Words of Radiance (Page 42)

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 king stood at the end of the pathway of guards and rockbuds, a diminutive figure on the edge of a carapace shelf, looking toward the sun.

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?”