Chapter 22

22

Evanton frowned. "The green always speaks," he said, his voice very soft, but nonetheless distinct. "Just as the elements do. What we perceive as sleep is not sleep; they do not require sleep. Which is unfortunate, because I do."

"Can you hear the green?"

"Yes."

"Did you know? That the green was there?"

"Yes. The presence of the green was the reason I could stand where I stood for as long as I did. The green does not desire the dead to rise, and it has some ability to contain it. But if I cannot move the Ancient to my garden, the green cannot move the Ancient to the green; the distance is far too great, even considering the path in the outlands it might otherwise take."

"I don't understand what the Ancients mean—or meant—by death. The Ancient could—and did—speak. He could move. He could reach for the raw material of the outlands and build a forest around himself. He could speak my language—or I could hear his speech as if that's what he was speaking.

"Nothing about that suggests death to me."

"No. But you said he spoke of the end of his purpose, or the completion of it. It is possible life and death for the Ancients revolved around purpose; once they had completed their task, they might rest. Death is felt as an absence by those who are not dead. You spoke with Mrs. Erickson's ghostly children—did they seem dead to you?"

"I knew they were dead."

"But did they seem dead? Were they walking corpses?"

"No!"

"They appeared as children. They spoke as children. They had the temperament of children. Things familiar with their living existence. Had they lived, they would have aged; they would have acquired knowledge and, one hopes, wisdom. They did not. But to the eyes of Mrs. Erickson—and to your eyes—they did not seem dead. Could they have interacted with the physical world, you would never have known."

Kaylin nodded, the nod slower.

"How, then, is that death?"

"Being able to interact with others seems important." She hesitated. She'd been grateful that the dead didn't look like shambling corpses; that their death didn't define their appearance. Death meant, for the children, the inability to interact with others. They couldn't be heard. They couldn't be seen. Mrs. Erickson had been the exception, and she had become the center of their world—a world transcribed by the walls of a small house. They could see each other; they had at least that.

They couldn't leave, but that had been Azoria's fault.

Truth was, Kaylin had liked the children. But she was aware that they'd been trapped in many ways. They couldn't change. They couldn't grow. Whatever experience they accumulated left them untouched. The child she had been when she was their age was not the woman she had become. The woman she was was not the woman she would become. Life was about change.

"I see your point. To me, the children seemed alive. To them, it was different. Do you think the Ancient is like that, somehow?"

"Having never conversed with an Ancient before, I do not know. But yes, perhaps. I have never been like Mrs. Erickson, but I could certainly see the Ancient." He coughed, a type of punctuation he used to emphasize a point. "I do not believe I would have seen him had it not been for your interference."

"And you don't think he would be what he is now."

"His power, much limited, would have been in Azoria's hands. Before you fall prey to your own gnawing guilt, consider that. My sense was that he was attempting to contain himself in some fashion; he did not fight my attempt to contain him."

Kaylin considered this. He had been calling her from the moment she had stepped foot into the portal. What had he expected of the Chosen? What did he want? He was, like Jamal and the rest of the children, aware of his state, aware that he was dead.

The light across the sleeves of her dress changed; she realized that she had lifted her arms and hadn't lowered them. Evanton's arms were by his sides, but his chin was slightly lifted and his shoulders fell straight down his back. This was what he must have looked like as a younger man, as if his internal sense of who he was had not yet caught up with reality. To her eyes, she looked the same as she did normally, with the exception of the dress she wore.

"Did you bring me here?" she asked, voice soft.

"Not I, no. But we both touched something in the mana surrounding the Ancient, and it has its strongest roots in this place. This is the green. This is possibly the heart of the green."

She looked at her marks; they were glowing the same ivory-edged green that they had in the presence of the space the Ancient controlled. To her eyes, they were more widely spaced than they had been; the words that had traveled into the ground on which Evanton stood had vanished. She couldn't be certain they hadn't been consumed.

"Tell me," Evanton said. "Does this look like a dead space to you?"

Given the profusion of greenery, it was an odd question. "No. Does it look that way to you?"

"To me? No. But I do not perceive the world the way the Chosen does. Or at least not the way Kaylin as Chosen does. I believe it is your perception that matters. You are not accustomed to power, except as a lack, or a severe lack, given your childhood. It gives you insight that the earliest bearers of these marks did not have.

