Cast in Oblivion

by Michelle Sagara

  Which meant, in Terrano’s current form, grew feet. She remembered what Annarion had become in Castle Nightshade; this wasn’t nearly as bad.

  “I think the Tower doesn’t want you here,” Kaylin told him.

  Terrano shrugged; it was a fief shrug, picked up from Mandoran, not Kaylin. “I was going to cheat,” he confessed. “It’s not like the High Court can tell who’s actually made it all the way down—they only know who comes back out. I intended to take a shortcut, skip the garbage and come back out.”

  “And the Tower doesn’t like cheaters? Fair enough. None of my teachers could stand them, either.”

  Terrano was slowly returning to his usual color, his usual appearance; only his eyes were off. “You tried?”

  “I wanted to. But Teela made it pretty clear that the lessons were necessary.”

  “Was she right?”

  Teela cleared her throat. “I’m always right.”

  “That’s what she said back then, too.”

  Terrano turned to Teela. “Where’s everyone else?”

  “Not here.”

  “You’re not planning to join them? Mandoran?”

  Mandoran hadn’t said a word, which was so unlike his usual self, Kaylin had almost forgotten his presence. “There’s a bit of a problem,” he finally said. His eyes, too large, grew darker and far less Barrani-like. Kaylin turned to Teela to find that her eyes were similar to Mandoran’s now. He turned to Terrano.

  “Sedarias’s brother and his friends are playing with Shadow.”

  “Being played by Shadow?” Kaylin asked, unwilling to be left out of the conversation.

  “That, too. They think they’re the base of operations here. They’re like a miniature Court. But it’s their guards who are the biggest threat.”

  “The Ferals?”

  “Whatever you did back in the halls to get rid of two of them, you need to do now to get rid of the rest.”

  Kaylin looked ahead into the crimson landscape. “I’ll need to find them. I can’t see them at all.”

  “What are you looking at?” Terrano demanded.

  “At the interior of a body. Sort of. It’s like a cavern, but made of flesh. Exposed flesh,” she added.

  The three members of the cohort exchanged a significant glance.

  Kaylin held on to her temper. “You can see Mellarionne’s forces from here?”

  Terrano nodded. “I can probably teach you how to look—”

  “No,” Hope said.

  The three Barrani turned toward him; Teela could actually hear him now.

  “She is not what you are. She can be where you are because she bears the marks of the Chosen—but she bears them because, conversely, she is grounded. She has other methods of finding the creatures she needs to stop—but she cannot easily follow the path you now tread.”

  “It’s not easy,” Teela said.

  “No. Not for you. But you can, and return, in the end, to yourself. Kaylin does not have that flexibility. And,” he added as Terrano opened his mouth, “she does not require it. Spike?”

  They are here, Spike replied. Here, beneath the strata in which Terrano was imprisoned. A silence followed—but it was a thin veneer over words which were certain to break it. What you now see is not my choice, Chosen, but your familiar’s. He is your guide here, if you have one. But the creatures you call Ferals, those who were once Barrani, are here. Can you not feel them?

  No.

  But she could now hear them clearly.

  Chapter 26

  Lord Kaylin, Edelonne said. Kaylin was almost surprised to hear her. Ynpharion’s voice had been absent in the earlier days of—of whatever forced name-bonding was called. She’d been aware of his fury and resentment, of his arrogance, of his contempt—both for himself and for her—but they’d both avoided exchanging actual words.

  Edelonne’s interior voice had none of Ynpharion’s heat, none of his fire. Her voice was softer, thinner; Kaylin could easily imagine that she could, with no effort, fade into the background of everyday thought. Which this wasn’t.

  The more familiar ire followed as Ynpharion joined his voice to hers. The Lady wishes to know where you are. She is not best pleased that An’Teela chose to join you.

  She has you, Kaylin countered.

  She is aware that An’Teela’s connection to the cohort is far more substantial.

  “Mandoran.”

