The Aether of Night

by Brandon Sanderson

“So when are you going to get chosen?” Darro asked. They were on the outskirts of the fallen city, but it was busy with people. Though many were soldiers, a greater number were not. Many of the wealthier Imperial citizens chose to spend Saedin in Saeris Va—joining the High Aedin in their ancestral home was a very fashionable thing to do, assuming one could afford to pay for a Sending.

  Raeth just shook his head to Darro’s question. “Probably never,” he said. “Amberite Vo-Dari are rare. Most of them are Verdant or Ferrous.”

  Darro frowned. “The Patriarch is Amberite,” he said.

  Raeth sighed. How could he explain? “It’s a long story, Darro. Let’s just say I’m not talented enough.”

  Darro frowned, but let the matter drop. Raeth turned away, looking over the crowd. Opportunistic merchants had set up stands to peddle their wares, and hundreds of colorful tents had been constructed around the city to house those who couldn’t afford to travel back and forth from the capitol. For most, Saedin wasn’t a single-day event, but a week-long festival. Raeth remembered well the days of celebration, wonder, and enjoyment of his childhood. Now, however, one day was almost too much to ask. Raeth could visit for the official ceremonies—the capitol executions, the bride choosing, and the prayers to the Unremembered—and nothing more.

  It wasn’t much, but it was more than he would see for the rest of the year. “We don’t have much time,” he said, striking out into the city. “I’m going to enjoy myself while I can.”

  #

  D’Naa shivered as she took a sip of her steaming tea. “Grandfather,” she announced, “I believe that was the most thoroughly unpleasant experience of my life.”

  Hlin chuckled. “That’s because you haven’t lived a very long life yet, my girl.”

  D’Naa shook her head, pulling her blanket closer and taking another sip of her tea. “It was like…I was tied to a rope and yanked by some horrible force across the entire Imperium.”

  “We know, dear,” Shaad said, sipping her own tea. “We’ve experienced the Sending several times.”

  Hlin nodded in agreement. “It’s quite a ride. We need to hire one of those Vo-Dari for our return trip—it certainly beats a four-month ride through the highlands.”

  D’Naa felt her stomach churn. She still hadn’t recovered from making sick all over the Sending platform upon her arrival, an experience that had severely wounded her pride. It didn’t matter to her that the Sending attendants claimed that sickness was common on the first time; none of the other brides had disgraced themselves so.

  “The Sending,” she mumbled. “They can do that to anything?”

  Hlin shook his head. “Just living creatures. And, fortunately, whatever they happen to be carrying at the time.”

  D’Naa nodded, taking another sip of tea, listening to the tent flaps rustle. The tent was small, but that was preferable, considering the temperature. A coal brazier warmed the single cloth room, and four stools made up the only furniture. The price for rent had been outrageous, but her grandfather had been given Imperium gold by D’Naa’s cousin to fund the trip. Even that was beginning to look insufficient. Fortunately, she wouldn’t have to leave the city directly after the Choosing. Unchosen brides were given board in the palace for a week after the festival. D’Naa wasn’t certain if such was supposed to be consolation for not being picked, or if it was simply to let the successful bride gloat over her defeated competitors.

  “So, now what?” she asked.

  “Now we go out and experience the wonders of the festival,” Hlin informed. “The party back in Vae Annitor is fabulous—but even it can’t compare to what goes on up here, amongst the elite.”

  D’Naa groaned, still feeling sick.

  “Or,” he added, “we could just wait here and let you recuperate. Rest for a few hours, child, and let your grandmother paint you up a bit. You’ll have to present yourself to the Emperor just before sunset. After that, you’ll wait through the executions and—”

  “Executions?” D’Naa asked, frowning in surprise.

  “Capitol offenses, dear,” Shaad informed. “Executions ordered by the Senate.”

  “I thought the Senate could order an execution whenever it deemed necessary,” D’Naa argued. “They don’t have to wait for the Festival.”

  Her grandparents shared a look. “Regular executions can happen any time, dear,” Shaad informed. “It’s only special ones that happen at Saedin. It’s an Aedin thing—they like to make use of the Pool of the Forgotten.”

