Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

“No, Chosen. But those Ferals, should they continue in this vein, will not be Ferals much longer; they will become other. They are unlike the cohort; they will become other, but they will take their instructions—their shape, their power—from the knowledge of your Adversary.

  “It is possible that An’Mellarionne and his lieges believe they will be in control. It is possible that they will be allowed to remain untransformed. But the people enspelled as your new name-bound is enspelled will not.”

  “It’s worse than that. Spike’s really upset.”

  “He is.”

  Kaylin reached out and attempted to grab Spike, which was probably the stupidest thing she had done all day. He spun in a way that almost cost her half a hand, and she flinched. She also bled—but it was a small cut, given the size of what were no longer spikes. Blades, she thought. She could almost sense eyes beneath the perfect, black chitin of what passed for his skin in this particular shape.

  And this shape was not his only shape.

  “Lord Kaylin.” The Consort’s voice was sharper, the syllables a snap of biting sound.

  “He’s—The Ferals that stopped us are somehow attached to the Adversary. And there are more of them.”

  “Your current name-bound?” Edelonne flinched.

  “She’s no longer attached. Whatever inroads the Adversary had to her are gone.”

  “How many more?”

  Thirteen, Edelonne said. There were thirteen of us.

  “Eleven more. Thirteen to start.”

  Evarrim cursed, or at least that’s what Kaylin thought he was doing. The cursing followed the rest of his unintelligible words. Oh. Magic. His eyes were already as dark as Barrani eyes could get.

  “What?” she demanded, her voice much sharper, much harsher, than the Consort’s.

  Evarrim didn’t pretend to misunderstand, and didn’t ignore her, either, which was his preference. He usually waited until the Consort asked—or demanded that he answer. “There are three summoning rituals that might require a larger number of people,” he finally said. “I have seen them used only during natural disasters, and one was a failure.

  “Alone, our power is individual—our talents, our skills, individual, as well. We cannot summon more of a force than we can control; it is suicide.”

  Kaylin nodded.

  “Together, we can. But it requires synchronicity and focus, and it is not guaranteed to succeed. If the containment breaks...” He fell silent.

  Kaylin was still for one long moment. “People die.”

  “Yes. But not immediately, not all at once. If the elemental summoned wishes to exist on the plane for its own purposes—and it will have a purpose at that size—it cannot kill everyone immediately; the summoner is the door or the window through which entry is possible. Or rather, the summoner’s power is. But the summoner has no control over what has been summoned.”

  “You think they’re summoning Shadow, somehow.”

  It was Edelonne who answered. “Yes, Lord Kaylin. They are attempting to do what Lord Evarrim has suggested. A small amount of Shadow is almost inert; it is obedient, just as fire or water. A larger summoning is more difficult. The experiments they have conducted strongly imply that Shadow is a hidden element, a fifth element.”

  “How do they summon it at all?”

  “My apologies, Lord Kaylin. I was not trained in the Arcane arts. I was considered to have no potential at all in that regard.” The sudden rush of humility didn’t suit Barrani at all, even this one. Kaylin transferred her question, silently, to Evarrim, who couldn’t claim the same ignorance.

  His glare might have been his entire reply, but the Consort nodded at him in the regal way which meant Answer her now.

  “It may surprise you to know that I do not have an answer to that question. If Shadow has a name—as fire does—I am unaware of it, and if you have any small knowledge of summoning, you understand that the name of the thing summoned is necessary.”

  Spike practically exploded with urgent distress. It took Kaylin a moment to understand that he was asking her permission for...something.

  “Shadow,” Hope said, “has a name.”

  Evarrim, however, was staring at Spike. “It appears,” he said, his voice the wrong kind of soft, “that if Shadow does have a name, your companion is aware of it.”

  “I think,” Kaylin replied, “that Spike must know. He can’t really communicate clearly with me when he’s in this form.” A form that was, she had to admit, getting less portable by the second. “He does try, though.”

