Chapter 05

05

"No, you aren't in a prison here." She paused—the pause was long—before she continued. "I'm sorry, I don't understand how you were trapped in the altar. I don't think the Arkon was responsible for your captivity—I don't think he was aware of your presence at all."

The crowd's volume rose, but the words remained unintelligible.

Kaylin needed to be closer to make sense of what was being said, but neither Hope nor Helen believed it was safe for her to move. She was a corporal now, not a private—or worse, a mascot. She could assess their concerns. She could sit on her impulse. She didn't have to rush ahead.

She had always trusted her instincts; they'd kept her alive. But learning how to differentiate between impulse and instinct was way harder than it should have been.

"I live here as well," Mrs. Erickson continued. "I brought you here because it would be safest—for both you and the rest of my people. We aren't what you are, and we aren't what you were. I'm not certain people like us could survive you. We don't... Pardon?"

Kaylin strained to hear what Mrs. Erickson heard.

"No, dear—I'm not like you. I'm not as you were, even when you were alive. Alive? It means..." Mrs. Erickson exhaled. Clearly this wasn't something she'd ever had to explain to the dead of her acquaintance.

For the first time since she'd started listening, Kaylin heard a single word. A word that she hadn't heard before but was nonetheless familiar. Oh. It was a True Word. A word spoken in the first language of the Ancients.

To her great surprise, Mrs. Erickson repeated the word, syllable for syllable; her voice rose at the end, making a question of it.

"Then what is death?" Mrs. Erickson asked.

A second word, more carefully spoken than the first, emanated from no known source. This one, Mrs. Erickson didn't repeat.

"Hope?"

This is beyond us , Hope replied.

"Us?"

Helen and me. I think it's beyond Terrano.

"Not me?"

You are Chosen.

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean!"

No. His voice contained a glimmer of amusement. No more did any other being who was granted the marks of the Chosen in their time. Words have meaning. True Words have immutable meaning. But I have come to believe that the granting of those marks was the Ancients' sole attempt to give flexibility to a language that had none.

"What do you mean?"

To my knowledge, no two people who were Chosen made use of the marks in the same way. The marks were the same; the uses were fundamentally different. Their meaning relied on the individual who bore them.

Kaylin's frown was the thinking frown. "Wouldn't that make them like True Names?"

Why?

"The Barrani Lake of Life contains a finite number of names. Those names are used to breathe life into Barrani infants. But when the Barrani to whom they were given dies, the name returns to the Lake. The name might be chosen by the Lady for another infant, but the child retains no memories of the past life. The lives might be markedly different. If the names are True Words, would that make sense?"

True Names are not malleable; if they are altered, they lose meaning. And the bearer of them loses their life.

"Yes, but the life itself is different. You can't just give a child a name and expect them to be the exact same person as the prior bearer. So...the words at the heart of Immortal people are flexible; they'd have to be."

They are not.

"Their meaning isn't clear in the way True Words are. I mean—the lives wrapped around them are different, right? So they can't somehow mean the same thing."

Hope was silent.

"So maybe the marks of the Chosen are like that? That's the type of flexibility the Ancients sought?"

Perhaps. It is something to consider, but I fail to see the relevance.

"When I saw Mrs. Erickson's ghosts, I didn't see what she saw—but I did see something. They looked like words to me. Like the words on my skin. I could see her ghosts—the ones she lived with—and they looked like the children they'd once been. Amaldi and Darreno weren't actually dead—I could see them with your help, but not on my own.

"But I'm not certain the Ancients had a concept of death that is anything at all like ours. And by ours, I mean Dragons, Barrani, Aerians, Leontines, humans—any of us. Dead is dead. It's absence. It's empty space. But the corpse of the Ancient we found still had power, and Azoria was using it. And when we freed him, he wasn't dead. He wasn't dead by any measure I understand. To the Hawks, to the law, he'd be considered alive; he could speak, he could interact."

Her frown deepened. "The ghosts that are in the hall now possessed Sanabalis."

You should really call him the Arkon. You are going to have to get used to it.

