Isles of the Emberdark

by Brandon Sanderson

“Crow is sharp,” he said. “One of my best acquisitions, and bargained for by paying barely anything, except to annoy an old rival.

“What would it take,” he said, punctuating the question with a building scale, “to get you to try something more in line with your heritage? I’m not your patron, and I owe you nothing, but you fell in my lap. If I were to rehabilitate you even slightly, there are those who would pay me favors.” She walked over and leaned on the side of the piano, holding her drink to keep her hand from trembling. He wanted something from her. That…was actually dangerous. This would have been so much easier if he were only angry at the lost cargo. “What would that entail?” she asked quietly. “Running a small kingdom for me,” he said, “on a planet that worships me. As a demigod.”

“It’s Old Iriali,” she said. “It talks of them visiting a land too dangerous for settling.” Now the stinger—and she hoped it was enough. “A land with birds that could form the Nahel bond.” The music stopped. Xisis looked at her. “It’s true,” she said. “Drominad? The planet the Scadrians want? It’s more important than people think.” “The Rosharans want it too.” He continued the song, which became a complex, stately piece. “Full of those birds—Aviar, they’re called. Indeed, I have a reliable report indicating there are enough birds for each inhabitant to bond one—and more to spare. That seems a great deal of Investiture for such a minor planet—and it has to come from somewhere. There are whispers it might be another of Autonomy’s old dominions. Which would give the possibility…” “Of a perpendicularity,” she said.

“I…” She took a deep breath. “Fifty years. As a demigod on your stupid planet, seeing to your interests.”

He missed the rocking sensation of being on a real sea, but there was something to this stillness. The serenity of floating in, literally, nothing. Of utter quiet. Alone with his thoughts in an expanse as wide as a person’s imagination. Back home, there was always noise. Not just sounds, these days, but noise. You couldn’t go anywhere to escape it, not even to what had once been the most dangerous place on the planet. Stillness. Beautiful nothing. Calm serenity. Thrum. Dusk’s eyes snapped open. Thrum.

From pool, to worms, to birds. The light transfers to each one who eats it. Father… It couldn’t… It couldn’t be that simple, could it? He scrambled for the jar of worm paste, which he’d secured to its spot before turning in. He wrenched it out, the glow lighting his hand, making his fingers ruddily transparent. The birds squawked at his sudden motion. He dipped a finger in, then—bracing himself—ate the paste. The flavor was foul, of course. He forced it down with some fresh water, then waited. Long enough that he felt foolish. Was he going mad? Dining on mashed-up worms, used as a stain for the hull of— Thrum. Thrum. THRUM.

Invisible pulses, sounding in the distance, like heartbeats. Welcome, a far-off, masculine voice said, my son. “Patji!” Dusk said, springing to his feet. “What has happened to me?” It is the final step of your training. “All along,” he said. “If we’d eaten the worms… If anyone eats the worms…” Anyone? The voice laughed. Do I bless anyone? “No,” Dusk whispered. “Only those who are tested.” And who survive, Patji said.

I have given you the tools. Go forth and discover my will, trapper. For no victory is warranted unless it is earned, and each planet must stand on its own or be consumed. Farewell, my priest.

He settled down and closed his eyes, and as he concentrated, the sounds returned. Thrum. Thrum. THRUM. He could feel them, physically, pushing against him, like… Like waves.

To him, it became a map. For he could sense something interrupting the thrums. Just as islands interrupted waves in the ocean, something interrupted these pulses. He’d have to travel more to make a complete map, but he could feel what wasn’t there. All because of years spent with his fingers in the water, learning to speak the language of the ocean. The abyss might not have the type of water he was used to, but it spoke the same language.

Dusk wiped tears from his eyes, wetting his fingers and charcoal. “I can see the way,” he whispered, sobbing openly. “I can see the way.”

What? Both of them looked around, as if… As if they could suddenly hear. “You can sense the pulses too? How? I didn’t feed you any paste. You didn’t even drink any of the blood water. Why can you…” It was him. He and the birds were bonded. All their lives, the Aviar had given their talents to their human companions. Sak, glimpses of the future, morbidly depicted. Rokke, the gift of invisibility, hiding others from the senses of predators. Dusk had never imagined that one day, he’d have something to give back. It seemed he had a talent of his own: the ability to find the way home.