  D’Naa paused. “The pool of what?”

  #

  The black surface of the pool was a dark black, like oil, only it didn’t seem to reflect the light, but absorb it instead. The pool was perfectly still, undisturbed despite the breeze. It pulled on Raeth, as if to absorb him as well, to suck him into its caliginous depths, to tear away his soul, leave him forgotten by all.

  Raeth shivered, and not from the wind. The Pool of the Forgotten was a twenty-foot wide circle of darkness in the very center of Saeris Va. The ruins of stone archways and pillars lay strewn around the pool, frost coating their shadows. For an unspoken reason, none of the vendors or performers had erected tents in the center square. The only structure near the pool was the platform from which the Emperor officiated during the ceremonies.

  The Pool of the Forgotten is the repository for the souls of those who betray their Line, Raeth thought, remembering words from the Protocols. When all men die their souls join the Ancestors to watch over their posterity. However, if they are judged unworthy—if they are oath-breakers, those who ignore their duty, or grievous murderers—they are cast from the Ancestors’ presence. These are the Forgotten. No Ynaa are written to praise their name, and none of their posterity remember their existence. Their souls melt, and become the Living Night, the darkness that makes up the Pool of the Forgotten.

  Only the worst of offenders—Traitors, murderers of children, or other heinous criminals—were ordered thrown into the Pool of the Forgotten.

  “Are you done yet?” a voice asked.

  Raeth turned from the quiet pool, noticing Darro stroll up behind.

  “I’d almost forgotten about this part,” Raeth mentioned, turning back to the pool. “Doesn’t it feel odd to you, that your bride will be chosen barely a few minutes after several men are thrown into that pool?”

  Darro shrugged. “It does kind of dampen the celebration, but I suppose that’s why father fought it so much. Come on—I found a wonderful ale tent. It’s time to get you good and drunk.”

  Raeth sighed, shaking his head. “It’s forbidden of Dari.”

  “You’re not a Dari today,” Darro reminded, tugging on his arm.

  “I’m always a Dari,” Raeth replied. “Today, I just get to cover it over.”

  “But I thought you hated being Dari,” Darro said with a roll of his eyes.

  “I do,” Raeth said, still staring at the dark pool. It was said that to touch its waters was instant death. “That doesn’t mean, however, that I intend to disobey my duties. Dari is my Place. It doesn’t matter that I disagree with the decision; I have to live with its implications nonetheless.”

  Darro sighed. “You’ve been staring at the pool too long, brother,” he said.

  “Probably,” Raeth agreed. What was wrong with him? This was supposed to be his one day of relaxation, his one day of freedom, yet he’d spent the entire day either worrying, complaining, or brooding. Perhaps Darro was right—he did need to let himself get distracted.

  “I can’t drink,” Raeth said, “but I have no objection to watching you get yourself drunk.”

  Darro shrugged. “That’ll have to do. Come on—we’ve still got three hours until sunset.”

  Raeth let Darro lead him away toward a more populated street filled with tents and patrons. As he did, however, his eyes drifted toward the quiet pool one last time. It awaited its sacrifices, like the pagan gods of the Harrmen. There was something wrong—something that wouldn’t let him enjoy himself like he had in
previous years.

  A moment later, Darro pulled him around a corner, and Raeth let his foreboding thoughts drift away, for the moment.

  Chapter Three

  Emperor Vaetayn was a tall, proud man with blonde Aedin hair, a strong face, and a predominant chin—a feature he had passed on to each of his three sons. He stood unflinching before the chill northern breeze, as if he expected the elements to bow before him, rather than the other way around. He waited atop the wooden platform speaking with several senators and generals. Although few of the festival-goers realized it, security during Saedin was very tight. Technically, the City of the Ancestors lay beyond the Imperium’s northern defense perimeter, though its western location put it outside of most Harrmen tribes’ range. Still, so many Aedin outside of their native land could make a tempting target.

  Raeth approached the platform slowly. The central square was beginning to fill with people, though they all gave wide berth to the Pool of the Forgotten. The final ceremonies would begin soon, and with them would come the choosing of a future empress.

