by Brandon Sanderson, Mary Robinette Kowal, Dan Wells, Howard Tayler
Perhaps tTwo hours gone, SixthDusk thought, turning a broken stem and smelling the sap. The boy’s path continued on toward SixthDusk’s safecamp. How? HeDusk had never spoken of it to anyone else. Perhaps this youth was apprenticing under one of the other trappers who visited Patji. One of them could have found his safecamp and mentioned it.
Sixth crossed the stream and continued. Each member of the pantheon supported a variety of trappers.Dusk frowned, considering. In ten years on Patji, he had only seen another trapper in person only a handful of times. On each occasion, they had both turned and gone a different direction without saying a word. It was the way of such things. Trappers would not attack one another directly unless defending a camp.
Of course, tThey would try to kill one another. They just, but they didn’t do it in person. Better to let Patji claim rivals than to directly stain one’s hands with their blood. At least, so his uncle had taught him.
This one, though . . .Sometimes, Dusk found himself frustrated by that. Patji would get them all eventually. Why help the Father out? Still, it was the way of things, so he went through the motions. Regardless, this onerefugee was making directly for SixthDusk’s safecamp. If he really was aThe youth, he might not know the proper way of things. Perhaps he had come seeking help, afraid to go to one of his master’s safecamps for fear of punishment. Or . . .
No, best to avoid pondering it too much. SixthDusk already had a mind full of spurious conjectures. He would find what he would find. He had to focus on the jungle and its dangers. He started away from the stream, and as he did so, he saw his corpse appear suddenly before him.
He hopped forward, then spun backward, hearing a faint hiss. The distinctive sound was made by air escaping from a small break in the ground, followed by a flood of tiny yellow insects, each as small as a pinhead. A new deathant pod? If he’d stood there a little longer, disturbing their hidden nest, they would have flooded up around his boot. One bite, and he’d be dead.
He stared at that pool of scrambling insects longer than he should have. They pulled back into their nest, finding no prey. Sometimes a small bulge announced their location, but today he had seen nothing. Only Sak’s vision had saved him.
Such was life on Patji. Even the most careful trapper could make a mistake—and even if they didn’t, death could still find them. Patji was a domineering, vengeful parent who sought the blood of all who landed on his shores.
Sak chirped on his shoulder. Dusk rubbed her neck in thanks, though her chirp sounded apologetic. The warning had come almost too late. Without her, Patji would have claimed him this day. Dusk shoved down those itching questions he should not be thinking, and continued on his way.
He finally approached his safecamp as evening settled upon the island. Two of his tripwires werehad been cut, disarming them. That was not surprising; those were meant to be obvious. HeDusk crept forward, passingt anotherthe deathant nest in the ground—this larger one had a permanent crack in the ground. Itas an opening they could flood out of, but the rift had been stoppered with a smoldering twig. Beyond it, Tthe nightwind fungi that SixthDusk had spent years cultivating here had been smothered in water to keep the spores from escaping,. and tThe next two tripwires—the ones not intended to be obvious—werehad also been cut.
Nice work, kid, SixthDusk thought. SomeoneHe hadn’t just avoided the traps, but disarmed them, in case he needed to flee quickly back this direction. However, someone really needed to teach the boy how to move without being trackable, though. Of course, those tracks could be a trap unto themselves—an attempt to make Dusk himself careless. And so, he was extra careful as he edged forward. Yes, here Tthe youth had left more footprints, broken stems, and other signs than a mainlander might have if—. . . .
“Um, hello?”
Sixth froze, then looked up.
Something moved up above in the canopy. Dusk hesitated, squinting. A woman hung from the tree branches above, trapped in a net made of jellywire vines—they left someone numb, unable to move. So, one of his traps had finally worked.
“Um, hello?” she said.
A woman, SixthDusk thought, suddenly feeling stupid. The smaller footprint, lighter step . . .
“I want to make it perfectly clear,” the woman said. “I have no intention of stealing your birds or infringing upon your territory.”
Sixth squintedDusk stepped closer in the dimming light. He recognized this woman. She was one of the clerks who had been at his meetings with the company. “You cut my tripwires,” SixthDusk said. Words felt odd in his mouth, and they came out ragged, as if he’d swallowed handfuls of dust. The result of weeks without speaking.
“Er, yes, I did. I assumed you could replace them.” She hesitated. “Sorry?”
SixthDusk settled back. The woman rotated slowly in her net, and he noticed an Aviar clinging to their outside. The—like his own birds, it was about as tall as three fists atop one another, though this one had subdued white and green plumage;. aA Sstreamer, which was a breed that did not live on Patji. He did not know much about them, other than that like Kokerlii, they protected the mind from predators.
The setting sun cast shadows, the sky darkening. Soon, he would need to hunker down for the night and await its passing. The jungle was even more deadly at night than it was at day, for that was whendarkness brought out the island’s most dangerous of predators came out.
