The Aether of Night

by Sanderson, Brandon

They were all probably members of the Imperium at one point, Raeth thought. They really are our same people, they’ve just undergone a bit of a change.

  “The Emperor… .” the Elder said quietly. Then, in a stronger voice, he continued. “Still, you should not have brought him here. You know our laws, Shateen, I would have thought you the last person to abandon them.”

  “Your assessment of me is true, Elder,” Shateen called out. “Therefore, you know that my reasoning must be sound.”

  The Elder didn’t look very convinced. He stood quietly, contemplating the decision.

  “You’ll have to forgive him,” Shateen said quietly, “the Elder used to be High Aedin. I’ve noticed they tend to take themselves a little too seriously.”

  Raeth smiled despite himself.

  “Truly, Elder, these are special circumstances. The good emperor has promised not to—”

  “Shateen?” a feminine voice called.

  Shateen turned slightly as a female form broke through the crowd. She was plump and short, probably from Shorriken stock. She rushed forward to Shateen and into his embrace.

  “Well, hello Kannalonin,” he said with a fond smile.

  “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” the woman whispered.

  “I’m a little surprised by this all myself,” Shateen admitted, then he turned to Raeth. “Emperor Hern, kindly meet my wife, Kannalonin.”

  Raeth nodded to the woman, who was waving toward the crowd of people. A nervous child stepped forward.

  “Shateen,” Kannalonin said, “this is your son.”

  Shateen’s smile widened, and he opened his arms to the young boy, who couldn’t have been more than four years old. “I was hoping you would choose him,” Shateen said in a quiet voice.

  “He reminded me of you,” Kannalonin said.

  Behind, the Elder had obviously realized that he’d lost the crowd’s focus. People were beginning to whisper, the word ‘emperor’ sounding several times. Finally, the aging Shentis man stepped up to Raeth and the others.

  “Well,” he finally said, “I suppose you’re already here. There isn’t much we can do about that. Welcome to the home of the Shentis, your majesty. Come, you can come to the village hall to rest yourself.”

  “Thank you, Elder,” Raeth said with a nod of his head. Shateen was still speaking quietly with his wife and child, so Raeth decided he would just have to explain on his own. “I’m afraid I can’t engage in many pleasantries, however. The Imperium doesn’t have much time remaining.”

  The Elder frowned. “Things are that bad, then?” he asked. “We hear little from the outside.”

  “The Imperium will likely fall by the end of the week,” Raeth said quietly. “Out military has been completely destroyed, and Vae Annitor has been evacuated. Most of the Senate has relocated to En Mahall, but Aedinor has been decimated. Forgive Shateen for bringing us here, but I convinced him it was in your best interest.”

  The Elder sighed quietly. “If things are as bad as you say, your majesty, then you might be right. The fall of the Imperium serves no one. You. . .know of our ways?”

  Raeth nodded.

  The Elder took a deep breath. “Why have you come here, then?”

  “He needs to visit the Verdant, Elder,” Shateen said, standing.

  “Why?” the Elder asked with confusion.

  “He hasn’t really explained that,” Shateen confessed. “He sounded fairly certain it would help, though.”

  Raeth paused. How could he explain? “It’s…complicated,” he said.

  The Elder sighed. “Very well,” he said.

  #

  The elderly Shentis man led them through the crowd and into the village, Shateen staying behind with his family. D’Naa watched with interest. The village wasn’t very big at all—smaller, even, than most Kavir cities. They passed through it quickly and moved onto a well-worn path through the forest. The light was beginning to grow dim, especially with the trees blocking the sky, but fortunately their trip was short.

  “It is in there, your majesty,” the Elder said, gesturing to an area before them broken by large mounds.

  D’Naa peered closely, realizing that the ‘mounds’ were far too irregular to be a natural part of the forest. Ruins. As they approached, she could make out pieces of carved stone peeking out from the moss-covered forest floor. Fractured arches and weathered pillars, pieces so old that much of their bulk had crumbled to dust.

  They stepped quietly along the path, sensing a certain reverence to the location. As they walked, D’Naa noticed weathered patterns in the stone that she almost recognized for some reason.