"Had you been asked permission before you became Chosen, you might have refused it, or you might have accepted because the need for power was so stark. In either case, you would not be who you are now."

Kaylin frowned. "How do you know all this?"

"I am an old man; I was always considered old at heart, even in my childhood. I have seen many, many people cross the threshold of my store; I have even allowed some of them to stay. You are not dissimilar to many of them; you wear your early experience on your figurative sleeve. You are prickly; you are afraid of—and angered by—being judged; you are certain that you are nobody, that you are worthless. It is why your office as a Hawk has meant so much to you.

"I find your youth tiring at times, but I do not entirely disapprove of you; you have been of great help in my tenure as Keeper, although you have been part of it for such a short time. I struggle not to blame you for blundering into so very, very many dangers. For the most part, I succeed.

"You have Hope, and such a creature as Hope has not existed in anyone else's orbit for the entirety of my life as Keeper; I am aware that there are many who have attempted to gain a Sorcerer's familiar within both the Arcanum and, more secretly, the Imperial order. None have come close—and I am certain those who are aware of Hope bear a great deal of resentment; you chanced upon him by accident; had it not been for the assassination attempt on Bellusdeo, you would not have him at all.

"But it is here that you named him: Hope. A difficult name, Kaylin. Many cannot bear the burden of it."

"Evanton—how do you know this?" She took a step back and reached up with one hand for Hope. Hope sat on her shoulder watching Evanton.

Oh.

"You aren't Evanton."

Evanton smiled. "I am Evanton, Kaylin. But here, there is more. The garden was created long before any of the races you know. It was necessary; the races could not be born, could not flourish, in a world in which the elements warred. The garden exists so that the lives that were crafted, built, and set free could grow—or perish, if that was their fate.

"The green existed when the garden was created."

"What is the green?"

"Tell me, Kaylin Neya, who are you?"

She blinked. "Pardon?"

"Tell me, in your own words, who you are."

"I'm a Hawk."

"There are many Hawks; are they like you? They share your sense of duty, if imperfectly. Try again."

"I'm human."

"So are most of the Hawks. What makes you you?"

She fell silent as she considered the question. Who am I? She opened her mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

"You understand the difficulty. You are much better at understanding what you need. Much better—and this is as essential—at understanding what you can give, and still remain Kaylin. You know, by experience, what you can endure, but do not yet know what could, or will, break you. The answer in the now is the most you can give, but it will change. Living things change; they must.

"The green cannot answer a question you cannot answer for yourself, but even if it could, you could not contain or retain the answer, if you could even understand it at all. Before you take offense, neither could I."

"Can you ask the green why it brought me here?"

"I told you—I cannot bespeak the green as you speak; the green cannot answer. The words the green might speak to you are etched on your skin; in no other way can the green communicate, and even then, the use of such language exists almost at the edge of its ability. But the green is alive. It is alive, and it has seen the birth of many, many things in its time. The Ancients are younger than the green."

Kaylin stared at Evanton, at a loss for words. She had visited the green; she knew the Hallionne Alsanis was somehow linked to the green. She knew that the regalia was offered the Barrani at the whim of the green, or on some schedule that none of the Barrani understood, either. She had never understood the point of it; she didn't understand the point of it now. But she wore the dress the green had given her before, a symbol to the Barrani that she was the green's choice.

But choice for what?

"There are ghosts in your house," Evanton continued, when Kaylin failed to speak. "Taken from an artifact of much older times. You are aware of them, and we are connected for the moment by the will of the green. Mrs. Erickson carried those ghosts to your home."

Kaylin nodded.

"She calms them, even now; it is to her they look when they are unsettled. She bespeaks what once lay at their core. They were not alive as Mrs. Erickson is; nor as you or I. Life does not have the same meaning to us; it does not have the same meaning to the Ancient. The green is aware of Mrs. Erickson, although the connection is tenuous and easily frayed; Azoria's interference all but guaranteed that.

"Mrs. Erickson is our best chance at helping the Ancient. Take the words, Kaylin. Take the words she sees as people."

"What do you mean?"

"You can bear their weight; you can bear them to where they must be carried."

"You want us to take the ghosts to the dead Ancient?"

"It is what the green wants. The green believes that the Ancient will be at peace should we manage this."

"How, exactly, am I meant to carry them? I didn't coax them to my house—that was Mrs. Erickson!"

