No, she thought. Not Barrani. She almost dropped the book; she certainly closed it, tucking it under her left arm as she retrieved her dagger. Closing the book didn’t immediately banish the man. But if he was emerging from these pages, his solidification stopped at the ghostly. He lacked the color of a living person.
His eyes were the only thing about him that weren’t pale and translucent; they were black. He reminded Kaylin of Hope.
Those dark eyes rounded before narrowing; surprise before inspection. When he opened his mouth, words Kaylin could understand emerged. “Chosen.” There was a slight lift in the last syllable, as if he doubted the evidence of his eyes.
Kaylin nodded.
“It has been long indeed since I have been wakened. I will not ask you the date—that produces frustration on both my part and the part of the reader, since dating systems so seldom overlap.” Both of his brows rose as his gaze moved from Kaylin to Hope.
Hope was silent, but his gaze was anchored to the face of the stranger this book had produced.
“It’s been a long time since the library has been open to—to students,” Kaylin said, her voice as low as she could make it.
“I understand the infernal rules about noise within the library,” the stranger said, obviously irritated. “But surely anyone who gains access here can shroud the noise they make enough that it is not of concern to other students or masters.”
She assumed that his irritation wasn’t her whisper, but what that whisper represented; she was more afraid of those theoretical masters than she was of the man she now faced. Respect in this case being a loose translation of fear.
Or an exact translation, Nightshade said. There is little room for subtlety when the power differential is great.
What is he?
I believe you recognize the form he has chosen to take. He is, or was, an Ancestor. You might ask him what he prefers to be called—but not now. I will not ask how you found the book you now carry, but would ask that you not set it down for the moment.
You think he’s trapped in a book.
Trapped lacks nuance, Nightshade replied. Words can exist within the primal ether—that is, for want of better words, what Killian calls the outlands. Kaylin suffered from momentary mental whiplash. But they cannot be spoken there. When words of power, when words of life—I believe this is what he considers True Names to be—are...summoned? Chosen? Invoked? Regardless, they cannot be invoked within that ether.
She felt Nightshade’s focus and frustration, and was almost surprised that he had noticed the occupant of the book at all.
I could not fail to notice your sudden alarm. I believe, however, this lecture is relevant, and would appreciate no further interruptions. Once the names have been uttered or bound, they can continue to exist in the outlands—but they will lose form and power, the bindings unraveling, if they have no anchor to the reality in which they were first...created. Someone has just asked what the source of those words are.
She thought of the Lake of Life. This did not impress him.
The question itself did not impress Killian, but the student—the boy—received a nod from Killian, derailing the thrust of his lecture for the moment.
Kaylin returned to the ghost in front of her eyes. “I am not able to summon a circle of silence, or whatever the spell might be called.” She spoke in High Barrani.
“If I might be allowed to provide?”
“Please.”
She felt a wave of pain across her skin. It was instant and jarring but was more like a full-body slap than fire. She hesitated. He marked it.
“Why have you wakened me?”
Her hesitance grew. I don’t know wasn’t going to be an any more acceptable here than it had been in the nefarious classes taught by Imperial Mages—and this man was far more dangerous, even half-dead, than those mages had been in the Halls of Law. She’d been certain that if she survived the lessons—and passed them, as the Hawks’ training required—she would be free of arrogant, condescending teachers for the rest of her life. She’d done both, and then been saddled with literal Dragons as teachers.
And now this.
“My apologies if I disturbed you,” she said, knowing that awkward silence was worse than most of the words she could offer in her defense. “The library isn’t open to the residents of the Academia, and I’ve been tasked with discovering how to open it.”
“You?”
Ugh. “Yes.”
“Let me be certain I understand what you are saying. You have entered a library that is not currently available to any member of the Academia.”
She wilted. “Yes.”
“And you have been tasked with opening this library.”
“Yes.”
“How, then, did you enter it at all?”
This was one of two questions she’d been afraid he was going to ask, the other being by who. She exhaled. “I used the marks of the Chosen on a flat, unadorned stone wall.”
Unlike any other teacher who knew her, he accepted her words at face value. He had no idea that she didn’t know how to use those marks, after all. His nod was brief, and his gaze drifted away from her face, past the shoulder that didn’t contain a familiar.
“There appear to be occupants, regardless.”
“Yes, I’m sorry. Two of those occupants came with me.”
“Those would be?”
“The Dragons.”
“And the other three?”
“I have no idea how they arrived here. Wait, you can see them?” This was the wrong question, but it fell out of her mouth before she could shut it.
“Of course I can see them.” The answer was superbly waspish.
“It’s just—no one else can.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“No one else can see them except me.” Before he could speak again, she said, “Killian couldn’t see them. I think he knows something’s wrong,” she added, to be fair.
“I dislike translations,” he finally said. “They are cumbersome and frequently inaccurate. You are now telling me that Killianas cannot see these intruders?”
