Chapter 07

07

The silence that followed was so complete, even breath didn't disturb it. Eyes flickered, shifting color as the statement was absorbed. Even Bellusdeo was staring at the side of Kaylin's head. The chancellor, like Kavallac, was still, his eyes a red-flecked orange.

It was Androsse who recovered first. "What exactly do you mean by a dead Ancient?"

It was a damn good question. Kaylin glanced at Terrano. She wanted him to answer it. He was tight-lipped. Serralyn was silent as well, her eyes a dark blue. Great.

"Did Bakkon not mention it?"

"I am not certain Bakkon was aware of it; I am certain he would have had much to say, otherwise," Starrante replied. His eyes were also red, and half of them had extended to their full height.

Kavallac's rumble contained no words. When she found them, they were curt and visceral. "Answer the Arbiter's question, Chosen." Not Corporal, Chosen.

"I don't fully understand it myself. Azoria had created a space adjacent to our world; it existed beside a small bungalow in an otherwise decent neighborhood. That bungalow was occupied by Mrs. Erickson, who now lives with me. Azoria was clearly capable of creating pocket spaces with ease; I think—and I'm not certain—that she began to experiment while the High Halls wasn't fully active, as it is now; she certainly understood how to reach what I call the outlands.

"I think she must have started with paintings, and she refined them; she could draw power from trapped, living Barrani. She could, I think, draw power from their True Names, even if she couldn't read them or speak them."

"Barrani are not Ancients," Androsse said, eyes narrow.

"You knew Azoria."

"He did," Kavallac said, the words tinged with anger. The two were prone to heated arguments, which no rational person wanted—but if they started, the meeting in the library would be over. Bellusdeo wouldn't get access to the fruits of their reluctant research, but Kaylin wouldn't be on the hot seat, being interrogated.

"I don't know how she found the Ancient, but it was clear she could already manipulate the matter of the outlands to some extent. But by this point, I think she understood how to draw power from True Names, from True Words—and I think the Ancients are fully stuffed with them. I think it's their blood—literal blood." She hesitated and glanced at the former Arkon. "The ancient mirror at the heart of the Imperial Palace—"

The chancellor lifted a hand. "There are things about which we do not speak in the presence of outsiders."

Kaylin couldn't decide if that meant the Arbiters, the cohort, or her. The Arbiters were the power in the room, if room was the right word, but she'd leave the library, and the chancellor remained part of the Dragon Court, which included the Emperor, her ultimate boss, who was also not trapped in the library.

She had seen that ancient mirror, and had seen the fragments of its past, its creation: the blood of Ancients had been shed there, to give the mirror power.

That wasn't the way mirrors were created now.

And calling it a mirror was wrong; it was just convenient, a way of understanding its function. It could be a mirror. But it could also be a graveyard. It was from this mirror that the ghosts of words had risen when Mrs. Erickson had walked into the cavern.

Kaylin understood death. It was the worst part of her job: murder, the collection and dissection of corpses, the need to find the killer to bring them to justice—or at least prevent them from making more victims. She'd seen Barrani corpses, had stood beside Red in the morgue when he examined human corpses.

No experience with death made sense of either Mrs. Erickson's ghosts or the being Kaylin had found in the outlands: the Ancient, who, while dead, could still speak.

"The Ancients were sometimes called the lords of law and the lords of chaos," Androsse said. "You have seen their work in the races that populate your city; you have never seen the grandeur of their labors as it once existed in Ravellon . The Ancients created the Towers that exist to this day in your fiefs.

"They created the Academia. They created this library—the finest of their achievements, the repository of all learning, the remnant of dead worlds, and the evidence of worlds that have not yet come to their end. But they have deserted us, their many, many children; they have left the worlds an empty, mundane place. We assumed, we eldest, that they had left to create different worlds, different planes; that they had chosen to walk in a fashion that we, lesser in all ways, could not survive.

"And you tell us that one is dead? They are deathless, Chosen."

"Azoria had bound them. I freed them. I think she was attempting to drain their power. She'd already managed to do this with her own people—Barrani—and there was a power in this Ancient that far exceeded her own kind's.

"I think she was trying to create a new language, a different truth—at least for herself. I think she was trying to change her True Name."

"Azoria did not—and would never —have the power to bind an Ancient!"

