Cast in Chaos

by Michelle Sagara

  Kaylin remembered to breathe as she watched, because there was something about this word that resonated within her so strongly it could have been an overly intellectualized variant of the simple word home, which, in the end, every language she had ever learned had contained. She was struck by it, and if being stabbed could produce that shock of recognition, she had been stabbed by a word she couldn’t begin to say out loud.

  She could begin to think it, and did, but as she did, she turned to Severn. Severn’s eyes were open, narrowed, and watching; they were flickering, and she could almost see the images reflected in their irises, they were so clear. But again, what he saw? It was not what she saw. She wondered if all Records were like that; if people viewing them thought they were seeing the same thing, but were in reality filtering it all into a very quirky and individual paradigm.

  Severn had never loved words. Which was ironic, because he’d always been so much better at using them.

  But Kaylin? Always. She’d always loved them, often way too damn much, her mouth flapping before her thoughts could catch up and shut it down. When words failed her, everything shut down. Why? What was that? There was so much she had wanted to say to Severn, but the words eluded her, and when they failed—she ran. Sometimes, literally.

  Yet he understood, without the need for those words, the same thing she now understood: this was home. This was theirs. Not in the sense that the Empire was the Emperor’s or the Library was the Arkon’s—they weren’t Dragons. But in the sense that the sky and the moons and the air and the seasons were there, and existed, and were experienced and turned into specific, personal memories.

  She almost didn’t want to ask any more questions; she didn’t want to disturb this single word. She wanted to know that it existed here, and now, and if she could have, she would have locked it into place permanently. For which, no doubt, the Arkon would have removed both her arms without conveniently killing her first.

  But that wasn’t why she was here. It was what she was fighting for, yes. And no doubt, other people who were also part of the same complicated word would fight for other reasons, win or lose; they would have to, the rune was just that complicated. And it would exist whether or not she could see it as clearly as this.

  What she needed, now, was something to tell her how to protect the world. She was short on ideas, although the mirror had faithfully answered the questions she had posed it. She needed better damn questions.

  “Severn?”

  He blinked, and then closed his eyes. Only when they were closed did he relax; his expression fell into its normal lines. “I think,” he said, eyes still shut, “the Arkon would have been the better companion, here.”

  Kaylin snorted. “I’d only give him indigestion.”

  He smiled, and then said, “I’m ready.”

  She nodded, turned back to the mirror with real regret, and said, “What was Vakillirae’s home?” She hesitated for just a minute, because she wasn’t certain if what or who would be more appropriate.

  This time, when the lines frayed, they faded.

  The mirror remained blank.

  “I don’t understand,” Kaylin said quietly. “Do you see anything?”

  Severn shook his head. “Maybe no Records were made?”

  Kaylin grimaced. “They recorded the whole of a death, somehow. It’s here. I don’t even think they came to our world.”

  “You could ask where they went.”

  “Mirror, Enkerrikas. Where did he travel? Where did he take his people?” This time, the mirror responded, as it had done the first time, with the complicated quivering motion of lines, of dots, of strokes that were heavy and strokes that were almost impossibly fine.

  “Mirror, The Devourer. What worlds did he find?”

  The image slowly vanished, and once again, nothing replaced it.

  She tried again. “What are the names of the worlds the Devourer found?” It produced the same results. Grinding her teeth, she said, “What is the name of the Devourer?”

  This time, the mirror did shudder. She understood that the nature of names, such as they were, were not clear, not easily seen, and not represented in any Records she understood. She could no more ask the names of Tiamaris or Sanabalis, and expect a reply. Not those names; those were true names. But what, exactly, was a true name? Was it not, in miniature, like the name of…a world? Did the city have a name that was somehow some smaller part of the whole?

  She couldn’t clearly explain why she’d even asked the question, or why she expected the mirror to have anything like an answer—because it didn’t. It had, and offered, darkness, nothing more, and if the darkness was more profound, it didn’t seem like a refusal or a denial. But she stared at the empty space until Severn once again tugged her arm.

  “If you’re finished?”

  “I…think so. I don’t have answers, though, and I can’t help but think there must be some here.”

  “If you’ve got better questions, they’ll do. I think we need to vacate the premises, because I don’t hear the Arkon, and I would like to be well away from the mirror before I do.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Kaylin and Severn had been formally dismissed. The Dragon Lords had not, in their haste to formally convene the Immortal Court—as Kaylin now thought of the impromptu meeting—given her any new instructions. Kaylin and Severn had no trouble leaving the Library, which was in any case conspicuously absent of people right up to the main doors. Apparently, the Arkon’s mood had extended itself in the form of mercy to his mostly human subordinates, because he appeared to have sent them home.

  Or eaten them, which was technically illegal.

  There were, of course, the usual guards outside of the doors, but they didn’t say a word as Kaylin and Severn exited the Library, even if it was much after the rest of the Dragons and their entourage had left. They left the Palace in silence. Or in what passed for silence when the Dragon Court was in session, because clearly, the discussion was heated; she could hear the distant roars of what passed for conversation as if they were thunder.

