they flew amidst the fracturing trees and the rising maelstrom. He couldn’t breathe. Tears sprang in his eyes. What the fuck are you doing? he screamed, spinning in the Deepness, trying to gather his desire to him.

But the Resonance knocked him away again, too easily.

He scratched at the vine around his throat, pulling it, but it only tightened. The creature could traject Ecstatically far better than he could ever hope to—it had thousands of years of mastery over him. It had held back the earthrage. Its Ecstasy was sharp enough to fly through the storm, trajecting and releasing each part of the jungle it flew through.

Gasping, Iravan darted in the Deepness, made to enter the Moment. The Resonance blocked his path, its flutters overtaking his second vision.

Iravan’s body seized. He coughed, grit filling his nose and his throat. He couldn’t breathe.

A memory flashed, of when his Two Visions had merged. He had become the magnaroot. They had tried to rip themselves apart. They had tried to kill himself.

His eyes closed against the horror. It was happening again.

The darkness began to take him. He pulled desperately, one weak tug, then another, his strength waning—

The vine came free in his hands.

Iravan wheezed, still

atop the falcon, his Two Visions collapsing. The yaksha glided lower in a lazy circle, and swept down to a courtyard—the habitat, Iravan groggily recognized. His Garden. The creature came to a rest at the ledge outside the walled enclosure Iravan had built all those months before. It shook its wings and Iravan slithered down to the grassy floor, away from the beast.

The yaksha tilted its head to one side, its gaze cold and victorious.

It snapped its beak once.

Then, in a rush of wings, it was gone again, beyond the habitat into the earthrage. The glittering green dust of pure possibility—the everdust—rippled where the bird left the habitat’s safety. Iravan glimpsed the screaming face of the birthing earthrage, visible now from inside the habitat, attempting to break through the barrier of everdust. A slight terror gripped him. The habitat was no longer the degraded version he and Ahilya had once found. Their actions had mended this place, keeping the earthrage out. Yet there was no telling how long that would last.

He staggered through the jagged hole in the rock wall. A chair waited inside, one he had trajected for himself weeks ago. Iravan collapsed onto it, rubbing his neck, his vision swimming. He coughed, throat burning, and snatched the sungineering locket from around his neck. His fingers ran over at the ridges where the vine had pressed the chain of the locket into his skin.

Gasping, Iravan entered the Moment.

His visions split again, but unlike the ever-darkness of the Deepness, the Moment was a vast universe, full of giant floating stars, each star a possibility of consciousness. Here was the firethorn in its bud, suspended within one star; a few stars away, it climbed over grass, in the manner of the most insidious predator. One star contained the rileweed, white and glassy, poised over a pond. In another, the rileweed grew over the forest floor, slithering like a worm. These plants of the jungle were nothing like those of the ashrams. Out here, life warred with itself, unchecked, until an earthrage erased all progress and the plants began anew

Iravan knitted a few short constellation lines together, connecting the stars of dewy grass to the wild pothos in a pillared lattice. The grassy mound of earth in front of him rose into a column. Dew bubbled over it like a fountain. He leaned forward, cupped his hands, and drank deeply. When he was done, he severed the constellation lines. The leafy post collapsed back into the ground.

Head in his hands, Iravan started to shiver.

What had the mad creature done? It had never performed such violence, not on him—and surely, they had never met in another life? You tried to kill me, he thought—but had it? The yaksha had flown expertly through the earthrage, keeping Iravan balanced on itself even as it tried to strangle him. What had the creature hoped to achieve? Iravan had no more lives to reincarnate into. He might not have been what the yaksha wanted, but unity, imperfect as it was right now, was neither reversible nor repeatable.

The silence grew in him, dark and heavy, the falcon’s manic satisfaction echoing in the corner of his brain. The creature had already trajected him, multiple times. What else could it do? Take over his mind? Iravan buried his head in his hands again, trembling uncontrollably. He was losing himself. There was no one to ask if this was what happened to all Ecstatics. His past selves had denied themselves true Ecstasy, and the Ecstatics who had once united had long since died. He was one of a kind, unique, exceptional. Alone.