"The marks you carry are words," he replied. "Figure it out. You bear the raiment of the green. For a time, and the will of the green, you have a role to play. I am in need of sleep, and this is not exactly restful. If I were younger, I would immediately make my way to your house. Alas, my age is not feigned. I will return to your house first thing tomorrow morning."

"You don't have to go back. It's not worth the risk. I can figure things out with Mrs. Erickson."

"Yes, you can. I will come to pick you up first thing in the morning. There is too much at risk to leave it in the hands of the young."

"Wait—before you go, tell me one thing."

He raised a brow, his expression the familiar, dour one.

"Is Terrano still alive? Is he somehow with the Ancient?"

"It is possible," Evanton replied. His tone implied the opposite.

Helen woke Kaylin three hours later. Discussion, according to Helen, had occurred, with some unfortunate parts in the middle.

The Academia—or rather, its chancellor—had reached out to Kaylin by mirror. "I'm sorry, dear," Helen said, as Kaylin got out of bed. Hope squawked, but pushed himself off his pillow; he landed on her shoulders, and went back to his version of sleep, grumbling the entire time.

"Has anyone spoken with Mrs. Erickson?"

"I believe they were waiting for you. Bellusdeo is with Mrs. Erickson."

Kaylin wilted. "Does she know what happened?"

"Bellusdeo is aware that Evanton returned; she is also aware that An'Teela wishes to speak with Mrs. Erickson. Imelda has been sleeping," Helen added, in the gentle tone she reserved for their newest housemate. "She has been attempting to comfort Bellusdeo, which takes effort at the moment; she is also attempting to keep the ghosts she brought from the Imperial Palace calm. That has become more and more taxing."

Kaylin glanced at Helen's Avatar. "You didn't ask much about the dress."

"No. You understand enough of its significance, and your confusion and irritation were quite clear to me."

"What do you think I should do?"

"I am a simple house," Helen replied. "In my time, however, the Keeper commanded respect and obedience when he demanded it. I will allow Evanton to visit. And I will—with misgivings—allow Mrs. Erickson to accompany you. She has become, in a very short span of time, quite dear to me. But the Keeper's worries are clear. She will help you, if given the choice."

"Will Bellusdeo allow it?"

"I'm sorry, dear. She will not be happy, as you must suspect."

Kaylin nodded. "I don't suppose Mrs. Erickson has been able to untangle her sisters?"

Helen shook her head and exhaled, an affectation. "If the Keeper is correct, removing these ghosts will help Imelda. No one truly understands Mrs. Erickson's power—but all magic requires power, and I believe she is using that power so naturally, she is unaware of the expenditure. But it is costly; I do not know how much longer she can bear this responsibility.

"It is why I am willing to risk her. If she dies, the ghosts she has so carefully husbanded will be unleashed—and I am not at all certain that I can contain them if they are unwilling to be contained. If the Keeper feels they are some part of the necessary key to solving the problem of a dead Ancient...they are both dead, they are both dangerous to the living, and if Mrs. Erickson is the shaman who might usher the dead to peace, she cannot wait until the scholars know more, until the theoreticians can make suggestions or attempt to guide her in her handling of her power." Helen closed her eyes, another affectation.

Kaylin headed to the door of her room; she took a steadying breath. "Mrs. Erickson and Bellusdeo first," she said. Hope squawked.

Mrs. Erickson's room was no longer in the same location it had been when she'd first joined the household; her door was absent.

"Yes," Helen said; she had quietly followed Kaylin. "I am attempting to do everything I can to take on some of her burden—but with limited success. Bellusdeo is aware of this, but aware as well that Mrs. Erickson will not abandon the charges she took on. Her sleeping quarters are separate from her ghosts; I cannot stop them from seeping into the room, but after she spends time with them, they are less restless for a period of time.

"There is no other way to have them safely exist in the same space as Imelda." Helen led her to the double doors at the end of the hall. Kaylin frowned.

"Yes. These doors lead to my quarters. You have visited them before."

"But didn't these doors open to an outdoor patio?"

"The decor was not considered traditional bedroom decor, no. But I do not require sleep, and it seemed the appropriate setting at the time."

She lifted a hand and the doors gently rolled open into a large sitting room, similar to the parlor she created for guests she considered socially important, but more comfortable, more lived-in. Kaylin wondered if it echoed the family room that Mrs. Erickson had been forced to abandon; that room was not this large.

