Chapter 03

03

Mrs. Erickson was silent. Kaylin tried not to hover protectively around her; this was easier, because Bellusdeo was hovering enough for two. The gold Dragon, on the other hand, was hovering impatiently, which made her presence less comforting.

The chancellor had asked the question of Mrs. Erickson, and he seemed content to wait for her response; his glare made clear that no one else was to speak for her, but his voice had been almost gentle, if you took his general grouchiness into account.

Mrs. Erickson exhaled, well aware that everyone was waiting on her answer. Her hands remained by her sides, but her shoulders were slumped; she straightened them. "I think that's a bit harsh," she said quietly. "But all I know of Necromancers are children's stories."

"Which stories?"

"The ones in which Necromancers—evil villains, all—raised an army of the undead and used it to attack the hero."

"Ah. These are not stories we were told as children."

"Oh?" Her eyes brightened. "What stories were you told as children?"

"Stories about the terrible deaths of hatchlings at the hands of their infuriated guardians and parents."

She winced, but her lips then turned up in a smile because the chancellor was smiling fondly.

"The Imperial College is rather dry," the former Arkon said. "The word, to the scholars of the ancient, is a classification, a category. It does not, in theory, involve moral or ethical judgment at all. Judgment," he added, "is what we bring to it."

She nodded.

"To be fair, while we call it a classification, Necromancy has not been considered a practical class of magic such as would be studied in the Imperial College or the Arcanum; there is just enough historical information that implies something genuine at the root of the various stories children tell. You are therefore going to be of great interest to those whose studies encompass magical history." He cleared his throat.

Mrs. Erickson met his gaze head-on, although her hands trembled.

Bellusdeo roared. Her hands were fists, and her eyes were red.

Tiamaris roared as well, and not to be outdone, his eyes were crimson.

The former Arkon was clearly accustomed to this; his eyes, while orange, didn't darken at all. If anything, he looked slightly bored. "If the two of you wish to continue this...disappointing fracas, I suggest you do it outside." The doors to the office swung open—probably at Killian's behest. "And do not mistake me: I mean outside of the Academia grounds. Mrs. Erickson has come for a reason, but it is almost impossible to hear her at the moment."

Before Bellusdeo could speak again, the chancellor lifted a hand. "I am serious, Bellusdeo. You are always welcome in any home I call mine, but your interference is not."

"I'm the reason she came here at all!"

"Indeed. And I understand that she volunteered to accompany you. But there are some things to which she should not be exposed at any length, and a petty argument between my kin is one of them. And you, Tiamaris," he said, his voice far less gentle than it had been when he spoke to Bellusdeo, "as a lord of both the Dragon Court and the fief of Tiamaris, how is it that you have been drawn into a pointless, petty squabble in such a fashion?"

Tiamaris wisely failed to answer.

Red eyes faded to resentful orange. Had Mrs. Erickson not been present, Kaylin would have sympathized, even empathized. But she was, and the chancellor was right: she shouldn't be subject to screaming Dragons.

"Very good. My apologies for the interruption, Mrs. Erickson. Where were we?"

"You were speaking about Necromancers," she replied. She had lived with squabbling children—if ghosts—for all of her life, if one didn't count the past few weeks. She could probably pick out a petty sibling squabble from a mile away.

"Yes."

"I'm not sure if you know, but I live with a sentient building."

"You live with Kaylin," the chancellor said, nodding. "I am aware of Helen."

"Isn't she lovely?"

He blinked. Kaylin, expecting this, didn't. While she wouldn't be as gushing and effusive as Mrs. Erickson now was, she didn't disagree with anything the older woman was saying. The former Arkon weathered the inundation of happy, delighted praise for a full ten minutes before he lifted a hand.

Mrs. Erickson had the grace to redden. "Helen and I have discussed my abilities a bit. Helen didn't say I was a Necromancer; she said I was possibly a shaman."

The chancellor frowned. Bellusdeo frowned.

"Ah—she said it wasn't a common word, and it was used—I can't honestly remember how long ago. One of her tenants had some experience with someone Helen called a shaman."

"That tenant was not from Elantra, then."

"I'm not sure Elantra existed at that time," Mrs. Erickson replied. "She didn't speak the same language that Kaylin and I do, but Helen can understand any language."

