Bastion

by Kyle West

  “We’re going to go with Quietus, okay? Just hold on tight, like I showed you.”

  Anna hurried to get on, and once settled onto Quietus’s back, she made sure Alex was securely seated in front of her, using her arms to hold him in.

  All right, Anna said. Let’s move.

  With that word, Quietus gave a short hop and flapped her wide wings, for which there was barely room between the narrow buildings. People were now entering the street, watching Anna and the dragon depart.

  Who are these men, Quietus?

  I don’t know. Samuel and his guards are defending at his house. I think…they meant to kill all of you at once.

  All of us?

  You are safe, Quietus said. But Samuel and Ruth, as well as their younglings, are still in question.

  As Anna flew above the city in the direction of Samuel’s house, people continued to fill the streets. She noticed fighting below, as well as others taking advantage of the chaos to break into stores. She wanted to weep for what was happening — everything they had worked so hard to build seemed to be disintegrating before her eyes.

  Whether Samuel had wanted it or not, war was coming to Colonia.

  * * *

  It wasn’t long before Quietus closed in on Samuel and Ruth’s house. A vast crowd surrounded the residence, and several pointed upward as Quietus lowered herself from the sky. Whatever had happened, Anna had a feeling that it was over, now.

  Quietus touched down, and the crowd parted to avoid getting crushed. Looking into that sea of faces, Anna realized that they were surprised to see her.

  They had thought her dead.

  “What’s happened here?” Anna called out.

  A voice called out from the crowd. “They say the governor is dead!”

  Anna looked at the house, could see shapes moving within. Indeed, it did seem as if the fighting was over.

  “Run!” an old woman yelled. “Run, before they get you, too!”

  Anna refused to believe. She couldn’t just run when she didn’t know the truth. Anna could never believe that Samuel was dead — Samuel, whom she had seen just earlier that day.

  “What about Ruth? What about the children?”

  No one seemed to be able to answer her. She looked back toward the house. She knew that sitting on Quietus like that, she was a sitting duck for whoever might want to take a shot at her.

  Quietus…to air!

  Quietus roared, parting the crowd ahead of her as she ran and took off.

  Fly around the house for a bit, Anna said. I’ll Call for them!

  And then, Anna focused her mind on the house’s interior.

  Samuel…Ruth…can either of you hear me?

  It was a moment before she heard Ruth’s voice in her head, and hearing it flooded her with relief.

  Anna…

  Ruth! Where is Samuel? Is he…?

  They’ve killed him, Anna. He’s dead.

  Anna felt a lump in her throat, and choked back a sob. Then, she felt anger such as she had never felt before.

  I’m coming in!

  No! There are too many. Dozens. Senator Thomas…they must have been planning this for years…we were completely blind…

  This news came as a numb shock. Betrayed. It wasn’t the governors they had needed to fear: it was the very men they had taken in five years ago when the city was young, given shelter, and raised to the very Senate. These men had killed Samuel — had betrayed the governor that had given them a chance.

  Tell me it isn’t true, Ruth. Please…

  Go, Ruth said. They will want you dead, too. Don’t worry about me. I don’t think they’ll hurt me or the children. They’ve let me surrender.

  Despite Ruth’s words, Anna still feared the worst. If they had seen Anna as enough of a threat to kill, why not Ruth?

  Ruth…

  You help us most by running. Go find Michael and Lauren. They will be in danger, too.

  Both of them were far to the east, at the dig site of Bunker 40. If the Separatists planned on killing them as well, it would be hard to coordinate the attacks to strike at the same time. There might still be a chance to warn them.

  I’m going, Anna said. I’m going, and feeling awful every second I’m doing it.

  Don’t. There’s nothing you can do for me. Colonia is no longer safe, so you must save the people you can. I’ve…agreed to cooperate with them. I…

  And then, her voice was cut off. Anna couldn’t tell what had happened.

  Ruth. Ruth…?

  Anna circled around the house several more times, but Ruth had gone completely silent. From below, several men blindly took shots upward in the dark, scattering the crowd that had gathered.

  We must go, Anna, Quietus said.

  Anna stared at the house, tears stinging her eyes, and Quietus turned away toward the east.

  This is impossible, she thought. Why did this happen? How could this happen?

  She held Alex close, wishing she had some way of shielding him from all this evil. They had not founded Colonia for it to descend into madness like this. They had wanted a safe place to raise their children, but perhaps that peace had been too much to hope for.

  “Is Samuel dead?” Alex asked.

  His voice was eerily calm, and that unnerved Anna more than anything. She didn’t want to tell him the truth, but at some point, she would have to. Might as well tell him now.

  “Yes,” she said. “Samuel was killed by bad men.”

  “What about Ruth…?”

  Anna sighed, holding him closer.

  “No, she’s alive.”

  I think.

  “You think?”

  Anna held back a curse. She hadn’t done a good enough job of guarding her thoughts, so her son had completely perceived her inner voice.

  “Why are we running away?” Alex asked.

  How to explain that? Anna felt wrong for doing it, but trying to rescue Ruth and the kids would be suicidal. Not all of them could even fit on Quietus’s back.

