Cast In Secret (9 page)

“You haven’t reported her as missing.” Not a question.

“No,” Ybelline said, and she almost shuddered. Did, although it was subtle, a ripple that passed through her and left her changed.

“You don’t believe that she just wandered out of the quarter on her own.” Flat words.

“No,” Ybelline replied.

Which made sense. The young child Kaylin had so unselfconsciously lifted had had the attention of everyone in the street simply because he wanted it, and the adults were happy to indulge the simple desire of someone who was certain he was loved. Any child, Kaylin thought, would have that certainty, among the Tha’alani. She felt a pang as she thought of the orphans in the Foundling Halls, Marrin’s kits. They had never been certain of that.

Kaylin stepped back, but not physically. She was a Hawk, and reminded herself that that was what she had chosen to be. And a Hawk asked questions, sought answers, sifted through facts. No matter how much they dreaded them.

“What happened?” she asked, not bothering to hide that dread.

Ybelline did not close her eyes as she turned back to them, and her eyes were dark. The color, Kaylin thought, of either sorrow or horror. She still wasn’t sure.

“She was not at her home,” Ybelline began. “Understand that we have a… looser sense of home… than your kin. We are aware of where our children are, and we watch them, as a community. We listen for them. We hear their pain or their fear, and any one of us –
any
– will come to their rescue if rescue is required.

“Mayalee is a wanderer,” she added. “A young explorer. And she is fond of night, and stars, and navigation. She is bold – ” The words stopped for a moment. “She is afraid of very little. Not even heights or falling.

“And none of our children – in the Tha’alaan – are afraid of strangers. We have no word for it,” she added, “that does not mean outsider. And no outsiders come here.”

“You think one did.”

“One must have,” Ybelline said bitterly. But something was not right, something about the words hinted at evasion. Kaylin looked at Severn to see if he had noticed, but she read nothing on his face, nothing in his expression. He was, as Ybelline had said, careful.

Kaylin was not. “You’re not certain it was an outsider,” she said at last.

Ybelline raised a golden brow.

“Epharim said – he mentioned – that we define insane, for your kin. My kin,” she added, “and I won’t argue the definition. He might be right. I’ve often thought – ”

“Kaylin, topic,” Severn said curtly.

“Right. If insanity can be defined, it means there are, among your kin, those who
are
insane.”

“The deaf,” Ybelline said, and there was pity in her voice. “Those that are born deaf. Those that become deaf through injury.”

Kaylin nodded.

“It is like losing the ability to speak,” Ybelline added, “and to hear. And to touch. And to walk. It is all of those things, at once. It is the loss of kin. Many do not survive it.”

“And those that do?”

“They are our kin,” she replied, “and we care for them as we can. They have no place in your world. They are of the Tha’alaan even if they can no longer perceive it.”

Kaylin nodded. “What happened?” she asked again, but this time her voice was gentle.

“Mayalee is five years old, by your reckoning. She is still in all ways a child, by ours. She is aware of the Tha’alaan, and the Tha’alaan is aware of her.

“She was out, near the roof gardens of the center. It was late, and the moons were full – it was just after your Festival. She likes the Festival,” she added softly, “and although we forbid it to our kin, some of the magefire that lights the sky can be seen clearly from the terrace.

“So she went there, to watch.

“After a time, she climbed down, and she headed toward the guardhouse wards. She is such a clever child,” Ybelline added, and the affection was swamped with regret and fear – and a certain sense of failure.

Profound failure.

“She was not afraid, simply determined. Her aunt – I think you would use that word – headed out to find her. But before they reached her she met someone.

“A man,” she added. “He was not in the Tha’alaan, but Mayalee was not afraid of him. Not immediately.”

“And she went with him?”

“She went with him. Her uncles came, then, and her mother,” Ybelline added. “I was on call to the Emperor at the time, or I would have heard her.”

“How far away can you hear your kin?”

“I? A great distance. But it depends entirely upon the individual. Some of us can reach far, and some can touch only the heart of the Tha’alaan.

“She was afraid, when she left our quarter. She did not want to leave. She told us this much – but not more. We could not clearly see the man she saw,” she added. “And this – ”

“Magic?”

