Page 28 of The Enduring Universe (The Rages Trilogy #3)

IRAVAN

The planet grabbed at his limbs, the air warping around him in its attack. Iravan beat it back, attempting to breathe, but his skin was ripping and the air solidified in his throat.

It was strange that in this moment, with the planet killing him, Iravan finally understood the everpower.

Trajection worked on constellation lines, Ecstasy through raw power of desire. Yet there were layers to desire—a thought, an intent, and then finally the will to turn it into action, all within the realms of what was possible. It was never enough to simply want. One had to convert that want into something tangible, pushing the fleetest possibility into actualization.

But no want ever existed without resistance.

There was resistance from oneself and those around them. In airborne ashrams, all architects had once grappled with doubt about the reality of their second vision, and the weight of being saviors of civilization. Even Iravan had felt it as a Senior Architect—it was why he lived in Nakshar’s temple alone for seven months, knowing Ahilya’s questioning of him could seed doubt in his power. It was why architects were taught only to float in the Moment and do little else for the longest time, cementing themselves, believing in their vision, their purpose, their minds. The level of resistance one experienced from oneself and their loved ones was common to all architects; it was simply a way of life.

But there was another resistance, one not spoken of often.

Resistance from the subject of trajection.

In manipulating life, architects manipulated the existing desire of a life form to stay in its current shape, to follow the rules of nature in growing and decaying and dying. In essence, trajection was a competition of an architect’s desire against the subject’s desire. This was why plants had always been easiest. This was why trajecting higher beings could break an architect’s mind. It was why Maze Architect Viana had died—her desire in competition with Iravan’s own.

Iravan contended with it now—for the first time understanding that when he used the everpower he trajected not a being which was equal or lower to him, but one that was greater. A presence that could overpower his desire, without trying, simply by being.

Billions of years older than him and the yakshas, a mass of rock and metal almost as old as the universe—the planet vibrated, hard, on its axis. A living thing chasing him, intent on destroying him.

Iravan gasped, his body shuddering, blood turning cold. A million hands grabbed him, air currents cascading and intersecting, trying to trap him. He pulled through quicksand, but fire—fire—formed in tiny sparks at the edge of his vision, burning his skin. His cloak tangled in his legs, and he spun, trying to gain control. A roar filled his ears as a gale swept him off his intended flight path, flicking him sideways, making it nearly impossible to traject in the evervision. As a trajecting architect, he had learned to sweep aside the resistance from a subject—but none of his methods worked.

He felt the planet’s awareness blaring, and memory flashed, of magnaroot during a fateful jungle expedition that had once reacted similarly, its opposing desire so strong he had been unable to make constellation lines. The skin around his eyes burned, and a deep horror of being blinded seized him.

But then Isanya broke through, her desire to be free melding with Iravan’s, and they ascended high enough to feel the scorching afternoon sun on their backs, to see the curve of the horizon. Iravan’s silver tattoos gleamed so strongly he could make their tracing out under the weave of the black kurta he wore. Control returned to him with a shock of sudden stability.

Iravan hovered, turning toward the earth again. From here, the jungle was simply a blur of green, like he were an airborne ashram. In the evervision, he felt the planet’s desire echo to him in waves. Images rushed in his head, a stillness in motion, an unseen orbit around the sun. A glimpse of a battle, and the movement of tectonic plates—except unnatural.

It should have been simple. It had been simple. His desire against that of the planet, now that he had escaped its immediate clutches. But he was in the lower atmosphere still, and he felt the planet’s power growing. The planet yawned open to swallow him, sucking him into a whirlpool.

He saw behind his brows Ahilya on her knees, suffering in the same way that he did. She hid behind the shapes of the Virohi, mutilated and assimilated with them. The corruption had gone so deep, it was impossible to tell if it really was her or the cosmic creatures that he saw. All of it looked the same, a shape that resembled her, yet decayed and weeping. They were calling. She was calling. In the end, what else was he supposed to do but listen to her?

His hands reached toward her. If this was to be their end, she was all he needed to save.