After a long time, he looked up.

The Garden stared back at him, this place that was now his ashram, his temple, his kingdom.

A short set of stairs led down to the courtyard he had created for his wife on the day she had saved him. A stream gurgled within the Garden, and trees burst with fruit. A bone-white sungineering

battery peeked from under a bush. It had once brought Ahilya to him, and he treasured it even though it no longer worked. He breathed deeply, and he smelled her through the jasmine that grew profusely on one wall. If he tried, he could believe it had been mere moments since he had returned her to Nakshar. All this beauty and life—for whom? He alone witnessed it. He had asked her to stay, and she had refused. He had decided to stay, but for what? The falcon? Iravan had thought the unity would help him find himself. This… this was who he was? Hysterical laughter built in him.

He ran his hands through his grit-filled hair. It was longer than it had ever been, reaching past his chin to his shoulders. He had become a wild creature of the jungle now, his beard overgrown, his clothes a mere memory of what they had once been, held together by the mending he’d trajected on them.

What would Ahilya say if she saw him like this? He closed his eyes, and he could see her, beautiful and intelligent, her hair rippling in long dark waves, her mouth turned in a sardonic smile. An ache for her grew so strong within him that Iravan gasped aloud. He needed her—desperately now, the more he learned of the falcon. If the falcon took him over, how far would he lose himself? She was his balance and without her now… An emptiness yawned in him, deep within his heart, exposing a place of stark reflection. Exposing the terror of clarity.

An image conjured itself in his mind, one he had imagined many times, of two children with his dark skin and her fierce beauty. He had made so many mistakes with her. He wanted so badly to atone for them. But more than that, he wanted a second chance. To show her how much he loved her. The dream glimmered in front of him, his final hope for happiness in this life left to him.

Green dust swirled around him, responding to his desire, its own desire, for her. He had circled Nakshar so many times in the months before, hoping to see her. Yet each time he had glimpsed the ashram, he had changed his mind. He was an Ecstatic now. He had no place there. Not unless he figured out how to make amends to the citizens, for everything he had done as a split cosmic creature and as an architect.

At the thought of this, another vision grew behind his Two Visions. The Etherium hovered between his brows, superimposed, ever-present. Iravan did not fully know what it was, but images flashed within it, cloudy, gray, colourless. Ahilya heavily pregnant, irritated that her round belly was getting in her way. Nakshar flying in the sky, a flat city, luxuriously built. His fathers holding each other, his mother laughing with them. Bharavi—and Iravan’s breath caught in his chest in despair—hugging her grown children, Kush and Arth. The same series of images had flashed in his head since his unification, a hundred of them, a thousand, from this life and others remembered.

He had thought the Etherium a vision of guidance. It had once shown him his choices. It had provided the method to trap the cosmic being in the Moment, shown him how to unify with his yaksha, shown him his history.

But these images… these couldn’t be true. Iravan had murdered Bharavi. She would never play with her children again. She would never laugh again.

Amends. He had to make amends. To Ahilya, to the falcon, to the citizens of the ashrams whose backs he had stood on to get here. He had to stop the earthrages. That was his purpose. But how? Another one had been inevitable, but the Etherium hadn’t yet shown him the tear within the Moment where the rift was occurring. Without its help, he could wander the Moment forever, never to find the breach, even if he could feel the bleeding of another cosmic being seeping into life, even if he knew where every star was.

Besides, even if he found the opening, he could never close it alone. He needed Ahilya. It was the same thought that had troubled him through all the trajection he had done in this habitat. Frustration created a pounding in his ears. He was useless here. Architects weren’t supposed to be useless, and he was the most powerful architect in the world. But if he couldn’t do anything, what was the point of his power?

Abruptly, the Etherium sharpened.

Iravan sat up.

