Chapter 26

26

Kaylin!

She couldn't lift her arms. She couldn't lift her feet. If the skirts now flew with the wind, her feet had sunk into the loam—just as Evanton's had been encased when they'd finally found him the last time they'd come to Azoria's.

But the wind was cold only where it struck the guest words on her arms; she found it warm, otherwise. It lifted her hair, lifted the trailing length of her sleeves.

I'm all right.

Severn's worry was palpable. He separated himself from Teela, Tain, and Bellusdeo, and moved toward Kaylin; she turned her head to look back and could see glints of light from his hands, and from the weapon's chain. Mist rose—solid mist. Severn snarled and leaped over what was a growing wall, a divide between the three who had been invited, and the four who had not.

His blade clipped the mist; her impression of wall solidified because she heard it strike something like stone. But he made it, landing beside Kaylin, weapons out. As if he could stop a dead god or the green itself—anything that might harm her. His weapons reflected the green light of her marks, of her dress. She looked at him in alarm, and then looked away because of his expression.

Focus on Mrs. Erickson , she told him.

He didn't reply. Kaylin would have said more, but the wind swept words away. Words that didn't have to be spoken; words that were part of the exchange of True Names.

Her sleeves seemed to move with the wind—and then to move against it, reaching up to the arm the wind had exposed. To the travelers she'd brought with her. They resisted that pull, clinging to her arms; she felt small claws dig in, as if the illusory settings that contained the glowing centers of the individual parts had been set directly into her skin.

It didn't hurt much because her arms were numb.

That was probably the reason she didn't realize that the biting sting of little claws was actually deeper than it first appeared; it felt like sharp pricks of pain, no more.

Severn shouted.

Kaylin couldn't lift her arms; she could barely see them. But she could see what concerned Severn so much: her arms were bleeding. She flexed her hands to make sure they were still attached, and watched, almost bemused, as her blood ran in thin, distinct streams down her arms. Down her arms and toward the loam that was touched by both death and the green. Hope was squawking up a storm in her ear; he pushed himself off her shoulder in rage, his squawks growing in volume and depth as he grew in size.

The wind that moved a sleeve could not move Hope. Nor, it seemed, could it move Severn.

But Mrs. Erickson, it did not touch at all. The hem of Evanton's robes—for he was once again attired as in the Keeper's garden—rippled slightly, but he was accustomed to quieting the elements; it could not disturb more than that.

Kaylin's hair flew. Hope's roar was a full-throated draconic roar; it seemed to blend with the wind the green had summoned—Kaylin had no doubt at all it was the green's will.

The green's will, the will of a dead Ancient, the anger of a Sorcerer's ancient familiar. Even her marks were now clamoring in a storm of syllables, rising in volume as if to drown out the answer. As if to protect her, to protect Mrs. Erickson, or to protect the dead Ancient.

And all of it infuriated her because she wanted to hear the Ancient's answer, and she knew she never would. What Mrs. Erickson could hear, no one else could hear. The best Kaylin could do was infer. She could have inferred part of the conversation because of what she heard Mrs. Erickson reply.

So of course the sound of the Hawk's most common visitor could not be heard; it was the first thing that was lost. And to top it all off, Kaylin was bleeding into the strange and foreign ground, and not even she was naive enough to believe that living blood and dead ground would meet without incident. She couldn't stop her blood from falling.

What she hadn't expected was Hope: He breathed an enormous silver cloud, sparkling with tiny hints of color; it collided with the ground beneath Kaylin's feet. Every Barrani who had ever seen the tiny version of that exhaled cloud had paled, panicked, retreated. Some managed to keep dignity intact; some did not.

Kaylin had seen Hope's breath melt metal before. The breath wasn't hot—Dragon breath, true Dragon breath, could melt metal and stone.

It couldn't melt metal and re-form it, giving rise to a new, solid shape that could be touched and handled without difficulty. Had Kaylin been standing on stone, she would have felt no fear about a little blood at all. She wasn't. Her feet were anchored in land that wasn't like any land she knew that supported normal life.