"He's not here and you know who I mean. I mean, how can it be disrespectful when he can't hear it?"

I will leave this discussion in Helen's capable hands.

"Fine. The thing that's worrying me right now—I mean, besides the fact there's a miniature moon in my hallway—is the possession of Sanabalis. If what I saw were the ghosts of words—and how does that even happen?—does that mean they could possess Sanabalis because they are words? Were they somehow displacing his True Name? Interfering with it somehow?

"What if they somehow just replaced those words? What would happen to him?" Her hands tightened as she considered the possibilities she really hadn't had time to consider, she'd been so distracted with ghosts and Azoria. "Tell Terrano to leave. Right now."

He asks me to point out that he cannot, at the moment, move. Both Helen and I are preventing it.

"Just let him leave!"

We do not wish him to "accidentally" overlap with Mrs. Erickson's guests.

This was reasonable. "You can't prevent that?"

We are not even certain what we would be preventing. Helen doesn't deem it worth the risk to Terrano. If his state—and theirs—were concrete and separate, we would have immediately done so.

"Terrano's attachment to his True Name is the most tenuous of all the Barrani I know. I think it's more dangerous for him."

And it is safe for you?

Kaylin squinted as she looked at her arms. "Yes. Yes, I think it's safe for me. I have the marks of the Chosen." She hesitated, and then said, "But that's not why I think it might be safer. I don't have Words. I think the only people who are guaranteed some sort of safety are Mrs. Erickson...and me."

Because you are mortal?

"Because we don't need Words to live, yes."

Very well. Terrano is not, as you guessed, corporeal in any of the traditional senses. Fallessian is, but he is tightly connected to Terrano. I do not believe he will attempt to maintain that connection if Terrano is returned to your plane of existence.

"Good. Sedarias would murder us slowly if we managed to lose Fallessian here."

Terrano did not, as it happened, go away. Kaylin offered a few choice words—in two languages Mrs. Erickson wasn't likely to know—as the most difficult, reckless member of the cohort appeared in front of her. He had a rope of gold tied around his waist. At any other time she would have snickered; it was something used on foundlings when they went on their very rare field trips.

But she thought the rope was gold in color for a reason. "That rope better not be Fallessian."

"Nice to see you, too."

"How did you get here?"

"We were almost in the same place," Terrano replied, shrugging. "It's darker here than I'm used to, but I could see a pretty blazing light, and I followed that."

"Instead of listening to Helen and Hope?"

"She's your landlord and he's your familiar. I don't have to listen to them." He reached for the rope around his waist; when he touched it, he shouted and lifted his hand as if it had been burned. "You talk to him," Terrano snapped, glaring at Kaylin.

His eyes were black with obsidian flecks.

"Can he hear me?"

"He can hear me, I can hear you, so even if he can't hear you himself, he'll hear what I hear. I'm certainly hearing what everyone else thinks." Given his expression, she could imagine what the cohort's opinion was.

"Fallessian, Hope feels it's not safe to be anywhere near these ghosts. Mrs. Erickson is talking with them now. I can't understand most of what they're saying; I can understand Mrs. Erickson." She hesitated again, exhaled, and said, "I think the ghosts are words. True Words—possibly closer to True Names than the spoken language of the Ancients.

"I'm not certain what they'll do to True Names. I think it's possible that the reason they could possess Sanabalis was because they could almost fill the same space as his name. I don't really want that to happen to any of you; I think Helen's probably already moved Mandoran, Torrisant, and Annarion to someplace safer.

"Mortals don't have those words. We don't need 'em to live and breathe. We don't live forever because we don't have them—but I don't think they can possess either me or Mrs. Erickson."

"Fallessian wants to know what they can do to the marks of the Chosen, if you think they can just shove important words to one side. That's not how he put it," Terrano added, "but that's what he means."

"I don't know. But... I think the worst they could do is join the marks on my skin. There's nothing in me that they can displace."

Hope said, That is not entirely true. You carry a True Name within you. Your life does not depend on it, but it is there.

