“You will,” Mikel replied. “Assuming that even the audio signal can get out.”
There was a low, smooth grinding sound—the winch on the truck, Skett assumed—and Mikel was quiet for another long moment. The Technologist agent noticed Flora’s breath quicken slightly. For Mikel, or for what the Technologists might be on the verge of acquiring?
Finally, the voice of the archaeologist came over the phone once more: “Beginning my descent.”
CHAPTER 11
“Mother?”
Standor Qala craned her head to watch as Vilu raised his cheek from her shoulder. The boy tapped both index fingers against his temples. There was a blossoming look of wonder in the child’s face, like a baby discovering its toes for the first time.
Beside Qala, Bayarma was looking around with frank confusion. “Where—where is this?” she asked in Galderkhaani.
“Mother?” the young boy said again, in English.
“Vilu, are you all right?” Qala asked.
The boy continued tapping the area in front of his ears and smiling strangely. He was not looking at either woman but rather staring off at nothing in particular.
“Vilu!” Qala said.
The boy looked at the Standor. “I can hear you,” he replied in effortless Galderkhaani.
“Then why didn’t you answer?”
“I am. I said, ‘I can hear you!’”
“Where am I and who are you both?” Bayarma asked. Her eyes moved to the side of the gondola. A small gasp puffed from between her lips. “I am aloft?!”
“You are aboard my airship,” Qala answered, frowning as her eyes shifted to the woman. “Apparently, high-cloud madness has touched the two of you. You claimed to be from another time and place,” she told Bayarma, “and you,” she continued, looking at the boy, “suddenly fell unconscious in the street where Lasha and this woman found you.”
“I don’t remember,” the boy responded. Vilu looked at the other woman. His hands moved from near his ears, made little gestures the next time he spoke. He didn’t seem to notice what he was doing. “I thought—I thought that you were my mother,” he told Bayarma, then looked around. “But you aren’t. Where is she? Where am I?” His eyes returned to Qala. “And why are you dressed like that? Halloween was weeks ago.”
Only when he said that one word, “Halloween,” in English, did the boy become frightened.
Vilu began to breathe rapidly, his hands became fists, and he looked around, unsure what to do or say next. He squirmed and pushed against the broad shoulders of the Standor. She held him firmly.
“Boy, relax yourself,” Qala told him. “You’re onboard the pride of Galderkhaan—”
“I can’t, I—I want to be home! This… this is not a good place.”
“It’s a fine place, boy,” the Standor insisted. She stood him on the taut wicker floor of the gondola. “Youngster, you are behaving very strangely. We are going to go see the physician.”
Vilu stood there unsteadily on the gently swaying deck. He looked past the officer’s legs at the gangplank. “A doctor. My mother is a doctor,” he thought aloud. “I heard her talking about a place, about Galderkhaan.”
“You are there,” Qala said.
Vilu shook his head. “No. I am dreaming.”
“You are quite awake—”
“I can’t be here!” the boy shouted. “Something is supposed to happen.”
“A celebration,” Qala said.
Vilu looked around, as if trying to remember the something. “Why can I hear everything so clearly?” he asked.
“Perhaps you struck your head, but that is past,” Qala said.
“No, no!” Vilu insisted, his voice rising. “I can hear! How is that possible? Where are my hearing aids?”
Once again, the Standor did not know what the boy was talking about, did not even understand the words. She turned to Bayarma, hoping to get some insight. But the Aankhaan woman seemed equally confused. Around them, great fabric hoses were being uncoiled and carried to the top of the column, to replenish the air volume with the rising heat.
“We’re on an airship!” Bayarma marveled, looking up at the great envelope. “How did I get here?”
“You had a fit in the water courtyard, you came to help look after the boy,” Qala said.
“I remember none of it!” She looked around. “I’ve never been so high!”
“Are you frightened?” Qala asked.
“No—not of this ship. I always wondered what it would be like.”
“How did you come to Falkhaan?” Qala asked.
“I left my birth mother and birth daughter and came by river to Dijokhaan, then the rest of the way by foot.”
“And the reason for your journey?
“I was selected by my caste, by lot,” Bayarma said. “I was bringing tokens blessed by Aankhaan Priests and others along the route. I had just left the amulets with the Priest Avat. I was going to say words over one of my ancestors and meet others for the celebration when—I was here.”
Qala looked from Bayarma to Vilu. “Two curious cases,” she announced. “One bit of passing madness—that I’ve seen. It is the close timing and proximity of these two that has me concerned. The strange words and ideas. And the violence. Bayarma, you were fighting with Lasha, the water guardian.”
“Fighting? I have never fought with anyone, Standor!”
“That is why you are both going to see the physician,” Qala said. “Come.”
Hoisting the boy back on her shoulder, the Standor took Bayarma’s hand and started along the side of the enclosed cabin toward a door in the back. Despite the unexplained mental state of her two guests, Bayarma’s hand felt strong and right in her own. They separated when the space between the central cabin structure and the outer wall of the gondola grew somewhat narrow, so Bayarma had to walk slightly behind.
The large door panel was made of the same fabric as the envelope of the airbag, the skin of the shavula, in this case sun-dried and taut. The frame was made of knotted seaweed, also baked in the sun. Like the rest of the structural materials, the door was designed to be as strong but as lightweight as possible.
Qala pressed a palm to the door. It wasn’t bolted, meaning there were no patients and the physician was not meditating. The Standor entered. As they did, Vilu reached out and rapped the doorjamb, hard, then listened as if awaiting a response. When none came, his fingers clutched the Standor tighter.
The physician was sitting in a low-hanging mesh sling that hung from an overhead beam. Qala had to duck to avoid the beam; the roof was so low she could barely stand upright. The physician was reading a scroll and looked up.
“Standor, we need to take on more fish oil for the health of the children in Aankhaan,” the youthful-looking man said. He slapped the scroll with the back of one hand. “This ridiculous manifest is less than half of what I requested.”
“We needed room for the explosive dyes, Zell.”
“Did you hear what you just said, Standor?” Zell said. “Entertainment over medicine?”
“It wasn’t my decision,” Qala said. “The Great Council commanded.”
“Because the citizenry must have a colorful celebration,” the physician said, gesturing angrily with his free hand. “That is more important?”