Dawnshard Page 9

  As for the other . . . she read an old story to me about creatures that were living heaps of cremlings. They would grow in the attics of buildings, then devour the occupants. She says she once considered these stories fancies, no more real than things like the gloomdancer or sea hags from Thaylen mythology. However, she notes that recently she’s begun hearing more reports of similar things—and from credible sources. She urges caution.

  I’d appreciate any further information she can find, Rysn wrote. If this were the only oddity we’d encountered, I wouldn’t be so upset. But following the other items I mentioned, Babsk, it seems like a pattern. I think someone on the ship is deliberately trying to frighten my crew. And there might be an explanation that is more likely than these ancient stories.

  In what way? Vstim dictated. How could some saboteur have created a santhid corpse like that?

  You remember what I encountered six months ago? Rysn wrote. Right before the Battle of Thaylen Field? What if this was created by something like that?

  An enemy Lightweaver, Vstim dictated. You think maybe someone made an illusion of a santhid corpse, then panicked as they realized you intended to tow it with you rather than sail away.

  Exactly, Rysn wrote. And they made the illusion break into cremlings as a way of covering up what they’d done.

  But in that case, he dictated back, wouldn’t it mean an enemy Lightweaver is close? Potentially on the ship?

  Rysn didn’t respond. That was what it would mean—though admittedly she didn’t have a lot of experience with what Surgebinders could do or the range of their abilities.

  I have a spanreed here to Queen Jasnah, Vstim dictated to her. Just a moment. I am explaining your theory. I warned the others I would tell you what I had learned about the Oathgates. I made it clear that I did not appreciate one of my friends being sent on a dangerous mission without full knowledge.

  Rysn stared at the page. Friend? He was her master, her teacher. Honestly, her idol. Did he actually see her as a friend, now that she was grown? Something about that made her start to tear up.

  All right, Vstim dictated, unaware of how that one word had affected her. Queen Jasnah is agreeing with your theory. She wrote, “Of course, that is an astute observation. I should have seen that possibility. Our access to these powers is too new—we keep overlooking such things.

  “Compliment your shipowner for me, and warn her that an enemy Lightweaver is a very real possibility. And tell her that if there truly is one aboard, her mission is even more important, for it means the enemy is trying to prevent us from studying Akinah.” From this woman, I think that is high praise, Rysn.

  When the pen didn’t write more, Rysn sent a reply. Well, I did almost get myself killed by one of those Lightweavers a few months ago. It’s not cleverness on my part to consider them; more an instinct for self-preservation.

  Yes, Vstim dictated. Rysn . . . perhaps sending you on this particular mission was unwise. The more I ponder it, the more I believe we should have sent a fleet instead of one ship.

  Could we spare a fleet? Rysn wrote, though she knew the answer. Their navy had been dealt a serious blow when the parshmen—the Voidbringers—had turned. Most of the ships that remained were vital in escorting troop transports and preventing Thaylen City from being blockaded. So no, a fleet could not be spared for an expedition like this.

  When no reply came, Rysn glanced at Chiri-Chiri sleeping on the stones beside her. Then she started writing again. Babsk, Rysn wrote, you trained me for difficult, remote work. You made a woman out of a selfish child, and that woman is now prepared to use her expertise. I can do this.

  I do not doubt that you can, Vstim dictated back. But I don’t want anything else to happen to you in my service.

  She glanced at her numb legs, beneath the writing board. I will be careful, Rysn wrote. And you have done a great deal for me already.

  Farewell, then, Vstim dictated. I trust your judgment, but please understand that if you decide it is right to turn back, you should do so—regardless of what anyone says. You must lead this mission according to your wisdom.

  If only the crew had such faith in her. She said farewell to Vstim, then packed away her spanreed. After that, she looked up at the dark sky, searching for starspren and listening to the gentle crash of the waves. On her first few trips with her babsk, she’d been so self-absorbed—so frustrated at missing out on parties and negotiations with powerful houses—that she’d completely missed the beauty of this. Stars above, a sea breeze, and the soothing whispers of an ocean calling her to its embrace.