A mass of Maze Architects on their knees screamed at him in the Etherium—and

more, so many more in cages. He had sent Manav to a cage like that once. He had killed Bharavi in one.

Deathcages.

The architects were going to be excised, cut away from their trajection and their yakshas forever. Horror hammered in his chest.

He had circled Nakshar from afar for the last two months, trying to find a way to go back, building the arguments in his head about how to reveal the truth of Ecstasy. He had demurred, always to return to his Garden out of cowardice and fear—but this, if this were a true vision of what was going to happen—

It had always been at the back of his mind, the knowledge that excision was surely occurring in the ashrams while he was confined to the jungle. Yet faced with it now, so starkly… How many architects had already been separated from their power because of his delay? How much damage had Iravan caused in two months of silence?

The images became sharper in the Etherium. Nakshar appeared in his third vision again, this time smaller, more fragile than it had ever been, a bark oblong floating in the sky. Nests of green approached his ashram—no, his ashram no longer—and he watched them come from all directions, attaching themselves to Nakshar.

So.

A Conclave.

It made sense; after all, the sister ashrams had stared their own extinction in the face. What had happened to the other cities, the ones that existed in the bands above Nakshar? Inkrist, Karran, Erast, and the others. Had they survived? Nakshar and her sister ashrams were of the lowermost bands, and Iravan had only focussed on them while ending the earthrage with Ahilya. As a Senior Architect of Nakshar, he had only ever cared about the sisters; the others had not really existed for him, beyond

 his attention on different altitudes. Had he forsaken them by his negligence and ignorance? Were the sister ashrams all that were left of humanity? The thought was terrifying.

The vision in the Etherium faded. The older colorless images reappeared, Ahilya heavily pregnant, Bharavi with her children, Iravan’s three parents holding each other.

Iravan stood up.

The silence within him clamored, his guilt and rage bleeding into it. He did not know what the Etherium was, or what it wanted him to do, yet he had no choice but to trust the third vision. He had avoided Nakshar and the other ashrams, despite his aching need for Ahilya, despite his terrible desire to make amends. No more.

Jogging down the steps, Iravan began trajecting in the Moment, changing the architecture of the habitat, expanding the Garden beyond its intimate structure into something bigger, wider, more welcoming of the many people it should belong to. He would build apartments, and sungineering chambers. He would invite others into his home, making it their home too. As soon as the yaksha returned, they would make their way to Nakshar. Next time, when he came back to the habitat, he would no longer be alone. Perhaps then…the silence would not be as loud.

3AHILYA

Despite the ashram’s successful launch from the jungle, no celebration echoed within Nakshar’s council chambers. The circular quarters were situated within the topmost boughs of the rudra tree. Tiny glowglobes twinkled from within the murmuring canopy. The only sounds came from the whirring and clicking of sungineering devices and the occasional chirp of a quiet bird. Ahilya had entered to see the other councilors already at their posts, a light blinking impatiently at her bio-node.

Each of the councilors was positioned at a separate station. They had watched Nakshar’s ascent in silence, and none spoke even now. Kiana and Laksiya, the two Senior Sungineers, stood barely visible behind a dozen holograms depicting energy usage. Airav, in his wheelchair, continued to monitor Nakshar’s merging with Reikshar. Chaiyya, her dark skin glittering blue-green, coordinated with the Architects’ Disc. Ahilya tracked the citizens through their citizen rings.

The canopy susurrated around her as she studied the cluster of dots on the glassy screen. Each dot represented a citizen, all of them non-architects. In her mind, they huddled together, frightened in the darkness of the lowermost tiers of the rudra tree. How were they managing without healbranch? The plant was necessary to provide healing and comfort; it was imperative to flight.

Ahilya glanced over to where Chaiyya stood, her glowing skin the brightest thing in the dim chamber.

