Part 41 (1/2)

There were only two runes left standing in their original expressed shape: the ones held by Bellusdeo and Maggaron. The sphere that had been formed of words and light was so thin now Kaylin could see the sky above them; it was red and black. The air sizzled and crackled; liquid was. .h.i.tting the stones that surrounded them. She wondered if it was rain or blood; the smoke was thick enough she couldn't tell the difference.

She started to push, and this time it wasn't hard-it was impossible. Nothing moved. Nothing so much as s.h.i.+vered. Whatever she'd managed to cobble together was incomplete-but her work, the whole of the work she could do, had been done.

”Bellusdeo,” she said, voice low and rough, ”the rest is up to you. Whatever you took, whatever you absorbed when the Outcaste offered to aid you, it wasn't real. This-this could be.”

Bellusdeo's eyes were still a bright and s.h.i.+ning gold; her expression, however, grew grim. ”Understood, Chosen.” She hesitated for the first time and then looked at Maggaron. The question was clear in the glance.

”Him, too,” Kaylin replied. ”I know there are nine parts of what should have been your name-but for reasons I don't understand, his is part of that now. He has to do what I've been doing with his own rune, just as you must.”

”And if he succeeds?”

”I don't know.” She looked up at the pa.s.sing shadow that darkened the ground. ”Does it matter?”

Bellusdeo hesitated again, which was one answer. And then she started to force her own rune to move, which was another. Maggaron, to no one's surprise, had already started to push his toward the odd and unfinished jumble that Kaylin had made of the others. His greater size and strength didn't seem to make the task any easier for him than it had been for either Kaylin or Bellusdeo; he was straining to cross an inch or two of ground at a time. Severn's weapon chain was singing at her back; Severn was silent.

She wanted to ask him what he saw.

But what she knew prevented it. If the Arkon's words about Dragon birth were true-and she kind of doubted he could be wrong about something like that, although he wasn't required to be entirely honest-Bellusdeo could fail here. If she failed, Kaylin wasn't certain what would happen, because she wasn't certain what the Outcaste wanted or intended for her. The only possibility-children-she carefully blanked from her thoughts.

She wanted to know how Makkuron had given Bellusdeo something that could serve almost the same function as a True Name, without quite being one.

She wanted to know if this-this amalgamation of nine disparate runes, each complicated and each unique-could replace what she had taken in youthful ignorance without somehow rewriting everything that had come before: her history. Maggaron's. Her role in the life of the Norannir and their war against their encroaching Shadows. She didn't understand, couldn't comprehend, what a True Name meant to those who depended on it. What she knew, watching, was this: she couldn't separate those words again. She couldn't speak them into their former, disparate shapes. Whatever tale they told, it was almost done, and her part as its teller was over. She could witness now; she couldn't be transformed.

They could, if they succeeded, because in the end it was their story.

As Bellusdeo and Maggaron struggled to find a place in the whole for their individual runes, the shape of the various interlocking pieces expanded slightly-only slightly-to give them entry. What had been a mess of disparate elements began to pulse, like a golden heart. It made the whole look dangerously unstable.

Kaylin froze. She had seen one name that was as complicated-as large-as this one, and she'd only seen it once. It was the Outcaste's name. That name and this one weren't the same, but this one was its equal in complexity and form. It looked like the name-like the story-of a small world. She had a brief flash of insight as she watched: they were meant to be nine. Nine Dragons who were also one Dragon. They were each meant to hold, to capture, to mold one part of this whole until the moment it fused. But...why? How?

Eight of those women, eight of those parts, were dead. But the name itself that now formed was not: it lived, it waited. It was a type of birth.

Above Bellusdeo, the Outcaste could now be clearly seen: he was black, but his scales seemed vaguely opalescent through the haze of smoke and burning buildings. He roared in fury; if he was hurt at all, rage suppressed pain.

The Arkon had landed some distance away, and there was no if about his injuries; she could see the listing wing that couldn't quite fold up on his back. It was torn; there was blood. The fire, on the other hand, didn't seem to bother the Arkon. Sanabalis circled above the Outcaste, but couldn't quite flank him-if that's what he was even trying to do. Tiamaris, however, faced the Outcaste directly, and if the Outcaste's voice embodied fury, it was a very different fury from Tiamaris's. Tiamaris was red. A deep, s.h.i.+ning red-the color of new blood or garnets in sunlight. He seemed larger, to Kaylin's eye, than she'd seen him before, and although he was too far above them for his eyes to be visible, she thought they were probably the same color as the rest of him.

And this, she understood. He was in the heart of his h.o.a.rd. Makkuron threatened it, and nothing short of his removal would still the frenzy.

Kaylin frowned. What she couldn't see was Tara. She started to scan the sky, and then the streets, when she heard Maggaron's cry. It was short, sharp, cut off by the Ascendant himself. Kaylin turned, Tara forgotten, to see that Bellusdeo had collapsed face-first into the uneven stones upon which they'd all been standing. Her word had not yet coalesced with the whole; nor had Maggaron's.

Kaylin almost closed her eyes. She moved closer to Bellusdeo-but she was slowed, as if she were running through water or a heavier liquid. Maggaron wasn't enc.u.mbered in the same way, but he'd started off much closer. He let go of the word Kaylin had marked as his without any thought or hesitation, and he dropped to the ground, to Bellusdeo's side.

The Dragon's hand still clung to the fading line of the whole rune that had been hers. She lifted her head; her eyes were gold, but they no longer shone, and Kaylin felt utterly certain that when that light guttered completely, she would die.

