Cast in Honor (Chronicles of Elantra, #11)(94)

“The hall here is narrow,” Kaylin told the girl, as they made their way past the kitchen. Water had risen quickly enough here that the dishes caught in the flood hadn’t shattered; they rested on the ground. That was about the only positive thing that could be said for the state of the kitchen.

She started to lead the way out of the kitchen and stopped; Evanton’s back hall was not two people wide, even if one of them was pure liquid. Before she could disengage her hand, she heard voices. Well, to be precise, she heard squawking.

Small and flappy sailed into view. He paused in front of the water’s Avatar, screeching like an outraged seagull. This didn’t appear to upset the water. It gave Kaylin a headache.

“I see you were busy.” Evanton surveyed the mess of his kitchen with pursed lips and very narrow eyes. Grethan, coming up behind his master, viewed it with dismay. Gilbert, on the other hand, had to be reminded—by Kattea—not to step on the dishes.

The water’s Avatar shifted in place. Kaylin tightened her grip. The last thing she wanted—at this very moment, as last-things-wanted was a moving list—was for hostilities between the water and Gilbert to resume. Gilbert, in his disheveled clothing, was not dripping wet. He turned to face the water—or maybe the familiar, it was hard to tell. Gilbert’s eyes—the eyes Kaylin thought of as natural—were unfocused. His third eye was open, unblinking black.

“Gilbert,” she said, before he could speak. “You said that you were created for a specific purpose, sort of like Helen was.”

“Yes.”

“What, exactly, was that purpose?”

Silence.

No, Kaylin thought, as she waited for a reply, he wasn’t silent. She could feel the rumble beneath her feet that implied Dragon “discussion”; she just couldn’t hear it.

Gilbert regarded the water. The water’s Avatar returned his regard. Water, when frozen, became ice, and Kaylin could feel the drop in temperature.

“You have spoken with the water,” Gilbert said. Since he spoke while looking at the water, it took Kaylin a few seconds to catch on.

“Yes.”

“Do you understand what now needs to be done?”

“No. Understanding it is high on my list of emergencies, though. You didn’t come here to destroy the water, did you?”

This did get his attention, or at least the attention of two of his eyes. “Of course not. The water cannot, in any meaningful way, be destroyed.”

“Did you manage to speak to the water?”

“We did not,” Evanton said, before Gilbert could. “The Garden was in some disarray.” He looked, pointedly, at the water’s Avatar. “Nor does it appear to be necessary. I am an old man, Kaylin.” This was code for: I don’t have much time left, so you better not be wasting it. “The water, however, appears to be calm at the moment.” The irritation left his expression as he approached the water’s Avatar.

Almost gently, he said, “You should rest.” As if the water were, in fact, a very exhausted mortal woman who had been pushed just past the edge of her limits—and was not wearing a Hawk tabard.

“I am not here to destroy you,” Gilbert added. “And if that is your fear, you fail to understand my purpose.” He turned to Kattea. Kattea was hovering uncertainly at his side, and he bent and lifted her.

“I fail to understand your purpose,” Kaylin interjected. “And I’m trying really, really hard. You have something to do with time?”

He nodded. “I can traverse time because my nature is not your nature. What I said of you—and your companions—is true. You live in time. It is necessary for you to function.

“The Ancients were not so bound. Their understanding of causality was therefore different. Causality implies a before and an after; it connects them. Causality is at the heart of ancient stories. You carry them,” he added. “I do not understand why those forces sought to create stories—and to you, Kaylin, those stories would be so vast, world might be a better description.

“The place you call ‘world’ is comprised of many things. The water is one. The Keeper’s function is to contain the water, to constrain enough of its movements that ‘world’ is stable.”

“He doesn’t—”

“He does. You think of storms and the lives lost in them; of fires and the lives lost in them; of earthquakes, perhaps, and the lives lost to them. The Keeper’s role is not simple safety; it is not for the benefit to one life. Were it not for the Keeper, you could not live at all. You were structured, you were iteratively created, to live in this cage.

“I am not cognizant of all of the iterations. Nor am I cognizant of all of the failures. I am not aware of the minutiae. I am aware that it exists.”

“Wait—is the water trapped here, then?”

“No,” the water replied. “And yes.”

Great. More questions.

“You exist,” Gilbert continued. “It is not that you are invisible to me. But I do not look at specific elements, and if they are like you or Kattea, they are too brief; by the time I turn to look, they are gone. The water, I see. Your familiar, I see.”

“But Mandoran and Annarion—”

“They exist in multiple ways. There are places to which I can go, elements which I can study in less chaotic, less frenzied, environs. They are part of those, and yet also, part of here.” His smile was almost rueful. “As am I now; I believe I understand it better than I did.” He abandoned his smile. “Water exists. But in its ability to interact with your kind, it is constrained—must be constrained—as you are constrained.