Cast in Chaos by Michelle Sagara
“You tried.” Sanabalis’s words were not a question.
“Yes. I tried anyway. They can sense the Devourer, and the Devourer can sense them. I think he’s looking for them. And I think,” she added quietly, “they want to be found.”
“What they want is not of concern to the Dragon Court,” Diarmat said coldly. He might have added more, but the Arkon lifted a hand, demanding his silence. To her surprise, he complied.
“Kaylin,” the Arkon now said. “I am aware of what the water means to the Tha’alani, and I am aware of the role you played, in both the preservation of that meaning, and the preservation of the Tha’alani themselves. The water desired, in some part, to aid you.”
She nodded. “But not entirely.”
“No. Do you think that the water now desires its freedom, and that it hopes that the Devourer’s presence will somehow weaken the Keeper enough to grant that?”
“No.”
The most feared Librarian in the world pushed himself out of his chair. “What, then, does it desire?”
“Arkon—” Sanabalis began.
The Arkon lifted a hand again. Sanabalis was older than Diarmat, but he, too, fell silent.
She took a deep breath, held it, and expelled. “I think—from what the water said—that the elements were not separate entities when they were first…created. Or born. Or whatever. They were one thing.”
The Arkon took a while to form an answer to the comment; no one criticized the speed at which he thought, not even Kaylin, although she was probably the only one tempted to do so. “The elements we summon do not…desire…the company of any other element.” It was a polite way of putting it. Kaylin, who had now learned just enough from Sanabalis’s lectures, offered during her many, many attempts to light a bloody candle, nodded. She knew that fire, water, earth, and air were inimical to each other. They desired the dominance of their form. It was why the ability to control the magic of the elements’ names was so profoundly important.
“I cannot, therefore, see how they could have existed as one being.”
“I don’t think they could exist that way now,” she replied. She spoke quietly.
“Sit down, please. I tire of watching you pace.”
Since she wasn’t pacing this was a tad unfair, but she did take the seat closest to him. “The water said something that implied that whatever it was that once gave them the ability, in all their disparate desires, to coexist was the thing that was…lost…in their separation.
“I think it’s just as elemental as they are. I think—I think maybe the Ancients, and the people who lived elsewhere, were trying to figure out what it wanted while it was destroying worlds. But…what does fire want? Or water? Or any of the elements? How do you talk to a fire?”
“You’ve said you do,” was the dry reply.
“I talk at it. It listens, sometimes. It doesn’t really have a conversation. And it doesn’t…plan. I know it would walk across the world, burning everything it touched—but it wouldn’t plan to do so, and it wouldn’t be doing it in anger, or rage, or even desire. It would just do it.”
“And the Devourer? You think it eats worlds in the same way?”
She nodded. Frowned. “No.”
“No?”
“Not exactly the same. I don’t know what it is. I know fire, or water, or earth, or air—I can touch all those things, or they can touch me. But I’m not sure what primal element the Devourer is—or was supposed to be.”
“And the water could not tell you this.”
“No. I think it tried. I think it came as close as something like water could. But, no. I didn’t understand. It…it eats words, Arkon. The Devourer eats true words.”
“Interesting.” He now turned to Diarmat. “The Emperor must be informed of this new turn of events.”
“We have no answers to the questions he is likely to pose,” Diarmat pointed out, in a flat voice.
“We have the Keeper’s answer to the question of how the portal should be closed. It can’t be, in the Keeper’s opinion.”
Diarmat nodded. He turned, then, and left the room.
The Arkon waited until the door had closed at his back. “Well?” he said, in a slightly sharper tone.
“I think the Devourer will come. I don’t know if he can come through the portal itself, because I have no idea how the other worlds were destroyed. But…even if he comes, it’s not instant. In at least one world, people had time to discuss their options. Some felt they could withstand the Devourer, and chose to stay. Some traveled to other worlds.