  A soft sigh announced Nikli standing up nearby and stretching. He stepped over. “Brightness,” he said, “it sounds like the food is ready. I’m curious to see if Cord’s stew is better than mine. I’m going to get some for myself. Would you like a bowl as well?”

  “In a while,” Rysn said, looking out at the ocean. Little wavespren—like crawling four-legged creatures with smooth skin and large eyes—rode the foam up onto the beach, then quickly retreated with the water. “Your village is in . . . Alm, is it?”

  “Yes, Brightness,” he said. “Inland, up against the mountains.”

  “That’s close to Aimia. Do your people have any legends or stories about the place?”

  Nikli settled down on a large stone beside her chair. “We do. A lot of the survivors of the scouring settled nearby.”

  “Blue fingernails?” Rysn asked. “And vibrant blue eyes?”

  “No, there were also ordinary people on Aimia,” Nikli said. “Though they wear their beards in that odd way that’s popular in Steen.”

  “Oh,” she said. “What have they told you? About the scouring, about their homeland?”

  “Brightness . . . the scouring was a long, long time ago. What we know are mostly myths, passed from generation to generation in stories and songs. I don’t know if any of it would be useful to you.”

  “I’d like to hear them anyway,” Rysn said. “If it’s all right with you.”

  He watched the waves for a time. “It happened,” he finally said, “because of the fall of the Radiants. Aimia had always been . . . different. The people who lived there. They were close with the Radiants, and maybe kept too many secrets. They assumed their secrets would protect them, but then their allies fell. And secrets can’t hold swords.

  “Suddenly they were alone in the world, and they possessed vast riches. It was just a matter of time. Perhaps some of the invaders were genuinely frightened of the oddities in Aimia. But most saw only the wealth. The fabrials, the creatures who could stop Shardplate, drain Stormlight.” He hesitated, his eyes focusing on Chiri-Chiri. “I mean . . . that’s what the legends say. I didn’t give them a lot of credence until I met you.”

  “That’s fascinating,” Rysn said, getting out a fresh sheet of paper to record what he’d said. “Scholars around the world talk about Aimia in hushed tones. But I wonder, have they ever come and interviewed your people?”

  “I’m sure they’ve talked to the human survivors,” he said, looking down. “And there are immortals who lived on the island and now wander the world. I’m a poor source for information on this topic, Brightness.”

  “Nevertheless,” she said. “What happened? How was the place scoured?”

  “I don’t know if my inadequate knowledge is of use to—”

  “Please,” Rysn said.

  He continued watching the waves. A brave wavespren crawled all the way up the stone beach to their toes before turning and scuttling back into the water.

  “Aimia shouldn’t have existed, Brightness,” Nikli said. “It . . . well, it should always have been like it is now. Barren. Too cold for much to grow. It isn’t like Thaylenah, with favorable ocean currents nearby.

  “But those old Aimians, they knew ways to make it lush, alive. There are . . . stories of fantastical devices that transformed Aimia from wasteland to paradise. I guess it was beautiful. I’ve imagined it that way, when hearing the stories. But . . .”

  �
�But?” Rysn prompted.

  “Well, the people who attacked Aimia quickly realized that destroying these devices would catastrophically undermine the place.” He shrugged. “That’s really all I know. Without these . . . fabrials, I guess they were? Without them, the island couldn’t sustain a nation.

  “Many were killed in the wars. Others fled. And the place has always been subject to unusual storms, so it became unlivable. It was looted, abandoned. Those who survived came to live near us. And wept for their doomed paradise.”

  The melancholy in his voice made her look up from her writing. He glanced at her, then excused himself and went off to get something to eat. Rysn watched him go, tapping her pen against her paper. Curious . . .

  Footsteps on the stones made her glance up to find a single figure—backlit by the bonfire—approaching. The Horneater woman, Cord, carrying a bowl of stew.

  “Stew,” she explained in Alethi, gesturing it toward Rysn. “I make. Try?”

  Rysn accepted the bowl, feeling the warmth through the wood. It was good. Fish stew, with a unique blend of spices she’d come to associate with the Horneater woman’s meals. The crew certainly enjoyed having her on board; her food was a huge improvement over the previous cook’s offerings.

