Cast in Wisdom

by Michelle Sagara

  “Yes?”

  “Before he did, I saw the Arbiters in action.”

  “I imagine so, given everything done here. What is it that you fail to understand?”

  “They were using skills and weapons that...we would use. Dragon breath, claws, teeth; magic.” Before Starrante could tell her to get to the point, she said, “There was nothing about their power that seemed to come from the outside. Kavallac was no match for Bellusdeo, in my assessment.”

  “Your assessment is in error.” He spit out more white goo. Robin tensed, but didn’t move. Starrante then began to weave with it—but the weave was not a web that crossed the space in front of him, at least not yet; it was web that he stretched along the obvious cracks in the floor. “Forgive the incomplete reply. Your assessment, were you all to be situated outside of the library itself, might be factually correct.

  “The power of the Arbiters in this space, however, is twofold. The Arbiters may use the full force of their powers and abilities without causing harm to anything that belongs within the library, and the Arbiters are capable of closing the space to all, save the chancellor.”

  “The interim chancellor counts?”

  “Apparently so, although I would have argued against it. Understand that none of the three of us have seen the Academia in its riven state; what we know—and know well—is the Academia when it is fully functional. Things have broken; they are woefully chaotic. I am almost surprised that an interim chancellor could even be acknowledged.”

  “Killian said—when we first met him—that the building had no master, no lord.”

  “He was inexact, in my opinion.”

  Robin lifted a hand. “I think you missed a bit.”

  Starrante broke off, extended his neck in the direction to which Robin now pointed out. “My eyes,” he said to the young man, “are not what they used to be. You are correct.”

  “It’s only a small bit,” Robin offered, almost apologetic.

  “And a single eye is only a small bit as well, when measured against the rest. Is there anything else you have noticed?”

  “Larrantin said that dimensional spaces have weight and gravity—but not like our classroom did.”

  Starrante’s nod was impatient.

  “But he said that in our school, that weight and gravity were far more important, because, hmmm, we lack the regular kind. So maybe you can fix this, but it’s not...” He trailed off.

  “It is not anchored, as it once was, in the reality of the Academia—because the Academia is, itself, unanchored now.”

  “That’s not quite what he said,” Robin replied. “I—Larrantin was a bit weird. I mean, all of the teachers were a bit weird, but Larrantin was the worst.”

  “How so? Not that I disagree with you; he could be remarkably lazy and irresponsible on the best of days.”

  “He sometimes faded. I mean, in the middle of a lecture or the middle of a sentence, he’d turn into a ghost. But...it was the ghost bits that seemed to make the most sense. When he was ghostly, his lessons were different. When he wasn’t, they were the same. Things don’t change a lot from day to day in the classes—it’s only today that we got an entirely new one. And I missed some of it,” he added with what sounded to Kaylin like genuine regret.

  “But Larrantin taught different things, some of the time. I listened to the new stuff because...it was new.”

  How long had he been here now? Bellusdeo had recognized him from a missing persons report in Records, but Kaylin couldn’t recall the length of time for which he’d been missing. And even if she had, she wasn’t at all certain that the days here matched the days outside, in the world from which Robin had come.

  “I think we might progress,” Starrante said. In the distance, reverberating, he could hear the roar of a Dragon; he lifted his head, opened his mouth and responded in kind.

  The silence that followed was full of echoes and rumbles.

  Robin nodded.

  “I hate to interrupt a necessary discussion,” Sedarias then said, “but could you possibly close the portal behind us?”

  “Not with ease. They will find it difficult to pass through it,” Starrante added.

  “Not difficult enough.”

  Kaylin turned toward the portal through which they’d arrived. She could see Candallar, flanked by Barrani Arcanist and human lord; his hands were turned, palm out, toward them, and something was writhing its way from the mounds of those palms through the portal itself.

  Chapter 28

  Severn stepped back; Bellusdeo caught him by the shoulder. “Not here,” she said.

