Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) (24 page)

“They hear her now,” the water whispered. “They hear her fear. They hear her death.”

Kaylin stiffened. Blanched. Forced herself to continue. “Yes.” She didn’t argue because there was no point. If one of the memories the
Tha’alaan
now contained was Ybelline’s death, it would be known, examined—and terrifying. The fact that Ybelline was demonstrably not dead would not be the comfort it might be to anyone who couldn’t access the memories and emotions of every member of their race who had come before.

It was comfort to Kaylin, though. Comfort—and fear.

“I don’t understand how you came to know what you know,” Kaylin said. “I came to—to ask you.”

“Ask Gilbert. Gilbert knows.” This was said with a sullenness that bordered on resentment.

“Gilbert doesn’t know. Or if he does, he can’t explain it to someone like me. Neither could fire or air or earth,” she continued. She was not above using truth as flattery. At least it made her better than most of the residents of Elani. “Only you can, because you are the heart of the
Tha’alaan
.

“Kattea—you haven’t met her, but you can see what I see if you want to look—said that it was the water that brought her to Elantra. Gilbert didn’t even realize that he was crossing through time. I don’t think it was
enough
time,” she added, trying to be fair. “The water of the time he was in carried the boat he was also in to our time. To us.

“I wanted to ask you how.”

The water was silent.

“But actually, how doesn’t matter.”

“What matters?”

“Why.” Even saying it, Kaylin thought she knew the answer now.
Ybelline’s death
. No, not just Ybelline—because Ybelline would not die alone.

“And now?”

Kaylin tried to smile and failed miserably. The water’s fear was a fear Kaylin herself had lived with, on and off, for her entire life—or for as much of it as she could remember. People would abandon her—by dying. Because
that was what people did
.

She tightened her free hand and considered smacking herself, hard.
Not the time for this, idiot
. Not the right time. Ybelline
wasn’t
dead yet. In some future, she was—but it hadn’t happened, which meant there was time.

Kaylin had daydreamed about going back in time. She’d never really considered all the effects this would have on everyone—anything—else. But it had all been idle; she
couldn’t
.

And yet, Kattea was here.

“Now I think I understand the why. The Tha’alani die, in the future. The near future. You brought Gilbert here to prevent it.”

“I have tried to explain it. To the Keeper,” she added, as if this were necessary. “I have tried for two of your days.”

“Rain isn’t likely to explain much.”

“He cannot hear.”

“Rain in
his store
is likely to be seen as its own emergency.”

“Kaylin—his Garden
will not exist
. It does not, in that time.”

* * *

“You’re partially from then.”

The water nodded, eyes darkening, bruises spreading. Kaylin suddenly wanted the “how.” Instead, she said, “Gilbert was trying to speak with you.”

“Yes. I am sorry. I heard him as...threat.”

“Why?”

“Because he will destroy that part of me, if he understands it.”

“He did
not
come here to destroy you—why would you think that?”

“Because
it is what he is
.”

“Did you understand what he was when you brought him here?”

“...Yes. Yes.”

There was only one obvious question to ask. Why? But Kaylin already knew why. “Please don’t destroy him.”

“I cannot destroy him.”

“Please don’t destroy the tiny part of him that’s here and now. And stop the raining. I understand enough to talk to Evanton.” She hesitated. “No, that’s not true. Do you understand what happens—or what did happen—to the Garden?”

“No. But it is gone, Kaylin.”

“I’ll tell him. I’ll tell him— Stop trying so hard to communicate with him.” She tightened her hold on the young girl’s hand. “Why can’t you talk to him the way you talk to me?”

“Because Evanton is not Chosen, and Evanton has not been adopted by the
Tha’alaan
. He cannot be the one, and he will not be the other.”

“Why?”

“Because it would break the
Tha’alaan.
Kaylin, I would kill him first.”

Kaylin doubted that this was possible. Evanton was Keeper. She didn’t tell the water this, because she tried not to tell people something they already knew, especially not when they knew it better than she ever could. It tended to make them angry.

“Then let me talk to him.”

The water nodded.

“Umm, in order to talk to him, you have to close the floodgates.”

This caused only confusion. Kaylin thought it funny that the words made no sense to water, because so much of a port city was constructed for, on or by the water.

“You need to stop raining and flooding the house. Evanton won’t drown—but I will if I try to reach him.” She was afraid to let the water go; her own knuckles were white. “Gilbert didn’t come here to destroy you.”

“No, of course not. But he will see the ripple. He will attempt to fix it.”

