He’d invented an in-home aqueduct system for the temple. The design was simple: a series of conduits ran through the walls. The conduits were fueled by a natural underground well that siphoned water upward into a series of bamboo pipes. Then he’d attached a line of gutters inside the roof. When activated by a pump lever, the siphon would draw water upward into the conduits that flowed to the gutters. The gutters would waterfall around the room, delivering cool water and mist for the monks.
Tahki smiled at the brilliance of his work. It would keep the monks cool when they meditated and keep the flies away. His father would love it.
He dragged a statue of one of the gods into a corner and went to work. He’d already installed the gutters. Now all he needed to do was connect them and the task would be done. He reached up and hammered a bamboo pipe into place carefully so it wouldn’t splinter, and attached it to another he’d installed yesterday.
As he worked, his mind started to wander to grander places, places where people appreciated his talent. He pictured himself holding a large gold medal at the fair. People cheered and clapped, marveling at how someone so young could be so clever.
Tahki didn’t hear the creak of the door until it banged shut and rattled the walls. His heart thumped against his chest. He dropped his hammer and pivoted on his heels. When he saw his twin brother, Sornjia, standing a few feet away, he relaxed.
“You did that on purpose,” Tahki said.
“I couldn’t sleep. I could hear the temple crying. I don’t think it likes having its bones broken,” Sornjia said. He gestured toward a pile of rubble.
In order to fit the pipes, Tahki had needed to cut away some of the support structure inside the walls. There were a dozen columns holding up the roof, so sacrificing a few wall beams wouldn’t hurt.
Tahki picked up his hammer. “The temple should be so lucky to get an upgrade.”
“Old things don’t like change,” Sornjia said.
Tahki ignored him. On the outside they might look identical—same white-blond hair, sun-bronzed skin, bamboo-green eyes—but on the inside, they were like fire and water. Tahki had been told once that twin boys shared a unique bond, that sometimes they knew what the other was thinking, but he’d never had the slightest idea of what went on inside his brother’s head. He couldn’t image anyone trying to make sense of Sornjia.
“Are you here to help or distract me?” Tahki said.
“I’m worried about the temple,” Sornjia said. He reached his hand toward one of the walls but didn’t touch it, just let it hover an inch away as though the contact might burn him. “It’s unsettled. Like a crow dancing on a pinecone.”
“You don’t even know what a crow is.” Tahki struggled to connect the pipes.
“A crow is shadows and mischief,” Sornjia said.
“You’ve been reading too much Vatolokít folklore.”
Sornjia shook his head. “I saw one in a dream once. I was in a dark cave, and the darkness turned into a bird. The bird told me it was a crow from the north, and then it plucked off my head like a grape and ate it.”
Tahki’s hand slipped and the hammer slammed into his thumb. He cursed and sucked on it. “Just go clean something, would you?”
Sornjia fluttered away into the temple.
For the next few hours they worked in silence. The temple didn’t look as nice as Tahki had intended. He’d spent most nights working on the gutters and didn’t have time to paint the walls. But he could fix the small things later. For now, he simply pushed bits of rubble loosely into the wall so it looked presentable, the way he used to shove all his toys under his bed when his father told him to clean his room.
The red sun peaked over the horizon at half past six. Tahki wiped sweat from his brow. His white and gold silk shirt was drenched. His fingers were blistered and sore, the skin on his palms callused. He gave his system one last check. It looked exactly like his drawings. All he needed to do now was turn on the water.
“Well?” Tahki said. “What do you think?”
Sornjia smiled. “It looks like a very fancy bath.”
“Just go get Father. He should be having his morning tea.”
Sornjia pranced away. He skipped lightly, like the ground was made of clouds instead of sandstone.
Tahki took a deep breath of hot air and glanced at the city. Outside the walls, sand dunes glowed bloodred. In the markets below, merchants set up shop. Silk carts spread colorful fabrics over wood tables, curry stands fired up stoves, fire camels and sandbulls tromped down the dirt streets, herded by skinny children and emaciated dogs.
Dhaulen’aii was a country of spirituality and tradition. People who lived inside the city walls were isolated from everything. Nothing terrified Tahki more than being stuck in this city, unable to experience new technologies, unable to be a part of something bigger, something grander. No one would ever know what Tahki was capable of if he stayed here.
He drummed his fingers against his side. Despite lack of sleep, his legs itched to move. He looked back toward the palace and rubbed his left wrist. It always ached, even when he wasn’t drawing. On the slope leading up to the palace, he saw Sornjia trotting alongside their father, Lord Aumin. He released a breath and straightened his back. He should have changed into dry clothes, but there was no time. Besides, sweat showed hard work and dedication. That was what his father always preached.
His father approached with a look that read, Please
