Chapter 13

13

The spread of light looked like white fire as it followed them through the gallery, reflected in darkness by the frames of what had once been paintings. Kaylin wasn't worried about the paintings; she was worried about the statues. Although they appeared to be composed of marble, the marble seemed almost fluid as the heads of the statues situated in alcoves turned toward the source of the light.

Hope squawked loudly.

"I know, I know—I'm running as fast as I can!"

Barrani and Dragon speed outstripped mortal speed, but Kaylin's Hawk training allowed her to keep up. Severn was beside her, as if pacing her.

She expected the light to slow its spread; it didn't. The walls, ceilings, and floors of the gallery were now a glow of blinding white; details—if they still existed—couldn't be seen. Hope bit her ear the next time she tried to take a backward glimpse.

"Mandoran! Terrano isn't with us!"

"He's still alive. Sedarias is angry, but she isn't panicking. But Teela will kill me if you get caught in whatever the hells that is—keep up!"

They made it to the foyer, and there they came to a stop. The statues that had been at opposite ends of the foyer were no longer situated on their respective pedestals; they were standing on the floor, in the foyer entrance, as if to bar the way. If they hadn't been composed of stone, they would have looked like oversized Barrani.

"Do we need these statues?" Bellusdeo demanded.

"Not if they're not going to move, we don't."

"Good." She turned to Mandoran and handed Mrs. Erickson into his keeping. Kaylin was almost surprised to see that the old woman hadn't passed out.

Draconic breath could be exhaled while the Dragon was in their human form; Bellusdeo proved it, if there was any doubt. Her flame was orange-edged yellow, with a heart of white—the same white that seemed to be eating the gallery. Unlike the white light, this flame shed heat; Kaylin was surprised the perpetual loose strands of her hair didn't catch fire.

The breath was hot enough to melt stone—both the statues and the floor. "The rest of us have to walk across that!" Mandoran shouted. He couldn't tuck Mrs. Erickson under his arm, so chose to piggyback her instead. Mrs. Erickson was almost mute, her eyes too wide.

"Evanton's likely still alive," she told Mrs. Erickson. "He's a mage. He wouldn't have done anything stupid." This was harder to sell, as he'd demonstrably done something stupid, but Mrs. Erickson still held mages in awe.

"What if he needs our help?"

"Given present company, that's probably the last thing he needs. But he didn't think we'd survive whatever it is he was doing. We just need to get out of here before we start to make any plans." Bellusdeo's breath had left the legs of the statues standing in a yard-wide path of deformed marble.

The rest of the floor could be crossed, and they did that.

Hope squawked and smacked Kaylin's face with his wing. She looked at him—his snout was pointing directly overhead at the chandelier.

At what had once been the chandelier. The hanging crystals had brightened significantly, white light with hearts of something that might have been blue had it not been so blinding. In and of itself, the illumination wasn't a problem.

It was the way light seemed to drop in writhing tendrils from the hanging crystals; those tendrils were rooted in the metal that held the crystals in place. The entire mass began to rotate, but not evenly; it was as if the tendrils were fighting each other for control.

This was definitely something she could only see with Hope's wing. "Stick to the walls!" she shouted.

"You're afraid the chandelier will fall?" Mandoran glanced at the ceiling where the chandelier was anchored.

"Something like that—just don't get beneath any part of it. We're almost at the door."

"The way things are going, do you actually expect the door to be there?"

The door, to Kaylin's great relief, hadn't changed. It was the only thing that hadn't. The frame was scuffed in places, the paint scratched; the size of the foyer made it look far narrower than it actually was. Bakkon had done something with webbing to keep the door from closing, and the webbing persisted, thank whatever gods happened to be looking.

Bellusdeo took the rear. Kaylin's attempt to point out that Imperial Hawks were present met with very red eyes, and she decided on the better part of valor. She was off duty, after all.

Only when they were in Mrs. Erickson's home did they stop, crowded in her narrow hallway.

"I don't think we should close the door," Bellusdeo glanced back. "The Keeper is on the other side."

"I'm not so sure about that," Mandoran said. "Terrano's there. He didn't see the light that we saw. He did see something wrap itself around Evanton, but it didn't seem to be causing damage."

