Cast in Wisdom

by Michelle Sagara

  “Guys,” Kaylin said.

  Teela turned away from the window.

  “Have you ever seen a Barrani with gray hair?”

  “Pardon?”

  “I mean, the Consort has white hair.”

  “Platinum is the word you want.”

  “Fine, whatever. It’s white to me. All the rest of you have black hair.”

  “And?”

  “This person has—No, I’m asking you if you’ve ever seen a Barrani man with gray hair before.”

  Teela and Bellusdeo exchanged a glance. “Yes,” Teela said, as Bellusdeo shook her head. “It was not a common color, as you may imagine, and there was some concern that it implied a defect.”

  “And not age like it does for the rest of us?”

  “The rest of us?” Bellusdeo then said.

  “Well, the Arkon’s gray. And also, even the Leontines get gray around the muzzle and ears. When they’re older, I mean. I take it this guy was old?”

  The stranger’s eyes had narrowed, not in anger, but in mild confusion. “These,” he said, while Teela drew breath, “are not my traditional office hours. And that is not a traditional student uniform. Are you a messenger?”

  His tone indicated that her answer had better be yes, and that her message had better be delivered with minimal waste of his time.

  Kaylin slid immediately into Barrani. “I am not a messenger,” she told the stranger. “I am Kaylin Neya, and I’ve been sent here to examine what is essentially an empty building.”

  His brows rose. “Empty?”

  She nodded. There was something about this man that was familiar. Or rather, more familiar than his similarity of appearance to every other Barrani she had ever met.

  “Who are you talking to?” Teela asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Kaylin replied, although she didn’t take her eyes off the man.

  “Who are you conversing with?” the man now asked.

  “Hope—can you speak to him?”

  You are doing so; I see no need to interfere.

  But the stranger had now seen Hope, as if the words themselves—or the squawks—had finally made him visible. The expression that he now turned on Kaylin was different.

  “Who are you?” The words were sharper, the demand in them clearer.

  Hope sighed. Loudly. He then squawked while the man listened. Kaylin wanted to be able to understand every word he spoke; so far she’d managed to understand the ones he aimed at her. It was better—on most days—than nothing.

  “Why are you here? This is not the library; these rooms,” he added, waving an arm to encompass more than the one they currently occupied, “are my personal rooms.”

  She offered him a Diarmat-taught bow. When she rose, his expression was calmer, although his eyes remained blue. Of course they did. “This building is currently unoccupied. You are the only person we’ve found in it.”

  “Impossible.”

  She was silent. He wasn’t calling her a liar.

  “Was an evacuation order sent? Has the day we feared come to pass?”

  Kaylin had no idea what day he referred to, but she could guess. Guessing when Barrani were involved, and they were in your face, wasn’t always the safest or wisest choice—not if you opened your mouth.

  Bellusdeo was orange-eyed. She didn’t fold her arms; she was alert. Teela, eyes a darker blue than this stranger’s, was also alert. She hadn’t drawn a weapon and Bellusdeo hadn’t yet decided to breathe fire—for which Kaylin was grateful. She had a visceral fear of fire and books, probably instilled by the Arkon.

  “Are you known as Larrantin?”

  The man seemed to relax. “I am, by some. Has an acquaintance sent you to fetch me?” He tucked a book under his arm, and Kaylin looked, for the first time, at his clothing. It was oddly styled; she had never seen a Barrani dressed this way. The jacket he wore might have been at home in a painting, but not on an actual person. Also, his pants were weird.

  She had some concerns about whether or not he could leave this room.

  “When you refer to the day you fear,” she said, as she turned and walked through his open door, “do you mean Ravellon?”

  His steps stopped, and she turned to see if he was still following. His expression caught her; there was sorrow in it, and the color of his eyes was not the normal Barrani blue.

  “Yes,” he finally said as his eyes began to shade toward a color more natural for the Barrani. “We have worked and struggled here—those of us who might survive catastrophic changes in our environment—to understand what ails Ravellon and how it might be cured. But the sum of our knowledge is too thin, and our understanding of the Ancients and their varied knowledge, too slight.

  “But you are Chosen. Do you have wisdom to impart that might have escaped us?” There was hope in the words. Hope and the usual Barrani skepticism.

  “I don’t even have the knowledge that you had back in the day.”

  “Who sent you?”

  This was more complicated. “Were you here when the Towers rose?”

  Silence. After a long pause, Larrantin said, “The Towers.” The two words were flat. “But the selection has only barely finished, and there is some debate about the choices.”

  “The Towers were created, in the end, by the Ancients. I don’t understand how or why, but this building—” She exhaled. “Come with me. I think you’ll understand, better than I do, what’s happened.”

  * * *

  Larrantin could leave his room. He could walk through the halls and down the stairs. He could even walk past the desk. But when Teela opened the doors at a nod from Kaylin, he paused. He looked out, his eyes narrowing. “I do not believe I can leave this building,” he said, the words quiet enough Kaylin could barely hear them.

  She’d half expected he would vanish simply by attempting to leave his office.

  “You found no trace of other people in your search?”