  “Saeris Va,” Raeth said in a quiet tone. “This place is like the City of the Ancestors. The same age, the same. . .feel.”

  “Why would the Ancestors build a city in the forest?” Darro asked.

  “The forest must not have been here then,” Raeth said, leaning down to study a piece of stone that might once have been a statue, but had been worn beyond recognition. “This place is old, Darro. Very old.”

  “What you seek is in there, your majesty,” the Elder said, pointing to a large building-like ruin. It was covered with vines and moss, and could easily have been mistaken for a small hill of earth. At its front was a barely-discernable opening, overgrown with vines.

  Raeth nodded, stepping forward. Darro, however, placed a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “I go first,” Darro said firmly. “We don’t know what’s in there.”

  Raeth smiled slightly, then nodded for Darro to go. The large one-armed man stepped forward, pushing aside the vines and stepping into the dark corridor beyond. Raeth, then D’Naa and the Elder, followed behind him. The corridor’s walls were covered with what had once been reliefs, but were now just ripples in the stone. Its darkness was broken up ahead, and D’Naa could see shadowed daylight. She followed Raeth through the musty corridor, then stepped into a small room that was dominated by a single, impressive feature. Verdant.

  It grew like a massive tree, but one constructed of hundreds upon hundreds of Verdant vines. The stone was cut in a circle around its base, as was the ceiling, letting the vines crawl out into the waning light above. The room itself was as worn as the rest of the ruins, its walls cracked, its floor overgrown by vines and moss.

  “Verdant,” Raeth whispered, staring up through the opening. The twisting mass of vines continued up into the distance, growing tall as the surrounding trees.

  D’Naa’s eyes immediately turned toward the elder, and she frowned. There were no signs of vines on his arms. “Why haven’t you bonded it?” she asked.

  The old man raised a hand, showing a circular-shaped gem in his right hand. “I was Amberite, though I was weak for a High Aedin. My father was a traitor, and none of my relatives would take me. Fortunately, I was given the Gift.”

  Raeth raised an eyebrow at the word ‘Gift.’ However, his attention was not focused on the elder. Instead he stared at the tree-like Verdant, frowning slightly in thought. Bits of dust from their movement hung in the air, passing through the rays of light that cut through the opening above.

  “Well, we’re here,” Darro said. “Now what?”

  “I’m not certain,” Raeth admitted.

  You have brought my son. The voice burst into D’Naa’s mind, making her gasp in surprise. It was powerful and full, and its words seemed to echo through her body. Yet, its power was not one of rage or even strength, but of…age.

  “D’Naa?” Raeth said, turning with concern. “What is it?”

  “You didn’t hear that?” D’Naa asked.

  “Hear what?” Darro asked.

  “A voice,” D’Naa said. “In your mind.”

  Raeth turned, regarding the mass of vines. “You see, Darro,” he finally said. “I knew there was a good reason to bring a Verdant Bond with us. What did it say, D’Naa?”

  “It said ‘You have brought my son.’”

  Raeth frowned, taking a step toward the vines.

  “Don’t t
ouch it, your majesty,” the Elder warned. “To touch the Verdant brings immediate death.”

  The power is too concentrated, the voice said in D’Naa’s mind. It will overwhelm your frail bodies.

  Raeth turned, studying her eyes. “What?” he asked.

  She repeated the voice’s words, and Raeth turned back to the Verdant.

  “So you are intelligent,” Raeth said. “The Aethers are alive.”

  The voice’s response was a slow chuckle. I am not the Aether, emperor of men, but what is contained inside it. D’Naa continued to speak the words as they came to her, and as she did, she noticed something. There was a. . .familiarity about the voice. Something she seemed to recognize, but only faintly.

  “Who are you, then?” Raeth asked.

  I am Former, the voice said. He who creates. That upon which you stand, and that of which you are, I once made. I am also Fool. Father of two sons, both promised the world, a prize I vowed to get to that one who could most fully earn the love of its people. D’Naa sensed a rambling style to the voice’s words—not an insane or careless rambling, more like that of an aged grandfather, remembering times of the past.

