Dawnshard

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Why would they do that?” Rysn asked.

  “I don’t know. But they were talking, and the ardent told one of them to quiet down, lest the crew—or you—overhear. Something to do with the mission. That’s all I heard. But I do feel I should point out that the Horneater was the first to discover the worms. And the Radiants still haven’t come up with a good explanation for why she’s on this voyage.”

  “What are you implying?” Rysn said.

  “No implication. Merely sharing what I heard.”

  “I think we can trust the Knights Radiant,” Rysn said.

  “I’m sure people also thought that two thousand years ago,” Nikli said. Then he sighed and stood up. “But I probably shouldn’t have said anything. I need to go to the head, but I’ll return soon, Brightness.”

  Rysn discarded the idea that the Knights Radiant had planted those worms. But there were questions that itched at her. How had those worms appeared so suddenly? And what had killed the ship’s pet? Rysn realized she hadn’t asked.

  But as the ship set out, she considered. She obviously wouldn’t be the only one who understood that omens—despite being nonsense—could have powerful effects on the people who observed them. If someone wanted to interfere with this mission, a few well-placed omens would be an excellent way.

  Be careful about jumping to conclusions, she told herself. The solution was to watch.

  Because if she was right, another “omen” would soon arrive.

  Nikli stepped into the head, locked the door, and turned off the body’s sense of smell to avoid being bombarded by the odor of this place. Nikli held up this body’s hand and made a fist, pleased by how long the form held. But now Nikli relaxed, and the seams in the body’s skin split, letting cool air reach into its squirming insides—which shivered, relieved to finally be allowed free motion after keeping tight for so long.

  At the same time, Nikli closed the body’s most obvious set of eyes—its human eyes, which were actually functional, something Nikli was proud of. Most Sleepless used prop eyes. That caused their sight lines to be off, easier to notice.

  With the body’s eyes closed, it was easier to feel the distant pieces of the self. Spread all across Roshar. And Nikli could make them buzz, communicating with the others, speaking directly from mind to mind as its buzzes were interpreted by hordelings bred specifically for the purpose.

  We, Nikli sent to the others, have a problem.

  Indeed we do, Nikliasorm, sent Alalhawithador, who had a low, angry buzz. They aren’t responding to your encouragements to turn back. You have failed. Other measures will be required.

  The problem is not that, Nikli sent. The problem is that I am coming to like them.

  This is not unexpected, Yelamaiszin sent. It had a smooth, calming buzz. It was First, the oldest of the swarms on Roshar. Nikli was the Twenty-Fourth, youngest of them. I like the Bondsmith, for example, though I know he will destroy us.

  He will not, Zyardil sent. Its buzz was punctuated and sharp. He has made the decision of Honor.

  That is why he will destroy us, Yelamaiszin replied. He is more dangerous now, not less.

  This is a different argument, said Alalhawithador, who was Third—a swarm almost as old as Yelamaiszin. You like these humans, Nikliasorm. That is good. We are so bad at imitating them, and you learn well from your travels. More of us should spend time studying humans, to become like them.

  Plus, Yelamaiszin said, we should have compassion for those we must cull. It is good you like the humans.

  Must we cull them though? Nikli replied.

  Humans are a fire that must be contained, Yelamaiszin said with its calm buzz. You are young. You were not yet Separated during the scouring.

  I would like to try again to ward them away, Nikli sent.

  This is a mess, said Alalhawithador, the angriest of the swarms. It should not have gone this far. You should have killed them before this.

  They should not have found the ship, Zyardil sent. This would all be contained if it hadn’t been discovered.

  It was sent to sink, Alalhawithador replied. It could not have survived storms without help. Its discovery is no coincidence.

  Arclomedarian crosses us again, said Yelamaiszin, the First. It meddles more and more. It has met with these new Radiants.

  Are we certain it was wrong to do so? Nikli asked. Perhaps that was the wise move.