“I don’t think they reached the decision to leave lightly, and it wasn’t organized overnight, or in the blink of an eye. They knew. We have no idea,” she added, “whether or not the people who are coming here now are coming because their world has been eaten. They could have fled for some other reason. We simply won’t know until they arrive and we can communicate with them.”
The Arkon nodded. But he was still not satisfied, and Kaylin was, momentarily, grateful that she had never, ever, had the Arkon as a teacher. “If you feel that the Devourer is in some essential way a fifth element,” he finally said, “it stands to reason that you also believe that it has a home, or a cell, in the Elemental Garden of the Keeper.”
“Yes.”
“Good. How, exactly, do you intend to deliver something that has eaten whole worlds—to use your phrasing, since I feel it is very inexact—into such a cell?”
“I don’t know.”
The Arkon raised a brow.
“Thank you,” Sanabalis told him unexpectedly, “for sending Lord Diarmat on his mission.”
“I did say time was of the essence,” the Arkon responded, “and we will no doubt hear any arguments that arise from these revelations shortly. But at least we are spared a morning of preventing ourselves from eating Arcanists.”
“I am,” was the slightly emphasized reply.
“Ah,” the Arkon said, rising at last from the chair that seemed almost thronelike in his presence, “you mistake me.” He offered Kaylin the strangest of smiles. “I fully intend to accompany Private Neya.”
The accompanying did not, however, occur immediately. The three Dragons, including Tiamaris, who had been silent and who did not look particularly pleased, now left Sanabalis’s rooms.
“Food,” Sanabalis said, just before he closed the door, “will be sent. Given the regular requirements of mortals in this regard, I suggest you avail yourself of the opportunity.”
While they were eating, Severn said, “You remember who Lord Diarmat is when he’s not in Court session?”
Kaylin nodded. “The Commander of the Imperial Guard.”
“Good. You’ve some knowledge of his reputation?”
She chewed, swallowed, and emptied half a glass of water, most of it into her mouth. “No. He’s a Dragon.”
“He’s considered the most conservative and least approachable of the Dragon Lords. He makes Mallory look lackadaisical.”
“How?”
“He’s said to be particularly unforgiving at any obvious lack of respect. One sign of respect in his books is the ability to be punctual.”
Kaylin felt the food in her mouth begin to turn to ash. Or dust. “How does he handle lack of punctuality for emergencies?”
“As long as the emergency is your death, you’re fine. On the other hand? He generally considers anyone who is not a Dragon to be beneath contempt or notice. Your background in the fiefs isn’t likely to matter much to him at all.”
She said a very loud nothing.
“Your transcripts wouldn’t generally matter, but given the number of complaints about both punctuality and attitude, they’ll probably be your bigger barrier to success.”
“Where success in this case means surviving?”
“Pretty much.” He wasn’t smiling.
Then again, neither was Kaylin. They were facing the possible end-of-the-world, and somehow it was the fact that Diarmat was going to be her teacher that now fille
Severn, who knew her better than anyone, said, “Well, at least Diarmat’s added a possible silver lining to the cloud of failure to somehow capture or contain the Devourer. Hard to pass an essential class when there’s no world left in which to take it.”
“Great. Never take a job as Chief Morale Officer, hmm?”
He did laugh, then.
Sanabalis entered the room alone. “Tiamaris,” he told them, dispensing with the titles that Kaylin remembered to use only under duress, “has departed for his fief. He will consult with the Tower, and either return or send a message.”
“Are we going to the quarantined quarter?”
“At the moment? No. The Arkon is once again ensconced in the Library. He is researching some esoterica which may, or may not, prove useful. Word has been sent, via courier, to the High Halls. If an appropriate reply is not forthcoming, it is to the High Halls that you, and Corporal Handred, will be sent.”
Kaylin grimaced. She had a feeling that the Consort was still going to be pissed off at her, and didn’t particularly relish that meeting. Sanabalis, however, instead of dismissing them, took a chair opposite the ones the two Hawks now occupied. “The Emperor has—reluctantly—agreed to accede to the advice of the Keeper.”