  He nodded and allowed the Dragon to breathe. Emmerian stood between the Hawk and the former queen, watching; Kaylin could see his back, but not the color of his eyes.

  “That is an interesting weapon,” Starrante said as he worked. “I will ask you to use it with care here until we are more firmly established. Kavallac understands what has happened; the current stability of the library is due in large part to Androsse’s efforts. Kavallac was flexible in some ways, but...she disliked shifts in dimensions unless it was absolutely necessary.”

  While he spoke, tendrils of purple and gray pierced the portal at his back. Kaylin realized that Candallar’s palms were pushing against it; Starrante had been right. They couldn’t gain access easily. Not the normal way.

  Fire did not burn those tendrils, although both Dragons made a serious effort; Kaylin could have cooked food from where she was standing if the heat of those flames continued. It was Sedarias who grimaced and headed toward the portal.

  Annarion said, “Not you.” He grabbed her by the arm; given her expression, Kaylin wouldn’t have dared. She doubted Terrano would have either, if he’d been present.

  “What are you going to do?” Kaylin, caught at the side of Starrante, couldn’t easily navigate through the cage he’d made of his legs. She tried, and they tightened.

  “It is not for you, Chosen,” he said softly. “The two who are arguing now might succeed.”

  “Succeed?”

  “You cannot see the shadows they cast,” he said without turning his head to face her. “I can. They remind me of my infant kin in the days at the dawn of time: they have their feet in many places at once, and with care, they might survive in all of them.”

  “And me?”

  “You are not what they are.” He raised his head. “But if I am allowed a vote, I would suggest that you allow Annarion An’Solanace to attempt to displace that magic.”

  “And not Sedarias An’Mellarionne?” Sedarias demanded.

  “No. Remain as anchor to the young man. It is my belief that you are more tenacious; what you claim, you will not let go of while you breathe. And if I do not understand them precisely, I see the webs and strands that bind you, each to the other.”

  Kaylin didn’t know—would probably never know—what Starrante perceived. She didn’t see webs and strands; she knew that they shared True Names, but that wasn’t visible, either. But she thought he was right: Sedarias would be the best anchor anyone in the cohort had if they were tossed at sea.

  Annarion didn’t draw his sword; he sheathed it. He displaced Bellusdeo, not Emmerian, and Bellusdeo gave him her spot at this small front, with a whisper that didn’t reach Kaylin’s ears. It did, apparently, reach Emmerian’s and Sedarias’s, judging by their reactions.

  They didn’t respond. Before they could, Annarion reached out and grabbed the tendrils.

  * * *

  Caught between Starrante’s iron legs, Kaylin watched as Annarion dissolved. She felt Nightshade’s fear, but it vanished as he severed most of their already tenuous link; there were some things Barrani Lords did not share with anyone, and fear was probably at the head of the long list. He had not argued, had not attempted to make an argument through Kaylin; he had, as Kaylin had, remained silent.

  Had Annarion b
een her baby brother, she wasn’t sure she could have done the same.

  “Arbiter,” Sedarias said, the force of her voice denying the inherent politeness in using the title, “speed is now of the essence.”

  Starrante understood. His chatter, such as it was, vanished as Annarion did. The only time he spoke, he spoke to Robin, and Robin’s replies were brief and muted.

  They began to move.

  Candallar’s palms were pressed flat against the portal, his mouth open, his eyes slits. Kaylin could see the upper edge of the portal waver, as if it were liquid; it didn’t break, but the undulations expanded. She had no idea if this would grant Candallar access to the library or not.

  She turned to look ahead, rather than behind at the portal, squinting into the darkness with its flashes of moving light. Around Starrante, the library could be clearly seen. The ceiling above their heads was cracked, as the floor beneath their feet was; Starrante made no effort to change what lay above. Instead, his forelegs moved at almost blinding speed, interrupted only by the coughing spit of globs of web. Some of those hung in the air, as if they’d hit invisible walls; some traveled ahead and landed on floor. It was in the direction of the floored webbing that he appeared to be working.

