The Sound of Seas (4 page)

“Just by going out there?”

“Correct,” Skett said. “By going out there and witnessing an experiment that I will be performing from here. Dr. Jasso, you know there's more to this phenomenon than geology. You were down there, among ruins. Don't bother to deny it—Flora told me everything.”

“She couldn't have, Casey. She didn't
know
everything. That's what reports are for.”

“Educate me,” Skett said.

“Why? If you want my help, put Flora back in charge and tell me what
you
know.”

“I know that Flora and her entire staff will die if you don't go,” Skett said. “I'll tell you what: you can keep your secrets for now. Just get out there. You'll want to share with me in due course.”

Mikel hesitated. Skett was right about one thing: the issue was Galderkhaan, not Group politics. He didn't seem to have many options.

“What are the risks?” Mikel asked.

“They are abundant, but you've taken risks before.”

“I have, but I need a good reason to go out in temperatures that are negative thirteen degrees Fahrenheit and falling,” Mikel said, glancing at the Halley VI weather app on his phone. He wasn't being entirely truthful: he would risk a great deal to be able to go back out there.

“I already gave you the reason,” Skett said with growing impatience.

“And I've agreed,” Mikel said. “But I need to come up with a really persuasive argument to get permission to use Halley equipment.”

“Two words should do it,” Skett said. “Actionable information.”

“I just said, they have their procedures here—”

“And they have funding to consider as well,” Skett said. “They have to produce results or the spigot runs dry. Now go and get this done, Dr. Jasso.”

It was a simple but possibly effective argument. Among the twenty-three scientists, there had to be one who would back him.

“Put Flora back on,” Mikel demanded. Then he added, “Please.”

A moment later Flora was back on the phone. “I'm here, Mikel.” The echo told him she was on speaker.

“Are you all right with this?”

“In theory, yes. I would have preferred more time for preparation, but Skett is running this operation at the moment.”

“Flora, who
is
Casey Skett? Why is he doing any of this? Why
now
?”

“It is not just
now
,” Skett said angrily, grabbing the phone and taking the call private. “My god, Dr. Jasso—it has been this way for centuries. The Group—do you think they are this benevolent research organization funded by the scions of the old East India Company?”

“So I've been told,” Mikel said cautiously.

“It's a lie, Dr. Jasso.”

“Let me hear that from Flora,” Mikel replied.

“I'm afraid she doesn't know everything either,” Skett said. “Now enough talk. Just get to the site. You will understand better when you see what kind of power we are exploring.”

“We? Who else is involved in this?”

“There is nothing more to discuss,” Skett said. “Call me when you are there.”

“I need to rest,” Mikel said. “I've been going nonstop for days.”

There was a brief silence. “Take three hours, then go. I will expect your call.”

Mikel heard a scream.

“Flora?” he yelled into the phone.

“Mikel, be care—”

But Casey had already terminated the call.

CHAPTER 3

T
his was not a dream. It was not a vision. All of this was real, and the physical stimuli were an assault on the mind of Caitlin O'Hara: the unfamiliar sights and smells, the loose touch of the clothing, the sudden and unfamiliar sense of agoraphobia—she wanted to be
home
—and her inability to will these things away . . . the onslaught drove her into a swift, ungovernable panic attack.

She struggled, she rose, she moved, and she remembered little of it until now.

Now? What is “now”?
she wondered with considered clarity that was almost worse than the raw panic.
What is “is”?
She was obviously in ancient Galderkhaan in a body that was not her own. From the bracelet, she assumed it was Bayarma's body, the mother of Bayarmii.

Standing with her back to the tall, powerful woman who had restrained her, Caitlin breathed slowly and pointed the first two fingers of each hand at the ground. Her vision was sharper, the smell of fish and jasmine filled her nostrils, the air was cool to the point of chilly and free of pollen, and there were no mechanical sounds anywhere in the world around her, her arms and fingers felt different. The sky was a rich blue, the clouds the same as her own time, and there was a thin tendril of black smoke that came from somewhere in the distance.

But she did not feel the one thing she wanted desperately to feel. She could not find the active stones in her own time, and the tiles here appeared to be quiescent. Without them, she did not know how to return to her own time. The one other occasion she was here—­protecting souls in her time from aggressive souls in Galderkhaan—she was disembodied, a spirit, a conduit for energy. Caitlin felt none of that now.

Because the tiles are all in harmony and balance
, she thought.
Vol has not yet activated the Source. Who knows how many years—or weeks or days—until he does.

Panic was replaced by helplessness. Plugging into the earth calmed her and she somehow managed to remain calm. Perhaps it was the balmy air, cool and refreshing, with the salty smell of a nearby sea. Maybe it was this
body
, which wasn't her own; it didn't seem to want to panic. It didn't seem to understand, even, what that was.