“We fear magic,” Ybelline replied. “But it is worse – she began to tell us something and then – she screamed.” Ybelline closed her eyes. “She screamed. It was the last thing we heard of her – that scream. She is no longer in reach of the Tha’alaan.”

“She was taken that quickly?”

“That is our hope,” Ybelline said, but there was little hope in the words.

Kaylin was confused. Severn rose. “You think she was crippled,” he said quietly.

“We fear it,” Ybelline replied. “We fear that they damaged her somehow, to break the contact. Those who are powerful can sense each other – but even the weak can touch the Tha’alaan at all times.”

“But they could have just knocked her out, couldn’t they?”

“No. Not conventionally.” It was Severn who replied. “The Tha’alani would be aware of her, even were she sleeping.”

“But how – ” Kaylin bit back the question. “Her stalks. Her antennae.”

Ybelline nodded, and this time, her face showed open fear.

They were silent for a time. Even for Kaylin, who had dreaded the Tha’alani for almost half her life, the sense of horror was genuine. It was as if she had been told someone had blinded a child to stop the child from identifying where she was being held captive.

“Why have you not approached the Halls of Law, Ybelline?” Severn again. Kaylin let him take over the questioning because he was so calm, his voice so soft, facts somehow seemed less threatening.

“We are not certain that it is a matter for the Common Law,” Ybelline replied carefully.

“You cannot think one of your own – ” He stopped. “One of the deaf.”

“It is possible,” Ybelline replied. “One is missing.”

“How long?”

“We cannot be certain – but he was not to be found after Mayalee disappeared. She would not fear him,” Ybelline added. “She might pity him, but she would not fear him.”

“I’m sorry,” Severn told her. “I wasn’t clear. How long has he been deaf?”

“Almost all of his life.”

“And he has lived here?”

She was silent for a time. “When he reached the age of maturity, and the madness was upon him, the Tha’alaan itself could not reach him, as it reaches those who are not – deaf. He… injured himself. And he left the Tha’alaan, searching for his own kind, as he called you.”

“He injured himself.”

“He cut off what he referred to as useless appendages,” she said carefully. “And bound his head with warrior markings, so that the wounds might go undetected. I think he truly felt that among your kin, he would find peace and acceptance.”

“He wasn’t accepted here.” Kaylin’s words were flat.

“He was, Kaylin,” Ybelline replied, just a hint of anger in the words. “And he was loved. We would no more turn our backs upon our own children than you would turn your backs upon one born blind or silent.

“But he felt the separation keenly at that time, and nothing we could say or do would dissuade him. We are not jailers,” she added bitterly. “And in the end, it was decided that he might, indeed, find truth among your kind.”

“But if he was living here – ”

“Our world and your world are different,” Ybelline replied. “And fear is so much a part of yours. He would be considered – would have been – childlike and naive by your kin. By you,” she added. “He was not the same when he finally returned to us. He was silent, and he smiled little. He was injured,” she added, “but we did not ask him by what, or how. He did not desire us to know.

“He was ashamed, I think,” she added softly, “and that is almost foreign to us. He recovered here. He spent time with his friends and his kin.”

“How long was he gone?”

“Six months.”

Six months, Kaylin thought. Six months could be such a long time. You could learn so much in those months. Or so little, she thought ruefully, remembering her months on idle behind a school desk in the Halls of Law.

“Yes,” Ybelline said, looking at Kaylin’s face carefully. “He learned, we think, to lie. To smile when he was unhappy. To be silent when he yearned to scream. More,” she added. “But it hurt us, and we did not press him.” She looked away. “Were you of my kin,” she whispered, “you would know how much of a failure that was – we, who know everything, did not attempt to learn, to seek
his
truth.”

“But if he didn’t want you prying – ”

“You think like a human.”

“Hello. My name is Kaylin. The last time I looked – ”

Severn stepped on her foot beneath the table. Hard.

“You seek privacy because you fear discovery,” Ybelline told her. “And in the end? We
let him be like you.
We did not want to touch his fear, and draw it into the Tha’alaan. He chose to be isolated, and we let him.”

