Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive, #3.5)

by Brandon Sanderson

“Many of them. We store memories in specialized hordelings bred for the purpose. Cognitive facilities are shared across many different members of the swarm.”

He waved his fingers, and again the different little cremlings—no, hordelings—separated. “It took my people three hundred years of selective breeding to achieve hordelings capable of imitating human fingers. And still, most of us are terrible at pretending to be humans. We don’t have the mannerisms, the thoughts.

“Rysn, there are forces in the cosmere that we can barely identify, let alone track. Evil forces, who would end worlds if they could. They are hunting this place. Now that the Ancient Guardians of Akinah are all but extinct, we Sleepless must protect it. For if our enemies locate it, they could cause the deaths of billions.” He waved toward the mural. “The Dawnshard is . . .”

Cord cried out and tried to strike at him, but his body split into pieces before the blow and individual hordelings began crawling up her arms, into her armor.

“Ancient Guardian,” Nikli said to Chiri-Chiri—still speaking Veden—standing up on the other side of the table. “We should have realized you would find your way to this chamber, but you are no longer needed to protect the secret. At the fall of your kind, mine took up the mantle.”

“Chiri-Chiri simply reached the size where she needed to bond a mandra to continue growing.”

“The Dawnshard isn’t alive. It doesn’t want things. You have stolen it!”

And Rysn knew, or at least felt, he was partially right. It wasn’t a living thing that she’d taken upon herself. It was . . . something else. A Command. It didn’t have a will, and it hadn’t led her here or chosen her.

“If you knew what the Dawnshard was capable of . . .”

“It’s now inside me. Whatever it is.” “Fortunately, you would not be able to employ it,” Nikli said. “It is beyond your capacity. But there are those in the cosmere who could use it for terrible acts.”

“How far you have fallen,” she whispered. “You would murder the very guardians you revere? You would rip the Dawnshard forcibly from the mind of the one who bears it? You would become the things you pretend to defend against.”

“You said it earlier. Your kind are bad at pretending to be humans—so our trade is for training. I agree to take some of you with me, and to show you how to be human. We train you.”

The Soulcasters are practically useless to my kind. We keep them out of reverence, as they were offerings to the Ancient Guardians long ago.

That armor you wear, however, has long been reserved for guardians of the Dawnshard. If you would bear it, you will bear that burden as well.”

The Dawnshards are Commands, Rysn. The will of a god.”

“I feel what you say is right, but . . . I had always imagined the Dawnshards as weapons, like the mythical Honorblades.” To be honest, she’d rarely heard the term “Dawnshard,” but she was pretty sure she’d always conflated them with Honorblades.

“The most powerful forms of Surgebinding transcend traditional mortal understanding,” Nikli said. His body began to re-form, hordelings crawling back into place. “All their greatest applications require Intent and a Command. Demands on a level no person could ever manage alone. To make such Commands, one must have the reasoning—the breadth of understa...

He paused. “And then eventually, they were used to undo Adona...

“We once assumed,” Nikli said, noticing her attention, “that the last of the lanceryn had died, and the few hordelings we had bred with them were all that remained. Inferior bloodlines, though they give us the ability to negate some applications of Stormlight. Yours is the third larkin we now know to have survived—but the only one that has grown mature enough to return here.”

“Larger greatshells need to bond mandras—you call them luckspren—to keep from crushing themselves to death with their own weight. The mandras of this place are special. Smaller, yet more potent, than the common breeds. It is no simple thing to make a creature as heavy as a lancer—or larkin, as they are now called—fly. Chiri-Chiri will need to return every few years until she is fully grown.”

“Fully grown?” Rysn said,

“You should never have come here,” Nikli said. “You should have been dissuaded. But . . . we cannot deny that what you said is true. You were brought by the needs of an Ancient Guardian. And unfortunately, the rest of what you say is also true. Our secret leaks into the world. This Dawnshard is no longer safe. I must say . . . I had not anticipated being persuaded in this matter.”

She felt the strange pressure in the back of her mind. It was a Command? How had it been in the mural, but now invaded her head? She hadn’t been able to read the writing. What kind of Command wasn’t written, but infused a subject like Stormlight in a sphere?

“My initial task was to watch the Ancient Guardian and assess whether she was being cared for.

My kin insisted on two further terms, though. You must never bond a spren to become a Radiant.”

“Also, you may not tell anyone what has happened to you,” Nikli said. “Unless you ask us first. I . . . explained to them that humans often need people to confide in. They pointed to Cord as one, but I suggested we might need more. If we are going to maintain this secret, and work with humans to protect the Dawnshard, there could be others we need. You will speak to us before you do these things, and you may only tell them what we agree to let you.”

“And you,” Nikli said to Cord. “You will protect the Dawnshard, fight for its defense?” “No,”

“I am no soldier,” Cord said, her voice growing softer. “I am no warrior. I must train if I am to be of any use. I will go to war and learn to use this gift. I will fight the Void, as my father refuses to do. Once I’ve accomplished that goal, then I will consider your request.”

“So, Rysn is a Shardbearer now?” Cord asked. “A . . . Dawnshardbearer?” “No,” Nikli said. “She bears nothing. She is the Dawnshard now. That is how it works.” He bowed to Rysn. “We will speak again.”

What you needed to, another part of her thought. You have adapted. You have Remade yourself. It was then that she grasped, in the smallest way, the nature of the Command inside her. The will of a god to remake things, to demand they be better. The power to change.

Remade with a capital “R”, somehow related to the Remade on Roshar?

“I’ll do it, then,” Lopen said, standing up. “I’ve got to protect people, you know? Even from myself. Gotta rededicate to being the best Lopen possible. A better, improved, extra-incredible Lopen.” Rua lifted his hand into the air in a fist. Then the little spren toppled over to the side. “Rua?” Lopen said, leaning down. “You playing a trick on me, naco?” Rua vanished. Then a silvery little dagger appeared in his place. What on Roshar? Lopen picked it up. It was physical, not insubstantial. It was . . . These Words are accepted. A burst of frost and power exploded around Lopen.

No, no. He would be better. No pranks. Or, well, fewer pranks. He could do that. Protect people from himself.

Not that she was alone. A few hordelings accompanied her in secret. Representatives of the Sleepless, who would train with her and keep watch over her. Likely for the rest of her life.

Would Chiri-Chiri retain the ability to fly as she grew big as a chasmfiend? Nikli had implied she would. Stormwinds. How would Rysn deal with that? How long would it take?

“Most people who are different from us are frightening at first,” Rysn said. “But one thing Vstim taught me was to see past my own expectations. In this case, it meant looking past what I assumed made someone a person, and seeing the humanity—and the fear—in what appeared to be a nightmare.”