The Aether of Night

by Sanderson, Brandon

  “So?” Darro asked.

  “So,” Raeth said, “where did the first Buds come from? Where did we get the Aethers in the first place?”

  Yes! The voice in his mind said. Find the sources! That is where he is.

  “I don’t know,” Darro said with a shrug.

  “That has to be the answer,” Raeth said quietly.

  D’Naa suddenly groaned quietly, turning her head and blinking. She looked up at Raeth, then turned too look across the room, then sat up suddenly, her eyes growing wide, disheveled locks of dark hair falling in front of her face. “D’Lum!” she exclaimed, blushing.

  Raeth didn’t give her time to adjust. He reached over and put his hands on her shoulders, looking her in the eyes. “D’Naa,” he said. “Where did the Kavir get their first Verdant Bud? Did you take it off a High Aedin?”

  D’Naa blinked in surprise, still a little bit disoriented. “Um, I don’t know,” she said. “I was young when it happened.”

  “Who would know?” Raeth asked.

  “If anyone knows it would be my cousin, the king,” she said, looking over at Darro with confusion. “Shouldn’t he be in the hospital?”

  “That’s what I told him,” Raeth said as Darro shrugged. “Go find something warm to wear, you two,” Raeth continued. “We’re going to Kavir.”

  #

  “Twins, it’s cold here!” Darro swore, pulling his cloak tight. He’d never visited Kavir, and he’d never wanted to. Vae Annitor grew cold enough for him, and he’d actually have preferred to live in En Mahall, where it never grew more than a passably chilly, even in the winter.

  “Stop complaining,” Raeth chastised, looking unperturbed by the biting wind. “You have enough padding, after all.”

  Darro grumbled quietly to himself, trying to shield his face from the wind. It was colder here, even, than the northern border. The worst part was the wind. It was like a hammer trying to smash the piercing cold through Darro’s skin, the fakes of snow it blew like tiny daggers of ice.

  How does someone as small as her stand it? Darro thought, looking down at the Kavir girl who stood at Raeth’s side. She had absolutely no meat on her, yet she took the cold in stride, leading them up the road toward a large snow-covered building.

  Darro tried to pull his cloak tighter—a difficult proposition with only one arm. He had heard soldiers explain what it was like to lose a limb, but he never thought he’d feel so…awkward. He kept reaching with his stump, feeling with fingers that were no longer there. At least it hadn’t been his right arm—losing both arm and Aether in one blow would have been more than even he could handle.

  Darro shook his head, trudging along behind his brother and D’Naa, a group of six guards surrounding them. Raeth kept looking back at Darro with poorly veiled-concern. He thought Darro should still be under the healers’ care; however, the healers had plenty of men to deal with that were far worse off than Darro. Actually, he was surprised at how little pain there was. It hurt, true, but the hurt was by no means incapacitating.

  No, far more agonizing was the realization that he’d done it again. He’d gone into the battle with good intentions—protecting Raeth, sacrificing himself for the good of the Imperium. It was only afterwards, while laying in the sick bed the day before, that he’d realized what he’d really done. He’d tried to dodge responsibility once again, this time through death.

  If he’d died a martyr’s death, he wouldn’t have had to live with the knowledge of his betrayal. He’d nearly gotten himself killed, just to sate his selfish desire to dodge his duty. What if he had died? The creatures would have still come back, and Darro wouldn’t have been alive to help. Raeth still needed him, would probably always need him.

  The nine of them piled into the building, and Darro let out a sigh of relief, enjoying the relative warmth. The building was a large wooden construction, blockish with a peaked roof. Very functional—the opposite of most structures in Vae Annitor. Darro awkwardly shook the snow from his shoulders as a servant ran to get the Kavir king.

  “What if he doesn’t know where we got the Aether?” D’Naa asked, wiping the snow from her short, dark hair.

  “I’m not sure,” Raeth replied. “We’ll have to think of something else.”

  Darro perked up as he heard footsteps approaching. “The king will see you in his sitting room,” the servant informed, gesturing toward an open doorway down the hall. Raeth left most of the guards behind, taking only two with him as he followed the servant’s motions.