"Not a living one, no. But a corpse? A body?"

Androsse looked scandalized; it was the first time Kaylin had seen that expression on his face. He then turned to Kavallac. "It appears you may not have been entirely mistaken about Azoria."

Kavallac exhaled smoke. "You have always been too appreciative of boundless ambition." Her voice was quieter, less rumbling, as she accepted Androsse's no doubt extremely rare peace offering.

"But after I broke the words she'd tried to create, the Ancient woke. They said they were dead. I'm not a shaman—you've done your research, right?—so the dead don't speak to me the usual way. This one did. I think... I found it hard to talk to them. I wasn't even certain my voice could reach them. But they said they were dead because they had fulfilled their purpose."

"What purpose?" Androsse's voice was a snap of sound.

"I don't know. I didn't ask. I think...if they're truly endless, death is about change, to them. But I didn't ask a lot of questions."

Androsse was a pot of simmering frustration, but it didn't boil over. "I am uncertain that I would be able to properly question such a being, so your poor effort must be forgiven." By his tone, very reluctantly. "Has Mrs. Erickson interacted with the Ancient?"

Kaylin shook her head. "I'm not sure the Emperor would approve of that, either."

The chancellor agreed, but Kaylin was now thinking. If the ghosts Mrs. Erickson was babysitting came somehow from the blood of the Ancients, if they had been trapped in, part of, the ancient mirror at the heart of the Imperial Palace, maybe the Ancient themselves would be able to help Mrs. Erickson. Or help the ghosts.

"Mrs. Erickson doesn't use power consciously." But even as the words left Kaylin's mouth, she hesitated; Mrs. Erickson had used her power consciously—after getting Jamal's permission. She had promised Jamal she would never do something again. Which meant she'd done it at least once in the distant past.

Bellusdeo cleared her throat in full draconic fashion. "She spoke to the ghosts of my sisters deliberately."

"Yes—but she spoke to them the way she'd speak to any of us. I mean, anyone alive. When she was younger, she couldn't even tell the difference. The dead don't look like corpses to her. They don't look the way they did at death. She meant to speak to them, yes—they were upset and isolated, and she's the type of gentle soul who reaches out. I don't think she can stop herself."

"It's why you like her so much," the gold Dragon replied. "And I understand why you're worried for her." Bellusdeo swallowed.

The chancellor very gently placed a hand on her left shoulder. "The research done here, the research done by Helen, will help Mrs. Erickson to better understand—and help—your sisters."

To Kaylin's shock, Bellusdeo turned toward the chancellor. "Lannagaros—I know. I know. But she said they were weeping. I survived. I was the only one who survived. My name is their name."

"It is all of your names," was his quiet reply. Kaylin had never seen Bellusdeo look so young. "It has always been thus. We are expendable. The mothers of the Aeries are not."

"Then why are they weeping? Did I do this to them? Am I doing something now that I'm not even aware of?"

"I cannot answer that question. But I remember you. I remember all of your sisters. They were the most difficult hatchlings in the Aerie—possibly in any Aerie. Perhaps it is why I can tolerate Terrano; he reminds me of your sisters. Mrs. Erickson did you no kindness, but she wants to help. And if I understand what has happened, she doesn't know how. It would be safe for her to interact with your sisters, and if it brings you comfort, you might ask Helen if you can visit more often.

"But you are a Tower lord now. You cannot simply abandon your fief. I promise that the Arbiters are giving their research their full attention; if not before, certainly now. But this is new to us. You will help your sisters, but if Mrs. Erickson's power is not understood, unintentional damage might be done. The consequences of that power have already been seen once. The Emperor is aware of her existence; he is aware of her lack of malicious intent.

"But tidal waves and earthquakes have no malice. We are attempting to understand whether or not she is, or will be, a cataclysmic disaster, and the Arbiters have thrown all of their vast powers of research into that very question. I understand your urgency—but inasmuch as it is possible, be patient. You have duties to the living that I fear you have been neglecting; concentrate on those. You cannot drag the corporal to the Academia every single night until you have answers."

Kaylin was grateful for the chancellor's intervention. Bellusdeo quieted, but her eyes were pure copper, shadowed and dark.

"What has research unearthed?" It was the chancellor who asked, taking the reins of the discussion from Kaylin's hands.

