Cast in Wisdom

by Michelle Sagara

  “I think we should try a different entrance.”

  “Why?”

  “Because Candallar was trying it. There’s probably some advantage to not banging the front doors. If Killian is truly a building, or still a building, he’ll be aware of us—but we want to sneak past his invisible watchdogs.”

  * * *

  There was no way to sneak into the building that anyone present could easily see. This made sense, in a way: there was no way to sneak into Helen, either. But Helen hadn’t been created to host an array of students; only guests. Kaylin, whose detective work had actually taken her inside the dorms of various schools, wondered if the Academia would house Dragons the way Helen did, or Barrani, or Aerians. She doubted it, but couldn’t be certain.

  “There is a way to sneak in,” she finally said. “But you’re not going to like it.”

  * * *

  They found the building fairly quickly; the houses that surrounded it—according to Bellusdeo—had changed. To Kaylin, they were empty two-story buildings. The Arkon took note of them, but was not of a mind to fully examine the subtle differences Bellusdeo’s perfect memory divulged. The windowless, doorless building was unchanged.

  The giant eyeball was still part of the wall hidden from street view.

  This time, when they approached it, they approached as a group; Kaylin had an absurd desire for the type of rope used to keep foundlings together when they walked in the crowded streets. The eyelid flicked open at the sound of their steps and began its slow-moving sweep of the backyard.

  This time, when it saw Kaylin, it seemed to widen, but without the rest of the face behind it, she couldn’t tell if this was a sign of surprise.

  Regardless, this odd form of portal took them into the room with the giant wall and no other distinguishing features. The Arkon was annoyed; he had been in the process of observing the eye itself, and the displacement had interrupted him.

  On the other hand, they were all caught in that gaze, and they were all dumped in the same room. Kaylin considered this a win.

  You weren’t certain?

  No. It’s a broken, sentient building part.

  The Arkon’s irritation dissipated as he stared at the almost featureless wall. One element of that wall—the child that Hope had breathed on—could still be seen by everyone present. Kaylin’s suspicion that the people contained in this wall were also contained within Killian made Hope’s breath far more dangerous in retrospect.

  Kaylin could see the rest of the crowd because she had Hope’s wing plastered to her face. She turned to Hope and said, “Can you show the Arkon?”

  Hope squawked.

  “You should have done this last time,” Bellusdeo said, frowning.

  “Sorry—I wasn’t thinking. I forget sometimes that the wing is portable.” This was true. At times like this, Hope felt like a part of her, a part of her natural vision. Given that her eyes didn’t usually smack the rest of her face, this was surprising.

  But Hope withdrew his translucent wing, removing the sight of the gathered, sculpted crowd, and pushed off her shoulder, squawking quietly. Probably at the Arkon. The Arkon waited until Hope had arranged himself on his robed shoulder, and Kaylin tried not to resent the fact that the familiar didn’t slap the Dragon’s face.

  It was the Dragon’s face that she now studied. His eyes had widened, and he’d dropped the inner membrane so nothing about its color was muted. But the Arkon was not Kaylin, who knew almost no magic, or Bellusdeo, who knew more. “Stand back from the wall,” he told his companions. He didn’t bother to check that that command had been obeyed before he started to speak.

  His syllables were sonorous and slow, each distinct, each flowing into the next syllable, as if this were normal speech. And as Kaylin felt the spark of familiarity, her eyes widened, although the color didn’t change. This was a language she felt she should know every time she heard it.

  Even Bellusdeo was caught in the hush the Arkon’s words invoked.

  True Words didn’t form, as they sometimes did, in the air around the Arkon; the measure of the effect his speech had was entirely contained by the wall. The wall began to recede, as if they were standing in place and it was retreating, the movement slow but inexorable.

  No, Kaylin thought, that wasn’t quite right. It wasn’t the wall that was receding. It was the parts of the wall that surrounded the people carved into it. Stone didn’t melt; it simply faded, flat stone giving way to reliefs, until Kaylin could see them clearly. They were statues now.

  She recognized one of them. He stood at the forefront of this group, and the group itself wasn’t small.

  “Lannagaros,” Bellusdeo said. “Enough.” She placed a firm hand on the Arkon’s shoulder—the one that Hope was standing on. Her voice was both gentle and implacable. “We are not done here. You must conserve your power.”

  “I have changed very little,” the Arkon said, which was demonstrably not accurate. Kaylin disagreed, but silently. She stood in front of a statue of Nightshade. “Can you see the cohort?” she asked, the question meant for Bellusdeo, who also lived with them.

  “No. I do see Annarion’s brother.”

  “So we can assume they’re here, but not trapped in the same way.”

  “I counsel against assumptions,” the Arkon replied. “But the nature of your friends might make this particular type of containment difficult.”

  “Particular type? What exactly does that mean?”

  “Killianas was a building, and his powers were like and unlike your Helen’s. Hospitality was not his concern. It was quite likely not Helen’s original concern, except in a passing fashion. But security of a certain kind was.”

  “Of a certain kind?”

  “There is a reason that the Arcanum has never been housed in a building with the will, power and intellect to interfere with the studies of its disparate members.”