  Whatever permission he required to do what he obviously felt was necessary, she gave.

  He unfolded.

  As he did, the shape of the hall—the opening of it—shifted, as if aware of his transformation, and desirous of it. The hall in which everyone else was now standing widened, although the texture of the floor and walls didn’t change. The ceiling stretched up, slanting gradually, as Spike became other.

  No, he’d always been other. But he was now almost draconic in size. The spikes that characterized his portable appearance still existed—but they were flexible, and thin; fine tendrils of shadow waved in what appeared to be a wind. A strong wind.

  The eyes that he didn’t normally possess, he possessed now in uncomfortable abundance. His body was no longer round, but it was very difficult to look at for any length of time, because it seemed to shift in place. He had legs one second, and had none the next; he had limbs that might have ended in hands, before they flattened and extended, as if they meant to be wings and couldn’t quite contain the shape.

  Or be contained by it.

  But...in this form, he had a different voice. She’d heard it before, in the outlands; she heard it now.

  You will die, he said. You will all die if this is not stopped. What you call Shadow is contained here—here and in perhaps a handful of other worlds that have not fallen in their entirety. It is a cage, Chosen. It is a necessary cage.

  “I don’t understand. An’Mellarionne and his crew have summoned Shadow before—why is this worse?”

  They have summoned just enough of the Shadow to catch its attention, as was no doubt intended by their teacher. But what they summon here will be unlike the fire or the water or the earth—it will be a force unto itself, a thing that they cannot control.

  “That’s not different.”

  It will be. The Shadow is not like the elements. Its will and intent are more subtle. In that, in its desire, it is far more like your Barrani than the elements that are housed by your world’s Keeper. It is... He made the whirring sounds he often made; Kaylin associated it with thinking. It is not like summoning fire. It is like summoning a god.

  Kaylin didn’t even ask which god. “Did any of you hear that?” she asked without taking her eyes off Spike’s unfolding form.

  “We heard,” the Consort replied, “what you said. We did not hear what Spike said—if that is indeed Spike.”

  “It’s Spike. It’s not... He looked different in the outlands, but...it’s Spike. Spike thinks the Barrani lords—whoever the hells they are—believe they’re summoning Shadow-as-elemental. Shadow, to them, is like fire or water, earth or air.”

  “It is a much more flexible power,” Edelonne said. “It can be used in a more subtle fashion.”

  Kaylin thought of crests on doors, of invisibility. “It’s not, according to Spike, being used. It’s the one doing the using.”

  It was Teela who snapped the next question, which was all of a single word. “Ravellon?”

  “I think that’s what Spike’s afraid of.”

  “Terrano?”

  “I don’t know.” It surprised Kaylin that that was Teela’s next question, and it shouldn’t have. It would have been hers, had the situation been reversed. “But it seems like he’s in the direction we’re going, anyway.”

  She could f
eel Spike straining against her as if she were a physical jess; she stumbled forward two steps, crossing the threshold that defined the hall from whatever was just beyond it. It was not a comfortable transition—at all.

  There was no floor beneath her feet, although her feet were definitely present. Instead, there was a gray-pink mass that seemed to extend as far as the eye could see, darkening in the distance. It reminded Kaylin of dead flesh, which was not a comforting thought.

  The jumble of voices—Ynpharion’s, Nightshade’s, Severn’s—even Severn’s—made clear why: she hadn’t taken steps the normal way. Whatever Spike had done had skewed her vision of reality. No, it had skewed reality, somehow. She was no longer walking in the same hall—or cavern, or whatever the hall led to—as the rest of her companions.

  “Wait.”

  She turned at the sound of the familiar voice.

  Teela had followed.

  Stay with the Consort, Kaylin told everyone who could hear her. Apparently, I have Teela.

  * * *

  Teela was decidedly pale and some evidence of sweat beaded her forehead. Both of these were unusual.

  “Why are you here? No, wait. I take that back. How are you here?”