"Indeed. I spent some time in the Imperial College—as a lecturer," he added, in case there was any confusion.

Given the number of Imperial Mages Kaylin had met in the line of duty, she felt the clarification was justified; the Arkon—argh, the chancellor, damn it—was head and shoulders above those mages. Hells, they probably came up to his ankles, figuratively speaking.

" Shaman was not a term that was in use there."

"And Necromancer was?" Bellusdeo asked, the question sharp.

"No, not often; it was perhaps used as a humorous term, after exams. What did Helen say of shamans?"

"They can both sense and speak with the dead—the dead who are somehow trapped in our world. The dead who haven't, or can't, pass on. Shamans didn't raise armies of the undead in Helen's stories."

"And you have never raised an army of the dead."

"No," Mrs. Erickson said. There was a tiny hesitation before the denial.

"She hasn't raised an army of the dead," Kaylin said, voice flat. Since she was surrounded by Dragons, she attempted to keep irritation out of her tone.

"I did not imply that she had, but perhaps my humor was too dry for those accustomed to bombast."

Normally Kaylin would assume the dig was aimed at her, but given Bellusdeo and Tiamaris's presence, she couldn't feel singled out, even if she was the one who'd spoken up.

"Very well. Bellusdeo has asked—as a favor," he added, glaring at the gold Dragon, "that you be allowed to consult with the Arbiters."

"The librarians?" Mrs. Erickson asked.

"Indeed. They are a bit unusual, as librarians go. I must ask: Can you speak Barrani?"

Mrs. Erickson nodded. "Not well, and not a lot of it. I learned when I was a child. My parents had hope for my education. But I haven't had to use it very much in my day-to-day life. Will the librarians speak it?"

"It is the preferred language of speech when they deal with the student body. Arbiter Starrante may, however, be well enough versed in Elantran that he can speak it, should the need arise." The chancellor rose from behind his desk. His eyes were orange, but the color shifted almost imperceptibly as he looked at Bellusdeo. "I wish to know why you all but insisted that both you and Mrs. Erickson be given such permissions."

Bellusdeo, for once, was silent; her throat moved as she swallowed words without ever giving them voice.

It was Mrs. Erickson who answered. "If you've spoken with Lord Sanabalis at all, you'll know that I can see the dead."

"All of the dead?"

She shook her head. "Helen says that what I see are the remnants of the dead, trapped in the living world where they no longer belong. Not every dead person leaves such a ghost.

"But some of the dead are trapped, and those, I can see. I can speak with them."

"Go on."

Now, she glanced at the gold Dragon as if for permission; Bellusdeo nodded. "There are eight ghosts bound tightly to Lord Bellusdeo."

The chancellor froze; he placed one hand on the surface of the desk, as if to steady his weight. He, too, was silent for a long beat, his eyes practically glued to Bellusdeo, although his words—when he did speak—were meant for Mrs. Erickson. "Do those eight ghosts resemble Lord Bellusdeo?"

"Every single one of them."

"I see." The chancellor's eyes became copper, the Dragon color of grief. "I understand, now, the urgency of Bellusdeo's request. I will escort you to the library; the Arbiters have been informed that a matter of some urgency to the fieflord requires their attention. They have not been informed of what that matter is, as I myself did not know." His smile was careworn but gentle. "I won't make you explain it twice; I will hear it with the Arbiters."

Lord Tiamaris chose to leave the Academia, his conflict with Lord Bellusdeo either forgotten or paused. From the chancellor's expression, he understood that this was somehow personal for the other two Dragons, and Tiamaris had never been entirely comfortable with the personal.

Serralyn and Valliant were somewhere in the Academia, but neither showed up to interrupt the walk to the library. Kaylin couldn't tell if Terrano had made his way here, either; Hope wasn't on her shoulder, so she had no way of seeing invisible things.

Most days, she forgot about Hope, he'd become so much part of her shoulder. She was surprised at how much she missed his presence, given the way he bit her or squawked his displeasure in her ear. She wondered why he hadn't insisted on accompanying her; it made her uneasy. Helen had been worried about her new occupants. Not Mrs. Erickson, whom she seemed to adore, but rather Mrs. Erickson's new ghosts. Ghosts whose origins, whose forms while alive, were completely unknown.