Caitlin was glad for all of that because she couldn't afford to lose control again. She did not know if there were psychologists here—there didn't seem to be a word for one, she realized, as she
thought
in Galderkhaani. The closest she came was
galdani
—a physician who heals with a kind of empathic energy. But she imagined that there were prisons and hospitals and she did not want to end up in either.

Being physically present in Galderkhaan felt different from being here in spirit. In her previous experiences with the Galderkhaani, ­Caitlin had felt like a hitchhiker. With Maanik, with the other children, she was not alive in a foreign body but merely observing through their eyes. Eavesdropping. This was not like that. She was inhabiting, controlling, this woman's body. The chronic numbness in Caitlin's hip, from childbirth, was gone. She looked at her fingers, saw the whorls of her fingerprints. The encroaching farsightedness, though slight, was also gone. She did experience a little difficulty breathing, however.

No
, she realized suddenly. It wasn't difficulty. It was simply different. Either her lung capacity was less or the oxygen content was diminished.

As she continued to take stock—quickly, intellectually, like when she was an aid worker checking her gear before boarding a truck or helicopter—she realized that her arms were shorter, fingers more slender, but both were stronger. Her upper arms were toned, bronzed, fit, either from whatever work Bayarma did or from speaking in Galderkhaani with the constant superlative gestures that gave depth and nuance to every spoken word and phrase.

Caitlin noticed all this as the woman continued to hold her supportively, gently, despite the obvious strength in her big hands.

The woman asked if she could let Caitlin go. Caitlin indicated that she was all right now. Her captor finally released her and took a step back. Caitlin made sure she could stand on her own, then turned slowly and looked behind her. As she gazed at that strange, alien face, the flesh ruddy bronze with oddly elongated gold eyes, Caitlin fought very hard not to freak out again.

This is real.
I am here
.

But becoming agitated would not help her get home—if that were even possible—and she did not know how much time she had. If she perished with Galderkhaan, what would happen to her soul?

They spoke, Caitlin gathering her thoughts, not remembering what she said after she said it—she was still trying to find the tiles, to feel comfortable in this body. She continued to breathe slowly. There was a pool of water to her left. She extended two fingers toward the ground near it. She closed her eyes and, through the pool, tried to connect to any of the waters around New York. She did not feel her soul reaching outward as she had when she was on the rooftop and used the harbor to find Yokane, the descended Priest living in the city. She pushed her fingers hard, curled them, tried to pull something,
anything
, from the water. She heard the sound of the sea nearby, but could not feel it. She pictured her body lying in Washington Square Park—just that—and attempted to return to it, to the moment she fell. There had been firefighters, flame, water from hoses.

Caitlin felt nothing. She sought the bodies that had been buried centuries before in the potter's field under the park. Again, nothing.

Of course
, she thought with rising horror
. I can't reach them because those bodies have not yet lived and died.
Manhattan and its waters—perhaps they're somewhere else on the globe in this era, nearer to the equator as they once were. There was no way of knowing.

My body has not yet been created
, she thought with true horror. But then how did her
soul
exist? And not just her soul, but her memories. She thought about her son and tried to use that to get home. She imagined Jacob in their apartment. He was not born yet in this time, but his spirit lived strong inside Caitlin. That should help . . . it
had
to help.

It didn't. Once again, there was no vibration, no sense of anything beyond her fingertips other than the unfamiliar Antarctic air, the distant cries of seabirds, the receding sound of leathery flaps from the airship not far, the crashing of waves.

“You seem better now,” the other woman said.

Caitlin nodded tightly. They spoke some more, she gestured as they spoke, she confirmed whose body she had . . . “borrowed.” Caitlin definitely was not better but she had to find a way to appear so. She did that for her patients sometimes, when she had problems of her own and was not quite ready to hear those of others: she compartmentalized, and she had to do so now. She allowed herself to submit to the present . . . this present, not her own present, millennia hence. She relaxed her fingers.

Caitlin knew she would have to learn more about her surroundings . . . and, most importantly, what was holding her here. Had she flashed here from the tower where she had faced Pao and Rensat? Or was that in the future? Or the past? Were the tiles of that structure binding her to this place?

If so, why can't I
feel
them?

It was a struggle to remain focused, to try and prioritize.

They were talking about Caitlin's home, about her having come from the north. The psychiatrist found herself doing what she always
did, what challenged Ben, concerned Barbara, occasionally shocked Anita: she was telling the truth, regardless of the consequences. Maybe that wasn't such a good idea.

Meanwhile, the woman in leather and silver regarded her quizzically. She returned to Caitlin's name, which she had provided just moments before.

“Cai-tah-lin Oh-ha-rayaah,” the woman said thoughtfully. “The name and inflection are unfamiliar to me.”

I am not surprised
, Caitlin thought.
The language will not be created for tens of thousands of years.

“As I said, I am not from around here,” Caitlin replied.

“The bracelet,” Lasha said accusingly. “Perhaps it is stolen?”

“No,” Caitlin replied. “I—I would never do that. Maybe I
am
Bayarma.”