  “Before you ask, the answer is no.”

  “You don’t know the question yet!”

  “You’re about to ask either Teela or me to go join the Consort. One: I don’t want to. And two: I can’t. Terrano said he was trying to ditch the test, right?”

  “Teela’s already passed it. She can come and go—in theory—as she pleases, if she has the Consort’s permission. Which she does.”

  “Teela,” Teela said, “is not going anywhere. You’re here. They’re here. Our enemies are here, or close.” She punctuated the sentence with Kariannos, the great sword that appeared, given how she was waving it around, to weigh nothing. Her eyes shifted—literally—as they once again changed shape in her face. Nothing in their shifting color implied Barrani moods. “We’ve got Annarion. Finally.”

  “Which we?” Terrano asked.

  “Serralyn.”

  “Is he—”

  “He’s mostly fine. They’re approximately in the right place,” she added.

  Terrano deflated. “Tell them to step back. No, sorry, ask Sedarias to have them step back.”

  “To where?”

  “To where we are now.”

  “Given what happened to you? Sedarias doesn’t like it.”

  “Tell her we’ve got Spike negotiating with the Tower.”

  A beat. Two. “She wants to know what he’s using for leverage.”

  I ask for concessions from the Tower’s core functionality. I have explained that these concessions are necessary if we are to serve in its stead.

  Kaylin mostly followed the answer. “He’s telling the Tower—somehow—that we’ll protect the Tower and keep the cage around the Adversary closed.”

  “And the Tower’s not demanding an explanation?” Teela said, mimicking Sedarias’s tone perfectly.

  “I think the Tower has all the explanation it needs. It let Terrano go.” She hesitated, and then said, “Can the rest of the cohort come to us?”

  * * *

  The answer was a qualified yes. It took time for all of the cohort to emerge; Valliant was last. Annarion was first. All of them had eyes that were similar to Teela’s in size and shape, but they retained their heights; their hair, the raven black of Barrani, was now shot through with the same colors that made their eyes so disturbing. Annarion and Allaron bore swords, as did Sedarias. The rest of the cohort had chosen—for the moment—to retain the use of both hands.

  Were it not for Terrano, they would have been silent—but Terrano was of them, and Terrano could no longer hear their conversations. Or arguments. Allaron caught him as he stood by the edge of their formation, and drew him into its center, as if afraid Terrano would otherwise flee.

  “Can you see An’Mellarionne?” Mandoran asked of Kaylin.

  “No.”

  Lord Kaylin. It was Edelonne again. The Consort bids me tell you that we are almost at the cavern.

  Can you guys see the Barrani?

  We can see the forces of Mellarionne, yes.

  Can you see the Ferals?

  Edelonne found the question briefly confusing, but the confusion passed. Not all of them, no. There are three standing guard.

  They haven’t seen you?

  Not apparently.

  Can they?

  More silence. I would not have noticed the Consort had I not been ordered to stall her procession. What I saw—what they now see—is not all of what you see. It is also
more than you see, simultaneously. She hesitated again. Kaylin thought that Edelonne was not nearly so angry with herself as Ynpharion had been with himself. Her responses were slower, more thoughtful; she didn’t take time to justify herself or blame others for the decisions that had led to what she had become.

  We have never been powers, she finally said.

  You’re Lords of the High Court.

  Yes. But we are barely more significant than servants. Our families are irrelevant, our desires subject to the whim of those who have, and have always had, power. We have none. We do not have the base power necessary to learn the magics that could make us significant; we are lacking in land, in wealth, in the forces that might meet those who threaten us on fields of battle. Our hope lies in the games that the powerful play—but we are not naive. Without power, we cannot hope to become powerful.

  You have forever.

  Yes. We have an eternity of licking the boots of those who were born with advantages we lack. We were offered power, Lord Kaylin. You were offered the marks of the Chosen.

  No, Kaylin snapped, I wasn’t. I wasn’t offered a choice.