Ghosts that had somehow taken possession of the new Arkon, Sanabalis, which was why Mrs. Erickson had had to move in with Kaylin; Sanabalis considered her a very real danger. She'd had no intent to somehow cause those ghosts to possess Sanabalis, but her intent hadn't mattered.

Kaylin shook her head; she'd come to a halt and didn't notice until Killian tapped her shoulder. "Sorry," she murmured.

"The Arkon is right to be concerned," he replied. Kaylin's thoughts were an open book to all of the sentient buildings she knew; whatever it took to both think and simultaneously mask those thoughts was a skill she was never going to understand, let alone possess.

"But Mrs. Erickson, like you, is an open book. I concur with both your assessment and Helen's. She has no ill intent. She is worried, at the moment."

"About Bellusdeo?"

Killian's smile was gentle. "Indeed. Her concern does not seem to be for herself. But she is worried that her presence, her possible power, will endanger others. At the moment, concern for Bellusdeo displaces that—but that fear has not been far from the surface since the Arkon's unfortunate possession."

"Are you allowed to tell me all this?"

"She is not a student," was the soft reply.

"Do you think the Arbiters will have anything useful to say?"

"Possibly. It is my hope that Arbiters Kavallac and Androsse will remain largely silent. They have been more fervent in their disagreement in the past few weeks; we have had to curtail all library visits during the worst of their arguments."

Kaylin winced; she had her doubts. She'd never been that lucky.

The library doors opened as the chancellor approached. Beyond them was the vast and endless library the Arbiters protected. The entrance was a portal, which usually gave Kaylin hives, but the library portal had never been normal. Not that she was complaining.

Starrante was the first visible Arbiter. At any other time, Kaylin would have worried about Mrs. Erickson's reaction—but the old woman had already met Wevaran, and she knew they were friendly. While she didn't lift her arms in the standard Wevaran greeting, she did offer him a normal, mortal one: she smiled and said hello in a bright, cheerful voice.

"I am Arbiter Starrante. Bakkon has visited to inform me of the recent events in your home. I see, in spite of the difficulty, you are well," Starrante replied, in Elantran.

"I am—I'm trying to adjust to all the changes in my life."

"Changes?"

"I'm living with Helen and Kaylin," Mrs. Erickson replied. "And her family of Barrani friends."

Those weren't the only friends. Starrante's visible eyes shifted slightly. "I hear that you have other...roommates?"

Mrs. Erickson nodded.

"They came from the Imperial Palace. Oh." She stopped and grimaced. "I'm not certain I'm supposed to mention them."

"It is safe to mention anything within the library; no harm will befall you. You are not the only person who has visited our library in some urgency in the past few days. We hope we may answer more of your questions than his, in the end."

Mrs. Erickson glanced around the library; books went on to infinity, shelves stretched so high it was hard to see their tops except at a great distance. "You couldn't find answers here?" She seemed confused.

"The library contains all books that have ever been written, many in languages that even scholars cannot easily decipher. But some things are never written. Some knowledge is not preserved in books; it passes from mother to child, master to student, and it is lost far more easily, hidden more completely.

"Nor do we know the contents of every book that abides here. There are some that we have not—or will not—touch; not all books of old are safe for unwary readers; some are not safe for even the most powerful."

"We're not here to talk about that," Bellusdeo snapped. She had chosen Elantran, possibly for Mrs. Erickson's sake.

The chancellor cleared his throat in warning.

Bellusdeo was good at ignoring warnings when she was distressed or angry; she was both, but the anger was the lesser of the two.

"I understand," the chancellor said, as he placed a hand on her shoulder. "But the Arbiters are older by far than either you or I, and their learning encompasses the whole of that existence. Treat them with the respect that knowledge deserves."

"In my experience," a new, and unwelcome to Kaylin, voice said, "Dragons have never understood the need for proper respect." Arbiter Androsse had arrived.

"And your people did?" The response was a low rumble. Although Kaylin liked Kavallac, this wasn't the right time for the Dragon Arbiter's arrival.

"Our people were accorded the respect due the powerful," Androsse replied.

Kavallac roared.

The chancellor sighed, and the Wevaran Arbiter's eyes shut, briefly, in one wave across the body. Lannagaros glanced at Starrante, who nodded.