  “Two sons… .” Raeth said quietly. “One named Makkal?”

  And the other Agaris. Twins.

  “Slaughter and Despair,” Darro said, shivering visibly. “The Fell Twins.”

  Yes, the voice said, its sorrow threatening to overpower D’Naa, bringing an involuntary tear to her eye. Two sons, both great, both as foolish as their father. Two sons who, instead of learning to earn the trust and love of mankind, learned to teach hatred. Instead of seeking to serve the people, they began to envy the followers of their sibling. ‘The one who earns the love of the most people shall have this world,’ I said. A difficult task made simple, for they realized that they could fulfill my test by destroying any men who followed their rival. Death, instead of love, and so became their father a fool.

  “So which is it that I carry in my head?” Raeth asked quietly.

  Makkal, the voice said. For he was the one Decay placed inside Chaos. Makkal. He was always the more aggressive—I believe he struck first, though the seed of rivalry burned in both their hearts. But, their followers were too evenly numbered. No side had the edge. And so, he had to give them something. A gift. An army of warriors crafted from flesh, but without minds. Hard, emotionless things made only to fight.

  But Agaris was always the more clever one. He could not destroy his brother’s creations directly, but he could twist them. So clever. He gave them hearts and emotions. He cursed them with a love of beauty, and with minds to love, and memories to provide guilt. After that, the creatures could no longer fight. Their children live today.

  “The Gol,” Raeth guessed. “What of the Shentis. Creations of your sons as well?”

  A virus, the voice said. Made by Agaris. It gave no visible disease, took no life. It had only one effect, to give sterility. Through subtlety he thought to infect Makkal’s people so that they would eventually die out and have no offspring.

  But, while not as clever as his brother, Makkal was not a fool. He discovered the virus and changed it, so that it bruised the flesh. Then his people would know to avoid those infected. I do not believe Agaris knows his virus lives on. I have tried to look after these people, but it is not easy. Decay’s prison is strong, and my ME is split across four different places. This one is the most central. That is why you can feel me, child, sometimes. I am closest to this Aether.

  “Former,” Raeth said. “Your son is trying to destroy us. I need to know how to stop him.”

  The fighting continues, the voice said, speaking as if it hadn’t heard Raeth’s request. Their hatred is strong. Their first gifts failed because they were too easily manipulated, so my sons turned to that which is creation itself. Order and Chaos, Light and Dark, Sha and Lum. From these they crafted gifts. Dark, hateful gifts. Powers that draw upon the essence of that which MAKES.

  Each time, the power was not pure enough, and the edge given to their people was not decisive enough. Ferrous and Bestarin canceled one another. More was necessary. Amberite and Verdant canceled one another. Then my sons did that which was forbidden, granting men Order and Chaos in pure forms. With these dreadful curses, men nearly destroyed themselves. But, my sons did not care. They turned to Decay, that enemy of all Formation, for a final power—power to destroy. Not to destroy that which is physical, for that is easy, but eternal destruction. Death of the spirit. Power to rip apart one’s sibling, one’s competition. Their jealousy raged on even while man floundered, abandoned, below them.

  The voice fell silent. As it spoke, it’s intensity had lessened, growing quieter.

  “And?” Raeth finally asked.

  And, what do you think, Emperor of men? Does not Decay always seed betrayal? Decay made secret deals with both siblings, promising them power to defeat their brother. That power had a price. They had to agree to imprison their father.

  And so it was. I am imprisoned. In the end, Decay imprisoned them as well, trapping them within the very forces they had manipulated. Man was left without god. Broken and betrayed by those who should have sought their love. And I am to blame.

  “Then you have to help us,” Raeth insisted.

  Promises. Promises for me are not what they are for men. I am made of promises—promises to exist, promises to think, promises to be. I said I would not intervene in my sons’ contest. A promise made before their hatred of one another manifest, when they loved. I am bound. I cannot intervene any more than you can make the sun vanish, emperor of men.

  “He will destroy us!” Raeth said angrily.