Kaylin forgot about it, most days. "I don't think it works the same way. Look: if it disappears, I'm still going to be Kaylin Neya. I'm still going to be a corporal. I won't become some sort of weird undead vampire the way Barrani do or can.

"Just...let Mrs. Erickson talk and let me listen. I think the two of us are going to be safe." She hoped.

Mrs. Erickson's voice was low and gentle. "But you could leave your room. You did. You aren't in your room now. If you don't want to stay in your room, you can join me—I don't stay in mine. But you have to learn to be a bit careful here. There are other people living in this house, and your presence can affect them.

"Your presence seems to have affected the house itself—which won't harm you now, but can harm the others, because they aren't like you." Mrs. Erickson's voice was soothing, gentle. Always had been. "I will come visit you. You can come visit me."

"Mrs. Erickson—can the ghosts even see the other tenants?"

"They can see me," she said. "And they're aware of the others, but...not the way they are of me. I believe they're aware of you right now as well."

"Do they see me the way they see you?"

"I don't think so. It's difficult to understand what they're saying. I do understand the words, but not the way they're using them, and sometimes the words they speak are indistinct, too soft or too broken to hear properly.

"But they don't mean any harm," she added quickly. "They're confused and they're lost—and I think they're cold. They can't get warm."

"Can you lead them back to their rooms?"

There was a long pause. "I'm not sure I can. I can't see their rooms. I can't see the hall anymore."

"Do you see a small moon in the hallway?"

"Yes."

It was what Kaylin saw. She could hear Mrs. Erickson clearly, but couldn't see her. The only thing she could see was the miniature moon—and Terrano.

"Can you see me clearly, Terrano?"

"More or less."

Kaylin exhaled. "I really, really want you to get out of here." She held out her hand, palm up.

Terrano placed his palm across hers, and she tightened her fingers. She then dragged him toward her, until he was practically standing on her feet.

"Teela's not sure this is smart."

"Teela's certain that everything you've done until now has been reckless and foolish," Kaylin countered. "Being uncertain is a big improvement."

"Fair enough."

"Can you let go of Fallessian?"

"I'm not holding on to him. Fallessian's willing to let go; Sedarias isn't willing to have him let go. Where are you going?"

"I'm going to find Mrs. Erickson. I think there must be some overlap in the space."

"Helen doesn't think so."

"I can hear her."

"Helen thinks that's a function of her voice—you can hear what the dead hear. Mrs. Erickson is standing in the hall beside Helen's Avatar. She hasn't phased into a different plane of existence. What she sees is normal, everyday house—with a giant orb in the way. And the dead."

"You're saying that it's her eyes and her voice that are perceiving different planes of existence, not the rest of her?"

"Seems like it to me. Helen won't let me study her eyes—she thinks it's rude."

"Wherever we are isn't where she is. I'm trying to move to where she is."

"How did you even get here?"

"I closed my eyes, okay? I closed my eyes and I could see the marks of the Chosen clearly. When I opened my eyes, I was here, in the dark."

"You saw the ghosts, back in the palace."

"I saw them only when Mrs. Erickson came in contact with them. But I didn't see what she saw. Come on."

"She doesn't need rescue."

"Who said I was trying to save her? It's you I'm worried about."

Terrano grimaced. "Just in case this changes your mind, Sedarias approves."

Kaylin rolled her eyes. She and Sedarias didn't see eye to eye on much—but where the safety of friends was concerned, Kaylin had no arguments.

"Teela thinks you're an idiot, though."

Kaylin would not let go of Terrano's hand; he only tried to wriggle free once. She turned to face the orb, listening for Mrs. Erickson's soft voice. As she did, she could almost hear the ghosts of dead words. No, that wasn't right. The words weren't dead. They were just words.

How could the words be ghosts?

What had they occupied before, when they were what passed for alive? Was it only the body that was missing now? Were they confused because of that absence? Were they trying to find a different body, a new form?

She'd asked herself variations of this a dozen times and was no closer to an answer than she had been when she'd started. But she felt as if she was almost touching one that remained frustratingly out of reach.

