Cast in Flame (6 page)

“Kitling!”

The clouds wore the shape and form of a woman. She was not familiar to Kaylin; she was too large—far too large—and too angry; her eyes were the size of the moons, even narrowed as they were. More disturbing were her wings. Kaylin had always loved Aerians because of their wings; she knew that those wings were weapons; that they could break a man’s arm. But the wings of the storm—of the water—were like tidal waves; there was nothing beautiful about them, and the only freedom they implied was death.

“Can you see the Keeper?” Bellusdeo shouted. Her voice felt like rumbling earth.

“No—but the water is here, and it’s enraged!”

“Only the water? Kaylin—can you see any of the other elementals?”

She started to say
air,
and stopped. The storm was entirely a thing of the water. “No.”

The ground shook beneath Kaylin’s feet. Leontine left her open mouth. But it wasn’t the elemental earth joining the rumble; it was Bellusdeo. Bellusdeo, in her golden, draconian form. “Don’t just stand their gawking—get on. That applies to you as well, Lord Teela.”

“I am never,” Teela said, complying immediately, “going to live this down.”

* * *

Bellusdeo flew into the eye of the storm. Sadly, the eye was just above the jaws. The small dragon had wrapped his tail tightly around Kaylin’s neck, and was digging new runnels into her right collar bone; he’d fallen silent, which was the only blessing. His wing was plastered against her face, above her nose and lips, which made breathing possible, although she was willing to bet more water than air was actually entering her mouth.

“Kitling—your arms!”

She’d noticed. The runic marks that covered over half of her skin were glowing brightly enough they could be seen through her sleeves; they were the color of Bellusdeo’s eyes—and scales—as if only that part of her was now transparent. “Next time,” she shouted, “we are leaving Mandoran at home!” She had no doubt that something Mandoran had done was responsible for the storm, and no certainty at all that she could stop it.

Which wasn’t technically her job; it was Evanton’s. Where in the hells was he?

* * *

Bellusdeo’s flight was
not
smooth; it inspired no confidence at all. Since Dragons, unlike carriages, didn’t come with built-in handholds, Kaylin’s legs were rigid with an attempt to somehow hold on. She’d never gotten the hang of horses, either. But the Dragon was looking at something Kaylin couldn’t see, and when she dove—through sheets of rain—for ground, Kaylin saw what: Grethan.

Bellusdeo caught him in her claws and lifted him. “Where,” she demanded, “is out?”

“We don’t
get out
without Evanton!” Kaylin shouted.

“Grethan can’t stay here; he’s half-drowned!”

“Can you land? Can he crawl up on your back?” She was already doing exactly that—but the ground here did not look promising; much of it was mud, and Dragons weighed enough she’d sink. Bellusdeo did, but she’d landed on her hind-legs and let them bear her weight while she set Grethan down.

Teela reached out and yanked Grethan out of the mud he’d barely had time to settle into. He was a bedraggled mess, but then again, so was Kaylin; Dragons and Barrani were exempt. Teela seated the apprentice in front of her.

“Grethan—where is Evanton? Can you reach him?”

Grethan swallowed air; his eyes were wide enough the whites seemed to have taken over half the space. “He’s not answering!”

“Fine—but can you tell Bellusdeo
where he is?
” Teela had that calm-down-or-I’ll-slap-you tone.

“He’s—he’s by the pond.” Pause. “He’s...in the pond.”

“What pond?” Bellusdeo roared.

“Turn right!” Kaylin shouted. “Turn right and head toward the ground. Avoid the fire.”

* * *

Right was a sheet of falling rain. Down was a sheet of falling rain. Kaylin was fairly certain there was no space in the Keeper’s Garden that wasn’t at the moment. “Teela—is Mandoran with Evanton? Teela?”

“Yes. And no.”

“Which one is it?”

“...No.”

Leontine and water didn’t mix well. Kaylin tried anyway. She gave up and gave Bellusdeo directions, because she
could
see the pond. She could see it as the heart of the monstrous form water now wore: it was deep, dark, clear; it was no longer still.

The small dragon warbled; as his head was beside her ear, she heard him anyway. “Just one
normal
day. Is that too much to bloody ask? One day?”

Squawk
.