"If we assume that Mrs. Erickson is not a Necromancer, very little."

"And if you assume she is?"

"There is more information. It cannot, we are informed, leave the Academia; it should not leave the library."

"Forbidden studies, then."

"Indeed. There are more recent studies and documentation about the field of Necromancy; it was once a studied ability in the Arcanum."

Of course it was.

"When he says recent," Kavallac added, "he refers to a period of four and a half centuries ago. It was not well understood, and the study was forbidden by the Emperor when he took power. It was not that Necromantic magics were feared—it was the experiments surrounding that study that caused issues. One Barrani Arcanist destroyed a small human village in order to have necessary experimental materials.

"We were informed that that threat was ended. The criminal is dead." Her tone made clear that her only regret was her inability to be the cause of that death.

Androsse, however, didn't care.

Kaylin thought, watching him, that his current intensity was unusual because Androsse cared only about the fate of the library. She thought he'd let the world burn, and find amusement in the chaos and destruction, as long as that destruction didn't touch the library at all. Yet he cared, in some fashion, about the dead Ancient. The speaking, walking Ancient who was not, in any way Kaylin's life experience had defined the word, dead.

She shook her head; Androsse's stare was like a physical threat, it was fastened so grimly on her. He had no desire to discuss Necromancy now; all of his attention was on the dead Ancient, and therefore the person who'd been stupid enough to mention it.

Kavallac was less focused, or perhaps she wished to annoy Androsse. She continued. "Necromantic abilities were not as reliable in study as they were in story, but the Necromancer could, with effort and will, force bodies to move; they could, with the same effort, command those moving corpses. Not all of the bodies rose; not all of the bodies could mimic the movements they had once had in life. The research was done on human corpses, and I believe some Leontine corpses as well."

In spite of herself, Kaylin was curious. "How many of the corpses could the Necromancer animate?"

Androsse chose to join the conversation. "A third of the villagers. The third that could be animated rose immediately upon Necromantic command. But the commands obeyed were rudimentary; movement, very simple tasks. Nor did the magic preserve the bodies."

"Mrs. Erickson has had nothing to do with corpses."

"No? Very well, no. It is my suspicion that the Arcanist who studied this discipline was lacking what Mrs. Erickson has: the ability to see ghosts, to see the echoes of the living. Were Mrs. Erickson to make the attempt—"

The chancellor cleared his throat, Dragon style.

Androsse was annoyed.

"It is forbidden , Arbiter. What you choose to do in the confines of the library is beyond the mandate of Imperial Law. Mrs. Erickson is not."

"Those studies hint at the absence of natural talent," Androsse replied, voice cool. "The researcher understood the forms but did not have the ability. It is possible that Mrs. Erickson might have that ability."

"She is an old, mortal woman," Bellusdeo said. "She'd probably faint at the sight of a corpse. Regardless, the chancellor would not allow her to participate in any such experiments. The Emperor has forbidden them entirely." And so did the gold Dragon. "If it's possible that her natural talent would supply what the Arcanist lacked, it remains irrelevant."

"If there is no study, there is no further understanding."

Bellusdeo turned to Starrante, as almost all of the students who came to the library did. There were exceptions, of course; some were so terrified of spiders that they couldn't get past their terror. "Arbiter, the studies about shamans?"

"They are not direct studies; they were personal biographies, personal stories of interactions with those who claimed to be shamans. It is difficult to gauge their authenticity; biographic information is often far more emotional than clinical. There are those in Elantra now who claim to be able to confer with the dead."

Kaylin's expression immediately soured as she thought of Margot and the rest of the Elani street vultures. Yes, there bloody well were. "Did they use crystal balls?"

"Do not bring your contempt for Elani street into this." A flicker of orange shifted the copper in Bellusdeo's eyes.

"Some, indeed, used those focal elements. They may have been necessary for the shamans to exercise the full range of their powers; it is the reason many mages depend on wands or staves," the chancellor said.

"If we ditch those—" Kaylin kept the grimace off her face with effort "—is there anything left?"

Starrante's eyes had once again settled into his body. "There are three. But they are not technical in nature; indeed, they are also, at core, emotional. They are not, to our eyes, different from those incidents that involve crystal balls, herbal remedies, or similar elements.

