Page 24 of The Enduring Universe (The Rages Trilogy #3)

IRAVAN

He was kneeling on the floor, lacing his boots, when Dhruv’s voice made him look up.

“You cannot be leaving again,”

the sungineer said with exasperation from the entrance.

“There are things you need to attend to.”

Dhruv stood ramrod straight, tension in every muscle of his lanky frame. Dark circles etched grooves underneath his eyes, visible beneath his glasses. His clothes were rumpled, evidence of the long nights he had been working both in Irshar and the Garden, and Iravan would have been sympathetic in another time, but he had spent such long nights all his life, and now the fate of the world rested on his shoulders. Dhruv was not alone in his exhaustion. Iravan felt it in every breath.

He rose from the ground and strode over to the chair where he’d draped his feather cloak.

“My task is in the jungle,”

he replied.

He had been away for several days already, returning only to sleep and bathe. Part of it had been the urgency to find the yakshas, but another part was a desire to stay away from his chambers. Ever since the encounters with Ahilya, then Tariya, Iravan had been wary of his own home. Seeing Ahilya and the remains of a broken civilization was bad enough, but the conversation with Tariya had utterly shaken him, all of them a reminder of his material bonds.

There was a reason those bonds had trapped architects for centuries—they were seductive, even he could not resist their pull. The best he could do was distance himself from the ashram. What would happen to his vow to destroy the Virohi if he indulged this way? He would be no better than his past lives—and he could feel their insistence burgeoning within him, to redeem them and himself. He needed to keep his vision true. It was the only thing he could trust.

Iravan swept his cloak over his shoulders, feeling its familiar weight. He did not need the cloak for the jungle, not when he could manipulate the everpower, but there was no sense in using the power unnecessarily. The jungle was always cold, and this time he would not return for days.

He brushed past Dhruv into the hallway leading to the courtyard below. Dhruv kept pace, scowling.

“There’s trouble in Irshar—”

“That I authorized you to deal with,”

Iravan interrupted.

“Irshar is your affair, is it not?”

“Are the Ecstatics my affair too?”

Dhruv snapped.

“I don’t remember you giving me authority over them.”

Iravan turned to look at his Senior Sungineer. Dhruv returned his gaze levelly. There was a time when the sungineer had been polite to Iravan, then caustic, until finally they’d come to an understanding where they set their mutual dislike aside, knowing their successes depended on the other. Iravan was under no illusions that the man still despised him. Dhruv was only in the Garden because it gave him his best opportunity to advance his sungineering—something Dhruv cared deeply about, even if humanity had all but arrived at the end of its time. Iravan could understand such single-minded determination.

It was why he never interfered in Dhruv’s work. Yet Dhruv’s gaze was expectant, even belligerent.

Iravan sighed.

“Perhaps you should tell me what has occurred.”

“Yes. Perhaps I should,”

Dhruv said. He gestured with his head, and began to walk away, down the path that led to the training hall. Iravan followed slowly.

“We sent a group of Ecstatics to Irshar to help with their rebuilding,”

Dhruv began.

“They happened to meet their families. An incident occurred.”

Darsh, Iravan thought, his heart suddenly racing.

“What happened?”

he asked. It was all he could do to keep his voice calm, but his pace became faster so that it was Dhruv trying to match him suddenly.

The sungineer gave him a sidelong glance.

“What you’d expect. Anger and outbursts. Yelling. It started with the Ecstatics trying to convince their families to come to the Garden with them, then quickly became an uncontrollable display of power. They’re all reporting it differently, but some of our architects used Ecstasy on the citizens there. Trying to traject them, I believe. Pranav put an end to it, but not before the Ecstatics shattered some homes, and ruined precious belongings.”

Dhruv took a deep, unsettled breath.

“They’re going rogue.”

This had always been the danger of uncontrolled Ecstatics—it was why they had been outlawed. Ecstatics by their very nature, were wild, keeping to few rules of harmony and accord, overcome by seeking their yaksha. Iravan had been in their place not too long ago. He and Dhruv strode in silence until they reached the training hall.