"What do you mean?" Kaylin was looking at the open door, eyes narrowed.

"I think something reached out from the other side of the painting—something in the outlands. It drew Evanton in."

"Did Terrano follow?"

"He tried. He's still working on it, for what it's worth—but if the light was an invitation, it was meant for the Keeper, not the chaos Barrani." Mandoran grinned. "He'll get in. Sedarias isn't even arguing—we all know we can't afford to lose the Keeper."

"How human is Evanton?" It was Bellusdeo who asked.

"If it weren't for the fact that he's looked the same way since Teela first joined the Hawks, I'd say completely. But he's the Keeper, so there are bound to be some differences. I mean—I look normal, but I have the marks of the Chosen. They don't make me less than human. Or more than human."

"So you think he's like you, but less reckless."

"Not much less reckless, given the events of tonight."

Bellusdeo shrugged. "Fair point. I think we should get Imelda home. She's had a bit of a shock."

"We've all had a bit of a shock," Mrs. Erickson said, somewhat primly. "Do you get into trouble like this all of the time?" The question was asked of the group in general.

"Kaylin does," was Mandoran's cheerful reply. "We just happen to be caught up in things because we live with her."

"I don't," Bellusdeo said. "And I'm still here."

"I really appreciate the support, guys. What do we do about the door? I don't think it's safe to leave it open—there's a real possibility that whatever transformed Azoria's mansion will escape to transform Mrs. Erickson's house."

"Or further?"

Kaylin nodded. "I'm not a mage. I can barely keep a light active. But this was definitely transformational, and things have a way of spreading."

"Do you think the Keeper can find his way out?"

"I don't know—but I'm certain Terrano can, and he can try to open the door."

Closing the door was simple.

Opening the door onto the normal porch was not.

If Mrs. Erickson hadn't been present, Kaylin would have gone upstairs and destroyed the family painting. Evanton said that the door and the painting were linked, so it stood to reason destroying one would cut that connection.

Hope snorted; it was the sound of weary disgust. He pushed himself off Kaylin's shoulders—digging claws around her collarbone to make certain she knew he was annoyed first—and hovered in front of the door. He then exhaled.

Mandoran yelped and jumped out of the way, bounced into Bellusdeo and Severn, and found wall space against which he could regain his balance.

Silver mist came out of Hope's open mouth, the crimson interior the only part of his body, except for his eyes, that wasn't translucent. Where it touched the door, it seemed to be absorbed by the wood, although the door itself wasn't transformed. Hope's breath could transform or melt things, but without the intense heat of the larger Dragons.

When he finished, he returned to Kaylin's shoulder, but this time, he slumped across them both, snorted, and closed his eyes.

Bellusdeo opened the door. The door opened onto the porch. She turned to Mrs. Erickson and said, in a much more gentle voice, "Let's get you home."

"I'd like to walk," Mrs. Erickson said. Mrs. Erickson respected the law, and she knew Dragons weren't legally allowed to transform—and fly—in the city skies without direct Imperial permission.

"We can walk," Bellusdeo said. "I didn't expect the visit to be so difficult."

Kaylin watched Mrs. Erickson, but said nothing; Mrs. Erickson seemed genuinely distressed. If Kaylin could have believed that she was upset because of Evanton, she would have been a much happier person. She didn't. Kaylin was certain that Mrs. Erickson had seen something in the hall that her living companions couldn't.

Bellusdeo might have suspected it as well, but she was gentle and careful. If Mrs. Erickson was to be questioned, she would be questioned in the comfort of Helen's watchful presence.

And she would have to be questioned. Evanton was gone. Kaylin intended to check his store when she went on work patrol—but she really didn't expect him to have made his own way back. She knew she needed to go to the Academia, but Bellusdeo's pain—and loss—would have to be put on hold.

The gold Dragon realized this as well. How could she not? She'd ruled a small empire at the end of a world—she knew how to triage.

Bellusdeo escorted Mrs. Erickson to Helen's perimeter. She looked at the door, which opened the minute Kaylin crossed the property line, but didn't approach.