Hope's breath hit the land that surrounded her feet; it shifted in color, from the opalescent gray to a silver gray with hints of gold spread throughout; the basic consistency didn't change. Nor did the grasp on her feet.

But her blood was absorbed, not by the ground on which she'd been standing, but the ground that Hope had momentarily transformed.

He roared, and this time, she understood his words.

THIS IS NOT FOR YOU!

They passed through her, and she felt the cold of her guests lessen as they did.

Be careful , Severn said; she could hear his voice clearly once again.

The dress, however, didn't change. Probably for the best. Given her luck, she'd be standing stark naked in the middle of wherever this was.

"Hope—be careful! I don't think the green means to hurt me!"

You are BLEEDING.

"Yes, I noticed that."

Barely , Severn said pointedly.

Do not bleed in the green. Do not bleed near the dead—it might remind them of the life they no longer have!

"I didn't exactly cut my own arms, Hope!"

Learn how to use what you were given, Chosen!

"Who would you suggest as a teacher?" she demanded.

"Dear," Mrs. Erickson said, her soft voice cutting through the miasma of frustration and near humiliation. "I'm sorry, but I can't hear him speaking if you're all shouting like that." Her tone was apologetic, but it was steel.

Kaylin swallowed; Hope shut up. Severn hadn't shouted out loud, so he wouldn't be in the bad books.

"I would like your help," she added, apology rising above momentary irritation.

"With what?"

Mrs. Erickson turned to Kaylin; the old woman's feet weren't rooted in the ground. She could traverse the distance with ease. In this case, that was a couple of steps, but she had that determined look on her face that implied she would have walked a few miles if necessary without minding at all.

Her brows rose. "Dear, you're bleeding. Your hands..."

"It doesn't hurt, and yes, I've been told."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

The worst thing about Mrs. Erickson was the instant guilt one felt if one snapped at her. "No, it's fine—I'd've said the same thing."

Mrs. Erickson reached for the hem of her skirt; Kaylin belatedly realized that she meant to try to tear off some of its fabric in order to form makeshift bandages.

"I'm honestly fine—please don't do that. Look—the blood is dry. It only bled for a little bit."

Liar.

Kaylin rolled eyes at her familiar. I don't want her to ruin her clothing for nothing.

Oh, don't mistake me. You seldom lie—and that almost sounded convincing. Sadly, almost doesn't cut it.

Mrs. Erickson had a different problem; her clothing was unremarkable in all ways, but it was very solid, and the old woman's hands weren't made for tearing cloth.

"Mrs. Erickson—I'm really fine." Kaylin exhaled. "Imelda."

The surprise caused Mrs. Erickson's hands to stop.

"Please—you said you needed my help, not the other way around. I don't mean to pressure you, but I think what you need right now is more important."

"I'm really not certain about that. But I'll try. This ghost isn't like other ghosts I've met."

"Is it like the ghosts we brought home from the Imperial Library?"

"No. And yes, a little. I find his form much more solid, but...if I met him outside, I'd know he was dead. Remember what I told you before? As a child, I couldn't tell the difference. I had to learn to see the person in context. Did others see them? Did others attempt to help them or interact with them at all? Did they attempt to reach out? That last part was more about the length of time they'd been dead.

"But I would know this man was dead the first time I saw him. I would know the ghosts I've been living with were dead."

"And Bellusdeo's ghosts?"

Mrs. Erickson shook her head. "It's different. They would have looked alive to me if there weren't so many of them overlapping so completely—living people can't do that. Well, maybe Terrano and Mandoran can, but in general it would be impossible. There's something a bit odd about them."

"There's a lot odd about them."

"Oh, I meant Bellusdeo's sisters, not the boys."

Given what the former Arkon had said about the sisters in the Aerie, there was a lot odd about them as well. "What do you need me to do?"

