Cast in Honor (The Chronicles of Elantra) (22 page)

“I’m not going without—”

“Now.”
This last word was not uttered quietly. Kaylin wouldn’t have been surprised if the whole neighborhood heard it. She wouldn’t have been surprised if the inhabitants of the
Palace
heard it.

Kattea surprised Kaylin; she hung on, but she was pale in her resolution and visibly trembling.

His shoulders sagged and he lifted her. “I am sorry. I am not accustomed to company; not like yours. You are too slight for this, and I do not want to see you hurt.”

Pale, she said nothing.

“What did you see, Gilbert?” Kaylin asked quietly.

He was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on Kattea, who was now seated in the crook of his arm as if she were a baby. An angry baby, but still precious. “I told you that when I met Kattea, it was difficult for me to see her. To perceive her.”

“You said she was like Lord Nightshade.”

“Yes. And you disagreed.”

“I disagreed less profoundly than Kattea would.”

“That is true. But regardless, it was difficult to see her. Difficult to hear her. It is...difficult for me to see the boundaries of your buildings, your streets. It is difficult to eat your food. It is like...grasping the smoke from your fire would be to you; grasping it and trying to make it solid, to make it functional.

“There are key areas, geographies if you will, in your world that are
not
as insubstantial or difficult, to me. The Castle was one. Your Helen is another. If I look out across the breadth of your city, there are a handful of monuments that are as solid—to my eyes—as your city is to yours.

“What you did for me, what you called healing, was helpful in this regard. I do not see you as you see yourself—I do not think that is possible—but I see you more clearly than I did before.”

“The basement of your house?”

“It is real, to me.”

“And the basement of this one?”

“It is real.”

“The stones?”

“They are not, in any sense of the word, stone.” He exhaled. “Seeing you at all, seeing Kattea, is an act of...translation? You are writ in a tongue of which I have only rudimentary understanding. I glean meaning, but it takes effort, and it is exhausting. Your familiar is real to me. He is a comfort. He understands the difficulty—but he does not share it. He speaks my tongue as comfortably as he speaks yours, in a metaphorical sense.

“The bodies, and the stones that you can see only with the help of your familiar, are
not
like you, or Severn, or any of your other friends. But they are nonetheless much more like you than I am.”

Kaylin could only barely understand how someone could look at standing stones and confuse them with actual people. “How are they like us?”

Squawk
.

“If you saw what Gilbert sees, you could’ve tried harder to communicate it.”

Squawk.

“Could you speak with the stones?”

Gilbert frowned.

“You can speak with us,” Kaylin pointed out.

He turned to Kaylin. “You will have to take Kattea.”

Kattea threw her arms around his neck. She would not look at Kaylin at all.

“Every attempt at communication is an act of inversion,” Gilbert explained. “And I am not certain that it is safe for Kattea to be in my physical presence while I make the attempt. It caused your Nightshade some difficulty.”

“Kattea—”

“No.”

Gilbert closed his eyes. “You understand that I am concerned for your cohesion?”

The girl nodded into his shoulder. “You promised.”

“I did not promise—”

“You promised you would let
me
choose.”

“I did not promise that I would let you commit suicide.” Above Kattea’s head, he asked, “Is that the correct word?”

“Pretty much. You understand that Kattea is much, much younger than Nightshade, right?”

“Yes.”

“Letting Nightshade choose—”

Kattea cursed.

“—or not. If the stones are alive, if the stones are like us, why do you think there’s a risk to Kattea?”

Squawk
.

“They are not like you; they are more like you than the basement of my house, or your Helen. They are attempting to communicate,” he added. “Can you not hear them?”

She couldn’t, of course. But...she could see them, could see the light they shed. She wondered if that light was the Gilbert equivalent of a foreign language. She exhaled. “You hold Kattea,” she said. “I’ll touch the stones.”

“No.”

“Kattea is a mortal child. I’m the Chosen.”

“You have already said you do not understand what that means.”

“I don’t understand what it means to you, no. Or even to the Ancients. But my arms are starting to ache. I think I can survive talking to a stone or three.”

Squawk.

The familiar abruptly lowered his wing. In case his meaning was too subtle, he also smacked Kaylin’s cheek with it.

“Tell me again why I missed you?” Turning to Severn, she said, “Three bodies. Three stones. Gilbert says both the bodies and the stones are alive.”

“I do not understand,” Gilbert added, “why you speak of them as if they are distinct and separate.”

“...They’re not separate to you.”

“No.”

