Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  “No.”

  Spike whirred.

  “I don’t understand the taking of names. I don’t understand how I hold them. I don’t understand why, when I hear the name Calarnenne spoken, it’s just another word.” She stiffened.

  “It’s all right—we all know about that,” Sedarias said. “If not for that, I’m not sure Annarion wouldn’t have killed his brother by now.” At Kaylin’s expression, she said, “He marked you. It is a claim of ownership. But he also gave you—voluntarily—a power over him that might be unique.”

  “The first time I heard him called by that name, I froze. When I use the name, he hears me. Helen stops most of the flow of information when I’m at home, but out in the world, she can’t. I could see his name. The first time he showed it to me, I could hear it as if it were spoken. I kind of assumed that that’s how True Names functioned.” She was silent for a bit. Glancing at Bellusdeo, she squared her shoulders and continued.

  “I could see the outcaste Dragon’s name in the same way. I assume—and assumed—that I could see it because he wanted me to attempt to say it. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t hear all of it; I could study it for a year, and I’m not sure I’d see it all, either, it’s so large.”

  Spike began to clatter.

  “But I didn’t think it was safe—for me—to even try. I figured if he showed me his name and I tried, the loser, in the end, would be me.”

  “And if his name had been simpler? If his name had been like the names you do hold?”

  “I don’t know what I would have done. It wasn’t, though.”

  Mandoran broke out laughing. Terrano turned to him and said, “Share.”

  “Someone who I will not name out loud is wondering if Kaylin ever plans anything. What she said, however, was, Does she think at all?”

  She felt Severn’s amusement; there was so much affection in it she almost couldn’t find it annoying. “She does think,” he offered.

  “You could say that with more conviction,” was Sedarias’s sharp reply.

  You really could.

  His smile widened, and even if it was at her expense, she felt herself relax. She liked—had always liked—his smile.

  Bellusdeo was fuming, or at least exhaling streams of smoke. Her eyes had lost a bit of red.

  “What do you think? I think he did it on purpose, and I didn’t want to play that game.”

  “I think,” Bellusdeo said, breaking a piece off the dining room table so absentmindedly she reminded Kaylin of Marcus, “that if the outcaste were going to play that game, the correct person to play it with would have been me.”

  “Did he ever?”

  “Never.”

  “You don’t think he did it on purpose?”

  “I don’t know. Do you always see his name on the rare occasion you do see him?”

  “I didn’t see it in the Aerie. I don’t—for obvious reasons—see him often. I’d be just as happy never to see him again. I’d like not to be ash. Or Shadow.”

  Bellusdeo said, “This is going almost, but not quite, nowhere. Look at me.”

  She already was.

  “Dear,” Helen began.

  “I’m asking it,” Bellusdeo countered. “Demanding it. It is not an invasion of my privacy and it is not a threat. Kaylin walked through your words. She saw them. She repaired them. And, Helen? She did that for me, as well. I’d ask her to look at someone else, but I can’t guarantee that they wouldn’t feel threatened. I can guarantee that, regardless of outcome, I won’t. If it weren’t for her interference, I wouldn’t be here, and I wouldn’t be whole.”

  Helen bowed her head. Spike whirred. The familiar squawked—but this squawk seemed to be aimed at Bellusdeo.

  “Unless you can answer the question, this is the most practical option. Ynpharion is not present, and in general, he is somewhat hostile to Kaylin, which makes sense. But Ynpharion was attempting to kill Kaylin, and if I understand what actually happened—and I understand only as much as Kaylin does—Ynpharion was not in his Barrani form at that time.”

  Ynpharion was silent, but she could now feel him as a pressure somewhere behind her eyes.

  “No. He wasn’t.”

  “Why do you feel this is necessary?” Helen’s Avatar stepped firmly between Kaylin and her view of Bellusdeo.

  “Why do you feel it’s putting Kaylin at risk?”

  Helen is not wrong, Ynpharion said.