  “Enduring Mandoran has its uses.” She glanced at Spike, and lost whatever it was that would have followed. Probably more explanation, but the dry comment had been explanation enough. “I can finally hear Terrano. Is Spike safe?”

  “For us? Yes. I know he looks intimidating.”

  Apologies, Chosen. But if there is difficulty, it will be here. He looked down at Teela, although the direction of his gaze wasn’t immediately obvious. What they can do, I cannot do as effectively when I am with them. It took her a moment to untangle this. They must find the Barrani summoners and stop them.

  “What are you going to do?”

  I am going to the heart of the Tower itself; I will bolster its defenses. It is already severely weakened. Were it not for your Terrano, I might have said those defenses no longer existed; I cannot hear the Tower at all.

  “But the Tower is obviously testing people. All of the cohort were put through their paces.” She looked to Teela.

  Teela nodded. “Mandoran is coming.”

  Testing is not the same as defense, Spike said. He began to move. It requires a different power, a different mode of interaction.

  “You think the Shadow has already been summoned?”

  The Shadow that you fear—that the Barrani fear—has been here since the Tower collapsed in on itself to trap and contain it. You did not possess—they did not possess—the power necessary to destroy it; not even the Tower at its full strength could.

  And we can?

  No, Chosen. But what your enemies now attempt will break the cage completely. And if that cage is broken, your familiar may protect you—but almost everyone else will be lost. He moved, all movements ungainly and disturbing.

  Teela fell in beside Kaylin. Here, as in the streets of Elantra, she had the greater height, the greater weight; Kaylin could almost see the impressions her feet made in the ground beneath them. The ground which wasn’t ground.

  It wasn’t Shadow, either, and Kaylin felt she should be grateful for the lack, but couldn’t quite dredge up gratitude. She managed only when a familiar figure drifted slowly into view, the lines of his face scrunched into what passed for concentration in Mandoran.

  “There you are!” His eyes were gray, with flecks of color that seemed to be straining for freedom. Even at this distance, they were visible; the eyes seemed to occupy far more of his face than they should have. But the Tower hadn’t trapped or ejected him.

  “Hey, is that Kariannos? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you—”

  “Not now,” Teela snapped. “Have you found Terrano?”

  “No—and Sedarias is pissed off.”

  “Use High Barrani when the Consort is present,” Teela replied. Not much of a reply, but Mandoran shrugged it off.

  “Sedarias’s brother is present. His second in command is also present, as is his heir. There are other Lords of the Court, but Sedarias doesn’t recognize them all.” He spoke to Kaylin; Teela obviously already knew this. “She wants your help,” he added, once again speaking to Teela.

  “Apologies. I was occupied at the time. You can hear Terrano?”

  Mandoran nodded. “He’s not happy, but he’s not in pain.”

  “You’ve spoken with him?” Kaylin said.

  “No. Sedarias was against it. There’s too much interference, and she expects that some of that interference is probably hunting us. She’s not happy,” he added.

  “She’s never happy,” Teela snapped. She exhaled. Turning to Kaylin, she said, “Annarion has finished. Or escaped. The cohort is gathered in two places. Three if you count Mandoran and me.”

  “Are they here or there?”

  “There, for a value of there. I’m attempting to guide them to the Consort, but there’s a notable difficulty.”

  “The Barrani summoners?”

  “And their guards, yes. The guards are Ferals. If what Spike has said has been correctly conveyed, the biggest threat we face is the Ferals. Can Spike be here if you’re not?”

  “He should be able to—”

  No.

  “Uh, he says no.” To Spike, she said, “We left you behind in the outlands. You weren’t anywhere near us when we arrived in Elantra.”

  I was not anywhere near the Shadow that lurks at the heart of this place, Spike replied. And he will pull, Chosen. He will attempt to compel. We do not have names in the same fashion as the Barrani possess them—but we have words of a kind. I have words of a kind. He will know them all; he will know how to invoke them.