Constructed within the lowermost tier of the Garden, the training hall was a massive chamber with plants of every variety growing over walls and trellises, leading to the very center where Iravan had made a clearing. Ordinarily, Senior Ecstatics educated the newer recruits there, and on rare occasion Iravan held personal classes. Now, Pranav, Trisha, and Darsh surrounded three architects. Several others crowded around them, but as they noticed Iravan, they made way.

Naila was there too, and she studied him impassively, though there was a wealth of judgement in her expression. It irritated Iravan more than he could say. No matter his power, Naila had refused to accept a change in their relationship—seeing him as the mentor he’d once been. In her deadpan gaze now, he could see how short he was falling in her estimation. Is this why Irshar had sent her? She was as bad a reminder of everything as Tariya and Ahilya were. Material bonds were infiltrating his home.

Iravan stopped in front of the three Ecstatics, Dhruv halting next to him. He did not know their names, but he could see the guilt written all over their faces.

He pinched the bridge of his nose with a forefinger and thumb.

“Tell me you did not go seeking trouble with the citizens of Irshar,”

he said quietly.

The three rogue Ecstatics exchanged uncomfortable glances.

“They’re standing in our way,”

one of them blurted out, an architect with mud all over their sleeves.

“They could join us here, they should join us—we are architects, we saved them once—”

“You caused this once,”

Iravan said.

“You created an earthrage by your very existence. You are supposed to be making amends to Irshar.”

“Like you are?”

another Ecstatic scoffed.

“You have broken your material bonds. Why shouldn’t we? We see how you behave with your wife. Is that how we are to make amends? If so, we’re doing it the same way.”

A silence rang through the people assembled. Dhruv stilled. Naila smiled a brittle smile, and a memory flashed in Iravan’s head vividly, of a time when she had come to him in Nakshar’s library, hoping to proposition him. After all this time, after everything that had occurred, this is what it always came down to. His treatment of Ahilya.

It doesn’t change, he thought. The way they judge me because of Ahilya. The way they see themselves despite knowing the truth of their origins. He’d tried his hardest to sow reverence in their minds for complete beings. He hadn’t been na?ve enough to believe that simply sharing the truth would change their minds about their superiority, about their culpability in the destruction of lives—but somehow, he hadn’t thought they’d go as far as to seek trouble. This is why I have to control their capital desire, he thought, growing cold. This is why I must break their consent. It was why he needed to find the yakshas, before one of them did.

The Ecstatic who’d spoken sneered at Iravan.

“What is your name?”

Iravan asked softly.

“Rana,”

the man said, thrusting his chin out.

“And making amends is your capital desire, not ours. I intend to—”

Iravan struck with the everpower.

It wasn’t difficult, just a casual flick of his mind, and the air around the three architects warped for a brief second, squeezing just enough to make them all dizzy. Rana gurgled, clutching his throat. One by one, the three rogue Ecstatics collapsed, falling unconscious. The lingering silence was so loud that Iravan could hear leaves rustling in a swish of wind.

He gestured to Dhruv.

“Keep them contained in one of your solarchambers until I decide what to do with them.”

He began to turn away, toward the courtyard from where he would ascend to the jungle, but Dhruv seized his arm.

“Aren’t you going to address the rest?”

the sungineer hissed.

“You cannot just leave after doing this.”

Iravan gazed at him coldly, and Dhruv let go, stepping back. He had spoken only for Iravan’s ears, but it was obvious what he had said. Iravan saw the others staring at him, edging back. Within him, Bhaskar laughed hoarsely.

“You’d like me to address them?”

Iravan said.

“Very well.”

He turned to the Ecstatics, and raised his voice.

“Listen well, Ecstatics,”

he said, barely keeping his fury.

“Your only reason for existence is to make amends to complete beings. That is why you’re here. Leave, if that does not suit you, but remember you won’t get very far, not in this jungle that you cannot traject, not with me pursuing. I will find you in the Deepness, and I will find you in the first vision. Anyone else who makes trouble for Irshar will have to answer to me, and that—”

He waved at the prone forms on the grass.

