The Fates Divide (Carve the Mark #2)(113)

It took a while for us to break apart.

“We pass through the currentstream today,” I said. “Will you come with me?”

“In case you hadn’t noticed,” he said, “I’ll pretty much go with you anywhere.”

He tapped my nose with a gray-stained finger, leaving a mark that even I could see out of the corner of my eye.

“Did you just stain my nose right before I have to go out in public?”

He grinned, and nodded.

“I hate you,” I said.

“And I love you,” he replied.

“What’s that on your nose?” Teka asked me.

We were on the observation deck of the ship, which was right above the nav center, where our pilots and flight techs were rushing around, preparing to pass through the currentstream. We walked to the barrier, which was waist-high and separated us from the giant window that would show us the currentstream.

The interior of the Ogran ship was dark—unsurprisingly—and uneven in places. The floor, no matter where you were, was all narrow pathways made of grate material, elevated over shallow pools of water that glowed with bioluminescent bacteria. It was beautiful, and eerie, but more than one person had fallen in and had to go to sick bay. Something new to adapt to.

Akos was already standing there. He had saved us places, as the path became more crowded, though really, people would have moved out of my way if I came near anyway. I tried not to care about that. I stood between him and Teka, and listened for the captain’s shout to brace ourselves.

Akos reached for my hand as the ship drew nearer to the blue light, deep and rich in color. He would let go when we entered the currentstream, to allow me to feel its effects, agonizing though they were, but it felt good to have him there as we approached. My heart was pounding. I loved this part.

The real surprise, though, was Teka’s hand seizing mine from the other side. There was a giddy smile on her face.

“I am a Shotet,” she said, more to herself than to me. “I am sharp as a blade, and just as strong. . . .”

It was a variation on the other poem I had seen scrawled on a wall in Voa, the one penned as a criticism of the Noavek government:

I am a Shotet.

I am sharp as broken glass, and just as fragile.

I see all of the galaxy and never catch a glimpse of it.

I liked the other one better, because it was a reminder of my own fragility, my own tendency to see what I wanted to see. But this version was good, too.

I was surprised when Akos joined her in reciting the last lines:

“I see all of the galaxy,” he said, “and it is all mine.”

“Prepare yourselves!” came the shout from below.

Both Teka and Akos released my hands, almost in the same moment. And the ship was consumed by blue light.





EPILOGUE: EIJEH


WE RETURN TO HESSA in disguise.

For a time, it seemed like too much of a risk, to us. But it was also unavoidable. So we waited until the Shotet sojourned again, and we reserved a seat on the flight under a false name, the one we bought from a criminal on P1104 after we fled from Voa.

We rent a coat from the shabby tourist shop in the main square, because we don’t intend to stay long. We make the climb to the top of Hessa hill on foot, as it has always been. The Hall of Prophecy is closed for repairs, but we know all the ways in, the ones others don’t know. We remember that, at least.

There is a gaping hole in the domed roof of the Hall of Prophecy, with jagged edges of red glass. We don’t know what the Shotet used to break the dome, and their weapons of choice, whatever they were, have long since been cleaned up. We stand in the center of the floor, where one of our mothers once stood, barefoot, to receive the future.

We see—

A galaxy riven in two, oracles fleeing to Ogra and Tepes and Zold.

Assembly ships pursuing, pursuing, overtaking.

Small blasts of anticurrent.

Possibilities disappearing as lives find their endings.

We see—

Shotet descending on Tepes, dressed in special suits that protect against the heat.

Plugging their noses against the smell of white-hot garbage.

A man brushing sand from an intact compressor.

A woman holding a rounded piece of glass up to the sun.

We see—

Isae Benesit, wearing a gown in Thuvhesit red.

She stands behind a sheet of ice where there are hushflowers on the verge of blooming.

Behind her, in the same red, half-hidden by shadow, is Cisi Kereseth, wearing an enigmatic smile. Her head is adorned with a slim band of silver, the adornment of a chancellor’s spouse.

The flowers crack open, and unfurl.

We see—

Our hands seizing the straps that cover our chest as our ship falls, falls, falls through dense atmosphere.

The lines of light that mark Ogra’s surface like veins, appearing beneath us.

We are Shotet. We are not Shotet. But either way, we are an oracle, and that cannot change, so we are returning to the temple of Ogra, to learn.

To see what we might become next.

We see—

Them.

Older. The silverskin shining on one side of her head. His gray eyes crinkled at the corners as he looks at her.

They stand in a crowd beneath a mammoth ship. It towers, in patchwork metals, over the other ships on the loading bay. A new sojourn ship.