17 #2
half her life desperately trying to be invisible to them, as if her existence in and of itself was a crime worthy of death.
“I understand what it means,” she said, forcing herself into High Barrani, a language in which it was harder to accidentally give offense.
Speaking a different tongue made her do more thinking and less reacting.
“If you cannot locate all of the information about his research, I wish to ask for your personal perspective.”
Silence.
“It is clear to me that Angrelados was someone you knew personally.” It was a guess, but she was certain of it. Androsse’s
reactions were personal.
If Teela had been allowed into the library, she’d probably be glaring daggers at the side of Kaylin’s face. Serralyn’s eyes
were blue. But they weren’t as dark as Fallessian’s or Mandoran’s.
Careful.
Do you think I’m wrong? she asked her partner.
No. You’re definitely right. That’s why you have to be careful.
“Angrelados achieved what he wanted to achieve,” Kaylin continued. She frowned. “He loved the person for whom he created the
Erenne mark.” It was half a question.
“I told you, love is ridiculous.”
All arguments against that had been made; Kaylin didn’t start them again. “Sometimes genius is ridiculous, or so I’ve been
told.” She let the rest of his words sink in. “The Erenne mark could be used without that affection. Mine was.”
“It cannot be used in the absence of attraction, but in the modern world, I am given to understand that it is used to denote ownership. Claim. It is a visible deterrent to those who might otherwise cause harm.”
“If that was its only function, it would be unnecessary.”
“In later eras, it was used to humiliate, when political marriages were far more compulsory. It was meant as a statement.”
“We’re talking about now.”
“It is not used now, present company excepted.”
“Yes. I am here as that present company, attempting to understand the nature of the Erenne mark.”
“You will be here a very long time. Ancillary records indicating how the Erenne mark was used, and on whom, were included in my search. The bearers of the mark were not of a mind to speak of it; what we have is external—and often deeply dismissive—commentary. The Erenne mark did not convey power. The person who laid the mark did not bear a similar mark; it was not an equal relationship.” Androsse exhaled.
“If you do not understand what you have heard thus far, I am wasting my time.
But let me be clearer: the mark of the Erenne was meant to protect the weaker of the partners from the power of the stronger.
It was a barrier that allowed communion without the transformative
and corrosive effect of power that the weaker partner would otherwise find overwhelming.”
Kaylin had never spent time studying history—not the way the Arbiters did. She repented of her disdain. What had she said?
Why should I care what dead people did? I’m barely surviving living people. If she could have smacked her younger self upside the head, she’d’ve gone back in time and done it.
“But he wouldn’t have needed to do that. He wouldn’t have needed the mark at all. Without it, the person he wanted to mark would be safe. He built a bridge
between himself and his concubine. He meant for the Erenne mark to be used—just . . . safely.”
Androsse looked like he’d swallowed broken glass. “He did. But he did not choose to leave written records of when or how that
bridge might be used.”
“None at all?”
“None.”
“And what do you think, then, with your firsthand experience?”
“Kaylin,” Starrante said, moving toward her. “That is enough. It is not to speak of our personal lives that we were granted
our positions. We may, if we choose—but our personal lives are not the subjects of accepted queries. Students and researchers
are free to ask—if far too bold—but we fail none of our duties by refusing to answer.”
Androsse turned, not waiting for a response. But he stopped, back still toward Kaylin. “Corporal—you cannot protect the life of the man who marked you with the subtle powers the Erenne mark conveys. It is not possible. If that was your hope, abandon it.”
Silence enfolded the group as Androsse vanished.
It was Serralyn who broke it. “You had questions about healing magic and healers—those who didn’t bear the Marks of the Chosen.”
Kaylin nodded.
Starrante clicked and hissed, the Wevaran equivalent of clearing his throat. “That was the query I undertook. I offered to
relieve Arbiter Androsse of his burden, but he declined. The Erenne mark was a spell devised by his kin, not by ours. Arbiter
Kavallac has been researching the nature of True Words and the more specific True Names; that was her area of research before
she was chosen as Arbiter.”
Kaylin inhaled slowly. “Was Androsse friends with Angrelados?”
