Aurora Burning (The Aurora Cycle #2)(73)

There are no paths, but the grass is short and easy to walk across. I make my way down into a valley with a spring in my step, walking along a field of waist-high blue flowers. I trail one hand along them as I move past, and they bob and bow, turning their faces to follow me.

It’s a little hard to judge time, but it feels like I’ve been walking for hours when I spot the figure. It’s quite close—I wonder how I didn’t see it sooner—and although it’s human-shaped, it’s most certainly not a human.

It doesn’t hurt my eyes, but I can’t quite look directly at it. It’s a creature of light and crystal, a golden glow and a myriad of refracting rainbows inside its shape. It has three fingers on each hand, and I realize that its right eye is white and aglow, just like mine. But though it’s one of the strangest creatures I’ve ever seen—and I’ve been to a Casseldon Bianchi party—I feel no fear at all. Instead, I continue on my way to meet it, and I’m not surprised when it greets me.

The words are like music, but I don’t think I hear them out loud. They just sort of … arrive in my head.

Greetings, it says. Welcome to the Echo. I am the Eshvaren.

“The Eshvaren?” I parrot back at it, like an idiot. “I thought you were a whole species, not just one, uh …” I look its shimmering body up and down. “Person?”

It gives me a tiny bow.

I am a gathering of wisdom. A memory of many. Just as this place is the memory of our homeworld. An echo of a place that once was.

I have no idea of the proper response to that, but I figure I can’t go wrong returning the greeting. “It’s good to meet you. I’m Aurora Jie-Lin O’Malley.”

You are a Trigger, it replies, with a hint of ceremony.

“Yes, that’s right!” Eagerness wells up inside me, and I step closer. “And if you’re the Eshvaren, you can tell me what that means.”

It offers me another one of its little bows. To be a Trigger means you have choices ahead, Aurora Jie-Lin O’Malley.

It raises its arms and then simply pushes off, rising above the ground as though it’s in zero gravity.

I stare up at it in confusion as it hovers a few meters above my head.

Come, it says patiently. Join me.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained, I guess? Feeling ridiculous, I bend at the knees and push off as if I’m about to jump. But instead, completely effortlessly, I rise from the ground. And no sooner do I throw my arms out, wondering how I’m supposed to stop, than I’ve done exactly that. There’s just the faintest texture to the air—nothing as thick as water, but what I’m doing still feels a little like swimming.

With another kick I’m soaring again, arms wide, laughter welling up inside me as the landscape spreads out beneath me. This is like the best part of every flying dream I’ve ever had. This is, for an instant, like being back at home, back in time, rocketing along the running track and knowing I’m out in front of everyone else.

This is pure joy.

A second quick kick spins me into a somersault, and I tumble through a loop-the-loop, whooping my glee. The Eshvaren hovers in far more dignified style, watching me get it all out of my system.

Follow, it finally tells me.

Together we soar across the beauty that stretches out below us. Great valleys are joined by soft, rolling hills, their golden-green grass giving way to masses of blue and purple flowers that sway in the breeze, to red fields that ripple as we pass overhead. Silver rivers cut through them, twisting and winding, doubling back on themselves, and the crystal city beckons me as we turn toward it.

Once again the Eshvaren speaks, and I can hear it despite the wind.

This place is the Echo of a time long ago. A time when we lived. Before we fought the Ra’haam. You know of the Great Enemy?

“Yes,” I say, glancing across at it. “Yeah, we’ve met.”

Then you know it believes in the power of the many as one. In the sacrifice of individuality for the sake of harmony.

“I do.”

A question pushes forward in my mind, and though I know this might not be the time or place for it, I have to ask. I’m thinking of my father. Of Cat. Of the other colonists pulled into its embrace, their eyes blooming blue, moss creeping across their skin, hiding themselves inside the uniforms of GIA agents to prevent others from approaching Octavia and disturbing the cradle where the Ra’haam sleeps.

“I’ve seen the Ra’haam absorb people,” I say. “Consume them. Is … is there a way to get out once you’re a part of it?”

No, says the Eshvaren quietly. The pain in its voice is a match for the sharp hurt in my chest.

“Oh,” I whisper, because it’s all I can think to say.

Such a little word.

Such a massive thought.

Not perhaps, not maybe. Just …

No.

I’m still trying to wrap my head around it as we cross a wide river, a frothing, quick-moving silver mass that tumbles over itself, crashing into rocks midstream, sending up perfect arcs of spray.

We are unlike the Ra’haam, says the Eshvaren. We believe in the sanctity of the individual above all else. This is what we fought to defend. It cost us everything, but the war was not won entirely. Though defeated, the Ra’haam did not die. It hid from us, settled into slumber, and we knew we would not live to see its next awakening. So we prepared this place, and this memory, to wait for you.