  You are young, Yelamaiszin sent, calm and sure. Youth is beneficial in some ways. You learn faster than us, for example. Nikli could imitate humans better than the others. When the swarm that had become Nikli had been Separated, it had already contained hordelings evolved for this subterfuge. Nikli had further evolved them, and was now certain that the body didn’t need the tattoos to cover the seams in its skin.

  Arclomedarian is dangerous, Nikli sent. I can see this. But it is not as dangerous as the true traitors.

  Both are equally dangerous, Yelamaiszin sent. Trust us. You do not bear the scars of memory older swarms do.

  We must listen to the youthful, Zyardil snapped. They are not set in their ways! The humans that come this time are not pirates, First, looking only for lucre. They are more persistent. If we kill them, there will be more.

  My plan is the best, Alalhawithador sent with a feisty set of buzzing noises. Let them breach the storm.

  No, Yelamaiszin said. No, we must prevent that.

  At this point of conflict, the question was sent to all of the swarms—all twenty that still accepted the leadership of the First—to ask. Was it time to sink the human ship?

  The responses were tallied. It was a stalemate, they decided. Half wanted to let the humans reach the storm—where they would either fall to the winds or enter the realm of the Sleepless. Half wanted to kill them immediately, before the storm. Several, like Nikli, abstained from the vote.

  Nikli’s own swarm buzzed with relief and satisfaction at the uncertainty in the others. This was an opening.

  I would like to try one more time to ward them off, Nikli repeated. I have an idea that I believe will work, but I will need help.

  This was sent to another vote, and Nikli’s bodies—the distant ones, not on the ship—all vibrated with anticipation.

  Yes, the vote came. Yes, Nikli should be allowed to try again.

  It hurts us to kill Radiants, let alone one of the Sighted, said Yelamaiszin, the First. You may try this plan. If it fails, however, I will hold another vote—and you must be willing to take more drastic measures.

  7

  “Does something about the crew seem strange to you?” Lopen asked as he lounged in the air about three feet off the deck, hands behind his head, floating beside Cord.

  The sturdy Horneater was mixing something that smelled good. It was pungent with the spices that he associated with Rock’s cooking—which wasn’t spicy hot, just . . . full of other flavors. Interesting ones. This dish, though, also had an oceany scent she said came from seaweed. Who ate weeds? Weren’t her people supposed to eat shells?

  “Strange?” she asked Lopen. “Crew?”

  “Yeah. Strange.” He watched several of the sailors go tromping past, and they kept shooting him looks. Rua trailed after them in the air, invisible to everyone but Lopen and Cord, who, like her father, could see all spren.

  “You all strange,” she admitted. Each word was hesitant, but her Alethi was progressing well.

  “So long as I’m the strangest,” Lopen said. “It’s, sure, one of my more endearing traits.”

  “You are . . . very strange.”

  “Excellent.”

  “Very much strange.”

  “Says the woman who likes to munch on weeds,” Lopen said. “That’s not food, misra, it’s what food eats.” He frowned as several more sailors passed by, and a couple made strange Thaylen gestures toward him. “See that! They cheered when we came on board. Now they’ve gotten all weird.”

  Things had been better after the stop in Hexi to sell that grain, and Lopen approved of the jerky.
But now, as they were reaching the halfway point in their journey, everything had gotten odd. There was a strange tone to every interaction, and he couldn’t quite figure out what it meant.

  He glanced up as Huio streaked in overhead, then lowered himself down to the deck. He delivered a letter to Cord—from her parents, most likely—and tucked a few others into the inner pocket of his uniform coat for Rysn, who had asked him to visit a nearby island and receive letters for the day.

  “Thank you,” Cord said to Huio, lifting up the letter. “Is happiness to hold him.”

  “Welcome,” Huio said. “Was easy. Not problem.”

  Watching them interact in Alethi was amusing. Why were there so many languages, and why didn’t everyone just learn Herdazian? It was a great language. It had names for all the different kinds of cousins.

  “Huio,” Lopen said in Alethi, so as to not leave Cord out, “has the crew been treating you strangely?”

  “No,” he said. “Um, no sure?”

  “Not sure?” Lopen said.