  You are the barrier between me and that compulsion.

  And given his size, his shape, his knowledge, that barrier—flimsy and mortal as it was—was necessary. “If I leave he’s afraid he’ll fall under the control of the Adversary.”

  “Then don’t leave,” Mandoran snapped. “Can you find Terrano?”

  Kaylin nodded.

  * * *

  Spike stayed in front of Kaylin; the tendrils of black smoke that sprouted from the massive spikes were in constant motion. They trailed across the ground; they reached for protrusions, when protrusions existed; most of them seemed to come from what passed for ceiling here. The ceiling and the floor were composed of the same material.

  So, at the moment, was Terrano. It wasn’t a wonder to Kaylin that Teela and Mandoran hadn’t seen him; she might have missed him herself had she not been looking. He was the color of, the shape of, the pillars that grew up—and down—across the entire landscape.

  “He’s here.” As she approached, she frowned. Closer examination revealed nothing; he was the exact shape of the rest of the protrusions. There were no limbs, no face, nothing at all that looked like Terrano. And yet, she was certain that this particular stretched bit of pulsating flesh contained him. No, she thought; it didn’t contain him. It was Terrano.

  Teela and Mandoran stared at her; they hadn’t stopped, or hadn’t intended to stop. They did because Spike did. Or perhaps because Kaylin did. “If this makes me burst into flames or melt into Shadow, pull me back.”

  “What are you doing?” Teela asked, voice as sharp as her sword’s edge.

  Kaylin didn’t answer. I don’t know wouldn’t have cut it; nor would I’ll figure it out. Sadly, both were accurate. The marks on her arms had not stopped glowing; she doubted they would before she was clear of the High Halls. But her skin didn’t ache at all. It had until she’d been dragged into Spike’s orbit. As she lifted her left hand—always her left when things were questionable—she realized that the marks had lifted themselves, once again, from her skin; they rotated as if they were awkwardly crafted bracelets. They weren’t large, but they were distinct, each word obviously separate from the others,
but linked, as if they were sentences in a familiar language.

  Her palm touched the pillar; it felt exactly like it looked: exposed flesh, veins, muscles. Part of a body. If this were a metaphor created somehow to allow her to shift into a different state of being, she vastly preferred carved, giant words.

  But she understood why this particular metaphor was useful, even natural. She drew deep, even breaths to still the sound of her own heart, which appeared to be beating overtime, and as she did, she finally reached Terrano.

  You’ve certainly looked better, she told him.

  She could feel the movement of flesh beneath her hand. It was disturbing; she’d helped birth babies before, but this was nothing like that. Everything in Terrano was straining to escape.

  No, she thought. Not everything. Took you long enough—where were you?

  We had a little trouble with some Shadows. She would have told him more, but a large number of Spike’s tendrils emerged, and all of them simultaneously shot toward Terrano.

  “We need him!” Kaylin shouted, her hand tightening.

  I understand, Chosen. I believe I can convince the Tower to free him, but the responsibility for Terrano will then rest entirely on your shoulders. The faint buzzing that was Spike’s voice sounded Elantran to her ears—except for the last word; she could hear another word, other syllables, laid above it or beneath it, that lent it a resonance it wouldn’t otherwise possess. Her entire body vibrated as the echo of those syllables passed through her.

  As Kaylin watched, the thing beneath her hand melted, red sliding away as if it were blood. Not a comforting thought, even if Kaylin had seen her share of bleeding—this much blood was an early indicator of probable death. But there was no wound; she could feel no injury beneath the tense flat of her palms—she’d lifted the right instinctively, laying it beside the left as if both hands would prove more useful than one.

  Teela’s breath was a sharp, loud sound; Kaylin opened her eyes. Her hands were now flat against Terrano’s chest. His color was off—but it was a crimson, not the pale usually associated with nausea or pain. He staggered, bracing his weight against Kaylin’s hands as he found his footing.