  Darro clumped along beside his brother, curious. The last time he had seen king Ala’D, they had both been in their first decade of life. As they reached the doorway, entering yet another austerely-decorated room, Darro was struck by a single thought.

  He’s not as big as I expected. True, most people were small when compared to Darro, but he had heard that the King of Kavir was a large man. That assessment appeared to be a bit optimistic. Ala’D was broad of the chest, like most Kavir. However, also like most Kavir, he lacked height. He was several inches shorter than Raeth, which put him nearly a head and a half shorter than Darro. While the man’s rough Kavir beard made him a little more imposing, he still didn’t live up to the stories.

  Darro shook his head as Ala’D and Raeth exchanged greetings. They just didn’t make people very big here in the east. Probably had to do with the wind—stumpy legs kept them from getting blown over.

  “Prince Darro,” Ala’D said, bringing Darro’s mind back to the conversation. “I had heard of your wound. It is good to see that you are recovering so well.”

  Darro shrugged. “Laying down doesn’t do much good when there’s a war on.”

  “That’s true enough,” Ala’D agreed, motioning for them to sit.

  “This will be a short visit, your highness,” Raeth said, seating himself. “I only have a single question for you.” The room was a small one, and so many people made it cramped. Darro didn’t take a seat at the table, instead choosing a chair by the wooden wall, where there was a little more space.

  “You want to know if you can bring your people to the highlands,” Ala’D said. “It is a good strategy—the creatures will find it far more difficult to fight on this terrain.”

  Raeth paused. “Actually,” he said, resting his arms on the table, the room’s only furniture besides chairs, “that’s not it.”

  Ala’D frowned as a servant entered with a jug of something steaming and began to pour cups. Darro settled himself in a hard-backed chair, shuffling uncomfortable. Hadn’t the Kavir ever heard of cushions?

  “Why have you come, then?” Ala’D asked.

  “It’s about the Aethers,” Raeth explained, accepting a cup.

  Ala’D’s frown deepened. “I hardly think this is the time to discipline us, your majesty. Kavir will not apologize for what it has done. It is time someone saw through Aedin lies and took a little power for themselves.”

  Raeth flushed slightly. “That’s not what I meant, Ala’D,” he said.

  Darro watched with keen interest as the servant poured him a mug of the steaming liquid. It didn’t appear to be tea; it had a spicy scent to it, and a dark color. He’d vowed not to drink alcohol any more, but…well, if he didn’t know, then it would be fine, right? The serving maid handed him a mug, and he regarded its size with consternation, then motioned for her to pour him a second just in case.

  “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand,” Ala’D said, still tense. Despite his arrival to aid the Imperium forces two days before, it was obvious that he still had issues with Aedin rule.

  “I need to know where you got your first Verdant bud,” Raeth said. Ala’D opened his mouth to object, but Raeth continued quickly. “Not to punish you, Ala’D. You’re right—even if I were considering such a thing, this is certainly not the time. I think knowing where the Aethers first originated might help us defeat the creatures.”

  Ala’D sat quietly for a moment. He certainly has grown up to be a stern man, Darro thought, taking a draw
on the first mug. The liquid inside was surprisingly good, sweet with a hint of some peppery spice Darro didn’t recognize him. Its warmth was very welcome despite the fact that it threatened to burn his mouth.

  “I can’t answer that question, your majesty,” Ala’D finally confessed. “Kaaln was the one who secured our first Aether, all those years ago.”

  Raeth frowned in confusion.

  “The man you saw dead at the end of the battle,” Ala’D explained. “He was my mentor and caretaker, regent when I was young. The Aethers were his idea—back when he was a senator, he somehow found out that they could be Bonded to non-Aedin. I don’t know who his contact was.”

  Raeth frowned deeply, his mug of whatever sitting untouched on the table beside him.

  “I didn’t know Kaaln was a senator,” D’Naa said from her chair beside Raeth.

