Behind me, the vasana scream so horribly it sends tears fleeing down my cheeks. I risk a glance over my shoulder: they’re close, too close, their eyes dull with artificial rage, and behind them, by the door, the shape of Albatur, watching hungrily. I can’t see my father.
When my mother’s hand slips from my grasp, it’s as if I’m in a bad dream. I grab at the air, thinking I will find her fingers again, I will hold on and not let go, and she will be running beside me as before. Empty space. The world slows. My mind is a stone, crashing through glass, the pieces shattering and piercing my heart. Held by the inescapable weight of the air, I spin around, so fast but slow, slow, slow. My mother falling, the red dust swelling around her in a cloud. Rising to one knee to stand before the herd of vasana envelops her like a wave, the moonlight on their teeth flashing like a thousand pointed stars.
My mind widens to encircle the universe. The whole world and all its pain is in my head, infinite lights extinguishing in agony. Somewhere, Rondo bleeding onto false ground. Somewhere, Alma screaming my name. My father screaming my mother’s. And Adombukar’s finger on my forehead, sending me sailing into blissful blackness.
CHAPTER 30
The smell of trees. Leaves brushing my face: the scent of their thick, complicated greenness filling my nose before turning into waves of color in my mind. Birds, high above, appearing in my consciousness like tiny bursts of light. I slowly open my eyes, become aware that I’m moving.
Adombukar carries me in both arms, the way one carries a child. He bears me easily, moving branches with his shoulder before passing through. He feels me waking, encourages me with small, gentle bursts of yellow like the sun. I sense him there and someone else, a familiar presence. Rasimbukar.
“You’re awake,” she says out loud. She’s speaking rather than showing because she knows my mind is weak.
“Yes.”
“Would you like to walk?”
“Yes.”
Adombukar sets me down gently, keeping one hand on my shoulder as I find my balance. I’m surprised that it’s day, and squint up at the sun filtering down through the trees. Beside us I find the gwabi, staring up at me with her luminous green eyes.
“She has not left us,” Adombukar says, the spots on his forehead shifting into what I think is a reluctant smile. “She has been worried about you.”
“We have been walking all night,” Rasimbukar says. “We have nearly arrived.”
“Where?”
“Home.”
She continues forward on a path that is barely a path, the ground hardly visible through plant and bramble. I pick my way after her and her father, ducking under vines as thick as my arm. The pistils of flowers growing on a tree trunk trail after me like long tongues, scenting me. The jungle around us seems to pulse with heat and life. It’s denser than I ever thought possible, and I know without having to be told that no finder from N’Terra has ever been this deep.
“Your home?” I ask.
“Yes. Would you like to see?” She pauses on the path ahead.
I nod, moving forward to join her where she’s stopped. She smiles, the spots on her forehead separating into a pleasant pattern. She reaches for the thickly vined branch ahead and sweeps it aside.
There was a time when I believed that the most beautiful place in existence was in N’Terra. When the sun flooded in through the transparent dome of the Mammalian Compound and shone on the tops of the ’wams we had built . . . I always believed there was nothing that could move me in the same way. But standing here on this hill between two people of Faloiv, looking down at their home, I know I was wrong.
They’ve found clay in the body of their planet that I’ve never even dreamed of: buildings made of pink and red, blue and yellow, some large enough to be mistaken for mountains. Some have rounded tops like ours, some are made of what looks like glass, and all of them are built directly into the terrain of Faloiv: boulders, trees, hills. A crescent-shaped lodge hugs the shore of a broad lake. Brilliant green vines and ivies spider up the sides of the domes. Around the perimeter of the city, the very trees bend outward to accommodate the buildings, growing at a curve instead of straight into the sky. And among it all are people, small from here, but people: the Faloii, living their lives, walking in and out of buildings, carrying baskets, enjoying the sun.
“My mother should have seen this,” I say, and my anguish surges, hatching, my animal grief shuddering from its shell. It seems impossible. Can she actually be dead?
“Your mother was brave,” Rasimbukar says, touching my cheek lightly with her paw-like hand. “She was protecting us all.”
“She shouldn’t have had to.” I sniff, looking down at the city through blurred vision. My chest feels as if it’s swelling, like my skin might tear to make room for the growing pain.
She says nothing, and I don’t even want to look into the tunnel: I don’t want to feel her agreeing with me.
“What do I do now?” I say. “My father . . . N’Terra . . .” I bite my lip hard. I’m alone now. What’s the point? Rondo far behind, injured who knows how badly. Alma . . . they know she was in the labs with me. What will they do to her?
“Come.” Rasimbukar starts down the hill, gesturing.
“What? There?” I cry, taking a step back. “I can’t. They’ll hate me! When they find out what we’ve done . . . what I’ve seen us do . . . When they find out . . .”
“Incorrect,” she says, staring at me with her endless eyes. Beside me, the gwabi makes a snuffling sound through her nose, as if impatient. “Like your mother, you are brave, and we will need your bravery for what is coming.”
I hesitate, look down at the city, its beautiful colors, the shapes of the buildings like the comforting images Adombukar passed through the tunnel to wake me. I slowly widen my mind, letting the energy of the city rise up to meet me. Everything has a color, a scent, a feeling. Gentle impressions that float, green and peaceful, into my head. It’s strange, but I almost recognize pieces of it: a fuzzy echo, like glimpsing a tree that you’ve only seen in a dream. It smells close, familiar. It smells like . . .
Rasimbukar turns back to me on the hill, extending her hand. The spots on her forehead broaden and spread, giving the impression of a bird’s wings, opening wide to welcome me.
“Come,” she says, the sun behind her hot and bright. “Your grandparents are waiting.”