  Bellusdeo is never going to hurt me.

  No. But Bellusdeo is not the only person present. You understand that what I did—what I believed I was doing—was attempting to be free of the constraints of my race? That I, who felt powerless, wanted to feel powerful? I had lived my life behind the lines prescribed for me by circumstances of birth, and I was given the opportunity to change it. He said this with a lifetime’s worth of bitterness. Or several lifetimes, from Kaylin’s perspective.

  And you feel you were lied to?

  Yes. Pause. Yes and no. I did feel free. I did feel unconstrained, unconfined. It quieted those fears.

  But?

  Those were not the only fears, Chosen. She stiffened in surprise; Ynpharion almost sounded respectful. This annoyed him enough that he descended into his usual tone. You have your very odd family—and I will call it that, because your ties seem to be inexplicably ties of kinship. You have your fears. They are not what mine were, but they are constant and solid, the little voices that eat away at you when you have time to stop and think. Which is probably why you don’t do it often.

  Gee, thanks.

  If, one day, someone offered you power—

  No one offered me these marks.

  —and that power alleviated all of the fears which have caused so much pain, you might feel relief or even joy at the lack of a fear that has been a constant. But what if, in that reckless, heedless joy, you accidentally destroy your family?

  No answer.

  Yes, exactly. What I saw was only the immediate end to a specific pain. I did not see—did not even look—at the other costs. And those costs, were I to have suffered them, would cause a pain far, far greater than the fear it alleviated. That fear, in large part, is due to the nature of our names. If you could see a name—just by looking intently—and could take that name and use it as a way to control the person who both owns and is owned by it...

  Fear.

  Yes. Think of what I became in order to be free, in part, of that fear.

  These people aren’t you.

  No. They willingly took that risk with each other—but they did it when they were children. And children often do not survive to become adults because they make foolish decisions like theirs. But they do not consider you a threat; inasmuch as they can trust outsiders, they trust you. That has been made easier because of your mortality. Even the marks of the Chosen do not elevate you, in their eyes.

  And this will.

  And this will.

  She glanced at Bellusdeo. Doesn’t matter. They’re visitors. Bellusdeo actually lives here.

  And that therefore gives her the right to command you?

  Kaylin shrugged. It’s not really a command—it just sounds like one. And yeah, it gives her the right to ask.

  Why, exactly?

  “I think Ynpharion is correct,” Helen said.

  Kaylin stared at her back. “I get that. But I think Bellusdeo is also right.”

  “If you are concerned...” Bellusdeo began.

  “I am not concerned that Kaylin will harm you. Nor am I concerned that you will feel threatened enough to subsequently harm her. But this is not an ability that anyone should have—”

  “The Shadow at the base of the High Halls does,” Bellusdeo countered.

  “If he had that, every single Barrani that faces him would fail the test. I do not believe it is the same at all.”

 
“And you’re afraid that Kaylin can read True Names?”

  “Helen,” Kaylin said quietly, “let me try.”

  In the back of her head, Ynpharion was outraged. I am grateful that you did not attempt this parlor trick in the presence of the Lady.

  The Lady, Kaylin shot back, knows that I can see names—at least when they’re not in use. I’ve seen the Lake. I’ve taken words from it.

  Helen very reluctantly moved out of the way.

  * * *

  True Names were like architecture. Kaylin thought that as she remembered Bellusdeo’s name. She had stood almost inside the rune, walled in by its lines and curves and dots. She had not attempted to say the name; she hadn’t attempted to memorize it. But she’d touched it, and that touch had not felt in any way metaphorical.

  She’d taken the names of the cohort from the heart of Alsanis; they had been smaller than even the individual marks on her arms. She had carried them as if they were fragile and precious—but again, she could not remember what they were. The thought of attempting to invoke them, to say them out loud, hadn’t really occurred to her.