This one had no trees at all, though something glowed a soft green at the center, which seemed promising. Perhaps another pool?

Their buildings were all metal, maybe twenty feet square and ten high, with rounded corners. Other metallic contraptions on the beach nearby looked like vehicles. The people he saw had metal appliances on the sides of their faces. Two others wore full masks and carried rifles. These were the Ones Above. They lived in this place of three infinities?

The Malwish were a dominant force on the planet of Scadrial. A powerful force in the galaxy, and an aggressive one. Everyone tried to leave them to their war, but…well, Scadrians had this habit of claiming land, sending patrols, and coming up with their own rules and regulations. They patrolled half the lanes between planets in Shadesmar.

“I have sworn the oath of the First,” Chrysalis said softly. “Hoid helped me escape a life I came to revile. I will never do harm to another again, by my sworn word. But if they find me, Starling, they will burn me. They see my kind—innocent or guilty—as abominations.”

“We don’t know why they do what they do, Captain,” he replied. “But I’d guess it’s this shape because it’s within the Drominad subastral. This is why these Threnodite entities stay away from populated areas—they can get trapped into a shape if too many people are nearby. The things we love, or fear, or dream about…they influence beings like this.” “So it’s trapped?” she asked. “Locked down?” “In a way, but not really. It’s a giant snake monster now, and wouldn’t consider being anything else.” He shrugged. “It’s hard to say, though. Again, it could be in that shape for some other reason entirely—it could just feel like being a snake.”

“Type 1-6 Threnodite entities are attracted to sources of Investiture. If that’s too technical for you, then the mere existence of land here is an even better sign.” “Because it’s more proof we’re near Drominad?” Starling asked, catching sight of that serpent again as it emerged from the inner unsea, then sank beneath the surface again. “Yup! Any kind of land, particularly one with a curious shape, is a sign of a planet nearby with its people thinking and changing the shape of Shadesmar.”

“Should the surface be more ground-like here if we’re near a planet?” Leonore asked. “Or something different from the unsea? Scadrial’s subastral is all misty, though you’ll fall through if you try to walk there.” “Yes…subastrals are all unique, influenced by the people living in the Physical Realm nearby. Most common are variations on obsidian ground, like you see in Roshar, often inverted from the oceans. That has curious individuality when closer to the planet, but becomes a glassy, featureless plain farther out, eventually giving way to the unsea except where people travel Shadesmar with regularity.

The unsea was thicker here, more visible. Shadowy but…lighter. And was that a school of fish swimming deep below? “The unsea’s essence is more ocean-like here,” she said as ZeetZi and Aditil arrived. “Each planet in the Physical Realm has a profound effect on Shadesmar,” Ed said. “Near Nalthis the surface is painted colors, wet with pigment and flowers that drip ink. Roshar? Glass beads, like the gemstones they use for light, and inverted land and sea—which is common for some regions, but not all of them.” “And here it’s more like water,” Starling said. “Drominad is an ocean planet, I assume?” “Exactly,” Ed said. “The change here is more subtle than others, but it is a change. We sometimes see subastrals like this one near sea-faring cultures, where the unsea becomes the dominant feature, instead of fully solidifying, even for oceans. This might be why the Drominad perpendicularity, despite being less than a month’s journey from important lanes of travel, hasn’t been found. Because at first glance, this region seems like just any other part of the endless emberdark. These hints, though, are proof. We are absolutely within a planetary subastral.”

“We’re actually pretty far off from the coordinates on the map, but that’s not uncommon. That map is millennia old, and Shadesmar—of course—shifts over time.” “It does?” ZeetZi settled down in Starling’s customary seat. “Why does Shadesmar shift?” “Oh!” Aditil said, raising her hand from behind him like she was in class. “I know this one! I learned it! People think about space, and the more we think about it, the more it manifests here!” “Precisely,” Ed said. “The more aware of the cosmere the people on a planet become, the larger the space between their planet and other planets grows in Shadesmar. Additional reality just…manifests,

“Our perception creates Shadesmar! Good thing humans are really, really bad at imagining the actual distances between planets, or soon it wouldn’t be any faster to travel in here than in the Physical Realm! For now, instead of light-years apart, planets just tend to be thousands upon thousands of miles apart. It’s neat!”

