Edgedancer

by Brandon Sanderson

  The minion slit Gawx’s throat.

  Crimson blood poured out and stained Gawx’s clothing. The minion dropped him, then stumbled back, as if startled by what he’d done.

  Lift froze. He couldn’t— He didn’t—

  Darkness grabbed her from behind.

  “That was poorly done,” Darkness said to the minion, tone emotionless. Lift barely heard him. So much blood. “You will be punished.”

  “But…” the minion said. “I had to do as I threatened…”

  “You have not done the proper paperwork in this kingdom to kill that child,” Darkness said.

  “Aren’t we above their laws?”

  Darkness actually let go of her, striding over to slap the minion across the face. “Without the law, there is nothing. You will subject yourself to their rules, and accept the dictates of justice. It is all we have, the only sure thing in this world.”

  Lift stared at the dying boy, who held his hands to his neck, as if to stop the blood flow. Those tears …

  The other minion came up behind her.

  “Run!” Wyndle said.

  She started.

  “Run!”

  Lift ran.

  She passed Darkness and pushed through the viziers, who gasped and yelled at the death. She barreled into the Prime’s quarters, slid across the table, snatched another roll off the platter, and burst into the bedroom. She was out the window a second later.

  “Up,” she said to Wyndle, then stuffed the roll in her mouth. He streaked up the side of the wall, and Lift climbed, sweating. A second later, one of the minions leaped out the window beneath her.

  He didn’t look up. He charged out onto the grounds, twisting about, searching, his Shardblade flashing in the darkness as it reflected starlight.

  Lift safely reached the upper reaches of the palace, hidden in the shadows there. She squatted down, hands around her knees, feeling cold.

  “You barely knew him,” Wyndle said. “Yet you mourn.”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve seen much death,” Wyndle said. “I know it. Aren’t you accustomed to it?”

  She shook her head.

  Below, the minion moved off, hunting farther and farther for her. She was free. Climb across the roof, slip down on the other side, disappear.

  Was that motion on the wall at the edge of the grounds? Yes, those moving shadows were men. The other thieves were climbing their wall and disappearing into the night. Huqin had left his nephew, as expected.

  Who would cry for Gawx? Nobody. He’d be forgotten, abandoned.

  Lift released her legs and crawled across the curved bulb of the roof toward the window she’d entered earlier. Her vines from the seeds, unlike the ones Wyndle grew, were still alive. They’d overgrown the window, leaves quivering in the wind.

  Run, her instincts said. Go.

  “You spoke of something earlier,” she whispered. “Re…”

  “Regrowth,” he said. “Each bond grants power over two Surges. You can influence how things grow.”

  “Can I use this to help Gawx?”

  “If you were better trained? Yes. As it stands, I doubt it. You aren’t very strong, aren’t very practiced. And he might be dead already.”

  She touched one of the vines.

  “Why do you care?” Wyndle asked again. He sounded curious. Not a challenge. An attempt to understand.

  “Because someone has to.”

  For once, Lift ignored what her gut was telling her and, instead, climbed through the window. She crossed the room in a dash.

  Out into the upstairs hallway. Onto the steps. She soared down them, leaping most of the distance. Through a doorway. Turn left. Down the hallway. Left again.

  A crowd in the rich corridor. Lift reached them, then wiggled through. She didn’t need her awesomeness for that. She’d been slipping through cracks in crowds since she started walking.

  Gawx lay in a pool of blood that had darkened the fine carpet. The viziers and guards surrounded him, speaking in hushed tones.

  Lift crawled up to him. His body was still warm, but the blood seemed to have stopped flowing. His eyes were closed.

  “Too late?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Wyndle said, curling up beside her.

  “What do I do?”

  “I … I’m not sure. Mistress, the transition to your side was difficult and left holes in my memory, even with the precautions my people took. I…”

  She set Gawx on his back, face toward the sky. He wasn’t really anything to her, that was true. They’d barely just met, and he’d been a fool. She’d told him to go back.