  This surprised Edelonne.

  I have the marks, yes. But—She stopped. You have more power, now, than I ever dreamed of. You live forever. You’re stronger, faster. You don’t die of exhaustion. The cold doesn’t bother you—it certainly won’t kill you.

  And you, Edelonne countered, have the marks of the Chosen. The Consort and An’Teela are numbered among your friends—An’Teela considers you kyuthe. You don’t need power of your own; you can rely on theirs.

  “Kaylin,” Sedarias said in a tone that implied this was not the first time she’d attempted to get Kaylin’s attention.

  Kaylin reined in her fraying temper, and wondered, briefly, if anyone ever felt powerful enough. They offered you power.

  They offered us power. They offered us freedom.

  Enough, Chosen, Spike said, his internal voice sharp. We have the information we require.

  But we don’t—

  We have the information we require. Do not attempt to gain more here; there is a danger.

  “Annarion,” Terrano said, “I see Karellan An’Solanace. Sedarias’s brother is—obviously—there. Oh. Lumennar An’Casarre is there, as well. I’m not sure any of the rest are part of this attack.”

  “The rest?”

  “A pity,” Sedarias said aloud. “It would have simplified our difficulties at Court if they were all here.”

  She is almost terrifying, Edelonne said. She had retreated, as if she could hear Spike’s words, or Kaylin’s reaction to them. We were offered power. We accepted. But it was a power that not even the High Court understood.

  There was a dark pride in the knowledge. Pride, Kaylin thought, and the slightest edge of what might have been shame. We were chosen; they were not. Definitely pride there. They did not know. They could not hear the voices we could hear, could not accept the power that we were offered. We were needed. Us.

  Into Kaylin’s mind came not so much an image as a sensation. Kaylin realized that what had happened to Ynpharion had not happened to Edelonne. Edelonne’s power, Edelonne’s transformation—the first of many she anticipated—had been different. Where Ynpharion had attempted to rid himself of what he viewed as weakness, Edelonne had not; she had been guided every step of the way.

  She had felt the Shadow as both blessing and promise; it had enfolded her in a warmth, a comfort, a certainty, that Ynpharion’s transition had lacked. Edelonne could feel the echoes of it now, as she thought of it, almost transfixed. And Kaylin could feel the desire, palpable, that swamped all sense of self. The desire for safety. The desire for comfort. The desire to be necessary, important. That was what the Shadow had provided Edelonne.

  It was illusory. It was a lie. But it had felt so real to her, so viscerally true, it didn’t matter. Kaylin thought if they had died there, if they had been entirely devoured by Shadow, they wouldn’t have cared at all.

  She had always thought that drugs were about being happy, somehow. Being ecstatic. Finding the high. Now she wasn’t so certain. And it didn’t matter. Edelonne was not going to, could not, go back, because Kaylin was an anchor. A shackle. A cage. What she needed from Edelonne wasn’t personal impressions. She needed to know—

  Spike made a screeching noise that set Kaylin’s entire body vibrating.

  Spike didn’t want her to approach the truth any further. It is your Adversary, he said, his voice causing Kaylin’s jaw to ache. The Barrani was offered power by that Adversary, and it is his knowledge that allowed the transformation. It is his knowledge that forms the foundation for the gate that is being built by the Barrani lords in their ignorance. Were they like Edelonne, we would be far too late; they are not.

  They struggle in ignorance, with just enough knowledge to be a threat. They cannot see that threat—but, Chosen, they will if they cannot be stopped. We all will.

  “You won’t.”

  I will. There is a reason that I had to be freed from the constraints of Ravellon. If they succeed here, I will be trapped.

  “Even if I anchor you?”

  You will be dead. Do not ask for more now. It is possible that even her answer, spoken as it is, will be heard.

  “They already know we’re here.”

  Yes and no. They know that we are coming. But those who consider us their chief concern cannot yet perceive how.