"I believe," the chancellor said, with obvious disgust, "that we must retreat to my office for the time being. Arbiter Starrante will join us there."

"But the books are here—"

"I will need to confer with Mrs. Erickson in order to ascertain which books might be of interest."

Androsse surprised Kaylin: he roared as well. Even if the other two had something to contribute, they weren't going to get to it today.

Starrante arrived in the office by teleporting to it. He was in the room before the chancellor had managed to return there, but clearly he had the chancellor's permission.

"I apologize for my colleagues," the Wevaran said. He was hanging in a space between shelves; Killian had obviously cleared it for his use. "Incidents in the Academia have caused heated disagreements which have not yet been resolved."

Given the personality of the two Arbiters, "not yet" might cover another century or two.

"They do not always disagree in this fashion, but when they really lose their tempers, the library is not safe for students. Or visitors."

The chancellor snorted.

"They're always like that?" Bellusdeo asked.

"No, as Arbiter Starrante implied. At the moment, minor collegial disagreements become major arguments at the turn of a sentence. If they were my students, I would consider strangling them or jailing them until they promised to behave like rational adults."

"I'm just surprised neither of them are trying to pressure you into choosing a side," Kaylin muttered to the Wevaran.

She could swear Starrante chuckled. "I was chosen as Arbiter for a reason. Not one of the three us could fall victim to such pressure. I'm perhaps not as...aggressive in temperament as either of my colleagues, but I am fully capable of defending myself. I am also the only Arbiter who is free to leave the library, although I am confined to the Academia grounds.

"In other words, I simply leave if the discussion is unproductive." He then turned to Mrs. Erickson. "I apologize again for their ill temper. I have done some research within the many tomes of our library, and I believe—although perhaps I am mistaken—that Arbiter Androsse has some slender experience with the field of study."

Mrs. Erickson nodded.

Kaylin assumed field of study meant Necromancy, but didn't bother to clarify; she didn't like the word. Or rather, didn't like it anywhere in the vicinity of Mrs. Erickson.

"He is, in my opinion, the most difficult to deal with. For today, I wish to hear what brought you—personally—to the Academia. I am aware of your recent difficulties, and I believe we owe you at least that much, given the outcome."

"It's not about me, not exactly," Mrs. Erickson said. She had taken a seat, as had Kaylin; Bellusdeo was pacing, gold armor glinting in the room's light.

"Bellusdeo," the chancellor said.

She turned on the spot to glare at him.

"I understand your concern, but wearing a hole in the floor will not assuage it."

"You don't understand my concern," she snapped, rumbling, her eyes flickering between orange and red. The draconic undertone left her voice as she turned to Mrs. Erickson. "Tell him. Tell him what you told me."

"Will you be all right, dear?"

Bellusdeo's nod was shaky.

Mrs. Erickson turned her attention to Starrante. "You know I can see ghosts."

"Yes."

"I can't always tell the difference between the living and the dead."

"That must have been difficult when you were a child."

"Childhood was so long ago, I hardly remember," was the serene reply. It was as close to a lie as Mrs. Erickson could get. "I know now to check for simple things like shadows. Ghosts don't have them. Mostly. But it's not exact, and sometimes when the streets are too crowded, I make mistakes." She glanced at Bellusdeo and then squared her shoulders.

"Bellusdeo's ghosts have one shadow: hers. They're clustered around her, and they overlap. It makes Bellusdeo difficult to see at times."

"Are they always present?"

"I believe so. It's a bit hard to separate them. That many people don't usually all stand in the same place."

"Do you know their names?"

Mrs. Erickson hesitated.

"You have my permission to tell him anything you want. Anything at all," Bellusdeo said, voice low.

"They...don't think they have names."

Kaylin stiffened, her hands curling into fists in her lap.

"Pardon?"

"They don't remember their names. When I tried to ask, none of them could answer." She hesitated again, and then exhaled. "It was difficult to get answers because most of them were crying."

The chancellor looked to Bellusdeo. In a much softer voice than he had yet used when speaking to the Dragon, he said, "I understand, now, why you felt this matter so urgent."

Bellusdeo was silent.

He turned once again to Mrs. Erickson. "Are they crying now?"

