The twins looked at each other in the half-dark chill, not daring to voice their fears. There was always an explanation, that was what they had been taught, that was the way they had been raised, but this—the Slack was doing something strange to Mokoya, when it shouldn’t.
“We need to tell somebody,” Mokoya said.
This time it was Akeha’s turn to ball their hands into fists. “And who are we supposed to tell?”
“One of the adults.” As Akeha’s face worked into a scowl, Mokoya said, “We have to tell someone. We can’t fix this by ourselves.”
“Who says we have to fix anything?”
“People are going to get hurt if we do nothing, Keha. I have to tell someone.”
Akeha hated the way Mokoya emphasized the word “I.” It was a clear division, almost a threat. Hadn’t they agreed to do everything together? “They’re not going to believe you.”
“They will. The Head Abbot will.”
“And if he believes you? What happens then? Do they call you a prophet?”
Mokoya coiled their shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. Who cares? It’s more important to stop the dream from happening.”
Akeha sat back on their heels and blew a hot breath through their teeth. They weren’t sure what to say.
“I’m going to tell him tomorrow,” Mokoya said.
“Fine.” Akeha unfolded from their crouch and went back to their side of the sleeping mat. They could sense Mokoya’s stare as they curled up on the roughly woven surface and shut their eyes.
“Are you angry with me?”
“No,” they said, but they didn’t turn around. “Go back to sleep.”
Chapter Four
AKEHA PROWLED THE INN’S upper-floor balcony. The creaky strip of wine-stained wood overlooked the thoroughfare through which the spring procession clanged, swayed, spun, and marched. On either side, the balconies bulged with cheering, laughing, red-cheeked citizens. In contrast, this one was still and silent, lined with a full troupe of pugilists hand-selected from the most senior acolytes in the Grand Monastery. And then there was the Head Abbot himself, breathing slowly and evenly, calm and implacable as a mountain.
“Stop that,” Mokoya hissed, as Akeha turned on an impatient foot to begin a new circuit of the balcony.
Mokoya had lied to the Head Abbot in order to bring them all here. They’d said nothing about the kirin in the forest, or the broken fence. Instead they claimed to have foreseen the incident last week where two of the junior acolytes broke the statues of Patience and Gratitude that guarded the front pavilion. Akeha had laughed about them lying to an adult, and had gotten kicked in the shins for their trouble.
More surprising was the fact that the Head Abbot had believed them without question. Every now and then, Akeha caught him staring across the length of the balcony at Mokoya, whose gaze was trained unwaveringly on the sky. Akeha felt like he knew something, something he wasn’t telling either of them.
They rocked back and forth on the balls of their feet, humming tunelessly. Mokoya glared.
Downstairs, the procession continued on its multihued, clamorous way, unaware of the tensions strung overhead. The dancers and floats would thread their way through Chengbee’s ant-nest streets before passing by the Imperial Square, to present themselves to the Protector and the upper echelons of the Tensorate. The Protector’s family were expected to be in attendance as well. Sonami would be there. Everybody would.
Everybody except for us, Akeha thought. Did they even count as the Protector’s family anymore?
Nearby, Mokoya went suddenly still and alert. What is it? Akeha thought at them.
I don’t know. It’s something.
The empty skies darkened from gray to blue as sunfall came. Along the thoroughfare, sunballs winked to life, illuminating the excitement-flushed crowd with a soft glow.
Wasn’t it at sunfall, your vision?
Mokoya squinted at the sky, as if they were trying to listen to a small scratching sound from very far away.
Akeha moved so that they stood side-by-side, the edges of their palms brushing. It was easier to clear their mindeye like this, with their twin as a steadying, calming anchor.
They remembered the way the kirin had appeared to them, a blaze of light so bright it seemed to squeeze the Slack around it. People shone on the surface of the Slack, but not like that. Not that intensely.
If the naga was the same way, they would feel it in the shape of the Slack before it appeared. Sinew and flesh and bone and blood. Akeha concentrated, trying to widen the scope of their mindeye as much as possible, see as far as possible in the Slack—
There. There, Moko, there!
The distortion in the Slack was moving fast, like a meteor, destructive, and the light was coming toward them like a transport headlight down a tunnel—
Sinew. And flesh. And bone. And blood.
The naga was massive, wingspan of ten houses, clawed feet and barbed tail, mouth big enough to swallow a person whole. It was more raptor than serpent, hollow-boned and warm-blooded. That blood rushed swift and strong as a monsoon river. It called to Akeha.
They focused on that blood as the naga burst over the horizon, over the tops of roofs, blocking out the screams because they had to get the timing exactly right—
Akeha clenched their fist, and the raging torrents of blood froze.
The naga’s scream thrust like a spear through the eardrums. The massive creature twisted in the air, and Akeha opened their eyes to see it coming toward the inn like a hailstorm. Their breath caught.
Someone grabbed them by the collar. “Jump!” was the instruction. The Head Abbot had pulled the twins together, and Akeha jumped, their legs and body going numb as things collapsed around them. Not just the inn, which rained planks and splinters and bricks around them as they hit the ground with a bone-shattering thud. Everything fell.
Akeha struggled upright, getting off the ground, trying to see the damage that had been done. Pain shot through their ankle, and they stumbled. Something reached around them: Mokoya, holding them up with trembling arms.
The naga had come down on the row of houses where the inn used to be. It groaned, a wild rumbling sound, but the light it burned in the Slack was fading. Sunfall was complete. The shapes of people ran to and fro in the darkness, some screaming, some holding their heads. One of the procession dancers wailed and screamed as she tried to push a block of wood, a broken pillar, off the shape of another dancer crumpled on the ground. Surprisingly, there was no blood. The lights festooning the dead dancer’s dress still glowed and sparkled, as if nothing had happened. They had lost a shoe as they fell.
Oily smoke crept through the air as the sounds of crackling—like offerings for the dead—rose up around them. Or was it merely the rushing of blood in Akeha’s ears? Mokoya was shaking them, saying syllables that wouldn’t gel into words.
Things had happened exactly as Mokoya saw them. Why hadn’t they realized this?
*