"It's late," she said, her voice subdued. "Mrs. Erickson needs sleep, and I need to confer with my Tower. You mean to go to the Academia tomorrow after work?"

Kaylin nodded.

"I'll see you there."

I think it's likely we'll be going to the Academia first thing in the morning , Severn said. He, like Bellusdeo, stopped at the property line. The Keeper may be missing.

We can check on him tomorrow at work.

Severn shook his head. If Mrs. Erickson is willing to talk, listen. I'll head home.

Helen's eyes were black with flecks of color by the time Kaylin had stepped foot into her home.

"Has Terrano returned?"

"Not yet." It was Mandoran who answered. His eyes were blue. "We've lost contact with him. He's still alive; if he were dead, we'd know."

"Did he manage to follow Evanton?"

Mandoran nodded. Without another word, he headed up the stairs, no doubt to Sedarias's room.

That left Helen, Mrs. Erickson, and Kaylin. Kaylin exhaled. She couldn't put on her Hawk face, not with Mrs. Erickson, and not at home. But she needed her newest housemate to speak about what she'd seen, or what she thought she'd seen.

Helen agreed. "Imelda, I know you had a very stressful evening. As a homecoming, it was far less nostalgic and far more dangerous than even I would have expected."

Mrs. Erickson nodded, silent.

"Come sit in the parlor with Kaylin." Helen's smile was gentle, but her eyes remained completely black. Kaylin wasn't certain Mrs. Erickson noticed. She allowed herself to be led to the parlor, which was a small room this time; it contained two comfortable chairs and a modest table, although a third chair materialized before the door had been closed.

"You will have privacy here; the only person who tends to ignore privacy is Terrano. While the cohort has no privacy among themselves as a general rule—with An'Teela being the sole exception—Terrano is friendlier; he considers any housemate to be part of his family. But he hasn't returned yet."

At Mrs. Erickson's expression, Helen added, "We expect him to return safely."

It was Evanton everyone was worried about.

Mrs. Erickson didn't speak. Tea appeared on the table, and Helen poured it into cups, which she offered to Mrs. Erickson first; Mrs. Erickson took the cup in shaky hands but didn't drink. She closed her eyes.

"You see things the rest of us can't," Kaylin said. She made no effort to gentle her voice—that always happened naturally in Mrs. Erickson's presence. "I have Hope. I can see things most people can't because I can look through his wing. But I can't see what you can without any of that.

"You didn't see anything different in your house. Maybe the painting was different somehow, but no one let you enter the family room."

Mrs. Erickson remained silent. Kaylin glanced at Helen, who pursed her lips but didn't speak.

Kaylin exhaled. "Evanton was concerned, and I think visiting Azoria's old home made clear to him, or clearer to him, why. But I think... There was something dead in the outlands that Azoria's self-portrait led to. I think that's where Evanton's gone. But it was contained in the outlands the first time we visited. It was shut off while Azoria was alive.

"I think that barrier—between the living Azoria's manor and whatever remained after she died—is gone. The fact that you could see something in the manor makes that clearer, although clear isn't quite the right word. You didn't come with us to the outlands; you were protecting your kids.

"But what you saw in the manor might be related to the dead person in the outlands." Kaylin hesitated, and then added, "Self-professed dead person. Most dead people can't talk; they said they were dead, but...death seems to mean they feel they now have no purpose. Most dead people can't create whole landscapes on a whim. Terrano saw them; I saw them.

"We think it's the corpse of a dead Ancient—a dead god, for want of a better word. But we've got no living Ancients we can use for comparison. One of the librarians at the Academia was extremely uncomfortable with the concept of a dead Ancient in Azoria's backyard.

"But you also have dead words in your room—they're still in her room?"

"Yes, dear."

"No one but me could even see them—and I didn't see what you saw. I saw words. And I saw words on the pillars depicted in the painting Evanton touched; everyone else saw only the pillars."

Mrs. Erickson swallowed. "You know I don't know very much about my abilities. I'm grateful to have them—I wasn't always, but the children would have been lonely and trapped if I hadn't. The ghosts we found in the Imperial Palace look like people to me, but less distinct—more like ghosts in stories would look. Our ghosts look like living people to my eyes. It causes some confusion, and I've learned over the years to wait to speak, to watch how other people react, before I attempt to introduce myself.

