Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive, #3.5)(28)

Could we spare a fleet? Rysn wrote, though she knew the answer. Their navy had been dealt a serious blow when the parshmen—the Voidbringers—had turned. Most of the ships that remained were vital in escorting troop transports and preventing Thaylen City from being blockaded. So no, a fleet could not be spared for an expedition like this.

When no reply came, Rysn glanced at Chiri-Chiri sleeping on the stones beside her. Then she started writing again. Babsk, Rysn wrote, you trained me for difficult, remote work. You made a woman out of a selfish child, and that woman is now prepared to use her expertise. I can do this.

I do not doubt that you can, Vstim dictated back. But I don’t want anything else to happen to you in my service.

She glanced at her numb legs, beneath the writing board. I will be careful, Rysn wrote. And you have done a great deal for me already.

Farewell, then, Vstim dictated. I trust your judgment, but please understand that if you decide it is right to turn back, you should do so—regardless of what anyone says. You must lead this mission according to your wisdom.

If only the crew had such faith in her. She said farewell to Vstim, then packed away her spanreed. After that, she looked up at the dark sky, searching for starspren and listening to the gentle crash of the waves. On her first few trips with her babsk, she’d been so self-absorbed—so frustrated at missing out on parties and negotiations with powerful houses—that she’d completely missed the beauty of this. Stars above, a sea breeze, and the soothing whispers of an ocean calling her to its embrace.

A soft sigh announced Nikli standing up nearby and stretching. He stepped over. “Brightness,” he said, “it sounds like the food is ready. I’m curious to see if Cord’s stew is better than mine. I’m going to get some for myself. Would you like a bowl as well?”

“In a while,” Rysn said, looking out at the ocean. Little wavespren—like crawling four-legged creatures with smooth skin and large eyes—rode the foam up onto the beach, then quickly retreated with the water. “Your village is in . . . Alm, is it?”

“Yes, Brightness,” he said. “Inland, up against the mountains.”

“That’s close to Aimia. Do your people have any legends or stories about the place?”

Nikli settled down on a large stone beside her chair. “We do. A lot of the survivors of the scouring settled nearby.”

“Blue fingernails?” Rysn asked. “And vibrant blue eyes?”

“No, there were also ordinary people on Aimia,” Nikli said. “Though they wear their beards in that odd way that’s popular in Steen.”

“Oh,” she said. “What have they told you? About the scouring, about their homeland?”

“Brightness . . . the scouring was a long, long time ago. What we know are mostly myths, passed from generation to generation in stories and songs. I don’t know if any of it would be useful to you.”

“I’d like to hear them anyway,” Rysn said. “If it’s all right with you.”

He watched the waves for a time. “It happened,” he finally said, “because of the fall of the Radiants. Aimia had always been . . . different. The people who lived there. They were close with the Radiants, and maybe kept too many secrets. They assumed their secrets would protect them, but then their allies fell. And secrets can’t hold swords.

“Suddenly they were alone in the world, and they possessed vast riches. It was just a matter of time. Perhaps some of the invaders were genuinely frightened of the oddities in Aimia. But most saw only the wealth. The fabrials, the creatures who could stop Shardplate, drain Stormlight.” He hesitated, his eyes focusing on Chiri-Chiri. “I mean . . . that’s what the legends say. I didn’t give them a lot of credence until I met you.”

“That’s fascinating,” Rysn said, getting out a fresh sheet of paper to record what he’d said. “Scholars around the world talk about Aimia in hushed tones. But I wonder, have they ever come and interviewed your people?”

“I’m sure they’ve talked to the human survivors,” he said, looking down. “And there are immortals who lived on the island and now wander the world. I’m a poor source for information on this topic, Brightness.”

“Nevertheless,” she said. “What happened? How was the place scoured?”

“I don’t know if my inadequate knowledge is of use to—”

“Please,” Rysn said.

He continued watching the waves. A brave wavespren crawled all the way up the stone beach to their toes before turning and scuttling back into the water.

“Aimia shouldn’t have existed, Brightness,” Nikli said. “It . . . well, it should always have been like it is now. Barren. Too cold for much to grow. It isn’t like Thaylenah, with favorable ocean currents nearby.

“But those old Aimians, they knew ways to make it lush, alive. There are . . . stories of fantastical devices that transformed Aimia from wasteland to paradise. I guess it was beautiful. I’ve imagined it that way, when hearing the stories. But . . .”

“But?” Rysn prompted.

“Well, the people who attacked Aimia quickly realized that destroying these devices would catastrophically undermine the place.” He shrugged. “That’s really all I know. Without these . . . fabrials, I guess they were? Without them, the island couldn’t sustain a nation.