Shadows Beneath: The Writing Excuses Anthology

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

  ​ ​ ​ ​But they did treat her like more than a simple scribe. She was better placed in the company than he’d assumed. Not his problem anymore, regardless.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Vathi looked at him, then back at her people. “We must hurry to the machine,” she said to them. “The one from Above. We must turn it off.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Good. She would do her part. Dusk turned to walk away. Should he give words at parting? He’d never felt the need before. But today, it felt . . . wrong not to say something.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He started walking. Words. He had never been good with words.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Turn it off?” one of the men said from behind. “What do you mean, Lady Vathi?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“You don’t need to feign innocence, Winds,” Vathi said. “I know you turned it on in my absence.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“But we didn’t.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Dusk paused. What? The man sounded sincere. But then, Dusk was no expert on human emotions. From what he’d seen of people from the homeisles, they could fake emotion as easily as they faked a gesture of respect.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“What did you do, then?” Vathi asked them.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“We . . . opened it.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Oh no . . .

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Why would you do that?” Vathi asked.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Dusk turned to regard them, but he didn’t need to hear the answer. The answer was before him, in the vision of a dead island he’d misinterpreted.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“We figured,” the man said, “that we should see if we could puzzle out how the machine worked. Vathi, the insides . . . they’re complex beyond what we could have imagined. But there are seeds there. Things we could—”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“No!” Dusk said, rushing toward them.

  ​ ​ ​ ​One of the sentries above planted an arrow at his feet. He lurched to a stop, looking wildly from Vathi up toward the walls. Couldn’t they see? The bulge in mud that announced a deathant den. The game trail. The distinctive curl of a cutaway vine. Wasn’t it obvious?

  ​ ​ ​ ​“It will destroy us,” Dusk said. “Don’t seek . . . Don’t you see . . . ?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​For a moment, they all just stared at him. He had a chance. Words. He needed words.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“That machine is deathants!” he said. “A den, a . . . Bah!” How could he explain?

  ​ ​ ​ ​He couldn’t. In his anxiety, words fled him, like Aviar fluttering away into the night.

  ​ ​ ​ ​The others finally started moving, pulling Vathi toward the safety of their treasonous fortress.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“You said the corpses are gone,” Vathi said as she was ushered through the gates. “We’ve succeeded. I will see that the machine is not engaged on this trip! I promise you this, Dusk!”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“But,” he cried back, “it was never meant to be engaged!”

  ​ ​ ​ ​The enormous wooden gates of the fortress creaked closed, and he lost sight of her. Dusk cursed. Why hadn’t he been able to explain?

  ​ ​ ​ ​Because he didn’t know how to talk. For once in his life, that seemed to matter.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Furious, frustrated, he stalked away from that place and its awful smells. Halfway to the tree line, however, he stopped, then turned. Sak fluttered down, landing on his shoulder and cooing softly.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Questions. Those questions wanted into his brain.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Instead he yelled at the guards. He demanded they return Vathi to him. He even pled.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Nothing happened. They wouldn’t speak to him. Finally, he started to feel foolish. He turned back toward the trees, and continued on his way. His assumptions were probably wrong. After all, the corpses were gone. Everything could go back to normal.

  ​ ​ ​ ​. . . Normal. Could anything ever be normal with that fortress looming behind him? He shook his head, entering the canopy. The dense humidity of Patji’s jungle should have calmed him.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Instead it annoyed him. As he started the trek toward another of his safecamps, he was so distracted that he could have been a youth, his first time on Sori. He almost stumbled straight onto a gaping deathant den; he didn’t even notice the vision Sak sent. This time, dumb luck saved him as he stubbed his toe on something, looked down, and only then spotted both corpse and crack crawling with motes of yellow.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He growled, then sneered. “Still you try to kill me?” he shouted, looking up at the canopy. “Patji!”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Silence.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“The ones who protect you are the ones you try hardest to kill,” Dusk shouted. “Why!”

