Gilbert bowed. He came dangerously close to scraping the floor with Kattea. “I understand,” he said—to Evanton. Kaylin didn’t understand the word that left his mouth next.
Evanton, clearly, did. His eyes—his normal, human eyes—widened. “Kaylin,” he said, although he didn’t take his eyes off Gilbert, “what have you done?”
Kaylin brushed past him and entered a room that she had never seen before. To her surprise, it was almost empty; there was a table—not a desk—against the wall. The roof angled sharply above the tabletop. The room itself was narrow. It had a window, built into the steeply inclined wall above the table, and a small door that implied a closet. The floor was in better repair than the floors on the ground floor, probably because it didn’t get as much foot traffic.
The familiar squawked at Evanton. Loudly. His mouth was an inch from Kaylin’s ear.
“What is it this time?” Kaylin asked.
He lifted his wing, smacked her nose and then held it in place over her eyes. For a translucent lizard, he had no difficulty conveying impatience and a certain long-suffering annoyance.
Dragon wing made visible what normal vision didn’t: there were words engraved in the sturdier wood of this room’s floor. They were glowing, as if light had been poured into them.
“This is the room in which I, for want of a better word, meditate.”
“Is the Garden safe at all?”
“Not for you. And not, I fear, for Gilbert. You wish, no doubt, to speak to the water?”
She nodded.
“Of course you do. It would have to be water, given the present difficulty. What has occurred?”
“The long version or the short version?”
“Start with the short version; it is what I have patience for at the moment.”
“The water apparently carried Gilbert and Kattea across time. Maybe ten years of it.”
Evanton raised his hands and massaged his temples. “Thank you. I’ll take the longer version now.”
* * *
Evanton listened to Kaylin without interruption, which was unusual. He sent Grethan out to fetch bread, water and something that looked suspiciously like wine, but otherwise confined his actions to nodding or raising a brow.
This ended when Kattea joined the conversation at his request.
“You said the water spoke to you.”
“It mostly spoke to Gilbert.”
“Mostly, or entirely?”
“...Entirely.”
He nodded. To Gilbert, he asked, “What instructions did you give?” As not many people were expected to give instructions to the elemental water, Kaylin was slightly surprised by the question.
“I asked that we be conveyed—in a manner safe for Kattea—to Elantra.”
“Those were the only parameters you set?”
“Yes. It did not occur to me to examine the details of the request; that level of granularity has seldom been necessary.”
Evanton nodded, as if this made sense.
“Evanton—how did the water bring him to here? I mean, to here, now?”
“That is a very good question. And an appropriate one. I believe I have a better understanding of the rain.” He glanced at his drenched apprentice and added, “It is likely to stop soon, one way or another. I have a preference for which way.”
“Can you not give commands to the water?” Gilbert asked.
“Yes. As you suspect—as you recognize—I can. I am not, however, like the original Keeper in that regard. I can give commands that are heard now. I cannot give commands that are heard at every moment of the water’s existence and awareness.”
Kaylin blinked. She opened her mouth and closed it as she approached the shopkeeper; he was gray. Almost literally gray. “Have you been eating?”
“I am long past the age where I require maternal care” was his clipped reply. “My control—my stewardship, if you will—exists now. It has demonstrably existed in the past. It will, in theory, exist in the future—but the future is, to me, uncertain. I may die tomorrow. Grethan, do not make that face.
“I may merely be incapacitated. My responsibilities, my ability to endure and perform them, exist now. Now is a moving target. From any vantage in which I exist, I am ‘now.’”
“This isn’t making things any simpler,” Kaylin said.
“No, it wouldn’t. Believe that I am not enjoying it, either. I believe the difficulty resides with Gilbert’s instruction. He is here now. He is also there, then. The water exists in both places, and it is aware in both continuums. Gilbert’s imperative is causing a type of stress the Garden was not meant to contain.”
“...What does that mean for the rest of the city?”
“At the moment? That they shouldn’t come barging into my shop unless they want to get wet. I believe I have things more or less under control.”
“You’re lying.”
“I am not. The context of this control is difficult. There are reasons that the rain occurs only within the shop—but there are also reasons it is no longer contained to the Garden.” He turned to Gilbert. “Stop speaking to the water.”
“I am not—” He closed two of his eyes. “Ah.”
“If I understand what has been said, you set out to find a way to send—or bring—Lord Nightshade home.”
“Yes.”
“Nightshade—like Kattea or Kaylin—exists in a way that is not conducive to that homecoming. You understand this better than anyone here. It is not unreasonable to assume that your difficulty—and mine—is in part caused by your presence. Or Kattea’s.”
Kattea stiffened.
“I did not mean that you had done anything wrong,” Evanton added, voice more subdued. “But this is not where you should be. Gilbert is more flexible. He is not what you—what we—are.” He turned to Gilbert.
Gilbert said, “When I arrived here, I could no longer sense time. I believe that the water delivered me here for reasons of its own. The parameters of my request allowed it. If your suggested solution is my return, it is impossible.”
“That is not what I wanted to hear,” Evanton replied. He turned to Kaylin. “I would happily grant your request to speak with the elemental water, but it would be irresponsible. I do not think you would survive it. Gilbert, however, might. There may be other issues.”