"In all of these stories, the shaman in question behaved very differently from Necromancers; they did not insist on the presence of corpses, although two did conduct their activities at gravesides. I believe, however, they chose to do so to draw as clear a line as possible between the living and the dead, so that the living might, at last, be freed from the darker elements of human grief."

"Did those who wrote about this actually see the dead?"

"Where herbal remedies were used, yes, but it is highly likely that those remedies made the recipient far more suggestible. We cannot be certain that what they saw was not a product of their own fear or longing. In most cases, the shaman, the medium, was the conduit to the dead. Mrs. Erickson has no artificial ceremonies, but it is possible that the shamans thus noted in these texts did not require them, either; I believe they were meant as gestures of respect, something the living might better appreciate.

"But in one case—and I think this is the closest example we have found to Mrs. Erickson—a young woman appeared at the door of a wealthy lord's manor. She did not go to the trade entrance; she simply knocked at the grand front doors and waited. The author of this account was a child at the time and heard the noise—he came down the stairs to find his mother and father at the door.

"His mother was weeping; his father was furious; he summoned guards to have the woman either driven away or killed. The mother, however, countermanded those orders, as she was the lord of the manor; she ordered the guards to apprehend her husband, or to stop him from interfering.

"The young woman then spoke to...thin air for some time. That thin air was, purportedly, what remained of the child's sister, who had run away from home."

To Kaylin, it didn't sound like biography. Her expression must have contained some skepticism.

"You are wondering why we believe there is some grounding in fact in this incident."

"I am, sorry."

"The woman who ordered her husband apprehended on that night wrote many, many volumes in her life, which was markedly long for a mortal. None of those volumes were fiction; many were magical engineering manuals. She was remarkable, and although she was often accused of flights of fancy, even those whimsical flights of fancy proved grounded and true in the end.

"All information is sifted, evaluated. We look at the surrounding cultural context, the contemporaries of the author. It is part of the reason research can be so time-consuming. We might find something that seems promising, but attempting to verify it in an objective fashion can easily increase our time by an order of magnitude—if only that.

"Everything we present to you has been vetted in this fashion. There are thousands of stories involving the dead; most are, as you suspect, unverifiable. They are relegated to fiction."

Kaylin exhaled. "But the author of this biography wasn't the shaman in question."

"No. The woman's written forays into her personal life were very, very few. The author of this incident was her son. It was an interesting biography; his childhood provided personal insight into a scholar and mage of some power. He was spare with his words, which gave the illusion that he embellished very little. As her child, he was mentioned in contemporary sources, but not to any great extent; beyond this, very little is known about him.

"But the timing of this recollection and the timing of the death of the lord's husband—and daughter—overlap exactly. She did not write about ghosts. She did not write about shamans. But she did write about the discovery of her daughter's corpse, and she did write about her husband's execution, the latter in some detail.

"And I have lamentably digressed."

Androsse rolled his eyes.

"The child's father caused a bit of disturbance; he attempted to kill this strange visitor, and he became increasingly unhinged. He had not been friendly to his son, and his son had craved—as human young do—approval and affection, neither of which was offered. The father's love, such as it was, had been for the younger sister. The boy had resented her, and had tried very hard to keep his distance, because he loved her and hated her, both.

"But she ran away from home one day. The servants could not find her. She was equipped with rings that might be easily traced with magic, but no invasive magics—such as slave seals—had been cast. The ring was found, but it was no longer with the boy's sister.

"And the shaman who came to the front door, the shaman who asked—in an eerily neutral voice, as the son described it later—to speak with the lord, carried the word of the dead. She spoke a single name, and the lord grew still. And then the lord commanded three things: that the woman be allowed to enter, that she be treated as an honored guest, and that her husband be incarcerated.

"The stranger was odd; she would turn to her right and she would speak; the boy could hear the murmurs as if they were half a conversation. The lord had questions for her, and the boy followed at a discreet distance; he wished to hear what was said, but knew he would be sent back to his room if he was discovered.

"He eavesdropped, and perhaps his mother allowed it—or perhaps her thoughts were occupied with tragedy and its consequences. He said that this experience shattered everything he had thought and known: The sister he had resented and envied was dead. Her body was in the manor. The father was not a man without power, and it had not occurred to the lord to be suspicious of him, except in a desultory way."

