Shadows Beneath: The Writing Excuses Anthology

by Brandon Sanderson, Mary Robinette Kowal, Dan Wells, Howard Tayler

  ​ ​ ​ ​From a distance. Up close, they were very, very different. SixthOver the next five hours, Dusk rowed past Sori and, then her three cousins, the first of the closed islands. He had never set foot on themany of those three. In fact, he had not landed on many of the forty-some islands in the pPantheon. At the end of his apprenticeship, a trapper chose one island and worked there all his life. He had chosen Patji—an event some ten years past now. Seemed like far less.

  ​ ​ ​ ​HeDusk saw no other shadows beneath the waves, but he kept watch. Not that he could do much to protect himself. Kokerlii did all of that work as he roosted happily at the prow of the ship, eyes half-closed. SixthDusk had fed him seed before the approach.; Kokerlii did like it so much more than dried fruit.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Nobody knew why beasts like the shadows only lived here, in the waters near the pPantheon. Why not travel across the seas to the Eelakin iIslands or the mainland, where food would be plentiful and Aviar like Kokerlii were far more rare? Once, these questions had not been questions men asked. The seas were what they were. Those days had passed. Now, however, men poked and prodded into everything. They asked, “Why?” They said, “wWe should explain it.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk shook his head, dipping his paddle into the water. That sound—wood on water—had been his companion for most of his days. He understood it far better than he did the speech of men.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Even if sometimes their questions got inside of him and refused to go free.

  ​ ​ ​ ​After the cousins, most trappers would have turned north or south, continumoving along the wingbranches of the pantheonarchipelago until reaching their chosen island. SixthDusk continued forward, into the heart of the archipelagoislands, until a large shape loomed before him. Patji, largest island of the islandsPantheon. It towered taller than any of the others, like a wedge rising from the sea. A place of inhospitable peaks, sharp cliffs, and deep jungle.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Hello, old frienddestroyer, he thought. Hello, fFather.

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk raised his paddle and placed it in the boat. He sat for a time, chewing on fish from last night’s catch, feeding scraps to Sak. The black-plumed bird ate them with an air of solemnity. Kokerlii continued to sit on the prow, chirping occasionally, now that they had approached. He would be eager to land. Sak never seemed never to grow eager about anything.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Approaching Patji was not a simple task, even for one who trapped his shores. The boat continued its dance with the waves as SixthDusk considered which landing to make. Eventually, he put the fish away, then dipped his paddle back into the waters. Those waters were stillremained deep and blue, despite the proximity to the island. Some members of the pPantheon had sheltered bays and gradual beaches that one could wade in. Patji had no patience for such foolishness. His beaches were rocky, and thehad steep drop-offs from them were so steep that deep water began only a few steps out.

  ​ ​ ​ ​You were never safe on his shores. In fact, the beaches were the most dangerous part of a very dangerous place. There—upon them, not only could the horrors of the land get to you, but you were still within reach of the deep’s creaturemonsters. SixthDusk’s uncle had cautioned him about this time and time again. Only a fool slept on thePatji’s shores of Patji.

  ​ ​ ​ ​The tide was with him, and he avoided being caught in any of the swells that would crush him against those stern rock faces. SixthDusk approached what passed for a beach on Patji’s shores, a partially -sheltered expanse of stone crags and outcroppings, Patji’s version of a beach. Kokerlii immediately fluttered off, chirping and calling as he flew toward the trees.

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk immediately glanced at the waters beneath. No shadows. Still, he felt naked as he hopped out of the shipcanoe and pulled it up onto the rocks, warm water washing against his legs. Sak remained in her place on SixthDusk’s shoulder.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Nearby in the surf, SixthDusk saw a corpse bobbing in the water.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Beginning your visions early, my friend? he thought, glancing at Sak. The Aviar usually waited until they’d fully landed before bestowing her blessing.

  ​ ​ ​ ​The black-feathered bird just watched the waves.

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk continued his work. The body he saw in the surf was his own. It told him to avoid that section of water. Perhaps there was a spiny anemone that would have trapppricked him, or perhaps a deceptive undercurrent lay in wait. Saxk’s visions did not always show such detail,; they gave only warning.

