We approach the next arch; it is so wide Chare could fly through without touching the stone. The plain yet noble gates have two protrusions on top like horns.
“What do the embellishments mean?”
Tinley shouts her reply. “They symbolize the wings of a mahati falcon. The mahatis have existed since the primeval era when Tiamat ruled. They usher souls from our world to the next.”
Paljorians are not alone in answering the complex question of what becomes of our souls after death. Lestarians believe primordial sea dragons guide their spirits to rest. We have no such notions in Tarachand, but it is feasible that ancient creatures cohabitated with the gods long before Anu plucked stars from the heavens and forged them into mortals.
We fly past an archway and onto another. If only the gates to the Void were this plentiful.
On the horizon, the pinnacles of an ice-blue palace glow against the setting sun. Chare doubles our speed for Teigra. The northern city thrives despite the nearly year-round winter. Steeply pitched roofs appear in abundance. Teigra must be twice the size of Vanhi. The glittering spires of the Crystal Palace, like inverted icicles, lure us to the dazzling stronghold.
Mahatis take off from within the city and zoom toward us. They bleed into the sunset, their reddish-orange feathers painted from the sundown sky. Tinley pumps her fist into the air and whoops loudly. Chare screeches in reply and flies headlong for the flock. We soar past them, and their riders wheel around to follow.
The other mahatis line up, a wingspan apart. Falcons fly in unison in battle, but this is not an offensive maneuver. The flock escorts us over the city in a parade.
Rooftops glisten, crusted in ice. Sleighs glide down the snowy roads, their riders warmed by red lap blankets. Smoke billows from countless longhouse chimneys. On the outskirts, four single-level buildings, large as mountains, tower over the central city. They must shelter the airships. Military barracks lie within the fenced compound around the dockyard.
We fly up to the Crystal Palace, and our escorts turn around to land elsewhere. Chare swoops near the frosty spires. Ice bricks compose the outer walls, and sculptures of mahati falcons perched on the eaves watch over the inhabitants. Welcomers occupy the courtyard along with drummers thumping wooden crates topped with tanned animal hides. I pick out the tall and strapping Chief Naresh. White fur covers his shoulders, leaving his deeply tanned arms bare to the cold.
“Do they always welcome you home like this?” I ask Tinley.
“I sent a message ahead. They’re excited to meet the Burner Queen.”
We circle over the congregation and glide to the ground. Chare brings us to a halt and folds in her wings. My stomach gradually rises from my knees.
Tinley drops into her father’s outstretched arms. Chief Naresh swings her around in a haze of polar fur.
“Welcome home, daughter.”
Tinley withstands her father’s public display amiably. The chief switches his generous warmth to me. I slide off into his grasp. His skin and long white hair smell of peat moss.
“Welcome to Teigra, Kalinda. Every time I see you, I’m reminded how much you resemble your mother. Yasmin was a treasure to behold.” Chief Naresh knows I hang on his every word when he speaks of my parents, his old friends. He can give me what many cannot: memories of them. “Kishan’s presence was unmatched. When your father strode into a hall, every person felt his authority. I would have liked to have seen them together.”
“I would have as well,” I reply.
“Perhaps in our next lives.” Naresh directs Tinley and me into the palace.
His guards carry khandas with hilts crafted from the long, twisted horns of blackbuck antelope. Everyone wears fur but has more skin exposed to the cold than I could withstand.