Then he paused. “While you’re talking to them, keep an eye out for any pretty ghost ladies. I could use a date.” He winked.

“I’m Captain Illistandrista, Thirteenth Divinity of Shotozoko Peak. You can call me Starling—and I’m at your service, Colonel.”

Rocky and black, but not like the glassy type you found elsewhere in Shadesmar. This looked more like coral, with bulbous sections full of texture.

“Beyond that Splinter of Ambition is an inner island, and on that, a cavern. I’m certain that inside it is the portal. A transfer point to a planet full of islands and birds, as detailed in the reports of my colleagues.

Currently, ships had to use FTL to reach Lumar for aether harvesting—either that or pay for the more powerful, but more regulated, versions available from Aditil’s people. Both were enormously expensive, leading to situations like on the Dynamic, where only the old, stale spores were available to cargo ships. However, sublight speeds could reach the moons of the mining planet easily with this perpendicularity, perhaps within less than a year’s travel time. While Drominad wasn’t super close to either Scadrial or Roshar, it was situated somewhat between them, and that was relevant to the war as well.

Dajer knew he had her. In her experience, people like him loved to exercise a little authority over an immortal. They hated the idea that dragons lived, even in this modern era, as gods. Hated that there were those among her kind who predated the birth of his gods and the creation of his very subspecies.

Most of these people had uniforms on. Several with full face masks, several with helmets, a few with adornments like the Ones Above had shown on the landing pad back home. Smaller, masklike metallic bits at the edges of their faces, as if stuck there by glue. He was curious to see that while many had pale skin, some were of a more familiar, browner skin tone.

This was her. The Dakwara. The serpent whose length was said to stretch the ocean itself. Dusk grabbed his knife. A sign of respect and reverence for the demigod before him.

“You didn’t come from here? Then where?” In that moment Dusk knew he had to protect the actual location of the portal. Otherwise this man would find it, claim it, and cut them off from this strange land. So he lied. “We dream,” Dusk said, “and in so dreaming, emerge into this place. Always, we must find our way home by defeating the Dakwara. The great serpent, demigod.” “The portal pulls you through, does it?” the man said. “Now that is interesting. Almost as interesting as your Invested birds. The Nahel bond, found in such a strange place as this. But what spirits do your birds bond to?” “Spirits?” Dusk said. “Yes, that’s the way of it,” the man said. “Spirits, or sprites, or whatever your local tongue might call them. That’s how the birds get their uncanny abilities, is it not?” Again, the man seemed to think he had the answers. Dusk gave him nothing further.

“Your snake god does not like it when people step past the line over there. Hard times, hard times. Lots of spousal pensions to pay.” He paused, looking back at his friends—specifically, the woman who wasn’t wearing a uniform. She watched with folded arms, and a guard had a gun subtly trained on her. Interesting. What was the situation here?

These devices weren’t as effective as Rosharan fabrials, but the Scadrians tended to prefer their electronics.

“You eat fruit, I take it?” Dajer said. “Scout reports say that whatever Shard created your planet placed some familiar foods for you.” “Our world was created by Patji,” Dusk said, walking into the building—wary for a trap, as always. “He gave power to the Dakwara—whom you’ve met—and she birthed the islands we live upon. Then once it was good, the other gods came down and became islands to join Patji.”

“Impossibly, you have a perpendicularity on your planet. Reports exist of those birds on Roshar, in the past. This means some of them had to have gotten offworld before the modern era.”

“How would anyone have found our world?” Dusk asked. “Through this darkness?” “By luck,” Dajer said. “Navigation here, as I’m sure you know, is virtually impossible. You’re lucky your god dropped you within sight of the island here. If you’d needed to cross the true darkness of the unsea…well, you’d wander forever, and die. Regardless, we have reports of people finding this island—then losing it. In the deep past, perhaps some of your people traveled through and got very, very lucky in finding civilization beyond the darkness.”

