Words of Radiance by Brandon Sanderson
“And take away that moment of discovery?” Kylrm said. “I remember when I first saw one move. It’s worth not spoiling. We never tell the new guards when they first come.”
Rysn contained her annoyance and looked back at the “island.” Curse those inaccurate accounts from her readings. Too much hearsay, not enough experience. She found it hard to believe that no one had ever recorded the truth. Likely, she simply had the wrong sources.
A falling haze of rain shrouded the enormous beast in mist and enigma. What did a thing so big eat? Did it notice the people living upon its back; did it care? Kelek . . . What was mating like for these monsters?
It had to be ancient. The boat drew into its shadow, and she could see the greenery growing across its stony skin. Shalebark mounds made vast fields of vibrant colors. Moss coated nearly everything. Vines and rockbuds wound around trunks of small trees that had gained a foothold in cracks between plates of the animal’s shell.
Gu led the convoy around the hind leg—giving it a very wide berth, to her relief—and came up along the creature’s flank. Here, the shell dipped down into the water, forming a platform. She heard the people before she saw them, their laughter rising amid splashes. The rain stopped, so Rysn lowered her parasol and shook it over the water. She finally spotted the people, a group of youths both male and female climbing up onto a ridge of shell and leaping from it into the sea.
That was not so surprising. The water of the Reshi Sea, like that of the Purelake, was remarkably warm. She had once ventured into the water near her homeland. It was a frigid experience, and not one to be engaged in while of sound mind. Frequently, alcohol and bravado were involved in any ocean dip.
Out here, though, she expected that swimmers were commonplace. She had not expected them to be unclothed.
Rysn blushed furiously as a group of people ran past on the docklike shell outcropping, as bare as the day they were born. Young men and women alike, uncaring of who saw. She was no Alethi prude, but . . . Kelek! Shouldn’t they wear something?
Shamespren fell around her, shaped like white and red flower petals that drifted on a wind. Behind her, Gu chuckled.
Kylrm joined him. “That’s another thing we don’t warn the newcomers about.”
Primitives, Rysn thought. She shouldn’t blush so. She was an adult. Well, almost.
The flotilla continued toward a section of shell that formed a kind of dock—a low plate that hung mostly above water. They settled in to wait, though for what, she didn’t know.
After a few moments, the plate lurched—water streaming off it—as the beast took another lethargic step. Waves lapped against the boats from the splashdown ahead. Once things were settled, Gu guided the boat to the dock. “Up you go,” he said.
“Shall we tie the boats to anything?” Rysn said.
“No. Not safe, with movement. We will pull back.”
“And at night? How do you dock the boats?”
“When we sleep, we move boats away, tie together. Sleep out there. Find island again in the morning.”
“Oh,” Rysn said, taking a calming breath and checking to make sure her pot of grass was carefully stored in the bottom of the catamaran.
She stood up. This was not going to be kind to her shoes, which had been quite expensive. She had a feeling the Reshi wouldn’t care. She could probably meet their king barefooted. Passions! From what she’d seen, she could probably meet him bare-chested.
She climbed up carefully, and was pleased to find that despite being an inch or so underwater, the shell was not slippery. Kylrm climbed up with her and she handed him the folded-up parasol, stepping back and waiting as Gu maneuvered his boat away. Another oarsman brought up his boat instead, a longer catamaran with parshmen to help row.
Her babsk huddled inside, wrapped in his blanket despite the heat, head propped up against the back of the boat. His pale skin had a waxy cast.
“Babsk . . .” Rysn said, heart wrenching. “We should have turned around.”
“Nonsense,” he said, his voice frail. He smiled anyway. “I’ve suffered worse. The trade must happen. We’ve leveraged too much.”
“I will go to the island’s king and traders,” Rysn said. “And ask for them to come here to negotiate with you on the docks.”
Vstim coughed into his hand. “No. These people aren’t like the Shin. My weakness will ruin the deal. Boldness. You must be bold with the Reshi.”
