Part2

Noise grows in the street below as Jal and Kat head downstairs. The large room at the foot
of the stairs is largely empty, although a few people remain aggressively asleep in the
communal room.

The door was torn off its hinges some time long ago- no one’s bothered to repair it. It’s still
propped up against the entryway to keep light out- Jal picks it up, moving it out of the way
as quietly as he can, replacing it when he and Kat are outside.

The air is warm and heavy with moisture- several more people are coming out, blinking in
the bright light and talking in soft tones to one another. The tables are covered with all
kinds of food, and several people are already helping themselves. Jal sets down his jars of
Kimchee and makes his way down the table, eating and taking things as he goes, Kat
following behind, hollowing out a round loaf of bread and filling it with food.

Glancing up, Jal sees Torpah emerge from his building, his shiny gray skin glistening dully
in the sunlight, his black, heavily lidded eyes scanning the crowd. Smiling, Jal fills two
glasses with wine, dodging carefully through the throng to bring one to his friend.
“Good morning,” says Jal, offering the glass.

“Wine?” says Torpah, his voice deep and soft. “Jal, is there any time too early for you to
start drinking?” Smiling, he drains the glass, putting an arm around Kat who had just made
her way through the crowd.

“See? Look here- Katya’s bringing food. You’d have us drink until we couldn’t stand- then
we wouldn’t have any choice but to sit and listen to you all day. Katya, tell me again how
you wound up with him.”

“Couldn’t help it,” she says, grinning.

“Hmm, yes, that’s right. I’m curious,” he says, manner changing, “How long did it take you
to figure out that your road was the same?”

“It’s hard to say,” says Kat. “It kind of fell into place with the rest.”

“So you knew the instant you met?”

“We actually arrived here together,” Kat turns to look at Jal, whose face is slowly turning
red. “We haven’t really been apart much since then.”

“I’ve heard others in your . . .situation say that the appearance of their other self was the
first hint of the soul’s migration through time. How many lifetimes did you have together
before you realized this was happening? How many before you finally arrived here?”
Jal looks away while Kat hesitates briefly before answering. “Several, in both cases. One
life near the beginning of our race, one near the end, then back to the beginning- we’ve
lived in nearly every age of our species.”

Torpah’s eyes widen. “Were you actually there, at the end?”

Katya nods. “Yes. The memories of that life are irrational- I think our species must have
gone through some sort of genetic devolution.”

“What destroyed you?”

Kat glances at Jal. “A shadow.”

Abruptly, Jal rises and starts making his way rapidly through the crowd. Kat gets up, but
Torpah places a large hand on her shoulder. “No, stay here. I’ll go after him.”
The crowd parting before him, Torpah catches up to Jal in a few long strides. “Where are
you going?”

Jal shoves Torpah away as he continues down the street that leads out of the cul-de-sac,
pushing his way through the thinning crowd until he reaches the broad, dusty boulevard it
intersects. Mud brick and stucco buildings line the street, most with windows boarded up,
doors sealed or broken inward, gaping darkness in the pale morning.

Still figures dressed in white sit in the doorways, against the walls, in the narrow alleys.
Some smoke pipes, some sip from warped glass bottles, others are lying down or sit with
their eyes open, staring blankly in terror at the sky. Far away, the city’s towers rise- in the
distortion of morning Jal thinks, for a moment he can see movement several blocks away-
people moving through the bazaar, to their last pilgrimage, or, perhaps, to the end of their
last life.

His eyes linger on a man in a white robe whose eyes stare blankly above, seared to milky
cataracts.

“He’s not dead yet,” says Torpah, walking slowly up behind Jal.

Looking down, Jal sees the man’s robe moving slightly. It might have as easily have been
the wind, but no, he was breathing.

“Who knows how long he stared into the steppe,” says Torpah, “or what he saw. But
whatever it was, he knew he would have to face it alone. Jal, not everyone is as fortunate-.”

Jal whirls around, striking Torpah in the throat with his fist. When the large man doesn’t
react, he strikes him twice more in the midsection before Torpah pushes him gently but
firmly away. “It’s not safe- we should go back.”

“The whole city’s dangerous- and what is it that you think you know about Kat and I?
Because we’ll go in together, it’ll be easier or better somehow? You don’t know us, or
understand anything of what we’re about.” Jal stumbles toward the street that leads to the
cul-de-sac. “I’m not sure how much of our past lives I remember- it’s just that- there just