The Chronicles of Elantra 6 - Cast in Chaos (39 page)

Sanabalis grimaced. “Private.”

She was silent for a long, long moment, and when she did choose to speak, she spoke directly to Lord Sanabalis. He understood the nature of the Elemental Garden; he’d been
in
it, during the last crisis that involved Evanton. He understood that the elements were bound to it in ways that not even their Keeper fathomed.

“I think the Devourer has been looking for this world for a long time.”

“The Keeper told you this?” Diarmat said. He was the first person to break the extended silence that had followed her words. As if they’d been lightning, he spoke with thunder’s voice.

“No.”

“And you are now familiar enough with the so-called Devourer and his history that you can make this claim?”

“No.”

More silence. It was Sanabalis who broke it this time. “I believe the Private’s hesitation involves the utter lack of solid fact upon which to base this theory. It
was
your theory?”

She nodded. “It’s my theory, or my intuition. Evanton didn’t entirely agree with it. He didn’t disagree, either.”

“What, exactly, is this theory based
on?
”

“The Elemental Garden exists only in this world.”

The Arkon had resumed his seat, but he no longer looked tired or old. His eyes, unlike the slightly orange eyes of the rest of the Dragons present, were a lambent shade of gold; under any other circumstance, Kaylin would have cautiously said he looked happy.

“The Keeper supports the World theory.”

“It’s not really that theoretical anymore, in my opinion,” Kaylin replied. She quickly added, “The Keeper believes in the existence of multiple worlds. I didn’t ask why.” In part, she hadn’t asked because it now seemed so bloody obvious they did exist.

“And the Elemental Garden’s existence?”

“He was quite certain about that. It exists here. He…” She hesitated, and then shrugged. “I think
this
world is the original world. The first world. It’s why the Elemental Garden exists in this world, and in no other. I think—Evanton wasn’t as certain about this—that it’s the
Garden
in some ways that provides the connection between this world and the others. They find it because all of the worlds have to touch it somehow.”

“You—you came up with this theory on your own?” The Arkon’s jaw was slightly open. It was the most surprised she had ever seen him.

“It’s not proven,” she said instead. “But…the elements came from somewhere. They’re not just fire, just water. Or earth, or air. They’re alive. They don’t age, but…they do change. Slowly, and with contact from every other world. They knew—I’m certain they knew—about the portal. They didn’t try to communicate their knowledge. They
can
communicate, when there’s a danger. They have in the past.

“But I think this portal’s flux still feels natural to them.” She hesitated, because she knew what Diarmat would ask next. He didn’t disappoint her.

“How do you know this?”

“Because I could hear them.”

Kaylin, who had never overvalued silence, liked it less than usual now—mostly because she couldn’t try to fit words in to cover the awkwardness their absence underlined. Diarmat’s eyes were orange, and his hands were fists. He kept them where she could see them.

Sanabalis cleared his throat, which was only marginally less awkward than Kaylin’s words would probably have been. “You spoke with the contents of the Keeper’s…Garden.”

The way he said the last word caused Kaylin to frown. “Why do you call it that?”

“Because it was not always called a Garden. I believe that to be a conceit introduced by the most recent Keeper.”

She wondered what it had been called before, and decided she didn’t actually
want
to know. “I have an affinity for one of the elements,” she replied quietly.

“Water.”

She nodded. Hesitated again.

“Given the reluctance with which you speak in times of crisis,” the Arkon said, his voice as sharp as Kaylin’s best knife, “one might think you’ve forgotten that you are not, in fact, immortal.”

Taking the hint, Kaylin said, “They weren’t concerned with the portal. They…were concerned, in a fashion, with the Devourer.”

This produced another silence.

“They could sense the Devourer?”

She nodded. “I couldn’t ask them what the Devourer
is
or what it intends. I couldn’t ask them what
they
are or what they intend, not unless I suddenly become immortal.”

“You tried.” Sanabalis’s words were not a question.

“Yes. I tried anyway. They can sense the Devourer, and the Devourer can sense
them
. I think he’s looking for them. And I think,” she added quietly, “they want to be found.”