By the time she reached Bellusdeo's side, Bellusdeo was no longer on the ground; she was in Maggaron's arms, cradled against his chest as if she were a child; given the difference in their sizes, she could have been. Kaylin met the Ascendant's expression and had to look away at what she saw there. But she looked back almost immediately because Maggaron, carrying Bellusdeo, was also dragging her rune by default. It moved with her, and it moved far more easily than it had when she'd exerted her own strength and will against it.

”Bellusdeo, can you hear me?” Kaylin said.

”Yes.” The Dragon's smile was weak. ”You're shouting in my ear.”

Kaylin obligingly lowered her voice. ”Let Maggaron carry you. But-grab his word the way you're holding yours.”

”But, Chosen, you said-”

”I say a lot of stupid things. I told you-I don't know what I'm doing; I make it up as I go along; I reach for what feels true, and sometimes, the first time, I miss. It's like I'm locked out of my own place. I've dropped the key down a dark hole. I know the key is in the d.a.m.n hole, but I'm fumbling around in a s.p.a.ce I can't see in an attempt to pick it up. I'm reaching in the right direction but I miss. I keep trying. I know when I've got the key.” She paused, and then added, ”It's like your name. I can see it. I would recognize it if I saw it again-I'm sorry for that-but I can't wrap my mind around the size of it, the shape of it, the sound. I can't explain what it is to anyone else-but I know what it's supposed to be now that I've seen it. Grab his word.”

But Maggaron had already walked to where he had left his standing rune. Of the two, Bellusdeo had made more progress-at least until now, because her rune came with her when he moved. When it did, the whole structure left behind shuddered. Kaylin, in a panic, reached out to hold what was left in place, as if it were physical.

She almost pulled her hands back in shock: the runes felt like living flesh. Not human flesh, not Leontine flesh, not something immediately familiar-but it pulsed, it was warm, and it had that slightly soft give. What it didn't have was anything that remotely resembled a body. Or a cohesive, stable shape. She stiffened her arms as the structure began to bear down on her, grateful that the marks she bore weren't physical shapes like these.

”Maggaron-I can't hold this up forever!” It was unfair and she knew it; it was also, however, true. She could feel the gaps between the elements of the compressed shape begin to widen. She swore at them in Leontine. And Aerian, for good measure.

Maggaron reached the structure before it collapsed around her like an engineer's worst nightmare. He carried Bellusdeo, and she carried the runes; they were smaller now; denser. They were still, however, the same as they had been when they had been as tall as she was.

”Chosen,” he said, ”what must I do?”

”What you've done all along. Carry her. Be her s.h.i.+eld. Protect her while she does what only she can do.”

”I suppose asking you what I can do,” Bellusdeo said, her voice thinner and reedier, ”wouldn't be helpful.”

”You know what you have to do.”

”I really don't,” the Dragon said, and she laughed. It caused her pain, but it brightened her eyes for a moment. ”I'm like you-I've always made it up as I went along.” She couldn't touch Maggaron; both of her hands were full. But her voice was gentle. ”Carry me as far into the word as you can.”

He nodded, tightening his grip briefly. She was, Kaylin could see, exactly what he'd said about her: his life, his reason for living. He didn't want to let go of her. He carried her toward the whole of the shape Kaylin was struggling so hard to preserve, and the runes-the two-preceded her into the whole.

As far into the word as you can, she'd said. Kaylin was surprised at how far that was, because it looked as if there was no s.p.a.ce. No s.p.a.ce for something the size of either Kaylin or Bellusdeo-who was taller-and certainly no s.p.a.ce for the Ascendant. s.p.a.ce or no, he carried her, and it seemed to Kaylin that he carried her through the lines, the delicate curves and loops, and the tightly s.p.a.ced dots. Her word came with her, and when it finally, fully, touched the disparate parts, something snapped into place. No, everything snapped into place.

If Kaylin thought the words surrounding Bellusdeo and Maggaron had looked like a gilded cage before, she repented. Now she knew they were inescapable, and she held her breath as they began to shrink, to compress. She had never thought of words as dangerous before. Dangerous to know, yes. But in and of themselves? No.

Yet these words-or this nascent word-was. She could see the bleeding that sharp edges caused across the contours of Bellusdeo's cheeks. Her arms fared no better; the dress she wore-the same dress as all the others had worn who now lay in the morgue-began to redden as lines, like swords, pierced cloth and skin at the same time. Kaylin cried out, wordless, and then tried to enter the word itself.

What the Ascendant and the Dragon were allowed, she clearly wasn't. She began to batter the shape with her fists, and someone grabbed her wrist.

It wasn't Severn; Severn's touch, she knew. Severn would never have dragged her away from the word the way she was now dragged. She turned in fury-and fear-and met the eyes of the Arkon. They were orange. Not red. But their edges were gold. She didn't understand, and she hurled short words at him as if he were a stupid, raw recruit-and she were Marcus.

”There is no more you can do, Chosen,” he told her, his voice surprisingly gentle, the words-shockingly-in Elantran.

”They'll kill her!”

”They may. They may well kill her. But even if you desired it, they will not kill you; the name is not, and was never meant, to be yours.”

”You can see it?”

”No. I cannot see the shape of it at all. It is unfortunate for you that you can.” He winced. ”If you would stop this senseless struggling, I would be happy to release you.”

She stopped instantly. ”You're injured.”