him, stony-faced and picking through the rubble. ‘They’ve all gone to Ertanea.’
I found Haralia sitting alone in an observation room, beneath the glare of a single spotlight. Her usually pristine skin was smudged and glistening with sweat, and her hair was a tangled mess of knots and frayed wires from the cracked device still attached to her cranium. She did not look up when I entered.
‘Haralia,’ I said, running to her chair and throwing my arms around her. ‘I’m so glad you’re safe.’
She said nothing, and I released her.
‘Are you all right? Is Jakob—’
Only at the sound of his name did she look up. Her eyes were trembling, black things, and she shook her head slowly.
‘There were three phases.’ Her voice was almost unrecognisable—dry and oddly slurred, as if drunk. ‘Ten in each. I was to be in the second. He was in the first.’
‘What happened?’
Her eyes rolled and she looked away. The stillness of her chilled me.
‘I don’t know, they haven’t said. But they are gone, all gone, all of them, including Jakob. My Jakob.’
‘Are you sure? Have you seen him?’
She glared at me, neck straightening.
‘I know he is gone. I can feel it.’ She looked away. ‘I don’t know why I expect you to understand. What do you know about love?’
She got to her feet, thrown into shadow by the lurid observation light.
‘Did you see the lights?’
‘Yes,’ I stammered. ‘They were beautiful. Haralia, what is wrong with you?’
‘Not as beautiful as the flames though, I would imagine. Are you enjoying this, sister?’
‘Enjoying? Why would I be enjoying this? Why would I get pleasure from your grief?’
She gave a half-shrug.
‘It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. He is dead.’
Wobbling, she walked towards me.
‘Say it, Ima. Say you told me so.’
I staggered back.
‘What?
‘Tell me you knew this is how things would end.’
She was upon me now, face in mine, tears shaking in her bloodshot eyes.
‘You’re upset,’ I said, ‘I should go.’
‘No.’ She grabbed an arm and pulled me back. ‘Stay. Stay and gloat. I want to hear you tell me you were right, like you’re always right.’
I squirmed in her fierce grip.
‘What do you mean? Why do you hate me, Haralia?’
‘Because you’re perfect. Everyone always knew your purpose was above mine. You fixed the sky, while I scrabbled about in the dirt with the animals. The stinking dogs and filthy pigs and the gulls on their shit-covered rocks. Animals. Do you know what? I hate animals, even horses with their dumb stares, and especially that stinking, shitting, dumb ape of yours.’
When I finally found my voice, it shook.
‘Take that back.’
She gave a nasty smile, rewarded by my hurt.
‘They don’t even talk to him in school now. Not even pretty Zadie. She ignores him. They hate him. They all hate him.’
She sniffed the air around me.
‘You’ve been drinking again. You’re no better than him, Ima. You’re an animal, too. Do you hear me?’ She sneered. ‘An animal.’
She pushed me away and began plucking at her gown, hair and arms.
‘I hate this. Hate it. This dirt, this skin, these bones, these innards. I want them gone, I want to be free of them!’
Just then we heard a screech from outside in the hall. News. Haralia thundered for the door.
THE HALL WAS full and eerily quiet. The injured were healing but the smell of smoke still hung in the air, sweetened with the tang of blood. I followed Haralia as she pushed through the crowd to the front, where she joined what remained of the Devoted. Each was like her, their faces and gowns blackened with soot.
In the centre of the hall was a slender white slab lit from above. It had the appearance of stone, but images and lights danced on its surface. Benedikt huddled over it while Caige paced behind.
‘Is it working?’ he said, hands on hips. ‘Come on, boy, fix it.’
‘I’m trying,’ muttered Benedikt. ‘I keep losing the signal.’
‘What is happening?’ said Haralia above the crowd’s whispers. Benedikt looked up, as if only just realising they had company. His eyes darted around.
‘Tell us,’ said Haralia, some gentleness returning to her voice.
The crowd hushed.
‘We may have made contact,’ said Benedikt.
A ripple of excitement ran through the room.
‘What does that mean?’ said Haralia. ‘Was it a success? They made it?’
Benedikt nodded.
‘Quite possibly.’
She covered her face, tears streaming from her eyes, as two of the Devoted pulled her into an embrace.
‘Wait,’ said Benedikt. ‘I have something.’
He stroked a palm down one side of the slab, and the light above flickered out. In its