Kaylin grimaced, stepped forward and placed her hand on the nearest stone. Her hand passed through it. The stones were not solid. They weren’t speaking to her, either. “Fine. Gavin?”

He nodded.

“Apparently the three dead men walked across the street last night—or the night before—and attempted to break into Gilbert’s house. We don’t have to cut them up—but I’d suggest we move them.”

“I’ll mirror the request in—” He stopped. Had he been Kaylin, he would have cursed. “I’ll send Lianne to the Halls with the request.”

But Gilbert shook his head. “If you mean to move the bodies you can see, it will make no difference. This is where they
are
.”

Kaylin exhaled. “If I move—”

“Yes. If
you
move—or any of your compatriots, save your familiar, and Helen, who cannot—you
move
. Moving these three will not materially change anything; in any real sense, they are, and will remain, here.”

“Fine.” She looked to Severn. “Elani or Tiamaris?”

He tossed her a coin.

Chapter 18

Kattea explained what a coin toss meant while they trudged their way toward Elani Street. Gilbert did not set Kattea down, but she seemed willing to forgo the dignity of being treated like an adult for the duration of her explanation.

“I’m not certain you’re going to be invited in,” Kaylin told him.

Gilbert nodded.

“Is this one of the buildings that looks real, to you?”

“Yes.”

“Does it look dangerous?”

“I don’t understand the question.”

Given that Gilbert could confuse an attempted murder for an act of communication gone wrong, Kaylin supposed that made sense. The small dragon did not consider Elani Street worth much effort and was sacked out across her shoulders. He lifted his head when she reached Evanton’s door.

It opened before she could touch the knocker.

A wild-eyed Grethan stood in the door, the stalks on his forehead weaving like a drunk. He was dripping wet. “Kaylin!”

She almost took a step back. “Are you going to stand in the doorway or can we come in?”

He moved. He moved back, and Kaylin understood why he was soaked: it was raining. Inside the store. The familiar squawked in obvious displeasure and bit Kaylin’s hair when she was stupid enough to enter anyway.

Severn followed; she was surprised to hear a familiar Aerian curse from him, although it wasn’t loud.

Gilbert, however, remained outside, which implied he had more common sense than Kattea was willing to acknowledge. He bowed—awkwardly, since he was still carrying the girl.

Grethan said, “Evanton’s not accepting visitors today.”

“I cannot enter without your permission. It would be irresponsible and very unsafe.”

Grethan looked to Kaylin. Evanton’s apprentice was not at his best today. “I trust him,” Kaylin told the Tha’alani youth. “Or at least I trust his intent.”

Grethan knew the difference. But he wasn’t Evanton. “I’m not sure it’s my permission you need,” he said.

Gilbert, however, smiled. “Your permission will do.”

“But I’m not—I’m not the Keeper.”

“I am uncertain what you mean by Keeper; I am not uncertain about permission. If you are willing to grant me entry, I will enter. If you are not, I will wait. It seems less unpleasant outside,” he added.

Grethan muttered, “Tell me about it. Yes, if you’re stupid enough to want it, you have my permission. I’m sorry about the rain,” he added.

* * *

The Keeper was not, as the rain suggested, in the store. He wasn’t in the kitchen, either. “Where’s Evanton?”

Grethan hesitated. Kaylin assumed this meant he was in the Garden—and if it was like this
outside
of the Garden, she wasn’t certain she wanted to enter it. She needed to speak with the elemental water, but water, when enraged, was like a death sentence. Evanton could be drowned in a deluge and survive; he apparently didn’t need to breathe.

Kaylin, Severn and Kattea did. She wasn’t sure about Gilbert.

“He’s—he’s upstairs.”

“He’s upstairs?” Kaylin knew that there was an upstairs to the storefront. It wasn’t a secret; a second and third story could be seen from the street. Neither had ever been relevant to Kaylin. She assumed that they were where Evanton and Grethan lived. Or she
had
assumed that, until now.

“Can you tell him we’re here?”

“He’s not—” Grethan swallowed water. Then again, they were all pretty much swallowing water until Grethan thought to offer them umbrellas. Kaylin noted he didn’t take one for himself. “I can try.” He hesitated again and then offered Kaylin a very bedraggled smile. “I’m glad you’re here.”

* * *

Kattea wanted to know how it could be raining inside the shop, when it was bright and pretty much cloudless outside. It was a good question, but Kaylin’s best guess wasn’t suitable for children, so she didn’t answer.