  “Because no one’s around to make those buildings anymore?”

  The Arkon did not reply. Instead, he walked through the crowd, joining Severn, who had started to walk between the statues almost the moment the Arkon had stopped speaking. He paused in front of three, as if taking mental notes, but said nothing before he continued to move.

  Wolf business?

  And missing persons, he replied, his tone removed, almost distant. The former was not a subject he was going to discuss.

  The Arkon continued to the walk to the back of the crowd. Kaylin’s suspicion that the order of visibility had something to do with the length of captivity solidified; the Arkon had stopped at the very back of this carved crowd, in front of one of the Barrani statues.

  “Do you recognize this man?” he asked, although he didn’t turn from it.

  “It’s... Larrantin. I think.”

  “You think?”

  “Well, Larrantin’s strongest distinguishing feature is his hair. The Consort is the only Barrani I’ve ever met with white hair. Larrantin is the only Barrani I’ve ever met with gray hair. I mean, black and white. And...this stone is all the same color.”

  “I have always known that mortal hearing is inferior to immortal hearing,” the Arkon said, his eyes a familiar orange. “I had never realized that their vision is likewise compromised.”

  “The answer you want,” Bellusdeo then said, far more amused than either the Arkon or Kaylin, “is yes. Yes, that is Larrantin.”

  “I thought he wanted an accurate answer. The accurate answer is maybe.”

  “You are misusing the word accurate in an almost unforgivable fashion,” the Arkon then said. He turned away from the statue of Larrantin.

  “Do you recognize the other two?”

  “Yes.”

  Kaylin waited until it became clear that the Arkon considered it none of her business.

  “You said there were doors here. Thank you,” he added—to Hope. Hope squawke
d and pushed himself off the Arkon’s shoulder to return, once again, to Kaylin’s. “It is time to take those doors.”

  * * *

  The doors stood on the left and right walls of the previously featureless room. The statues filled it now.

  “What I don’t understand is why we’re not statues.”

  “Pardon?”

  “We’re not part of the statuary. Or whatever it is you call this place. We’re ourselves.”

  “I will have words with your teachers when we return to the palace.”

  “Which teachers?”

  “Sanabalis.” Emmerian winced at the Arkon’s distinct and chilly lack of title. “You have avoided lessons with Sanabalis for long enough. No, don’t ask me any more questions; my temper is already somewhat taxed.”

  Bellusdeo took the lead as they descended. “The stairs,” she informed the Arkon, “have not changed in shape or width.”

  “Pitch?”

  “The descent appears to be the same.”

  Not only the descent but the hall itself—the endless loop of the long, rectangular hall that terminated in a door. The damage that they’d done to the doors in their previous visit had been repaired so well it might never have happened at all.

  There was, however, one notable difference.

  When they reached the end of this long hall with doors that led into what appeared to be student rooms or offices, they opened the door, expecting to find the same damn hall.

  Perhaps it was the same hall, but standing just behind the door was Killian.

  Chapter 18

  Hope hadn’t lifted a wing to Kaylin’s face upon his return to his usual perch; he didn’t lift it now. Whatever Kaylin could see without his aid seemed acceptable to her familiar. Severn and Bellusdeo had seen Killian when she had first encountered him, and he was visible to both Emmerian and the Arkon now.

  The Arkon drew one long, long breath. He then stepped in front of Bellusdeo without exactly shouldering her out of the way, which was impressive given the dimensions of the hall.

  He bowed to Killian.

  Killian’s expression rippled, as if a number of different emotions were now vying for control of his face before they all fell into the deep pit of neutrality.

  “Killianas.”

  Killian was silent. He looked past the bowed form of the Arkon, his gaze meeting—and holding—Kaylin’s. “You have returned.”

  “We were asked to give you a message.”

  “A message?” His gaze flicked off the Arkon’s bowed head. “Rise. If you maintain that position, it will be awkward.” The Arkon rose. Kaylin wondered if he’d intended to wait until he’d been given that permission. She’d done it before, and it wasn’t comfortable. But at least she’d had more of her limbs attached to the ground when she had.

  “This is not a convenient time in which to receive guests.”

  “We weren’t told to be guests,” Kaylin began. She stopped when the Arkon lifted a hand in her direction.

  “What has happened to you?” the oldest Dragon said.

  Killian didn’t hear the question. “We are experiencing difficulties,” he told the mortal Hawk. “It would be best if you returned on a different day.”

  “We’d be happy to visit on a different day, as well,” Kaylin replied. “But we need to deliver a message now. It’s from Larrantin,” she added, glancing at the Arkon who seemed to hold the book in the death grip of folded Dragon arms.

  Killian frowned. “This is not the way messages are usually delivered.”

  The ground beneath Kaylin’s feet began to tremble. She glanced at her companions.

  I feel it, Severn told her, his expression betraying nothing.

  Kaylin took a deeper breath. “We wanted to survive delivering it.”

  At this, Killian’s single eye narrowed. “Larrantin is strict and temperamental, but he is highly unlikely to kill his students.” He paused, his brow creasing. “You are his student?”