  But it wouldn’t. Had their names been written in Elantran—or even Barrani—she might have done so without a second thought. But she couldn’t read the true tongue. She could only rarely divine meaning—and to do that, she had to work. Even working, she mostly failed. She had a glimmer of understanding on occasion; she’d had that when she repaired Helen during the first night’s attack on her house.

  But Helen’s internal words weren’t a name. They were a paragraph, or several paragraphs, and likely written in language to make lawyers and bureaucrats green with envy. If Helen had a name through which she could be controlled—but no. She didn’t. She destroyed that part of herself long ago, in order to finally be able to make her own choices.

  And maybe, Kaylin thought, that’s what Ynpharion had wanted. Maybe she’d make the same decision if she could be controlled or commanded in the same fashion. And maybe, in making that attempt, she’d break something of import, too. It was hard to see clearly when you were thrashing and struggling. You didn’t even need a True Name for that to be true.

  She took a deep breath, and the familiar on her shoulder sighed—it was a bored, weary sigh—and folded himself across her shoulders, his tail drooping. Mandoran snickered. No one else did.

  Terrano, however, had turned toward Kaylin and was watching her intently.

  She looked at Bellusdeo. Small and squawky did not lift his translucent wing to cover her eyes; he was bored, he clearly thought this was stupid and he had no intention of joining in. The Dragon met her gaze; her eyes were orange, but it was a lighter orange. She was cautious. She was also, judging by her expression, slightly amused.

  She saw Bellusdeo every day. Multiple times. Even when attempting to avoid her. When she looked at the Dragon now, she saw...Bellusdeo. She seemed more militant here, but this was a war room for all intents and purposes.

  Kaylin understood this because, as a Hawk, many of the strategic discussions that took place in the office were similar, but on a much smaller scale.

  Terrano sat up straight, shifting instantly into a warier position. It wasn’t necessary; Kaylin could see that the marks on her arms were glowing. It was a faint light, but it was distinctly golden, even beneath the layer of cloth that in theory kept the marks away from prying eyes.

  Bellusdeo lifted a brow. “I really wish I had thought to do this when Lannagaros was present.”

  “I’m really glad you didn’t.”

  “He has the breadth of experience to—”

  “Trying to concentrate here. Thinking about cranky Dragons may relax you, but I’m not you.” Kaylin forced the image of the Arkon out of her thoughts, which took effort it shouldn’t have. The light on her arms—and probably the rest of her body—brightened. Exhaling, she closed her eyes.

  No one told her that she couldn’t see with her eyes closed.

  * * *

  She saw her own marks first; she saw them clearly. They did not appear to be attached to her, because they were no longer flat. Closed eyes didn’t dim their radiance. She could see the shapes, could see the simplicity of some of them, the complexity of others. She had no idea if the dimensionality changed them in any way. She wasn’t Barrani or Dragon; her memory for things that weren’t trying to kill her or eat her wasn’t nearly as good.

  Looking away from the marks wasn’t difficult, but her eyes—well, her metaphorical eyes, at any rate—had to adjust to the lack of any other light. No, wait, there was light. It was a similar color, but fainter; it felt vaguely familiar, although she couldn’t immediately pinpoint its source.

  Kaylin wanted to shriek in frustration at her lack of information, and almost did. But the light in the distance had begun to resolve itself. She watched as it grew brighter, wondering if Bellusdeo had moved, or if she had walked through a table to reach the Dragon. Neither were entirely relevant, though.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “I can see your name.”

  Chapter 14

  In the silence that followed her pronouncement, Kaylin could hear nothing. No one appeared to be breathing. She opened her eyes.

  The marks on her skin had, apparently, deserted that skin; they had seeped up, through the cover of sleeves or legs or hair, and they now floated around her, as if they were a very inadequate cocoon. They were golden, glowing. If she could have read them, they might have told her a story.

  Like, say, the story of whatever the hells the Chosen was supposed to be doing with them. She looked past this shield of words to Bellusdeo, who had not moved, but did indeed appear to be breathing. She could see the Dragon. She could not see the name at all.