“Killian—Killianas—is perhaps not what he was the last time someone wakened you.” She desperately wanted to leave the rest of this conversation in someone else’s hands—but the Arkon was nowhere near where she now stood, and going back to him with the book required that she walk through three Barrani.
“What do you mean?”
Exhaling, she said, “When you entered the book, for want of better words—”
“For severe want of much more intelligent words. Continue.”
“—was Ravellon the center of the world?”
“It was not the center of mine, but if you speak of my tenure in this position, yes. Ravellon was considered by many to the center of the world. Of all worlds.” He lifted a ghostly chin in silence; Kaylin thought he’d finished. “So—it came to pass, then. Ravellon’s fall, and its entrapment. We heard of it; we spoke with the last chancellor, Terramonte. He came to offer us warning, having evacuated all that he could find. Some were not willing to leave. Some of lesser power had no choice.”
“You chose not to leave.”
“We cannot leave. While we exist, sleeping or waking, the library exists. Tell me, how large an area did the Towers encompass?”
Kaylin swallowed. She wondered if this man had wanted to be a librarian. “The Academia was between two of the areas assigned to the Towers.
“Larrantin is still here. I think a couple of others, as well. Having spoken only to Larrantin, I believe he was distracted and missed the timing.”
“That would be young Larrantin, indeed. Very well. How do the Towers function? What is the theory behind their abilities?” His frown deepened. “Shadow.”
“I’m not certain how they function. But they exist in any state of real
ity I’ve experienced.”
His expression made clear just how little he thought she’d experienced. It raised hackles—but it always did—and she forced herself to swallow the knee-jerk reaction. Later, she’d complain to Helen about it. Now, she needed to give him the information he’d asked for—or as much of it as she could manage.
“They exist in the outlands.”
“...Outlands?”
What had Nightshade said? “Primal ether?”
This made more sense to him; his gaze turned toward the floor, or rather, drifted there, while his thoughts went elsewhere. “I require more information,” he finally said. Kaylin waited for questions that she knew she couldn’t answer to his satisfaction—she couldn’t answer them to her own, either.
Clearly, waiting was not the right choice.
“You will pardon my frustration,” he told her. “Anyone who has permission to enter the library the usual way would understand what I require.”
She had told him that she’d entered via a stone wall—a wall that didn’t happen to sport a door.
“Follow me. No, do not put the book back on the shelf. Among other difficulties it would cause is your inability to shelve it in the correct place.”
* * *
To Kaylin’s surprise, the nameless man was not anchored to the book in any way she could see. He had freedom of movement and used it, forcing Kaylin to walk quickly if she wanted to keep him in sight. His feet, on the other hand, made no sound against the floors, and hers did.
“Do they teach you nothing about the library?” he asked. “Not even the rudiments of basic navigation?” If he’d been carrying a large sign that said Get Off My Lawn, it would have fit right in with the rest of his tone.
You will find this interesting, Nightshade said.
Which part? Get Off My Lawn has nothing new to offer.
Words cannot be invoked or spoken in the primal ether.
Yes, you said that.
Buildings such as the Hallionne cannot be rooted there. The rooting of the words to a specific plane of existence—ours—is considered immutable fact, or it was. In theory.
She wanted to ditch her boots; they made much more noise than the bare feet did. She didn’t. She lengthened her stride. In practice?
If one required True Words or True Names—I believe the latter, but he seems to use the terms interchangeably—to be invoked, they had to be carried.
How in the Hells—oh. She looked down at her skin.
I do not believe that was his intent, but it’s intriguing, no? His smile was slight; she could feel it in the curve of his mouth. The other way to carry words is the more obvious one.
Meaning True Names.
Yes.
How exactly does one access those words without killing the person they’re inside of?
I have allowed Robin to ask that question, he replied.
You made a human child ask that question?
I did not instruct him to do so. He is remarkably curious.
Fine—what was the answer?
Killian has not answered it yet.
Interrupt me if the answer is important. I’m about to lose the nameless ghost in front of me.
“He is not nameless,” Killian said, looking up to meet Nightshade’s eyes. “Were he, he could not be where he is.”
“What do I call him?”
“Arbiter Androsse. Arbiter will do, given your relative difference in status.” His single eye seemed to spark as he spoke. “He will do what must be done.”
“Can you allow my friends greater freedom of movement?”
“They have freedom of movement as it is,” was the not very encouraging reply. “Feel free to interrupt my lecture again if the Arbiters have information they wish to convey.”
Arbiters. Plural.
* * *
The plural was enough of a warning that Kaylin wasn’t particularly surprised when Arbiter Androsse came to a stop in front of a bookshelf. The book itself was placed on a higher shelf than his had been; Kaylin could reach it—with effort—if she stood on her toes. Or climbed the shelves, but she didn’t consider that smart.
This book, just as the first, bit her fingertips when she touched it. It also came easily to hand; she’d tucked the first book under her right arm to use the left, and was grateful that the book didn’t fall on her head as a result of her tenuous reach.
