Page 57 (1/2)

And then, without speaking, we stop at the same tih it’s different from the one Below

It’s made of metal instead of stone, and it appears to be forether I want to runthe rivets and see hoell it all reen, like it grew up out of the ground I’ve heard of this before--pollution so bad that it can corrupt even metal, but in the ether, Above, in front of the temple, our clothes damp and our feet dirty The door is not open, perhaps to keep out the air, but when I turn the handle, it moves easily It’s unlocked It must be accessible at all hours, open to the people who need to pray, the way our temple is in the Below

But I am afraid to enter

Someone o inside, and I shouldwhy I’m here, and I take a step inside

The temple is fairly crowded, and no one seems to notice us come in

I take a few more steps It is so different and so much the same The pews, the quietness, the softened voices and prayers True and I walk past a woods watch us They don’t adorn only the walls but also sit welded into place, like permanent worshippers, on some of the pews Why, I wonder, and then in a moment I knohen I see their eaten faces, their pockreen like they have been long underwater The air I had to weld our gods back into the trees for upkeep; the priests here brought their gods inside for shelter when the air was at its worst and have not yet taken theh up, a seahorse curls its tail on a plinth, its head seeht above A whale with a bulbous head and startled eyes pushes out from the wall, and on the pew nearest me, a spiky-tailed shark shows its teeth They are supposedly the saods we have Beloith different forn and familiar They would have had to make these after the advent of the sirens

What would it be like, to ods?

The pulpit is inlaid with shells fron similar to our waves that become trees On their pulpit the trees turn and roll into clouds It’s beautiful And I can’t help but wonder if there are any voices trapped inside those shells I close my hand around the one in e jar of water in the place where the jar of dirt sits in the teine that this is another version of home, one where I find my twin and perhaps my mother, too, that she will co words to all of us, and she’ll noticeere here, Rio We aiting for you to co noithout a sound For the loss of one, too Soain be heard under the water or over the wind

She is nowhere Above and nowhere Below

And neither is ht be

"Bay?" a man’s voice says, close behind me, and my heart pounds with familiarity and fear This used to happen all the time Below--soivepuzzled