But perhaps, in the echoes of a childhood spent there with her parents, it had seemed larger than it did to the investigative eyes of a Hawk.

"She knows it is not the same place," Helen said. She spoke quietly; Bellusdeo was seated in the room. Mrs. Erickson was not.

"She's sleeping," the gold Dragon said, rising from her chair as Kaylin entered. "Helen informed us both that Evanton has been found, and that he has returned to his home in more or less one piece. Imelda has been very worried, and the relief has made her very, very tired. Terrano's not back."

Kaylin shook her head.

"Why are you standing there looking like guilt personified?" When Kaylin failed to answer immediately, the Dragon added, "You've got nothing on me for guilt. I'm just warning you, I'm not going to be patient with yours or anyone else's—unless you've managed to destroy a world when I wasn't looking." Bellusdeo folded her arms. Her eyes were an odd blend of copper and orange; the copper might have been a trick of the light.

Kaylin assumed they'd soon get red, so copper would be irrelevant. She even understood; in her life, she often chose anger as a way to paper over pain. Her anger, on the other hand, couldn't turn houses to ash. She looked at one of the chairs; she didn't exactly want to sit, as Bellusdeo was on her feet.

"There were a few complications," she finally said.

"You can start with that dress. What in the hells are you wearing?"

Oh, right. Kaylin lifted her left arm; it trailed a drape of emerald sleeve. Hope squawked, but for once Bellusdeo failed to hear him. Kaylin heard him quite well, and eventually lifted a hand to protect the ear his mouth was closest to. He didn't take kindly to being ignored.

"I got the dress just after I had to leave the city when our apartment was reduced to rubble."

"It's Barrani."

"It's a significant, ceremonial Barrani dress. If it didn't look like this—and I had any right to keep it—I'd even appreciate it. It doesn't get dirty. It can't be torn. I doubt it can be cut, but I haven't been stupid enough to try. I can run in it; I'm sure Barrani could fight in it perfectly well."

"Which ceremony?" Bellusdeo's arms got tighter.

"The regalia ."

"The one the cohort was exposed to as children?"

"That one, yes. Look—it was against the laws of the West March to present children as an audience for the regalia . The High Court decided those were quaint, rustic rules, and broke them." Bellusdeo was silent. "It's not the first time I've worn the dress."

"And you're not on the way to the West March."

"No. I'm on my way to Azoria's again. Tomorrow morning. When the Keeper comes to get us."

"Us."

"Helen may have warned you. The Keeper thinks Mrs. Erickson's presence is necessary."

"Does he?" That was definitely a no .

"The Ancient I may have mentioned is, according to the Keeper, dead. But dead doesn't mean to Ancients what it means to the rest of us. I think he's stuck in his current state, and his current state—unhampered by Azoria—is bleeding into the rest of the landscape.

"Evanton thinks it's only a matter of time before that bleed escapes Azoria's old place and begins to transform the world the rest of us live in. Which would not be a good thing for the rest of us." Kaylin exhaled. "If you want to tell him no, you can tell him no. I warned him you wouldn't like it."

"What, exactly, do you expect a frail mortal woman to do?"

"I don't know. She can talk to the ghosts she brought home from the palace. No one else can. But I think they're related to the Ancients because they clearly have will and an ability—as ghosts—to possess a Dragon Lord. Evanton believes—Ugh. He thinks she has some chance of somehow escorting the dead Ancient off this particular stage, because he believes—as Helen does—that that's the core of her gift. She used it, once Azoria was dead. She freed the dead that were trapped in various paintings or household pieces of furniture. She set them free.

"I think he believes she can do the same for the Ancient."

"And you?"

"Pardon?"

"What do you believe? You found Evanton. You clearly arranged to bring him to his home."

"Emmerian did that."

"Pardon?"

"Emmerian went full Dragon and flew him home." Kaylin exhaled. "We've suspected that Azoria had ties to the green; she could grow a flower that only grows in the green. When we went to find Evanton, we found one of those flowers—no, more than just one. We had a scholar from the Academia with us; he believes that Azoria's connection to the green was carefully controlled—it was like a tiny drip. But when she died, that control slipped, and the green now has more of a presence in Azoria's former home.

"Evanton agrees. But Evanton felt that the green's intent was to contain the dead Ancient's spreading power—and for what it's worth, Evanton believes that's what the Ancient wants as well. My marks responded to either the green or Evanton, and some of them left my skin permanently to shore up Evanton's work to contain the Ancient.

