material world to affect her or she will be thrown from the aether in moments.
As she had in Ghayavand, she allows her vision to expand as she navigates the currents. At the edge of her vision, she sees it, and though it is impossible to look upon it directly she can perceive a white line as thin and bright as a distant lightning strike running the length of the island. By and large it runs beneath the ground, trailing, perhaps, the hidden inner workings of stone. There are several places, however, where it rises to the surface, and even one where it swirls above ground like a dust demon.
She approaches, and as she does, faint thoughts come to her. She is sure that it is the Matri communing with one another, but she is again unable to discern their thoughts to any coherent degree, so she focuses on the swirling energy before her.
It is here that the suurahezhan crossed over. She knows because of Nikandr’s description of the place and also because of the tinge of red that remains on the ground beneath the swirling storm of energy. This is the rift that spans the aether and binds Adhiya to Erahm. It is why the spirits have been crossing, and surely the presence of such a thing would cause other effects-the imbalance of the two worlds touching might cause poor crops, might it not, as well as the erratic behavior on fishing grounds?
She places herself in the locus of the crossing, hoping to sense more than she can while spread so thinly. It is a difficult thing, for the aether is wide and lends itself naturally to a widening of one’s self, to a thinning of the senses, and as she focuses, she feels the pull of the aether upon her. She becomes disoriented. She can feel not just this island-Duzol and Grakhosk and Yfa are the strongest-but others as well: Kravozhny and Yrlanda and even little Ishal far to the east. Beyond these she can feel the pull of the other archipelagos. Mirkotsk and Rhavanki and her motherland, Vostroma.
She takes hold of the aether before she is pulled too far, before her mind snaps over the immensity of it all. Experiencing so much is beyond her. It is beyond even the Matri, she is sure.
She realizes, as she moves away from the location and considers it from a safe distance, that it was the rift that had pulled her so. She had known that it had spread among the islands, but she had no idea how interconnected it was. The sense that she has found something truly important is breathtaking, but it is also unnerving. She has found it, yet it is completely foreign. It is an act of nature. How can she hope to combat this? How can any of them?
As she considers moving closer to the swirl of light, she hears the voices once more. She is surprised, however, to feel the mind of her mother.
Daughter, is that you?
Her first instinct is to hide, but she does not know how to do such a thing, and after thinking about it for a moment it seems cowardly.
It is I, she says.
The feeling of her mother intensifies, and as it does, so do four other presences. She has not spoken with any of them in some time, but she knows them to be the other Matri, the ones currently aligned against Khalakovo: Dhalingrad, Khazabyirsk, Nodhvyansk, and Bolgravya. She wonders why their presences feel so near when Saphia and the other Matri might be able to sense them. But then she feels a disturbance in the aether, an echo of life crossing over. It feels distant, but only because her mind is so focused on the rift. As she expands to encompass more of the island, she feels them. Deaths. Many of them. It is centered on Volgorod’s eyrie, but there is more coming from Radiskoye.
It can mean only one thing: her father has lost his patience and the blockade has progressed to all-out war.
Child, where are you? A moment later, she feels her mother’s surprise-she knows that Atiana lies within the lake in Iramanshah. What are you doing there?
She debates whether to reveal her true purpose, but in the end she realizes it would do more harm than good. Whether she likes it or not, Mother is too loyal to Father, and the chance that she would betray her confidence is too great.
She portrays a sense of indignance that she hopes is enough to fool her mother. I have been trying to find a way to reach you since I left Radiskoye.
She feels a probing as her mother attempts to read the truth in her thoughts, but Atiana is not so young as she once was. She is able to harden the walls around her, enough to make her mother back away.
Remain where you are, was her mother’s terse reply.
Her presence recedes. The others remain, little more than watchdogs ready to bark.
She no longer cares. She attempts to flee, to return to her form, but the Matri stand in her way. They hold her in place, preventing her from moving.
Release me, she shouts, but they do not listen.
The time is long past, Bolgravya says, for you to be chained.
This can mean only one thing: someone will be sent to Iramanshah to fetch her. She tries to widen her awareness, but the Matri push back. They tighten their grip. They press.
Nyet, Atiana realizes. It is not the Matri. It is something in Iramanshah…
Her shell. Her body, floating in the lake…
Something is wrong.
She attempts to return, but there is a presence that surrounds her. It is cold, fluid. As she tries to pin it down, to understand it, it slips free, always pressing, always bearing down.
She cannot breathe.
The air releases from her lungs, and she finds herself unable to draw even the smallest of breaths through the simple wooden tube that touches her lips.
She can feel her body though she still rides the currents, and she marvels at the feeling of being in both worlds at once. It is in this moment that she realizes that the veil to Adhiya has been pulled aside.
It is a glimpse of pure beauty.
Pure pain.
Pure madness.
She knows that a hezhan has found her. It preys upon her as the vanahezhan preyed upon the babe.
She rails against it. Thrashing in her terror.
And she wakes.
Seeing, towering above her, the liquid form of a jalahezhan.
CHAPTER 49
Atiana fell back into the water.
Her skin was numb, her muscles slow to respond, but her fear helped her to put distance between her and the beast.
As she did, she could still feel the presences around her-not only the hezhan, but Rehada in the water behind her, Fahroz on the stony beach, and a man, further in the recesses of the lake.
She remembered him, the one Rehada had been speaking to before they’d entered the village. Muwas. He was controlling the spirit. She could feel, even now, the connection that snaked between them, a cord of aether that allowed him to force his will upon it.
She could feel as well a concentration of aether below her-something that lay on the lake bed-though what it was she couldn’t guess.
Then Rehada was at her side, pulling her up by her arm. “In the lake!” Rehada shouted.
A blast of water struck Atiana in the chest, sending her beneath the surface. Something slick grabbed her ankle and pulled her, dragged her down against the rough surface of the lake bed. Her legs and back were scraped by sharp stone. She screamed, losing what little air she had in her lungs.
A hand gripped hers.
She slipped free as the rush of the water pulled her deeper.
She kicked and thrashed and fought. She gained the surface and drew breath, managing only a whisper of air before she was pulled under. Water invaded her throat, her lungs.