“Not right now, he won’t.”

“You cannot stop him. He is not like you or your kin.”

“He didn’t come to fix things. He came to find a way to a here that someone like me could survive.”

“Why?”

“Because he met Lord Nightshade, in a future time and place, and he wants to bring him home. To us.”

“You do not understand Gilbert if you believe this.”

This was a stupid conversation to be having with elemental water. It was also necessary. “I know. I don’t understand what he is. I can’t. But—I’ve healed him.”

“Impossible. He can no more be healed than we can.”

“Fine. I can’t say it felt like healing. He’s here, but he’s as trapped here as we are.”

Silence.

“He says he can’t see time here. It’s gone. For now, he’s part of us. The only thing that isn’t is the part of you that chose to bring him here.”

* * *

Severn
.

I see her. And yes, if you drowned, I’d be...upset.

Kind of embarrassing that that was my
first
thought. I’m going to go find Evanton. And Gilbert.

“But we have another problem, and I think they’re all connected. Can you talk to Ybelline?”

“Ybelline is speaking to me now,” the water replied. As she spoke, her form began to shift; she grew up as she walked beside Kaylin, her hand still in Kaylin’s. Her voice became stronger, her words lost the shaky hesitance of uncertain youth. Her eyes lost their bruises, and her lips, the swelling. “It is difficult. I hear Ybelline now—but I hear her in the other now.”

“Can you speak to her in the other now?”

“Do not ask that of me.”

Which meant it was possible. “Ask my Ybelline if she understands what happens next.”

“She understands—” was the remote response “—that she dies. Kaylin—the Tha’alani quarter, all of it, perishes.”

“Does she—” Kaylin swallowed. “Does she understand what destroys it?”

A longer silence. “No.”

Leontine filled the hall. Kaylin didn’t bother to curse under her breath. Cursing didn’t bother the water.

“If this is too destabilizing, I’ll go to Ybelline directly. If I’m in front of Ybelline, it’s almost as good as being in contact with you.”

“You will lose my voice,” the water replied.

Kaylin nodded. “Tell me what Gilbert is—I mean, what he’s supposed to be.”

“He is ancient, which is irrelevant. He could be created tomorrow, or next year, or centuries from now, and he would be ancient. He is like us, and entirely unlike us; he is younger, but less raw. There is a purpose at his heart which was not our purpose. We are part of him, and separate from him; he sees us at the beginning and the end. He is present, always, everywhere.

“And he is dead.”

No
, Ybelline’s musical voice said, before Kaylin could ask.
That makes no more sense to me than it does to you. It is difficult
, she added.
We...die, I think...very quickly. There is some resistance. Where we have power—magical power, elemental power—we survive in small pockets. In those cases, our deaths are hours ahead, no more.

Did you—did they—see anything?
She hesitated. She heard, beneath the calm of Ybelline’s words, a very real fear. And fear sometimes led to insanity, in the Tha’alani mind. Kaylin could investigate a death. But even she had trouble thinking about the deaths in her life she would not be able to prevent.

What she was asking was so much worse than thinking about it. She was, she realized, asking Ybelline to experience them all.

Yes
, was Ybelline’s reply.
But I understand why—it is to
prevent
them. Kaylin, I can do this. It is...difficult, but the alternative is worse.

“What I did,” the water said, “is forbidden.”

“Then how could you do it at all?”

“Because Gilbert and his kind are dead.”

“Not dead. Just...sleeping.”

“They do not sleep, Kaylin.”

“It’s how he described it.”

“Perhaps it is how you understand it.”

“But if you knew—”

“What would you have done to save your children if you knew what would happen?”

Anything.
Anything
.

“And if the only solution, if the only legal solution, was to let them die? I
did not know
but, Kaylin—had I, I would have done the same thing.”

“All right. All right, I accept that. I can’t judge it. I can’t disagree with it. I just don’t understand why you could do this
now
. I don’t understand why you knew to bring them to right
now
, and not tomorrow or ten years ago.”

The water rumbled. It spoke, but the words were sensation, not sound, and Kaylin could make sense of none of it. She headed down the stairs, her hand still paired with the hand of the Avatar. But she was thinking. Thinking and approaching the question from another avenue.

Ybelline said,
I believe it is because this was the only time. No, that is not the whole of it. Earlier might have been better—but the jumps cause less friction if they are short; they are far less likely to be detected. There was no later time.

The water existed in Kattea’s time.

Yes, Kaylin. Yes, but—no. I do not understand it.

