Cast in Wisdom

by Michelle Sagara

  “I’d consider that a bonus. I’m assuming—call me a cynic—that whatever it is they’re trying to do is bad. The Arkon says that there used to be a chancellor, someone who was like Helen’s tenant. He either died or abandoned his post. I’m going to assume died, because—”

  “If Helen wanted to preserve you in this exact situation, she’d eject you,” Terrano helpfully pointed out. “It’s possible that he ejected the former chancellor. Sedarias asks who that chancellor was.”

  The Arkon answered. “It was Terramonte, according to Killianas. Understand that the Chancellors of the Academia did not retire in the fashion to which you are accustomed. Terramonte was, I believe, an emergency choice; someone to fill that role until Aramechtis returned from the war. But Aramechtis did not return. The last true chancellor was probably Aramechtis.” His eyes were a shade of copper now. “He was chancellor in my early years in this institution. He had a terrible habit of singing in the morning.”

  “Why is that terrible?”

  “He was a Dragon, and he liked to project his voice. To retreat from the Academia almost killed him; the war finished off what survived. He had some difficulty facing his former students and former council members on battlefields. I remember the sound of his roaring when the Towers did rise.”

  “He didn’t know that Killian had survived.”

  “No. No one did. Inform us if you encounter a door or something that looks like a room.” He spoke to Terrano.

  “Why a room or a door?”

  “It is my hope that we are here to speak with Killian.”

  Terrano cursed liberally. “We have a problem on our end, and it’s—” The sentence came to an unnatural end.

  “Terrano?”

  Silence.

  * * *

  Nightshade?

  There has been a bit of a disturbance, the fieflord replied. He sounded vaguely irritated. If I am to be entrapped as a student possessed of no great knowledge, the only possible advantage is the knowledge provided. Most of what has been discussed by the lecturer is known material; some of his conjectures are not.

  Kaylin did not shriek in frustration. What’s the disturbance? We had Terrano—Terrano’s voice—for a bit, and now it’s gone, and not in a “talk to you later” sort of way.

  She felt a glimmer of amusement. It is unclear to me what the disturbance is, but given the presence of my brother and his friends, I can guess.

  Given Terrano’s reaction, I can’t. If they caused trouble, they didn’t do it intentionally. You’ve been here for a day. You’ve been here as a student.

  I have only been here for a day. It appears—from limited exposure—that we are students who are caught in the classes and routine of the Academia’s final day. Or a random day before its final day.

  Some of the Barrani weren’t trapped in classes.

  No. But the Academia appears to have schedules that coincide with individual students. Not all of the students who occupy the class that has currently been interrupted occupy all of the classes I, in theory, am taking. I can think and speak to you, but there is a flow, and a strength to the flow, of activity. When this class is over, I will leave and head to the next class. When that class is done, there is lunch—lunch seems to be common ground for all who are students here—and then there are two more classes. I then retreat to the library to study.

  You don’t have a choice in this?

  No. I have some choice in the perusal of titles—and I find that perusal fascinating—but I have nowhere near enough time to examine all titles of interest, and I cannot read a number of them. His tone was one of mild frustration and longing. Dinner is also at a common time, although it is longer. I believe that all who are present on these grounds in the way I am—or the way the other Barrani are—will make their way to the dining hall.

  And after?

  I return to my room. I study. I sleep.

  Barrani don’t need to sleep.

  Killianas believes we require time in our room, perhaps to study or contemplate the lessons we have been given. I believe that most of the students here are caught in schedules of their own, but are trapped in similar fashions.

  So...the people Sedarias and Annarion fought were also classed as students, but those students didn’t have classes scheduled for this day?

  At times, I am surprised by your perception. Yes, that is entirely possible. It is a reasonable conjecture and one that makes sense.

  Chapter 19

  “I’m guessing Terrano or Mandoran have done something up above.”

  “What gave it away?” Bellusdeo asked, voice dry enough it might catch fire if she breathed.

  “Nightshade confirms that there’s been a disturbance. And no, he doesn’t know what caused it. He’s here as a student. He doesn’t appear to have a full range of choice over his location or his movements. He can’t get up and walk out of his class, and he appears to be following a routine. Within that routine, he has choice—but not enough to break the routine itself.

  “He’s suggesting that some of the Barrani and humans who were headed to Larrantin’s building are also classed as students—but as students who have no classes, if that makes sense?” It made no sense to Kaylin, but she’d never been sent to a big fancy school. It would have killed her. Or her teachers. Or her guardian of the time, probably from apoplexy.

  “Terrano and Mandoran weren’t noticed by Killian—or if they were, they weren’t here as students. They had their usual control over themselves. They could see what I could see with Hope’s intervention. Sedarias and Annarion don’t seem to have entered the building as smoothly.”

  “It is possible,” the Arkon said quietly, “that the damage they did to the would-be attackers was noted by Killianas. It was not his desire that students murder each other, and the student body could be...fractious. The Barrani were far more likely to carry their political affiliations with them, but they were not the only ones. I think, at the moment, if we understood how Killianas survived, we would be in a position to make plans for the future.”

