“No,” Cord said, standing up, helm under her arm.
“But—” Nikli began.
“I am no soldier,” Cord said, her voice growing softer. “I am no warrior. I must train if I am to be of any use. I will go to war and learn to use this gift. I will fight the Void, as my father refuses to do. Once I’ve accomplished that goal, then I will consider your request.”
Nikli glanced toward Rysn, who shrugged. “I mean . . . she has a point, Nikli.”
“Fine,” Nikli said, with a very human sigh. “But Cord, you will vow upon the honor of both your mother and your father that you will bear this secret and tell no one. Not even blood relatives.”
“I had not thought you knew my people that well,” Cord said. “I will take this vow.” She then spoke it in her own tongue.
“Our accommodation is reached?” Rysn asked, hopeful.
“Yes,” he said. “There will be smaller details to arrange at a later date. But we give our agreement to your terms, Rysn Ftori bah-Vstim. Your life for being honorable. These Soulcasters and Plate for the promise to train and help us.”
She felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Never, when listening to Vstim’s lessons, had she imagined she might one day need them to bargain for her life. And perhaps more.
“So, Rysn is a Shardbearer now?” Cord asked. “A . . . Dawnshardbearer?”
“No,” Nikli said. “She bears nothing. She is the Dawnshard now. That is how it works.” He bowed to Rysn. “We will speak again.”
Rysn braced herself on the bench, then bowed back.
Storms, she thought. What have I done?
What you needed to, another part of her thought. You have adapted. You have Remade yourself.
It was then that she grasped, in the smallest way, the nature of the Command inside her. The will of a god to remake things, to demand they be better.
The power to change.
Epilogue
Lopen patted the rocks fondly. “I will never forget you,” he said to them. “Or the time we shared together.”
Rushu tucked away her notepad, apparently having finished her final sketch of the broken city. They were doing one last round of the place, some hours after the battle.
“It was a brave thing you did,” Lopen said to the rocks. “Though I know you are only rocks and cannot listen to me—because you are dead, or really were never alive—you must hear that I appreciate your sacrifice.”
“Could you be . . . less weird maybe?” Rushu asked. “For a day at least. To try it out? Experience the world the way the rest of us do?”
“You saw what these rocks did.”
“I saw one of the monsters trip,” Rushu said, “if that’s what you mean.”
They’d made it all the way to the city ruins—Lopen on Huio’s back—before the monsters had caught up to them. He remembered huddling in one of the fallen buildings—Rushu had scouted a location for them that had a roof—waiting for the end to come. And then one of the monsters had stumbled.
Of course, sure, five minutes later the things had all turned around and returned to the ocean. Lopen hadn’t known it at the time, but this was because Brightness Rysn had negotiated peace. Still, that time the monster had tripped on the rocks had bought at least ten seconds.
“Didn’t your cousin literally save your life?” Rushu said, joining Lopen as they walked to the beach.
“Yeah, he did,” Lopen said.
Thanking Huio was going to be harder than thanking a bunch of rocks. So Lopen had wanted to practice.
At the beach, Kstled waited with two rowboats to take them to the Wandersail. They’d somehow transitioned from near death to leaving with a ridiculous haul. Shardplate, a mountain of gemstones—real this time—and some Soulcasters?
“Remind me never to cross Brightness Rysn,” Lopen said. “I don’t know what those challenges are she passed, but I can’t believe it ended with us so rich. And so, well, alive.”
“Yes, I agree,” Rushu said. “There is something strange about all this, isn’t there?” She tapped her pen against her lips, then shook her head and walked down to climb into a boat. They were leaving for Thaylenah—they’d been offered the chance to stay, now that the mysterious trials were done, but nobody wanted to hang around. Why tempt fate?
At the beach, Lopen nodded to Kstled, who got into the boat with Rushu, leaving Lopen and Huio alone in the other one. Huio seemed surprised by this, but Lopen had arranged it. He settled into the seat and began rowing. Wasn’t too difficult, so long as you had two arms.