Hope’s squawk was soft, and as it didn’t contain words, wasn’t meant for her. If she’d had a free hand, she would have clamped his mouth shut; as it was, she froze, waiting for some sign that she’d been discovered.
In the distance, she heard a Dragon roar. Book in hand, she wheeled, breath held.
Arbiter Androsse smiled. “That is a very nostalgic sound,” he said—and appeared to mean it. The smile vanished into a much more pinched expression of frustration. “Well, what are you waiting for? You have said time is of the essence.”
Kaylin looked at the word that was emblazoned across the cover of this second book. She opened it. The figure that emerged was, as the first Arbiter, a thing of light. Of light and shadow—but not the type of shadow that meant imminent death. As the first Arbiter, the second started as a pillar, but the light here twined around darkness, like a braid. Like Larrantin’s hair.
The person that emerged had nothing else in common with Larrantin. Or with Arbiter Androsse. It was a thing of ghostly scales and ebon claws, and its eyes were the size of Kaylin’s head. She’d made as much room as she could while still carrying the book.
“Arbiter Kavallac,” Arbiter Androsse said—whether for Kaylin’s benefit or as a greeting, she wasn’t certain.
Arbiter Kavallac appeared to be a Dragon.
“I was sleeping,” the ghost said, its voice a Draconic rumble. “Is there a reason I have been disturbed?” Her gaze swept across Kaylin, pausing briefly to narrow in Hope’s direction before it settled firmly on Arbiter Androsse.
“Yes, actually. It appears that we have not been considered necessary for the functioning of the Academia in some long while.”
“Oh? The library does not appear to be on fire.”
“Not on fire, not precisely. But we are needed now. If we perform our duties well, it is possible the chancellor will allow you to eat a recalcitrant student or two.”
“The last one was not to my liking,” Kavallac replied. “Very well. This one does look more promising.” The Dragon’s pale head stopped directly in front of Kaylin. “She is Chosen?”
“Apparently so. Nor is that the strangest of the things I have heard since she chose to retrieve me.”
“I am uncertain that I wish to hear stranger.”
“It might be best if you choose a more compact form,” Arbiter Androsse replied. “There are apparently intruders in the library itself.”
“Impossible.”
“So I would have said—but what Starrante feared has come to pass.”
Silence then. “Ravellon?” It was a whisper of a word, a hollow, quiet sound that Kaylin would have sworn a Draconic throat wasn’t capable of uttering.
Androsse nodded, and the Dragon began to dwindle in shape, light and dark coalescing into the ghost of the form Kaylin considered mostly human.
“I suppose we are going to wake Starrante?”
“We are. The young Chosen has been tasked with the opening of the library.”
“Pardon? If this is one of your ill-considered attempts at humor—”
“It is not. The library is not, apparently, open.”
“How did you get in, then?” the Dragon ghost demanded of Kaylin.
“Through the wall.”
The Dragon then lifted her chin. “You were not the only one to enter.”
“No. I had two Dragons as companions.”
“Either your ability with numbers is deplorabl
e, or you did not bring the other three with you.”
“I’m trying hard to avoid catching the attention of the other three,” Kaylin whispered. “They’ve already set a fire trap—” She slammed her jaws shut before more words could escape.
Neither of the Arbiters said a word for one long, unfortunate beat. “You are concerned about the presence of the other three?” the Dragon finally asked.
“We sure as hells didn’t set any traps. We don’t want to have any fight here.”
“You said you entered through a stone wall.”
Kaylin nodded.
“And your friends—the Dragons—entered with your permission.”
Breaking a hole into a wall—however it was done—wasn’t exactly permission, but Kaylin nodded anyway.
“Androsse,” Kavallac said, although her gaze remained on Kaylin, “perhaps you had better tell me the rest.”
“I would prefer to wake Starrante first to avoid pointless repetition.”
“I had not noticed that you had any disinclination to repeat yourself.”
Hope snickered.
Arbiter Androsse did not. He did a pretty good imitation of an ice sculpture. To Kaylin he said, “Lead the way.”
* * *
Since Kaylin had no idea where Starrante was, this caused a few seconds of confusion for everyone, and annoyance for Androsse. He resumed the lead; the ghostly form of Kavallac drifted to Kaylin’s left—the arm in which she carried both books.
Hope was rigid, his wing plastered to Kaylin’s eyes. She wondered if she would see the two Arbiters at all if he lowered it. She didn’t ask him to experiment.
Kavallac said, “This is not good.”
Androsse, however, had stopped. Kaylin didn’t run into his back because the Dragon had spoken. The first Arbiter turned to face the second.
“His book is missing?” Kaylin asked.
“His book,” Androsse confirmed, “is missing.”
* * *
Kaylin had no hope of finding the missing book; Kavallac and Androsse moved ahead and began to search—which mostly involved standing in place and lifting and lowering their gaze.
Cast in Wisdom Page 35
