The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [159]
As she studies the faint but powerful lines of the web covering the city, she realizes that there are telltale signs she might look for on Khalakovo. The aether lies between worlds; it is neither of Erahm nor Adhiya, and yet of both, for it stands between them, separating them, binding them. When she rides the aether, she remains at its center—the safest place. But these tendrils that spread from one world to the other are in fact easier to discern near the edges. If she can expand her awareness, as dangerous as that is for a novice, she might be able to find it more easily.
She returns her attention to Nikandr and the men, she sees that the creature has left. It pains her to leave, but she knows that she must.
Ancients keep you, my love, she whispers, and allows herself to be drawn back toward Iramanshah.
As she nears the island the presence of others become known to her. It is the other Matri, but like a blind woman grasping ineffectually for an intruder she is unable to find them.
Mother, she wills. Saphia.
They do not answer, but the sense that she is being watched grows. She wonders whether having gone to Ghayavand has anything to do with it. It feels no different than the times she had been in Radiskoye or Galostina, but that doesn’t mean that there is not some primal shift in perspective that occurs when drifting through the aether from within the confines of Iramanshah.
She tries to relax her mind further while keeping tight rein on the aether. Again the winds buffet her, and she uses this to attempt to locate the source of the disturbance. She tries for long moments, refusing to think about the time she has already spent. She must act quickly, but not recklessly, and she cannot allow her thoughts of the material world to affect her or she will be thrown from the aether in moments.
As she had in Ghayavand, she allows her vision to expand as she navigates the currents. At the edge of her vision, she sees it, and though it is impossible to look upon it directly she can perceive a white line as thin and bright as a distant lightning strike running the length of the island. By and large it runs beneath the ground, trailing, perhaps, the hidden inner workings of stone. There are several places, however, where it rises to the surface, and even one where it swirls above ground like a dust demon.
She approaches, and as she does, faint thoughts come to her. She is sure that it is the Matri communing with one another, but she is again unable to discern their thoughts to any coherent degree, so she focuses on the swirling energy before her.
It is here that the suurahezhan crossed over. She knows because of Nikandr’s description of the place and also because of the tinge of red that remains on the ground beneath the swirling storm of energy. This is the rift that spans the aether and binds Adhiya to Erahm. It is why the spirits have been crossing, and surely the presence of such a thing would cause other effects—the imbalance of the two worlds touching might cause poor crops, might it not, as well as the erratic behavior on fishing grounds?
She places herself in the locus of the crossing, hoping to sense more than she can while spread so thinly. It is a difficult thing, for the aether is wide and lends itself naturally to a widening of one’s self, to a thinning of the senses, and as she focuses, she feels the pull of the aether upon her. She becomes disoriented. She can feel not just this island—Duzol and Grakhosk and Yfa are the strongest—but others as well: Kravozhny and Yrlanda and even little Ishal far to the east. Beyond these she can feel the pull of the other archipelagos. Mirkotsk and Rhavanki and her motherland, Vostroma.
She takes hold of the aether before she is pulled too far, before her mind snaps over the immensity of it all. Experiencing so much is beyond her. It is beyond even the Matri, she is sure.
She realizes, as