“Can’t believe we’re getting away,” Huio said, watching the island retreat. “What do you suppose happened in that cavern underneath?”
“None of our business, I think,” Lopen said.
Huio grunted. “Wise words, younger-cousin. Sure. Wise words.”
They sat quietly for a time, Lopen navigating the boat toward the Wandersail. “So,” Lopen finally said. “Third Ideal, eh? Congratulations, older-cousin.”
“Thanks.”
“That’s . . . the ideal where you agree to protect people you hate. Least it was for Kaladin, Teft, and Sig.”
“Yeah,” Huio said.
“And you looked right at me,” Lopen said softly, “before you achieved it.”
“Doesn’t have to mean what you think,” Huio said. “You heard Teft tell us about his oath. For him, it meant coming to realize he couldn’t keep hating himself.”
“Was it the same for you, then?” Lopen asked, slowly pulling the oars. One stroke after another. When Huio didn’t respond, he continued more softly, “It’s okay, Huio. I can hear it. I need to.”
“I don’t hate you, Lopen,” Huio said. “Who could hate you? It would take a special kind of bitter soul.”
“That statement, like the Lopen himself, sounds like it comes with a quite spectacular butt attached.”
Huio smiled, then leaned forward. He was so often solemn, Lopen’s older-cousin. Built like a boulder and kind of resembling one, with that balding head. Everyone misunderstood Huio. Maybe even the Lopen himself.
“I don’t hate you,” Huio said. “But you can be a pain, younger-cousin. Me, Punio, Fleeta, even Mama Lond. The way you joke can sometimes hurt us.”
“I joke with the people I love. It’s how I am.”
“Yes, but does it have to be?” Huio asked. “Could you, sure, tease a little less?”
“I . . .”
Storms. Was it true? Was that how they thought of him? Lopen pasted a smile on and nodded to Huio, who seemed relieved that the conversation had gone so well.
They reached the ship, and Rua hovered about Lopen’s head as he laughed with the sailors he met—but he slowly made his way to the small cabin he shared with Huio. For now, Huio gave him space to go in. Sit down. And stare.
“Do . . . others complain about me?” Lopen asked Rua, who settled onto the table. “Do my jokes . . . actually hurt people?”
The little spren shrugged. Then nodded. Sometimes they did.
“Stormfather,” Lopen whispered. “I just want people to be happy. That’s what I try to do. Make them smile.”
Rua nodded again, solemn.
Lopen felt a sudden sharp pain in his breast, accompanied by shamespren sprinkling around him like red flower petals. It threatened to spread, to encompass him. It made him want to curl up and never say another word. Maybe they’d like that. A quiet Lopen.
Storm it, he thought. No. No, I gotta take this like Bridge Four. Arrow straight to the heart, but I can pull it out and heal. Huio could have held the truth back, laughed everything off. But he’d trusted Lopen with this wound.
“I’ll do it, then,” Lopen said, standing up. “I’ve got to protect people, you know? Even from myself. Gotta rededicate to being the best Lopen possible. A better, improved, extra-incredible Lopen.”
Rua lifted his hand into the air in a fist. Then the little spren toppled over to the side.
“Rua?” Lopen said, leaning down. “You playing a trick o
n me, naco?”
Rua vanished. Then a silvery little dagger appeared in his place. What on Roshar? Lopen picked it up. It was physical, not insubstantial. It was . . .
These Words are accepted.
A burst of frost and power exploded around Lopen.
“Storm me!” Lopen shouted, looking at the ceiling. “You did it again? I almost died out there, and you accept the Words now?”
It is the right time.
“Where’s the drama?” Lopen demanded at the sky. “The sense of timing? You’re terrible at this, penhito!”
I take offense at that. Be glad for what you have.
“I didn’t even know I’d said it!” Lopen muttered.