“—is the least of what could befall you.”

Iravan saw the mixed anger and exasperation on Dhruv’s face. This was not what the sungineer had expected him to say, but Iravan was done being subtle. Humanity faced a very real danger if the Ecstatics got out of hand. He shouldered his way past the architects, striding away outside to the courtyard.

To his annoyance, Dhruv followed, heeled by Naila and Darsh. Iravan turned to face them.

“That was well handled,”

Naila drawled.

“You’ve only made it worse,”

Dhruv said.

“Are you going to excise them?”

Darsh asked.

Iravan clutched his hair, dropped his hands, then inhaled deeply.

“No, it wasn’t. Maybe I did. Yes, I might—excision is the least they deserve after this stunt.”

Naila, Dhruv and Darsh exchanged a glance. Darsh’s face was a picture of fear and excitement at the idea of excising the rogue architects. It was the same expression he’d had when Iravan had killed Viana. In truth, Iravan did not know what he would do with those Ecstatics. He could not afford to start excising them—there was no easier way to alienate the rest than with that one action. But Darsh, of all people, needed boundaries. Darsh had not gone rogue, but he was headed that way. If a little fear tamed the boy, then so be it.

What he needed was a better society within the Garden, but except for the sungineers there were no complete beings in his city. In Irshar, they had schools, hospitals, a whole civilization. But in the Garden, each Ecstatic was trained to be a weapon toward the Virohi, and little else. Maybe that is what he ought to do, give them a higher purpose. But what higher purpose could an architect have other than self-destruction, when it was at an architect’s hands that the world was destroyed repeatedly? If there was another role for them, Iravan could not see it—and worse, he could not afford to. Giving Ecstatics any identity beyond the one they had was a path to creating more rogue Ecstatics, each intent on their capital desire.

It did not mean that the Garden could not be improved. Darsh was only one architect Iravan had taken under his wing—he could not do that with everyone. He’d attempted to convince Darsh’s parents again to build their home in his city. It should have been easy; the two were architects, once of Nakshar, no less. But Darsh’s father had sent his apologies with one of the sungineers, saying it would not be possible, and Darsh’s mother had said they would not be able to welcome Iravan in their home.

Their message was clear. They wanted nothing to do with him, or with their son. Short of dragging them to the Garden with the everpower, Iravan did not know what else he could attempt. If this is how they treated their only son, no wonder Darsh’s loyalty to Iravan was unquestioned. He was starved for affection—and with Iravan, he’d found a chance to be something other than what was dictated for him. Iravan had to create a Garden to allow that for Darsh. Find a way to keep the peace between these last two cities of humanity somehow. That was Dhruv’s appointed task, but yet again, it had come to him. He ground his teeth, willing himself not to take it out on his lead sungineer who clearly had his hands full.

“How is Irshar?”

he asked reluctantly, forcing himself to calm his voice.

“After this?”

Dhruv made a face.

“The council has demanded new architects from us. Someone whose amity to Irshar can be guaranteed. They’ve asked to vet the architects we send, and they wish for those architects to live with their families, and arrive for shift duty. Just like in an airborne ashram.”

To tie them with material bonds, Iravan thought. Would this ridiculous fight with the Irshar and its history never end? He was attempting to free the Ecstatics, but freedom came at a cost. Nearly all the architects who had come to him had done so by leaving their children and spouses back in Irshar. His promises and power—and the truth of their origins—had prompted their arrival, but his hold over them was loosening. If he fulfilled this demand from the ashram, then whatever he was building in the Garden was forfeit. Ecstatics would return to Irshar, live with their families, rebuild civilization in the manner of an ashram, and forget all about destroying the Virohi. Irshar would find a way to bind them back into trajection—especially now that they had his sungineers working with them—and the Garden would diminish. Yet he could not deny Irshar’s demand, not after what happened. The councilors would insist on it for their safety, and if he wanted to make amends, he would have to stand aside.