  Rysn ate quietly as Cord settled down on the rocks beside her. “Captain?” Cord asked.

  “I’m not the captain,” Rysn said gently.

  “Yes. I forget word,” Cord said. “But . . . Brightness. Thing we saw. Corpse, becoming cremlings? I know of this thing.”

  “You do?”

  “In Peaks,” Cord said, “we have gods. And some are . . . I explain that this thing is . . . Ah, these words! Why do none speak ones that work?”

  “The Horneater Peaks are in Jah Keved, right?” Rysn said, switching to Veden. “We can try this, if it’s easier for you.”

  Cord’s eyes went wide, and a single awespren—like a ring of expanding smoke—exploded behind her. “You speak Veden?”

  “Of course,” Rysn said, “it—” She cut herself off from saying it was very similar to Alethi, and easy to learn once you knew that language. Easy was a relative term, and these days Rysn was keenly aware that what was easy for one person could be a challenge for another. “It was part of my training as a trademaster. Alethi, Veden, Azish. Even some Iriali.”

  “Oh, mala’lini’ka,” Cord said, taking her hand. “Someone who can speak a proper tongue. I wish I’d known this sooner. Listen. The creature we saw? The dead santhid? That is a god, not-captain Rysn. A powerful god.”

  “Interesting,” Rysn said. “What kind of god?”

  “My people know the gods well,” Cord said, speaking quickly, eagerly. “There are gods that you call spren. There are gods that are like people. But some gods . . . some gods are neither. The one we met is of a group called the Gods Who Sleep Not.”

  “And they hide in attics?” Rysn said. “And devour the people who live in the homes?”

  “Tuli’iti’na, foolish lowlander talk. Listen. They are a swarm of creatures, but they have one mind each. They have traveled our land, always as a creeping group of cremlings. They are not evil, but they are extremely secretive.”

  “I appreciate the information,” Rysn said, thoughtful. “Can you tell me more of these gods who don’t sleep?”

  “Maybe,” Cord said. “I know that lowlanders do not listen to our stories or think them true, but please understand. These gods guard treasures. Powerful, terrible treasures.”

  “That part sounds encouraging,” Rysn said.

  “Yes, but these gods are so dangerous, not-captain. They are associated with apaliki’tokoa’a who lead to treasure. . . . And the stories speak of trials. Tests.”

  “What do you think we should do? Turn back?”

  “I . . . do not know,” Cord said, wringing her hands. “I have no personal experience. My father might know more, if I were to write to him.”

  “Where is he?” Rysn said. “I will let you use my spanreeds, if they can reach him. I will listen to any information you find on these beings, no matter how insignificant it may seem at first.”

  “My father is at Urithiru,” Cord said, gripping her hand again. “Thank you. Yes, that would help. He—” She stopped and looked sharply at the sky.

  “Cord?” Rysn asked.

  “Spren,” she said. “In the sky.”

  “I don’t see any,” Rysn said, frowning and glancing upward. “Did one of the stars move?”

  “No, not starspren,” Cord said. “Apaliki’tokoa’a. Lopen called them luckspren.” She frowned. “They are swirling around in the sky, and keep darting toward the ocean, then returning. They dislike that we have delayed. They want us to continue our voyage.”

  “Wait,” Rysn said. “I’ve seen luckspren flying with skyeels in the past. There aren’t any in the sky right now.”

  “Oh!” Cord said. “You did not know? I see spren, even those that do not want to be seen. He is a gift, to my family, and others of my kin.” She pointed. “There are twelve luckspren I count.”

  “Interesting,” Rysn said. “Is that why the Radiants brought you?”

  “Well,” Cord said, “I think also Lopen wants to impress me? Maybe? Anyway, yes. I was uncertain at first, but was persuaded. The Radiants and Rushu wanted me to watch for spren that might have to do with Aimia. So I am here.” She smiled. “You have no idea how nice this is to talk.”

  Well, that was one mystery cleared up. Cord’s presence on the trip finally made sense. But it was another secret Rysn couldn’t understand why the Radiants had kept—save for the fact that they worked for the Alethi. It seemed that group kept secrets out of principle.

