Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive, #3.5)(48)

“The creatures that came onto the ship,” Rysn said. “Nikli . . . whatever he is. They can swim. I doubt we’re safe down here.”

“Perhaps there is a way out,” Cord said. “I will look?”

Rysn nodded, though she didn’t have much hope. During her travels with her babsk, they’d visited the Purelake, where he’d made her read a book on the local people. There had been an entire chapter on how the place drained during storms, and though she hadn’t been able to make much sense of it, she was pretty certain a chamber this far down couldn’t have air unless there was no way for it to escape upward.

That meant they were cornered. Rysn settled her back against a stone, her legs stretched in front of her. Cord hurried off, dripping water and carrying a sphere for light. Rysn fished in her pockets. What did she have of use? A few more spheres and some ruby fabrials?

For a moment, she thought they were from spanreeds. But no, these were the rubies from her chair, secured in metal housings with straps to tie them into place. They were paired with a set on the anchor rigged to the mast of the ship.

Strange, to think how optimistic she’d been only a short time ago. Before she’d led the entire crew to their doom. Would Radiants Lopen and Huio be able to save them, maybe?

And so you’re helpless again? she thought. Just sitting around, waiting for someone else to come and take care of you?

Vstim had put her in command for a reason. He trusted her. Couldn’t she do herself the same honor?

“Rysn!” Cord called, her voice echoing in the tunnel. The Horneater woman appeared a short time later, panting, her eyes wide. Her figure threw crazy shadows across the walls as she waved the hand holding the sphere. “You must see!”

“See what?” Rysn asked.

“Treasure,” Cord said. “Plate, Rysn. Shardplate. The gods heard my prayers and have led me to him!” She stooped to heave Rysn over her shoulder again.

“Wait,” Rysn said. “Let’s try these, maybe?” She held up a ruby and activated it with a twist of part of the housing. That left it hanging in the air.

Cord ran off, then returned shortly with a small bench and an antiquated spear. That worked fairly well; using the leather straps on the fabrials, Rysn tied them to the legs of the small bench. When Cord lifted the bench and Rysn activated the fabrials, they made it hover. It did rise and fall slightly with the movements of the ship up above, but with the still ocean around here, that variation wasn’t much.

A short time later, Rysn poled herself through the air with the spear, hovering alongside Cord. Though the place where they’d emerged had been unworked stone, the next section of the tunnel had been carved into a corridor. On its walls they found strange murals. People with hands forward, falling through what appeared to be portals, emerging into . . . light?

Not far past these, they entered a small room. It was perhaps fifteen feet square, and Rysn’s eyes were immediately drawn to the incredible mural that dominated the far wall. It depicted a sun being shattered into pieces.

Cord showed her the set of Shardplate, which had been carefully piled in one corner of the small chamber, along with some ornate weapons and clothing. None of those seemed to be Shardweapons, but . . . those were Soulcaster devices, arranged in little boxes by the wall. Four were on a bench identical to the one Rysn floated upon, and four were on the ground, probably moved by Cord.

A metal door set into the stone at the left side of the room was cracked slightly open. Rysn poled herself over and peeked through to see an even larger corridor, this one with a vaulted ceiling and fine worked stone walls. Light shimmered somewhere farther along it, illuminating large carapace skulls with deep black eye sockets.

Though she was tempted to continue exploring, something about the grand mural in the small room drew Rysn back. She poled over to it as Cord attempted to activate the Shardplate—not a bad idea, considering their situation. Cord asked her for gemstones, and Rysn absently handed over her sphere pouch.

That mural . . . it was circular and—inlaid with golden foil—it seemed to glow with its own light. The writing on parts of it was unfamiliar to Rysn; she hadn’t seen the script during any of her travels. It wasn’t even the Dawnchant.

The peculiar letters were art themselves, curling around the outside of the exploding sun—which was divided into mostly symmetrical pieces. Four of them, each in turn broken into four smaller sections.

Her spear slipped from her fingers and clattered to the floor. She swore she could feel the heat of that sun, burning, washing over her. It was not angry, though she knew it was being ripped apart like a person on some awful torture device.

She felt something emanating from it. Resignation? Confidence? Understanding?

This is the real treasure, she thought, although she didn’t know why. Those words. Burning on the wall.

Who had created this? She had never experienced such grandeur. She traced the pieces of breaking sunlight with her eyes. Gold foil on the inside. Red foil tracing the outer lines to give them depth and definition. She counted the shards in her mind, over and over, feeling a reverence to the number. The sun held her.

You were brought here, she thought to herself, by one of the Guardians of Ancient Sins.

Of course she had been. That made sense.

Wait. Did it?

Yes, she thought. You were. There are few of them left. And so the Sleepless take up the task.