Mrs. Erickson wanted to say no. Kaylin could see that clearly. But after a long hesitation, she nodded. "Not all of them," she added. "But yes."

"She can speak to them," Bellusdeo said. "She can hear them. I didn't even know they were there." Turning to Kaylin, she said, "You've never seen them."

"No."

"You could see the ghosts of the children in Mrs. Erickson's home."

Kaylin nodded.

"Do you think your familiar was aware?"

"I don't know—it's not something I would have ever thought of asking. But I've looked at you through Hope's wing before, and I've only ever seen one of you."

Starrante cleared his throat. "Was it your wish to learn more about Necromancy in order to speak with the dead Mrs. Erickson sees?"

Bellusdeo was silent.

"If I understand the very complicated coming-of-age procedure for Dragons, they are not dead. There should be no ghosts." When Bellusdeo turned toward the Wevaran, he said, "Our coming-of-age is also complicated, and it involves the deaths of all of our clutch mates in the birthing place." He held up a limb as Bellusdeo's eyes darkened. "I am not saying you were forced to devour your siblings. I am not implying that you are responsible for their deaths.

"Wevaran and Dragons are older races. With the Barrani, the process is simpler. With mortals, the process is simpler still, although mortals are ephemeral in comparison.

"The Necromancy you envision is a story meant to frighten the young or entertain an audience. It requires, among other things, a corpse. If such a school of magic existed, I believe it would prove ruinous for you, if it had any effect at all: You are not dead. You are not a corpse."

Corpse.

Kaylin said nothing.

"Mrs. Erickson can see ghosts; I will trust the corporal's observations in this regard. She cannot will them into being; she cannot give them physical form. If you wish her to somehow free the ghosts she sees—"

"I don't." Bellusdeo's interruption was sharp, instant. "I just want her to somehow make them visible to me. I want to be able to speak with them, as she does. I want to ask—" She stopped.

In as gentle a voice as Kaylin had ever heard Starrante use, he said, "I do not believe she can do what you desire. She can serve as interpreter, as she has clearly done, but she cannot somehow alter your eyes or their state to allow you to see them, hear them, or speak directly with them."

Bellusdeo didn't believe him. Or didn't want to believe him.

Kaylin's worry deepened. One word—one name—had come to mind and it stuck there: Azoria. Azoria An'Berranin.

Azoria hadn't had Mrs. Erickson's natural gift. She couldn't see ghosts. She could, however, make them. She had separated spirits from their bodies, trapping those spirits. Binding them somehow to both her will and the world in which Kaylin and Mrs. Erickson otherwise lived. Azoria could see spirits, those almost-ghosts, while their bodies still existed.

It wasn't Necromancy as Kaylin understood it—if understood was even the right word, given that anything she knew came from stories and reports made to the public desk of the Halls of Law, not reality. Azoria's magic had been a warped, twisted, subtle horror that no one but Azoria had clearly understood. Azoria was—thank whatever gods actually existed—dead. In Kaylin's opinion, she'd been so close to dead for such a long time, it was hard to think that she'd been alive when they'd first encountered her.

She certainly hadn't been Barrani by the end of that life.

Mrs. Erickson could see the spirits Azoria had extracted and trapped as ghosts.

But Mrs. Erickson could also see Darreno and Amaldi, and neither of them had been dead. Azoria had learned something different, something that overlapped Mrs. Erickson's natural skills. What would she have been capable of had she been able to possess Mrs. Erickson?

What had Azoria learned from manipulating the dead Ancient in the outlands?

Kaylin's head hurt. "Arbiter Starrante, tell us what you know of the historical roots of Necromancy." She spoke Barrani, although she'd had to hit Records to find the word for Necromancer in Barrani before she'd come to the Academia.

"Necromancy is an almost entirely mortal contrivance. We who are Immortal are blessed—or cursed—with True Names, True Words. Death for us is an ending that is different in all ways than the wise understood from death for your kind. But mortals have existed in the shadows and margins of all worlds for a very, very long time.

"Mortals have often been concerned with death, with dying, with the very nature of mortality itself. You are aware of the stories—and perhaps the truths—of their unending battle against their very nature. Some mortals struggle with the sense of ending; they do not or cannot believe that death itself is the end. From this belief arose many—but not all—mortal religions.