“I promise,” the woman said from within her bindings. What was her name? He believed it had been told to him, but he did not recall. Something untraditional. “I really don’t want to steal from you. You remember me, don’t you? We met back in the company halls?”
He gave no reply.
“Please,” she askedsaid. “I’d really rather not be hung by my ankles from a tree, slathered with blood to attract predators. If it’s all the same to you.”
“You are not a trapper.”
“Well, no,” she said. “You may have noticed my gender.”
“There have been female trappers.”
“One. One female trapper, Yaalani the Brave. I’ve heard her story a hundred times. You may find it oddcurious to know that almost every society has its myth of the female role reversal. She goes to war dressed as a man, or leads her father’s armies into battle, or lives alonetraps on an island just like any man. I’m convinced that such stories exist so that parents can tell their daughters, ‘You are not Yaalani.’”
This woman spoke. A lot. People did that, back on the Eelakin iIslands. Her skin was dark, like his, and she had the sound of his people. The slight accent to her voice . . . he had heard it more and more when visiting the homeisles. It was the accent of one who was educated.
“Can I get down?” she asked, voice bearing a faint tremor. “I cannot feel my hands. It is . . . unsettling.”
“What is your name?” PatjiDusk asked. “I have forgotten it.” This was too much speaking. It hurt his ears. This place was supposed to be soft.
“Vathi.”
That’s right. It was an improper name. Not a reference to her birth order and day of birth, but a name like the mainlanders used. That was not uncommon among his people now. It had something to do with the visits from the Ones Above.
He walked over and took the rope from the nearby tree, then lowered the net. The woman’s Aviar flapped awaydown, screeching in annoyance and frustration as she, favoring one wing, obviously wounded. Vathi hit the ground, a bundle of dark curls and green linen skirts. She stumbled to her feet, shakingbut fell back down again. Her skin would be numb hands and shivering, an after
-effectfor some fifteen minutes from the touch of the vines’ skin poison.
She sat there and wagged her hands, as if to shake out the numbness. “So . . . uh, no ankles and blood?” she asked, hopeful.
“That is a story motherparents tell to children,” SixthDusk said, walking away from her. “It is not something we actually do.”
“Oh.”
“If you had been another trapper, I would have killed you directly, rather than leaving you to arevenge yourself upon me.” He walked over to her Aviar, which opened its beak in a hissing posture, raising both wings as if to be bigger than it was. Sak chirped from his shoulder, but the bird didn’t seem to care.
Yes, one wing was bloody. Vathi knew enough to care for the bird, however, which was pleasing. Some homeislers were completely ignorant to their Aviar’s needs, treating them like accessories rather than intelligent creatures.
Vathi had pulled out the feathers near the wound, including a blood feather. She’d wrapped the wound with gauze. That wing didn’t look good, however. Might be a fracture involved. He’d want to wrap both wings, prevent the creature from flying.
“Oh, Mirris,” Vathi said, finally finding her feet. “I tried to help her. We fell, you see, when the monster—”
“Pick her up,” Dusk said, checking the sky. “FollowCome. Step where I step.”
Vathi nodded, not complaining, though her numbness would not have passed yet. She shookcollected a small pack from the vines and straightened her skirts. She wore a tight vest over the top ofabove them, and the pack had some kind of metal tube sticking out of it. A map case? She fetched her Aviar, who huddled happily on her shoulder.
As heDusk led the way, she followed, and she did not attempt to attack him when his back was turned. Good. Darkness was coming upon them. Fortunately, but his safecamp was just ahead, and he knew by heart the steps to approach along this path. As they walked, Kokerlii fluttered down and landed on the woman’s other shoulder, then began chirping in an amiable way.
SixthDusk stopped, turning. The woman’s own Aviar had moved down her dress away from Kokerlii to cling near her bodice. The bird hissed softly, but Kokerlii—oblivious, as usual—continued to chirp happily. It was fortunate his breed was so mind-invisible, even deathants would consider him no more edible than a piece of bark.
“Is this . . .” Vathi said, looking to himDusk. “Yours? But of course. The one on your shoulder is not Aviar.”
Sak settled back, puffing up her feathers. No, she was not Aviar. At least, her species was not Aviar. SixthDusk continued to lead the way.
“I have never seen a trapper carry a bird who was not from the islands,” Vathi said from behind.
It was not a question. SixthDusk, therefore, felt no need to reply.
This safecamp—he had three total on the island, though this was the largest—lay atop a short hikell following a twisting trail. Getting to it either required climbing this single path and exposing oneself to the traps or somehow coming down the cliff above. At the top of the trail layHere, a small stand of trees, the largest of whichstout gurratree held aloft a single-room structure. Trees were one of the safer places to sleep on Patji. The treetops were the domain of the Aviar, and most of the biglarge predators all walked.
SixthDusk lit his lantern, then held it upaloft, letting the orange light bathe his home. “Up,” he said to the woman.