  The guards, however, were either already deaf, or far better trained than Kaylin was ever going to be. Kaylin made no attempt to cover her ears because those guards were watching. She hurried toward the exit—which was not exactly close—and ran into someone familiar hurrying away from it.

  Sadly, since he was a Dragon, she bounced.

  “Kaylin?”

  “Tiamaris?”

  “Plug your ears.”

  She immediately did, guards notwithstanding. Not that it ever helped when the Dragon who was shouting was standing right beside her. She waited until the sound had stopped bouncing off the very acoustically unforgiving ceiling and walls before she lowered her hands again. “You’re here for the Court?”

  “I was summoned,” he replied, “in haste.”

  “It took you a while.”

  “Unfortunately, I was summoned by mirror, and I was not within the Tower. Nor was Tara, or I would of course have received immediate word. It took Morse some time to find us. We had ranged somewhat farther than we intended in our work. You are leaving?”

  “Our meeting was cut short, and I’m not invited to sit on meetings of the Imperial Court.”

  “For obvious reasons. Come, walk with me while we talk. I have bought a few minutes of time.”

  “Is that safe?”

  He chuckled. “It is the Imperial Palace, and I do not require your company when the Court convenes. Speaking of which, have your formal lessons begun yet?”

  “No. I think they’re supposed to begin tonight. Or tomorrow. I think they’re going to be delayed, Sanabalis’s opinion notwithstanding.”

  “Have they found you a suitable teacher?”

  She frowned. “I’d sort of assumed it would be Sanabalis, although he’s hinted at someone else. Maybe the Arkon?”

  “The Arkon does not take students. Be thankful,” he added. They walked the halls much more slowly than they had taken them before they�
��d collided.

  After a pause, Tiamaris said, “Tara requested your company, should I happen to see you at the Palace.”

  Kaylin frowned. “I’m not normally found at the Palace, Tiamaris.”

  “I did inform her of that fact. She felt, however, that you would be found here today.”

  “But—”

  He lifted a hand. “I am not Tara. I understand much of what she thinks, and I know what she knows—but some of what she knows requires more careful study and concentration than current events have allowed. She is…not what I expected,” he added, and this time, the edge of a smile touched his lips. “At times she is much like a mortal child. Everything is new and shiny and it distracts her or delights her for entirely inexplicable reasons.

  “But at times, Kaylin, she is a sword, and if she had a name, it would sound much like Meliannos.” It was the name of one of the three Dragonslayers, and it rested across Nightshade’s hip. “She will not be moved, and she cannot be frightened, then.”

  “Which one was she when she asked you to deliver the invitation?”

  Tiamaris’s reply was not a comfort. “She would never harm you without severe provocation.”

  Great. “Do you think she’ll feed us instead?”

  He snorted.

  “Will you be coming back anytime soon?”

  “It depends,” he said, as another, more distant, roar filled the halls. “I have hopes that this will not continue indefinitely.”

  The Tower was, as it had been, surrounded by what looked like a modest garden—in the practical sense of the word. Some of the plants did flower, but the flowers were not statements of simple beauty; they preceded tomatoes, or fruits. Kaylin had no doubt whatsoever that the greater part of what grew here would find its way to Tiamaris’s new market—or possibly to people who might otherwise starve.

  The fief had seen a great many deaths during the last few weeks of Barren’s rule; it was still recovering, and many of the corpses were, according to Tara, a danger to the people who still lived. It was this cleanup that occupied much of Tiamaris’s time; the rest of it was occupied with reconstruction.

  Tara was not outside in her gardening clothing. She often was, and if she was, Morse was usually not far behind. But the gardens were empty and silent, and the doors—plain, simple doors that weren’t even warded—were closed.

  They started to roll open before Kaylin could touch them, which was good; they were still missing something as simple as a knocker. Kaylin, familiar with the changing interior of Castle Nightshade, wouldn’t have been surprised if one had sprouted while she was waiting.

  Tara was standing between the doors. As if clothing were a statement of mood, she was adorned in white robes and a slender tiara, and looked every inch “the Lady” that the fieflings now called her. Of course, they also called her this when she was covered in dirt and the detritus of gardening.

  Her face was pale, like alabaster, and her eyes were almost entirely black; they’d lost even the appearance of irises. “Kaylin,” she said quietly. And then, as if only noticing her silent shadow, “Lord Severn.”

  If this had been the office, Kaylin would have snickered. Severn, of course, bowed instead. “Tiamaris said you asked to see me?”

  Tara nodded. Her eyes shone like obsidian. “Chosen,” she said softly. “You have invoked the mirrors.”

  It should have surprised Kaylin, but it didn’t. “In the Imperial Palace.”

  “I know. I felt them wake.” Her expression was remote, even grim, although her next words didn’t quite fit it. “You would like…food?”

  The food was simple and there was a lot of it. Kaylin, who didn’t feel particularly hungry, nonetheless ate. It was shaping up to be one of those weeks, in which mealtimes were in serious jeopardy of disappearing in the time-crunch emergencies always caused.

