17
Kavallac’s voice was somber, and her eyes orange—but they were always orange if she was standing anywhere near Androsse. “We
were not randomly chosen, and we were not the only people who applied.” She used the Elantran word, not the High Barrani equivalent.
High Barrani didn’t have an equivalent—just words that implied supplication or pleading from a position of unworthiness.
“The library predates Ravellon. It was the sole creation of an Ancient who valued memory. Memory as a concept was, I believe, almost foreign to the Ancients,
given the records extant within the library. Immortals are known for perfect memory, perfect recall; the Ancients were not
dissimilar.
“But the creation of the library arose because that Ancient understood that even if memory is a constant, it relies on experience.
What I see, hear, touch, I remember. But I cannot see, hear, or touch every living thing, cannot therefore be present for
every action taken. No more could the Ancients. It was meant to be a repository of things that one could not personally experience,
given the time in other endeavors life demands.
“The custodians chosen were those whose beliefs and dedication most closely mirrored the Ancient’s intent.
We are not the first who have served in these posts, but due to the nature of the changes in the world beyond our doors, we are likely to be the last. There are no Ancients who walk, now.
The library’s creator cannot choose new Arbiters from among those who are willing to dedicate eternity to the library.
“Inasmuch as I could be said to have a hoard, it is the library. But it is not mine in the way that hoards are claimed by Dragons.”
Kaylin exhaled. Androsse’s eyes were midnight, but he didn’t disagree with anything Kavallac had said. This was probably a
record for the two Arbiters.
Kavallac turned to Arbiter Androsse. “I’m sorry to have interrupted you, Arbiter Androsse. You were speaking of the Erenne
mark and its creation.”
He ignored her apology, focusing on Kaylin instead. “Arbiter Kavallac mentions the Dragon’s hoard.”
Kaylin nodded.
“To Dragons, that is the expression of so-called love. The Empire you call home is a Dragon’s hoard. But Dragons have become maddened and destructive
in their pursuit of their hoard. We have historical records of a time when two Dragons laid claim to the same hoard—to great
ruin for all. Do not tell me that that is not love; it is. It is the draconic expression of love. Do you not understand that love in the great and ancient can lead, inevitably, to
ruin?”
“But you’re here,” Kaylin countered, ignoring Starrante’s waving arm. “Kavallac is here. Starrante is here.”
“The word you want is dedication, perhaps—but the library is not what you came to discuss, and it is not where our efforts have been pointed in order to find
answers to your trivial question.”
“If it was trivial, the information wouldn’t be here,” Kaylin countered.
This forced Starrante to clear his throat, or the equivalent of it for Wevaran.
“Corporal, allow Arbiter Androsse to return to his explanation of the results of his research. Not all of the information we find is to our liking; Arbiter Androsse—as any living, breathing being—has thoughts and opinions of his own. They do not change our archives; they do color our reactions to what we find therein.”
“So . . . he’s irritated because love was somehow involved in the creation of the mark?”
Starrante’s eye stalks bowed, which Kaylin took to be a nod. “It is a spell, of sorts. It cannot be applied if the person
who has chosen to do so has no innate magical power.”
“But it can be applied without the permission of the person who bears the mark.”
“Demonstrably. Arbiter Androsse?”
“You bear the Marks of the Chosen,” Androsse said, tone curt, eyes narrow. “You bear them in ignorance, and it is clear that
permission was not sought before they became yours.”
Kaylin frowned but nodded.
“You are aware that there are Immortals who feel the nature of their True Names is a shackle, a binding, a limitation.”
Kaylin nodded again. She did know. She’d seen the results when Barrani attempted to remove themselves from the True Names
that were the source of their life.
“We are far more flexible than the Barrani who bear such a striking physical resemblance. The hands that created my kin—those
the Barrani call Ancestors—created the Barrani, as if the Barrani were a refinement, an improvement.” There was definitely
annoyance in his tone. “My kin could improve upon ourselves, could add words to the sentences that inscribed the start of
our existence.”
Kaylin’s brows rose as she considered the implications of that.
“Yes. You understand. We could empower ourselves, adding words that suited both our purpose and our existence; we could grow, and we could change, becoming more than we had been at our inception. Those changes were not guided by the Ancients, but by ourselves and the experiences that shaped us.
