“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 gratefuclass="underline" 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.