"I saw the ghosts trapped in Azoria's home. After Azoria's death, I did what I could to free them. I didn't miss an inch of hall or room. But all those ghosts looked like people—mostly young people, and mostly women. Some were older. None were even half my age.

"I didn't realize what I was looking at when I first entered Azoria's domain. But nothing looked the same to my eyes. You saw the foyer, you saw the statues, you saw the way the ceilings had become much higher, the halls much longer. I saw those, too—but...to me, they were foggy, misty, as if they were ghosts themselves, like the ghosts in my room." She fell silent, but she hadn't finished. Kaylin waited while she found more words.

"In that hall, I could see all of you. I could see your familiar—but he didn't look the way he looks now. I thought he'd crush you, he was so large. Mandoran and Terrano looked the same as always. Bellusdeo..." She shook her head. "I could see her sisters. They weren't weeping. But they were all reaching for something. I didn't want to tell her. She's been so upset that her sisters are trapped where they're trapped."

"What did I look like?"

"You looked the way you've always looked to me. So did Corporal Handred. But his weapon... You know I see it as something very bright, very shiny; sometimes I have to squint to look at him at all."

Kaylin nodded. She had questions, but didn't ask any of them; she didn't want to interrupt the flow of the old woman's words.

"His weapon didn't look like a weapon at all. I could see that he held his blades in his hands—but they didn't look like blades. And Evanton, the Keeper—" Mrs. Erickson exhaled. "I've spent my life talking to children. I'm not terribly good with words."

"Your words are fine," Kaylin told her. "Evanton looked like Evanton to me. I'd ask Terrano what he saw, but he's not here." She hesitated, and then said, "Evanton is the Keeper. He was human, same as us, but he's the link between the garden and the rest of the world, and that probably changed him. Or had to change him. He's not dangerous. I mean, unless you're trying to destroy the world; I imagine he would be terrifying then—if he knew about it."

Helen turned to Mrs. Erickson and gently nodded. "If you need to, take a break, drink some tea. We have all night, and we are not in a rush."

The old woman smiled at the Avatar of the house. "The manse was ghostly. It was the same blur, the same fuzziness, that I see in the ghosts of what you call words."

"What did you see when you looked at the painting?"

Mrs. Erickson looked down at her hands and her mostly full teacup. She shook her head.

"Imelda," Helen said, voice even softer than Kaylin's, "can I attempt to answer that question for Kaylin? Or would you rather I didn't?"

Mrs. Erickson swallowed. "I don't mind," she said, voice thin and shaky. She did. She did mind. Kaylin had seen Mrs. Erickson worry before; this wasn't worry. Mrs. Erickson was afraid.

Helen agreed; she was silent. But when she spoke, she spoke to Mrs. Erickson. "Imelda, you are part of the home I wanted so desperately to build. I told you what it was like for me, when I had no will and no say. I was alive, once, as you or Kaylin are alive. I became the heart of a building, chained to it, unable to leave.

"I've been that way for a long time. But when I made my decision, when I broke some of the bindings, when I could decide, for myself, who I wished to shelter, who I wished to offer a home, I was content to be here. I've told you that I can hear your thoughts—that I can hear the thoughts of anyone who lives within my borders. It is impossible not to hear them.

"But it is more than possible not to share them. Even members of a family need their privacy." She took a chair beside Mrs. Erickson. "Kaylin asked you to live with us. You are now part of my family, and your interests align with many of the interests of my first tenant, a woman I chose. A woman I wanted to offer shelter and protection.

"You would have liked her. She would have adored you. She wouldn't have been as happy living with Barrani. I was not afraid of the lords I served. I was afraid of what they might command of me. I have found the cohort challenging, not because they have the right of command, but because they are only technically Barrani. Terrano can—and does—diffuse; he becomes far less physically present.