  You work with the Thaylen guilds, Rysn reminded herself. The Alethi aren’t the only ones who weaponize information.

  “Cord,” she said, a thought occurring to her. “Could you tell if someone was hiding behind an illusion? Perhaps if they were not human, but pretending to be, using Lightweaving?”

  “I . . . do not think so,” Cord said. She glanced at the sky again. “We must continue this voyage, Brightness not-captain. These spren are not high gods, but near to them. They urge us forward. But we must be cautious. . . .”

  A call rose from the fire, and Huio waved for Cord to return—he was tending the stew in her absence—so she excused herself and hurried over. Rysn stirred at her bowl, taking bites but suddenly unable to enjoy the flavor.

  In an odd way, she felt trapped. Between her own expectations and the very real worry that she was in over her head. Was she pressing forward stubbornly to prove herself, and endangering everyone? This seemed like the exact wrong time for Vstim to have turned to politics. His sailors needed him, and Rysn was a poor replacement.

  She also worried so much about Chiri-Chiri. But was it right for her to endanger so many others to save one being? Both the Alethi queen and Cord encouraged her forward, but they weren’t responsible for the lives of the Wandersail’s crew. Rysn was.

  She needed to care for them. Even if they didn’t trust her, or respect her. She needed to be the woman Vstim thought she was. Somehow.

  Her ruminations were interrupted as Lopen, Huio, and Rushu left the fire and walked toward her. Sitting apart tonight had so far not quite accomplished her goal of solitude.

  Rysn tucked her self-doubt away behind a tradeswoman’s mask and nodded to them in welcome. They were speaking quietly in Alethi as they approached.

  “He still feels bad,” Lopen was saying. “But I worried about this. ‘Huio,’ I said to him, ‘whenever you build a sandwich, you accidentally put the flatbread in the middle. How are you going to put back together a fabrial?’ ”

  “Is true,” Huio admitted. “Middle bread taste good.”

  “Your fingers get wet!” Lopen said.

  “Wet fingers taste good,” Huio said.

  Rushu ignored them, instead kneeling beside Rysn’s chair. It was her more comfortable one, padded and wider than the one with the wheels on the back legs. So it wa
s broad and sturdy enough that Rushu could look all the way underneath.

  “If you don’t mind,” the ardent said, then proceeded to start working on the bottom of the chair without waiting for a response.

  Rysn blushed and tucked her skirts up tight against her legs. She did mind. People generally didn’t understand how much Rysn saw her chairs as part of who she was. Fiddling with one was like touching her own person.

  “In fact,” Rysn said, “I would prefer if you asked first, Ardent Rushu.”

  “I did ask. . . .”

  “Ask. Then wait for a reply.”

  Rushu hesitated, then pulled out from underneath the chair. “Ah. I apologize. Brightness Navani did warn me about how I act sometimes.” She settled on her heels. “I have something I wish to try on your chair. With fabrials. May I proceed?”

  “You may,” Rysn said.

  Rushu leaned forward and returned to work. Nikli approached, and shot Rysn a look that seemed to ask whether she needed help. Rysn shook her head. Not yet.

  “Ardent Rushu?” Lopen asked. “I cannot help noticing that you have not given an explanation to me or Brightness Rysn about what it is you want to do.”

  “You say more than enough for both of us, Lopen,” Rushu replied.

  “Ha!” Huio said.

  Lopen grinned, putting a hand to his head. “A fellow has to try all the words, sella, to see which ones make for good matches and which ones don’t.”

  Rushu grunted her response from somewhere underneath Rysn.

  “Words are like foods,” Lopen said, settling down on the rocks nearby. “You’ve gotta taste them all. And foods change over time, you know. How they taste. What they mean.”

  “People change,” Rushu said. “Your tastes change. Not the food.”

  “Nah, it’s the food,” Lopen said. “Because I’m still me, you see. I’ve always been me. That’s the only thing I can really know—that I’m me. And so if the flavor of something changes, then the only thing I can say for sure is it tastes different, you know? So it changed.”

  “Huh,” Rushu said. “. . . Lopen?”

  “Yeah, sella?”

  “Have you . . . had someone read you Pleadix’s Introspections?”