The Far Dawn (8 page)

Where?
I try to ask.

We are traveling. . . .

The light grows slowly, diffusing around me, but I do not think I have opened my eyes. It is more like I am arriving at this light, arriving from somewhere very far away.

It is not the white of the Sentinel nor the sunrise nor the shadow blues of the Andes temple.

It is crimson, golden, flickering like firelight.

Blurs become lines. Draw geometry, create depth.

There is a room.

A single window looks out on night aglow with amber city light. The other walls are hung with heavy folds of fabric. The wall in front of me has a floor-to-ceiling mirror.

My view of it is blocked by a girl.

She stands facing the mirror, back to me, wearing nothing. Black hair spills in waves all the way to her waist.

I think to turn away, but I can't. I am not in control of these eyes.

Then her arms rise above her head and shimmering black fabric falls over her shoulders, down her back, to her knees.

Rana's head cocks back toward me, and she smiles slyly. “I told you not to look,” she says in a soft, ancient language. Back in my—in the Aeronaut's—skull, Lük said we were communicating
beneath language, through the harmony of Qi and An.
That must be how I understand her now.

And so I start to reply,
Sorry.

But another voice instead answers, “You did.”

I feel us grinning.

Rana steps to a dresser and begins to pull her hair back. In the mirror, I see myself kneeling on the wooden floor, wearing black as well.

Not quite me. I recognize the angular face and short brown hair. I am Lük. Is this another skull vision?

No, this is real.
Lük doesn't turn, but I do, or I turn my perception, and I find the Terra floating in the gray space beside the windows of Lük's eyes.

Real,
I say.
Like a memory?

You are in this moment. I have brought you here to see.

Brought me here, like, through time?

Time is one of the faces of the Qi-An. I have removed you from your world, pulled you back into the white realm, the foam behind the solid surface of reality. Here, we can travel outside time.

Is my body still in the temple? Am I still . . .

Your body is safe. Right now you are here. I could connect you to Lük because you are similar. Brothers of memory.

But,
I say, as the bright white moment, the Sentinel's blade, returns to my mind,
she said I'm not one of the Three.

The Three will fail,
says the Terra.

But am I one of them or not? Am I the Aeronaut?

The Terra doesn't need to respond, though.

I already know. I have maybe known for a while, since Rana spoke to me in Lilly's skull, or even since we were escaping EdenWest.

No,
says the Terra.
You are not one of the Three.

My first feeling is anger. Yet another lie told to me, another way I've been tricked.

It is not like that,
says the Terra.

So then what am I?

You are the one that I chose. You are more than the Three. I found you across time and space and have chosen you.

Why would you choose me?

The Terra seems to frown.
Is that really your first question? To doubt yourself? Is it not more important what I have chosen you for?

Sorry.
I feel a wave of embarrassment.

It is true, though, that I had limited choices
, says the Terra,
among those who were close enough matches to receive the knowledge of the Three.

That doesn't make me feel any better.

Owen, most of the universe is shaped by circumstance. This planet would still be ruled by dinosaurs if not for a stray asteroid. That you ask these questions is part of what makes you worthy, that you can see beyond the human veils of ego and selfishness.
But they also make you vulnerable to doubt. On your journey you have learned to trust, in yourself, in the moment, and in what you believe in. You must stay strong in these ways for what is to come.

Okay . . . so, you didn't choose me to find Atlantis or protect the Paintbrush of the Gods.

No.

Then what did you choose me for?

That is the right question,
says the Terra.
I chose you to save me.

You? How?

You must watch this moment, this night, and then you will understand.

There is a knock on a door. Rana looks up. Her eyes flash to Lük and she finishes twisting her hair in a long braid.

Lük stands and crosses the room, his black-booted strides causing the planks to creak. He slides a small viewing panel aside, and sees familiar eyes on the other side. He unlocks the door. A boy with shaggy hair steps in. I have only glimpsed him, on the pyramid roof where the Three had their throats slit.