“It wasn’t advice, Sanabalis.”
“If the Keeper is at all familiar with you, Private, he must be well aware that in an emergency your desire to inform people of the facts is at odds with what is generally considered discretion. We have therefore assumed that he intended the information to travel from you to the Court. Lord Diarmat is not pleased with your role as liaison, but accepts the fact that no formal liaison can, or will, be accepted.” He fell silent for a moment, and then added, “Lord Diarmat is the most exact—and exacting—of the Court. He is willing to suspend the beginning of your lessons until the resolution of this conflict.
“Or until next week, to the day. Whichever comes first.”
His expression made clear that there was no point in arguing; Kaylin wasn’t tempted to try. She did, however, feel it fair to ask why.
“It would have been extremely convenient to have you present in Court. Diarmat is not a man who enjoys being a conduit for another’s words, and he was in that unenviable position. He is not, however, willing to be in that position again because of your lack of competence at something as simple as reasonable behavior.”
“His words?”
“Not his exact words, no. I will refrain from repeating those. It is not a concession to your sensibilities, such as they are,” he added, as she opened her mouth. “It is an attempt to spare your hearing.”
She shut up.
“Eat,” he told her, looking out the window toward the flags of the Halls of Law. “The Emperor has asked the Swordlord to prepare his men for a very large, very unstable group of strangers, most of whom will not speak any of our official languages. He has sent word to Ybelline and the Tha’alanari school, and she should be present shortly. The Linguists are also waiting—that meeting, which you will be expected to attend, will occur in the Library.
“When your duties at the Palace are done for the day, you are to return to Elani street. There, you will spend whatever time you deem necessary with the Keeper.” He hesitated, and then added, “There is some possibility that you will see the Dragon Court, in full, in Elani street. They will not be present in their human forms.
“For that reason, the quarantine will be in full effect until further notice. You may inform Evanton of this fact.”
“Oh, I’m sure he already knows. If you could make sure that his apprentice can get to and from the market, that would be helpful.”
“I will leave that in your hands.”
Some two hours of silence—which was accompanied by food—later, Kaylin and Severn were escorted, by Sanabalis, to the Library.
Ybelline was waiting, as were two members of the Tha’alani that Kaylin recognized. One was Scoros, a gray-haired, middle-aged man with an expression so severe he would have made a fabulous Sergeant. He was, she recalled, one of the founding teachers in the Tha’alanari. The other, also an older male, was Draalzyn. Kaylin felt her brows lift into her hairline.
“Missing persons is off your schedule?” she asked.
Although he, too, was one of the oldest of the serving Tha’alani, his face had not set into unfriendly lines more reminiscent of stone than flesh. “The office during the current crisis is not terribly busy,” he told her quietly. “The Swords have a triage system, and they will not let anyone pass the barricades if they do not feel the situation urgent enough.
“I imagine, once some resolution has been arrived at, the office will be far, far too busy for a single Tha’alani.”
“Mallory must be having kittens.”
“The Sergeant is aware of the state of emergency, and it must be noted that his department’s use of magic is the most minimal and careful in the entirety of the Halls.”
“Oh, I’m sure it is. Mallory never met a rule he didn’t love.”
Severn gave her a look; she subsided. She was never going to like Mallory, and Mallory was never going to like her. Draalzyn, on most days, didn’t particularly care for Mallory, either, but he was managing to be more than fair.
Draalzyn lifted his chin slightly, and then lowered it; he was conversing with either Ybelline or Scoros. They would do this until the Linguists arrived; they seldom conversed in this utter silence otherwise. Kaylin, Severn, and the Dragons didn’t seem to count, a fact which once might have infuriated Kaylin, but which she now accepted as the compliment it was.