Kiana caught her eye past the holograms. The bespectacled woman muttered something to the other sungineer, then circled around the rudra tree’s trunk to make her way to Ahilya. Chaiyya looked up as the sungineer passed her, her eyes traveling from Kiana to Ahilya. Her jaw moved, a tight grinding motion.

Ahilya turned away, back to her bio-node. She and Kiana had become allies—something Chaiyya did not like—but though Kiana was a sungineer, and therefore could not traject, she was not Ahilya’s friend. The sungineer had agreed to support Ahilya; she had even been the one to tell Ahilya about Chaiyya’s decision to excise the Ecstatics, thus prompting Ahilya to divulge all her information to the citizens of Nakshar. Yet in return, Ahilya had conducted several expeditions into the jungle during the lull. She had extracted minerals from jungle rocks, returned with dangerous plant samples within deathboxes, hunted for a yaksha to capture, all so Kiana could continue her experimentations with Ecstasy.

Ahilya had only herself to blame. She had begun down this road with Dhruv, with her expeditions and her ambitions and her smuggling. Even if her activities were all above board now, 

she knew it was treacherous. Kiana had found a way to extract the technology from Dhruv’s tracker locket to create the energex, a device that used Ecstatic energy. She was looking for a way to replace the dependence on trajection with a dependence on Ecstasy. Ahilya had practically told her to do that a few months before, driven by her desperation to rescue Iravan. Knowing what she did now, about the architects and yakshas being parts of the same whole, Ahilya had been grateful to find no yakshas in the jungle. Yet each day of failure had brought the council closer to trying the energex on one of the architects in the deathcages, instead.

Naila’s voice echoed in her mind. Enslavement of architects is a true fear. It was every architect’s worry, one that the council had tried to mitigate by informing Nakshar that Ecstatic trajection was different from normal trajection—but the very premise of using Ecstasy created a need for Ecstatics, to harness them instead of releasing them. It was even more dangerous to their culture than Ahilya’s own plans.

What was the Senior Sungineer attempting, really? How had she convinced Chaiyya to let her pursue this? She was as much Ahilya’s ally as she was Chaiyya’s, playing her own clever middlegame. Already the ashram was divided into those who wanted matters to return to how they had been, and those who coveted change. Either one, in isolation, was dangerous.

Kiana neared Ahilya and studied her with piercing gray eyes. “You’re troubled.”

“What makes you say that?”

“Please. I was the first non-architect in Nakshar to ascend to the council. Do you really think—”

“All right,” Ahilya said. “I’m troubled.”

Kiana nodded and adjusted her leg-brace. “Because of this architectural model?”

“Whose idea was it?”

“You know whose.”

Ahilya met Kiana’s gaze, then glanced at Chaiyya again. She moved, intending to confront Chaiyya, but Kiana put out a hand and stopped her.

“Think for a minute,” the Senior Sungineer said. “Of why.”

Ahilya pulled her arm away. Naila had already told her why, but that was not what Kiana meant. If this design was truly to show architects they were protected, especially architects of Reikshar, then Chaiyya had chosen it specifically to undermine Ahilya and her stance at the Conclave.

Her hand curled into a fist. They had barely escaped extinction—they didn’t even know if all five hundred ashrams had survived—and Chaiyya wanted to play political games?

Nakshar had sent out messages to her sister ashrams, and while all had responded, no messages had been received yet from the ashrams that floated at higher altitudes. Perhaps Ahilya was being impatient, wishing so desperately for their reply. But why hadn’t even Inkrist or Karran or Erast replied? Of all the ashrams on those bands, these ones were the most communicative with Nakshar—though usually, even that communication was once in seven or so years. Before recent events, Ahilya had never paid their existence much mind. They had been only names to her—all trade occurred between sisters, that was the way of the ashrams. But her world had grown since she had become a councilor, and Iravan had only confirmed Nakshar’s survival those months ago when they had emerged from the vortex. How many of the higher ashrams had already crashed and

 burned into the earthrages? They had no news.

“Reikshar is stable,” Airav called out in his deep voice.