"All of his friends can, but for most it requires far more work; it is not natural to them. They are not what Barrani are expected to be. Kaylin is Chosen. She naturally attracts difficulty. She has a familiar I would find difficult to contain were he to decide he should not be. Sedarias intends to entrench herself as the ruler of her line; she has the title but must prove she can hold it. So far, all attempts to unseat her have failed. The last attempt was very close. And yes, it means someone tried to kill her."

Mrs. Erickson's worry shifted to more normal concern.

"Bellusdeo lived here until she chose to captain a Tower. She was comfortable here, but restless; she lacked purpose and focus. Because she lived here, the attention of the Imperial Palace was unavoidable. She is the only living female Dragon, and she represents a future for her race. Were there another—were there any other—she would never bear a clutch. She was not raised to it, and she does not desire it.

"No one who lives here is normal by the standards of their race. It's my belief," Helen added, once again gentling her voice, "that no one is normal when they are at home. You are at home here. No one here will judge you. No one here will judge your power."

"Lord Sanabalis did."

"No. He fears your power, and he fears your lack of understanding of it. He does not judge you. Were you younger, you might even be seconded to the Imperial Palace; the duties demanded of Imperial Mages might be too physically taxing now. Regardless, the Arkon does not live here.

"Kaylin will never fear you. Kaylin will never judge you."

"She doesn't know."

"Ah. That's where you are wrong, Imelda. She does know."

Kaylin agreed with Mrs. Erickson. She had no idea what Helen was talking about. But she didn't make that clear; she watched Mrs. Erickson.

Mrs. Erickson turned to Kaylin. Her breathing was too shallow and her hands were white around the teacup. Had it not been created by Helen, it would have cracked.

"What do you know?" Mrs. Erickson whispered.

Kaylin, not one of nature's liars, would have frozen completely had Mrs. Erickson not looked so defeated, so afraid. She exhaled.

"When we faced Azoria, Jamal released you from a promise. It was a one-time release. Only when you had his permission did you do what Necromancers can do: you commanded Azoria. You commanded the dead."

Mrs. Erickson didn't move; she didn't even nod.

"If you'd never made that promise to Jamal, you could command the dead at any time you wanted."

This time, the old woman did nod.

Was it more than that? Nothing that Kaylin had said seemed remotely terrifying. "If you hadn't had that ability, it's likely none of us would have survived. I don't fear it. I don't resent it. I'm grateful for it."

Silence settled around Kaylin as these thoughts took root. "You could have controlled the dead that possessed Sanabalis. You could have told them what to do while they occupied his body."

"Yes."

"You can't tell ghosts—I mean, like Jamal—to possess someone."

"I don't think so. I've never tried."

"Mrs. Erickson—Imelda—what did you try? And when?" Jamal had to know about that power somehow. If Jamal knew, he had either been subject to it, or he had witnessed it, which meant it had to have occurred in Mrs. Erickson's home.

Mrs. Erickson's shoulders curved, bringing her face closer to her hands and the cup she now clung to as if it were an anchor.

"When I was a child, I had a pet rabbit. Terrible little beast; she chewed open my pillow, destroyed a third of my rug, left scratch marks across my floor, and couldn't be properly litter trained. I didn't have many friends, but I didn't miss them; I had Jamal, Katie, Esme, and Callis. But I could touch the rabbit, I could hold the rabbit; the rabbit was warm. And at that age, Jamal and his friends seemed so much older than I was.

"Rabbits don't live a long time. Tilly died. I woke up one morning, and she didn't. Jamal told me she was dead, but I think I knew. I knew she wasn't breathing. She'd become a lot quieter in the prior half a year. I wanted her to wake up. I don't think I understood what death meant. Jamal tried to explain it, but he wasn't always the most patient.

"We argued. Esme tried to stop him—or us—but I was young and stubborn."

"You were how old? Five? Six? If Jamal seemed almost adult to you, you couldn't have been much older."

"When did you understand what death meant?" Mrs. Erickson's question was unexpected.

Kaylin froze. Throat thicker, she said, "Severn explained it to me. I didn't understand it, but I learned. Death meant absence. It meant forever absence."

"How old were you?"

"Five." Kaylin shook her head. "It was a long time ago. I was five. You were a child. No one could blame you for not knowing." She didn't want to talk about her mother here. Or her childhood.