  “We’ll save them, when we can,” Anna said. “I promise. Right now, there is nothing we can do but get caught. But I promise, those men will pay for what they did to Samuel.”

  Anna hugged her son closer, not really wanting to talk about such dark things with him. Anna cried not just for Samuel, but at the fact that her son wasn’t growing up in the world she had hoped to build.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  THE DAYS PASSED WITH NO sign of either the Prince or Elder Isandru. By the third day, people were saying he had run away for good and that Elder Isandru would never find him. Each day was one day closer to when King Taris’s arrival, and the nervousness among the Elders was palpable. Though they were powerful in their own right, it was clear that explaining what had become of the king’s son on their watch was not a conversation they were looking forward to. A king was a king, after all, and the entire reason Isaru had come here in the first place was for Seeker guidance and their famed discipline.

  But more was at stake than the Elders looking foolish. If the king arrived to find the whereabouts of his son unknown, he could very well pull Isaru from the Sanctum for good. If the Elders couldn’t keep the Prince under control, no one could.

  I did my best to deflect any questions I was asked, and at some point I was left alone, even by the Elders. Haris made good on his promise to take his findings to them, but ever since then, I hadn’t heard a word. Maybe Fiona had interceded on my behalf, or maybe she was catching the brunt of their questions. Certainly, I had seen very little of her during the week. In a way, hearing something from the Elders would have been better than silence.

  So instead, I focused on my studies. When I wasn’t doing that, I was practicing forms with either Aela or Isa, or working in the kitchens, and if I had any time after that, I was doing a bit of research of my own in the library, doing my best to avoid Haris by finding out of the way places to study among the stacks.

  I tried reading Trails of the Exiled, but it was only written in Eng
lish, and my English was nowhere near Isaru’s level. I couldn’t make much sense of anything. I continued to keep up my dream journal, trying my best to find the time to log my latest entry about Anna. With Isandru gone, I would have to wait until I could tell anyone.

  Perhaps it was a good thing, because it gave me time to collect my thoughts and speculate about the purpose behind the visions. I knew they were a window into the past no one had ever seen — I still had to figure out why they were happening.

  I was in the library writing, losing myself in the words and describing everything as it occurred. I was halfway down the page when the words seemed to jump out at me. I had never written this well before. Everything was in perfect English with immaculate script, as if I had been scribing for years. Not a one of my perfectly formed letters would have looked out of place in any of the books kept here.

  I blinked, the words seeming alien to my eyes. I reread my thoughts, trying to make sure I could perfectly understand what I had written. Something about the English I had written seemed slightly off, despite it making sense to me. I had only seen it in archaic, centuries’ old translations that I always struggled to get through. Even if English was considered a dead language, it had still gone through changes over the centuries. But it was beyond me why I was writing an older version.

  And then, just as suddenly as my realization had come to the fore, the words became indecipherable. I recognized a few here and there — mostly the cognates. For a moment, I had perfectly understood how to read and write English, as well as Isaru or any of the other Scholars. Then, in a flash, it was gone.

  I laughed, somewhat nervously, while looking at the words, thinking they might unscramble. They still looked the same, however.

  “Is something amusing you, Initiate Roshar?”

  Scholar Haris had appeared from down the row. I hadn’t spoken to him since he had ambushed me in the hall a few days ago. He approached and looked over my shoulder. Before I could hide my words, he snatched up my paper and scrutinized it, his beady eyes roving back and forth.

  “Dear gods,” he said. He looked at me, disbelief written on his face. “Where did you learn to write like this?”

  I shrugged. “Isaru taught me a bit.”

  Haris sniffed. “Even the Prince doesn’t write this well.” His expression of wariness only increased as he digested the contents of what I’d written. “Anna and Alex? What is this nonsense?”

  “It’s nothing,” I said. “Just a dream I had. Elder Isandru wants me to write them down.”

  Haris’s eyes continued to scan the page. I resisted the urge to grab my paper back from him.

  “A young Prophetess, are we?” he said. He suddenly became very serious. “But, really…this might be utter nonsense, but the writing is damn good. I have some old texts that need translating. Perhaps, if you can prove yourself…”

  “That’s all right,” I said. Haris’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I mean, English is something I only understand sometimes. It’s…strange.”

  “Yes,” Haris said. “I imagine it is. Nonetheless, this isn’t a request. Follow me.”

  I resisted my impulse to sigh, and I followed him out into the open, toward the long tables where several other apprentices were scribing.

  “Have a seat,” he said. “I’ll return shortly.”

  Haris trotted off. I considered taking off right then and there, but he still had my paper. All I could do was wait until he returned it.

  When he came back, he held a large, dusty book which he dropped on the table with a clomp. A small cloud of dust rose and tickled my nostrils.

  “Now,” he said. “Have you been instructed in scribing?”

  “No, Seeker.”

  “Tarman!”

  The tall, lean apprentice who had shown me around the library when I first arrived hurried over.

  “You are to teach Initiate Roshar the principles of scribing.”

  “Ev…everything, Seeker?”

  “Of course! Shanti is to become our newest scrivener! A replacement for that blasted Isaru!”