“What they want is not of concern to the Dragon Court,” Diarmat said coldly. He might have added more, but the Arkon lifted a hand, demanding his silence. To her surprise, he complied.

“Kaylin,” the Arkon now said. “I am aware of what the water means to the Tha’alani, and I am aware of the role you played, in both the preservation of that meaning, and the preservation of the Tha’alani themselves. The water desired, in some part, to aid you.”

She nodded. “But not entirely.”

“No. Do you think that the water now desires its freedom, and that it hopes that the Devourer’s presence will somehow weaken the Keeper enough to grant that?”

“No.”

The most feared Librarian in the world pushed himself out of his chair. “What, then, does it desire?”

“Arkon—” Sanabalis began.

The Arkon lifted a hand again. Sanabalis was older than Diarmat, but he, too, fell silent.

She took a deep breath, held it, and expelled. “I think—from what the water said—that the elements were not separate entities when they were first…created. Or born. Or whatever. They were
one
thing.”

The Arkon took a while to form an answer to the comment; no one criticized the speed at which
he
thought, not even Kaylin, although she was probably the only one tempted to do so. “The elements we summon do not…desire…the company of any other element.” It was a polite way of putting it. Kaylin, who had now learned just enough from Sanabalis’s lectures, offered during her many, many attempts to light a bloody candle, nodded. She knew that fire, water, earth, and air were inimical to each other. They desired the dominance of their form. It was why the ability to control the magic of the elements’ names was so profoundly important.

“I cannot, therefore, see how they could have existed as one being.”

“I don’t think they could exist that way
now,
” she replied. She spoke quietly.

“Sit down, please. I tire of watching you pace.”

Since she wasn’t pacing this was a tad unfair, but she did take the seat closest to him. “The water said something that implied that whatever it was that once gave them the ability, in all their disparate desires, to coexist was the thing that was…lost…in their separation.

“I think it’s just as elemental as they are. I think—I think maybe the Ancients, and the people who lived elsewhere, were trying to figure out what it
wanted
while it was destroying worlds. But…what does
fire
want? Or water? Or any of the elements? How do you talk to a fire?”

“You’ve said you do,” was the dry reply.

“I talk
at
it. It listens, sometimes. It doesn’t really have a conversation. And it doesn’t…plan. I know it would walk across the world, burning everything it touched—but it wouldn’t plan to do so, and it wouldn’t be doing it in anger, or rage, or even desire. It would just
do it.
”

“And the Devourer? You think it eats worlds in the same way?”

She nodded. Frowned. “No.”

“No?”

“Not exactly the same. I don’t know what it
is.
I know fire, or water, or earth, or air—I can touch all those things, or they can touch me. But I’m not sure what primal element the Devourer is—or was supposed to be.”

“And the water could not tell you this.”

“No. I think it tried. I think it came as close as something like water could. But, no. I didn’t understand. It…it eats
words
, Arkon. The Devourer eats true words.”

“Interesting.” He now turned to Diarmat. “The Emperor must be informed of this new turn of events.”

“We have no answers to the questions he is likely to pose,” Diarmat pointed out, in a flat voice.

“We have the Keeper’s answer to the question of how the portal should be closed. It can’t be, in the Keeper’s opinion.”

Diarmat nodded. He turned, then, and left the room.

The Arkon waited until the door had closed at his back. “Well?” he said, in a slightly sharper tone.

“I think the Devourer
will
come. I don’t know if he can come through the portal itself, because I have
no idea
how the other worlds were destroyed. But…even if he comes, it’s not instant. In at least one world, people had time to discuss their options. Some felt they could withstand the Devourer, and chose to stay. Some traveled to other worlds.

“I don’t think they reached the decision to leave lightly, and it wasn’t organized overnight, or in the blink of an eye. They knew. We have no idea,” she added, “whether or not the people who are coming here
now
are coming because their world has been eaten. They could have fled for some other reason. We simply won’t know until they arrive
and
we can communicate with them.”

The Arkon nodded. But he was still not satisfied, and Kaylin was, momentarily, grateful that she had never, ever, had the Arkon as a teacher. “If you feel that the Devourer is in some essential way a fifth element,” he finally said, “it stands to reason that you
also
believe that it has a home, or a cell, in the Elemental Garden of the Keeper.”