  “No trace of the people we were looking for, no.” She paused. “Do you know Killian?”

  He frowned. Hope bit Kaylin’s ear and whispered something longer. “Killianas.”

  The frown cleared slightly, and as it did, it left the mild disapproval of an annoyed teacher in its place. “Killianas, yes. It happens that I wish you to perform a small errand for me.”

  “And that?”

  “I wish you to take this book to him. I am not certain that you will be able to do so if I cannot leave this building.” He then handed Kaylin the book he had tucked under his arm.

  It was cold. It was like accepting a brick of ice from the morgue with bare hands; had it not been for her training about the cost and value of books—which, in the eyes of many, were more than a would-be private-now-corporal was worth—she would have dropped it. She didn’t. She did adjust her grip so that the bulk of the ice was pressed against her clothing and not her skin.

  It helped, but not much. “I can try,” she finally said. She looked at Larrantin, a suspicion forming, and held out one hand, which was almost more than she could spare, given the book.

  He stared at it.

  “That is not one of our customs,” Teela told her.

  “I know, but—I’m obviously not Barrani, and we do shake hands.”

  He continued to stare at her hand. He then grimaced and offered her his own. She took it, or attempted to take it; there was nothing there. What she could see, what she could hear, and what she could physically touch were not the same. He frowned; he could not grasp her hand.

  “...I see,” he finally said, and his expression made clear that he now understood something in a way that he hadn’t before. “Carry the book. If Killianas has words of wisdom to impart, I ask that you return. You will find me in my office.” But his eyes remained upon the open door as Kaylin, with the two companions he had not once seen or heard, left.
r />   Chapter 13

  “It has to be the marks of the Chosen,” Annarion said, as soon as Kaylin was in hearing range. In theory, he was speaking to Teela. This was the cohort’s way of inviting Kaylin into a conversation she couldn’t otherwise hear.

  Teela nodded. “I would like Severn to join us,” she said. “It might be something as simple as mortality. Neither I nor Bellusdeo could see, hear or interact with Larrantin.”

  Bellusdeo, however, turned to her Ascendant. Maggaron nodded and headed up the stairs. “What?” she asked as the Barrani all turned to look at her. “While Severn is often useful, Maggaron is mortal. All of the Norannir are.”

  The door to the building was slightly ajar; Maggaron couldn’t slide in the same way Kaylin, or anyone who wasn’t almost eight feet tall, could. The doors themselves were tall enough, on the other hand. He opened them and passed through.

  Five minutes later, he emerged. Bellusdeo looked up the stairs; Maggaron shook his head. “Let’s assume it’s either the marks or the familiar,” the Dragon told Annarion. Kaylin had a feeling she was actually telling Sedarias. “I’m more concerned about what you’re carrying.”

  “It’s a bloody cold book.”

  Everyone exchanged one of those glances.

  “It doesn’t look like a book to you?”

  “It doesn’t look like a book to me,” the Dragon then said.

  “A little more information would be helpful, here.”

  “It doesn’t look like a book to me, either.”

  Since it was definitely a book and not a chunk of ice, Kaylin held it out, removing it from the layers of inadequately protective clothing and once again taking it in her hands.

  She could see a spine, as books usually had or they would have been called a stack of paper. As she turned it, she could see a back cover, given orientation, and when she flipped that over while her hands began to ache, she could see a front cover. The cover contained one rune, a type of word. She couldn’t read the language. That was fair; there were books in the Imperial Library that were written in gibberish, too.

  They are not written in gibberish, Ynpharion snapped.

  Fine. What does this say?

  His silence made clear that he couldn’t read the word, either.

  “He asked me to take this to Killian.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “No. Who is Larrantin? Or who was he?”

  “He was a researcher of some renown, or perhaps a scholar might be the better word. I did not know him well; I barely knew him at all. His distinguishing characteristic, visually, was his hair.”

  “It was always like that?”

  “It was always what mortals call gray, yes. He was born that way. Not much is known of him, beyond that; he disappeared almost a millennium ago.”

  “In the fiefs?”

  “It was not clear at the time.” Teela’s smile was grim. “Renown, in Elantran parlance, always paints a target on the person who’s earned it. If he had not been so odd, his disappearance would have been chalked down to simple assassination.”

  “He was political?”

  “You’re giving Sedarias a headache,” Annarion said in a remarkably cheerful tone of voice for Annarion.

  “Fine. Never mind.”

  “The Arkon was not considered political,” Bellusdeo said. “But he fought in the wars, and he influenced the composition of the Flights. By your standards, Lannagaros was apolitical; his interests were never in the accumulation of power. But power is necessary to preserve both oneself and the things one cares about.” She lifted an arm. “That,” she said, pointing to a large building that occupied most of the distance, “is the building from which we emerged.

  “If you are tasked with taking the book to Killian, I would suggest you do so now.”

  * * *

  Killian—or the building in which he currently resided—had doors similar to the doors of the building which housed or contained Larrantin. They approached those doors with less caution. The doors were closed.