“Bold?” Rysn said, glancing at the boat guide, who lounged with fingers in the water. “Babsk . . . the Reshi are a relaxed people. I do not think much matters to them.”
“You will be surprised, then,” Vstim said. He followed her gaze toward the nearby swimmers, who giggled and laughed as they leaped into the waters. “Life can be simple here, yes. It attracts such people like war attracts painspren.”
Attracts . . . One of the women scampered past, and Rysn noticed with shock that she had Thaylen eyebrows. Her skin had been tanned in the sun, so the difference in tones hadn’t been immediately obvious. Picking through those swimming, Rysn saw others. Two that were probably Herdazians, even . . . an Alethi? Impossible.
“People seek out this place,” Vstim said. “They like the life of the Reshi. Here, they can simply go with the island. Fight when it fights another island. Relax otherwise. There will be people like this in any culture, for every society is made of individuals. You must learn this. Do not let your assumptions about a culture block your ability to perceive the individual, or you will fail.”
She nodded. He seemed so frail, but his words were firm. She tried not to think about the swimming people. The fact that at least one of them was of her own kind made her even more embarrassed.
“If you cannot trade with them . . .” Rysn said.
“You must do it.”
Rysn felt cold, despite the heat. This was what she’d joined with Vstim to do, wasn’t it? How many times had she wished he would let her lead? Why feel so timid now?
She glanced toward her own boat, moving off, carrying her pot of grass. She looked back at her babsk. “Tell me what to do.”
“They know much of foreigners,” Vstim said. “More than we know of them. This is because so many of us come to live among them. Many of the Reshi are as carefree as you say, but there are also many who are not. Those prefer to fight. And a trade . . . it is like a fight to them.”
“To me too,” Rysn said.
“I know these people,” Vstim said. “We must have Passion that Talik is not here. He is their best, and often goes to trade with other islands. Whichever you do meet for trade, he or she will judge you as they would judge a rival in battle. And to them, battle is about posturing.
“I once had the misfortune to be on an isle during war.” He paused, coughing, but spurned the drink Kylrm tried to give him. “As the two islands raged, the people climbed down into boats to exchange insults and boasts. They would each start with their weakest, who would yell out boasts, then progress in a kind of verbal duel up to their greatest. After that, arrows and spears, struggling on ships and in the water. Fortunately, there was more yelling than actual cutting.”
Rysn swallowed, nodding.
“You are not ready for this, child,” Vstim said.
“I know.”
“Good. Finally you realize it. Go now. They will not suffer us long on their island unless we agree to join them permanently.”
“Which would require . . . ?” Rysn said.
“Well, for one, it requires giving all you own to their king.”
“Lovely,” Rysn said, rising. “I wonder how he’d look wearing my shoes.” She took a deep breath. “You still haven’t told me what we’re trading for.”
“They know,” her babsk said, then coughed. “Your conversation will not be a negotiation. The terms were set years ago.”
She turned to him, frowning. “What?”
“This is not about what you can get,” Vstim said, “but about whether or not they think you are worthy of it. Convince
It seemed a plea. If their flotilla was turned away . . . The cost of this trade was not in the goods—woods, cloth, simple supplies purchased cheaply—but in the outfitting of a convoy. It was in traveling so far, paying guides, wasting time waiting for a break between storms, then more time searching for the right island. If she was turned away, they could still sell what they had—but at a stiff devastating loss, considering the high overhead of the trip.
Two of the guards, Kylrm and Nlent, joined her as she left Vstim and walked along the docklike protrusion of shell. Now that they were so close, it was difficult to see a creature and not an island. Just ahead of her, the patina of lichen made the shell nearly indistinguishable from rock. Trees clustered here, their roots draping into the water, their branches reaching high and creating a forest.
She hesitantly stepped onto the only path leading up from the waters. Here, the “ground” formed steps that seemed far too square and regular to be natural.
“They cut into its shell?” Rysn said, climbing.
