Tamueji did not look at me as I spoke. She chewed on the wind, as if counting its breaths like she counted deaths. When I was done, she steepled her hands in front of her. “Ah. But there’s something you’re not considering, Ari. Those mountains on the other side of the world are real to you, even if you don’t notice, because they do have an effect on you. Every mountain shapes the flow of weather across the earth. When snow hits us, the way it hits was partly decided by those mountains. And when people come to this city, to live or to die, their journey over the tundra was decided by the snow. And Serenity is decided by those who live and die here. Everything comes back to those mountains and their contribution to all that happens. They are definitely real.”
Had she not seemed so casually interested in this, so relaxed in her seriousness, I would have thought she was mocking me. “I don’t understand.”
She smirked and held up a fist. “You’re talking about rewriting time. So we have one story that’s already written, and we write a new version of it. They’re now two stories, with two Aris, and two Tamuejis. If I rewrite the story, I’m creating a new me. Since different things are happening to the two Tamuejis, the Tamueji in one version may want very different things than the other. What if the new me wants the old me to not have rewritten her?”
I blinked trying to absorb this, shaking my head. “Wait. You’re just saying that we might regret our choices. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t make them.”
“It’s more than that. When you make a choice, you’re not rewriting your story, just continuing to write it. That’s changing the future, not the past. If we could change the past, we’d be splitting ourselves in two. Maybe that’s all right, honestly? But you and I, we don’t remember who we were before we died. So we don’t know what those versions of us would regret, because we can’t feel it. They are the mountains on the other side of our world. They don’t seem real to us now, but they are. They decided a hundred things we don’t remember, like the mountains decide the weather, and we don’t know enough about them to know what writing a new version of them would do. Maybe the old Tamueji gave up everything to let me forget. A lot of people come to this city to forget.” She shrugged, gazing out over the bloodstain-colored sunset. “The versions of them they forgot are real even if we can’t see them. And those versions of them still made choices that matter.”
I gaped, opening my mouth several times and closing it again before having the clarity to speak. “But... I would want to see those mountains, if I could. Why can’t I want to know the other me, on the other side of the world? Especially if there’s a chance he wanted to remember more than I do? I can’t be the only one who wonders if Umber took a little more than I actually wanted to sell. How can anyone be sure if the bargain was fully upheld, if we don’t remember the terms?”
This appeared to trouble Tamueji. No. It wasn’t only her trouble I was feeling. The trouble was like weather, decided by things that were real but we couldn’t see, sprawling out between us and shaping the air we breathed. The trouble was the atmosphere of Serenity, at peace only because it also did not remember. This was the problem of everyone here who traded in memories, who accepted amnesia or asked for it by name. Only Umber knew all the versions of the story. Many people did recall parts of their lives, so he appeared to honor partial memory sales. But so many more had given up the past whole cloth. What if we hadn’t all always wanted that?
It struck me like a blow. I wasn’t only lonely for friends. I was lonely for the other Ari. Sleeping on the other side of the world, being real whether I knew it or not. Maybe he wanted to stay asleep. Maybe he was desperate to wake up.
I could have used a friend right now. Maybe, if I had the courage, I could ask Tamueji if we could be that for each other. Maybe I should.
After a while, she stood, flexed her wings. “You, Ari, are a funny kid.”
I chuckled in spite of myself. “Kid? I don’t think I’m that much younger than you.”
“Child. I am over sixty.”
I whistled. “Well, I can see why you’re arguing for staying the immortal version of yourself. You have an awfully strong back for someone in her sixties.”
She patted her shoulder. “Stronger every day. I ought to go round up my crew, get the news. Take care, Ari.”
Before she took off, I stepped forward. “Tamueji. Wait.”
She paused with wings outstretched, brow raised.
“If you ever want to talk about this version of you.” I gestured at her, at the snow-scented air. “Or about the deaths you remember...you can come find me for a change, if you want. I would be happy to listen.”
The look of unvarnished surprise on her features was perhaps the most off-guard I’d ever seen her. In moments, it metamorphosed into a cool grin. “Perhaps I will.”
Chapter Two
The next day passed under the weight of a peaceful sleep, for once. This was the kind of oblivion I could get behind.
But as usual, I woke before nightfall. And didn’t even wait for the sun to go down completely before I took off.
I pulled on a black leotard, suitably ripped in the back to admit my wings. An assortment of lovers had told me the tears also showed off my back, which was apparently toned enough for that to be pleasurable. Flying was good exercise. My long wavy hair was tucked nicely into a firm knot, and then the pièce de résistance: a rough-cut diamond on a gold necklace, an old token from heaven knew who in my first months here.
My hands were shaking as I clasped it. The thought kept ricocheting through my head: maybe I’ll meet someone. Someone who would actually remember me. Now that I was letting myself admit my loneliness, I felt strangely exposed, as if anyone could smell it on me.
The air was cool under me as I flew, but my nerves didn’t die down. I hadn’t been amongst the reveling crowds for a while. Months. At one point, the din and heat and thirst had been unremarkable sensations. As common as wind or moonlight. But like being in quiet for hours after loud noise, the distance seemed to have sensitized me. So much that the ghost of a strange boy’s face, his smile streaking to the earth, haunted my malformed dreams.
I wondered sometimes if that was why the sun hurt moon-souls so much. The dark of the Deep—the nether realm of death—was so profound that even after coming back from it, we could never truly adjust to such bright light again.
The cusp of the night-streets greeted me within minutes like a discolored grin, giving off sparkling gas. It widened as I descended. The region was not anywhere near as dark or quiet as its name suggested. Patches of red, bronze, green, and blue spotted it, but there was something menacing about the winking colors. Like they were the shining scales of some beautiful but poisonous lizard. And heat swam up through the atmosphere, forcing me to course correct on the way down. Pockets of geothermal heat warmed the ground nearer the heart of the mountain, gave rise to hot springs and vaporous emissions. It was a jewelry box jungle, laved alternately in snow and steam. Serenity was surrounded by an icy waste, but the mountain rested above deep pockets of magma that lent the rock a pulse of life.