  But this was who she was, who she had to be.

  I will remember those who have been forgotten.

  Lift leaned forward, touched her forehead to his, and breathed out. A shimmering something left her lips, a little cloud of glowing light. It hung in front of Gawx’s lips.

  Come on …

  It stirred, then drew in through his mouth.

  A hand took Lift by the shoulder, pulling her away from Gawx. She sagged, suddenly exhausted. Real exhausted, so much so that even standing was difficult.

  Darkness pulled her by the shoulder away from the crowd. “Come,” he said.

  Gawx stirred. The viziers gasped, their attention turning toward the youth as he groaned, then sat up.

  “It appears that you are an Edgedancer,” Darkness said, steering her down the corridor as the crowd moved in around Gawx, chattering. She stumbled, but he held her upright. “I had wondered which of the two you would be.”

  “Miracle!” one vizier said.

  “Yaezir has spoken!” said one of the scions.

  “Edgedancer,” Lift said. “I don’t know what that is.”

  “They were once a glorious order,” Darkness said, walking her down the hallway. Everyone ignored them, focused instead on Gawx. “Where you blunder, they were elegant things of beauty. They could ride the thinnest rope at speed, dance across rooftops, move through a battlefield like a ribbon on the wind.”

  “That sounds … amazing.”

  “Yes. It is unfortunate they were always so concerned with small-minded things, while ignoring those of greater import. It appears you share their temperament. You have become one of them.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” Lift said.

  “I realize this.”

  “Why … why do you hunt me?”

  “In the name of justice.”

  “There are tons of people who do wrong things,” she said. She had to force out every word. Talking was hard. Thinking was hard. So tired. “You … you coulda hunted big crime bosses, murderers. You chose me instead. Why?”

  “Others may be detestable, but they do not dabble in arts that could return Desolation to this world.” His words were so cold. “What you are must be stopped.”

  Lift felt numb. She tried to summon her awesomeness, but she’d used it all up. And then some, probably.

  Darkness turned her and pushed her against the wall. She couldn’t stand, and slumped down, sitting. Wyndle moved up beside her, spreading out a starburst of creeping vines.

  Darkness knelt next to her. He held out his hand.

  “I saved him,” Lift said. “I did something good, didn’t I?”

  “Goodness is irrelevant,” Darkness said. His Shardblade dropped into his fingers.

  “You don’t even care, do you?”

  “No,” he said. “I don’t.”

  “You should,” she said, exhausted. “You should … should try it, I mean. I wanted to be like you, once. Didn’t work out. Wasn’t … even like being alive…”

  Darkness raised his Blade.

  Lift closed her eyes.

  “She is pardoned!”

  Darkness’s grip on her shoulder tightened.

  Feeling completely drained—like somebody had held her up by the toes and squeezed everything out of her—Lift forced her eyes to open. Gawx stumbled to a stop beside them, breathing heavily. Behind, the vizi
ers and scions moved up as well.

  Clothing bloodied, his eyes wide, Gawx clutched a piece of paper in his hand. He thrust this at Darkness. “I pardon this girl. Release her, constable!”

  “Who are you,” Darkness said, “to do such a thing?”

  “I am the Prime Aqasix,” Gawx declared. “Ruler of Azir!”

  “Ridiculous.”

  “The Kadasixes have spoken,” said one of the scions.

  “The Heralds?” Darkness said. “They have done no such thing. You are mistaken.”

  “We have voted,” said a vizier. “This young man’s application was the best.”

  “What application?” Darkness said. “He is a thief!”

  “He performed the miracle of Regrowth,” said one of the older scions. “He was dead and he returned. What better application could we ask for?”

  “A sign has been given,” said the lead vizier. “We have a Prime who can survive the attacks of the One All White. Praise to Yaezir, Kadasix of Kings, may he lead in wisdom. This youth is Prime. He has been Prime always. We have only now realized it, and beg his forgiveness for not seeing the truth sooner.”

  “As it always has been done,” the elderly scion said. “As it will be done again. Stand down, constable. You have been given an order.”