She was surprised when Ybelline touched her shoulder, and she turned toward the Tha’alani castelord, whose stalks were weaving in a delicate, slow dance. The movement of those stalks was, in some ways, a second layer of conversation. Its meaning was completely clear to her. She nodded.
Ybelline touched her forehead with those stalks.
The Tha’alaan was not as quiet or as serene as its three representatives were. It was never exactly silent; as the living racial memory of the Tha’alani people, it couldn’t be. But for the most part, when you wanted to speak to your ancestors, you went looking for them.
The Tha’alaan was not silent today. More than three voices could be heard, and they were speaking over each other, or around each other. In a room, this would have muddied all syllables to a point where only focus and concentration would make them clear. It wasn’t as difficult in the Tha’alaan—but it was close.
Kaylin, Ybelline said.
There was a ripple in outward discussion, and then a greeting that seemed to echo as tens of voices or more picked it up. Someone young—and it was obvious that it was a young voice, although how, Kaylin couldn’t immediately tell—said, Is the world going to end again? She sounded inordinately pleased with herself, and somewhat excited. There was, of course, a tiny edge of fear in the words, but the consciousness just didn’t stretch far enough to truly imagine the end of the world.
No, Kaylin told her, hoping it was the truth.
Of course, the hope also translated into the Tha’alaan, which was the problem with thinking. Because the Tha’alani themselves were raised within the Tha’alaan, to an extent that made lying sort of pointless, Kaylin’s muddied thoughts immediately prompted a flood of questions from voices that had been quiet until that point.
Kaylin grimaced at Ybelline, by way of apology.
What I meant, she said, was that the world is not ending if we have anything to say about it.
Are there monsters?
There are always monsters, Kaylin replied firmly. Not all of the monsters, however, look dangerous.
Will you talk to the Tha’alaan?
Kaylin started to withdraw from Ybelline, and Ybelline caught her hands. Tell them, she said.
Yes.
Will you tell us what she says?
If I can. I can only…visit the Tha’alaan. I can’t live here.
Why not?
Because, another voice said, she’s deaf, idiot.
There was a wave of concern and mild disapproval, more felt than heard. But feeling it was enough. Kaylin, however, said, No. It’s true. I’m deaf. It’s what I know. And…I need to talk with Ybelline, now. I’m not used to this, and I can’t talk to lots of people all at the same time.
Ybelline smiled, and again, this was more felt than seen. What do you require of us, Kaylin?
I need you to teach the Linguists what you already know. The language, or what you have of it. Those people are coming. How long they’ll survive, I don’t know—but we need to be able to speak with them. She hesitated, and then said, Ybelline, do you know the names of the elements? All of them?
This produced a frown. It was not a frown of disapproval; it was more of a grimace. I know, she finally said, what the Tha’alaan knows. Why?
That question was echoed in silence by Scoros and Draalzyn. Kaylin was now guarding her thoughts like a Dragon guarded its hoard, not so much for her own safety, but because she had been reminded, by the naive intrusion of a child—or children—that what the Tha’alaan heard, it remembered.
A portal—Ybelline saw a painting of it in the Oracles’ Hall, and I’m pretty sure it’s accurate—is going to open in Elani street in four days.
They were Tha’alani, and they knew about the portal because Ybelline knew. Four?
By the Oracles’ best guess. That could be off by a few days, but only in one direction, if I know Master Sabrai. He’s not a man who reaches for the middle when he knows we’re facing a crisis. People will come through that portal, probably a few thousand. We have no solid estimate of numbers. This is all guesswork. They’re likely to be armed, but they’re also likely to be underfed and underslept.
Are they of the people?
It took Kaylin a moment to understand what the question actually meant. They’re deaf, she replied. With luck, you’ll be able to deal with the Linguists in the Palace, and they’ll be able to speak to the travelers. I don’t know if the travelers will have any experience with Tha’alani, or people like them, but… She grimaced. If they don’t, you’ll probably be one of their worst nightmares, so direct interaction is the Court of last resort.