“Arbiter Androsse. And yes, you might say that. If it was not clear, Androsse considers the loss of Angrelados the end of his race,
such as it was. His dislike of the Erenne mark stems from that; it was the last great undertaking of an almost mythical being.”
“But . . .”
“Yes?”
“If it was a spell that could be used by anyone, how great could it be?”
“Perhaps it is great because it could be used by many people,” Starrante countered, his voice stiffer than usual, his eyes redder.
“Great is a word that denotes judgment; it is best to refrain from judgment when one stands in a position of ignorance—as all do who come to us seeking answers to their various questions.
What you offer is ignorance, in the hope that information contained in the library will alleviate that ignorance.
“We are aware—Serralyn made clear—that you are capable of healing and have been since the Marks of the Chosen appeared. Many
of your predecessors kept written records, and we have access to those. Very, very few of the bearers became healers. Not
none—but of those who did, they were mortals, and mortal bearers were few.
“I would ask that you keep written records in the future but have been told that this would be unlikely.”
Very.
“There are, however, books and documents that reference healers. Many are suspect; we expect them to be entirely fictitious.
But the time period in which novels and stories were written is similar, and the writing makes clear that readers were expected
to know and understand the role of a healer, and to accept that ability. We chose to focus first on that period.
“Within the current Empire, there have been two healers in the span of its four hundred years, present company excepted.”
“You’re certain?”
“We are. They served the Imperial forces. I assure you the Imperial forces do keep accurate records.”
“The healer didn’t heal the Emperor, though?”
“No. The Emperor—and the members of the Dragon Court—would not subject themselves to external healing. In that regard, the
implication is clear: the power to heal, absent the Marks, is still intrusive or invasive in nature. It is not, perhaps, the
desired outcome, as it relies upon a connection that is far too risky for those with both power and secrets.”
“Then who did they heal?”
“The various mortal officers of the Halls of Law, just as you have done since you first realized the power.”
“So . . . the healing power itself isn’t derived from the Marks of the Chosen, or it doesn’t have to be.”
Starrante’s eyes bobbed. “But it seems clear to us, after some discussion, that your healing does rely on the power of those Marks.” The silence eddied as Kaylin considered his words.
She’d had some vague hope, but it had remained vague because hope often led to a worse despair.
That made sense: if you climbed higher, the fall was more dangerous.
But if you never climbed at all, all that remained was despair.
“And so we come at last to the nature of True Words, and True Names. Serralyn has offered as much information about the circumstances
as she can; Androsse feels she crossed a line several times. It is safe to do so; the queries are private. It is part of the
reason we close the library to other visitors when we choose to undertake a research project of a delicate nature.
“You believe the reason you cannot heal Nightshade is that the power of your healing is derived from the Marks of the Chosen.”
Kaylin nodded. This was skirting a problem that should never be spoken about, and she knew it—but Serralyn knew it as well. If they couldn’t even
hint at the actual problem, the chance of finding a real solution was almost zero. Hells, if they could explain it all, the chance of finding answers was still too damn low.
“If what you desire is a healer, I feel your search will be both desperate and unsuccessful.”
“But that magic did exist.”
“Yes.”
Kaylin’s mind was a blur of information, none of it cohering in a useful way. “I have one more question for Androsse. For
Arbiter Androsse.”
“Ask. We will pass it on.”
“He was aware of the research done to create the Erenne mark, the Erenne binding. Ask him how much of that binding existed
only in our plane of existence.”
Starrante fell silent. His eyes swiveled in Kavallac’s direction; the Dragon’s lips were pursed. “You believe that not all of it was.”
Kaylin nodded. “I’m not even sure that the Ancestors were confined to one plane of existence. They seemed—the ones who attacked us—to be fully capable of sidestepping the way Terrano
does. Of standing with some part of themselves on a different plane. On all of the different planes.”
She hesitated. “Some of the archives contained in the library aren’t from our world.”
Kavallac nodded.
“But are they all from this plane? Or are there works that are from slightly different planes, different worlds within those
different planes?”
“That is not a question that can be easily answered by any of the Arbiters.” Kavallac’s expression was grim.
Kaylin exhaled. Kavallac’s tone mimicked the tone of the Imperial Security Service almost exactly. “Then just ask about the