The presence of the birds caused quite a stir among my people, then we realized the implications. Someone had gotten birds off your world before the days of space travel. That meant a portal. That meant an opportunity. “I have spent incredible resources searching Shadesmar near your planet for the portal,” Dajer said. “I’ve stuck out my neck, bet my entire career on it existing. But the unsea out here is unpredictable, and navigation so difficult. Even with all I spent—each day having more trouble convincing my superiors to let me continue—I found nothing. Only a tip from an arcanist friend a few weeks back led me to this specific island, after someone discovered an ancient map.”

“I am here,” Dajer said, “because I have a specialty. I am the remover of obstructions, the builder of bridges. You can help me, Sixth.”

No, this is a viewing device only.” He tapped the window, and it changed to another sight. Then another, then another, then another. Each seemed to be a different world. Different suns, different dress, different architecture. Some had vehicles that flew; others had dirt roads, with vehicles pulled by beasts. One world had oceans and pale people who had four arms. Were these the albinos from the stories? Another had flowers like from his homeworld, though the people’s skin was a coppery color. They wore colors of beautiful variety.

“Cursed nephilim.” “Nephilim?” “Eidoliths. Splinters of Ambition. Pieces of the Evil. Snake gods. Entities. Whatever you prefer to call them.” He shook his device. “None of the rules ever seem to work around them… Even our most advanced healing devices just…give out…”

The grand ivory city of Lar’Cal—built high along the glittering skyways of Yolen, far above the wild forests. Constructed by her people during their primordial service to Adonalsium, before the rivalry between the fain and the unfain. Long before she’d been born, back before even Master Hoid had been born. When Frost had been a youth.

Even before we knew that Yolen was the source of all the Shards and of humankind, humans revered you. Your people were once the greatest builders and creators of all the cosmere. Once.”

“Sign a fixed contract of twenty years with me, entering service as a hired professional aide with strictly listed duties, not to be infringed or expanded by myself or any others. You would find it an invigorating position. I am soon to be one of the most important people in all of the cosmere.”

“The dragons have stagnated. Once, they flew, and mortals walked. Now any child with a coin can soar as they did—and even the gods tremble before what mortals create. I can take those manacles off. Scadrial is the most technologically advanced planet in all the cosmere.” Did you clear that claim with Taldain? she thought. Or better, the planets Invention created? And for all your technological prowess, your ships run on aether.

The opening ahead, into that next room. It should have been shut tight, with an… An impenetrable lock. For this was where her people had kept their Dawnshard, long ago.

“How did you open one of our locks?” “Concentrated beam of Investiture,” he said. “Focused in the right way, with increasing vibrations that overload and reset the mechanism. We call this device, this weapon, the Intensifier. It takes an unholy amount of power—but also quite a bit of finesse, as the goal mustn’t be to engage the lock’s protections. You must instead flood it with so much power that it’s oversaturated. Ancient draconic devices are fascinating, but cannot keep pace with modern technology.”

“Do you know where they took the Dawnshard, by the way?” He asked it in such a casual way, as if he weren’t inquiring about one of the most dangerous weapons in all of the cosmere. “No,” she said, truthfully. “It was decided that too many of us knew the location, so it was moved. By the time I made the pilgrimage, it was already gone. Only the lock remained. Closed, by tradition.”

“A Dawnshard leaves a trace. If you know where it was, you might be able to ascertain where it went. Connection from something so powerful is almost impossible to purge.

Dragons could subsist directly on energy drawn from the Spiritual Realm. That included her, despite her other limitations. Eating wasn’t required, and they had organs that would fabricate a nutrient or water by metabolizing Investiture through their Connection. Their immortality wasn’t merely a matter of not aging; they were built to last. Severing this Connection was an extremely difficult thing to accomplish, and was one of the only ways to kill them.

More importantly and soul-crushingly, the manacles blocked her from the Spirit Shores. The place where dragons went when they died, and sometimes when they slept.