  Darkness studied Lift.

  She smiled tiredly. Show the starvin’ man some teeth. That was the right of it.

  His Shardblade vanished to mist. He’d been bested, but he didn’t seem to care. Not a curse, not even a tightening of the eyes. He stood up and pulled on his gloves by the cuffs, first one, then the other. “Praise Yaezir,” he said. “Herald of Kings. May he lead in wisdom. If he ever stops drooling.”

  Darkness bowed to the new Prime, then left with a sure step.

  “Does anyone know the name of that constable?” one of the viziers asked. “When did we start letting officers of the law requisition Shardblades?”

  Gawx knelt beside Lift.

  “So you’re an emperor or something now,” she said, closing her eyes, settling back.

  “Yeah. I’m still confused. It seems I performed a miracle or something.”

  “Good for you,” Lift said. “Can I eat your dinner?”

  1

  Lift prepared to be awesome.

  She sprinted across an open field in northern Tashikk, a little more than a week’s travel from Azimir. The place was overgrown with brown grass a foot or two high. The occasional trees were tall and twisty, with trunks that looked like they were made of interwoven vines, and branches that pointed upward more than out.

  They had some official name, but everyone she knew called them drop-deads because of their springy roots. In a storm, they’d fall over flat and just lie there. Afterward they’d pop back up, like a rude gesture made at the passing winds.

  Lift’s run startled a group of axehinds who had been grazing nearby; the lean creatures leaped away on four legs with the two front claws pulled in close to the body. Good eating, those beasties. Barely any shell on them. But for once, Lift wasn’t in the mood to eat.

  She was on the run.

  “Mistress!” Wyndle, her pet Voidbringer, called. He took the shape of a vine, growing along the ground beside her at superfast speed, matching her pace. He didn’t have a face at the moment, but could speak anyway. Unfortunately.

  “Mistress,” he pled, “can’t we please just go back?”

  Nope.

  Lift became awesome. She drew on the stuff inside of her, the stuff that made her glow. She Slicked the soles of her feet with it, and leaped into a skid.

  Suddenly, the ground didn’t rub against her at all. She slid as if on ice, whipping through the field. Grass startled all around her, curling as it yanked down into stone burrows. That made it bow before her in a wave.

  She zipped along, wind pushing back her long black hair, tugging at the loose overshirt she wore atop her tighter brown undershirt, which was tucked into her loose-cuffed trousers.

  She slid, and felt free. Just her and the wind. A small windspren, like a white ribbon in the air, started to follow her.

  Then she hit a rock.

  The stupid rock held firm—it was held in place by little tufts of moss that grew on the ground and stuck to things like stones, holding them down as shelter against the wind. Lift’s foot flashed with pain and she tumbled in the air, then hit the stone ground face-first.

  Reflexively, she made her face awesome—so she kept right on going, skidding on her cheek until she hit a tree. She stopped there, finally.

  The tree slowly fell over, playing dead. It hit the ground with a shivering sound of leaves and branches.

  Lift sat up, rubbing her face. She’d cut her foot, but her awesomeness plugged up the hole, healing it plenty quick. Her face didn’t even hurt much. When a part of her was awesome, it didn’t rub on what it touched, it just kind of … glided.

  She still felt stupid.

  “Mistress,” Wyndle said, curling up to her. His vine looked like the type fancy people would grow on their buildings to hide up parts that didn’t look rich enough. Except he had bits of crystal growing out of him along the vine’s length. They jutted out unexpectedly, like toenails on a face.

  When he moved, he didn’t wiggle like an eel. He actually grew, leaving a long trail of vines behind him that would soon crystallize and decay into dust. Voidbringers were strange.

  He wound around himself in a circle, like rope coiling, and formed a small tower of vines. And then something grew from the top: a face that formed out of vines, leaves, and gemstones. The mouth worked as he spoke.

  “Oh, mistress,” he said. “Can’t we stop playing out here, please? We need to get back to Azimir!”

