Meanwhile, the woman in leather and silver regarded her quizzically. She returned to Caitlin’s name, which she had provided just moments before.
“Cai-tah-lin Oh-ha-rayaah,” the woman said thoughtfully. “The name and inflection are unfamiliar to me.”
I am not surprised, Caitlin thought. The language will not be created for tens of thousands of years.
“As I said, I am not from around here,” Caitlin replied.
“The bracelet,” Lasha said accusingly. “Perhaps it is stolen?”
“No,” Caitlin replied. “I—I would never do that. Maybe I am Bayarma.”
“Ah, so now you are two people!” Lasha said, holding up a pair of fingers, one on each hand. “Maybe you are a flendro as well!”
“There is no need to be insulting,” Qala cautioned.
Lasha grumped back a step.
“Tell me about your home in the north,” Qala said.
“I—I can’t remember much,” Caitlin lied. She didn’t want to alienate the tall woman who seemed intent on actually helping her. It was better to buy time, try and find out when she was, relative to the end of Galderkhaan. She looked at the cloth wrappings on her feet. They were bound with leather strips attached to a wooden sole. The edges were scuffed, old. She looked at her fingernails. They were worn, chipped. She could be a laborer of some kind.
“Do you wish to see a physician?” Qala asked. “There is one on my airship.”
“No, thank you,” Caitlin replied, gesturing sweetly. She didn’t want to end up a guinea pig. She touched the bracelet. “This girl, Bayarmii. I should try to find her.”
“As you wish,” the Standor said. “Then I will leave you to Lasha—provided he promises not to noose you.”
“I am a gentle man, my companion will tell you so.” He wagged a threatening finger at Caitlin. “But she must swear on the scrolls not to misbehave. Can she guarantee that?”
“I am fine now,” Caitlin assured them. “It was the shock of waking in this strange place.”
“Or… it could be overheated fish,” Lasha said accusatorily. “That could be the cause.”
The Standor made a face at him. “Every time I see you, Lasha, you blame all the ills of Galderkhaan on fish or fishers.”
“Not all,” Lasha scowled back. “If you want to know whom I really blame it on—” Lasha began, then bit off the rest of the sentence. He looked around at the crowds still hovering in the shadows. “Well… the fish are the innocent heirs of poor decisions made… elsewhere.”
“Another Khaana beater? Will you also blame the government for the way the air blows?”
“You don’t think cloud farming and airships alter the currents?”
“Please, no politics or science,” Qala said, raising her hand. “I have enough of that aloft, where I cannot escape the mutterings of the crew. I do not wish to speak of our ruling body.”
“Or Femora Azha?” Lasha said, challenging Qala.
At that, Caitlin became alert. “I know that name,” she said. Caitlin had to control herself from overreacting at the mention of the name. She knew Azha too well. It was that Galderkhaani’s ascended soul that had directed her to Pao and Rensat, to the confrontation that had brought her here.
“I’m not surprised you’ve heard it,” Lasha said. “The name is whispered everywhere in Galderkhaan.”
“It will not be here and now,” Qala said. She fixed a critical gaze at Lasha. “Criticize the fish if you will, speculate on shifting air currents if you must, but as a Khaana appointee I will not hear the rest.” Her eyes shifted to Caitlin. “I wish you well. I am due in Aankhaan.”
While Qala spoke, Lasha had opened and closed his mouth several times—like a fish, Caitlin thought. He seemed to want to say something, but before he could muster his thoughts, or his courage, Qala had turned and left.
“Thank you,” Caitlin said after the woman.
Qala half turned and waved with a circular motion of leave-taking.
Caitlin took another moment to settle into her body and to accept the fact that she had understood and responded to everything that was being said. Some part of the mind of Bayarma was still obviously very present. The reference to Azha also helped her focus. If the woman had already acted against Vol, had failed to stop his premature activation of the Source, then the destruction of Galderkhaan was nigh. Caitlin couldn’t afford to delay for that reason, or in case the captive soul of Bayarma was able to assert itself. That dynamic too was an unknown. If Bayarma returned, would Caitlin automatically be shifted home? Or would she just be kicked out, disembodied in limbo as she found herself after the conflagration in the park?
Lasha sat on a shaded section of the wall surrounding the pool. “Fen is right. My tongue will dig my place in the road. Just as it did for Femora Azha.” He looked up at Caitlin. “You said that name sounds familiar to you?”
“Yes, as well as her sister and lover.”
“I know nothing of them,” Lasha said. “Not before Fen, but before her colleagues in the capital, Azha spoke against the rivalries that are chewing our populace to pieces.”
“I thought she committed violence?”
“Yes, which is the only reason she was permitted to speak against the Priests and the Technologists and their mad hostility. She was exiled.” He threw an arm toward the sea. “Now there are rumors from the fisher fleet that she is dead. I am not yet ready to ascend, so I watch what I speak before the likes of her.” Lasha gestured cautiously after Qala.
Caitlin nodded. Now she had a better idea of when she was. It was after Azha’s airship had crashed, after the Priest Vol had resolved to undermine the Technologists by causing the Source to explode, though with far greater destruction than he had imagined: it was this act that destroyed Galderkhaan. Caitlin did not know how long a period it was between those two events. It could be as little as a day; it could be weeks. Though the Antarctic solar cycle caused the Galderkhaani to frame their time differently from what she was accustomed to, Caitlin understood the terms that were in Bayarma’s mind. They were close enough to contemporary times, based on the flow of the tides.
Caitlin took a moment to try and find Azha with her mind. The Femora had contacted her in the twenty-first century—her ascended soul had to be here as well. If it was, she could not find it. Perhaps she was busy trying to find some spiritual means to stop Vol.
“Your name is Lasha,” Caitlin said, moving her arms now as she spoke. “And you… guard this pool?”
The man nodded gruffly, his leathery skin tight, his dark eyes narrowed. He looked like a purer version of Yokane, the Galderkhaani descendant Caitlin had met in New York. His features—like those of the Standor—were angular, narrow, the bone structure visible beneath the taut bronzed flesh.
“Can you tell me where I am?” Caitlin asked as a large gray-skinned creature scuttled toward the pool. She recognized the animal with its long, floppy ears and a tail; otherwise resembling a modern-day seal in size and general configuration, a kind of pet Bayarmii had. It was chased by Lasha with an adamant “Shoo!” The creature barked at him as it flopped off.
“Bold thyodularasi,” he said. “And they’re getting bolder! Too many fish being harvested, not enough for them to eat. This one is very smart. He endears himself to the children and they feed him.” He stopped himself from another tirade and his eyes returned to Caitlin. “You asked a question. This is the port city of Falkhaan. We feed Galderkhaan, all of it. The fish below and the jasmine leaves grown in the clouds above. You—you look like a capitalist.”