There’s no “No” here. If the water didn’t exist at that time, how could it bring them back to
this
one? Ugh. I
hate
time.

Ybelline, however, had not surrendered.
I am sorry, Kaylin—I understand the urgency. I...cannot...explain...what I hear at the heart of the
Tha’alaan
; it is too foreign. Too large. There is something in this time, something like a rip or a tear. I do not think the water could move Gilbert to any other time. The attempt could be made only because of this fissure. I think.

... And it’s the fissure that causes the disaster.
It almost wasn’t a question.

I am not the Hawk, Kaylin. Those answers are not mine to find.

Ybelline’s confidence in Kaylin underlined every word. Kaylin did not have any of it, and wanted it very badly. What she had, however, was a probably half-drowned Gilbert and a drenched Keeper and Keeper’s apprentice. It was a start.

But before she went in search of them, she headed back up the ruined stairs, keeping her back to the wall. “Severn?”

The single door at the top of the stairs opened.

“We have to go fish Gilbert out of the water—but I think it’s safe now. As long as you’re careful on the steps.”

Chapter 20

The rain in the storefront had stopped. The water had receded. The mess caused by both was still very much present—but a mess of that kind wasn’t Kaylin’s problem. She felt a twinge of sympathy for Grethan, because it was going to be his.

Elemental water, like fire, could withdraw completely. Had the water been natural—well, never mind. Natural water didn’t start a passing monsoon on the inside of a small, narrow building. Natural water didn’t take on the form of a woman, and it couldn’t be solid enough to hold on to without causing frostburn.

The water, however, was now evident only in the form of its Avatar. “I do not think the Keeper is going to be very happy.”

“Probably not,” Kaylin agreed. “On the other hand, he can’t exactly kill you. Believe that if I’d caused this mess—” She shuddered.

Kattea was impressed by the mess; the chaotic jumble of unsold junk seemed to be more worthy of attention than the elemental water. She did give the water the side-eye, though, and she kept Kaylin and Severn between them.

“The hall here is narrow,” Kaylin told the girl, as they made their way past the kitchen. Water had risen quickly enough here that the dishes caught in the flood hadn’t shattered; they rested on the ground. That was about the only positive thing that could be said for the state of the kitchen.

She started to lead the way out of the kitchen and stopped; Evanton’s back hall was not two people wide, even if one of them was pure liquid. Before she could disengage her hand, she heard voices. Well, to be precise, she heard squawking.

Small and flappy sailed into view. He paused in front of the water’s Avatar, screeching like an outraged seagull. This didn’t appear to upset the water. It gave Kaylin a headache.

“I see you were busy.” Evanton surveyed the mess of his kitchen with pursed lips and very narrow eyes. Grethan, coming up behind his master, viewed it with dismay. Gilbert, on the other hand, had to be reminded—by Kattea—not to step on the dishes.

The water’s Avatar shifted in place. Kaylin tightened her grip. The last thing she wanted—at this very moment, as last-things-wanted was a moving list—was for hostilities between the water and Gilbert to resume. Gilbert, in his disheveled clothing, was not dripping wet. He turned to face the water—or maybe the familiar, it was hard to tell. Gilbert’s eyes—the eyes Kaylin thought of as natural—were unfocused. His third eye was open, unblinking black.

“Gilbert,” she said, before he could speak. “You said that you were created for a specific purpose, sort of like Helen was.”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly, was that purpose?”

Silence.

No, Kaylin thought, as she waited for a reply, he wasn’t silent. She could feel the rumble beneath her feet that implied Dragon “discussion”; she just couldn’t hear it.

Gilbert regarded the water. The water’s Avatar returned his regard. Water, when frozen, became ice, and Kaylin could feel the drop in temperature.

“You have spoken with the water,” Gilbert said. Since he spoke while looking
at
the water, it took Kaylin a few seconds to catch on.

“Yes.”

“Do you understand what now needs to be done?”

“No. Understanding it is high on my list of emergencies, though. You didn’t come here to destroy the water, did you?”

This did get his attention, or at least the attention of two of his eyes. “Of course not. The water cannot, in any meaningful way, be destroyed.”

“Did you manage to speak to the water?”

“We did not,” Evanton said, before Gilbert could. “The Garden was in some disarray.” He looked, pointedly, at the water’s Avatar. “Nor does it appear to be necessary. I am an old man, Kaylin.” This was code for:
I don’t have much time left, so you better not be wasting it
. “The water, however, appears to be calm at the moment.” The irritation left his expression as he approached the water’s Avatar.