Helen said that shamans—not Necromancers—helped the trapped dead, or the echoes the living left behind, pass on to wherever it was they were meant to go.

How did words pass on?

Mrs. Erickson had wanted to free Jamal and the rest of the children, but had had no idea how to do that; her biggest fear of her own death had been deserting those trapped, captive children. But she hadn't helped them to pass on. Once Azoria was dead, they could leave. They could go wherever it was the dead were meant to go.

These words clearly couldn't—but maybe there had never been a place for them to go. Kaylin wondered if she could gather them up and dump them in the Lake of Life.

Absolutely not , Hope snapped. They are contained for the moment, but it is tiring. Do not add to the burden by being reckless.

Kaylin held on to Terrano as she closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she saw darkness—but it was subtly different. In that darkness, as if she were a ghost herself, Kaylin could now see Imelda Erickson. Mrs. Erickson's shoulders weren't bowed; she stood straight, and her eyes were an odd color, given that the rest of her was colorless.

Mrs. Erickson's arms were extended, her palms facing upward, her forehead slightly creased with concern. Kaylin watched her carefully. She could see the moon—but in this space, it wasn't an actual orb. She could see Hope in a state she'd never seen him in before: half Aerian, half serpentine. And she could see the words as they canted forward, as if to fall into Mrs. Erickson's open hands. They were transparent, but their shapes overlapped; they were larger than any of the marks of the Chosen—but the marks of the Chosen could detach themselves from her skin, becoming larger, or far larger, in different circumstances.

Mrs. Erickson was focused on those words, and on her own—the ones she spoke, the ones she offered as comfort. Her eyes widened as Kaylin approached her, Terrano in tow.

"Kaylin?"

"Yes, it's me. I have Terrano as well."

"My goodness—you aren't... You didn't die, did you?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"You did disappear."

Kaylin nodded. "I think, given the way the words are leaning, they'll follow you. They can hear you; I'd guess they can't easily hear the rest of us."

"They don't want to stay in the room Helen built for them. They find it very cold, very empty."

"It was designed to be manipulable by Imelda's guests—but I've never had dead guests before. I suppose it isn't surprising they can't fully control the space."

Kaylin couldn't see Helen.

"Hope?"

I concur. They desire to follow Mrs. Erickson. If we can ask Mrs. Erickson to keep an eye on them, we may survive this. As Kaylin watched, the various mismatched parts of her familiar shifted in place until he was once again the version of himself she knew best. The words were far larger than his form; he flew and landed on Kaylin's shoulder; she could feel his claws pierce fabric around her collarbone.

She blinked several times as reality reasserted itself: she was standing in the hall that led to the residents' rooms, and the hall itself no longer contained a glowing orb.

The cohort was absent, with the single exception of Terrano; when Kaylin realized the words were gone, she let go of his hand.

She then turned to Mrs. Erickson, whose cupped hands contained the shivering words—just as she'd done when she first carried them to Helen.

Mrs. Erickson looked worried for the words she saw as people; she looked pale to Kaylin's eyes, but that could have been a trick of the abundant light. "I'm going to take them to my room," Mrs. Erickson said, looking up briefly to meet Kaylin's gaze.

Kaylin nodded.

She liked having a room of her own but felt that Mrs. Erickson might need company.

"She won't, dear," Helen said. "They mean her no harm."

"They took over part of the hall when they meant her no harm. I'm not worried about her safety—I'm worried about the safety of everyone else."

Helen nodded. "I am informed that Serralyn has been doing some research which she hopes might be of use. In the meantime, I can strengthen the envelope of protection around Imelda's quarters. I know you feel Imelda is a civilian, but technically so are most of the cohort. You cannot stop her from trying to help these ghosts—it is her very nature.

"I am sorry my own containments were not up to the task. I cannot see them as you—or Imelda—see them; I can see what you see, but Imelda's vision, as it relates to these dead, is impassible to me."