"I think you need to give me back my friends," Mrs. Erickson replied.

Kaylin nodded. "Ummm, can you call them? I think they're stuck."

Mrs. Erickson sighed. "Yes, I can. I'm sorry—they're very lonely and a bit needy. I imagine you're not used to that. They're not bad people," she added, her voice gentle as she held out her hand. "But good people can become difficult if they've been isolated for too long." Mrs. Erickson looked at Kaylin's arms. "Won't you come and spend time with me?"

The claws deepened.

Mrs. Erickson closed her eyes. "Kaylin," she said, with her eyes closed. "Just how dangerous are these dead? In my experience, it's been the other way around: the living are dangerous to the dead. Only in one case were the dead a serious threat."

"Azoria," Kaylin said, wincing.

"Azoria," Mrs. Erickson replied, without the wince. "I can't be grateful to her. I just can't. But were it not for her, I would never have met Jamal, Katie, Esme, or Callis, and I think I would have lived a much lonelier life. Those children should have had lives of their own—lives that didn't revolve around an old woman."

"You weren't always old."

"No. No, I wasn't. But they can't come back to life, and I can't turn back time. Jamal left me in your care."

Kaylin had a feeling she knew where this was going, and she didn't like it. "I'm not Jamal."

"No—but he trusted you. He trusted you to stand by me, to help me live the life I didn't live. He always felt guilty. But he always felt jealous of any outside life, afraid of what it would mean for them. Which of course made him feel more guilty." Her smile was gentle and infused with nostalgia. "But he did trust you. He wanted me to be safe; he did everything he could to keep me safe while he was trapped in my house. They all made it feel like a home, even if they couldn't leave it. Even if they knew the reason they were trapped was me."

"That wasn't you! That wasn't your fault—you had nothing to do with it!"

"That is exactly what Jamal would have said. I do miss him. I wonder if there is a place where the dead go, and where they can finally be happy. I wonder if all my beloved dead will be waiting for me, if they'll be happy to see me, if they'll want to hear the stories they haven't heard since they've been gone.

"But that's not the fate that awaits this poor man." She was speaking of the Ancient. "Azoria did not understand his nature and didn't understand his difficulty. Kaylin, I don't think his people could pass on. Life, death—it's a separation that wasn't fixed in the same way our lives and deaths are."

"What does he think happened to those who had died? I mean—what does he think death means?" She looked at her arms, at her skirt, at the fitted bodice of a dress that was more revealing than anything she would have chosen for herself. She looked across at Evanton, who was listening, arms crossed. "What does the green think death means for the Ancient?"

"I am not Warden of the green; I have enough on my shoulders as it is." He exhaled. "But as you guess, the green has some interest in the ancient dead. The green remains within its own borders."

"This isn't the West March."

"I did not say the West March; I said the green , if you were listening. The entrance to the green—the accepted, traditional entrance—is, as you are aware, in the West March. But it is not confined to the boundaries of that Barrani land. Azoria breached those boundaries, but that alone would not have been enough to wake the green; it was the combination of her covert activities and the nature of the power she touched that drew the green's awareness; the green could not locate Azoria—she really was quite an impressive mage; very powerful, very arrogant, and yet capable of subtlety.

"And now the green has sunk roots in this place. Whether or not those roots can be removed is, I think, a matter for a different time; it is adjacent to the difficulty, but it is not the problem that must be addressed. But yes, on some level, this situation feels familiar to the green—and no , I cannot clearly explain it; could I, we would be in a much better position. I apologize for interrupting you," he added—to Mrs. Erickson, of course.

"It's hard to explain, but the Ancient believed he told you: Death is an end of purpose. He feels as if he was created, born, for a specific purpose. I did try to get him to explain that purpose, but I'm afraid I'm just not educated enough to understand what he was trying to say."

Kaylin doubted even Larrantin was educated enough to understand what he was trying to say. "He did say that. When I first met him. But what was he supposed to do when he'd finished?"