  There was a method to his madness, a reason for his rush. It came into view as illumination followed his path, clinging to it rather than moving with him and leaving darkness in his wake. Ahead of Starrante and to the left, she could make out the form of a Dragon. It crossed three broken panes, its wings across them bent at odd angles, its central body preserved.

  “She is Arbiter,” Starrante said before Kaylin could speak. “Even broken, this is her space. She is injured, and there is a danger—but Androsse was not caught in the same way.”

  “And he’s helping.”

  “We are a trinity, Chosen. If one falls, we will dwindle, and what we protect will be lost. We are not, perhaps, friends or kin; we are comrades, and our duties are the common ground that binds us.” He roared.

  Kavallac roared back—and Bellusdeo snickered; Emmerian winced.

  “Clearly she is still healthy,” Starrante said in Barrani.

  Kaylin couldn’t hear the Arkon in the distance. Sedarias had said Terrano was with him; she hoped Hope was with him as well, but didn’t ask. She looked back for any sign of the reappearance of Annarion.

  Someone else stepped onto the path, but not through the portal. He was pale; the whole of his body seemed haloed in a gentle light.

  It was Androsse. “If you could hurry,” he said, “we might preserve some of our hearing.” His eyes were Barrani blue, but lacking whites, and his hair had lost all color; it was a thing of light, a cape that moved in a breeze that, as usual, touched nothing else. “I will aid the child; this is more than he can accomplish on his own. Had he more time, I might be content to watch his progress.”

  “Be wary—the interstices here are more fragile; they are wild, almost primal.”

  “Ah. I would not have noticed that myself,” Androsse replied, demonstrating that Ancestors, with all their supposed power and gravitas, still understood the weight of sarcasm. He walked, tracing Starrante’s path, toward the portal and the threats contained on the other side.

  “I would appreciate it,” he said without looking back, “if you could mend the difficulties soon. I have some desire to have words with the children who have dared to invade my space.” As he spoke, he began to fade, just as Annarion had done; the shadow left in his wake was light in Barrani shape and form.

  * * *

  Starrante’s repairs, such as they were, continued. Kaylin peered into the distance that Kavallac’s shards implied. No Arkon there, and no Terrano. No familiar, either.

  “There is a danger,” Starrante said as he reached Kavallac’s feet. “The repairs that are done here are a boon to any who enter the library—and with the regalia of interim chancellor, your enemies will be able to do so in some fashion. They made their way in the first time.”

  “Where did you wake?” Kaylin asked.

  “I am not like the other Arbiters; some essential part of my nature allows an existence that spans many spaces. They could not do the same for the others, or to the others.” For a moment, his voice rumbled, the Barrani syllables oddly draconian in nature.

  “Be ready.”

  “Androsse—”

  “Yes. But Androsse is not chancellor. None of us can be now. Were it not for the presence of the children, I do not think I would have allowed it.” By children, Kaylin thought he meant Annarion, as Robin remained with him. He spat a gob of thread, and this one had a faint tinge of pink to it. Kaylin immediately placed a palm against the bulk of his continually moving body.

  “Yes,” he said, although she hadn’t asked, “there is a cost and a danger. But if we do not have Kavallac, we cannot repair the damage.”

  They didn’t have Androsse at the moment, either, but Kaylin said nothing. Instead, she let her power hum through the Arbiter as if it were a song. It hadn’t occurred to her—to any of them—to question his ability to do what he was now doing. He could clearly achieve it. But the cost? They hadn’t questioned that, either.

  Her power did now.

  His legs stretched and stretched again, becoming oddly diffuse as they did. Robin’s head followed the movement of those legs, his eyes darting between the strands that were now laid out. Even between the cracked pieces that contained or entrapped Kavallac, Kaylin could see the minutiae of pattern, of small geometries, the things he had identified as paths.

  They shuddered in place as smoke and fire crept up from behind them.