  The Arkon stepped on her foot before she could answer. “She is my student,” he said.

  Killian’s frown shifted, deepened. Kaylin nudged Hope; he smacked her cheek but didn’t leave his wing extended.

  Killian, however, adjusted his gaze until it fell on the Arkon. To Kaylin, it felt as if he was performing a monumentally difficult task, although the Arkon was standing right beside her.

  “Your student?”

  “One of few.”

  “She shows great potential,” Killian then said. “But seems somewhat lacking in discipline and a clear understanding of our rules. Do you accept responsibility for her?”

  The Arkon straightened his shoulders, lifting his chin. “I do.”

  “Very well. You are...” Once again, his expression rippled, his face gaining the lines of a frown that emerged from a blend of concentration and confusion. “You are Lannagaros of the Winged Fury Flight. I had not heard that you had graduated.”

  This did annoy the Arkon. “I graduated with distinction. I was accepted as a lecturer, and given some handful of students of my own. I had an office in this building. You may speak with Larrantin if you wish to ascertain this, but I am now very concerned. I wish to speak to the chancellor.”

  Killian looked at the Arkon—really looked at him, as if he were suddenly confronted with an alien, unknown species that almost defied comprehension. It would have been comical in any other circumstance.

  “There is no chancellor,” Killian said, his voice flat and uninflected.

  This would have stopped Kaylin dead in her tracks. It almost stopped the Arkon, but not for the same reasons.

  “No chancellor?”

  “No.”

  “Who was the last chancellor?”

  “Chancellor Terramonte. He ascended to the position upon the departure of Aramechtis. He did not hold it for long.”

  One of the two names caused the Arkon’s eyes to shift color. “What befell Terramonte? He would not have surrendered the seat.”

  “But he did, Lannagaros. As did the council. There has been no other.”

  “Did you not think to exalt Larrantin?”

  “Larrantin has not applied.”

  Kaylin thought of the book. The book the Arkon now held.

  “Surely,” the Arkon continued, “there are candidates under your consideration.”

  “I believe there are those who intend to forward themselves as chancellor, yes. They do not, however, understand the necessary forms.”

  “Forms?” The Arkon’s exhalation was full of smoke.

  To Kaylin, this was the type of plodding dream that contained details better suited to nightmares—because bureaucracy was a nightmare to Kaylin, and this sounded like an arcane version of exactly that.

  The trembling at her feet grew stronger, as if the ground itself was a thin—and increasingly fragile—layer beneath which something much larger was sleeping. And waking.

  “I think we have to move,” Kaylin said. The words were meant for the Arkon. The Arkon wasn’t listening to Kaylin.

  “Forms,” Killian repeated. Dragon breath might have been an everyday, mundane occurrence for all the attention he paid to the smoke. “You have some small understanding of what is required.”

  The Arkon nodded.

  “There is a disturbance in the lecture halls,” Killian said. “I cannot afford to indulge in idle conversation.” He then turned his gaze—with the same apparent effort—to Kaylin. “If you are lost, I will show you the way out, but I cannot guarantee that it will be as safe for you or your companions as your last excursion.” Killian turned and began his slow, deliberate walk, as if expecting to be followed.

  She cleared her throat.

  He paused but didn’t turn back. “Do you wish to remain here? It is safe for you and your kind, but it lacks basic amenities.”

 
“I don’t think it’s going to remain safe,” she told him, grim now. “Is there a reason you can’t take the book from the Arkon?”

  * * *

  “Book?” Killian turned then, the movement far more like the movements of the Barrani she knew. Kaylin almost took a step back at the intensity of his expression; his eye had lost the appearance of natural eyes. It was, like Helen’s could be when she was distracted by dangers, obsidian. But the flecks of color that added light were almost lurid.

  “Larrantin gave me a book,” Kaylin said, her voice steady by dint of will. She was telling the truth—but sometimes truth didn’t matter to the powerful. Killian had not seemed powerful to her until the moment he turned. He’d seemed...broken, almost absent, and, although she would never say this out loud, pitiable.

  She repented.

  “He gave me a book to give to you.”

  “You do not carry a book.”

  “No. I—” She swallowed. “The last time you saw me, I was trying to deliver Larrantin’s book. But when the door opened, you had guests.”

  He did not reply. When Kaylin fell silent, he said, “Continue.” His voice, like the movement of floor beneath their feet, was thunder.

  This had seemed like such a good idea when she’d been looking for a way into the building that bypassed the Arcanist and his crew. It didn’t seem like a great idea now.

  “We—I wasn’t sure you were aware that you had guests. They weren’t students. They weren’t trapped in your wall.”

  Killian’s eye began to glow, the black emitting a light that ate all other light. As if the remaining eye in miniature was akin to the giant eye on the wall, that dark-cast gaze traveled over all of them. Severn moved, and moved quickly, as did Emmerian, leaping into the corners formed by walls on either side of the open door.

  Bellusdeo was standing too close to the Arkon to do so. Or maybe not; she didn’t even make the attempt to get out of the way of a gaze that had become, in a moment, almost physical.