"What do you mean, desultory?"

"She had food tasters, among other things. She did not immediately choose to trust the stranger, but the stranger continued her one-sided conversation, and it was clear to the lord that if this woman was a terrible, predatory sham, she was either the actual murderer or she was speaking the truth. The shaman knew things about her daughter that could not be casually known.

"She tested the stranger; her son remembers that clearly. She asked questions, seemingly at random. The woman did not even need to convey the questions to the ghost; the ghost, unseen, unfelt, could hear them. She conveyed the answers. On occasion, his sister's ghost appeared to argue. He could imagine—he said—the stamp of her foot, the waving of fists, even the squeal of frustration.

"He believed she was there. Abandoning caution and secrecy, he burst into the small room; the guards stopped him, but they did not have time to eject him. He believed his sister was present. He believed the stranger. And he needed to tell his sister something: that he loved her, that he missed her, and that he was sorry about their fight, sorry that it was the last living thing he'd given her.

"The shaman turned to him; he was surprised because she was only barely adult. But she smiled and said, ‘Your sister says, I'm sorry you're an idiot .' As final words went, they were perhaps not a comfort, but they were real. I was jealous of you. I didn't want to be loved. And I couldn't tell you. Take care of my dog.

"He, too, believed the young woman who said she could speak with the dead. And envied her."

"Some people are garbage," Kaylin said, teeth on edge.

"I cannot argue that. But this particular incident—I feel it is something Mrs. Erickson could do now. The lord questioned the young woman. The shaman refused to speak about anything but the desire of the ghost she had accompanied. If she had a greater power, there was no evidence of it. The power that she used was similar to Mrs. Erickson's, except in one regard: she could bring that ghost home."

"Mrs. Erickson did bring the ghosts from the palace to her new home," Kaylin said. "The children to whom she was most attached had no desire for vengeance; if Mrs. Erickson had attempted to take them to confront their killer, they'd've done everything they could to prevent it.

"The ghosts of those children were bound to Mrs. Erickson's home."

Bellusdeo said, "And my sisters are bound to me."

"For now," Kaylin told her former roommate. "What we need to discover is why, and if that binding can be broken in any way."

The chancellor's head swiveled as he turned a brief, warning glare on Kaylin.

"Chancellor," Arbiter Kavallac said. "I believe it is now time to discuss what coming-of-age means to Dragonkind. Lord Bellusdeo is clearly in possession of her adult name. Bellusdeo, how many sisters did you have?"

"Eight."

"Eight? Impressive. That would have been a cause for celebration in the Aerie of my own youth."

"Why?"

"Because there were nine of you. Nine in total."

Bellusdeo blinked.

"Perhaps your Aerie did not discuss the details of what coming-of-age means. You were fragile at birth, in a way that your brothers were not. In our Aerie, we were separated for our safety; the young hatchlings are far too rough. We were taught the use of sword, and of magic; we were educated in several languages, and in theories and modes of governance. The boys were not; they would have shredded books and burned desks—at best.

"I had four sisters; it was considered auspicious. Do you know why?"

Bellusdeo was mute.

"Lannagaros," Kavallac said, voice louder. "How lackadaisical was your Aerie?"

"I remind you that we were embroiled in a war, Arbiter. Bellusdeo and her sisters were partially educated, but they were chaotic. Had they the ability, they would have been far more like Terrano than it appears your own sisters were."

Kavallac exhaled a small plume of fire. "Let me explain, then—perhaps you were taken from your Aerie before the difficult discussions had begun."

Bellusdeo nodded, her eyes an odd color.

"My sisters and I were not the same person, although we were identical in form; small blemishes, some scars—the intrepid had insisted on exploring the entirety of the Aerie, and when permission was denied, they went anyway—were the only distinguishing differences. We had personalities of our own, and when we were young, ambitions of our own, daydreams of our own. We pursued similar fields of study but chose to specialize in those that suited our abilities.

"And when we were almost of age, the Aerie's first mother called us into her presence. We had wondered why, if there were five of us, and if other Aeries had similar numbers of female children, there were, even then, so few female Dragons.

"And we learned. She had called us for that reason." Kavallac's lips curved in a gentle smile. "The day she was born, there were three girls. I was one of five. As we five, the three were not of one mind, not of one body—not then.

