“I do not understand your question.”
It was Mandoran who answered. Of course. Kaylin understood only half of what he said.
“I will return to Ravellon.”
“But he won’t be there.”
“I do not know.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes. The Arkon is impatient.”
“The Arkon is always impatient.” She picked up the pace, trusting Gilbert.
Mandoran kicked her ankle; she turned to glare, and he whispered, “He knows what he’s doing. He’s made his choice. No, it’s not a happy choice—but immortals are accustomed to that. All of us. Leave it?”
She opened her mouth.
Annarion—who wasn’t even present—added, “Please.” The desperate tone of his voice hit her, hard.
She closed her mouth. Next topic. “Why do you look like Shadow?”
“I do not know what you see when you look at me. I am certain that what I see of you is not what you see of yourself. When you speak of Shadow—or when Kattea does—she refers in large part to what she calls Ferals.”
She would.
“But, Kaylin, the Shadow of which you speak exists in you, as well. It is not so large a component as exists in me, but it is unfettered.”
He must have seen her expression with one of his floating eyes, because all she could see was his back and he didn’t have eyes in it. “The Shadow in you is slight and unrestrained. In me, it is contained, confined. It is a necessary component of my existence. It gives me...flexibility.”
“But the Towers were created to guard against Shadow.”
“Yes.”
“And the Shadows in Ravellon—”
“Yes. It is complicated. Shadow as it exists in me has no will. In you, it has no will; you are in control of most of your actions. You require sustenance. You require rest. You do not classify these as particular weaknesses. If, in sleep, a differing sentience arose, you would. Change is a fundament of your world. If you could not change, you could not exist. Time is the allowable axis around which that change revolves.”
Time. Again.
“Change was revered, before I, and my kin, were created. What you classify as Shadow is ancient. It was the work of many and its existence, the cause of many debates. Perhaps you would call them wars, if you could witness them at all; I do not think you could.”
“Could we?” Mandoran asked.
“It is possible you could perceive it. You are not as Kaylin is. But it is not relevant, at least not now. The malleability of Shadow was considered a gift; it was a medium in which much that had been impossible became possible. It was not, itself, sentient. But in the way of things, Shadow itself could alter what could not otherwise be altered.”
Kaylin frowned. After a pause, she said, “The words?”
“Yes, Kaylin. The words. The words that gave life, even to those who were of Shadow. They could not destroy the words, of course—but they could, with time, alter their construction, and in so doing, change the meaning. I do not believe this was the intent of their creators, and at first, it was not seen as a threat; it was...new. Unexpected. A surprise. Not all such surprises are pleasant.
“I was created long after. I was not meant to police the Shadows, or even to guard directly against them; that was not my function. Only where their actions crossed my directives did I seek to destroy them. Kattea has said she hates Shadow.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I do not. It is what it is. It is, in the end, the sum of its experiences. Does it destroy? Yes. But so do the Towers and the Guardians. It is not personal.”
“And are Shadows involved in this?”
“No. Not directly, and perhaps not at all.”
“Then what is?”
“Shall we see?” He took one step forward, and as Kaylin followed, the world reasserted itself. Annarion, Severn and the Arkon waited. Annarion gave her a tiny nod of acknowledgment; his eyes were blue. Blue and...gold. It was a very striking combination.
“We found Evanton,” she said—to the Dragon. “And I think we need to take a different road to the Winding Path.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“See those halls?” She pointed to the spherical absence that had once been worn, wooden flooring.
The Arkon frowned.
“We need to go there.”
*
She lost Nightshade when she regained sight of the rest of the world. She noticed his absence instantly. “I don’t understand time.”
“No. But you are not meant to understand it except in one way. You follow time; you are captive to it.” This was not the usual variant on the inferiority of mortals; Gilbert didn’t seem capable of genuine condescension.
Kaylin nodded. Severn fell in beside her. “We’re looking for stairs,” she said. “Down.”
“My function is not to preserve you or your kind. That is, perhaps, the function of what you call the Towers.”