  “I think,” Kaylin said, “that if we found out why or how Candallar is even here, we’d be able to make plans.”

  “Agreed,” Bellusdeo said.

  “Were either of you under the impression that this was a democratic process? If so, I apologize.” The Arkon roared. And breathed fire. When the Arkon turned and began to walk down this wide, long hall, Bellusdeo and Kaylin fell in behind. Even Hope appeared to be subdued.

  * * *

  Have you moved at all? Kaylin asked Severn.

  If by moved you mean, are we out of the endless hall, the answer is no.

  Emmerian’s good?

  Emmerian is remarkably calm and reasonable, given the color of his eyes.

  Is the ground still shaking?

  She could feel Severn’s nod. I believe the rooms might be slightly different than they were the first time we went through them—but the door at the end of the hall leads to the beginning of the hall, as it did the first time we encountered it. Killian, however, is gone.

  Terrano found us. He couldn’t join us, but he could talk to us. Now he can’t. I don’t suppose he’s found you?

  Not yet. Was he expecting to lose communication?

  I don’t know. There was a lot of Leontine before the last sentence. We’re going to look for a door. Or a room. Or something.

  Do you think you’re at the core?

  Did she?

  I...don’t think so. I’m not sure if we were sent here because it’s a safe “room” or not—but until and unless we find Killian, we can’t ask.

  You were the one who reached him in the first place. Can you reach him from where you are?

  Good question. I doubt it.

  Why?

  Because Terrano can’t.

  A beat of silence, a strong feeling of hesitance. B
oth characterized her conversations with Severn—or at least the ones that took place in their respective heads. Terrano doesn’t have the marks of the Chosen.

  I was afraid you were going to say that. Severn knew she didn’t know how to use the marks. But...the only source of light in this room came from the mark she had lifted off her skin.

  “Do you have any idea why Killian is so damaged?” Before the Arkon could speak, she flushed. “No, that was badly phrased. What I meant was: he’s here, and he’s not. I don’t think it’s just the lack of a chancellor. Somehow, he managed to protect himself, his space, the region for which he was guardian. But—I’m not sure what damage was done to him that makes him barely functional, at least compared to Helen. I know what happened to Helen, and I know why.

  “I can guess that something happened to Killian—in his attempt to protect himself and his function—but I don’t understand the gathering of so-called students. Some people either didn’t leave on time or refused to leave. Larrantin is here. Caranthas, you mentioned—I’m assuming he was one of the Barrani stuck in the wall.” The wall that was not really a wall anymore.

  “Yes. I recognized him.”

  “And to be honest, I thought the fiefs had always existed. That Ravellon had always existed. I mean—I knew differently, but...” She shrugged.

  “You are young. All of you are young. But I was once young as well, and the world was not what it has become. I did not enter Ravellon before it fell. But Larrantin did, once. There is very, very little of my life lived in that world, and far more lived in this one. To me, then, this is not ancient history.

  “To you, it is. To almost all who still live, it is. The children who were sent to the green—your cohort—would be considered respectably old in other circumstances, but even they did not see what this place aspired to be. I know little about buildings compared to those who once taught and researched here—but I know much, compared to you.”

  “Do you have some guess as to how Killianas survived?” Bellusdeo asked.

  “No. I am grateful for the fact that he did—but I am uncertain that he will ever be what he was. If he cannot be, we will never have what we once had. And perhaps I am infected by nostalgia and its many traps; I am driven by sentiment and desire.”

  “Which is all very well,” Bellusdeo replied. “But I am somewhat tired of this drab, quiet stone. A window or a door would be appreciated.” She turned to Kaylin.

  “I know, I know.” Kaylin knelt and placed the flat of her left palm against the ground. It felt like stone: new stone, not stone worn by the passage of many feet over many years. What had she done the first time? How had she caught Killian’s attention when she hadn’t even known his name?

  She didn’t know his True Name now. Even if she did, she couldn’t say it; it was probably like Helen’s—too many words, too many phrases, too many things. She couldn’t even hold one in her head for long enough to speak it the way the Arkon and Sanabalis could.

  You lack practice, Hope said. It was critical.

  “Now’s not the time for practice.”

  If it were up to you, you would lurch between crises continually—as you do now. There is never enough time. It is making time, prioritizing that time, that is essential.

  “Fine. We can talk about that later.”

  Hope snorted. He then squawked loudly beside her ear. The Arkon’s eyes narrowed; his free hand fell to his beard. He didn’t reply.

  Kaylin closed her eyes.

  * * *

  She could feel the stone beneath her palm, but could no longer see it. The marks—including the one that now hovered ten feet away, shedding pale light—were visible; she was used to that. They remained flat across the skin she could see.

  How had she contacted Killian the first time?

  Is anyone there? I’m Kaylin. Corporal Neya of the Imperial Hawks.