The Senior Architect—still an architect, no matter what Naila had said—sounded exhausted. Then again, he had sounded so for a long time. The dark bald man, a stubble of gray on his head, had lost much weight. Once he had been the seniormost in the council, his word a law unto itself, but now his rudra beads hung loosely over his spotless white kurta. Ahilya’s belly cramped in guilt. The image was seared into her mind: Airav bucking in his chair, his mouth open in a soundless scream of horror.

Airav caught her look, and gave her a small nod. The Senior Architect had been surprisingly willing to support her intention to speak at the Conclave. Did he think that if Ahilya succeeded in convincing others of the good of Ecstasy, it would benefit him? That unity with his own yaksha—legally and carefully—would restore his trajection? For all Ahilya knew, that was possible, though the only man who could know for sure had disappeared, quite literally, off her tracker. The locket in her kurta pressed against her thigh.

With Airav’s trajection gone, Chaiyya had become the head of Nakshar’s council. She had taken no time off after the birth of her twin daughters two months ago. Sometimes their meetings had occurred with Chaiyya nursing her babies within the council chambers, the little girls falling asleep while the councilors discussed food supply and Bharavi’s vacant seat and the creation of new plant species. Though Chaiyya still appeared matronly, her round face had developed permanent frown lines. Her once-thick braid had more gray in it. Ahilya approached her, and Chaiyya froze for a long, telltale moment.

Ahilya hardened herself. Chaiyya had done everything to remind her that despite being a councilor, some things were still not for her to know. Even for normal city logistics, Ahilya was given no access to the architects’ archives. When she’d asked, Chaiyya had stared her straight in the eyes and said it was privileged information.

The shame of it still heated Ahilya’s cheeks. Iravan had never once mentioned Chaiyya being unreasonable, but then again, he had never been a councilor in times like these. He had never been a non-architect. This game was entirely different for him. Ahilya watched the Architects’ Disc on the bio-node in front of Chaiyya, marshaling her words.

The Disc, a hidden ring circling the rudra tree, was a large dim chamber grown one tier below the council. This was where Nakshar was created, where it was maintained. If the rudra tree was the spinal cord of

the ashram, the Architects’ Disc was its brain. Nearly seventy Maze Architects sat around the thick trunk on a floor of soft moss, legs folded underneath them. Their bodies glowed like Chaiyya’s, except trajection tattoos of vines and creepers crawled over their arms and necks, up to their faces. All their eyes were closed, in profound meditation even as light emanated from their bodies. As Ahilya watched, some architects stood up to leave, while others entered the chamber. Shift duty had grown shorter if more frequent since it had been recognized that trajection was becoming harder. These architects, required to sustain the ashram, had been flirting dangerously with their attachments. How much time had they spent with their families, to strengthen those bonds that kept them from becoming Ecstatics? Yet Ecstasy is your true nature, Ahilya thought. You don’t know completion yet. You don’t know freedom.

One of the bio-nodes blinked. Chimes sounded from it.

Airav sat up. “They’re coming,” he said tersely. “That’s Yeikshar’s call.”

A series of blue-green trajection tattoos grew over Chaiyya’s skin. Tight coiled spirals relaxed like a flower blooming. In concert, the tattoos of architects within the Disc began changing. The council chamber expanded. The rudra tree groaned, and Ahilya took a couple of hurried steps back. Foliage shuddered, then expanded like lungs breathing. Somewhere a bird squawked in alarm. A window creaked open in the bark by the rim, then more windows, shafts of afternoon sunlight pouring into the chamber.

On the holograms by Senior Sungineer Laksiya, a dozen lights blinked. A map of Nakshar replaced one of the images. The oblong ashram was opening up, as though it were a massive dragonfruit, nodes forming on its crust outside. Thick root tentacles stretched in uneven layers connected to hundreds of gigantic bark petals. On the screen, Ahilya noticed glittering dots, plants of Nakshar, that blinked away, inactive. One of them was healbranch.