“Ready?” Kael asks. He is taller and thinner, with sharp features and dark eyes. He is dressed in black, too. He pulls aside his long shirt, revealing a thick belt. Loops hold shiny triangular metal pieces with slightly curved points and holes in the centers. I can feel Lük's knowledge that these are throwing blades and that Kael wields them with lethal accuracy.

“Yeah,” Lük answers, and he reveals that on his own belt, he carries a device that looks like a slingshot, along with a line of tiny metal darts. These weapons cause a moment of nervousness in him, and I feel him think:
I would rather fly, maybe even far away from here. . . .

I want to tell him that I know the feeling.

“Hey.” Kael is peering at Lük, examining his eyes. “You okay?”

“Fine,” says Lük. “It's just . . . this is a big night.”

Kael smiles with bravado. “The biggest.”

In the distance, a long, low chime sounds, its depth vibrating the walls.

“We should go,” says Rana, wrapping a cloak around her shoulders and pulling the hood over her head. “It's about to start.” She says this with weight, like this is the beginning of the end; and I can tell that she is serious, like Lilly, maybe too serious at times.

“Right,” says Kael. “We wouldn't want to be late for the masters' big show.”

He turns and opens the door. Lük follows Rana. I feel his heart rate rising. He pauses in the doorway and looks back at the room, and I feel him wondering if he will ever see this place again. I sense that he and Rana have spent countless hours here, feeling safe, and in love, so much so that Lük has wondered if his sacred mission is even worth it. He has imagined taking Rana's hand and stealing away in his craft to some far island, somewhere perhaps in the northern reaches of Pacifica, where they could just be together. And with every step they take on this night, that possibility grows more and more distant. His heart aches at this, and he doesn't even know what I know . . .

That his dream will never happen.

We step out onto a narrow balcony. Stairs crisscross the side of a curved building made of stone blocks. A craft like mine floats serenely, tied to a copper ring on the railing, its vortex engine glowing. Far below, I see dark water.

This building is perched on a jagged cliff, and we are in a vast city built on an archipelago of rocky islands. Foamy ocean sloshes through fjords between them. In some places these are spanned by wide, arching bridges, but mainly the city is connected by glowing ships gliding from one spire or pyramid-shaped building to the next.

In the distance, the moon illuminates jagged peaks and curling glaciers on a large land mass.

There is a hum overhead and Lük looks up to see the belly of a huge Atlantean craft sliding overhead, glowing blue, its massive sails billowing in the stiff breeze. It has long, curved markings along the base of its hull on either side of the rudder.

“You know it's a big event when the Polarians make the journey down,” says Kael.

“I'm pretty sure that attendance was mandatory,” says Rana. “Besides, their city is sinking. The whole north land is going under. The Polarians have much to gain if the Paintbrush of the Gods works.”

“I still hate that name,” says Lük. “As if Eu and Ana would ever approve of us plying our hand to reshape the world in our image.”

In Lük's mind I see them: Eu the jaguar, and Ana the turtle, like the statues I saw in Rana's skull vision, in the courtyard in Tulana.

“There's always Master Solan's teaching,” says Kael with a hint of sarcasm as he steps into the small craft, “how our will and the will of nature are, by design, the same.”

“Master Solan smells like sloth dung,” says Rana. “So, who's driving?”

“That's funny,” says Lük, stepping in and taking the pilot's seat.

“I could always fly myself.” Rana holds out her palms, two stones glowing blue, and floats up from her seat.

“Well then, may I have the honor of transporting you?” asks Lük.

Rana smiles. “Spoken like a true noble.”

“Like a true fool,” chides Kael, but he smiles.

