Part 40 (1/2)

”Where-where did he lead you?”

”Through the darkness. Through the heart of the shadow that lies in all worlds.”

”And you followed him?”

”He was an Elder, and he was strong; we were not yet adult, and we were lost. He was not unkind. He led us to our names. They are True Names. But they are not true words.”

”And if you lose them?”

Bellusdeo did not answer the question, although she continued to speak. ”We discovered his treachery, in time; he could see the shape and the form of the names we had chosen for ourselves. It was not simple; it took him time and effort-but he could see. We despaired.” Her voice was soft and even, but thinning as the syllables pa.s.sed. ”But we discovered that even his treachery was flawed; the words themselves were mutable and they were not entirely contained.” She glanced at Maggaron, and her expression softened.

Kaylin's hardened. She was, for just a moment, furious-with the Arkon, with Sanabalis. Tiamaris escaped her rage because Tiamaris was young and quite possibly ignorant. Then again, maybe not, because he had a name. She needed to know to what lake-metaphorically speaking-Dragon children approached to achieve the fusion of form that was their version of adulthood. And she needed to know it now, or yesterday.

She couldn't, of course. The Dragons were fighting, quite possibly for their lives, in the skies above. The struggle on the ground might also define and save lives-or conversely, lose them-but they had no time for it. ”What's happening to Maggaron?”

”The name is leaving him,” Bellusdeo replied. ”It is leaving the sword; it returns, at last, to me, where it will be made whole.”

”But you said he can-”

”Yes.”

”Why?”

”Because I am doomed, regardless, Chosen. And Maggaron is not. He has lived as less than slave for far too long. I knew where he had traveled. I knew what he had found. I had hoped-” She opened her eyes. Whatever hope she had had, it was gone.

CHAPTER 21.

”You wanted to free him.”

Bellusdeo nodded. She lifted a hand to his face, and Kaylin saw that his face was wet. She understood why she could no longer control him. But neither could the Outcaste. The sword beneath Kaylin's hand began to dwindle in size, the runes running down the blade as if they'd been written in liquid that hadn't had time to dry.

”Chosen,” Bellusdeo said quietly.

Kaylin had often felt like a fraud in her life-as a Hawk, as an adult-but never more than she did now. ”I'm Chosen,” she said bitterly. ”But I've no idea what that means, or what it's supposed to mean.”

Bellusdeo nodded, as if she'd heard it before. Maybe she had. ”I have only met one other who bore marks similar to the ones you now bear. They were not the same marks,” she added. ”Were it not for his intervention, we would have fallen to Makkuron long ago. The Chosen helped us to understand what we might achieve, and he told us that it wouldn't last.

”But he told me that I might find another of his kind. I searched,” she added. The sword was now the size and shape of a dagger-or a letter opener. It was also translucent. ”We all searched while we could. He searched, as well-for us. But the Norannir found you. And when they did, we gambled. We, who no longer had the power of flight, or the freedom of it.”

”Why-why did they all look like you?”

”Because we are one. We have always been one. Even our names were interconnected in ways that the enemy could not fully perceive, and this bought us much time. He is coming,” she added, lifting her face again, her hands still cupped around Maggaron's.

”He can't have you.”

”I fail to see what will stop him if they cannot.”

Kaylin said, sharply, ”I can.”

Hope was cruel. It could be an act of torture far more profound than despair. It could cut, and cut, and cut-no one knew this better than Kaylin. She'd tried, in the dark months of Barren, to divest herself of hope entirely, because hope led to pain so directly there were grooves in the path between them.

This, she now inflicted on Bellusdeo.

Kaylin's arms were white. The light shed by the marks on them was now so brilliant she couldn't see skin; she had to squint to make out the individual forms themselves. She swallowed; the sphere that had grown up around them shuddered, and dents appeared in its rounded height, the shape and size of very large claws.

Bellusdeo flinched at the sight of them. Then she grimaced and drew the very small dagger from the wound in her chest-a wound that was still bleeding. The dagger became a sword-a sword made of gla.s.s, or something just as transparent.

”Lady,” Maggaron said, his voice breaking between the two syllables. ”Let me.”

”I cannot anymore, and you know it. Maggaron, you have served me well. You have always served me well. But it is time.” He took the sword anyway and set it down on the ground.

What the h.e.l.ls was good about being Chosen, anyway? Kaylin had demanded that Maggaron be allowed to accompany them, and for what reason? Instinct? Fine. But he was here, Bellusdeo had taken a mortal wound, and she had somehow freed him from the curse of a name. The Dragon carried a sword that no longer looked like the sword of an Ascendant, and it was clear to both Kaylin and Maggaron that she meant to use it.

It was clear to both of them that she wouldn't last long. Oh, she'd survive. The Outcaste didn't want her dead. But would her life be any better, in the end, than Maggaron's had been?

Kaylin looked at her exposed arms in an almost helpless frenzy.

Kaylin.

Severn, I don't know what to do.

Don't panic.

She laughed. It was not a happy laugh. The claw-shaped indentations had grown in number, and there were a few new ones that looked as though they might be teeth. But bigger. She felt the ground shake as she heard the Outcaste's roar, and then the sudden incursions stopped.

”Bellusdeo, can you-can you transform now?”

”Transform?”

”Into your Dragon form.”

”Not yet, Chosen-but soon.”

”No!”

They both glanced at Maggaron.

”Tell her, Lady.”

”Enough, Maggaron.”

He fell silent. Into his silence came words, and to her surprise, Kaylin was speaking them. She was speaking them just as Sanabalis had once done when he had told the Leontines the ancient story of their birth. There were two words, she thought as she watched them form; she felt their weight in the back of her throat as she struggled to vocalize them. Human throats had clearly not been designed with this in mind.

The words pulled themselves out of the air, gaining shape and size by feeding on the light that Kaylin shed. She'd seen something similar before; she recognized the parts of the runes: the vertical strokes, the horizontal strokes, the dots that crowned them, the squiggles that seemed to flutter at the edges. What she hadn't seen before, however, was their placement: they formed around the Ascendant and the Dragon-if either one of them truly fit the descriptions by which they'd lived anymore-like the pristine bars of a golden cage; a songbird's cage in a rich man's house.

Kaylin frowned because she understood that this was an answer, and she couldn't make sense of it.