Michelle Sagara - Cast in Sorrow

Why?

A name was a name. It was given at birth. Did the Barrani somehow grow into it? Was it more rooted, stronger somehow, with age and experience? Were the children susceptible because they had not yet grown into the word that would define them? Were they altered because they had no way of protecting what they didn’t fully understand?

Or was Ynpharion altered not because of the shadows but because of the length and constancy of the exposure to the things that weren’t meant to live here? Did the recitation give a glimpse of that world to those who could retain it? Did it sensitize them without altering the nature of what life meant?

Ynpharion—

Yes, I understand the question. I do not remember being told a story.

Did you understand what Iberrienne was attempting to do when we—when we first met?

No. He hadn’t finished, but was silent for a long moment. Yes. I think I believed that he was trying to change the world. To make it freer. To rid it of the constraints and the limits placed upon us by our creators.

Was this his idea?

It was our idea; we believed it. We could see the world that he could see. We did not have the power to change it, but the power exists in the words left us. We could use those words. We could use them to alter reality.

The names.

She felt his revulsion. He didn’t bother to mention the Lake of Life; even the thought of it in this context revolted him. Yet it was what he had believed.

Do you have any idea of how that was supposed to work?

No.

And Iberrienne seems to have only half a brain left. Did you ever see his brother?

Brother?

She took this as a no, but said, Iberrienne lost his brother to the recitation. He was one of the twelve; I think his name was Eddorian.

She felt Ynpharion almost freeze in place. He didn’t answer, but he didn’t need to answer.

Kaylin exhaled, turned, and caught Ynpharion’s arm, dragging him out of his momentary paralysis.

They spoke very little as they walked toward the Hallionne Alsanis. The green of grass and trees gave way to something that might have been stone or ash; it was roughly circular in shape, and the Hallionne stood at its heart. Nightshade, Iberrienne, and the Consort stood at its edge, waiting; the shadow cast by the enormous dragon in the sky above darkened the ground as he flew.

The Consort looked back as her brother approached; they exchanged brief, almost silent words—or at least almost silent to Kaylin. She then turned to Kaylin. “Lord Kaylin.”

Kaylin offered the Consort a perfect bow. She’d had enough sleep that she wasn’t tripping over her own feet. When she rose, the Lord of the West March had stepped aside to make room for her; it was a less than subtle hint. Kaylin took the vacated position by the Consort’s side.

“Can you hear him?”

“Yes.” The Consort glanced at Ynpharion as she spoke. She did not otherwise acknowledge him.

“Can he hear you?”

“I do not know, Lord Kaylin. I have never spoken to Alsanis as Consort.” She glanced at Iberrienne, and then said, her voice gentling, “Are you ready?” It occurred to Kaylin that Iberrienne was theoretically Outcaste, and unlike Nightshade, he didn’t have the protection of the Teller’s crown. Nor did it matter.

Iberrienne nodded. “Eddorian is calling.”

The dragon roared. Kaylin wanted to roar back. Instead, she began to walk.

Ten yards from the edge of the gray circle, she found the first of the fallen nightmares. It retained its shape, but the darkness of shadow had left it; it now seemed like an artist’s impression of a bird—a shape that implied flight, without any of its form. She glanced at the Consort for permission; the Consort nodded.

“None of us now understand what we will face. You are Chosen.” Kaylin opened her mouth; the Consort held out one graceful—and imperious—hand. “What you choose to risk, risk. We will accept it.”

Kaylin glanced at the Warden. Lord Barian’s gaze was fixed on the fallen nightmare. Kaylin had no cause to love those nightmares—but the eagles had emerged from them. Then again, she had no reason to love the eagles, either; they spoke more clearly, but they had taken the Consort from the Lord’s Hall into the heart of the green.

She felt the marks on her arm begin to warm. She touched the fallen nightmare; it felt like stone beneath her palm, rough and porous. At her back, Severn unwound his chain.

“Don’t,” she told him.

“It’s still a weapon,” he replied. “It doesn’t break spells, but it’s effective in every other way.”

“You can’t use it here—”

“But he can, Lord Kaylin,” Barian said. “If it is to become what it was, he must.”

Kaylin bit her lip as she attempted to lift what felt like stone. To her surprise, it was much lighter than it appeared. She turned to say something to Barian and stopped at the expression on the Warden’s face.

The nightmare rose. Its solid wings labored in the air a yard above Kaylin’s hands. The eagles that rested on Barian watched in silence. Kaylin held out both hands as the not-quite-stone, not-quite-bird failed to fly. It landed in her palms.

And then it spoke. Kaylin didn’t understand a word.

The eagles, however, did; they replied, in the same tongue. The creature in her hands shook at the sound of their voices. It had no mouth; it had a crevice that implied beak and emitted syllables. After a sentence or two—judging only by intonation and pauses, it shivered again, and this time, it pulled a head out of the porous mass of its body. It was an eagle’s head. Nothing about its body changed, but Kaylin’s eyes rounded.

“Lord Kaylin?”

“This is—I think this is—”

The eagles leaped from Barian’s arms to Kaylin’s shoulders. Their claws didn’t pierce skin, but it was close.

“What are you?” the creature transforming itself in her hands asked. He asked in Elantran, or what passed for Elantran; Kaylin’s suspicions hardened.

“I’m mortal,” she replied. “Human, even.”

“What is that?”

“I’m not Barrani.”

“You are not one of the children, then.”

“No.”

“Why are you here?”

“Apparently,” she replied softly, “I’m here to wake you. You are Alasanis’s brother, aren’t you?”

“Alsanis is here? Where?”

The eagles answered, screeching. Kaylin couldn’t understand a word they were saying. She glanced at the Consort, who was frowning.

“You could understand it?”

“It sounds like it’s speaking Elantran to me,” Kaylin replied. “And I guess that means it’s not.”

The gray eagle face was joined by wings, and legs. The legs were a little off, possibly because they were of uneven lengths. She watched as he adjusted them. “I don’t like this shape. It is too small.”

“If you’re going to get bigger, don’t do it in my hands.”

“Oh?” He looked at her hands, and she noted, as he did, that his eyes were like black opals. “Will it harm them?”

She set him on the ground. “He’s like Wilson,” she told the Consort. To the bird that was slowly changing and expanding his shape, she added, “How many of you are there?”

He blinked. It was disturbing because he had grown a third eye. “How many?” He turned to the eagles and asked them a question she couldn’t understand; the eagles replied, and whatever they said caused the creature to laugh. “How many are you?”

Kaylin started to count, and one of the eagles tightened his claws. “There is only one of you.”