“What’s this?” she asked sharply. Her voice came out loud in the quiet chamber. “Are you taking healbranch away from even the higher tiers of the tree? Is Nakshar itself to no longer be considered an ashram?”

Chaiyya’s eyes ran over Ahilya, a subtle darkening filled with disdain.

“This is an essential maneuver for an ashram that forms the heart of the Conclave,” Airav said. “We’re retracting all the plants that form our barrier in flight. If we don’t, then those plants will mistake the plants of the other ashrams as contaminants. The rudra tree will fight the Conclave’s merging.”

“So, the Architects’ Disc is Nakshar?”

“The Disc and the council chambers,” Airav corrected. “Only until we’ve merged. Retracting these plants leaves us temporarily vulnerable, but it is necessary. The other ashrams are doing the same thing to some degree, even if they don’t form the heart of this model. Conclaves are no easy constructions, Ahilya-ve; there is a reason they are called only in times of true need.” Airav shook his head. “We called the Conclave, so we must form its heart. It is tradition, but there is great architectural effort required to do it accurately and we are already weak.”

Chaiyya turned back to her screen, a tight smile on her round face. “Considering how perilous our situation is, perhaps you will re-evaluate speaking your theories at the Conclave.”

Ahilya stared at her. “I took a veristem test, Chaiyya. They are not theories, they are facts. Besides, the healbranch oath I took as a councilor allows for it. I have the right to speak to our sisters.”

“A right, yes—but not one exercised by tradition. Only the lead councilor speaks at the Conclave. Each ashram provides a united front. By speaking of all this, without the rest of us seconding it, you will show our sister ashrams how divided we are. Nakshar will lose

its authority in front of the others.”

“We don’t have to be divided,” Ahilya said. “You could agree with my position. You could support my ideas.”

“Your ideas endanger all architects, especially now when we’re already defenceless.”

“No. They endanger this way of life. Why don’t you see, Chaiyya, that stopping the earthrages and releasing the architects into Ecstasy is the only way to survive?”

“That is not what our wisdom tells us,” Chaiyya snapped. “None of our lore or history, none of our evidence, none of our theories or principles speak of this. Our lives are in the sky—this is where survival is. As for Ecstasy—you are no architect. You don’t know how dangerous it is. Ecstasy is to be condemned, not celebrated.”

Ahilya’s stomach tightened. Once, Iravan had said the same things. All architects had been brought up to believe this. He had changed his mind after the events in the habitat, but even so it had taken first-hand experience. All Chaiyya had was Ahilya’s word.

“Yeikshar is in position,” Airav said quietly. “Lakshar and Renshar are approaching, as are the Three Southern Sisters.”

On the floating hologram map, a flat ashram with a netted dome flickered and stabilized, waiting by one of the nodes of Nakshar’s open petals.

Ahilya took a deep breath trying to calm herself. “I’ve told you before,” she said evenly to Chaiyya. “What I saw in the jungle, what I experienced—”

“That you ended the earthrage?”

“Iravan and I both did. Together.”

“You’re delu—”

“I’m not delusional,” Ahilya snapped. “I saw the histories that have been buried, the truth that has been forgotten. Architects once knew that Ecstasy was their true state. They chose to fly to the skies, to continue perpetuating the earthrages, rather than believe that they caused the rages in the first place. They did it for power and control. Your entire history is a fabrication. Our lives

in the skies are built on a lie, Chaiyya, and that lie is going to cause our downfall. It is going to break our survival.”

“It is not those lies I see as the cause, Ahilya, it is your stubbornness to share what you saw. Look at what has already happened. You blurted out these things to all of Nakshar, and now half the Maze Architects refuse to show up for their duty, afraid of becoming Ecstatics. The other half who do show up want to be Ecstatics—and we can’t afford for them to lose touch with reality and destroy the ashram. Even though we’ve successfully taken off from the jungle, I dare not release permissions of trajection beyond the rudra tree to enable common citizens to mold the architecture to their desires—not when their desires are so convoluted. Our entire survival was based on the fact that we could use the desires of the citizens to augment the trajection of the architects. But if both architects and non-architects are confused about their roles now, where does that leave survival? Where does that leave safety?”