"Die," Mrs. Erickson said. "And he did. He is not, in his own estimation, alive. Had Azoria not found him, he might have...shut down for eternity."

"I'm not sure it was Azoria who woke him."

Mrs. Erickson failed, for a moment, to meet Kaylin's eyes. "It doesn't matter. You did what you had to do, dear. I freed the dead trapped in Azoria's manor. They weren't happy to be there. I don't imagine he was happy, either."

"If he slept through it, he probably wasn't aware of it."

Mrs. Erickson shook her head firmly. "You freed him from Azoria's binding. But I think the ghosts you brought here should come to meet him."

They didn't want to leave, but Kaylin had deflected for long enough. "You want me to give you my blessing to break the promise you made to Jamal."

"Yes, dear. I'm sorry. I would make the decision myself, but I know there was a reason Jamal made me make that promise—and I don't think it was just because of Azoria. I think he understood—being dead—just how terrible a power it is. It's worse than a sword at a neck, because there might be an end to that."

"You would never do anything like that!"

"Kaylin, I would never do anything like that now . But as a child? Would it have occurred to me? The reason I stopped is because I used that power. On Jamal. On my older brother, my best friend, my eventual child. Did I mean to enslave him forever? No. I just wanted him to do what I wanted. I wanted my parents to do what I wanted, too—which child doesn't? But my parents couldn't be forced into obedience.

"If I had continued, would I even see the dead as people? I had a fight with Jamal. He wouldn't speak to me, and that made me realize I'd really hurt his feelings, and he was really angry. Those silly fights that children have? That was all of mine.

"I'm not a child anymore. I try to live mindfully, especially with the dead. But it's just too easy to believe that I'm always doing the right thing, that I'm a good person. Good people can do bad things. They can lose their way. They can be broken by grief or loss. Maybe it's why most people don't have powers like this. They can lose their tempers, and do things that they can't take back, they can't change—and that's heartbreaking, too.

"But I can do much worse than that. The dead are helpless in their attachment to the world. They would be helpless in the face of this power. Even a dead god—that's what the Ancients were, weren't they? This is what Azoria wanted from me." She closed her eyes. Opened them again. "But I think this is what I have to do here. I don't want what Azoria wanted—but I'll be doing what she intended: I have to command the dead."

The wind of the green moved far more gently as it touched Mrs. Erickson; Mrs. Erickson, who wore the crown of flowers, the rings, the bracelets. Kaylin thought she should have the dress, too—but the dress remained wrapped around Kaylin.

"What will you command the dead to do?"

Mrs. Erickson's smile was gentle. "I am about to attempt to give the dead a purpose. A direction."

Evanton's eyes widened. "I am not at all certain that is a wise idea."

Mrs. Erickson nodded. "I know. But the turmoil you sensed, the reason you sought us out, is the turmoil of the dead Ancient: he is without purpose. If left alone, I am uncertain that the purpose he finds or creates will be good for anyone, himself included.

"I've spoken with Helen at length—she likes to talk while I bake, and I love the company—and Helen cannot exist without purpose. She can elect not to rent her house out, but the lack of a tenant causes difficulty for her; she cannot do so indefinitely. If Helen breaks down, the damage is done to Helen alone.

"It's clear to me that the consequences here would be far worse—but I think the dissolution might be similar. If death is, to the Ancients, the end of purpose, some part of this one yearns for purpose with whatever is left of him. He cannot find it on his own."

"And the ghosts Kaylin carried with her?" Evanton asked, his tone sharper than it had ever been with Mrs. Erickson.

"I think they're like him," Mrs. Erickson replied. "They have similar struggles, similar losses; I believe they were trapped in similar ways. But...it's hard to put into words. The Ancient and the ghosts from the palace are isolated existences, but to me, they each have things the other lacks. If they were together, they would possibly become close to whole."

"Can you do that ?" Kaylin felt her jaw drop.