  “The worlds,” Kaylin began, when she’d eaten as much as she could and was merely pushing food around the plate in an attempt not to fidget in other ways.

  Tara nodded.

  “How did the Devourer reach them?”

  “We do not know. And because we do not know, there is a chance that your Emperor and the High Lord of the Barrani are wrong. Preventing the opening of the portal will not prevent the Devourer from finding the world. It is known that he cannot easily find worlds, or rather, that is what was believed. More than that is unknown.” She was silent for a moment—it couldn’t be called a hesitation—and then she added, “I believe they are not entirely incorrect. But it troubles you.”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “There are thousands of people who need food and some place that won’t eat them, and if they don’t find it soon, they’ll die.”

  “But they are not your people.”

  Kaylin grimaced. “I know they’re not my people. But…they’re people. And if Sanabalis is right, they’re doing what my ancestors did centuries ago—they’re trying to escape certain death, and they’ve come here.

  “If someone had prevented our people from entering this world, I wouldn’t be here.”

  “And if they do not prevent these people, you might cease to ‘be here,’ as you say.”

  “If I step out on the street on the wrong damn day, I might cease to be here. I could get hit by a wagon. I could get run through by a lucky thug. I could catch a wasting disease and die in bed. We can’t define our lives by fear of our deaths—it’s just stupid.”

  “I am not certain my Lord will agree.”

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass if your Lord agrees.”

  Tara smiled, which surprised Kaylin. “You do,” she said.

  She grimaced. “You’re right. I’m angry at people for not caring. But…I’m used to that. And other people are probably angry at me for not caring about the things they care about. It’s just—it’s a people thing. What do you think?”

  “I think people are complicated.”

  “I mean, about the portal?”

  “I don’t know. I know that you are trying to find a way to stop the Devourer, and you must know that wiser people have tried in the past. But their worlds are now nothing, and their people are no longer remembered. They have ceased to exist.

  “I do not think I would like to experience that cessation.”

  Kaylin set her fork down. “Will you try to stop me?”

  Tara’s eyes rounded in a perfect expression of human surprise. She didn’t answer. Kaylin thought she understood why. She was a Tower, albeit a Tower whose Avatar could walk the streets and speak to the people she had been built to protect, and her law was subordinate to her Lord’s. In this case, that was Tiamaris.

  Kaylin forced herself to ask a more neutral question. “You knew when I was accessing the old Records?”

  Tara nodded.

  “You can access them.” It wasn’t a question, but the Avatar nodded again.

  “It is difficult, even for me.”

  “I don’t understand how the old mirrors work. Or worked. I know how modern ones do. I’ve used the Imperial Records and the Records in the Halls of Law many times.”

  “How are they different?”

  Kaylin glanced at Severn, who was not only not fidgeting with the remains of his food, but was listening attentively.

  “With our Records, we see what’s there. We all see the same thing.”

  Tara nodded.

  “But with these—we don’t.”

  “No?”

  “I asked the name of a world. Not on purpose,” she added quickly. “But I asked what world we were seeing at some point. The mirror answered. It gave Severn images—too many images, piled together all at once. It gave me…a word.”

  Tara was silent for a long moment. “A word?”

  “Yes. Like a…true word, but more complicated, and more dense, than any word I’ve ever seen. The only one that I think comes close—” she hesitated again “—is the name of the Dragon Outcaste.”

  “You know his name?”

  “
I’ve seen his name. Once. I don’t think I could have said it then, if I’d tried. I couldn’t have held it against him.”

  “Can you see it now, if you try?”

  “Not…easily. I don’t try,” she added hastily. “Names have power, and I do not want his attention. But…his name was so large. The name of the world was larger still. I don’t think I saw it all. I have some idea of its general shape, but I couldn’t repro duce it. I’m not sure anyone could.”

  Tara now turned to Severn. “You did not see this.”

  “No.”

  “The images?”

  “People. Places. Starscapes. Storms. Oceans. More. I don’t think they would have stopped if Kaylin hadn’t asked the mirror a different question.”

  “Kaylin, you asked the mirror—”

  “Where it was showing me. That was its answer. But I asked other questions, and it showed me other…words. What it didn’t show me at all were the names of the worlds that I believe were lost to the Devourer.”

  “How can you be certain?”

  “Because one of the events in the mirror involved the flight of people from a world that was facing the Devourer, and the mirror couldn’t show me anything at all of the world they’d come from. They exist, and they must have found shelter some where, because their memories of that event still exist.

  “Tara, what do you see in the mirror? Why didn’t I see what Severn saw?”

  Tara looked pointedly at Kaylin’s covered arms. “Lord Severn,” she said, “is not Chosen. Nor, in the end, am I. You are, Kaylin, and perhaps that has meaning. But the old mirrors are not like the new. They are built in a different way, and they carry a meaning that is more instantly subjective in nature.”

  “Say that again?”

  “You draw conclusions from what you see in the Halls of Law. You will all see the same thing, but you will draw different conclusions, as befit your personal experiences. But the old mirrors sometimes draw the conclusions for you. They know who you are, if you stand and observe.”