Mrs. Erickson looked almost shocked, but beneath the veneer of surprise was something infinitely sadder. “These voices,” she said, “I have to hear. They—they possessed Lord Sanabalis. If it had happened in the streets people would have been hurt.”

Helen nodded.

“Can you hear them?” Mrs. Erickson then asked, her voice shaky with, Kaylin realized, hope.

“I can’t. Not the way you can. No one present will be able to do that, although Terrano is likely to give himself a monthlong headache trying. He does believe you. He can sense something—but he is a very unusual boy.”

“Can you safely contain what Kaylin now carries?” It was the Arkon who asked.

Helen nodded. “I believe the High Halls could do so as well. But I do not believe these words should be brought anywhere near the Barrani Lake of Life. Nor do I believe that they should be brought anywhere near the words at the heart of any building such as I, any building constructed by the Ancients, who have long vanished.”

“What do you fear will occur?”

Helen shook her head. “I have no specific fear; it is at best a guess made from a position of caution. All of us have methods of protecting those words, but when those protections are breeched, we are easily lost. Mrs. Erickson said you were possessed by these ghosts—do you understand the mechanism?”

“Ah, no.”

“Were you aware of the possession? Were you aware of yourself?”

“This is not a conversation I am willing to have in such a public fashion,” Sanabalis said, after a long pause. He shook his head. “I am old for this, and I, too, operate from the dictates of caution. I cannot trust you as Kaylin trusts you.” He exhaled a thin stream of smoke. “But I came this way for two reasons. If you feel you can safely house these guests, I will take some comfort in that.”

“That is one reason.”

“I wished to know if you could hear or see what Mrs. Erickson can.”

“Of course not,” Helen replied, looking genuinely confused.

“Of course?”

“She was born with the gifts she now possesses. It is as much a part of who and what she is as your breath, your ability to transform, is to you. But hers are far rarer and far more complicated. Kaylin is Chosen, even if she does not fully understand the weight of the power and responsibility that comes with it. Mrs. Erickson’s gift—if it can be called that—is as rare, in my limited experience, as the marks of the Chosen. It is not nearly as well-known.”

“How came you to know of it?” Sanabalis’s voice was soft, but the orange of his eyes deepened in color.

Helen was silent.

It was a silence Kaylin recognized. “She can’t answer you.”

“Can’t?”

“Won’t. It involves a former tenant.”