  “Can you hear it?” Bellusdeo asked. “Why are you making that face?”

  “I can’t see it anymore.”

  “You can’t see it?”

  “I did. But... I can’t see it now.”

  “So...you can only see it with your eyes closed?” Mandoran asked, leaning back on his chair, his arms folded, one brow cocked. “Can you see mine?”

  Sedarias lifted a hand, palm flat, and turned toward Mandoran.

  “What? I’m not scared, either way. If it were up to me, I’d’ve given Kaylin my name just for the ease of communication. If she knows it, we’re going to be in much better shape if we need to reach her. Mirrors apparently work at the bottom of the Tower, but I doubt we’re going to have one on hand.”

  Bellusdeo snorted. “Try it again with your eyes open.”

  “I’m trying,” Kaylin replied; she was also trying not to grind her teeth. “But I only see you.”

  “Fine. Did you see Ynpharion’s name with your eyes closed?”

  “No.”

  But Helen said, “Yes.”

  “I’m inclined to go with Helen’s opinion,” Mandoran said.

  “My eyes were not closed then.”

  “You close your eyes frequently when trying to separate a word from the rest of the visual noise,” Helen pointed out. “You’ve always been able to see the words when your eyes are closed.”

  Kaylin nodded, the frown deepening. For the first time since the dinner, she really wished the Arkon were here. “I just assumed that was the way True Words worked.”

  “And you do not often look at people with your eyes closed.”

  “No—that would be a bit counterintuitive. But my eyes weren’t closed when I took that name. If I’d closed them, I’d’ve probably lost half my throat. They were open.”

  Helen’s silence lasted too long.

  Mandoran exhaled and righted himself on the chair, which he then abandoned. “You know you’re not quite like the rest of the mortals, right?”

  “I have the marks.”

  “It’s probably the marks, yes. But it doesn’t really matter why. You’re not like other mortals, in the same way we’re n
ot like other Barrani.”

  “Hello? I don’t try to walk through walls and get stuck there—among other things.” She avoided looking at Annarion.

  “You don’t get stuck in them, no. But, Kaylin, you do walk through walls. You’re better at it than I am.”

  She stared at him, only barely remembering to close her mouth.

  “You don’t think that’s what you’re doing?” It was his turn to stare.

  “I can’t walk through walls.”

  “It is not,” Helen said, coming to someone’s rescue, whether Kaylin’s or Mandoran’s wasn’t clear, “what she perceives, no.”

  “What does she think she’s doing, then?”

  “Stepping into an entirely different reality. Her perception of herself doesn’t change. Her perception of her solidity remains largely the same. Her perception of you—or Annarion, although I believe this would be true of any of the cohort—is more accurate. But to Kaylin she remains herself no matter how much the world around her shifts.”

  “When I closed my eyes just now, did I disappear?” Kaylin demanded—of Mandoran.

  The answer was clearly no, so he didn’t bother giving it. “You’ve taken someone’s name before. What did you think you were doing?”

  “Surviving.”

  “Surviving.”

  “Surviving.” She muttered a Leontine word. “We were under attack. The Hallionne Orbaranne was under attack. You might, oh, remember this?”

  Mandoran shrugged. Something that might have been a flicker of guilt crossed his features, but didn’t find any purchase there.

  “I saw the name. I needed to see the name. I grabbed it.”

  “Grabbed it?”

  “I physically grabbed it.”

  “You reached out and grabbed the name.” This time, it was Bellusdeo who spoke, although her tone was remarkably similar to Mandoran’s.

  “Yes. Not immediately, but yes.”

  “I think the ‘not immediately’ part is probably relevant here.”

  Kaylin knew she was right. “I—I could see the word at the core of him. He was a Feral in shape. Believe that I know Ferals,” she added bitterly. “But he had a name and I could...”