Because the zembo could not be seized, like fish, Qala held that the lives and secrets of the Candescents were meant to be contemplated, not examined. One could surmise a great deal from the remains of sea creatures. Not the lights. Not even the largest one, the zembo-jutan, gave up its secrets—other than its sex, for its shape changed like that of a woman with child as it birthed and rebirthed the zembo every time darkness arrived.
The lights were meant to be considered in solitude or talked about in a group but, in the end, the majesty of their abodes was probably unknowable.
And yet, the things this boy was saying, like the sentiments Bayarma had spoken, were unlike anything Qala had ever heard. Raque described a realm where there was “above” and “below.” It did not address a time that was “now” and “then.”
Yet if balance is universal and constant… such contrasting worlds should exist, Qala thought. She wished Ninma had spent more time addressing the frustrating aspect of questions, as well as their merits.
Qala had returned to the physician’s cabin after witnessing the discomfort of the sky. By the time Zell was finished talking with the boy, Qala had been informed that the airship was nearly ready to depart. The physician joined Qala outside the cabin while Bayarma remained inside, the boy curling beside her in the hammock.
Pressed by the galdani, Qala told him everything Bayarma had said to her as they walked toward the column.
“I do not know what to make of him, or her, or them,” the physician admitted.
“I don’t believe that,” Qala said. “You always have an idea, or at least an opinion.”
Zell shook his head. “I always have a sense of the truth behind something, whether the ailment is mental or physical. Not here. I cannot say whether this is something profound, a fabrication worked out by these two, or a mad shared fantasy.”
“Your instincts are—” Qala pressed.
“Failing me,” Zell admitted with a shrug of his bony shoulders. “What have these two to gain by such a tale? Yet how could they share a delusion? Which leaves only the one option, that this is a miracle for the Night of Miracles.” He leaned closer so none of the crew would hear. “But that would compel me to believe in beings I am not convinced exist!”
“I was thinking that too,” Qala said. “Yet there is also the timing, the way one appeared as the other left.”
“What about it?”
Qala answered carefully, thoughtfully, because she knew that her explanation brought her in line with the doubts Zell had just expressed.
“It is as though the winds of Raque were blowing, informing us that our view of balance is too narrow,” she said.
Zell fired her a look. “That’s not what I would expect from my Standor, whose cabin is full of maps and more maps because, as we know, the ground is fickle, unbalanced, uneven, and unstable—as strong an argument against Raque as one can find.”
“I know,” Qala agreed. “But if what Bayarma said is true, that someone from the future was speaking through her, then her sudden departure as this other boy arrived means that that balance was being preserved through time, from future to past, past to future.”
That idea caused Zell to sigh. He leaned forward on the smooth wooden rail. “I had that thought too,” the galdani admitted. “It is the cleanest, simplest explanation. So why do I find it the most difficult to accept?”
“Because it makes sense and it opens a frightening, humbling possibility,” Qala replied. “Several, in fact.”
“Balance is a reality and an absolute,” Zell said.
“Correct. If true, it means that the past is known so the future must be knowable. It also means that since there is life in the sea, there must be life in the skies.”
“And the reverse, though, must also be true,” Zell said. He gestured above with a wave of his hand. “Beings in the skies? We have never seen life on high, other than birds—and they eventually come to ground, alive or dead,” Zell continued, returning to a favorite argument against celestial beings. “Hypothetical beings would perish and fall, as creatures of the deep sea perish and rise. We would see them. We must.”
“Only if balance applies to things of substance,” Qala said. “The past is no longer real, but we know it exists.”
“Ah, the old Priestly argument,” Zell replied.
“Yes, but there is logic that would not turn the head of a Technologist in disgust: What if, because there is physical life in the water, the Raque must be insubstantial life in the air?”
Zell grinned. “And I am supposed to be the esoteric one, Qala, sniffing potions and smoke to see what is inside the minds of others.” The physician looked out across the landscape. It possessed a dark and brooding quality that had come on suddenly. “It is a strange day,” he remarked.
“Very.”
“I notice the tower is putting out more heat and light than usual,” Zell said.
“I want to get above it as soon as possible, try to determine the levels of molten rock, the status of the tiles,” Qala said. She peered toward the mountainous horizon. “I also want to see if this is unique. There appears to be light beyond the peaks.”
Zell nodded. “Celebrations for the Night of Miracles, no doubt.”
“Perhaps.”
The physician sighed again. “We know so little—about the molten rock, about the tiles. Yet we use them as if we own them.”
“Didn’t the Drudaya teach that we should welcome all strangers, for how else would we get to know them?” Zell asked.
“Strangers don’t spit flaming rock at villages from time to time,” Qala said.
“True enough. And a consortium of Priests and Technologists don’t band together to try and resolve differences based on Raque,” Zell said. “Maybe the Drudaya were wrong, after all. It has been said that Priests dream the way and Technologists figure out how to get there. Balance does not always mean cooperation. Sometimes it arises from rivalry.”
Qala nodded. “Fortunately, I just fly an airship. The only ones who ask what I think are crew members and the occasional child who is infatuated with flight.”
Femora Loi approached quickly. “We are ready to depart, Standor.”
“Thank you,” Qala said. “Hold a moment.” The Standor regarded Zell. “A last chance: What do we do with our guests? They will be your responsibility.”
“The boy cannot be returned and the woman wishes to go to Aankhaan,” the physician said. “What else is there to do but take them?”
Qala turned back to Loi. “Give word to the tower agent that the boy, Vilu, accompanies us for medical reasons,” the Standor said. “Have them send a messenger to the water guardian Lasha. Tell him to let the custodians of the boy’s home know that he is in the personal care of Galdani Zell.”
“At once.”
“I also want to circle the tower to have a look at the pool inside, see if we can see some reason for the rising heat. You have wing command, Femora.”
Loi’s quick, delighted smile said he was surprised by the last part of the order. “All will be done,” Loi said smartly, then departed.
The physician was studying Qala with interest. “So. Finally.”
“You’re referring to Loi?”