“Ah, so now you are
two
people!” Lasha said, holding up a pair of fingers, one on each hand. “Maybe you are a
flendro
as well!”

“There is no need to be insulting,” Qala cautioned.

Lasha grumped back a step.

“Tell me about your home in the north,” Qala said.

“I—I can't remember much,” Caitlin lied. She didn't want to alienate the tall woman who seemed intent on actually helping her. It was better to buy time, try and find out
when
she was, relative to the end of Galderkhaan. She looked at the cloth wrappings on her feet. They were bound with leather strips attached to a wooden sole. The edges were scuffed, old. She looked at her fingernails. They were worn, chipped. She could be a laborer of some kind.

“Do you wish to see a physician?” Qala asked. “There is one on my airship.”

“No, thank you,” Caitlin replied, gesturing sweetly. She didn't want to end up a guinea pig. She touched the bracelet. “This girl, Bayarmii. I should try to find her.”

“As you wish,” the
Standor
said. “Then I will leave you to Lasha—
provided
he promises not to noose you.”

“I am a gentle man, my companion will tell you so.” He wagged a threatening finger at Caitlin. “But she must swear on the scrolls not to misbehave. Can she guarantee that?”

“I am fine now,” Caitlin assured them. “It was the shock of waking in this strange place.”

“Or . . . it could be overheated fish,” Lasha said accusatorily. “
That
could be the cause.”

The
Standor
made a face at him. “Every time I see you, Lasha, you blame all the ills of Galderkhaan on fish or fishers.”

“Not
all
,” Lasha scowled back. “If you want to know whom I really blame it on—” Lasha began, then bit off the rest of the sentence. He looked around at the crowds still hovering in the shadows. “Well . . . the fish are the innocent heirs of poor decisions made . . . elsewhere.”

“Another Khaana beater? Will you also blame the government for the way the air blows?”

“You don't think cloud farming and airships alter the currents?”

“Please, no politics or science,” Qala said, raising her hand. “I have enough of that aloft, where I cannot escape the mutterings of the crew. I do not wish to speak of our ruling body.”

“Or
Femora
Azha?” Lasha said, challenging Qala.

At that, Caitlin became alert. “I know that name,” she said. Caitlin had to control herself from overreacting at the mention of the name. She knew Azha
too
well. It was that Galderkhaani's ascended soul that had directed her to Pao and Rensat, to the confrontation that had brought her here.

“I'm not surprised you've heard it,” Lasha said. “The name is whispered everywhere in Galderkhaan.”

“It will not be here and now,” Qala said. She fixed a critical gaze at Lasha. “Criticize the fish if you will, speculate on shifting air currents if you must, but as a Khaana appointee I will not hear the rest.” Her eyes shifted to Caitlin. “I wish you well. I am due in Aankhaan.”

While Qala spoke, Lasha had opened and closed his mouth several
times—like a fish, Caitlin thought. He seemed to want to say something, but before he could muster his thoughts, or his courage, Qala had turned and left.

“Thank you,” Caitlin said after the woman.

Qala half turned and waved with a circular motion of leave-­taking.

Caitlin took another moment to settle into her body and to accept the fact that she had understood and responded to everything that was being said. Some part of the mind of Bayarma was still obviously very present. The reference to Azha also helped her focus. If the woman had already acted against Vol, had failed to stop his premature activation of the Source, then the destruction of Galderkhaan was nigh. Caitlin couldn't afford to delay for that reason, or in case the captive soul of Bayarma was able to assert itself. That dynamic too was an unknown. If Bayarma returned, would Caitlin automatically be shifted home? Or would she just be kicked out, disembodied in limbo as she found herself after the conflagration in the park?

Lasha sat on a shaded section of the wall surrounding the pool. “Fen is right. My tongue will dig my place in the road. Just as it did for
Femora
Azha.” He looked up at Caitlin. “You said that name sounds familiar to you?”

“Yes, as well as her sister and lover.”

“I know nothing of them,” Lasha said. “Not before Fen, but before her colleagues in the capital, Azha spoke against the rivalries that are chewing our populace to pieces.”

“I thought she committed violence?”

“Yes, which is the only reason she was permitted to speak against the Priests and the Technologists and their mad hostility. She was exiled.” He threw an arm toward the sea. “Now there are rumors from the fisher fleet that she is dead. I am not yet ready to ascend, so I watch what I speak before the likes of her.” Lasha gestured cautiously after Qala.

Caitlin nodded. Now she had a better idea of
when
she was. It was after Azha's airship had crashed, after the Priest Vol had resolved to
undermine the Technologists by causing the Source to explode, though with far greater destruction than he had imagined: it was this act that destroyed Galderkhaan. Caitlin did not know how long a period it was between those two events. It could be as little as a day; it could be weeks. Though the Antarctic solar cycle caused the Galderkhaani to frame their time differently from what she was accustomed to, Caitlin understood the terms that were in Bayarma's mind. They were close enough to contemporary times, based on the flow of the tides.