Kylrm grunted. “Chulls can’t feel their shells. This monster probably can’t either.”
As they walked, he kept his hand on his gtet, a type of traditional Thaylen sword. The thing had a large triangular wedge of a blade with a grip directly at the base; you’d hold the grip like a fist, and the long blade would extend out down past the knuckles, with parts of the hilt resting around the wrist for support. Right now, he wore it in a sheath at his side, along with a bow on his back.
Why was he was so anxious? The Reshi were not supposed to be dangerous. Perhaps when you were a paid guard, it was better to assume everyone was dangerous.
The pathway wound upward through thick jungle. The trees here were limber and hale, their branches almost constantly moving. And when the beast stepped, everything shook.
Vines trembled and twisted on the pathway or drooped from branches, and these pulled out of the way at her approach, but crept back quickly after her passing. Soon, she couldn’t see the sea, or even smell its brine. The jungle enveloped everything. Its thick green and brown were broken occasionally by pink and yellow mounds of shalebark that seemed to have been growing for generations.
She’d found the humidity oppressive before, but here it was overwhelming. She felt as if she were swimming, and even her thin linen skirt, blouse, and vest seemed as thick as old Thaylen highland winter gear.
After an interminable climb, she heard voices. To her right, the forest opened up to a view of the ocean beyond. Rysn caught her breath. Endless blue waters, clouds dropping a haze of rain in patches that seemed so distinct. And in the distance . . .
“Another one?” she asked, pointing toward a shadow on the horizon.
“Yeah,” Kylrm said. “Hopefully going the other way. I’d rather not be here when they decide to war.” His grip tightened on the handle of his sword.
The voices came from farther up the way, so Rysn resigned herself to more climbing. Her legs ached from the effort.
Though the jungle remained impenetrable to her left, it remained open to her right, where the massive flank of the greatshell formed ridges and shelves. She caught sight of some people sitting around tents, leaning back and staring out over the sea. They hardly gave her and the two guards more than a glance. Up farther, she found more Reshi.
These were jumping.
Men and women alike—and in various states of undress—were taking turns leaping off the shell’s outcroppings with whoops and shouts, plummeting toward the waters far below. Rysn grew nauseated just watching them. How high up were they?
“They do it to shock you. They always jump from greater heights when a foreigner is here.”
Rysn nodded, then—with a sudden start—realized that the comment hadn’t come from one of her guards. She turned and discovered that to her left, the forest had moved back around a large outcrop of shell like a rock mound.
There, hanging upside down and tied by his feet to a point at the top of the shell, was a lanky man with pale white skin verging on blue. He wore only a loincloth, and his skin was covered with hundreds upon hundreds of small, intricate tattoos.
Rysn took a step toward him, but Kylrm grabbed her shoulder and pulled her back. “Aimian,” he hissed. “Keep your distance.”
The blue fingernails and deep blue eyes should have been a clue. Rysn stepped back, though she couldn’t see his Voidbringer shadow.
“Keep your distance indeed,” the man said. “Always a wise idea.” His accent was unlike any she’d heard, though he spoke Thaylen well. He hung there with a pleasant smile on his face, as if completely indifferent to the fact that he was upside down.
“Are you . . . well?” Rysn asked the man.
“Hmmm?” he said. “Oh, between blackouts, yes. Quite well. I think I’m growing numb to the pain of my ankles, which is just delightful.”
Rysn brought her hands up to her chest, not daring to get any closer. Aimian. Very bad luck. She wasn’t particularly superstitious—she was even skeptical of the Passions sometimes—but . . . well, this was an Aimian.
“What fell curses did you bring on this people, beast?” Kylrm demanded.
“Improper puns,” the man said lazily. “And a stench from something I ate that did not sit well with me. Are you off to speak with the king, then?”
“I . . .” Rysn said. Behind her, another Reshi whooped and leaped from the shelf. “Yes.”