I feel Lük's limbs moving as mine used to, untying the tether, aligning the sails, and activating the vortex. He's a better pilot than me, though, trained since childhood; and in spite of the whipping winds, he guides the craft away from the apartment in a smooth arc. He brings them up over the next jutting island, above a tight labyrinth of sandstone buildings lit by globes of light. He picks up speed and banks quickly around the Polarian ship. Its railings are lined with people looking out eagerly, some pointing to different buildings, the spires and pyramids.

“First time in Atlante for many of them, I bet,” Kael says. “Probably a big change from mammoth furs and cliff caves.”

“What do you know?” Rana snaps. “Polara is a beautiful province, or was. All these people may be rolling their mammoth furs out on our floors soon enough, if they keep losing their land.”

Lük rubs her leg supportively. She leans an arm against him and I feel him stir, and there is the doubt again. If only they could run . . .

“You sound like you're going to side with the masters' plan,” Kael mutters.

“Well, at the ceremony I'll do my best to heed Master Alara's advice and
look
like I'm siding with the masters,” says Rana. “You both need to remember that, too. Our plan will be ruined if anyone suspects. But it's okay to be sympathetic. We don't have to like what's happening to the world. We can love our vortex energy and yet know that its effect on the planet's magnetic fields has had dire consequences. But that doesn't mean the masters are right in what they mean to do. You remember what Alara said.”

“Of course I remember what she said.” Kael's voice rises. “I've pledged to
die
for what she said. I just want to be sure you're committed, too.”

“We all are,” Lük says sternly. “Always. If that is what it comes to.” And I feel that he can't bear to look at Rana as he says this.

Lük aligns them with the other craft in the sky. There are ships of all sizes, from four-person vessels like this one to giant barges ferrying hundreds. Some are open topped, built for quick transport across the archipelago, while others have decks and cabins and look ready to cross the planet. All the ships are orienting in the same direction, and ahead I see the largest island yet and rising in its center, a giant curving structure.

It looks like a dome.

But as we get closer I see that its exterior is made of stone rings with gaps in between, and the top is open to the night. The rings are connected by staircases that also act as supports. Stripes of brilliant light shine between the levels.

While most of the larger craft settle on the stones of a wide plaza surrounding it, Lük flies to the topmost ring of the dome, where he ties off at a staircase.

“Look at them all,” Rana says, peering down at the masses filing in. “Good little lemmings.” She sounds like Seven.

“They don't know any better,” says Lük. We step out and he and Kael and Rana share a look. “Ready to play the part?”

“Three starry-eyed students of the protectorate,” says Kael cynically.

They each produce a shimmering jade disk etched in Atlantean, and affix it to their chests above their hearts, a badge of some kind, then climb out of the craft and ascend the stairs and pass through an arched entryway.

A guard stands just on the other side, in a copper helmet and crimson robe, holding a long staff with a gleaming blade at the end. His gaze is stern until he sees the three, then his face softens into a wrinkly smile. “There you are,” he says. “Master Alara was starting to wonder where you'd gotten off to.”

“The usual debauchery, Deniel,” says Kael. “Wine, weed”—he grabs Rana by the waist—“and wonderful women.”

I feel Lük bristle at this. Rana doesn't push Kael away but instead wraps her arm around Kael's shoulder. “Isn't he adorable,” and in seconds she has flipped him into a headlock.

“And you are feeling well and ready?” Deniel asks.

“As we'll ever be,” says Lük. Deniel pats Lük warmly on the shoulder as he passes, and Lük's nerves rattle again.

The three emerge onto a balcony, the top level of the enormous coliseum, open to the air. Because of the dome shape, this highest ring is also the smallest and the closest to the center, and so it is suspended over the legions of people below and nearly right above a round stage.

Figures in hooded robes are assembling there, slowly making their way up staircases on different sides of the stage and forming a circle.

“There you are at last.”

The three approach an older woman who wears the same type of robe as the figures below. Her hood is back to reveal her silver-and-blue hair. Master Alara looks like she'd be in her sixties in my time, but I can sense in Lük's mind that she is well over one hundred.