Almost gently, he said, “You should rest.” As if the water were, in fact, a very exhausted mortal woman who had been pushed just past the edge of her limits—and was not wearing a Hawk tabard.

“I am not here to destroy you,” Gilbert added. “And if that is your fear, you fail to understand my purpose.” He turned to Kattea. Kattea was hovering uncertainly at his side, and he bent and lifted her.

“
I
fail to understand your purpose,” Kaylin interjected. “And I’m trying really, really hard. You have something to do with time?”

He nodded. “I can traverse time because my nature is not your nature. What I said of you—and your companions—is true. You live
in
time. It is necessary for you to function.

“The Ancients were not so bound. Their understanding of causality was therefore different. Causality implies a before and an after; it connects them. Causality is at the heart of ancient stories. You carry them,” he added. “I do not understand
why
those forces sought to create stories—and to you, Kaylin, those stories would be so vast,
world
might be a better description.

“The place you call ‘world’ is comprised of many things. The water is one. The Keeper’s function is to contain the water, to constrain enough of its movements that ‘world’ is stable.”

“He doesn’t—”

“He does. You think of storms and the lives lost in them; of fires and the lives lost in them; of earthquakes, perhaps, and the lives lost to them. The Keeper’s role is not simple safety; it is not for the benefit to
one
life. Were it not for the Keeper, you could not live at all. You were structured, you were iteratively created, to live in this cage.

“I am not cognizant of all of the iterations. Nor am I cognizant of all of the failures. I am not aware of the minutiae. I am aware that it exists.”

“Wait—is the water trapped here, then?”

“No,” the water replied. “And yes.”

Great. More questions.

“You exist,” Gilbert continued. “It is not that you are invisible to me. But I do not look at specific elements, and if they are like you or Kattea, they are too brief; by the time I turn to look, they are gone. The water, I see. Your familiar, I see.”

“But Mandoran and Annarion—”

“They exist in multiple ways. There are places to which I can go, elements which I can study in less chaotic, less frenzied, environs. They are part of those, and yet also, part of here.” His smile was almost rueful. “As am I now; I believe I understand it better than I did.” He abandoned his smile. “Water exists. But in its ability to interact with your kind, it is constrained—must be constrained—as you are constrained.

“If you were to be aware of every minute of your existence, you would be bound by none of it. You could not think, speak, function; your existence would dwindle to introspection. Your ability to interact with the world itself is contingent on your perception of time. It is true of you. It is true of Lord Nightshade.

“It is true,” he added, “of Kattea. You understand that when the water folded in on itself in the fashion that it did, there were—and are—consequences.” This didn’t sound like a question.

I can hear the
Tha’alaan
. I’m afraid I’ve broken it.

She nodded. She wondered how she would live if she could, at any time, experience her own death. She wondered how much of her life would be lived in an effort to prevent it, how much of her life would be fear and nothing but fear. She wondered if she would view every person in the room as dying or dead if she knew, in advance, what their fates would be.

“It is to prevent such ruptures that my kin were created. In some cases, we could not mend what was broken. We were not required to destroy the resultant chaos, but to quarantine it. We were not required to save individual lives, such as yours.” He looked at Kattea. “We could not, as I said, see them. Not without risk and effort.”

“Gilbert?”

“Yes?”

“If your job isn’t to save individual lives, why are you here?”

“I explained this to you.”

He had. She’d even understood it, but frustration had dimmed the effect of the words. Or maybe lack of knowledge about Gilbert had. She looked at him now, Kattea in his arms, and understood. He had chosen to befriend Nightshade. He had chosen to look at a presence he could only dimly register. He had somehow taught himself to hear and then to speak.

And he had then gone searching for a way to restore Nightshade to his own time. Nightshade. One man, not a world, and not an epoch.

Squawk
.

Gilbert exhaled. His breath was visible. “The water is correct. What was done should not have been done. It should have been impossible. And were such impossibility to be detected, it would be corrected.” He hesitated.

Kaylin
really
hated Gilbert’s notion of time. “So, let me get this straight. Time is directional, for us.”

“Yes.”

“And time is
meant to be
directional. We’re not meant to be shoved into the past or thrown into the future.”

“Yes.”

“And if it’s possible to break this unspoken rule, people like you come in and fix it.”

“...Yes.”

“So the
Castle
broke the rule.”

“Yes.”

“And you’re attempting to...fix the problem?”

He had the grace to look vastly less certain. “...No.”