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk got the boat out of the water, then detached the floats, tying them more securely onto the main part of the canoe. Following that, he worked the vessel carefully up the shore, mindful not to scrape the hull on sharp rocks. He would need to hide the canoe in the jungle. If another trapper discovered it, SixthDusk would be strappnded on the island for several extra weeks preparing his spare. That would—

  ​ ​ ​ ​He stopped as his heel struck something soft as he backed up the shore. He glanced down, expecting a pile of seaweed. Instead he found a damp piece of cloth. A shirt? SixthDusk held it up, then noticed other, more subtle signs across the shore. Broken lengths of sanded wood. Bits of paper floating in an eddy.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Those fools, he thought.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He returned to moving his canoe. Rushing was never a good idea on a pPantheon island. He did step more quickly, however.

  ​ ​ ​ ​As he reached the tree line, he caught sight of his corpse hanging from a tree nearby. Those were cutaway vines lurking in the fern-like tree top. Sak squawked softly on his shoulder as heDusk hefted a large stone from the beach, then tossed it at the tree. It thumped against the wood, and sure enough, the vines dropped like a net, full of stinging barbs.

  ​ ​ ​ ​They would take a few hours to retract back up. SixthDusk pulled his canoe over and hid it in the underbrush near the tree. Hopefully, other trappers would be smart enough to stay away from the cutaway vines—and therefore wouldn’t stumble over his boat.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Before placing the final camouflaging fronds, SixthDusk pulled out his pack. Though the centuries had changed a trapper’s duties very little, the modern world did offer its benefits. Instead of sandals, Sixth tied on sturdy boots. Instead of a simple wrap that left his legs and chest exposed, he woreput on thick trousers with pockets on the legs and a buttoning shirt to protect his skin against sharp branches orand leaves. Instead of sandals, Dusk tied on sturdy boots. And, instead of a shark-tooth-lined club, he bore a machete of the finest steel. His pack contained luxuries like a steel-hooked rope, a lantern, and a firestarter that created sparks simply by pressing the two handles together.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He looked very little like the trappers in the paintings back home. He didn’t mind. He’d rather stay alive. He

  ​ ​ ​ ​Dusk left the canoe, shouldering his pack, machete sheathed at his side. Sak moved to his other shoulder. Before leaving the beach, SixthDusk paused, looking at the image of his translucent corpse, still hanging from unseen vines atby the tree.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Could he really have ever been foolish enough to be caught by cutaway vines? Near as he could tell, Seak only showed him plausible deaths. He liked to think that most were fairly unlikely—a vision of what could have happened if he’d been careless, or if his uncle’s training hadn’t been so extensive.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Once, SixthDusk had stayed away from any place where he saw his corpse. It wasn’t bravery that drove him to do the opposite now. He just . . . needed to confront the possibilities. He needed to be able to walk away from this beach knowing that he could still deal with cutaway vines. If he avoided danger, he would soon lose his skills. He could not rely on Seak too much.

  ​ ​ ​ ​For Patji would try on every possible occasion to kill him.

  ​ ​ ​ ​DuskSixth turned and trudged across the rocks along the coast. Doing so went against his instincts—he normally wanted to get inland as soon as possible. Unfortunately, h
e could not leave without investigating the origin of the debris he had seen earlier. He had a strong suspicion of where he would find their source.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He gave a whistle, and Kokerlii trilled above, flapping out of a tree nearby and winging over the beach. HisThe protection he offered would not be as strong as it would be if he were close, but that shouldn’t matter. Tthe beasts that hunted minds on the island were not as large or as strong of psyche as the shadows of the ocean, and so long as Kokerlii remained somewhat close, Sixth. Dusk and Sak would be invisible to them.

  ​ ​ ​ ​About a half hour up the coast, heDusk found the remnants of a large camp. Broken boxes, fraying ropes laying half submerged in tidal pools, ripped canvas, brokenshattered pieces of wood that might once have been walls. Kokerlii landed on a broken pole nearby.

  ​ ​ ​ ​There were no signs of his corpse nearby. That could mean that the area wasn’t immediately dangerous. It could also mean that whatever might kill him here would swallow the corpse whole.