  “He abandoned the post when my parents died,” Ala’D said.

  “If he spent time in Vae Annitor, he probably got the Aether the same way you tried to get Amberite,” Raeth said, holding up his hand and looking at his chipped Aether. As he did so, Darro noticed that both D’Naa and Ala’D blushed slightly.

  “Excuse me, my lords,” a gruff-looking guard said from the far side of the room.

  “Yes, Yanic?” Ala’D said, turning to the man.

  “I was with Kaaln when he got the Aether. It didn’t come from an Aedin man—we tried that first, but abandoned the plan because we couldn’t think of a way to get the Aether without being discovered.”

  “How, then?” Raeth asked, perking up. “Where did you get it.”

  “We bought it, my lord,” the aging guard said. “From a man named Elethis.”

  Raeth hissed softly. “Elethis,” he said. “The Shentis ambassador.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  #

  D’Naa stumbled forward, a wave of nausea rushing through her body. One of the palace Sending-attendants steadied her, waiting with a bag just in case she made sick.

  “I’ll never get used to that,” she mumbled, waving the servant away as Raeth and Darro stepped from the platform.

  “Don’t worry,” Darro said, clapping her on the shoulder with his good arm, “most of us never do either.

  D’Naa smiled. She hadn’t spent much time with Raeth’s oversized brother, but she was quickly realizing that she liked him. Darro had a quiet nonchalance about him that made everything, even the Forgotten advance, seem a little less stressful.

  “How many secrets can one man hide?” Raeth asked, striding forward without a hint of nausea, as if to disprove Darro’s words.

  “Who?” D’Naa asked, taking a deep breath and following him through the circular Sending room and onto the strange Corpate climbing creature.

  “Shateen,” Raeth said as Darro and D’Naa joined him. “The Shentis Ambassador.”

  “Wasn’t he executed?” D’Naa asked with a frown as Raeth told the Nurturer to take them down to the underground floor.

  “No,” Darro responded. “Nearly, but he didn’t quite make it into the pool before the creatures started coming out.”

  “I’ve been holding him,” Raeth said as the Corpate began to move. “I sensed he was hiding something, but I thought I’d already figured it out. It seems that there’s more to the Shentis than assumed.”

  D’Naa shivered slightly. She’d heard about the Shentis, but she’d never met one. Apparently, there weren’t very many of the creatures. “The stories say they’re not any better than the things we’re fighting.”

  “The Shentis are strange,” Raeth agreed. “I’m still not certain what to make of them. We were going to have Shateen executed for buying children from an orphanage.”

  “Buying children?” D’Naa asked incredulously. “Why?”

  “Apparently to make more Shentis,” Raeth said. He fell silent, leaving the strange remark to stand on its own.

  D’Naa sighed, her Aether wiggling slightly. As the Corpate continued climbing, however, D’Naa’s mind drifted to another topic. It was odd, but for some reason returning to Vae Annitor felt comfortable to her. She already regarded the palace as her home, though she had only been living in it for a few weeks.

  That’s silly, she told herself. She’d lived in Kavir for all her life—how could she abandon it so quickly in favor of a place she barely knew? Yet, she couldn’t help her feelings. Something about the palace felt right to her. Perhaps it was the people—or rather person—it represented.

  D’Naa turned to the side, studying Raeth. A slight frown of consternation marred his face in the dark corridor and he stared forward, his mind obviously deep in thought. She had known him—really known him—for such a short time. Yet, she already felt something she couldn’t deny. It had begun on that first day, when she had danced with him that day so many weeks ago. She’d responded to the emotion with forced anger, stamping out any weakness toward him in favor of her predispositions. Yet, it had grown despite her attempts at ignoring it. When she had been ready to acknowledge it, it had been ready to blossom.

  He was confident, yet at the same time there was an insecurity to him—a tendency to worry too much. Strong, yet vulnerable. An attractive combination—especially now that she realized he hadn’t been the one who had insulted her during that first bride choosing.