“Among any race, there are those who rise, those who shine, those whose brilliance casts shadows across their kin.”
Kaylin nodded.
“Among my kin, in our youth—or perhaps our middle age, for we were not young as even the Barrani might conceive of youth—was
one such Ancestor. Did you know that we were not given a racial name? It seemed our creators truly wished for us to flourish
as individuals. But could we, we might have claimed kinship with Angrelados, for he was the best of us, even in my own estimation.
“What he wished for was companionship. But his attempt to create the bonds that True Words can foster were met, always, with failure, disaster, even betrayal. The power that he had built over time was far too overwhelming.
In the best case, knowledge of his name, sight of it, devoured those whose sense of self was not nearly as deeply rooted;
they became part of him.
“In the worst case, they attempted to do what Barrani oft do when such vulnerability is offered: control, overwhelm, command.
He wished to be met by equals—but there was no equality. Only in the case where the foolhardy desired to commune with the Ancients was there greater risk. Even in the absence of
the desire to do harm, to cage, to control, the simple difference in power was overwhelming.
“It was a problem Angrelados chose to devote time and knowledge to solving, for the sense of isolation did not leave him.
Understand, again, that petty manners, petty etiquette, obscure the truth. Angrelados wanted an equal, a partner—but it was
impossible. No attempt to alter his truth, his Name, could change that. Not all of his compatriots were pleased with his choice;
they felt his enormous intellect was diverted to something so trivial as to be almost beneath notice.
“But he, as I, chose what was, and was not, beneath his notice. His interest oft made things interesting; that was his nature.”
She frowned.
“With time, with experimentation, he created and perfected a spell that would allow his communion, his connection, with beings
of lesser power—or markedly less power. We thought, once he had accomplished this task, he would turn once again to greater
mysteries, greater magics.
“He did not.”
“What happened to him?”
“That is beyond the remit of your query. What was created could be taught; it was not something that was entirely and only
limited to personal use. Angrelados felt that many of us would benefit from a way of interacting, of binding, that did not
destroy the precious object.”
Object. “Person.”
Androsse failed to acknowledge the correction. “The meaning was lost on many. It was considered irrelevant and impractical.”
“Impractical?” She could guess at why it would be considered irrelevant.
“Even if it is a minor use of power, it requires power. If one wishes to cherish one’s pets, there is no need to waste that
power; protecting and caring for them will be done regardless.”
“Do not antagonize the Chosen for no reason,” Kavallac snapped.
“She bears the Erenne mark. It is a clear indication that Nightshade felt the difference in their power was too great.”
But she also knew his True Name. “When you say power, what do you mean?”
“It is not a simple tattoo; it is not cosmetic. The meaning has been lost to those who use it, if they ever understood it
at all.”
Kaylin wanted to shriek in frustration. The need to understand this part was why she’d asked for research to be done at all. “It’s the nature of the connection that I need to understand. I can’t reach Nightshade through our namebond. There’s evidence that a similar
spell or poison or whatever it is is affecting other Barrani as well. But the Erenne mark is still active. It still bleeds.
It still reacts in some way to Nightshade. If I understand why, I may be able to heal him.”
“And he is your chief concern?”
“What? No, of course not.” She thought of the Consort. The Barrani Lake of Life. Annarion. “But he’s important in the larger
scheme.”
Androsse exhaled. “The information you wish to access is not complete. Angrelados kept records of his experiments and their
progress; I can give you dates that will have no meaning to anyone in this room. When he was successful, when he knew he was
successful, he ceased to experiment.”
“But his observations?”
“I have yet to find them, Chosen. Or did you imagine that the entirety of the library is indexed in my mind? I know the books
and scrolls that I have personally perused or seen; I do not know those I have yet to examine. There is a way to find information
that might be relevant to our search—but if we are not familiar with what we unearth, we are required to actually read. Which requires uninterrupted time, if you even understand what that means.”
Kaylin’s eyes narrowed. She understood that Androsse stood in the seat of his power. The library was enmeshed with his existence.
Her upbringing grappled with her current sense of responsibility. She knew better than to offend the powerful. She’d spent