"I was angry with Jamal. I was angry with the world, I think—it's hard to remember it now, I'm so much farther from childhood than you are."

Kaylin nodded. She disliked being reminded of her age, because it usually came with judgment or dismissal; she was too young, she was too naive, she was too ignorant. Mrs. Erickson wasn't doing any of those things.

"But of course I had to prove him wrong. I knew I could win the argument." She closed her eyes. "I woke Tilly up."

Kaylin could have misunderstood; she didn't. Mrs. Erickson was old and gentle, but she wasn't a fool.

"Tilly moved. Tilly hopped. But her body was cold and she didn't breathe. I knew something was wrong with her—and I knew, in future, I should never try to win arguments with Jamal." This brought a brief, nostalgic smile to her lips and the corners of her eyes. Kaylin had no doubt that if Jamal had remained, it was to Jamal she would have retreated after the disaster at Azoria's old place.

"Jamal was horrified. He shouted at me—I remember that. He would have shaken me until my teeth rattled, if he'd had the ability. He did send my pillows and toys flying around the room in a small whirlwind. But I realized that he wasn't just angry—truly angry—he was afraid. Of me. Or for me.

"I'd never been afraid of Jamal or the other children before. But I was afraid of him then. So I told him to stop. I didn't ask. I made him stop." She fell silent again. Her hands were less shaky, and she did sip her tea, which was probably close to cold.

"He was upset. I was upset. I was still angry—I was young. I told him to leave, while I cradled Tilly. He left. I don't think he had a choice. But I knew, while I held Tilly, that she just wasn't there anymore. She could move. She could do what I told her to do. She could only do what I told her to do. I think I waited a whole day, hoping she would wake up, and then... I let her go. I went to tell my parents that she wasn't breathing anymore.

"I think I knew, even then, that what Jamal had seen, my parents should never see. Jamal had always accepted me; he'd never been afraid of me. But Tilly—what I had done with Tilly—made him afraid. I thought my parents would be even angrier. They came, and we buried Tilly in the backyard.

"Jamal still avoided me. He had always been there for me. Of all of the ghosts, he was the most interactive. When I woke up the next morning, I knew I'd done something terrible, that I'd crossed a line I couldn't even see. He didn't come back for almost a week. Katie and Callis did; Esme was trying to calm him down, I think.

"When he did come back, I was so happy to see him. His absence made me realize that he had a choice; that he'd made the choice to be friends with me, to spend time with me. He didn't have to do that. He didn't have to, unless I forced him to." She inhaled slowly, and then lifted her head. "I'd hurt his feelings. I'd never thought that was possible—it certainly wasn't possible with my own parents, who weathered childish tantrums as if they were irrelevant.

"I apologized—just as I would have apologized to my parents. It wasn't enough. It was another week before he'd speak to me; he'd watch, and he didn't stop the others, but he just stood back. He'd never done that before.

"But at the start of the third week—and each week felt like months to me—he spoke to me again. He was quiet, and he was so serious—but I felt desperate, the way only children can. I think I would have done anything he asked of me if things could just go back to normal. I think he wanted that, too. Jamal was never serious—I think he found it embarrassing. But he was serious that day.

"He told me that what I'd done was not waking Tilly. Tilly was gone. I could force her corpse to move—but the corpse would still be a corpse. And he told me that I must never, ever do it again in front of anyone. He said he could understand why I'd done it, but not how—and everyone would be terrified of how. Esme asked why it mattered—it was just a body, and the dead don't care.

"‘The living are deeply attached to the dead.' That's what he said. To the idea of the dead, the sanctity of death. The children could understand. The children did understand. But anyone else would see me as a monster. He asked me to promise that I would never do it again. I promised.

"And then he made me promise to never, ever do what I'd done to him: to take control, to command, to force them to do what I wanted, not what they wanted." Her smile, as the words faded, was complicated. "I promised.

"It was that promise that I asked permission to break." Mrs. Erickson closed her eyes. "I've had no reason to break the first promise. But I should have told you. I should have told you both.

"I am a Necromancer, in the worst sense of the word."