Kaylin understood by the tone of Ybelline’s words just how guilty she felt – but she couldn’t see
why.
So she did what she could as a Hawk, instead; she had nothing to offer the woman otherwise. “Where was he last seen?”

“His mother saw him,” she said quietly, “and those of his friends he chose to keep company with.”

“Was he behaving differently?”

“How were they to know? He is like your Severn in his ability to hide from us.”

“Can we speak with these friends?”

She hesitated. “They are younger than I,” she said at last. “Your age, perhaps slightly older.”

“So?”

Ybelline turned to Severn.

Severn nodded. “We are not here, I think, in official capacity. I doubt the Hawks would allow Kaylin into the Tha’alaan as a representative in any case. Her dislike and her fear are well known.”

Ybelline said, “It is a deep fear, but it is a narrow one. There are things she fears more, and in the end, things she loves more. I am willing to trust her. Are you?”

Severn nodded. “With my life,” he said, an odd smile on his lips. “She’s not noted for being all that careful with her own, however.” He rose and approached Ybelline, his back toward Kaylin. “Show me,” he said quietly. “Show me who his friends are, and where we might find them.”

Kaylin rose, as well, moving slightly, so she could see them in profile. Could watch Ybelline lift her face, could see the fluttery movement of her dreaded antennae as they brushed the surface of Severn’s forehead in a light caress.

Kaylin shuddered, but Severn merely closed his eyes and nodded. There were whole days where she didn’t understand him. And there were days like this – where even the thought of understanding him seemed impossible.

“All right, you win.”

“We didn’t have a bet here.”

“What exactly is the Tha’alaan?”

“It’s their community,” he said slowly. “Their… living history. No, it’s more than that – it’s like a thought they all share, whenever they choose to touch it. The Tha’alani individually have exceptional memories of their personal experiences, and they share these. They share what they’ve felt. They can almost relive it, and in doing that, the community relives it. The Tha’alaan is like a collection of all their experience, past and present, living and dead, all their hopes, and all their fears.”

“I thought they didn’t have any.”

He raised a brow. “Anything alive knows fear. Ybelline is terrified now, and she is under some strain. She keeps much from the Tha’alaan and that is costly. Were she not trained for service to the outside – were she not schooled in handling the deaf, as we’re called – she would not be able to master her thoughts in this fashion.

“Not all the Tha’alani can. Some have aptitude, and those are trained and tested. Those powerful enough, they surrender for a time to the Emperor’s service.”

“Or to anyone who can pay?”

“No, Kaylin. There are perhaps one or two in the history of their kind who have
chosen
to work for the deaf, but they are the exception that proves the rule. Most of the Tha’alani would live forever in their own world, seeking no contact with any outsiders, were it not for the Emperor’s dictate.”

“They don’t want to do – what they do.”

“No.”

“But they do it.”

“Yes. Those who can. They rotate service – the length of time they can work outside of the Tha’alaan differs from person to person.” He paused. “Ybelline is very strong. Strong enough to be gentle,” he added quietly. “She doesn’t pity us, and she doesn’t fear us. She half understands.”

“She can… keep her experience of our world to herself.”

“Exactly.”

“So it doesn’t pollute the hive mind.”

He frowned. “They’re not insects, Kaylin. But yes, there are experiences that they would
never
otherwise have, and only those who can live with the isolation of individual experience can serve. It is very, very hard for the Tha’alani.”

They had no escort as they emerged from the large, rounded dwelling. Epharim was gone, and no one in armor stood ready to take his place. Kaylin was nonplussed. “She chose to let us walk here,” Severn told her.

“She didn’t seem to worry about you.”

“No.”

“Why?”

“We’ve met before,” he replied carefully. Where
carefully
meant completely neutrally in that don’t-ask-me-questions way. “I am not, perhaps, the ideal person from whom to draw information, but neither was I afraid of her, or her kin. They can’t create memories,” he added. “They can’t erase them. And what happened, happened.”

“I’m not proud of a lot of my ‘what happeneds,’” Kaylin said in a quiet voice. “If I wanted people to know, I’d tell them.”