  “Go back?” Lift stood up. “We just escaped that place!”

  “Escaped! The palace? Mistress, you were an honored guest of the emperor! You had everything you wanted, as much food, as much—”

  “All lies,” she declared, hands on hips. “To keep me from noticin’ the truth. They was going to eat me.”

  Wyndle stammered. He wasn’t so frightening, for a Voidbringer. He must have been like … the Voidbringer all the other ones made fun of for wearing silly hats. The one that would correct all the others, and explain which fork they had to use when they sat down to consume human souls.

  “Mistress,” Wyndle said. “Humans do not eat other humans. You were a guest!”

  “Yeah, but why? They gave me too much stuff.”

  “You saved the emperor’s life!”

  “That should’ve been good for a few days of freeloading,” she said. “I once pulled a guy out of prison, and he gave me five whole days in his den for free, and a nice handkerchief too. That was generous. The Azish letting me stay as long as I wanted?” She shook her head. “They wanted something. Only explanation. They was going to starvin’ eat me.”

  “But—”

  Lift started running again. The cold stone, perforated by grass burrows, felt good on her toes and feet. No shoes. What good were shoes? In the palace, they’d started offering her heaps of shoes. And nice clothing—big, comfy coats and robes. Clothing you could get lost in. She’d liked wearing something soft for once.

  Then they’d started asking. Why not take some lessons, and learn to read? They were grateful for what she’d done for Gawx, who was now Prime Aqasix, a fancy title for their ruler. Because of her service, she could have tutors, they said. She could learn how to wear those clothes properly, learn how to write.

  It had started to consume her. If she’d stayed, how long would it have been before she wasn’t Lift anymore? How long until she’d have been gobbled up, another girl left in her place? Similar face, but at the same time all new?

  She tried using her awesomeness again. In the palace, they had talked about the recovery of ancient powers. Knights Radiant. The binding of Surges, natural forces.

  I will remember those who have been forgotten.

  Lift Slicked herself with power, then skidded across
the ground a few feet before tumbling and rolling through the grass.

  She pounded her fist on the stones. Stupid ground. Stupid awesomeness. How was she supposed to stay standing, when her feet were slipperier than if they’d been coated in oil? She should just go back to paddling around on her knees. It was so much easier. She could balance that way, and use her hands to steer. Like a little crab, scooting around this way and that.

  They were elegant things of beauty, Darkness had said. They could ride the thinnest rope, dance across rooftops, move like a ribbon on the wind.…

  Darkness, the shadow of a man who had chased her, had said those things in the palace, speaking of those who had—long ago—used powers like Lift’s. Maybe he’d been lying. After all, he’d been preparing to murder her at the time.

  Then again, why lie? He’d treated her derisively, as if she were nothing. Worthless.

  She set her jaw and stood up. Wyndle was still talking, but she ignored him, instead taking off across the deserted field, running as fast as she could, startling grass. She reached the top of a small hill, then jumped and coated her feet with power.

  She started slipping immediately. The air. The air she pushed against when moving was holding her back. Lift hissed, then coated her entire self in power.

  She sliced through the wind, turning sideways as she skidded down the side of the hill. Air slid off her, as if it couldn’t find her. Even the sunlight seemed to melt off her skin. She was between places, here but not. No air, no ground. Just pure motion, so fast that she reached grass before it had time to pull away. It flowed around her, its touch brushed aside by her power.

  Her skin started to glow, tendrils of smoky light rising from her. She laughed, reaching the bottom of the small hill. There she leaped some boulders.

  And ran face-first into another tree.

  The bubble of power around her popped. The tree toppled over—and, for good measure, the two next to it decided to fall as well. Perhaps they thought they were missing out on something.

  Wyndle found her grinning like a fool, staring up at the sun, spread out on the tree trunk with her arms interwoven with the branches, a single golden gloryspren—shaped like an orb—circling above her.

  “Mistress?” he said. “Oh, mistress. You were happy in the palace. I saw it in you!”