  Severn glanced once at the ceiling above his head and then unwound his chain. He’d shortened it by changing the center point he gripped—but Starrante had already said it was risky.

  It wasn’t likely to kill Severn; it could quite possibly destroy the weapon. But the chain, when spun, served as a magic-breaker. None of their enemies had condescended to draw actual swords. All of their attacks would be spells, and at least so far, those spells involved range. Starrante had proved very competent at shielding himself—and those in his immediate vicinity—from arcane attacks, but he was facing in the wrong direction.

  They needed Kavallac. Kaylin focused on that. Severn was her partner; he’d heard everything she’d heard and if he had his own spin on it, he also understood what needed to be done.

  Mostly, survive.

  “Where’s Annarion?” she shouted, as Sedarias readied herself, bending slightly at the knees.

  “He’s behind us and in front of the portal. They’ve breeched it, but they can’t cross it yet. Androsse is doing something—” Sedarias broke off. Wordless, she leaped toward the portal, landing on a floor that, lit, was easily distinguished from places that weren’t guaranteed to be safe.

  She didn’t disperse.

  Bellusdeo moved, as well; Emmerian lifted a hand to touch her, and lowered it before he made contact.

  “Warrior Queen,” he said, his voice soft but audible.

  Bellusdeo did not hear him, or if she did, didn’t acknowledge the simple words.

  Her hands shot forward, as if in a blindingly fast prayer; when her palms touched, she spread her hands wide and lightning flashed, with the Dragon as its center point. The lightning spread to the floor, surrounding Bellusdeo as she crackled.

  Emmerian’s hand was on Kaylin’s shoulder before she could move. “You have your duties,” he said. “And the lightning was Bellusdeo’s. It was not an enemy’s attack.”

  “I’ve never seen—”

  “No—nor have I. The Arkon would have recognized it. Help the Arbiter. If it becomes necessary, I will stand beside Bellusdeo.”

  “But she—”

  “She is precious to our kind, yes. But on fields of Shadow and imminent loss, she has no equal. There is a reason she was queen.”

  L
ightning-robed, Bellusdeo then walked toward Sedarias, and toward the portal that was no longer a flat pane of something glass-like. It was bulging now; from cracks that had not yet widened enough to allow passage, fog and smoke poured, the former falling to the ground, the latter rising to the ceiling.

  Kaylin understood why Starrante had forbidden flight or shifts in shape when she saw that smoke—glittering smoke, of course—hit the first of the odd breaks that characterized every part of the library; half of it was lost in an instant. It did not leak across a crack to fill the ceiling in other pieces of the heights—it simply vanished.

  She returned her attention to Kavallac, to Starrante; Kavallac’s wings existed in two separate slices of library. They had not vanished into the ether—or the primal ether which was where Kaylin now suspected bits and pieces of people would go if they moved carelessly. She thought again of the attack from which Starrante had built his escape, his return to the library.

  What she didn’t understand was what Candallar had intended for the library. She wasn’t like the Arkon; she wanted to be doing instead of learning about what long-dead people had done. She didn’t want to be surrounded by dusty, silent books for whom her entire existence was irrelevant. But... She would never, ever have tried to break or destroy the library—even without the Arkon standing behind her like enraged death waiting to happen.

  “He was not trying to break it,” Starrante said, a reminder that she was connected to him through a bridge of healing. “He was trying to break our power over it. He did not understand that the two are utterly entwined. I believe he stopped his destruction when he did. He is young and foolish.”

  He wasn’t young. Kaylin had no desire to argue with the “foolish,” though.

  “Were he to know our names, he would control this library completely. It is the only way such control would be possible. Robin?”

  The boy hesitated. But Dragons—even silver and slightly translucent—were clearly nowhere near as terrifying as giant hairy spiders, and as he was now comfortable with the latter, he stared at Kavallac. Starrante bopped the back of his head—but gently. “You may speak with her when we are done, but we must be done soon—this is far too taxing.”