She hesitated, then looked outglanced over her shoulder into the darkening jungle. By the lanternlight, he saw that the whites of her eyes were red from lack of sleep. She looked exhausted, despite the unconcerned smile she gave him before climbing up the stakes he’d planted in the tree. Her numbness should have worn off by now.
“How did you know?” he asked.
Vathi hesitated, near to the trap door leading into his home. “Know what?”
“Where my safecamp was. Who told you?”
“I followed the sound of water,” she said, nodding toward the small spring that bubbled out of the mountainside here. “When I found traps, I knew I was coming the right way.”
SixthDusk frowned. That was impossible. One could not hear this water, ands the stream vanished only a few hundred yards away, resurfacing in an unexpected location. Following it here . . . that would be virtually impossible.
So was she lying, or was she just lucky?
“You wanted to find me,” he said.
“I wanted to find someone,” she said, pushing open the trap door, voice growing muffled as she climbed up into the building. “I figured that a trapper would be my only chance for survival.” Above, she stepped up to one of the netted windows, Kokerlii still on her shoulder. “This is nice. Very roomy for a shack on a mountainside in the middle of a deadly jungle on an isolated island surrounded by monsters.”
SixthDusk climbed up, holding the lantern in his teeth. The room at the top was perhaps four paces square, tall enough to stand in, but only barely. “Shake out those blankets,” he said, nodding toward the stack and setting down the lantern. “Then lift every cup orand bowl on the shelf and check inside of them.”
Her eyes widened. “What am I looking for?”
“Deathants, scorpions, spiders, bloodscratches . . .” He shrugged, putting Sak on her perch by the window. “Better to find them now than when sleeping. The room is built to be tight, but this is Patji. The Father likes surprises.”
As she hesitantly set aside her pack and got to work, SixthDusk continued up another ladder to check the roof of his structure. There, a group of bird-sized boxes, with nests inside and holes to allow the birds to come and go freely, lay arranged in a double row. The animals would not stray far, except on special occasions, now that they had been raised with him handling them.
Kokerlii landed on top of one of the homes, trilling—but softly, now that night had fallen. MoreOther coos and chirps came from the other boxes.
SixthDusk climbed out to check each bird for hurt wings or feet. These Aviar pairs were his life’s work; the chicks each one hatched became his primary stock andin trade. Yes, he would trap on the island, trying to find as many nests and wild chicks as he could get—but that was never as efficient as raising nests.
“Your name was Sixth, wasn’t it,?” Vathi said from below, voice accompanied by the sound of a blanket being shaken.
“It is.”
“Large family,” Vathi noted.
An ordinary family. Or, so it had once been. His father had been a twelfth and his mother an eleventh.
“Sixth of what?” Vathi prompted below.
“Of the dDusk.”
“So you were born in the evening,” Vathi said. “I’ve always found the traditional names so . . . uh . . . descriptive.”
What a meaningless comment, SixthDusk thought. Why do homeislers feel the need to speak all of the time, particularly when there is nothing to say?
He moved on to the next nest, checking the two drowsy birds inside for wounds, then inspecting their droppings. They responded to his returnpresence with happiness. An Aviar raised around peoplehumans—particularly one that had lent its talent to a person at an early age—would always see people as part of their flock. These birds were not his companions, like Sak and Kokerlii, but they were still special to him. He had raised each one, and had chosen to keep them for breeding rather than taking them back to the homeisles for sale.
“No insects in the blankets,” Vathi said, sticking her head up out of the trap door behind
him, her own Aviar on her shoulder.
“The cups?”
“I’ll get to those in a moment. So these are your breeding pairs, are they?”
Obviously they were, so he didn’t need to reply.
She watched him check them. He felt her eyes on him. Finally, he spoke. “Why did your company ignore the advice we gave you? Coming here was obviously a disaster.”
“Yes.”
He turned to her.
“Yes,” she continued, “this whole expedition will likely be a disaster. One—a disaster that takes us a step closer to our goal.”
He checked Sisisru next, working by the light of the now-rising moon. “Foolish.”
Vathi folded her arms before her on the roof of the building, torso still disappearing into the lit square of athe trapdoor below. “Do you think that our ancestors learned to wayfind on the oceans without experiencing a few disasters along the way? Ships lost, people vanishing on the waves? Or what of the first trappers? You have knowledge passed down for generations, knowledge earned through trial and error. If the first trappers had considered it too ‘foolish’ to come explore, where would you be?”
“They were single men, well-trained, not a ship full of clerks and dockworkers.”
“The world is changing, Sixth of the Dusk,” she said softly. “The Ones Above . . . the technology we have discovered . . . The people of the mainland grow hungry for Aviar companions; that things were once restricted to the very wealthy can beare within the reach of ordinary people. We’ve learned so much, yet the Aviar are still an enigma. Why don’t chicks raised on the homeisles bestow talents? Why—”
“Foolish arguments,” SixthDusk said, putting Sisisru back into her nest. “I do not wish to hear them again.”