The pond was the heart of the water. It didn’t matter what shape it took, although Kaylin had very strong preferences at this point. It was anchored to one spot in the Garden. Storm aside, that anchor was still true. Kaylin had seen what happened when those moorings were broken, but by some miracle, they held.

Her arms were now aching, but she was used to that. When the marks began to glow, they often grew warm; warmth became uncomfortable heat.

“Grethan, can you be more specific?” Teela shouted.

But Kaylin said, “Never mind—I see him.”

It was true. Evanton was standing
in
the water that rose like a pillar. His eyes were closed, his arms folded across his chest; for a moment, Kaylin stopped breathing. But his eyes snapped open before she could panic. Or, to be honest, panic
more.

“Remind me,” Teela shouted, “not to strangle Mandoran myself.”

“Get Bellusdeo to remind you,” Kaylin shouted back. “I’m thinking strangling sounds pretty damn good about now! I don’t see Mandoran,” she added. “Just Evanton.”

“Worry about Evanton. Mandoran isn’t dead. Yet.”

* * *

Worrying about Evanton was easy.
Doing
anything about the worry, not so much. Bellusdeo had more or less found the pillar of water at the heart of the storm, but the storm was busy trying to swat her out of the air. As it was hard to maneuver around a constant stream of water, the flight was rocky. Kaylin tried to speak to the water, but the water wasn’t listening.

And she knew that if she could call it by its name, she’d have its attention. Given what it was doing at the moment, that seemed like courting suicide. Given her very spotty record in Magical Studies, she wasn’t certain of success. But...Evanton clearly had the water’s name, and he was stuck in the middle of it, and the storm was still raging.

In spite of Teela’s advice, Kaylin looked for Mandoran. Evanton was in the Keeper’s Garden. Even if it looked like he was encased in water here, it wasn’t likely to kill him—and if it did, they’d have far more pressing problems, none of which they were likely to survive.

“I swear,” Teela said, “I’ll kill him myself if he—” She broke off.

Bellusdeo had come to rest—if struggling to remain in flight and in position could be called rest—in front of Evanton. Evanton’s eyes narrowed; he opened his mouth; no air escaped it. No words either. Frustrated, he spoke again. Slowly. Kaylin cursed as the movement of his lips resolved into three silent syllables.

“Teela—he wants us to find Mandoran!”

But Teela shook her head. “Speak to the water, Kaylin. Now!”

“Tried that. She’s not
listening.
”

“Idiot—
make
her listen!”

* * *

The name of fire always avoided Kaylin’s grasp. She could stare at candles for three hours and fail to find the damned thing, although she’d used it before. The name of water was something she’d never consciously tried to call. The water spoke to her when it found her, and Kaylin responded in kind. She’d never come calling on her own.

Evanton knew the water’s name. Evanton should have been able to calm the water down, if that was even possible. Offloading his responsibility onto the shoulders of a Hawk was low.

On the other hand it was just as possible that he was keeping the other three elementals in their peaceful, dozing state. The thought of dealing with angry earth, air
and
fire, on top of clearly pissed off water, killed all sense of grievance.

Bellusdeo, struggling in the storm, wasn’t steady enough that Kaylin could reach out and touch the water’s heart center. But Kaylin wasn’t certain it mattered—water was everywhere, at the moment. Breathing was distinctly wet.

She tried, in her mind’s eye, to see water’s story, to find its elements, the way she could find fire’s. Her arms ached with the heat of the marks that adorned her skin—and she wondered, briefly, if water’s name was writ there, among all the other words she had no hope of reading.

While she could enumerate all of the things water personally meant to her, they didn’t coalesce into a single name that defined those meanings. They were subjective words, not true ones—but mortals weren’t gifted with true words; it was why it was so damned hard to remember true names: they
weren’t
words.

They were the feelings and reactions you had to struggle to wedge into the words you did speak. They were subjective because they came from your life, not the life of the person you were trying to communicate with. You had to hope there was enough overlap in your lives that the words meant more or less what you thought they meant when you said them.

Only the Tha’alani seemed exempt from this constant stumble toward misunderstanding. The Tha’alani....