“What did you wish to ask the water?” Gilbert asked Kaylin.
“Why it brought you here. I’d like to know how, too, but I’m beginning to think that’s irrelevant; it’s clear that Evanton doesn’t believe Kattea would have survived had you not been with her.” She hesitated.
“If you are going to keep something to yourself, do it competently,” Evanton snapped.
“It’s not mine to share.” She turned to Kattea, who was still rain-wet. “Tell Evanton what will happen to you if you go back.”
“I’ll die.”
“The water isn’t like the other elements,” Kaylin said, when it was clear Kattea intended to let those words be the whole of her contribution. “I think—I think she heard Kattea. Not, maybe, at first—but Gilbert was specific about the mode of travel: she had to choose a path that Kattea could survive.
“I think she’s aware of Kattea. She was certainly aware that Gilbert was distracted by Annarion. You haven’t met him—he’s Mandoran’s brother, effectively.”
“I would thank you to keep him to yourself for the time being; I have more than enough trouble at the moment.”
“Yes, well. I am keeping him to myself—he’s living with me. So is Mandoran.”
“You are obviously a saint.”
“No—but Helen probably is. One of these days you’re going to have to tell me how you knew about her. She doesn’t recall meeting you.”
“One of these days, when it is not
raining on the inside of my shop, I will.” He exhaled. “What else do you need from a poor, tired, frazzled old man?”
“I don’t know. Do what you’re doing. And let Gilbert ask the water why.”
* * *
Evanton’s tired, old and frazzled was a constant. His clothing, however, wasn’t. When he accepted Kaylin’s request, it changed instantly into the blue robes that she associated with his title or his role. He then turned to pick something up off the table and smacked his head against the lower portion of the angled wall.
He could curse like a Hawk.
Grethan hovered in the doorway, waiting for Evanton, clearly feeling equal parts fear of and fear for his master.
“Stay on the second floor. Or in this room. There is some danger that the rain will become a deluge on the ground floor. No, not you,” he snapped at Grethan. “I’m going to need your help.”
The familiar squawked.
Evanton, looking aggrieved, said, “If you must.”
And the familiar floated up, off Kaylin’s shoulder, and came to rest on Evanton’s head.
Gilbert deposited Kattea on the table; she was the only person who could sit there without hitting her head. There wasn’t a lot of sitting space otherwise, but Kaylin had lived with floors—or worse—in her time. She sat. So did Severn.
“Is it really because of me?” Kattea surprised them both by asking.
“No,” Kaylin said.
Severn said nothing, which, oddly enough, was louder.
“Is it because I should have died, and didn’t?” She directed this question to Severn.
“Should doesn’t matter,” Severn replied. He exhaled. “I think the problem is actually Gilbert.”
This wasn’t comforting.
“Gilbert, the water, time and something the Arcanists have been doing. I think you’re caught up in it—but I don’t think it’s your fault.”
“What happens to me if Gilbert goes back and I don’t?”
“Gilbert said you’d be fine here,” Kaylin answered. She tried not to insult Kattea by glaring her partner into silence. “I believe him. He wants you to survive.”
Kattea nodded. “But...Gilbert’s kind of...stupid.”
“I don’t think he’s stupid. He’s just not used to being one of us. Give him time and—” She stopped talking. “Severn, did you hear that?”
Kattea, notably not Severn, said, “It sounded like something cracked. Or shattered.”
Severn was already on his feet. He scooped Kattea off the table. “I think we wait outside.”
Kaylin opened the door. “How well do you swim?” she asked Kattea.
“I don’t know how to swim. We weren’t allowed to go into the Ablayne.”
“Then we’re going to have problems.”
Chapter 19
Kaylin knew that Evanton could be totally submersed in water without drowning. She’d seen it. She had to trust that Grethan could do the same. The rains, which hadn’t chased them up the first flight of stairs, weren’t falling, but that no longer mattered. The second-story hall was underwater.
“Is there any chance that window leads to actual Elantran rooftops?” she asked Severn while watching the water’s currents.
“Possibly.”
Kaylin turned away from the rising river the house had functionally become. She could see the window clearly now. Water roiled on the other side of the closed glass. “I hope not, given what that would mean for the rest of the city.”
Kattea said, “Is Gilbert okay?”
Fair question. Gilbert had not made the list of Kaylin’s immediate worries. “Gilbert,” she said, “is probably the only one of us guaranteed to survive this. Well, Gilbert and Evanton. I’m worried about us, selfish as that sounds.”
Kattea said, in a much smaller voice, “Sounds practical.” But she said the last word as if it were a guilty confession. She looked, for the moment, much younger and frailer; she was afraid. And of course she was afraid: she had working eyes and ears. Water did not work this way unless magic was involved—and in general, if there was a clash between normal people and magic, magic won.
She turned to the door again.
“The water?” her partner asked. He did not set Kattea down.
“Rising, of course.” Kaylin exhaled. “I’m going to leave the room. I’m closing the door. Don’t open it.”