I need something else, he thought. Something else to bind the Ecstatics to me so they do not wander away. But what else was there beside the yakshas? He was already losing this delicate fight. He needed the Virohi now to end them, but he had given Ahilya a heartpoison bracelet. If she was not here, giving him information yet, it meant that she had nothing to give. His pressuring her would achieve nothing.

“Make it happen,”

he said harshly. Before Dhruv could embroil him in the details of how, Iravan took two steps away from them, then launched into flight, leaving behind a dust storm.

Frustration gave him speed. The jungle blurred underneath him. In the distance, he could see the vriksh’s trunk, so massive that no matter how fast he flew, he still felt close to it. Iravan put on another burst of speed, scowling.

He was supposed to be building new systems, but he had never been adept at those—that part of Nakshar’s councilwork had resided with Chaiyya and Airav, two architects Iravan had invited over and over again to the Garden, only to be met with polite refusal. Once upon a time he’d thought to collect Ecstatic Architects in Irshar to end the earthrages, but to make amends was the only reason for Ecstatics to endure now.

He had tried to condition the Ecstatics to desire it, with the culture he’d created in the Garden and the force of his personality, and no Ecstatic had yet united with their yaksha. How long would that remain the case? After all, corporeal yakshas were missing, but he still did not know what form the incorporeal ones took. For all he knew, they were invisible sources of desire like Kiana said, attuned toward each architect, already turning them. Perhaps that is why the three rogue Ecstatics had done what they had.

It was the reason he was here today again. He needed to find the yakshas before any of the Ecstatics did. Iravan descended, spotting a clearing, his feet light on the grass, the cloak closing in around him. Here in the jungle a dim light pierced the trees, and for a moment, he stood inhaling the scents, so alien yet so familiar.

The jungle was motionless, an anomaly he still found himself unused to, but if he focused, he could hear the small creatures hiding in the undergrowth—creatures that had once belonged to the airborne ashrams, the squirrels, the mice, the crackling and buzzing insects.

Iravan thought of Oam. The boy had known nothing about how life worked in the jungle and the ashrams; he’d thought these small creatures were present out here too, even during the time of the earthrages. If he’d been alive, would he find the return of life in the jungle as marvelous as Iravan did? The human species had kept to their dwellings, but other animals had spread, finding their paths on landing, though there was a hesitation to their life as if these creatures could not accept this new jungle fully.

Iravan desperately wished to see them now, as if the movement of a rabbit or a squirrel would make up for the stillness of the jungle. Seeing life here would be a confirmation that everything that had happened—despite the loss humanity had suffered—had been for the best.

Life in the skies was a lie. Here, amid the jungle, there was honesty.

Were the little ones scared? What would it take to sanctify the jungle for them? The Virohi were trapped within the core tree, but in some ways they were more a part of this planet than they had ever been. At least when they’d been part of Irshar they had simply been trapped within buildings—structures that could be destroyed. But within the core tree they were rooted to the planet. Is that why the small creatures did not trust the jungle? Perhaps in their own way, they knew how wrong the Virohi were. Perhaps the yakshas did too, continuing to elude him further because of it.

Iravan rolled his shoulders and began his hunt. The land gave way to him, trees and branches withdrawing from his path, responding to his everpower. Roots uncurled in front of him, and grass sank back, leaving a barren trail where he walked. Trees shifted, and he swept a hand, making the drooping leaves in front of him retreat.

Inside his mind, Agni laughed.

He could feel the other architect watching the jungle from behind his eyes. Never before had Iravan felt the presence of his past life so acutely—but he could do nothing to push the impressions away. Neither could he control that it was Agni now as he marched, striding with longer steps, his gait changing, his shoulders rolling the way Agni had once done.