Another silence grew, this one harder. The other councilors exchanged guarded looks. Between her brows, Ahilya received a sudden glimpse of her husband when they had been in the vortex together. She had held him. She had poured her strength into him. Pain lanced through her, shaking her knees. Her palms grew sweaty at the memory of the cosmic creature attacking her. Her being had ripped apart into tiny pieces, but she had held, rages, she had held. Why did her will suffer now, when it was imperative she hold her stance? Chaiyya’s words made all too much sense. Ahilya had spoken of her experience to provide the Ecstatic architects with a reprieve, but she had created several unintended consequences.

“Seventeen of fifty ashrams are in position,” Airav called out. “The Seven Western Sisters are approaching.”

More ashrams appeared on the map, waiting by Nakshar’s nodes—ashrams shaped like round leafy nests, some in the form of misshapen boulders, others like tulips with bark petals open to the skies. Those

that hovered above Nakshar were already beginning to form elevators, while those alongside created bridges. All of them were smaller than Nakshar—a construction Ahilya knew was necessary so the sister cities could dock with her own ashram. What did the citizens inside these other cities think of this accommodation they needed to make for Nakshar’s call to the Conclave?

“Chaiyya, please,” Ahilya said quietly. “If the earthrages are back, it means that even though we closed the rift, it did nothing to dissuade the cosmic beings from splitting. It could get much worse. Those Ecstatics in the deathcages, we need to send them to the habitat I found, to allow them to unite with their yakshas safely so we can end the earthrages.”

“Is this the habitat you cannot show us?” Chaiyya countered. “Where is this magical place? Why haven’t we seen it?”

Ahilya clenched her teeth, knowing she was losing the argument. During the lull, she had directed the sungineering probes to the habitat in the jungle, the very habitat where Iravan now lived, but they had failed to retrieve any images. That was not surprising—sungineering equipment had been unable to pierce the habitat before. But where in rages was Iravan? Why hadn’t he appeared to corroborate her? He had said his plan was to release Ecstatics safely and tell the ashrams of the truth behind the earthrages. He should be here, doing exactly that. Ahilya’s revelation had kept the Ecstatics from being excised—but she did not know how much longer she could do it, not without him.

“The Seven Western Sisters are in position,” Airav rumbled. “Nilenshar, Auresh, and Katresh approaching from the Northern Sisters.”

Nearly all the nodes at Nakshar’s map had ashrams waiting by them. The Conclave bobbed, waiting to be merged, a massive collection of plant-made cities floating in the sky to become one united entity.

Chaiyya turned

away. “You’ll only embarrass yourself at the Conclave if you tell them all this.”

“You’re scared,” Ahilya said softly. “I can understand that, but—

” “You will do irreparable damage, not just to architects but to your own kind. Nakshar was one of the first ashrams to induct non-architects in its council, Ahilya. There are ashrams out there, many you will meet now, who have none on their councils. If you shout about these stories from the jungle, you’ll only convince them that non-architects cannot be taken seriously. That they don’t belong on the council.” Chaiyya’s round face hardened. “You will regress us even further. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

“Nilenshar and the others are in position. The last of the sisters approaching now.”

Ahilya frowned at Chaiyya’s back. The Senior Architect had a point. Ahilya knew her own reception at the Conclave would be nothing more than indulgent. What consequences would it have for others who would come after her? The child flashed in her mind, the one she had seen in the lower tiers of the rudra tree, hidden in darkness.

In the council chambers, the rudra tree groaned. Golden sunlight fell in wider shafts combining with Chaiyya’s blue-green trajection and the pale holograms floating in front of the sungineers. ...