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk trod lightly on wet stones, listening to at the water lapping over the edges of the broken campsite. No. Larger than a campsite. SixthDusk ran his fingers over a broken chunk of wood, stenciled with the words Northern Interests Trading Company. A powerful mercantile force from his homeland.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He had told them. He had told them. Do not come to Patji. Fools. And they had camped here on the beach itself! Was nobody in that company capable of listening?

  ​ ​ ​ ​Sixth picked his way through the remnants of the camp. How long had it been? He stopped beside a group of gouges in the rocks, as wide as his upper arm, running some ten paces long. They led toward the ocean.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Shadow, he thought. One of the deep beasts. His uncle had spoken of seeing one once, from a distance. An enormous . . . something that had exploded up from the depths. It had killed a dozen krell whothat had been chewing on oceanside weeds before retreating into the waters with its feast.

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk shivered, imagining this camp on the rocks, bustling with men unpacking boxes, preparing to build the fort they had described to him. But where was their ship? The great steam-powered vessel with an iron hull they claimed could rebuff the attacks of even the deepest of shadows? Did it now defend the ocean bottom, a home for slimfish and octopius?

  ​ ​ ​ ​There were no survivors—nor even any corpses—that SixthDusk could see. The beach was too dangerousshadow must have consumed them. He pulled back to the slightly -safer locale of the jungle’s edge. Here, he, then scanned the foliage, looking for signs that people had passed this way. Thise attack was recent, within the last day or so. The company really had beat him to the islands, despite his head start.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He’d been certain they’d listen to reason. A dozen different trappers had spoken to them. Fools! He absently gave Sak a seed from his pocket as he located a series of broken fronds leading into the jungle. So there were survivors. At least one, mMaybe as many as a half dozen. They had each chosen to go in different directions, in a hurry. Running from the attack.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Running through the jungles was a good way to get dead. These company types . . . they thought themselves rugged, they thought themselves and prepared. They were wrong. He’d spoken to a number of them, trying to persuade as many of their ‘“trappers’” as possible to abandon the voyage.

  ​ ​ ​ ​It had done no good. He wanted to blame the visits of the Ones Above for causing this foolish striving for progress, but the truth was the companies had been talking of outposts on the Pantheon for years. Dusk sighed. Well, these survivors were likely dead now. He should leave them to their fates.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Except . . . The thought of it, outsiders on Patji . . . Well, it made him shiver inwith something that mixed disgust and anxiety. They were here. It was wrong. These islands were sacred, the trappers their priests.

  ​ ​ ​ ​The plants rustled nearby. SixthDusk whipped his machete about, leveling it, reaching into his pocket for his sling. It was not a refugee who left the bushes, or even a predator. Not a common one, at least. A group of small, mouse-like creatures crawled out, sniffing the air. Sak squawked. She had never liked meekers.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Food? the three meekers sent to SixthDusk. Food?

  ​ ​ ​ ​It was the most rudimentary of thoughts, projected directly into his mind. Though he did not want the distraction, he did not pass up the opportunity to fish out some dried meat for the meekers. As they huddled around it, sending him gratitude, he saw their sharp teeth and the single, pointed fang at the tips of their mouths. His uncle had told him that once, meekers had been dangerous to men. One bite was enough to kill. Over the centuries, the little creatures had grown accustomed to trappers. They had minds, thoughts beyond thatthose of dull animals. Almost, he found them as intelligent as the Aviar.

  ​ ​ ​ ​If they were intelligent, they could be trained. Perhaps. You remember? he sent them, through thoughts. You remember your task?

  ​ ​ ​ ​Others, they sent back gleefully. Bite others.!