Kaylin closed her eyes. It changed almost nothing, but it allowed her to envision the water as she so often appeared: a young woman with an expression beyond her apparent years, who had clear, translucent hands. One of those perfect hands was extended toward Kaylin, as it so often was; Kaylin carefully reached out to grab it.

Her grip, as always, was that little bit too tight; she was grasping something she wanted—and had wanted—for her entire life. It wasn’t, and couldn’t be, hers. She was—at most—a welcome guest. But if the hand was water, it didn’t slide through her fingers at the strength of that grip.

Even if she couldn’t live here, she wanted to visit.

Kaylin.

She opened her eyes. The storm raged around the golden Dragon on which she sat so precariously; she felt, for a moment, that the whole of the water’s attention was focused on her; water flowed down her flat hair; the stick that kept it off her neck had been lost. The small dragon was not impressed.

Tha’alaan,
Kaylin said. She didn’t need to shout, now; when she was connected with the water this way, she was certain to be heard.

“Whatever you’re doing,” Bellusdeo roared, “Keep doing it!”

She didn’t need to be told. Even here, in the folds of storm, she felt the peculiar, particular warmth of the Tha’alaan. She heard the distant thrum of Tha’alani voices, and if she kept as silent as possible, it didn’t matter; they didn’t need words to hear or sense her.

The water became rain, and the rain ceased its fall.

Kaylin.

What happened?

I...was not aware of where I was. I heard a voice that I have heard in only one other place.

And you tried to destroy it?

It is not a voice that belongs in the Keeper’s Garden
, the water replied.
It is not a voice that belongs among your kind.

It does, now.

No, Kaylin.

She thought of Mandoran. Of Barrani children, and Barrani childhood—artifacts, all, of ancient wars.
He’s alive. He’s here. He’s—he’s like Teela. He’s Barrani. He—he wasn’t, for a while.

He is not, now.
Silence again, and then a measured curiosity. Kaylin couldn’t understand the question it contained—and that had never happened in the Tha’alaan before.
I understand how you see this...Mandoran. I understand that you see the name to which he wakened.

But it is not, now, all that he is, and he brings danger with him. I sense his kin in the heart of the green; they are safest there. Send him back.

I’ll talk to him.

Speak with care, Kaylin. You do not understand what he is.

Does he?

Silence. Then,
I...do not know. I think—I think he attempted to speak with me as he might once have spoken. I offer my apologies to the Keeper,
she added.
But it is best that Mandoran refrain from entering the Garden until either you understand what Mandoran has become, or until Mandoran does.

Where is he?

Ah. He is with the Keeper.

Kaylin didn’t ask where he’d been until now. Instead, she opened her eyes. The air was once again clear; she was on the back of a golden Dragon whose scales gleamed in the aftermath of an impromptu shower. Grethan was rigid in Teela’s arms, and Teela was the color of alabaster, except for her eyes, which were the expected very dark blue.

The water itself was once again confined in the deep, still pond; the brazier in the fire looked no worse for the deluge. The breeze was warm, but gentle.

Evanton, however, was soggy. He resembled an elderly, bedraggled rat, but with less hair. “Do not give me that look, Private; I assure you I am drier than you are.”

Bellusdeo, relieved of passengers, snorted smoke. “It occurs to me,” she said, “that the Imperial Court is unlikely to be impressed.”

“You didn’t go dragon in the city streets,” Kaylin pointed out.

“No. They’d be instantly aware of that transgression. I’m more concerned about the clothing.”

“...Clothing.”

“Don’t make that face. I’m not about to parade naked through Elani street. I am, however, about to be reduced to wearing armor—a military look that I fear the Emperor doesn’t favor.” She cleared her throat, loudly.

“I think she’s telling you to turn around,” Teela said.

“Right.”

* * *

Everyone was bedraggled except for the Dragon; Bellusdeo looked as if she were about to stride to war as an army of one. An impressive army, admittedly; she looked like the idealization of a warrior queen, more sculpture or painting than life. Teela was busy ringing water out of the perfect length of her hair, having done the same for her tabard. Mandoran was sitting on the ground, his knees folded into his chest, his chin resting on top of them. His eyes were ringed with shadow, but they weren’t any darker than Teela’s. Then again, black wouldn’t have been much darker than Teela’s at the moment.