  “Yes. Not sure.” He set down his satchel, which carried spanreeds and other equipment. He reached in and brought out the small box of aluminum plates and foils that Rushu had sent with him, to use in some experiments trying to communicate back to her on the ship. “You know this?” Huio asked of them.

  “Aluminum,” Lopen said, still floating above the deck a few feet. “Yeah, it’s weird stuff. Can block a Shardblade, Rua tells me, if it’s thick enough. They get it from Soulcasting, though only a few can make it, so it’s pretty rare.”

  “Can get from trade,” Cord said. “In Peaks. We trade.”

  “Trade?” Huio said. “Who trade?”

  “People in spren world,” Cord said.

  Huio cocked his head, rubbing his chin.

  “He is strange metal,” Cord said. “Does strange things to spren.”

  “Strange,” Huio agreed. He packed up the materials in his satchel and went wandering off. Hopefully he’d deliver them to Rushu, rather than playing with them. Huio sometimes got himself into trouble that way.

  “Your people, Cord,” Lopen said, turning in the air like he was lounging on a sofa. “They have water up in those peaks. How? It’s cold, right?”

  “Cold away from town,” she said. “Warm near town.”

  “Huh. That sounds interesting.”

  “He is.” She smiled. “I love him, our land. Didn’t want leave. Had leave with Mother. To find Father.”

  “You could return, if you wanted,” Lopen said. “Wouldn’t take much to have a Windrunner fly you.”

  “Yes,” she said. “But now, out here, he is dangerous. Good dangerous. I not wish to go. Too love of home, yes? But now that I see him, I cannot return. Not with danger here, for people. Danger that will go my home.” She turned from her mashing and looked across the ocean. “I was scared of places not home. And now . . . I find things that make scared are also things that make interesting. I like dangerous things. I did not know this.”

  Lopen nodded. What an interesting way to see the world. Mostly he enjoyed listening—he liked the way Cord’s accent made a cadence of her words, and the way she drew out some vowel sounds. Plus she was tall, and tall women were best. He’d been very curious to find she was only a few years younger than he was. He hadn’t expected that.

  Alas, he had stuck Huio to the wall for her on three separate occasions, and Cord had not seemed to find it impressive. He’d also cooked her chouta, but she already made it better than he did. Next he’d have to find a way to show her how good he was at cards.

  “That’s interesting,” he said. “You like things you’re afraid of?”

  “Yes. But I did not realize this thing. Afraid thing. Yes?”

  “You didn’t realize that something fearsome, something different, could be so intoxicating. I think I get what you’re saying.” He thought for a moment, drinking the Light from a big garnet gemstone. The others called him silly, but he thought the different colors tasted different.

  He eyed Cord. Was she impressed by how casually he floated? No way to know without pointing it out, which was the opposite of being casual. So he put his hands behind his head, and thought more about what she’d said.

  “Cord,” he said, “your father. Is he really in danger because of what he did? Saving Kaladin? Killing Amaram?”

  It had been several months since the event, and Kaladin had persuaded Rock to remain in Urithiru for the time being. Mostly to give his family a season to rest from their extended trip. However, that wouldn’t last forever. Rock was increasingly intent on returning to his homeland to face judgment.

  “Yes,” Cord said softly. “But because of him. His doing. His wanting.”

  “He made the choice to help Kaladin,” Lopen said, “but he didn’t choose his birth order.”

  “But his choice to go back. His choice to ask for . . . I do not know word. Ask for choice?”

  “Judgment?”

  “Yes, maybe.” She smiled at him. “Do not afraid for my father, Lopen. He will choose his choice. If he must go home, I will stay. And Gift will stay. We will do his work. We will see for him.”

  “See,” Lopen said. “See spren, you mean?”

  She nodded.

  “Are there any around now?” Lopen asked.

  “Rua,” she said, pointing as Lopen’s spren came darting over in the shape of a fanciful flying ship. “And Caelinora.” Huio’s spren. She rarely appeared to Lopen. “Windspren in the air, wavespren in the water. Anxietyspren trailing the ship, almost unseeable. And . . .” She shook her head.

  “And what?” Lopen asked.