He grew nervous that it was Agni behind his eyes. Any other life would have been manageable, but Agni had always been a little feral. They had lived in a time right before the war had occurred between all the Ecstatics, outlawing Ecstasy. Iravan could feel their presence as though they were stretching his own limbs, wondering at his body, his life. Could one of his past lives take over his body, if he let them? He grinned—then clacked his teeth together—for it was not he who had smiled, but Agni. It was imperative that he hold onto himself.

But he had felt something from Agni, a knowledge of the jungle he did not have, that would lead him to the yakshas. After all, Agni had known of the yakshas. Perhaps they had known of the falcon too. They might know how to track the others, and any secret knowledge to be gleaned from jungle plants. Iravan lifted a hand, and a tree crumpled, turning into ash. So much power, Agni whispered, and just for an instant, they lifted Iravan’s other hand.

He yanked control back violently.

The falcon-yaksha laughed with morbid amusement.

Agni retreated, and Iravan came to a standstill within the jungle. A terrible fatigue took over his limbs, as though suddenly his body was unsure who it belonged to. He crouched, touching his fingers to the grass, hanging his head.

The Etherium had become a dangerous place. Each time he entered it, he was pulled into a memory of a past life, the sensation so vivid it took over his mind for long seconds. The only time he could hold on to himself in the Etherium was when Ahilya called to him, but that was no safer.

Could it be that this third vision was becoming an alien landscape altogether? Once he had feared that the Deepness would become so, his entry to that space restricted because of the threat of the falcon. If his past lives locked him out of the Etherium, how would he learn how to destroy the Virohi? How would he find the yakshas?

Slowly, his one hand came to grasp the stone blade of pure possibility he’d hung around his neck in a twine necklace. It was amazing how different this search for yakshas was compared to the one he had been on with Ahilya. That expedition had started it all for him—but hadn’t he been on this path all along? A fight with Ahilya had led to that moment; they had fought about children, and Iravan had withdrawn to Nakshar’s temple for seven months, before seeing his wife again. That time in the temple, trajecting nonstop—that had finally alerted the falcon-yaksha to his presence. The Resonance had appeared, and if Iravan had simply reconciled with Ahilya before, he would have been as unaware of the falcon as the others were of their own yakshas. He would never have been trapped in the pursuit of making amends endlessly if that had been his life.

His fingers still touched the slightly-damp soil, and a small bee alighted on them then flitted away. The jungle was reluctant to sustain life like it once had in the time of the ancient ashrams, but it must still have memory of it. Irshar had limited seeds and resources to grow food again; it was why they desired the Moment repaired. Their sungineering was already working. What if he could simply give them food? Could he grow things with the everpower? Would that be enough perhaps to make amends, and silence the demands of his past selves? Would it be enough that Irshar did not insist on finding inventive ways to take away his Ecstatics?

Agni was infiltrating his mind, but if he could find another way to fulfill his capital desire, he would never need to fear the Etherium. He wouldn’t need to repair the Moment, his promise to Ahilya fulfilled. They could all find a way to destroy the Virohi together. Either way they could all be rid of this absurd game of power-play, needing to be the one in control.

Silver suffused his skin. Iravan trajected, and underneath him soil moved. He sensed the deep plates of the planet shift, sensed the seeds from the trees and plants lying dormant in the jungle. He could make them bear fruit. He could not operate outside of the realm of possibility, despite using the everpower, but this should be as easy as a Junior Architect’s trajection. Irshar would not have to—

The soil underneath his hand burst, sharp spines rising from it, impaling his palm.

Iravan cried, wrenching his hand back, extracting himself.

His hand bled, but already it was healing, the skin knitting itself. He stared at the thorns protruding from the earth, and an image came to him through the evervision, of the smoky Virohi screaming. Of the falcon-yaksha thrumming its wings in panic. Of the rage of the planet in a silent echoing scream.

The ground he stood on caved in.

His feet slid, and Iravan folded the air with everpower, hovering as he saw the exact area he had been standing on turned into rubble. Somewhere deep beneath the planet, he heard a terrible roar.

He had one second of realization about what was going to occur.

Panicked, Iravan ascended, as trees came crashing down toward him.