  It passed so quickly… . Raeth thought with sadness. His hours of freedom had dribbled away from him, and he really hadn’t accomplished anything. But, what was there to accomplish? Watching the performers no longer held the appeal that it had during his childhood. Several of the duels had been interesting, but those had been so crowded that it was hard to get a good view. There were other Bride Choosings, of course, but Raeth didn’t have the stomach to watch strangers get married. Mostly, Raeth had just spent time with his brother. For some reason, he prized that time most of all.

  Darro strolled along beside him. The massive Aedin was slightly drunk, but that was regular for Darro. He had a look of simple contentment on his face. Raeth doubted the large man even comprehended how good his life was.

  Or, Raeth corrected as he studied Darro’s face, perhaps he did. Darro’s festiveness during the last few hours had seemed forced. Darro had acted like himself—drinking, gawking at women, and generally laughing at everything—but his activities had been twinged by a slightly frantic edge. His days of total freedom would end in a few hours.

  Raeth just shook his head. Oh, Darro. Do you have any idea how much I’d like to switch places with you? Raeth paused, a smile creeping to his lips at the image. Darro would make an absolutely horrible Dari. He’d barely fit into the alcoves.

  Darro and Raeth climbed up the wooden steps to the platform. Down below, hundreds of the Imperium’s elite politely shoved and pushed one another in an attempt to secure a view of the platform. Senators had chairs behind the podium, but all others—merchants, High Aedin, and visiting dignitaries—had to stand below. A line of soldiers kept anyone from getting too close to the pool and its deadly waters.

  From the platform’s vantage, Raeth could see much of the ruined city. Though the Aedin came to Saeris Va once a year, they left it to its ruin and decomposition. The city had been grand once—it rivaled Vae Annitor in size, and many of its buildings had once been enormous. Chunks of carved stone lay strewn across streets and courtyards, and the occasional lump of rusted metal gave hint to what once might have been Corpates. No one was certain—none of the histories recorded a time when the Aedin lived in Saeris Va, and the legends were vague at best. The creation of the current Imperium capitol, Vae Annitor, had in large part been an attempt to recreate the beauties Saeris Va must have contained. They would probably never know if they had been successful or not.

  “Darro. Raeth,” a strong voice said.

  Raeth looked up. Vaetayn turned from his group of counselors, who were taking their places at the back of the platform, to regard his two sons. Raeth and Darro stepped forward, bowing before their father. Hern stood a short distance away, at the front of the platform, looking over the crowd of people.

  “I trust your day has been spent productively?” the emperor asked.

  Darro smiled. “The ale is good this year, father,” he replied.

  Vaetayn’s eyes wrinkled only slightly at the comment. Then he smiled—something Raeth had rarely seen him do. “I suppose that is productive as anything, all things considered. Go stand with your brother, Darro.”

  Darro bowed, his High Aedin cloak flapping as he turned to join Hern at the front of the platform, where the crowd could see them. In many ways, the day’s events were a presentation of Vaetayn’s full-grown sons. Or, at least, a presentation of those sons worth presenting.

  Vaetayn looked forward with pleasure, his wise eyes studying Darro and Hern. He was in a very good mood—even Darro’s impropriety hadn’t bothered him. Raeth stared at his father’s face. Proud, honest, strong…Vaetayn was everything a High Aedin was supposed to represent. He was strict in fulfilling his duty and in caring for the Imperium. He was the strongest leader the Imperium had known in centuries.

  “I am a very lucky man, Raeth,” Vaetayn said quietly.

  Raeth looked up with surprise. “Father?” he asked uncertainly.

  “The Ancestors have blessed me,” Vaetayn continued. “I have what every High Aedin father wishes for. Three sons. One Shaeth, to continue his Line. One Sworded, to defend his Line. And one Dari, to watch over his Line.”

  Vaetayn paused, then reached out to place a hand on Raeth’s shoulder. “Of the three, Raeth, I am most proud of you.”

  Raeth blinked in surprise. “Father?” he asked. “I don’t understand.”