Storm it. Stupid oath. But he tried out the dagger, and it changed to a nice silvery sword, beautiful and ornate. He’d expected a little engraving of Rua making a rude gesture. And of course as he thought about it, that exact thing appeared on the blade. Huh.
This offered a ton of possibilities. . . .
No, no. He would be better. No pranks. Or, well, fewer pranks. He could do that. Protect people from himself. Who’d ever heard of an oath like that?
But, well, he was the Lopen. Things should be different for him. “Hey Huio!” he shouted, yanking open the door. “You’re never going to guess what just happened!”
Rysn didn’t let herself relax until the winds finally stopped blowing and calm sunlight streamed in through the porthole of her cabin. The ship was free of the storm around Akinah.
They had actually been allowed to leave.
Not that she was alone. A few hordelings accompanied her in secret. Representatives of the Sleepless, who would train with her and keep watch over her. Likely for the rest of her life.
But the arrangement had been made, the details hammered out. The lie was the best kind, as it required very little actual lying. Almost all of what they had to say was true, and of the crew, only Rysn and Cord knew the full secret.
Chiri-Chiri chirped nearby from a set of towels she’d arranged into a nest. She looked so content now, full of color. She’d spent the ride bouncing around and prancing through the room, then flying near the ceiling. As full of energy as Rysn had ever seen her.
Would Chiri-Chiri retain the ability to fly as she grew big as a chasmfiend? Nikli had implied she would. Stormwinds. How would Rysn deal with that? How long would it take?
Well, she’d handle it when the time came. She was less confident about the other burden, the one in her mind. She’d spent this entire voyage wondering if she belonged here, in this seat. And now she’d entered territory no babsk could ever have trained her to traverse.
But she’d certainly had lots of practice sitting up straight these last years. And in a way, she found that she felt comforted. If no one had traveled this path before, then she didn’t have to compare herself to anyone, did she? She didn’t have to be Vstim. Not in this task.
“Is that why you chose me?” Rysn asked Chiri-Chiri. “Did you know I could bear this?”
The larkin chirped encouragingly. And it was incredible how much better that made her feel. Rysn used her arms to scoot her body along the bench and poured some tea. At last she felt relaxed enough to read through the responses from the monarchs. Mostly confirmations of what she’d sent. They would want to speak to her in person to get the details. There, she would confide in them the second half-lie. That she had agreed to train the Sleepless.
Storms. Was it her, or did this tea taste extra good? She inspected it, then glanced at the sunlight pouring through the porthole. Was it . . . brighter than usual? Why did the colors in her room look so exceptionally vivid all of a sudden?
A knock came at her door.
“Come in,” she said, taking another sip of the wonderful tea.
Captain Drlwan entered, then bowed. Outside, Cord continued her vigil of guarding Rysn’s door—wearing full Shardplate. “You’re really going to let her keep it?” Drlwan said softly as she came up from her bow.
“Cord discovered it,” Rysn said. “It’s traditional to let the one who first claims a Shard keep it.” The Command pulsed with warmth as she said that. “Besides, Cord saved my life.”
“The Alethi won’t be happy,” Drlwan said. “They have a history of laying dubious—but strongly enforced—claim to Shards.”
“They’ll deal with the pain of losing this one,” Rysn said. “They’re getting three Soulcasters, after all.”
Drlwan smiled at that. Five of the new Soulcasters would go to Thaylenah. For years the Alethi had possessed a near monopoly on food-creating Soulcasters, but Thaylenah would now possess two—along with one that could form metals, one that created smoke, and another focused on wood, matching the one that the city had used for ages to make the best seafaring lumber.
A true wealth that would benefit Thaylenah for generations. And with the gemstones found in the caverns, the crew would have their promised riches, in compensation for the danger they’d undertaken.
She still mourned the three men she’d lost. It seemed such a waste of their lives when an agreement had been reached so soon after. She wondered if generals ever grieved for the last people who died before a treaty was signed.
