return.”
This was a strange position to be in. She was a visitor on these islands, after all. It felt as though she would be betraying the trust of the Matra were she to take the dark unbidden.
Perhaps sensing her hesitation, Fahroz walked forward until she stood at the pier’s very edge. She beckoned Atiana closer, and when Atiana was at her side, she motioned toward the vastness of the lake. “Did you know that there is a lake like this in every Aramahn village?”
“ Every village?”
“Every one that is still populated. Some have been drained by earthquakes. They were repaired if possible, but if it was not, if they ran dry, the village was eventually abandoned.”
Atiana struggled to understand why Fahroz was telling her this. “Not merely for lack of water…”
A sad smile touched Fahroz’s lips. “ Nyet, not merely for lack of water. They connect us, these lakes. There was a time when we could speak to one another much as the Matri do now.” She stopped speaking and the silence lengthened between them, and Atiana realized that she was crying. “It is one of a dozen things-a hundred-that we do not understand since the islands were taken.” She said the words not with anger, but as simple fact, as if the War of Seven Seas had been no different than an earthquake draining one of their lakes and a village with it. “The babe you saw, if you care for it at all, if you care for the others-Aramahn or Anuskayan-then you will do this.”
“It may not work.”
“A choice I leave to the fates…”
Atiana had never felt close to the Aramahn-they had never been allowed to be a part of her or her sisters’ lives-but this woman, this leader of people, struck her deeply. She wished, somehow, that she could know as much as Fahroz did, that she could face the world with as much poise.
In the end, Atiana bowed her head. “I will share as I can.”
Fahroz nodded and led her back along the pier. “You may find taking the dark here in the village vastly different from the spire. It is the mountains, after all”-she motioned to the roof of the cavern-“that once acted as the spires do now. In those early days of exploration, they guided us from place to place, even if we weren’t yet sure where we were headed. They are our lifeblood, and we are theirs. You will be experiencing this place as many of the ancients did-or nearly so.”
The lake looked like it would chill her to the bone just as quickly as the drowning basin had.
“I will require a balm.”
Rehada motioned to the two women. “We have some at the ready.”
Fahroz disrobed. As soon as she was done, one of the women began rubbing a salve over her. Atiana disrobed as well, feeling more self-conscious than she had in years. Her skin was white as snow; it was expected of the gentry, but next to the darker skinned Aramahn she felt sickly and small. After the second woman rubbed salve over Atiana’s back, Atiana did the same over her front. It was similar to what the Matri used, except it smelled strongly of sage. Soon it was over, and she was left a woman naked in a place she hardly knew, ready to submerge herself in water that would take her life as soon as cradle her.
There were steps along the left and right sides of the pier she hadn’t noticed. Fahroz took the steps to the right, wading out into the water without hesitation.
Atiana followed, and although the water seized her ankles and calves and thighs, she waded forward, intent on controlling herself better than she had those days ago in Radiskoye’s drowning chamber. She leaned back. The woman caught and supported her. She felt like a fish out of water wriggling its way back toward the sea. “Is there nothing that could support me?”
“This is how it is done.”
A sliver of fear crept inside her, but she took deep breaths to calm herself. When she felt as ready as she would ever be, she allowed herself to sink beneath the water. She forgot that she was deep within Iramanshah, a veritable prisoner for the time being; she forgot about the Maharraht and the events of the day; she forgot about her embarrassment, her nervousness, her feelings of vulnerability; she forgot about Rehada, though this was the most difficult of all.
And soon…
She sees herself floating in the water. She feels the cavern, its immensity, though in only moments the size of it seems natural-one small part of the mountain that contains it. She feels the streams that feed the lake, and in turn the streams that the lake feeds. She feels the bowels of Iramanshah, the winding tunnels, the rounded rooms, the traceries carved by the careful craftsmanship of men and women long since dead.
She expands her awareness. Unlike the last time, she is confident, though this in itself is cause for concern. She cannot take the aether for granted. She cannot…
The peaks of the mountains, the ridges that connect them, the forests and prairies and the brackish northern swamps enter her awareness. It allows her to suffuse herself among the bowels of the island. She dives deeper, so deep she can feel the heat of the world itself, still cooling from when the fires of the creation gave birth to the world and the stars. She feels the age of the land, and for a moment she feels as though she could tell its entire history, from inception to destruction at the hands of the long-dormant volcano. She knows this is dangerous. If she remains this way she will become part of the island, her body abandoned as her soul merges with the larger life that surrounds her, yet it is the only way she knows to find what she searches for.
She waits for the aether to call to her. Eventually she feels something, a disturbance, though it is nothing like the babe. This is more like the presence of the Matri. She slips back toward Iramanshah, and she drifts down into the cavern where her body still floats. She finds the old Aramahn woman floating in the darkness. Fahroz. She is in the aether, but it is like dipping her toe in the water. She wants to go deeper, but like a child hoping to fly with the mere flapping of her arms she is unable to. There lies within her a yearning and a deep sense of anxiety. She fears over what has come to pass, what will come to pass. She feels powerless to prevent the coming storm.
Atiana does not blame her.
She realizes, however, that the disturbance does not reside in Fahroz, but the lake in which she is submerged. There are similarities to what happened with the babe. The walls of the aether feel close, so different from the times where she is at peace with the shifting currents. Instead of free breath in an open field, it is dark water pressing against her, deep earth. She thinks at first it must be her that is causing it, but as she continues to float, leaving her mind aware and awake, she begins to doubt this conclusion.
But then, as soon as it had come, it is gone. She searches for long moments, but is unable to sense it again.
Knowing that time is moving quickly in the material world, she moves on toward Radiskoye. Saphia rests in the drowning chamber deep beneath the spire. Victania watches over her. And now Atiana understands why she was unable to speak with the Matra. Her attention is focused not on the islands, not even on Volgorod, but on an Aramahn boy who rests in a chamber among the lower levels of the great palotza. The boy seems unremarkable. He is colored blue, a gem of sapphire against the black velvet backdrop of the palotza’s interior.
It becomes clear that the Matri is not simply watching him. She is surrounding him. She hopes to assume him, as she would a rook, but she moves slowly so as not to disturb, to give him no warning when she finally knows his mind well enough to supplant it.
It is bold, what Saphia is doing, an affront of the worst kind, to supplant that which is most precious to the Aramahn: their soul. Such is the desperation of the Khalakovos.
A voice speaks within her mind. What are you doing, child?
She recognizes it immediately, but it has been so long since they’d spoken to one another that it feels strange, foreign.
It has not been so long, daughter, the voice says.
Mother, she replies.
In her first foray into the dark, she did not attempt to speak with her mother-it takes much concentration, and at the time it would have been too dangerous-but she is stronger now, more confident, and she finds herself able to strengthen the bond to her mother with no ill effects.
Her view of Nasim is another matter entirely. Try as she might, the vision begins to fade, and she realizes it is not a failure on her part. Her mother is pulling her consciousness away.
I asked you a question…
I am trying to speak with Saphia. To warn her.
They’ve had their warnings, child.