The stairs that led to the upper floors reminded Kaylin very much of the hall that led to the Keeper’s Garden: they were sloped and rickety, and they had to be walked single file. They were also steep. Grethan, however, forged ahead without apparent hesitation.

The hall the stairs ended at was a bit wider and seemed to be in better repair. It was not wet. The rain appeared to affect only the ground floor.

“Has it been like this all day?”

“It was worse yesterday,” Grethan replied.

“When did it start?”

“Yesterday. Evanton was in the Garden.”

“I don’t suppose he had much to say?”

Grethan flushed. “He wasn’t happy. With anything. Or anyone.”

And the only other person living with Evanton at the moment was Grethan. Kaylin cringed in genuine sympathy. She liked Evanton; she couldn’t imagine actually living with him. That had never been more true than today. Not even her most creative nightmares involved waking up to rain on the inside of a house that still had a functional roof.

The ceilings were shorter on the second floor. More than that, she didn’t have a chance to see, because Grethan continued down the hall to another flight of stairs. Judging by the dust on the handrails, these weren’t used often.

Kaylin glanced at Gilbert. His third eye—his unfortunately visible third eye—was open. It moved in a way that the other two, which looked comfortably human, didn’t. He didn’t seem to be worried, but he didn’t set Kattea down, either.

He stopped at the foot of the stairs. “Are you certain this is wise?” he asked. He didn’t appear to be looking at Grethan.

“Probably not,” she replied. “But we’re going to need to talk to Evanton eventually. Do you understand what a Keeper is?”

“I am not certain. I do not know the word in the context you have used it.”

No, Kaylin thought, he wouldn’t. Kattea wouldn’t know it, either. “The Keeper binds the wild elements that exist as an intrinsic part of the world. He stops them attempting to destroy each other, which keeps our world stable. I’d like to know your word for it—I’m certain you must have had one.”

“How so?”

“You live in the world. Even if you live in it differently, you live here.” She followed Grethan up the stairs.

* * *

The stairs didn’t lead to more hall. They led to a door. Like the door that led to the Garden, this one was narrow; it was the width of the stairs. It was shorter, as well. For someone Kaylin’s height, this wasn’t a problem—but a Barrani would have to duck to get through the frame.

If, she thought, the door actually opened.

Grethan knocked. This produced a very muffled, but distinct “Go away.” This was not promising. Grethan looked down the stairs at Kaylin, and there was a bit of shuffling while they traded places. Kaylin’s knock was nowhere near as timid as the apprentice’s.

“I said
go away
.”

“Heard you the first time,” Kaylin replied. “But we’re in a bit of a pinch.”

“That is not my problem.”

“Actually, I think it is.”

The door opened to a
very
cranky Evanton. He was wearing his store apron, and tufts of wayward hair suggested he’d been pulling at it in frustration. His eyes were also bloodshot. “It had better be” was his sour reply. He had more to say—when he was in this mood, he always did—but stopped when he looked down the stairs. He exhaled inches of outraged height. “My apologies,” he said—to Gilbert, as Kaylin had never rated apologies. “I wasn’t expecting guests; I apologize in advance for the state of my abode.”

“I don’t think he cares,” Kaylin told Evanton. “He’s not necessarily looking at the clutter the way the rest of us do.”

“
I
care.”

“...Sorry, Evanton.”

“You did not pick a particularly
good
time, no. I would make tea, but the kitchen is—”

“Flooded, yes.” Kaylin exhaled. “What’s happening?”

“Would it surprise you to know I am not entirely certain?”

“Yes, actually.”

“Then be surprised
quietly
.”

“Fine. This is Gilbert. And Kattea. Gilbert, Kattea, this is Evanton.”

Gilbert bowed. He came dangerously close to scraping the floor with Kattea. “I understand,” he said—to Evanton. Kaylin didn’t understand the word that left his mouth next.

Evanton, clearly, did. His eyes—his normal, human eyes—widened. “Kaylin,” he said, although he didn’t take his eyes off Gilbert, “what have you done?”

Kaylin brushed past him and entered a room that she had never seen before. To her surprise, it was almost empty; there was a table—not a desk—against the wall. The roof angled sharply above the tabletop. The room itself was narrow. It had a window, built into the steeply inclined wall above the table, and a small door that implied a closet. The floor was in better repair than the floors on the ground floor, probably because it didn’t get as much foot traffic.

The familiar squawked at Evanton. Loudly. His mouth was an inch from Kaylin’s ear.

“What is it this time?” Kaylin asked.

