“I am the keeper of the archives; things ancient within the boundaries of the city are my responsibility, by Imperial Decree.”
Gilbert said, as if the Arkon had not spoken, “We have assumed this is a matter of time. I do not believe this is necessarily accurate, given the lack of overall disturbance. But there are other factors involved in this plane you call your world. There are actions the Ancients could take that you cannot take. You are Chosen, but you are confined, in all ways, by the limits of your state.
“The Ancients were not. I am not. You see me, now, as I am—but you cannot see all of me. Nothing I could do to you would permit it. Mandoran and Annarion can see more—but it is that ability that makes their existence so tenuous in your world. They are trying...to invert themselves. Do you understand?”
“You mean—invert themselves the way you inverted yourself to talk to Nightshade?”
“Yes.”
“Uh, that’s not how we see it,” Mandoran cut in.
“No?” The eyes—even the ones on Kaylin’s arms—swiveled to try to get a glimpse of Mandoran.
“Definitely not.”
But Kaylin said, “Do you think that someone like me—or Teela, or the Arkon—is trying to invert themselves in the opposite direction?”
“I fear that is very much the case. I do not know how Annarion or Mandoran came to be who, or what, they are, but it is not, in my opinion, something that you could survive. Not even as Chosen.”
“So...the person who did this is probably dead, and we’re left with the disaster?”
“I do not know. I do not know who did this. I can make guesses as to why—but it is my supposition that they sought to be free of all confines.”
“Which means?”
Mandoran snorted in derision. “They wanted to be gods.”
Kaylin, looking at the eyes on her shirtsleeve and the swirling Shadow tendrils that seemed to be the whole of what Gilbert now was, said, “I bet it’s overrated.”
“I don’t know. We’re not gods. We have trouble being whatever it is we now are. Gilbert?”
“Yes.”
“The door’s not getting any closer.”
“No. No, it is not. Please brace yourselves.”
The Arkon grunted.
The familiar said something in a language Kaylin didn’t recognize. The meaning, however, was plain. Just use Leontine, she told him. That’s what the rest of us do.
It does not come to me as naturally. Forgive me any pain I cause you.
*
Kaylin had time to brace herself, but only barely. Many things seemed to happen in a frenzied rush, but they were each distinct enough that she could catalog them.
First: the water roared. The sound was similar to Dragon roaring, but it resonated in a different way. Possibly because the water was in her ears. Literally. The Avatar lost form and shape as it rushed up Kaylin’s arm to surround her in a moving pillar. Kaylin didn’t even have time to hold her breath.
Second: Gilbert reached for the door. He reached with a multitude of tendrils, each of which ended in an eye. Kaylin could see the eyes dissolve, and wasn’t squeamish enough—barely—to look away or close her own. It was as if the door was exactly what it appeared to be: a chalk drawing on cobbled stone. Flat and unreal.
Gilbert’s eyes were crushed; Kaylin swore she could hear them squelching.
Third: the door moved. Under the locomotion of tentacles of creeping Shadow, it moved—directly toward where Kaylin now stood. Protect the Arkon! she thought desperately to the elemental water.
The water expanded. It expanded to encompass him, just as the door hit with the force of an Arcane bomb.
*
Kaylin was very, very, very grateful that Severn had chosen to remain with Kattea—because if he hadn’t, Kattea would be here. She would be at the heart of the explosion, because that was where Gilbert was.
She would be at the very center of the expanding wave of something that was like Shadow, but paler, brighter and harsher. Water streamed away, as if the column that had protected Kaylin from the impact was wounded badly. Kaylin’s arms were glowing a brilliant gold. She hadn’t released the water’s hand; her own still clutched it as if it were still in that form.
She instinctively tried to heal the water.
The familiar squealed in her ear. He didn’t speak, but clearly she was about to be so stupid she didn’t deserve actual words. She cursed him in gurgling Leontine and held on to the water as if her life depended on it.
“Remind me,” the Arkon said, his voice very watery, “that I am never to be involved with one of your excursions again. It makes me angry.”
For once, Dragon anger was not the biggest threat in the room. And room was entirely the wrong word for it. It was a space, yes—but it wasn’t confined by walls or ceiling, or even a visible floor. Nor was it empty.