  “Whatever you are doing, continue until I tell you to stop,” the Arkon said, his voice coming at a remove, as if he had continued to walk while she knelt.

  “You could try to do it yourself,” she muttered.

  “I would if I knew what you were doing.”

  “I’m introducing myself. That’s what I did the first time to get his attention.”

  “How are you introducing yourself, exactly?”

  “Touching the floor so I’m in contact with the building, and...thinking at it.” This sounded far less reasonable on the outside of her head.

  “Ah. That is not what you are actually doing.”

  “It looks to me like that’s exactly what she’s doing,” Bellusdeo said.

  “Spoken like a warrior.”

  Bellusdeo’s laughter implied that the Arkon’s expression was sour and annoyed. Kaylin loved the sound of that laughter. There was affection in it, even if there was mockery; the mockery implied history rather than superiority or cruelty.

  “What am I doing?”

  “Can you not see your marks?”

  “I can. They’re not doing anything special; they’re flat against my skin. Except for the light.”

  “Perhaps that was the wrong choice of words. Can you not hear them?”

  “No. You can?”

  “Not clearly enough to repeat them, but yes—I hear the echoes of words. Understand that these words are not simply spoken, although they must be spoken in some fashion if they are to be made manifest; they are felt, they are seen, they are tangible. To speak is to call them forward, to hold them in place for some small time.

  “But this was not a language made for our use, except in one way.”

  “True Names.”

  “Yes.”

  “The thing I don’t understand is how you can speak a True Name and also be a True Name. I mean, if I could only ever use a word once, I’d never be able to speak at all.”

  “Hush and listen. I will do the same. It is something that I have not attempted in the past; I have studied the configuration of your marks at the request of the Emperor, but I have seldom had the chance to do what I am now doing. You never sit still for long enough,” he added. “And you are always in the middle of a crisis that necessitates movement, motion.”

  “I cannot hear them,” Bellusdeo said.

  “No. But you, too, were always in crisis, and I cannot fault the choices you did make in a past I did not experience at your side. Be our guard, then; practice what you dedicated your life to in that past.”

  * * *

  The Arkon did not magically join her in the space she occupied behind the darkness of closed eyelids. Terrano had said that this was her way of phasing, of moving between different planes of existence. She didn’t do what the cohort did, and she didn’t experience it as a change in herself; she experienced it as a change in her environment.

  This type of shift was not one that affected Bellusdeo’s ability to see Kaylin; what Kaylin thought she was doing and what Bellusdeo witnessed were the same. She didn’t become invisible or transparent to the Dragon’s eye. But she was aware that communicating with buildings wasn’t as simple as the Hallionne had made it out to be. She hoped that this was not like attempting to reach the embattled heart of the High Halls—because that had been terrible.

  But the being at the heart of the High Halls had been aware. He had made choices. His imperatives were different than Killian’s had once been. How had Killian survived? And if he had somehow managed to disperse himself between the demarcations of the fiefs, if he had somehow managed to preserve the Academia, why was he so limited?

  What had she seen in the border zones that might answer these questions?

  “Corporal.”

  She grimaced. These were all questions that she felt needed answers—but Killian wasn’t here. She once again directed her thoughts toward reaching him.

  She stopped searching when the Arkon began to speak.

  * * *
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br />   If she couldn’t see the Arkon, she could hear him. His voice surrounded her. Without opening her eyes, she couldn’t tell where he was sitting or standing. She couldn’t hear his breathing, but without concentrating, couldn’t hear her own.

  The syllables that rolled in were not in a language she knew, but he spoke a language she recognized. She almost opened her eyes.

  “Are these my marks? Are you trying to read them out loud?”

  He didn’t answer; to answer would have been to break the flow of his speech.

  Her skin warmed as he spoke. She’d intended to try to listen to the marks on her skin, but the sound she could hear with her eyes closed had been swamped and overwhelmed by the sonorous bass of the Arkon’s voice.

  She rolled up her right sleeve, exposing the marks on that arm. The rest were on her back or legs, and unless their lives depended on it, she had no intention of removing her shirt or her pants. The Arkon’s voice didn’t change, possibly because reading—or speaking—words like this took effort and time.

  But as she listened, she knew which of the words he was attempting to express in sound, in syllable. She could see it clearly; it was on the inside of her left arm, which was exposed because she’d turned it up simply by opening her palm and holding her hand out.

  As she’d done once before, she listened to the sound of a Dragon’s voice, and she joined her voice to his, not repeating what he said, but attempting to be part of it, to overlap it, two voices speaking one word, a slow syllable at a time.

  The colors of the marks on her arms began to shift, the white gaining gold, the harsher, flatter light becoming the warmer as she watched. All of the marks, not just the one that the Arkon was, slowly and laboriously, speaking.

  Were they all connected? They had her skin in common, but—were they somehow connected in other ways that she couldn’t see because she couldn’t quite understand them?

  A single word wasn’t a sentence. A paragraph wasn’t a page. A page wasn’t a book.