Kaylin exhaled. "Do what you can to keep Mrs. Erickson's room habitable for her." She stared at the words she couldn't read, couldn't pronounce, hoping to consign them to memory. "I'll head back to the Academia."

"The Academia?"

"The Arkon—the former Arkon—had some schooling in True Words, and I'm almost certain the Arbiters understand them. I need to know what these words actually mean." Her stomach started to rumble. "I also need to finish eating."

Hope was once again draped across her shoulders. She was almost embarrassed about having missed him, he could be such a pain. She'd spent most of her life without a familiar of any kind and would have sworn she'd be fine if he simply chose to leave. Apparently she didn't really know herself as well as she'd thought.

Hope squawked.

She fed him from her plate. As far as she knew, he didn't need to eat—but he enjoyed it sometimes.

Mandoran and Annarion came down to finish their interrupted dinner; to her surprise, Torrisant and Fallessian joined them. Terrano did not.

"You heard them first, right?" she asked Torrisant.

He nodded.

"Can you still hear them?"

He glanced at Annarion, who shrugged: Up to you . She didn't expect an answer; Torrisant and Fallessian both avoided anyone who wasn't part of the cohort. "Yes."

"They're in Mrs. Erickson's room right now."

Torrisant nodded. "I can hear them as a murmur. I can almost make out syllables."

"You knew there was a problem because you could hear something?"

"The syllables grew louder and faster."

"Can any other member of the cohort hear them?"

Mandoran said, "No. Serralyn's frustrated. She'd like to be here when things are going, as she put it, pear-shaped. But there are things she's doing at the Academia that she can't just drop."

"Why can Torrisant hear them? Sorry," she added to Torrisant. "I'm used to talking about you in third person because you almost never come to meals."

Torrisant shrugged; the gesture was far less fluid than Mandoran's. Kaylin realized he was trying to fit in, somehow; he was trying to be more Elantran. "I'm not certain."

Annarion raised a brow at Torrisant, who grimaced. "My family is Immolan. Nine hundred years ago, give or take a few decades, we were a family of scholars and mages. We had some power in the High Court, but we weren't a largely political family. Most of the time."

"But you got sent to the green with the rest of the cohort. I mean—wasn't that about gaining power?"

"It was about gaining power to fight the Dragons," he replied, voice low. "It wasn't about gaining power in the court itself."

Mandoran snorted. Loudly.

"We weren't!" Torrisant snapped.

"Torri isn't the most politically canny of our number," Mandoran said.

"Speak for yourself."

"I am. I'm not interested in politics, especially not ours. But I'm aware of the undercurrents and the jostling for position. You weren't sent to the green because Immolan wanted to contribute powerful soldiers to the war effort. You were sent because powerful soldiers meant more power for Immolan." Mandoran folded his arms and tilted his chair onto its two back legs.

Torrisant glared at Mandoran. "It doesn't matter, does it? Immolan's fortunes fell during our long absence. They're part of the High Court, but they have no reliable power."

Before Kaylin could ask, Mandoran said, "They're remaining neutral. They don't support Sedarias. But they don't support any other member of Mellarionne either; they consider the fight for the line to be irrelevant to their interests."

Kaylin glanced at Annarion; he ate. But he ate without looking at either Mandoran or Torrisant; he had opinions but was trying to remain neutral.

"Let's go with Torrisant's opinion for now," Kaylin said. "If they were a family of scholar mages, did they hope to increase your power so it would be useful in that regard?"

Torrisant nodded stiffly. He was—no doubt—arguing silently with Mandoran.

"Did you have to be tested in some way before you were chosen?"

"I wasn't the main branch at the time. All of the families who owed allegiance to Immolan produced their children to be tested."

"And it was a magical power test?"

"It was—but Immolan's tests are unusual, and highly secretive."

"So you passed—or failed, depending on how your parents felt about it?"

He nodded.

"And I suppose there's no way to know whether or not you'd have hearing this sensitive if you hadn't been exposed to the regalia ."

"Sedarias highly doubts that this sensitivity is useful," Mandoran added.

"Can I ask a different question?"