  It was strange—she had to realign her thinking, casting out many of her previous conceptions. She had rationalized herself into believing that Hern must have been misunderstood, that he was really a good man inside that projected the wrong image. That wasn’t the case—he really was the good, thoughtful person she had seen. It was just that he wasn’t Hern.

  D’Lum be blessed that the Forgotten took the right brother, D’Naa thought. Where would the Imperium be if Hern had been the one who survived?

  The Corpate slowed and finally stopped, revealing a darkened, musty-smelling room. “A dungeon,” D’Naa said with surprise. “I thought the Aedin considered themselves above such things.”

  “We only keep special prisoners here,” Raeth said, stepping off the platform. D’Naa and Darro joined him, following Raeth past several saluting sentries and through a barred gate. The circular room beyond was lined with cells, only one of which appeared to be occupied.

  “Why, my emperor and captor,” a smooth voice said. A form moved inside the cell, stepping into the light. D’Naa shied back, at first thinking he was one of the Forgotten, but she quickly noticed differences. His skin wasn’t black so much as it was a deep bluish purple—as if it were a mass of bruises. His skin didn’t suck in light like the Forgotten did, it was just dark. Most importantly, however, his eyes were white and human.

  “Shateen,” Raeth said, stepping forward.

  “I would offer you a seat, your majesty,” Shateen said, his affable voice a sharp contrast to the gloomy quarters, “but I doubt you would want to join me in the cell.”

  “I’ve come to release you, Shateen,” Raeth said. “The creatures have nearly reached the city.”

  “You don’t intend to leave me down here?” Shateen asked, a hint of true surprise in his voice. “That seems like the easiest way to make certain my execution is completed. I do believe we’re a few days late on that, though I suppose I shouldn’t remind you.”

  “You’re not going to be executed any more,” Raeth said.

  “I’m not?”

  “I’ve decided you did nothing wrong,” Raeth said. “At least, nothing worthy of death. The children you took live on—in one form or another. I can hardly blame you for trying to ensure the continuance of your people.”

  “So you’re letting me go,” Shateen said, his voice doubtful. “And what is my price? I’m afraid I’m no good at granting wishes, no matter what the farmwives say.”

  “The price is information,” Raeth said. “A few years ago your predecessor sold the Kavir a Verdant Aether Bud. Where did he get it?”

  Shateen paused, leaning forward, his hands on the bars of his cell. “I guess I’m just going to have to wait fo
r the creatures to arrive,” he finally announced. “Perhaps they’ll be more accommodating than my current hosts.”

  “Twins, man!” Raeth cursed, stepping forward. “What does it take to get a little cooperation out of you?”

  “I will not reveal the secrets of my people, your majesty,” Shateen said simply. “One would think that you’d have realized that by now.”

  #

  Raeth sighed, pushing away his anger. He’d tried threatening Shateen before, and the results had been pathetic. The Shentis was obviously willing to sacrifice his life to protect his people, and that gave him a strong edge.

  Raeth stepped forward, calming himself. He paused in front of Shateen’s bars, then leaned against the wall beside them, letting a bit of his exhaustion show. “You know, it’s frustrating, Shateen.”

  “What is that, your majesty?”

  “Had this all not happened, I think we would have gotten along very well. You seem like an irregularly jovial person.”

  “Thank you, your majesty,” Shateen noted. “Though, to be honest, had this not all happened I would probably be dead right now.”

  Raeth paused. “I suppose you’re right,” he agreed. “I can’t help thinking that a lot of frustration and anger could have been saved if your people had just told us a little more about yourselves.”

  “We tried that, your majesty,” Shateen said, leaning with his shoulder against the bars. “Where do you think all the rumors about us came from? The truth is, Lord Hern, that secrecy is our only means of survival. You think people would be comfortable knowing that the stories are true, that the Shentis really do capture children?”

  “You really can’t reproduce on your own?” Raeth asked.

  Shateen shook his head. “Only the blood of a Shentis injected into a regular person will make another Shentis. How do you think the people would react to that knowledge?”

  “Perhaps some of them would react poorly,” Raeth said. “But not all of us would.”