  “I don’t want to do this,” I said. “I’m already too busy…”

  Haris considered, and for a moment I thought he was going to agree. “You are rather busy. You work in the kitchens, don’t you? Well, enough of that. Your talent is best spent here in the stacks.”

  I wanted to protest, but I knew better than to argue with Seeker Haris.

  “You start tonight, Initiate,” Haris said, handing me back my paper. “Consider this a high honor. Scribing is a privilege I usually reserve to my apprentices.”

  With that, he turned and walked off, overseeing the writing of his pupils.

  I noticed that Tarman was looking at my paper, and his eyes widened. “You wrote that? No wonder Seeker Haris recruited you. The penmanship is beautiful.”

  I looked over my well-formed letters, complete with slightly flourished serifs, all uniform and straight.

  “It’s her again…” I said, softly.

  “What?”

  Tarman looked, as if to see someone walking in the door, but of course I had been referring to Anna.

  “Nothing. Er…shall we get started?”

  Tarman cleared his throat. “Right. Well, I suppose we can start by showing you what I’m working on…”

  Tarman stood and went to retrieve a series of papers from where he had been working. He returned and set the blank pages in front of him. The paper was fine, smooth, and looked pliable. Tarman took one of its edges between his fingers, bending it slightly. When he let go, it resumed its former shape without leaving a crease.

  “Paper made from Silverwood is of the highest quality,” he began. “There’s a papermaker south of Nava, and they supply us with all the paper we need every two weeks. Once we receive the paper, it’s stored in boxes next to Seeker Haris’s office, as I’m sure you’re already aware.”

  “So, this is basically just copying words?”

  Tarman nodded. “Long, long hours of it. It may take months to finish a shorter text. Years for a particularly long one. If a mistake is made, then the whole page has to be rewritten. That’s why scribing is a serious business and it will drive you mad. One must learn to scribe quickly while not sacrificing quality or artistry.” Tarman indicated the page in front of him, which was halfway filled with his neat, bold writing. “Haris is insistent that all scribes use a consistent style of writing, called a font. Whether big, or small, it varies from book to book. A reference might have small words and require less artistry, as its use is more practical. However, copying Mireda’s Annals would require the greater diligence and care. Such a text might even be decorated with illuminations of the scenes described in the book.”

  I nodded. I had seen some of that artwork, and they could really give life to the page. I remembered coming across one that depicted the Elekai Exile — the Red City in the distance across the river, and a mass of tattered people walking forward, facing the viewer, expressions of pain written on their faces. In the background were the soldiers of the Covenant, pikes pointed outward, faces grim, while smoke from the city rose into the red sky.

  “Paper is relatively cheap,” Tarman went on. “It’s the ink that’s expensive. Most of what you’ll be writing will be with black ink, made from gall taken from the Silverwood and blackened with carbon. Other elements might be used to lend a different color, but that doesn’t concern us for the moment.”

  I noticed that beneath each row of words was a faded black line. “Are those lines so that you write straight?”

  Tarman nodded. “Yes. It’s called ruling. You’ll notice it’s also on the outside, here.” Tarman pointed, and indeed, I could see straight lines had been drawn to produce margins. “The ink is of a special kind, called fading ink. It’ll disappear slowly over a period of months, leaving only the text and any illuminations on the page.”

  Despite myself, I was becoming interested. “How does fading ink work?”

  “No one really knows.
The only difference between it and regular ink is that it contains Silverwood sap. It’s theorized that the sap attempts to revert the rest of the ink to balance with the rest of the page — essentially erasing it.”

  “And the papers are all bound at the end of the process?”

  “Yes. But by that point, your work will be done. Usually, Haris’s top apprentices, or other Scholars, handle that process. Not that it’s difficult; it’s more of a chance for them to inspect your handiwork for quality.”

  “So, you work on the same book for months and months until it’s done?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I frowned. “Why would anyone want to do that?”

  “I admit, it’s not something that’s meant for everybody, but it’s the price we pay for getting to do our own research while learning at the Scholars’ feet. As far as Haris, he is such a busy man that he only reserves instruction for his most promising pupils.”

  Tarman spent the next hour teaching the rudiments of the blocky font he was using. I was slow to learn — Anna seemed to be taking a nap at the moment — but he was patient and I was persistent. He was bemused as to why I couldn’t reproduce my former writing, and to be honest, so was I. He ended the lesson by handing me a guidebook, telling me to practice on my own until I had gotten the form down.

  I walked out of the library rubbing my right wrist, remembering what Isa had told me seemingly ages ago: the Champions will make you hurt all over, but the Scholars will take all that hurt and put it in one place.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  THE REST OF THE WEEK passed and I was busier than ever. I wasn’t getting enough sleep and I felt myself begin to suffer in my studies. Each time I went to the library after dinner, Tarman oversaw my progress. I wasn’t writing properly yet — just copying letter after letter, Tarman tiredly correcting minor inconsistencies in my handwriting. At some point, he left me alone to go to bed, instructing me to continue working until my letters had improved. It wasn’t fair that he got to leave while I stayed, but Haris was gone, so no one was there to enforce Tarman training me.