"If I can't introduce them to each other, I don't know who can. I think they could be friends. But they won't leave your arms unless I command them. And, Kaylin, the dead won't rest easily unless and until I command them to adopt a purpose, a purpose that is within their ability to achieve.

"And I believe I can. But it won't be their choice because they can't make that choice. It isn't in them. I think, in that regard, they're like Helen. Helen injured herself so that she could make a choice—but it was a small choice. She couldn't choose to become something other than she was: a building. A physical space. The choice she did so much damage to herself to make was choosing the person she wished to serve. The service itself was so fundamental to her creation she could not change it.

"She said it would have been very much as if she were human and attempted to cut out her own heart."

"I don't think the Ancients are the same as sentient buildings."

"I know. But Ancients created those buildings. I believe they built them based on their own existences as models. Do you believe it's possible to kill Helen?"

The question had never occurred to Kaylin.

"If you destroy the words at her heart, she will die. She will not be Helen. But how do you destroy words? How do you destroy language?" Mrs. Erickson shook her head. "You forbid the speaking of it. You wait until no one alive can ever remember the use of the words."

"I'm not sure True Words work that way. The point of True Language is that the words have inherent meaning. Any two people who speak that language can understand each other perfectly."

"I believe that's exactly how it works," Mrs. Erickson said, voice soft. "Shorn of purpose, the words die."

But... "The words can't be living beings in and of themselves, surely? I mean—it would be like the word the being alive; it's spoken so often we don't even think about it. Does every time we utter the word create a new life? It—I can't wrap my head around it."

"You've no doubt had cause to light candles; to light stoves. People light bonfires, often during festivals. Are those fires alive?"

Kaylin shook her head.

Evanton nodded. "They are not. But should the elemental fire die, they would not exist as they are now, if they existed at all. There is no world we can envision that does not involve fire. If True Words are alive in the fashion Imelda suggests they are, it is possible that a similar, almost elemental version of those words also exists."

"So...you're saying True Words are like elementals in some way?"

"No. I suggest it as a possibility, no more; the speaking of True Words was neither my study nor my duty. I believe the former Arkon did study and could speak those words."

"So can Sanabalis. But they don't exactly converse when they do."

Evanton nodded, frowning. "I am the Keeper of the garden; I do not know if there existed a governing authority with jurisdiction over the language of the Ancients. We can argue about whether or not the words spoken by the Ancients were, or are, sentient in and of themselves at a later time; there are far too many variables to give the question full consideration now.

"Mrs. Erickson can see the ghosts of what you perceived as True Words. She can speak with them. That is proof enough that at least some of those words were once alive." He turned to Mrs. Erickson. "I apologize for the interruption; I feel the Ancient is waiting."

Mrs. Erickson nodded. The words had not come to her hands, as they'd done once before.

Kaylin exhaled. If she was the new Jamal—he would have been so offended to hear that—she only had one option here: to lift the restraint that Mrs. Erickson had imposed on herself for almost the entirety of her life. She trusted Imelda Erickson; this wasn't a matter of trust. The Ancients and their opaque purposes weren't things meant for people like them; the Ancients were gods. How could a mortal give purpose to a god?

What directive could be offered that would make sense to an Ancient? Mrs. Erickson couldn't speak True Words any more than Kaylin could.

But Mrs. Erickson didn't see the Ancient as a godlike being. She saw a dead person, probably a dead human. She listened and she interacted; if the Ancient weren't dead, she would have invited him into her rooms and offered him a cup of tea. Maybe the dead perceived Mrs. Erickson the same way: as one of them, as someone with whom they had once shared some elements of common ground.

"Kaylin—do I have permission to break my promise?"

Kaylin smiled at Mrs. Erickson. "Just once," she said, just as Jamal had done. "Just now."

Mrs. Erickson's smile was bright; she recognized the phrasing, the intonation. She continued to look in Kaylin's direction, but she was no longer seeing Kaylin.

"I'm terribly sorry to have to do this," she said, her voice soft, a thread of steel in her tone. "But you must leave Kaylin now. Come here."