  “Anytime you’re ready to pay attention to our plan of action,” Sedarias said, and Kaylin swiveled.

  “Sorry. Spike was talking, and it’s almost painful to the ears.”

  “Tell him to shut up, then. Terrano says you can’t see what we can currently see.”

  Kaylin nodded.

  “He thinks it doesn’t matter. To us.”

  She is wrong.

  “But knowledge is, in theory, power. According to Terrano, three of our families are currently engaged in an attempt to summon Shadow—as if it were a simple element. Killing them—ah, forgive me, stopping them—will be our problem. Your problem, according to Teela, will be the guards. The ones you call Ferals. We have some rudimentary grasp of the Arcane—from Teela, before you ask. We are not as helpless as our enemies currently presume we will be.

  “Teela, however, will accompany you.”

  “What?”

  “Kariannos will not be of great use against the High Lords; it was not created with Barrani enemies in mind.”

  “It wasn’t created to fight Shadow, either. It’s called a dragonslayer for a reason.”

  “We can argue about that later.”

  “What are your plans, then? You just intend to charge in and start killing High Lords?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes.”

  “That’s not a plan!”

  “It’s all of the plan we have time for,” Sedarias snapped. “We expected opposition—but not on this scale; there is no subtlety being exercised at all.” And if they weren’t being subtle, Kaylin thought, Sedarias saw no need for subtle, either. “And according to Terrano, both your familiar and Spike feel that this might be death for our race.”

  “Has it occurred to you that Arcanists might have a few deadly defenses on hand?”

  “Yes, of course. But to use them, they’ll almost certainly have to interrupt what they’re doing.”

  “Or try to do it faster,” Kaylin snapped. “They’ll send the Ferals after you first. And, guys? These are not normal Ferals. They have way more power than the Ferals you’d sneer at in the fiefs, and they’re tethered to the Adversary’s power. They have way more power than most of the enemies you’d take down with swords. They’ll use it. I can break that connection—but it takes time. Time for each of the eleven. In the worst possible case...”

  “Yes?”

  “I think they’ll ditch their names the way Terrano did. He too
k centuries. They’ll take minutes. And what’s left won’t be Barrani anymore, in any way. It’ll be Shadow—but it’ll be the Adversary’s Shadow, unleashed.”

  “The Tower shouldn’t allow that,” Terrano began.

  “The Tower is broken. The only reason it’s putting up with you—and the cohort—is because of the Consort. And Spike. Spike promised that we—collective we—would help the Tower to perform its duties. He’s part of that, but I’m not sure whether or not he’ll be able to contain a collection of Arcanists, because what they’re doing, in theory—until they succeed—doesn’t use the magic the Tower was built to suppress.” She started to say more, stopped and closed her eyes. “You’re right. Go do what you have to do, and please, please, please try not to get killed.”

  * * *

  Eyes closed, Kaylin began to look for words. Her own marks were visible, but it wasn’t her marks that were causing the problem. It was the True Names of eleven Ferals who were, according to Edelonne, scattered evenly throughout the cavern. This place—this red, wet, fleshy place—was the cavern. It wasn’t the cavern that the cohort could see, but she could imagine what it might look like if layers of actual rock had been laid over the fleshy protrusions. She could only do this with her eyes closed.

  It wasn’t the cavern itself she wanted to see. She was now aware that the Tower of Test was also like Helen; the actual dimensions and architecture were impermanent and subject to change. But if the architecture had strata, she was in a place that was as close to its core as it would allow.

  She’d been at the heart of a Tower before. At the heart of a Hallionne. And at the heart of Helen. This was nothing like any prior experience. The words she was looking for were not the words that gave the Tower both life and purpose. No, the words she wanted were smaller in every way.

  Spike was speaking, but it was more sensation than communication; she was aware of his presence—he was like the higher, whinier version of a very loud heartbeat—but assumed he’d make himself understood if it was necessary. Or if he thought it was necessary, which might not be the same thing.