Cast in Sorrow. Michelle Sagara

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      “Yes.”

      “Do you know her history?”

      “I can’t possibly claim to know all of it, but I know what happened in the West March when she was young enough to be considered a child—and I know that she eventually came back, and she wore a variant of the same dress I’m wearing now. I know how her mother died. I know where. And I know that it’s considered an act of high treason to attempt to do now what was attempted then.” She tried to dampen the heat in her voice, and slid back into High Barrani. You could insult someone in High Barrani, but you had to work harder to do it.

      “I did not come here to discuss Teela.”

      “No.”

      “Why did you ask me here?”

      “We asked,” the eagles said in unison.

      “The Consort touched the nightmares of the Hallionne, and she has not yet awakened. Lord Lirienne,” she continued, choosing to forego the title that seemed to vex Lord Barian’s mother, “said that the Warden absorbs those nightmares, except when the Lady is present.”

      “I would accept them, regardless, but it is proof that she is present. Lord Lirienne took two war bands and left the West March in haste, at the urging of the Hallionne Orbaranne. We did not know if either he, or the party that set out from the city, survived.”

      “How did he know to leave?”

      “You will have to ask him. I do not speak with any of the Hallionne except Alsanis—and even that speech is limited. I touch the edges of his dreaming, and his nightmare, no more. My grandfather spoke to the Hallionne frequently. After the disaster in the green, he could still communicate with Alsanis; it became more difficult with the passage of time.

      “They’re not trapped in the Hallionne,” Kaylin said. She meant the transformed. The lost children. He knew.

      “They were,” he replied. “The Hallionne’s defenses are strong; what occurs within its walls occurs at the heart of his power. The Hallionne were not, and have never been, what we are; they have a breadth of experience that we could not survive. The children are called lost for a reason; they are no longer Barrani in any meaningful way.”

      “Are they the nightmares of the Hallionne?”

      “No.”

      “Nightmares first, lost children later.” She hesitated and then said, “They remember who—and what—they were.”

      “Demonstrably; they would not be so great a danger to us otherwise.”

      “Dreams of Alsanis,” Kaylin said quietly to the two eagles, “how do I wake you? When you landed in my hands, did you sense me at all?”

      They glanced at each other. “Yes. You wear the blood of the green, and beneath its folds, you bear the marks of the Chosen.”

      “Can you read them?”

      They turned to stare at each other, and then once again, at Kaylin. “Can you not?” one finally asked.

      It was embarrassing to admit her failure to the large birds, but ignorance wasn’t a crime. “No.”

      “But—”

      Severn joined her, sliding an arm around her upper back. “Have you spoken with others who bear similar marks?” he asked.

      “Yes. Not often. We are not Chosen. The Hallionne are not Chosen. They could not be and do what must be done; they do not travel.”

      Neither did Kaylin, if she had any choice in the matter. She kept this to herself.

      “Were the others able to read the marks?”

      “How could they not? The marks were of them.”

      “I didn’t choose the marks,” Kaylin said quietly.

      “Then how do you bear their weight?”

      “They chose me.”

      “How can you do what must be done if you cannot read what is written?”

      “The marks didn’t come with instructions,” Kaylin said, voice flat.

      Severn, however, said, “Can you tell her what they say? Can you tell her what task they’re meant to accomplish?”

      They glanced at each other again. “We are not Chosen,” they finally said—in unison. They said more, but it was unintelligible; it was clearly language, and just as clearly beyond her grasp.

      She lifted a hand. “Can you teach me the language you speak?”

      They considered each other again. “It is vexing,” the one on Barian’s arm said, “but we do not believe it can be taught to such a small mind. You cannot speak it.”

      “But the marks would not be given to one who is mute,” the other eagle said.

      “Demonstrably they were,” Kaylin said. She was annoyed; no one liked to be talked about in the third person when they were in the literal middle of a discussion. “Wait.”

      Severn knew that tone of voice.

      “Can the lost children speak the language?”

      There was a long pause. “Yes,” the eagle on Barian’s arm said, the single word spoken in sorrow. “Yes, now they can.”

      “Did the Hallionne teach them?”

      The eagles fell silent. Kaylin reached out and grabbed the leg of the bird on her arm before it could fly; Barian’s eagle was already gone.

      “I won’t ask more,” she said softly. “But I need to understand what you are.”

      “We are the dreams Alsanis,” the eagle replied gravely. “What we see and know, he sees and knows—but he can no longer discern what is fixed in place.”

      She rushed onward. “The Wardens take the nightmares of Alsanis.”

      “They do. It is to the Wardens that we come, when we are conscious.”

      “Do the nightmares end?”

      “End?”

      “When we—when mortals—have dreams or nightmares, they end when we wake. Sometimes they drive us in terror from sleep, they feel so real. Will the Consort wake from the nightmares of Alsanis?”

      “Barian,” the eagle said, “does she speak truth?”

      “She speaks truth as mortals perceive it, although mortals are capable of lying.”

      “What would be the point in lying now?” Kaylin said, in frustrated Elantran. “Nightmares aren’t reality. Lying about them won’t change either the nightmares or real life.”

      “The nightmares of Alsanis are not the nightmares СКАЧАТЬ