  “Odd things. Good gods, but uncommon. Apaliki’tokoa’a.” She struggled to find the right words, then took out a piece of paper—she often carried some—and did a quick sketch.

  “A luckspren,” Lopen said, recognizing the arrowhead shape.

  “Five,” she said. “Was none. Then was three. Then four. More each few day.”

  Huh. Well, he was glad she was watching—she’d been hesitant to come on the trip, as she hadn’t thought she would be of any use. He’d encouraged her, since he knew she wanted to see the world more. And here she was, seeing interesting spren.

  “I don’t know if luckspren are something to be worried about,” he said, “but I’ll have Rushu report it anyway. Queen Jasnah or one of the others might think something of them.”

  Cord nodded, so he cut his Lashing. That made him land on the deck with a thump, a little harder than he’d intended. He patted the wood and grinned, feeling foolish. Too bad Huio hadn’t been watching. He’d have enjoyed that.

  Lopen jogged off to find his cousin—who, as Lopen had feared, was in their cabin poking at Ardent Rushu’s spanreeds. He appeared to have completely disassembled one.

  “Lopen,” Huio said in Herdazian. “This aluminum has fascinating properties; I believe the captive spren are reacting to its presence, almost like prey react to a predator. When I touch this foil to the stone, they push to the other side of their confines. I hypothesize that the aluminum interferes with their ability to sense not only my thoughts of them, but the thoughts of their conjoined half.”

  “You know, cuz,” Lopen said in the same language, “those spanreeds are way more valuable than the locks you used to break apart. You could get into trouble.”

  “Perhaps,” Huio said, tinkering with a small screwdriver to undo part of the gemstone’s housing, “but I am certain I can reassemble it. The ardent-lady will be completely unaware of my investigation.”

  Lopen flopped down on his bunk. He’d asked for a hammock, like the crew used, but they’d acted like he was crazy. Apparently beds were in short supply on a ship. Which made sense. Everyone else got storming hammocks! Who’d want a bed?

  “Something feels wrong about this entire mission,” Lopen said.

  “You’re merely bored, younger-cousin,” Huio said, “because the crew are too busy with their work to be entertained by your unruly antics.”

&nb
sp; “Nah, it’s not that,” Lopen said, staring at the ceiling. “And maybe it’s not even this trip. Things are just . . . off lately, you know?”

  “Oddly—though everyone always expects me to be able to decipher what you’re saying—I find myself at a loss most of the time. And not only when you’re speaking in Alethi. Fortunately, you’re usually around to explain. At length. With lots of adjectives.”

  “You know, Cord is getting pretty good with Alethi.”

  “Good for her. Maybe she can learn Herdazian next, and then someone will finally interpret for me when I’m lost.”

  “You’ll pick it up eventually, older-cousin,” Lopen said. “You’re, sure, the smartest person in our family.”

  Huio grunted. His inability with the Alethi language was a sore spot with him. It didn’t click in his head, he said. Years of trying, and he hadn’t made much progress. But that was all right. It had taken Lopen, sure, years to learn how to grow an arm back after he lost one.

  So what was bothering Lopen? Was it the things Cord had said? He took his rubber ball out of his pocket and practiced infusing it, then sticking it to the ceiling, then catching it again when it dropped.

  The Voidbringers had come back. But they weren’t actually the Voidbringers. They were just parshmen, but different. And the war had started, like in the old stories. There was a new storm, and the world had basically ended. It all seemed so intense.

  But in reality, it was so storming slow.

  They’d been fighting for months and months, and lately it seemed like they were making less progress than Huio on his Alethi. Kill some of those new singers with the strange powers—they were called Fused—and they’d get reborn. Fight and fight and fight, and maybe capture, sure, a few dozen feet of ground. What a party. Do that for a million centuries, and maybe they’d have an entire kingdom.

  Shouldn’t the end of the storming world be more . . . dramatic? The war against the invaders felt depressingly like the war over the Shattered Plains. Sure, Lopen kept an upbeat attitude. That helped everyone. But he couldn’t help making the comparison in his head.