"We watched our brothers leave the Aerie; we watched them gain the skies. We watched them fight and injure each other to prove their fitness." Her grimace made clear what she thought of that. "Did we envy them?" She looked at Bellusdeo. "Did you?"

"They could go to war."

The Arkon coughed but didn't otherwise interrupt. Kaylin understood why. This was a conversation between two Dragons, one an Arbiter who would never return to the life she'd been born to, and the other, the only remaining hope of Dragonkind.

"Would you care to explain, Lannagaros?" The use of his name, not his title, added texture to the question.

"They could not, as you put it, go to war. Not as they were; they would descend entirely into bestiality as war became personal territoriality. I have never understood why you were born as you were; I—we—were not. We lacked the substance of an adult name, an adult form. To us, the human form is a sign of adulthood."

Kaylin lifted a hand.

Bellusdeo grimaced.

"I thought you didn't have a name. I mean, at birth."

Kavallac and the chancellor exchanged a glance. Kavallac spoke first. "I was not born as you are born," she said. "If you wish to clarify, do so; it is not relevant to this discussion otherwise."

"The corporal has a tendency to interrupt if she is confused or realizes that she does not understand," the former Arkon said.

"I thought Kaylin had no desire to become a student; it seems to me that this tendency could flourish in the Academia."

Great. Just what she wanted: a dozen condescending and dismissive professors who could look down on her and treat her as if she was stupid. No, thanks. She managed, barely, to keep this to herself.

"Male Dragons live, from birth, without names." The Arkon glanced at Kavallac; she nodded. She meant him to continue.

Bellusdeo's eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth, but Kavallac shook her head, a gentle motion, almost a request.

"When we come of age, we search for our adult names. We are not guaranteed to find them, and if we do, we are not guaranteed to survive the finding. You have tales of Dragons, children's stories. Perhaps you believe that they arose from ignorance and fear; you have met Dragons. You know what we are.

"But it is our belief that your tales contain a kernel of truth. There are those who could not, or did not, find the names by which they could bind the bestial and the intellectual. They became a danger because they lacked that essential self-control." The chancellor exhaled. "Yes, Corporal?"

"Are you saying it's the human form that gives you that?"

"No. I am saying that our ability to hold that form, to truly master it, is the proof that we have developed that self-control, that awareness. We went in search of names that would prove that we had the awareness, the impulse control, necessary to join our kin, to join a flight, and to take war to our enemies without descending into primal instinct and competitiveness better suited to beasts."

Bellusdeo was frowning, but it was a more measured frown; she was clearly thinking about the chancellor's words.

"I was born in a different era," Kavallac said, when it was clear the chancellor had no more to add. "War was not ever on our minds, and the survival of Dragonkind was never in question. None of us bear the burden that you now bear." She exhaled smoke, her eyes a blend of copper and gold. "I could not have carried it." When she turned to the chancellor, her tone was far less gentle. "I could not carry it, and I had been taught everything that might have been of aid."

"They were lost far before that education would have begun." The chancellor's expression was neutral, but his eyes had shaded to copper. Copper with flecks of red; it was an unusual combination. "And I was responsible for them as a minder, not an educator. Before we lost them, the Aerie mother was responsible for their teaching, but those lessons were in their future, not their past."

Kavallac nodded, the copper in her eyes almost glinting. "Perhaps, even if you were taught what we were taught, the experience would not be so easily conveyed; it would be secondhand." She turned once again to Bellusdeo. "I realize this is not the reason you have traveled to the library, but your situation is unique, and perhaps it will be of aid to you, regardless.

"Lannagaros is not wrong. The Aerie mother, your mother, was responsible for teaching what must be taught. But it could not be taught to children, and you were—all of you—children when you were lost to your Aerie. We were not lost in the same fashion. We were schooled almost as the Academia students are schooled now; we had classrooms, not caverns. Our lessons were lectures; we did not learn to hunt, and we certainly did not learn to kill.

"But we grew, almost as mortals grow, although not nearly as quickly. And when we came of age, we were summoned, at last, to the Aerie. We were excited, I confess; we felt that the journey to join our kin, our kind, had finally begun.

"The mother of our Aerie told us two things on that first day: That we would form an Aerie of our own when we at last laid our clutch, and that there would be only one of us at that time. Only one would remain."