Captain Drlwan settled down in the seat beside the desk. She didn’t speak for a long moment, instead looking past Rysn at the sunlight streaming in through the porthole.
“I didn’t think we’d see the sun again,” Drlwan finally said. “Not once those . . . things arrived. Even after you returned, I expected them to make some beast sink the Wandersail as it was leaving, then blame it on the storm.”
“I’ll admit,” Rysn said, “those same fears occurred to me.”
“What are they, Rysn?” the captain asked. “Truly? They seem like monsters of nightmare and the Void.”
“Most people who are different from us are frightening at first,” Rysn said. “But one thing Vstim taught me was to see past my own expectations. In this case, it meant looking past what I assumed made someone a person, and seeing the humanity—and the fear—in what appeared to be a nightmare.”
“They told me,” the captain said, “what you did.”
Rysn felt a spike of alarm, cup held halfway to her lips. What? They’d talked about the Dawnshard, after all this?
“As the ones on the ship were leaving,” Drlwan said. “Before you returned. They told me you had a chance to bargain for your own life. They said you would not enter into a negotiation unless it included the safety of the entire crew.”
Ah. That part. Rysn’s anxiety faded. “I did what any rebsk would do.”
“Pardon,” the captain said. “But you did what any good rebsk would do. A rebsk worthy of this crew.”
They shared a look, then Rysn nodded her thanks.
“After we leave port on our third journey,” Drlwan said, standing, “it would be good for the crew to see you steer the ship for a short time, would it not?”
“I would be honored,” Rysn said, her voice catching as she said it. “Truly.”
Drlwan smiled. “Let us hope the next one is a more . . . traditional voyage.”
Rysn’s eyes flicked to a purple hordeling hiding on the wall, near where it met the ceiling, shadowed. Strange, how she saw the contrast of shadows much more starkly now. And . . . why did Drlwan’s voice sound more musical?
“I think,” Rysn said, “I shall select the most boring, most mundane trade expedition I can find, Captain.”
That satisfied Drlwan. Rysn settled back—a single gloryspren fading overhead—and thought upon those words. Mundane. Boring. She had an inkling that neither would ever accurately describe her life again.
Brandon Sanderson grew up in Lincoln, Nebraska. He lives in Utah with his wife and children and teaches creative writing at Brigham Young University. In addition to completing Robert Jordan’s The Wheel of Time, he is the author of such bestsellers as the Mistborn® saga, Warbreaker, The Stormlight Archive® series beginning with The Way of Kings, The Rithmatist, the Skyward series,
The Reckoners® series beginning with Steelheart, and the Alcatraz vs. the Evil Librarians series. He won the 2013 Hugo Award for The Emperor’s Soul, a novella set in the world of his acclaimed first novel, Elantris. For behind-the-scenes information on all his books, visit brandonsanderson.com.
ALSO BY BRANDON SANDERSON
Short Stories
I Hate Dragons
Dreamer
Novelettes
Firstborn
Defending Elysium
Novellas
Perfect State
Snapshot
The Rithmatist
The Rithmatist
The Reckoners
Steelheart
Mitosis: A Reckoners Story
Firefight
Calamity
Skyward
Skyward
Starsight
Legion
Legion: The Many Lives of Stephen Leeds
The Evil Librarians
Alcatraz vs. the Evil Librarians
The Scrivener’s Bones
The Knights of Crystallia
The Shattered Lens
The Dark Talent
The Wheel of Time, with Robert Jordan
The Gathering Storm
Towers of Midnight
A Memory of Light
WORLDS OF THE COSMERE
* items with an asterisk are contained in Arcanum Unbounded: The Cosmere Collection.
SEL
Elantris
The Emperor’s Soul *
SCADRIAL
Mistborn
The Eleventh Metal *
The Original Trilogy
Mistborn: The Final Empire
The Well of Ascension
The Hero of Ages
Mistborn: Secret History *
Dawnshard Page 18