“Kaylin—”
“Don’t open it. Promise me.” She turned back. Kattea’s slender arms were around his neck. “You’re a Hawk,” she whispered.
Memory was a bitch. Always. It cut you at the worst times, for the worst reasons. It returned in a way that made no sense; it followed no logical pattern. Kattea was not Steffi or Jade. She wasn’t Kaylin’s baby sister; she wasn’t Kaylin’s responsibility.
But she was the same age. She was a shadow of the past; a shadow of everything that had come between her and Severn.
Severn nodded.
Kaylin walked out the open door, closing it firmly behind her. She leaned her forehead against it, briefly, and then turned and headed down the stairs.
* * *
The water was rising as she watched. She hadn’t lied to Kattea; she was certain Gilbert would survive. She wasn’t certain that his ability to interact with the rest of them would, and in any practical sense, that was the only thing that mattered to Kattea.
But Kaylin hadn’t come down the stairs without a plan. The plan, unfortunately, involved contact with the water—but the sooner she managed that, the better.
The currents, while strong, couldn’t knock her off her feet yet. Sliding her right arm between the banister rails, she caught one picket firmly in the bend of her elbow, bracing herself for the unexpected; she had no idea how much time she had before the inches of water became a flood.
She knelt, grimacing, and tried not to think of water damage to her clothing. Stupid thoughts, really, but she didn’t have the time to remove her pants—or boots. She had time to place her left hand firmly in the water.
Self-preservation made her yank her hand clear.
Responsibility made her grit her teeth and once again submerge it.
Kaylin was not Tha’alani. She was not one of the native race of telepaths that lived in Elantra, doing their level best to keep to themselves and away from every other race’s inborn isolation.
That isolation, to the Tha’alani, caused insanity. It caused bitterness and delusion and fostered misunderstanding and self-hatred—which, of course, led to hatred, which led to violence, and in the worst cases, death.
If the only people in the world had been Tha’alani, there would be no need for Hawks or Swords or Wolves. Misunderstanding was pretty hard to maintain when everyone around you could hear your thoughts. It was hard to maintain when you could hear theirs. The fears were addressed before they had time to grow ugly roots; the pain was addressed, comforted. You were never alone.
Once, Kaylin had feared that: you could never be alone. There was no privacy. There was no way to hide what needed to remain hidden if you were to live in the world. But she hadn’t considered that maybe there was no need to hide. Not until she had touched the Tha’alaan. Not until she had experienced the truth of it.
Had it been up to Kaylin, she would never have left it. But...she wasn’t Tha’alani. She had no way of contacting the Tha’alaan except this: to touch the elemental water. Because the core of the thoughts, emotions, dreams of the entire race was contained in the heart of the water.
It was the reason that elemental water, alone of the four elements, was different. The long, slow accumulation of the daily lives of thousands—tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands—had slowly altered the way the water itself thought. But only part of it; the elemental water was still a wild, chaotic force.
&nb
sp; Kaylin could not hear its voice. When angered, when frightened, when outraged, its voice was too loud and too destructive. And yet, throughout, the Tha’alani were part of it. It was the Tha’alani she needed to reach. It was the voices of mortals, not ancient, imperturbable nature. No, she thought; what she needed to do was hang on to the rails and wait until they could reach her.
* * *
Kaylin.
Ybelline. She closed her eyes. She couldn’t plug her ears; she had no way to block the roar of moving water, the distant sound of deluge. But she could “hear” Ybelline Rabon’Alani as if the castelord was beside her, lips pressed against her ear. More: it felt like a hug.
Ybelline.
Where are you?
Kaylin showed her; it was easier than using words. It was easier to just...open up everything and let Ybelline see what she saw, as she saw it. A year or two ago, this would have been Kaylin’s worst nightmare. Now?
She wasn’t alone. Yes, she was standing—more or less—on her own two feet. But someone was standing beside her. Someone who couldn’t take the weight of responsibility off her shoulders, who couldn’t just do what had to be done—but who saw it, who understood it. Who saw Kaylin and understood Kaylin—and didn’t judge.
We...will speak to the Tha’alaan. Speak to the water as you can, she added, the interior voice grim. We will speak as we can. But, Kaylin—
Yes?
The Tha’alaan is...confusing now. There are—there are thought-memories in its folds that are ours—but not ours. We did not think those thoughts; we did not live through those events. It is...chaotic. We are used to dreaming thoughts and memories, but they do not have the same weight, the same texture.
Kaylin froze. Ybelline sensed everything Kaylin was trying to gather words to explain. And Kaylin, in turn, sensed Ybelline’s hesitance. It was almost like fear. Fear of a future that had not yet happened, but which the Tha’alaan remembered.
You need to know what happens in those memories and thoughts.
Kaylin swallowed. Yes. It’s—it’s why I came to talk to the water at all. Not—not that I knew the Tha’alaan was affected, but that I thought the water could tell me, tell us, what’s about to happen. What had happened, sometime in the near future. But...the water isn’t us. It’s not mortal. It’s not living here. You are. I am. Whatever thoughts you’re hearing—the haven’t-happened-yet thoughts—I think they’ll be clearer, and cleaner.
Cast in Honor Page 27
