Rain began without thunder. The dome had powered the smaller taps even after the great pipes went dry. Now their storage vessels opened, and the rain carried the qi they had held back down to the earth.
In a shelter below Central Heaven Mountain, Ke sat on his grandmother’s lap. His mother’s name was still on the missing list from the crossing. The rain had reached the shelter before anyone could tell him more. A drop struck the window sill. The boy hid his face in her coat.
“Is it fire?”
His grandfather opened the shutter and held out a hand. “Rain. Fetch the tubs.”
The old man took a deep breath without coughing. Beyond the ditch the seedlings lay flat. He would have to see what took root again before he could tell the boy whether they had enough to eat.
Sister Yu let the rain run into a spare pot. At Bai’s bed she added a little of it to the water his ward could take. The mountain’s qi helped him draw one breath without the glass. Then his chest stopped moving, and she put the ward back.
Pei Jing came in when she was checking his pulse. He showed her the unopened tube from Zhao’s pouch. Bai asked what was in it. When Pei Jing told him, he shook his head.
