“Why not replace it?” The il’Jhain dropped her gaze back to the table and scooped up a pitta.

“The techniques to bend glass to the will of the sun are long lost to time. Whoever built this tower left no notes or instructions as to its repairs.” Amaya sighed. “Perhaps you do?”

“Forgive me, but my talents as an artificer rest solely within a narrow field. Perhaps, though, I may be able to help.”

“Only may?” Amaya’s expression changed to a playful teasing smile. “I cannot work with may.”

“There are people across this land who make homes in places where life cannot thrive. Despite all the odds they manage it. I can ask the Freerunners to put out a tender.”

“Discretely, of course. If word gets out that I am exposed the harpies will be the least of my worries.”

“You have my word, Amaya. I’ll look in the libraries of every world for an answer.”

Amaya’s ears twitched at mention of other worlds. As they filled their pitta with humous and salad she chose her words carefully.

“What is it like, to travel between worlds?”

Mordelain’s guard rose. “Oh, it is not as fantastical as people say. Dangerous adventures oft lead to timeless regrets.”

“So defensive. What secrets do they hold?”

Between mouthfuls and bites Mordelain trod carefully. “Only tales of hubris and a great cataclysm. You know my part to play in that.”

“I do. But you alone were not responsible for Fallien’s fall. Our people were tantalised by the Tama’s promises and we paid a great price for wanting more when we had paradise right here.”

Mordelain was grateful she had told Amaya her sorry tale. She had shown the Priestess Irrakam of old just as she had Suresh, though she had received far more thanks and praise from her female counterpart than the grouchy merchant. Still, all she could do was show images of yesterday, and nothing of the potential of tomorrow. At least, until now.

“Only the Great Library has secrets. Great sky whales once lived there, a world devoid of land and bountiful with clouds and storms. The cataclysm petrified the whales, leaving floating islands of bone and marrow. Survivors fled to those fortresses in the sky and carried with them whatever books they could save from their home worlds.”

Amaya’s eyes brightened. “Not just a library, then. A veritable trove of knowledge from a thousand lifetimes.”

“In a way. But it would take a Tama their entire life to read the books from one whale, never mind all six.”

“You said there were bountiful whales. What happened to the others?”

Mordelain counted in her head. “Many were too unstable after centuries adrift. The first survivors to go there destroyed them so that those strong enough to contain their treasure would not be knocked out of the sky.”

“I can’t imagine a world entirely of air. How do you know which way is up?”

“It’s best to stay on a whale and not look over any balconies…”

Amaya chuckled. “Quiet. Perhaps you will take me there one day?”

Hesitant, Mordelain tried to think of a reason to not. The world was long bereft of life, the only danger of travelling there the chaos of the void between. She bit her lip in contemplation.

“It was a request; you can say no.” Amaya put down her crust and leant back on an arm to sip her tea.

“When our task is complete, I will show you the library.” Mordelain hoped there were no storms. “But there is a price that must be paid for taking another through the void.”

“Gold, I take it?”

“Not quite. Something far more valuable. Exposure to the void connects you to all time and space. Sometimes what seems like a second between me leaving and returning can be days and it can take its toll on your mind.”

“You think me so feeble as to break under the heel of war?”

“I do not doubt your long life,” Mordelain narrowed her eyes, “however you achieve it will prepare you better than most. But I must tell you, it changes people.”

“You once told me that was why only the Tama were gifted with the ability to traverse the void.” Amaya’s playful expression faded. “What makes your people so special?”

Mordelain wished she knew the answer. It had always been the way of the universe. The Tama danced and the void danced back. Whenever other species had tried to circumvent divine mandate, they had brought ruin upon themselves. It was why the Tama had become so zealous in keeping the void for themselves.

“We do not age. We do not die. We have two minds.” She had told nobody else the last fact. When Amaya looked puzzled, Mordelain explained further. “When we walk our psyche goes into stasis of sorts. We retreat into ourselves and it is our other mind that fights the ravages of the void. It is a gestalt consciousness shared by all the Tama. Or at least, we once shared it.”

“So a hive mind of one?”

Mordelain shook her head. “No. I thought I was alone for centuries. The dark and cold of the void engulfing. But I can feel that others are still connected to me, though I have no idea how many or where they might be.”

“I can’t pretend to understand what you are saying, but it sounds like the Priestess. Her memories are shared between acolytes and passed down to each successor through a ritual older than the sun.”

Mordelain scoffed. “Wait. You’re not immortal?”

“What ever gave you that idea?”

“You have been High Priestess since the day I came to this world. Your face has not aged a day.”

“I am Amaya. The priestess you saved from the harpies was Anaya. But though we are different we are both Amaya and Anaya.”

“A succession of memories?” Mordelain had never considered it possible. Though she supposed it was not much different from when a young Tama received the call to bond with the crystal heart of their home world. Memories shared over lifetimes, until one day you became more than just yourself.