"The fact of ghosts, the fact of what Mrs. Erickson sees, provides some glimmer of truth in the belief that death itself is not an ending for mortals.

"I believe that those individuals who were gifted as Mrs. Erickson is gifted gave rise to the belief in the spiritual among mortals: she can see the dead." He lifted a limb before words fell out of Kaylin's mouth. "The Ancients are, and have always been, above our comprehension. Studies, in Ravellon , when Ravellon was the heart of all worlds, were done. Those who consented to aid in this research were mortals; the research was longer, by far, than a single mortal's life span.

"The gift itself is not a singular thing, as research showed. It is like any other magical gift: there is a greater—or lesser—power to be found in individuals. This is true of magical gifts in any individuals of any race. Some are more talented than others. Necromancy—and it was not designated as such, as it could not be taught or learned—was similar. Some were more gifted than others.

"But a few of the people who had consented to this long study—much of it lost, with Ravellon —felt that the dead they could see were not all of the dead; they were...displaced. They were trapped. There was a strong sense that the dead—the mortal dead—should not be here. In a few cases, what they called remnants were powerful enough to trouble the living, or to harm them.

"Understand that to the Immortal, the harm these ghosts could do was minimal; it was hardly notable at all. Or so it was believed. But scholars are scholars for a reason; some become enamored of their chosen areas of research, even if that research yielded no obviously practical results. I have been accused of such focus in my time.

"Ah, but I digress. What remains of that research are the notebooks inscribed during some of the studies."

They were contained in the library. Kaylin didn't understand how new books appeared in the vast and endless archive, but she knew the Arbiters believed all books of any kind made their way to this singular collection.

"There were, during the centuries of research, three subjects considered of import and note."

Bellusdeo resumed her pacing. She was patient enough—barely—not to interrupt the Arbiter, but he clearly wasn't answering her questions.

"Mortals die. Their ghosts, in theory, should not have powers they did not possess while alive. But their lives were prescribed by the Ancients; we understood the boundaries of those existences because they were in front of our eyes, should we choose to look. The dead did not occupy that space. But perhaps the strength of their memories left an aftershock as they died. In all of the cases involving the subjects and their use of their power, resentment and rage fueled the existence of the ghosts."

Kaylin frowned, considering his words, and considering, as well, Helen's previous opinion. What he said aligned with Helen's brief comments.

But it didn't align with her experience. Jamal had not been the product of his death in the way Starrante's words implied; he had been a child, with the same sense of mischief and anger that children were less practiced at controlling. He had the same longing for company, the same desire to protect the people he loved, the same need for friends. He'd had friends: the other kidnapped and murdered children, Katie, Esmeralda, and Callis.

Was it because his death had been so unusual? His body had died fifteen to twenty years after he'd been separated from it, as had the bodies of the other three children.

She glanced at Bellusdeo and froze. The Dragon's eyes were a terrible color, a copper-tinged green.

Kaylin wasn't the only person to have noticed this; Starrante might have been the only one who didn't.

"No, dear," Mrs. Erickson told Bellusdeo, reaching out to touch the back of hands that had balled into fists. "They do not resent. They are not bound to you because they believe you were responsible for their deaths. They are sad, yes—but if they have one thing in common, it is their love for you."

"You can't know that," Bellusdeo whispered. She turned to the old woman without freeing her hands.

"I think I'm the only person in this room who can," Mrs. Erickson replied. "They are very, very concerned for you at the moment. They're afraid of the color of your eyes."

"They can't say what they feel—"

"One of them has just said she was angry when you stole...something, I'm sorry, I can't quite make sense of the word. She says it happened in the Aerie. Lannagaros gave you a...charm? Something protective. You broke yours in... I'm sorry, these are her words, not mine. You broke yours in a fit of temper. You didn't want to ask Lannagaros for another one, because you wanted to avoid a lecture. So you stole hers."

The chancellor's brows folded as he watched Bellusdeo; the Dragon's eyes widened, but the ugly green receded, leaving her eyes a copper-orange blend.

"She doesn't mean to embarrass you," Mrs. Erickson continued. "But she wishes me to make clear that I can hear them, and she felt that this incident would serve as proof. It is not rage that fuels their presence."

Bellusdeo returned to the seat she had vacated, lowering her chin until her expression couldn't easily be seen.