“There’s a slight problem with that,” Mandoran said. “Gilbert’s not moving.”
“I know that. But he’s not dead, either. If he were, you wouldn’t have eyes. I mean, you wouldn’t each have a third one. And the third eye is moving, even if the rest of Gilbert isn’t. I think he’s—I think he’s stuck like that on purpose.”
“Because of the eyes.”
“Yes, because of the eyes.”
“She’s going to strangle you,” Teela told her friend. “And I might consider helping, even in my diminished state.”
“Fine. What exactly do you propose?”
Kaylin handed Mandoran the mirror. The third eye widened. It looked as if it were trying to expand, and that was more disturbing than its continued existence in Mandoran’s forehead. Annarion immediately came to join him, which had the same effect. Both of their eyes—their natural eyes—rounded.
“Or maybe I’ll strangle Kaylin instead,” Teela said.
Mandoran coughed and said, “You’re the Chosen.”
“Well, that’s just great.”
*
Kaylin rolled up her sleeves.
They don’t even give instructions, she said to her familiar.
No. But, Kaylin, having observed your life for some small time, they don’t give you instructions for living, either. Life happens.
Not everyone who is alive has marks like these.
No. And not everyone who has borne them hated or feared them.
Kaylin walked over to Gilbert, or to the part of him that she could actually reach, none of which involved his eyes. She touched the extended Shadow that was his body. It felt surprisingly like the mirror barrier that prevented entrance into the house, but it reflected nothing. This made sense. She didn’t expect to see a reflection of herself in Gilbert, because in the end, he wasn’t human. Or Barrani. Or Dragon. She could spend her entire life studying Gilbert, and she knew she would never understand most of him; she probably couldn’t conceive of what most of him was.
He looked monstrous, to the eye.
But people who looked dazzling could be monstrous. She had some experience with that. And whatever Gilbert was, he had saved Kattea’s life. He had not lied to Kattea about what he was. He had not promised anything.
He promised he would return to her.
Yes. But that wasn’t a lie. Not yet.
He understood loneliness. Or maybe he didn’t understand it. But he felt it. He was ancient, but in some ways, it was impossible not to think of him as young. It was the lack of practical experience. It was the open confusion. Gilbert had not learned to hide his weaknesses. On this plane, he didn’t appear to even understand many of them.
“Gilbert, can you hear me?” She glanced at Mandoran; Gilbert’s eye moved. “I—we—can’t use the mirror network the way you’ve used it. Or the way I think you’ve been using it. I’m not sure it’s even safe for us—”
The eye rounded.
“—without you. But we can’t get in. I understand that you’re buying us time—our time, our version of it—but the time won’t matter if we’re stuck outside.” As she spoke, the light of the words on her skin dimmed. “Can you use the mirror network to build us a passage?” And build yourself a mouth, she thought, trying not to let anxiety tumble into frustration.
The eye in Mandoran’s forehead narrowed.
“Can you hear anything?” she asked him.
“No, sorry. Don’t give me that look—I’m trying. This is nothing like the heart of the green.”
The words dimmed again. Kaylin held out a hand, and Mandoran dropped the portable mirror into her palm. “Records. Winding Path, basement.”
*
Portable mirrors were considered conveniences for relaying information to Records. The small glass surface was not considered useful for studying that information, except in a pinch—which this was. Kaylin wasn’t certain what the mirror would show and was almost disappointed to see a small, hand-sized version of the basement as she had first seen it, what felt like months ago.
“Records: bodies.”
The image in the mirror moved exactly the way it would have moved on a normal day. She felt disappointment deepen and panic grow.
“Do not drop the mirror,” the Arkon told her. His voice, however, had lost the sharpness of edge. “Put it down, Private. Put it down carefully.”
“But it’s not—”
“Put it down.”
She swallowed, nodded and bent at the knees, placing the mirror’s nonreflective back against uneven stone. That done, she stepped back.
Shadow fell like a silent tidal wave. She stood beneath it, raising her arms to cover her face—which was both instinctive and less than useless. But the Shadow didn’t hit her, didn’t crush her—and didn’t sweep anyone away. It didn’t break stone or fence or lamppost.