  He believes that is the way. His mind is tainted now by his hatred. Makkal made Amberite and Bestarin from the Chaos, so Agaris will destroy those Aethers. He fears and hates his brother, and remembers no other emotions. He is lost. I am sorry.

  #

  Raeth clinched his teeth in frustration. “How can you say that?” he demanded. “You’re sorry? You’re sorry for setting up our world as a prize, then letting your two sons use men as pawns to win it for themselves? You’re sorry for the slaughter of half a nation?”

  “Promises,” D’Naa whispered, her voice haunted. “At least it will end. Agaris will win. Then the deaths can end.”

  “Wonderful,” Raeth spit. “It will be over—at least, it will be until your son decides he hates someone else, or fears that they have begun to follow his brother. Then he will slaughter again. No, Former, this will not end.”

  “Perhaps,” D’Naa whispered. “You are wise.”

  “Not wise enough,” Raeth said with frustration. “I can’t stop them. There has to be a way. Tell me how to do it!”

  “I know of none,” D’Naa said quietly. “You should go now. They are coming.”

  Raeth froze. “What?” he demanded.

  “Raeth. …” Darro said, backing away from the wall.

  Raeth spun. The shadows in the room were deepening. Moving, groping toward them. Slowly, black figures began to form out of the pools of darkness.

  “He knows about me,” D’Naa said, her eyes frightened, but still repeating the Former’s words. “Agaris knows of this place, because he created Verdant. I am surprised it took him so long to realize you were here.”

  “Darro!” Raeth snapped, pointing at the melding darkness.

  “Right,” Darro said, Amberite crackling across his body. Suddenly, his missing arm was no longer an issue—he just grew a length of Amberite tipped with a hammer from the stump.

  Raeth spun back to the Verdant as Darro began to swing at figures, beating them down as they rose from the darkness, destroying them before they could resolve completely. “You have to answer one thing for me,” Raeth said urgently. “Tell me. Are they really the spirits of our Ancestors?”

  D’Naa was silent, she turned to Raeth, her eyes unsettled. “He didn’t respond,” she said.

  “Answer me!” Raeth demanded. “This has nothing to do with your promise. Tell
me what we are fighting.”

  “Raeth,” Darro said, grunting slightly as he swung, “these guys are coming up more quickly. I can’t stop them all.”

  “Please,” Raeth said.

  “No,” D’Naa finally whispered. “They are not. Your Ancestors care for you, emperor of men. They would not see you in pain. My son seeks to frighten you.”

  Raeth exhaled deeply. Somehow knowing that one fact made it all so much easier.

  “Fear my sons, emperor of men,” the Former whispered through D’Naa. “My sons are opposites, of opposing substances, like the Aethers themselves. The seek to destroy each other, and they would take you with them.”

  “Raeth!” Darro said warningly.

  Raeth turned. Darro was swinging quickly, his armor only half-made. More and more lumps were forming from shadowed recesses, moving to surround them. Darro jumped from one side of the room to another, smashing them as quickly as he could, but he was losing ground.

  “Go!” Raeth said to the Elder. “They don’t want you.”

  The man, who had stood amazed during the conversation, was regarding the lumps of darkness with terror and mumbling to himself. At Raeth’s order, he looked up with surprise, then began to back nervously down the hallway. The forming creatures ignored him, focusing instead on surrounding Darro.

  Raeth summoned a Night-powered sword of Amberite and began to swing, blasting through lumps in an effort to reach the doorway. Outside, however, he saw the light get blocked off by dark, humanlike forms.

  “Twins!” Darro cursed quietly.

  Verdant suddenly exploded from beside Raeth, shooting into the open corridor. D’Naa grunted slightly, filling the entire passageway with vines, choking off the entrance and trapping the creatures outside.

  “Now what?” Darro asked.

  “Up?” D’Naa said, pointing at the hole in the ceiling.

  “Without touching the king vine there?” Darro asked. “Great.”

  Raeth paused. Darro was still swinging, destroying lumps of shadow, sweat streaming down his face.

  “No,” Raeth said. “I want to try something else.” He jumped to the side, ducking around an unformed Forgotten to grab D’Naa.