Torrisant nodded.

"Why did you not go to the Academia with Serralyn and Valliant?"

Mandoran and Annarion both winced.

Fallessian, who hadn't spoken once, stood. "Immolan was a family of scholar mages—but Torrisant had no desire to become a scholar. Not then, and not now. He was abandoned—we were all abandoned—by ambitious parents, or parents who were too weak to have a choice.

"Torrisant won't go to the Academia because he doesn't want to give Immolan, and his mostly dead ancestors, any advantage from that ancient decision. We are people, not tools. We get to decide what we make of our own lives. Maybe if we'd had a choice, as Sedarias did, we'd feel differently. We didn't, and we don't. Torrisant won't become what they wanted him to become.

"None of us will."

"Sedarias is An'Mellarionne."

"Because that's what Sedarias wanted—and wants. She wasn't there for Mellarionne. She was there for reasons she chose. We support her because this is what she wants. And without Sedarias, the cohort might not have existed at all."

Torrisant lifted a hand, and Fallessian fell silent. His eyes were a dark blue; he was angry. Kaylin hoped his anger wasn't directed at her. "Helen is our home now. She may consider us to be your guests, but we consider ourselves to be tenants—with the same responsibilities you shoulder.

"She saved Annarion and Mandoran when they first arrived. She offered us shelter and sustenance when we joined them. Even now, she does what she can to protect us, and most of us are truly grateful."

"Most?"

"Terrano has never liked external protection." Mandoran shrugged.

Torrisant continued. "These guests destabilize Helen; they threaten the security of our home. What I was not—and will never be—willing to offer Immolan, I will offer Helen. While we believe it would be best if she ejected the guests she has accepted, we know that she—like you, her primary tenant—will not do that. But there is a danger. If I cannot fully hear or understand the words, I hear enough. If such words can be frightened, they are; if such words can have ambition or will, they do.

"I believe they want what Helen gave to us; they cannot perceive her attempts to offer them shelter in the way we did and do." Torrisant exhaled. "I will, if you intend to visit the Academia again, go with you. But I will not apply to join Serralyn and Valliant.

"And for what it's worth, Serralyn's family would have considered her tenure in the Academia to be a contemptible waste of time; Valliant's family would have been embarrassed, if not humiliated, at his choice to remain there. Had either of their families intended that fate for them, I am certain they, too, would have rejected the Academia." He looked at his untouched food, and then rose to join Fallessian. "Helen will inform me when you are ready to leave."

She turned to Helen. "I'm going to try to get some sleep after dinner—but I'll be heading to the Academia after work."

"You are going to the Halls of Law?"

Kaylin nodded. Sanabalis wanted her to deal with Bellusdeo. Bellusdeo had Imperial permission to accompany Kaylin. And Mrs. Erickson needed to spend time with the ghosts she'd brought home—not Bellusdeo's sisters. "I don't think it's a good idea for Mrs. Erickson to leave the house while the ghosts are so unstable."

Helen nodded in silent agreement.

There was no emergency in the middle of the night. Kaylin slept without interruption, woke up on time, and dressed quickly, then headed to the breakfast table. Mrs. Erickson was absent. "Helen?"

"She spent much of the night awake speaking with her newest ghosts, and she is not—in her own words—as young as she used to be. I therefore chose to let her sleep. Bellusdeo mirrored."

Kaylin winced.

"She intends to accompany you to the Halls of Law this morning. She is not highly pleased to have any delay in her return to the Academia; she believed you would be heading there, instead of the Halls of Law."

"Doesn't she have a Tower to captain?" Marcus accepted Bellusdeo because the gold Dragon had insisted, with vehemence, that she was no part of the Imperial Dragon Court, but he was never going to be happy about Dragons.

"I believe she had an argument with either her Tower or Lord Emmerian, and felt that finding a different occupation for the day would allow her to rein in her temper."

Great. Angry Dragon in the Halls of Law.

"But Imelda did make baked goods yesterday. She asked that you deliver them to the front desk if you have the time; they won't last another day."