Page 187 of Cast in Conflict

“I am, as I said, collecting those books that are unique, now. I will not be long.”

The ground shook again. This time, Kaylin could hear a steady, slow thump, as if the stone of the floor had been situated above a giant who intended to physically join them. She almost said, Can you hurry? but stopped the words from leaving her mouth. “Can we help?” she asked instead.

“I highly doubt you can help with the collecting. You do not strike me as a scholar, and it is highly unlikely that you have spent enough time in libraries that you might immediately recognize those books that are singular. There is history in the knowledge, but I do not imagine you would, in the time you are allotted, gain enough knowledge to be of use in an emergency.”

“Never mind. Can Mandoran help?”

“I would rather he not touch the books. Some are delicate and some are...not books as you would understand them. He is, to my eyes, unstable; he could be injured, or the books might be damaged.” It was clear which of the two was the primary concern.

Mandoran rolled his eyes but said nothing.

This continued for what felt like hours.

But she was more concerned with the floor than the books or the librarian. The tremors had become much stronger, the floor buckling and cracking beneath her feet. Mandoran was no longer on the ground; Kaylin, impeded by gravity, had to struggle to remain standing. She eventually crouched.

“Are you sure that’s wise?” Mandoran asked, as she pressed her hand—her left hand—against the stone.

“Probably not. The stone is warm.”

“I highly doubt it’s stone.”

“Bakkon—we can’t carry half your library out the door, never mind down the streets.”

“Of course not.”

The words she said next were lost to the sudden sound of things hitting the floor. Many things. Kaylin rose and sprinted immediately in the direction of the sound. Mandoran followed, drifting above the stone she had said was warm.

Bakkon didn’t appear to be injured. Kaylin had assumed a book, stuck between too many other books, had caused the Wevaran to pull the contents of a shelf down.

She was wrong.

One book remained curled in the folds of a limb; the Wevaran threw it to Kaylin—or Mandoran, as they were both approaching from the same general direction. The volume flew over Kaylin’s head—she’d ducked instinctively; Mandoran caught it and staggered back, coming to ground to gain traction.

She drew her knives.

Standing on the other side of the Wevaran, between two very tall shelves that seemed to be bowing inward, was a Shadow.

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The creature was not like the Ferals of Kaylin’s childhood. Ferals—like Barrani and apparently Aerians—could leave Ravellon to hunt in the streets of the fiefs that surrounded it and return.

This creature was what Kaylin thought of as a one-off: it couldn’t breach the barriers erected by the Towers unless something was badly, badly wrong with the Tower itself.

She was aware that a year ago—maybe less—she would have assumed that Bakkon and Starrante were pure Shadow. But even entities that couldn’t leave Ravellon on their own had surprised her: Gilbert. Spike.

She tightened her grip on the daggers, moving toward Bakkon. Bakkon flicked a limb in her direction, holding it up so that it was almost in front of her face. She knew this was probably the same gesture, in a spider’s body, that she might make if she wanted people to stop moving—but she stiffened as the small claws that comprised fingers flexed in front of her face.

Looking past those claws, she studied the Shadow from what she hoped was a safe distance. It wasn’t—but Bakkon was a living wall.

Without thinking too much, Kaylin reached up and grasped those claws, surrendering the dagger in her left hand to do so. She wanted to tell the Wevaran to be careful, but didn’t. The advice was ludicrous on its surface; she had no idea what the Wevaran could do in battle, and the Wevaran’s knowledge of the creatures of Shadow was like an ocean compared to her puddle.

“Do not get involved in this,” the Wevaran now said.

She looked at the Shadow. She couldn’t see Gilbert in him. Couldn’t see Spike. What she saw was a large mass of darkness, Shadow roiling beneath invisible skin. Its feet were smoke and dark mist, colors sparkling within its moving folds.

It had three eyes roughly positioned where a face might have been; in some ways it was less disturbing than the Wevaran. It had no discernible limbs, but even thinking that, she could see blobs extend from its middle. They appeared almost jelly-like.

Bakkon lifted a second leg in Kaylin’s direction. In its claws, he held a small, pale bag. Kaylin blanched as it reached her; it was the color of his webbing. The Wevaran coughed; Kaylin thought it was an unsubtle nag. It wasn’t; he was spitting web in the forward direction.

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