  ​ ​ ​ ​​ ​ ​ ​Once, they had been dangerous to men. Trappers ignored them. Sixththese little beasts; Dusk figured that maybe, one of these little beasts with some training, the meekers could provide an unexpected surprise for one of his rivals. He had been cultivating small groups of them across the island. They’d have been frightened of the company and its many people. But perhaps . . . fished in his pocket, fingers brushing an old stiff piece of feather. Then, not wanting to pass up the opportunity, he got a few long, bright green and red feathers from his pack. They were mating plumes, which he’d taken from Kokerlii during the Aviar’s most recent molting.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He moved into the jungle, meekers following with excitement. Once he neared their den, he stuck the mating plumes into some branches, as if they had fallen there naturally. A passing trapper might see the plumes and assume that Aviar had a nest nearby, fresh with eggs for the plunder. That would draw them.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Bite others, Dusk instructed again.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Bite others! they replied.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He hesitated, thoughtful. Had they perhaps seen something from the company wreck? Point him in the right direction. Have you seen any others? SixthDusk sent them. Recently? In the jungle?

  ​ ​ ​ ​Bite others! came the reply.

  ​ ​ ​ ​IThey were intelligent . . . but not that intelligent. SixthDusk bade the animals farewell and turned back toward the forest. After a moment’s deliberation, he found himself striking inland, crossing—then following—one of the refugee trails. He chose the one that made him the most nervous, the one that looked as if it would pass uncomfortably close to one of his own safecamps, deep within the jungle.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Sixth passed out of the sun andIt was hotter here beneath the jungle’s canopy. It was hotter here, despite the shade. Comfortably sweltering. Kokerlii joined him, winging up ahead to a branch where a few lesser Aviar sat chirping. Kokerlii towered over them, but sang at them with enthusiasm. An Aviar raised around peoplehumans never quite fit back in among their own kind. The same could be said of a man raised around Aviar.

  ​ ​ ​ ​SixthDusk followed the trail left by the refugee, expecting to stumble over the man’s corpse at any moment. He did not, though his own dead body did occasionally appear along the path. He saw it laying half-eaten in the mud or tucked away in a fallen log with only the foot showing. He could never grow too comfortableplacent, with Sak on his shoulder. That was one primary reason he preferred her to other Aviar.

  ​ ​ ​ ​It did not matter if Sak’s visions were truth or fiction. The ; he needed the constant reminder of how Patji treated the unwary was enough. It kept Sixth alert, and that kept him alive.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He fell into the familiar, but not comfortable, lope of a pPantheon trapper. Alert, wary, careful not to brush leaves that could carry biting insects,. cCutting with the machete only when necessary, lest he l
eave a trail another could follow. Listening, aware of his Aviar at all times, never outstripping Kokerlii or letting him drift too far ahead.

  ​ ​ ​ ​The man he trackedrefugee did not fall to the common dangers of the island—he cut across game trails, rather than following them. The surest way to run acrossencounter predators was to fall in with their food. The refugee did not know how to mask his trail, but neither did he blunder into the nest of the firesnap lizards, or brush the deathweed bark, or step into the patch of hungry mud.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Was this another trapper, perhaps? A youthful one, not fully trained? That seemed something the company would try. Experienced trappers were beyond recruitment; none would be foolish enough to guide a group of clerks and merchants around the islands. But a youth, who had not yet chosen his island? A youth who, perhaps, resented being required to practice only on Sori until his mentor determined his apprenticeship complete? SixthDusk had felt that way ten years ago, when nearing the end of his uncle’s training.

  ​ ​ ​ ​So the company had hired itself a trapper at last. That would explain why they had grown so bold as to come, despite the council of men like Sixth.

  ​ ​ ​ ​finally organize their expedition. But Patji hitmself? he thought, kneeling beside the bank of a small stream. It had no name, at least not one that Sixth had given it, but it was familiar to him. Why would they come here?

  ​ ​ ​ ​The answer was simple. They were merchants. The biggest, to them, would be the best. Why waste time on lesser islands? Why not come for the Father himself?

  ​ ​ ​ ​Above, Kokerlii landed on a branch and began pecking at a fruit. The refugee had stopped by theis river. SixthDusk had gained time on the man . . . or, rather, the youth. Yes, that footprint: jJudging by the depth itthe boy’s footprints had sunk in the mud, SixthDusk could imagine the boy’shis weight and height. Sixteen, perhaps. Certainly not fully grown. Could he be? Maybe younger? Trappers apprenticed at ten, but heDusk could not imagine even the company trying to recruit one so ill trained.