He lifted his wing, smacked her nose and then held it in place over her eyes. For a translucent lizard, he had no difficulty conveying impatience and a certain long-suffering annoyance.

Dragon wing made visible what normal vision didn’t: there were words engraved in the sturdier wood of this room’s floor. They were glowing, as if light had been poured into them.

“This is the room in which I, for want of a better word, meditate.”

“Is the Garden safe at all?”

“Not for you. And not, I fear, for Gilbert. You wish, no doubt, to speak to the water?”

She nodded.

“Of course you do. It would have to be water, given the present difficulty. What has occurred?”

“The long version or the short version?”

“Start with the short version; it is what I have patience for at the moment.”

“The water apparently carried Gilbert and Kattea across time. Maybe ten years of it.”

Evanton raised his hands and massaged his temples. “Thank you. I’ll take the longer version now.”

* * *

Evanton listened to Kaylin without interruption, which was unusual. He sent Grethan out to fetch bread, water and something that looked suspiciously like wine, but otherwise confined his actions to nodding or raising a brow.

This ended when Kattea joined the conversation at his request.

“You said the water spoke to you.”

“It mostly spoke to Gilbert.”

“Mostly, or entirely?”

“...Entirely.”

He nodded. To Gilbert, he asked, “What instructions did you give?” As not many people were expected to give instructions to the elemental water, Kaylin was slightly surprised by the question.

“I asked that we be conveyed—in a manner safe for Kattea—to Elantra.”

“Those were the only parameters you set?”

“Yes. It did not occur to me to examine the details of the request; that level of granularity has seldom been necessary.”

Evanton nodded, as if this made sense.

“Evanton—
how
did the water bring him to here? I mean, to here,
now
?”

“That is a very good question. And an appropriate one. I believe I have a better understanding of the rain.” He glanced at his drenched apprentice and added, “It is likely to stop soon, one way or another. I have a preference for which way.”

“Can you not give commands to the water?” Gilbert asked.

“Yes. As you suspect—as you recognize—I can. I am not, however, like the original Keeper in that regard. I can give commands that are heard
now
. I cannot give commands that are heard at every moment of the water’s existence and awareness.”

Kaylin blinked. She opened her mouth and closed it as she approached the shopkeeper; he was gray. Almost literally gray. “Have you been eating?”

“I am
long
past the age where I require maternal care” was his clipped reply. “My control—my stewardship, if you will—exists now. It has demonstrably existed in the past. It will, in theory, exist in the future—but the future is, to me, uncertain. I may die tomorrow. Grethan, do not make that face.

“I may merely be incapacitated. My responsibilities, my ability to endure and perform them, exist now. Now is a moving target. From any vantage in which I exist, I am ‘now.’”

“This isn’t making things any simpler,” Kaylin said.

“No, it wouldn’t. Believe that I am not enjoying it, either. I
believe
the difficulty resides with Gilbert’s instruction. He is here now. He is also there, then. The water exists in both places, and it is aware in both continuums. Gilbert’s imperative is causing a type of stress the Garden was not meant to contain.”

“...What does that mean for the rest of the city?”

“At the moment? That they shouldn’t come barging into my shop unless they want to get wet. I believe I have things more or less under control.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am not. The context of this control is difficult. There are reasons that the rain occurs only within the shop—but there are also reasons it is no longer contained to the Garden.” He turned to Gilbert. “Stop speaking to the water.”

“I am not—” He closed two of his eyes. “Ah.”

“If I understand what has been said, you set out to find a way to send—or bring—Lord Nightshade home.”

“Yes.”

“Nightshade—like Kattea or Kaylin—exists in a way that is not conducive to that homecoming. You understand this better than anyone here. It is not unreasonable to assume that your difficulty—and mine—is in part caused by your presence. Or Kattea’s.”

Kattea stiffened.

“I did not mean that you had done anything wrong,” Evanton added, voice more subdued. “But this is not where you should be. Gilbert is more flexible. He is not what you—what we—are.” He turned to Gilbert.

Gilbert said, “When I arrived here, I could no longer sense time. I believe that the water delivered me here for reasons of its own. The parameters of my request allowed it. If your suggested solution is my return, it is impossible.”

“That is not what I wanted to hear,” Evanton replied. He turned to Kaylin. “I would happily grant your request to speak with the elemental water, but it would be irresponsible. I do not think you would survive it. Gilbert, however, might. There may be other issues.”

“What did you wish to ask the water?” Gilbert asked Kaylin.