“Yes.”

“Good. How, exactly, do you intend to deliver something that has eaten whole worlds—to use your phrasing, since I feel it is very inexact—into such a cell?”

“I don’t know.”

The Arkon raised a brow.

“Thank you,” Sanabalis told him unexpectedly, “for sending Lord Diarmat on his mission.”

“I did say time was of the essence,” the Arkon responded, “and we will no doubt hear any arguments that arise from these revelations shortly. But at least we are spared a morning of preventing ourselves from eating Arcanists.”

“I am,” was the slightly emphasized reply.

“Ah,” the Arkon said, rising at last from the chair that seemed almost thronelike in his presence, “you mistake me.” He offered Kaylin the strangest of smiles. “I fully intend to accompany Private Neya.”

The accompanying did not, however, occur immediately. The three Dragons, including Tiamaris, who had been silent and who did not look particularly
pleased
, now left Sanabalis’s rooms.

“Food,” Sanabalis said, just before he closed the door, “will be sent. Given the regular requirements of mortals in this regard, I suggest you avail yourself of the opportunity.”

While they were eating, Severn said, “You remember who Lord Diarmat is when he’s not in Court session?”

Kaylin nodded. “The Commander of the Imperial Guard.”

“Good. You’ve some knowledge of his reputation?”

She chewed, swallowed, and emptied half a glass of water, most of it into her mouth. “No. He’s a Dragon.”

“He’s considered the most conservative and least approachable of the Dragon Lords. He makes Mallory look lackadaisical.”

“How?”

“He’s said to be particularly unforgiving at any obvious lack of respect. One sign of respect in his books is the ability to
be punctual.
”

Kaylin felt the food in her mouth begin to turn to ash. Or dust. “How does he handle lack of punctuality for emergencies?”

“As long as the emergency is your death, you’re fine. On the other hand? He generally considers anyone who is not a Dragon to be beneath contempt or notice. Your background in the fiefs isn’t likely to matter much to him at all.”

She said a very loud nothing.

“Your transcripts wouldn’t generally matter, but given the number of complaints about both punctuality and attitude, they’ll probably be your bigger barrier to success.”

“Where success in this case means surviving?”

“Pretty much.” He wasn’t smiling.

Then again, neither was Kaylin. They were facing the possible end-of-the-world, and somehow it was the fact that
Diarmat
was going to be her teacher that now filled her with a sense of horrible foreboding.

Severn, who knew her better than anyone, said, “Well, at least Diarmat’s added a possible silver lining to the cloud of failure to somehow capture or contain the Devourer. Hard to pass an essential class when there’s no world left in which to take it.”

“Great. Never take a job as Chief Morale Officer, hmm?”

He did laugh, then.

Sanabalis entered the room alone. “Tiamaris,” he told them, dispensing with the titles that Kaylin remembered to use only under duress, “has departed for his fief. He will consult with the Tower, and either return or send a message.”

“Are we going to the quarantined quarter?”

“At the moment? No. The Arkon is once again ensconced in the Library. He is researching some esoterica which may, or may not, prove useful. Word has been sent, via courier, to the High Halls. If an appropriate reply is not forthcoming, it is to the High Halls that you, and Corporal Handred, will be sent.”

Kaylin grimaced. She had a feeling that the Consort was still going to be pissed off at her, and didn’t particularly relish that meeting. Sanabalis, however, instead of dismissing them, took a chair opposite the ones the two Hawks now occupied. “The Emperor has—reluctantly—agreed to accede to the advice of the Keeper.”

“It wasn’t advice, Sanabalis.”

“If the Keeper is at all familiar with you, Private, he must be well aware that in an emergency your desire to inform people of the facts is at odds with what is generally considered discretion. We have therefore assumed that he intended the information to travel from you to the Court. Lord Diarmat is not pleased with your role as liaison, but accepts the fact that no formal liaison can, or will, be accepted.” He fell silent for a moment, and then added, “Lord Diarmat is the most exact—and exacting—of the Court. He is willing to suspend the beginning of your lessons until the resolution of this conflict.