KALINDA
Tinley and I ride racing winds into winter’s stronghold. Bracing cold has usurped the north, forcing dormancy over the land.
Chare speeds past the lower hills and up the craggy mountains. A solid wash of heavy clouds hampers my view, and then, like a monster transpiring from the deep, Wolf’s Peak appears. Jaya believed Ekur is located upon this pinnacle of the Alpana Mountains, where land meets the sky-god’s territory. The temple is a gate between our world and the Beyond, a go-between wherein the deities once ruled, free from the woes and infirmities of the mortal realm.
Great Anu . . . I stop my prayer. Is there any point? The gods have not answered any of my entreaties. Why answer them now?
But just in case the gods are listening, I send up a plea. Protect Deven.
My small effort at faith drains me. I hunker down into my fur cloak, and the clouds clear below us, revealing scorched land and trees. We have reached Samiya.
Piles of rubble fan out from the remains of the Sisterhood temple. Under the snowbanks, the last of the stone structure is nearly unrecognizable. My longing for Jaya has steadily lessened, like a wound puckering to a scar, but near our home again, my memories of our simple life cause me to ache. Before the Claiming, I knew little of the world of men. Jaya and the Sisterhood were everything. I felt certain they were my intended future.
Chare banks west and soars over the alpine lake. The frozen surface shimmers in the low light, deceiving the mortal eye. Beneath that sheen of ice lies the gate to the Void.
Burn marks stripe the lakeshore, remnants of our battle against Kur. Tinley circles the wreckage of two Paljorian airships, skeletons of their once graceful glory. Chare banks away from the lake. I twist around to prolong my view and tuck my prosthesis close. Our war was won, the cost mighty.
“Cala . . . ,” the sky whistles.
That is an odd thing for the wind to say.
We glide toward Wolf’s Peak, snow dusting the steep ridges. I blink fast to stave off the wind and search for a glimpse of the gods’ temple.
“Cala . . .”
Upon hearing the name a second time, I listen closer.
“Cala . . .”
The voice’s anguish scratches at me—this is the sound I would label my own grief.
I scour the snowcapped peaks for the source as we climb higher into the flurries and the presumed site of Ekur disappears behind a wall of white.
The northern wind must have tricked me. Nothing lives up here. No one could survive this lonely cold.
We dip into a land of ice and snow. The entirety of the valley has been drained of color. Even the sun is insipid, diffused by the reflection of its greatness upon the ivory and charcoal landscape.
Chare glides lower over the tundra and kicks up swirls of powder. The falcon’s feathers soon bear a fine coat of soft crystals. Every so often we fly over ancient arches that rise from the flatlands like empty doorways to nowhere.
“What are those?” I call over the wind.
“Gates to the Beyond.” Tinley’s silver hair is pinned under her fur cloak to prevent it from whipping at me. “Our ancestors erected them centuries ago. We believe the souls of our loved ones pass through them when they die.”
We approach the next arch; it is so wide Chare could fly through without touching the stone. The plain yet noble gates have two protrusions on top like horns.
“What do the embellishments mean?”
Tinley shouts her reply. “They symbolize the wings of a mahati falcon. The mahatis have existed since the primeval era when Tiamat ruled. They usher souls from our world to the next.”
Paljorians are not alone in answering the complex question of what becomes of our souls after death. Lestarians believe primordial sea dragons guide their spirits to rest. We have no such notions in Tarachand, but it is feasible that ancient creatures cohabitated with the gods long before Anu plucked stars from the heavens and forged them into mortals.
We fly past an archway and onto another. If only the gates to the Void were this plentiful.
On the horizon, the pinnacles of an ice-blue palace glow against the setting sun. Chare doubles our speed for Teigra. The northern city thrives despite the nearly year-round winter. Steeply pitched roofs appear in abundance. Teigra must be twice the size of Vanhi. The glittering spires of the Crystal Palace, like inverted icicles, lure us to the dazzling stronghold.
Mahatis take off from within the city and zoom toward us. They bleed into the sunset, their reddish-orange feathers painted from the sundown sky. Tinley pumps her fist into the air and whoops loudly. Chare screeches in reply and flies headlong for the flock. We soar past them, and their riders wheel around to follow.
The other mahatis line up, a wingspan apart. Falcons fly in unison in battle, but this is not an offensive maneuver. The flock escorts us over the city in a parade.
Rooftops glisten, crusted in ice. Sleighs glide down the snowy roads, their riders warmed by red lap blankets. Smoke billows from countless longhouse chimneys. On the outskirts, four single-level buildings, large as mountains, tower over the central city. They must shelter the airships. Military barracks lie within the fenced compound around the dockyard.
We fly up to the Crystal Palace, and our escorts turn around to land elsewhere. Chare swoops near the frosty spires. Ice bricks compose the outer walls, and sculptures of mahati falcons perched on the eaves watch over the inhabitants. Welcomers occupy the courtyard along with drummers thumping wooden crates topped with tanned animal hides. I pick out the tall and strapping Chief Naresh. White fur covers his shoulders, leaving his deeply tanned arms bare to the cold.
“Do they always welcome you home like this?” I ask Tinley.
“I sent a message ahead. They’re excited to meet the Burner Queen.”
We circle over the congregation and glide to the ground. Chare brings us to a halt and folds in her wings. My stomach gradually rises from my knees.
Tinley drops into her father’s outstretched arms. Chief Naresh swings her around in a haze of polar fur.
“Welcome home, daughter.”
Tinley withstands her father’s public display amiably. The chief switches his generous warmth to me. I slide off into his grasp. His skin and long white hair smell of peat moss.
“Welcome to Teigra, Kalinda. Every time I see you, I’m reminded how much you resemble your mother. Yasmin was a treasure to behold.” Chief Naresh knows I hang on his every word when he speaks of my parents, his old friends. He can give me what many cannot: memories of them. “Kishan’s presence was unmatched. When your father strode into a hall, every person felt his authority. I would have liked to have seen them together.”
“I would have as well,” I reply.
“Perhaps in our next lives.” Naresh directs Tinley and me into the palace.
His guards carry khandas with hilts crafted from the long, twisted horns of blackbuck antelope. Everyone wears fur but has more skin exposed to the cold than I could withstand.
We pass through a high archway into the reception hall. Carvings of the fire-god’s flame symbol decorate the walls, beams, and pillars. Chief Naresh stops in front of an ice sculpture of Enlil gripping a lightning bolt spear like a staff.
“Isn’t he magnificent?” the chief asks.
My face warms. The fire-god is the most arresting of the deities. He inherited his good looks from his mother, the land-goddess Ki. Enlil’s true father is the demon Kur, yet he bears some resemblance to his adopted father, Anu. I have often chosen to sketch Anu instead of his son. Enlil’s chiseled physique has a sensuality that unnerved me as a girl. As a woman, I am even more aware of his full lips and muscled abdomen. I glance down the long entry hall for more sculptures. This is the only one.