"But it wasn't enough. And it's not something we can leave to someone else. Mrs. Erickson isn't getting any younger, and even if she was, I'm going to get old—and when we're gone, the problem will remain and the temporary solution will have vanished. I don't think the Ancient will make any attempt to harm Mrs. Erickson; the ghosts she brought from the palace didn't."

"And if you're wrong?" The question was chilly. Bellusdeo's eyes were definitely red now.

"I'll be the first in the line of fire," Kaylin replied. She met, and held, the angry Dragon's gaze. "I understand why Mrs. Erickson is important to you. But Evanton believes if we don't make this attempt, everyone will die. Every thing will die."

"Helen?" Bellusdeo snapped.

Helen's Avatar materialized in the room; she clearly didn't trust just her voice to make her point. "Kaylin believes everything she's said is the truth."

"Do you?"

"I would have some reservations, but it is clear from Kaylin's memory that the Keeper believes this. The Keeper has his role and function. I may, with great effort, ignore his demands—he does not have the right of command. But his word carries weight to even a damaged building such as myself. I believe, however, that Kaylin has another duty to accomplish before tomorrow morning."

"Teela, Tain, and Severn were waiting for me to wake up," Kaylin added. "I think they want to strategize."

"Let them. What duty is Helen talking about?"

Kaylin grimaced. "The green believes that I can carry the ghosts that Mrs. Erickson has been keeping calm—the ones I could vaguely see as words, and she can see as people."

"How?"

"I don't know. But... I could see Jamal with my own eyes; I could see him without Hope's wing. I could talk to him; he could hear me. It's not the first time I've seen a ghost. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's significant. I think the green believes I can take the dead words and place them on my skin, where the marks that vanished once sat. Look, I didn't exactly talk with the green. We didn't have a conversation. The green didn't tell me what to do.

"The green could sort of communicate with Evanton, and Evanton told me what he thought the green wanted. The important point being: the green believed I could do this." Kaylin swallowed. "Mrs. Erickson is exhausted a lot of the time. I think it's because the dead words don't sleep, and she's the only thing that can calm them down.

"It's the power she has that has the calming effect—but she's using it constantly. Mages can't use their powers without driving themselves to exhaustion. Clearly shamans can't, either. If I can take the ghosts onto my skin, if I can carry them that way..."

"You'll be the one who's exhausted." For the first time, Bellusdeo's worry shifted: she pointed it directly at Kaylin.

"I'm younger than she is, and my job is a lot more physical. I'd rather it be me than her. Wouldn't you?"

Bellusdeo's protective hostility began to crack. She glanced at Helen. Helen's face was a mask; she waited until the Dragon offered a very grudging nod, and then turned to Kaylin. "They are not entirely in Mrs. Erickson's room; we can approach them from the other side. I don't guarantee this won't wake Imelda." She turned to Bellusdeo. "Perhaps you would like to join the others in the parlor? I will bring Imelda when she wakes."

Bellusdeo clearly didn't want to join the Hawks. "I'll go with Kaylin."

Helen shook her head. "If the ghosts are restless or panicked, they may attempt to possess you, as they possessed Lord Sanabalis. It is too great a risk."

The reminder caused Bellusdeo to back down—barely. She turned and walked out the open doors, heading through the halls that had once had a door with a dragon silhouette on it while dragging her feet. Kaylin would have done the same.

"Yes," Helen said. "There are many similarities between the two of you." To Kaylin's surprise, she held out a hand. Kaylin stared at that hand. "It might be a bit uncomfortable for you otherwise; I believe I can stabilize things somewhat for you."

"We're not going through a portal, are we?" Kaylin asked, her tone perilously close to outright whining.

"I'm sorry, dear."

Kaylin grimaced and took Helen's hand. "You don't have portals anywhere else in the house—not even at the front door."

"No. I don't judge them necessary, and the discomfort to you is not worth the minor improvement in my security. But this is a different matter, and every possible security, no matter how imperfect, is necessary, in my considered opinion."

Hope squawked. Kaylin's shoulders slumped, but she took Helen's hand. There was no obvious portal; she thought Helen would create a door she could open. This didn't happen. The moment Kaylin took Helen's hand, the rest of the world fell away. The familiar sitting room elements vanished between one eyeblink and the next.