“Well,” the creature said, “don’t ask about the soul of their god. They don’t like to speak of that, it turns out. Must be spectacular, to let the beasts grow this large. Beyond even the spren who inhabit the bodies of ordinary greatshells. Hmmm . . .” He seemed very pleased by something.
“Do not feel for him, trademaster,” Kylrm said softly to her, steering her away from the dangling prisoner. “He could escape if he wished.”
Nlent, the other guard, nodded. “They can take off their limbs. Take off their skin too. No real body to them. Just something evil, taking human form.” The squat guard wore a charm on his wrist, a charm of courage, which he took off and held tightly in one hand. The charm hadn’t any properties itself, of course. It was a reminder. Courage. Passion. Want what you need, embrace it, desire it and bring it to you.
Well, what she needed was her babsk to be here with her. She turned her steps upward again, the confrontation with the Aimian leaving her unnerved. More people ran and leaped from the shelves to her right. Crazy.
Trademaster, she thought. Kylrm called me “trademaster.” She wasn’t, not yet. She was property owned by Vstim; for now just an apprentice who provided occasional slave labor.
She didn’t deserve the title, but hearing it strengthened her. She led the way up the steps, which twisted farther around the beast’s shell. They passed a place where the ground split, the shell showing skin far beneath. The rift was like a chasm; she couldn’t have leaped from one side to the other without falling in.
Reshi she passed on the path refused to respond to her questions. Fortunately, Kylrm knew the way, and when the path split, he pointed to the right fork. At times, the path leveled out for significant distances, but then there were always more steps.
Her legs burning, her clothing damp with sweat, they reached the top of this flight and—at long last—found no more steps. Here, the jungle fell away completely, though rockbuds clutched the shell in the open field—beyond which was only the empty sky.
The head, Rysn thought. We’ve climbed all the way to the beast’s head.
Soldiers lined the path, armed with spears bearing colorful tassels. Their breastplates and armguards were of carapace carved wickedly with points, and though they wore only wraps for clothing, they stood as stiff-backed as any Alethi soldier, with stern expressions to match. So her babsk was right. Not every Reshi was the “lounge and swim” type.
Boldness, she thought to herself, remembering Vstim’s words. She could not show these people a timid face. The
Rysn strode forward, passing through a double row of spears. She would have expected the same kind of clothing on the king, but instead the man wore full, voluminous robes of vibrant green and yellow. They looked terribly hot.
As she drew nearer, Rysn got a sense for just how high she had climbed. The waters below shimmered in the sunlight, so far down that Rysn wouldn’t have heard a rock hit if she’d dropped one. Far enough that looking over the side made her stomach twist upon itself and her legs tremble.
Getting close to the king would require stepping out onto that shelf where he stood. It would place her within a breath of plummeting down hundreds and hundreds of feet.
Steady, Rysn told herself. She would show her babsk that she was capable. She was not the ignorant girl who had misjudged the Shin or who had offended the Iriali. She had learned.
Still, perhaps she should have asked Nlent to lend her his charm of courage.
She stepped out onto the shelf. The king seemed young, at least from behind. Built like a youth, or . . .
No, Rysn thought with a start as the king turned. It was a woman, old enough that her hair was greying, but not so old that she was bent with age.
Someone stepped out onto the shelf behind Rysn. Younger, he wore the standard wrap and tassels. His hair was in two braids that fell over tan, bare shoulders. When he spoke, there wasn’t even a hint of an accent to his voice. “The king wishes to know why his old trading partner, Vstim, has not come in person, and has instead sent a child in his place.”
“And are you the king?” Rysn asked the newcomer.
The man laughed. “You stand beside him, yet ask that of me?”
Rysn looked toward the robed figure. The robes were tied with the front open enough to show that the “king” definitely had breasts.
“We are led by a king,” the newcomer said. “Gender is irrelevant.”
It seemed to Rysn that gender was part of the definition, but it wasn’t worth arguing over. “My master is indisposed,” she said, addressing the newcomer—he’d be the island’s trademaster. “I am authorized to speak for him, and to accomplish the trade.”