  Vaetayn turned to look back at Hern and Darro. “At times, I wished things could be differently, that I hadn’t made the decision to take your birthright when you were both children. Most of the time, however, I thank to the Ancestors for the foresight they gave me. Neither of the other two could have been Dari. They would have shamed the Line. They are good sons, but they don’t understand duty. Not as you do.”

  Vaetayn turned, meeting Raeth’s eyes. “Hardships are what give us strength, Raeth. Remember that. I did not make you Dari because I am ashamed of you. I made you Dari because I realized you could succeed, for that is the type of person you are. I worry for the other two, but I’ve never had to worry about you.”

  Raeth paused. Succeed as a Dari? “I’m not so certain, father,” he admitted. “I don’t seem to do much but write bad poetry and read it over and over.”

  Vaetayn snorted. “It’s not the quality of the words that matters, Raeth, it’s the quality of the heart that says them. The Dari hold a position of true power in our society. It may be difficult for you now, but someday your struggles will bring you strength. Someday, when I have joined the Ancestors, I will look down and see that you have done as much, if not more, for the Imperium than your siblings.”

  Despite himself, Raeth smiled, pride welling within him. He didn’t know how to respond. He still had his doubts about his ability to do as his father implied. However, he could tell from Vaetayn’s voice that the emperor had no such doubts.

  “Thank you, father,” Raeth said quietly.

  Vaetayn smiled, his hand still resting on Raeth’s shoulder, then turned back toward the other two. “They stand to receive brides,” he said. “But you will stand with me.”

  Raeth smiled. “Yes, father.”

  “Let the choosing begin,” Vaetayn declared in a booming voice.

  #

  D’Naa fidgeted inside the bride’s tent, peeking past the other brides and out at the immense crowd of richly-dressed people. The sun sat just over the horizon, and several pillar-like pieces of metal—probably some form of Corpate—had begun to glow softly across the courtyard. The dark pool in the center of the courtyard was perhaps the most unsettling thing she had ever seen—though the thought of standing in front of the entire crowd, being judged solely on how neatly she fit into a dress, was a close second.

  D’Naa had been given time and tools to wash and prepare herself, and she had just begun to feel a little better. Then a herald had arrived to announce the ceremony. Once that had happened, she hadn’t been able to deny her nervousness any longer. Even disliking the Aedin as she did, the
event that was about to occur was an immensely important turning-point in her life.

  The brides waited in a tent just outside of the courtyard. Their numbers had increased by one since D’Naa had last seen them—the Khur people refused to be Sent because of religious principles, and had transported their bride over land to the ruined city. Frana looked similar to the Mahallen woman, with the same tan skin and sharp features, but was much shorter and dressed in an enveloping robe.

  D’Naa looked down at her own clothing. Her gown might be simple compared the gorgeous silk, velvet, and satin gowns of the other brides, but it suited her. It was a deep green, a color she preferred, but it lacked lacings, embroidery, or fancy designs. She had thought it low-cut, but the other gowns proved just how conservative her people were—beside the Khur woman, only the stiff-faced High Aedin girl from the Ferrous Line had a higher neck line than D’Naa. The Mahallen woman’s dress was so thin up top that D’Naa blushed every time she saw it. In addition, the woman was wearing a curious pair of gem-laden, golden hoops around the back of her breasts, just where they met her chest.

  “What are those for, anyway?” D’Naa hissed.

  “What?” her grandfather asked, following D’Naa’s gaze. “The wedding-hoops? The first man who beds her gets to keep them.”

  “What?” D’Naa asked with shock.

  Hlin nodded, a devilish smile on his lips. “It’s true,” he said. “The first man gets them. Of course, he also gets to keep her. It’s how Mahallen women find a husband.”

  “He’s not serious,” D’Naa said, turning to her grandmother.

  “The people of the south are…different than what you’re accustomed to, dear,” Shaad said.

  “I’ve always found them quite interesting, myself,” Hlin added quietly, earning a dry look from his wife.

  At that moment, the emperor began to speak. D’Naa couldn’t see him from her place in the tent—there were too many people in her way—but she could hear him. He had a strong voice—the kind of voice she would expect from a man of his stature.