The guests on her arms shuddered—or maybe that was Kaylin herself. But even if they struggled against Mrs. Erickson's gentle but implacable command, they obeyed; they uprooted themselves from Kaylin's skin. In Kaylin's eyes, they maintained the shape and the colors they had taken when they had finally come to rest on that skin, but those colors became dimensional as she watched them unfold.

In Mrs. Erickson's eyes, clearly, they maintained the forms she had seen—none of which were words. This time, when she held out her hands, they came to her, like wayward children who had tried to avoid being caught out doing something they shouldn't—with the expected poor results.

Kaylin looked at her arms; they were, as expected, bleeding.

The sleeves of the dress she wore wrapped themselves gently around the visible wounds while Hope roared.

"It's not trying to eat my blood, Hope—it's trying to bandage the wounds. Look at the fabric and calm down." She looked at her feet. "You've made your point, and I don't think the green is trying to fight you. I think the green is trying to somehow calm the Ancient in the only way it can. Through me. Through Mrs. Erickson."

You do not know what the cost will be. Two voices overlapped in Kaylin's head—Hope's and Severn's.

"I know what the cost will likely be if we fail," she replied. "And Serralyn thought we should absolutely trust the green. Maybe you know more than I do—but the cohort came back from the green, from the Hallionne, and the green did not interfere."

"If it weren't for the interference of the green, they would never have been jailed," Severn pointed out.

Kaylin nodded. It was true. But the laws of the green stated clearly that children were not to be exposed to its influence. Those who lived in the West March had a healthy respect for the green; those who lived in the High Halls did not. Lack of respect sentenced Barrani children to captivity for centuries. Only Teela had escaped it—but she was Barrani; she had not escaped the memories. And she had not forgiven her father, at whose hands her mother had died.

Kaylin closed her eyes. "I've done what you asked, even if I didn't fully understand it. I therefore have a favor to ask in return." She spoke, now, to the green.

Both Hope and Severn were surprised; Severn's surprise banked instantly, because he realized what the favor would be.

"We're missing one of the children sent as a sacrifice to the green in the hopes that you would bestow enough power upon them that they could become useful tools. I know Hallionne Alsanis was connected to the green in some fashion. Maybe he thought you maintained an interest in the fate of those children; maybe you felt responsible for them somehow.

"If you do, Terrano came with the Keeper to this place; he never left it. Even when we found the Keeper, we could find no sign of Terrano. His friends know he's alive, but they can't reach him. I'm hoping you can."

The sleeves which had wrapped themselves around Kaylin's injuries unwrapped themselves, cloth once again draping in the expected way impractical long sleeves did.

Kaylin's arms were no longer injured, but better, they were no longer cold. She hadn't been worried about the wounds—she knew she could heal them herself. Hope, however, had been less certain.

Evanton pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are certain you wish to have Terrano brought back from wherever it is he managed to get stuck?"

"I am," Kaylin replied. "Mostly. Mrs. Erickson likes him." Her eyes narrowed. "Does that mean you know where he is?"

"No. But the green does, and the green appears to have taken your appeal to heart."

"Evanton—how can you speak with the green? Is it something you can teach me?"

"It depends. Do you plan to become the Keeper in the future? No? Then no, it is not something I can teach you. It's not something I could teach, regardless. The green accepts your request by law of equivalent exchange. She will make certain Terrano returns. But she requires your attention now."

"Mrs. Erickson has the ghosts."

"Mrs. Erickson cannot do what must be done on her own."

"You can't help her?"

"There is a reason you are wearing the dress, not me."

Kaylin exhaled and turned to Mrs. Erickson. She could see the ghost words circling Mrs. Erickson's arms. They formed a second circle there, above the wristlets of flowers.

But it wasn't these ghosts that held Kaylin's attention. The dead Ancient began to radiate bright, uneven light.

"They're tears," Mrs. Erickson said, voice soft.