“I give up. Let’s move on to point two. The water said that the reason you’re here—and now—is because it’s the only moment in which there was a break, or a space.”

Gilbert’s eyes narrowed—all three of them. “The only moment?”

“Yes—and I don’t think it’s a coincidence that you yourself said when you arrived here, you could no longer see time. Something’s happening here. Or it will happen, soon. Something is broken for only a very small window of time—our version of time.” Her thoughts raced ahead of her ability to express them. Or retain them. “If you notice big breaks, big things that are wrong, then this must be something that you can’t or haven’t noticed. Maybe you don’t see
us
because our lives are too short and too slight—”

“You think this break is something that we would not have noticed.”

She nodded. Hesitated. “Do you
know
what happened? The
Tha’alaan
is going to be lost. Part of you was there, in the future in which it disappears. Do you know
why
?”

“My perception of your life is filtered through the Tha’alani. It is why I can speak to you and understand you as well as I do.” The water lowered her head. “Ybelline is attempting to find an answer to your question. She cannot...move...through time. She knows that something is coming. She may know...when.”

“Severn?” Kaylin asked.

He came forward to join her.

“Gilbert, you’d better come with us. I think you...destabilize...the Garden.”

Gilbert nodded. The water, however, asked, “Why do you have that child with you?”

Kattea shrank into Gilbert’s chest, trying to look smaller.

“He needs Kattea to get back,” Kaylin replied.

The water’s frown etched itself into Kaylin’s vision. “Is that what the child told you?”

“It’s what Gilbert told us.” Kaylin felt the water’s grip on her hand tighten. “You don’t think she’s in any danger from him?”

“This is not perhaps the safest time in which to introduce a mortal,” the water replied. It wasn’t an answer. There wasn’t going to be an answer—at least not while Kattea was present. Kaylin decided it was a provisional “no.” No, Gilbert did not intend to harm her, and yes, there was danger regardless.

But it couldn’t be worse, at this point, than death by Ferals. Clinging to that thought, Kaylin said, “Evanton, can I use your mirror?”

* * *

Bellusdeo was with the Arkon when the mirror connected. She took one look at Kaylin and her eyes darkened to the orange with which Kaylin was becoming increasingly familiar. “We’re fine,” she said quickly. “But—there’s a problem.

“We spoke with the Keeper.” Which was, strictly speaking, true. “And the elemental water. Gilbert
is
here because of the water. Kattea was right about that. But the water didn’t choose a specific time and place—it brought him here because it was the
only
option available. This was the only time to which Gilbert could be moved.”

The Arkon pinched the bridge of his nose.

Kaylin failed to mention the Tha’alani, weighing the options. The Emperor forced the Tha’alani to work on interrogations—and it was a work that twisted and broke them without extreme care. It damaged the entire race. She didn’t want the Tha’alani exposed to any more Imperial scrutiny without a damn good reason.

But if the death of their race didn’t count as a good reason, she would never be able to come up with one. She cleared her throat. The Arkon looked even more irritated. “For a member of a short-lived race, you have a propensity to waste time.”

“Sorry. You always get angry if my explanations are ‘inadequate.’ I’m just trying—”

“To waste more time.” His eyes were still open, but only barely.

“The elemental water brought Gilbert and Kattea here. Through an underground tunnel. Into large, stone halls underneath a basement on the Winding Path. The
reason
they’re here is because it was possible to bring them.”

“And?”

“Sometime in our immediate future—the future that Kattea is ostensibly part of—there’s some sort of disaster that apparently destroys Elantra—or at least the parts of Elantra that are not the fiefs.”

“You think it has something to do with the murders,” Bellusdeo said, when the Arkon failed to find words.

“The maybe-murders,” Kaylin said.

“Pardon?”

“Gilbert insists that they’re not actually dead.” She hesitated. She needed to stop doing that, because Bellusdeo’s eyes narrowed until they matched the Arkon’s. The Arkon let out a small stream of smoke. “But...Gilbert said that he thought all the previous attempts to cast magic in that particular basement were an attempt to speak certain words.”

“Please repeat that slowly,” the Arkon commanded. The mirror’s image shifted, cutting Bellusdeo out of the frame.

“I asked Gilbert to inspect the bodies, because he sees things I can’t,” Kaylin said, resigning herself to the longer explanation. “To
me
, they’re dead. I’ve seen corpses. But...they disappear if I view them through my familiar’s wing. I thought there was some chance he’d see a dimension to the difficulty that would explain
why
they disappear.”