  Kaylin had once again tucked the book between her arm and the side of her body, which was better than carrying it in her hands, but not, as the distance increased, by much. There were other reasons for wanting to reach Killian, though. Chief among them were the missing members of the cohort—Mandoran, Terrano and Nightshade. She had hope that they were somehow lost within Killian’s many rooms; that opening the door and entering the building would break whatever barrier prevented them from communicating.

  Helen could prevent exactly that communication between Kaylin and any of the nameheld; if Killian was somehow a building, it made sense that he could do the same.

  The doors, however, were locked. The lock wasn’t mechanical, or not in a way that Kaylin understood mechanical locks.

  “Is it warded?” Bellusdeo asked.

  “I can’t see—or feel—a ward.” Given that door wards caused Kaylin’s magical allergy to flare anytime she came in physical contact with one, she felt she was a reluctant expert. “But we’re in the border zone.”

  “Try knocking?” Allaron suggested.

  Annarion, however, moved to the left of the doors, to a smaller section of the wall. The stairs were wide and meant to accommodate either the very, very space-conscious or multiple people at once. “Here,” he said.

  “It’s a wall,” Kaylin offered. “Or at least it looks like a wall to me. What do you see?”

  “I see a symbol. It’s not a door ward,” he added, “but it has a similar function. It’s meant to be like your bells.”

  “Can you see the wall clearly?”

  “I think I can see it more clearly than you can. Since we’ve followed this street, the fog has lifted. There’s sun here,” he said, glancing over his shoulder, “and the buildings themselves are not, as you put it, washed out. There are trees, and those trees are vividly green and green-blue. The only things here that seem...faded, I guess, are the birds and the squirrels.”

  Kaylin turned immediately to look out to the large circle transcribed by the street to which those stairs led. She could see no birds, no squirrels, could hear no insects, and see no sun. “I suppose the skies are blue?”

  “They are. It’s ridiculously clear here. Hold on.” Annarion lifted a hand to the wall, spreading the whole of his palm against it. His fingers were long and slender.

  * * *

  Only Annarion and Allaron could see this brightly colored version of the building; everyone else could see what Kaylin could see. But the inside of Larrantin’s building had seemed as solid, as real, as any normal building. From the inside, Kaylin couldn’t tell that she wasn’t in Elantra.

  From the inside of Killian, the same held true, or it had on their first visit. But the inside of Killian had seemed more run-down. Larrantin’s building had not. The floors hadn’t been scuffed or scratched—or warped, as often happened with wooden floors. The doors had been closed but had looked remarkably pristine.

  Kaylin hadn’t seen nameplates—or their Barrani equivalent—on the doors, but Bellusdeo and Teela had. This whole everyone-sees-something-different paradigm was getting old.

  The doors began to roll open.

  Hope hissed. He leaped to his standing position, his body rigid enough it was practically vibrating.

  This was not a good sign. Kaylin shouted a single word—“Move!”—as the doors began to open. Hope’s wing rose and covered Kaylin’s eyes as she followed her own advice, clearing the area at the height of the stairs and moving to stand between Bellusdeo and the open doors as she did.

  She ran smack into Maggaron and staggered back. Even orange-eyed as she was, Bellusdeo snickered.

  * * *

  Killian stood in the midpoint of the opening doors, his Barrani face still scarred by the missing eye. His hair, unlike Larrantin’s, was all black, and the remaining eye was a deep midnight
blue. He didn’t wear armor, and he didn’t carry a sword. Whatever trouble he was expecting, it wasn’t martial.

  No, Kaylin thought, whatever trouble he was in now couldn’t be countered by physical prowess.

  Neither Annarion nor Allaron cursed; Kaylin was pretty certain Mandoran or Terrano would have. As the doors rolled fully open, Kaylin heard a voice.

  Be careful—there is danger here.

  It was Nightshade’s.

  * * *

  Killian wasn’t nearly as welcoming on this second encounter.

  As the doors fully opened, she thought she saw why. Killian wasn’t alone. He’d said he had no master, no lord, and she’d believed it. She still believed it. But there were people with him, one on each side, and neither looked remotely friendly.

  One was Barrani by height and what she could see of his or her appearance; long robes and an unwieldy hooded cape covered most of their face. The other was human. He was taller than Kaylin, which wasn’t hard; he was wearing robes similar to the robes the Barrani wore, but as was always the case, not nearly as well. His hood didn’t cover his face, but draped, instead, across his shoulders and behind his neck.

  Severn swore.

  Of course he did.

  Who is he?

  Lord Baltrin. An image of said Lord formed immediately between them as if Severn were a portable Records, but better. Severn’s image was not an image that matched the man standing to one side of Killian. He wore a jacket, a shirt, an ostentatious circlet; his fingers were many-ringed, and his expression was indolent, bored and slightly predatory.

  You really need to study the human Caste Court, he told her. Even if you’re never sent to speak to any of them as a Hawk.

  He’s an Arcanist, isn’t he?

  Not officially, no. It’s not legally required that human Arcanists register with the Imperial Order; human Arcanists—mortal Arcanists—are rare. The bulk of the Arcanum—

  —is Barrani, I know. I don’t suppose you recognize the Barrani standing on the other side of Killian?