  ​ ​ ​ ​The words were lost in the jungle. It consumed them.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“You deserve this, Patji,” he said. “What is coming to you. You deserve to be destroyed!”

  ​ ​ ​ ​He breathed out in gasps, sweating, satisfied at having finally said those things. Perhaps there was a purpose for words. Part of him, as traitorous as Vathi and her company, was glad that Patji would fall to their machines.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Of course, then the company itself would fall. To the Ones Above. His entire people. The world itself.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He bowed his head in the shadows of the canopy, sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Then he fell to his knees, heedless of the nest just three strides away.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Sak nuzzled into his hair. Above, in the branches, Kokerlii chirped uncertainly.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“It’s a trap, you see,” he whispered. “The Ones Above have rules. They can’t trade with us until we’re advanced enough. Just like a man can’t, in good conscience, bargain with a child until they are grown. And so, they have left their machines for us to discover, to prod at and poke. The dead man was a ruse. Vathi was meant to have those machines.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“There will be explanations, left as if carelessly, for us to dig into and learn. And at some point in the near future, we will build something like one of their machines. We will have grown more quickly than we should have. We will be childlike still, ignorant, but the laws from Above will let these visitors trade with us. And then, they will take this land for themselves.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​That was what he should have said. Protecting Patji was impossible. Protecting the Aviar was impossible. Protecting their entire world was impossible. Why hadn’t he explained it?

  ​ ​ ​ ​Perhaps because it wouldn’t have done any good. As Vathi had said . . . progress would come. If you wanted to call it that.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Dusk had arrived.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Sak left his shoulder, winging away. Dusk looked after her, then cursed. She did not land nearby. Though flying was difficult for her, she fluttered on, disappearing from his sight.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Sak?” he asked, rising and stumbling after the Aviar. He fought back the way he had come, following Sak’s squawks. A few moments later, he lurched out of the jungle.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Vathi stood on the rocks before her fortress.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Dusk hesitated at the brim of the jungle. Vathi was alone, and even the sentries had retreated. Had they cast her out? No. He could see that the gate was cracked, and some people watched from inside.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Sak had landed on Vathi’s shoulder down below. Dusk frowned, reaching his hand to the side and letting Kokerlii land on his arm. Then he strode forward, calmly making his way down the rocky shore, until he was standing just before Vathi.

  ​ ​ ​ ​She’d changed into a new dress, though there were still snarls in her hair. She smelled of flowers.

  ​ ​ ​ ​And her eyes were terrified.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He’d traveled the darkness with her. Had faced nightmaws. Had seen her near to death, and she had not looked this worried.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“What?” he asked, finding his voice hoarse.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“We found instructions in the machine,” Vathi whispered. “A manual on its wo
rkings, left there as if accidentally by someone who worked on it before. The manual is in their language, but the smaller machine I have . . .”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“It translates.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“The manual details how the machine was constructed,” Vathi says. “It’s so complex I can barely comprehend it, but it seems to explain concepts and ideas, not just give the workings of the machine.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“And are you not happy?” he asked. “You will have your flying machines soon, Vathi. Sooner than anyone could have imagined.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Wordless, she held something up. A single feather—a mating plume. She had kept it.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Never move without asking yourself, is this too easy?” she whispered. “You said it was a trap as I was pulled away. When we found the manual, I . . . Oh, Dusk. They are planning to do to us what . . . what we are doing to Patji, aren’t they?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Dusk nodded.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“We’ll lose it all. We can’t fight them. They’ll find an excuse, they’ll seize the Aviar. ThaIt makes noperfect sense.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“It does. They Ones Above seek an excuse to come down and take control of these islands. Just as you have sought an excuse to do the same. If they could prove—to themselves, perhaps to those who watch them—that you are dangerous to the Aviar, they would come and rescue them. To protect a resource. Is that not the argument you used? They will use the same.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“You don’t know them, Sixth,” Vathi said, shaking her head. “They’re strange. Though they look like us, they’re as different from you and me as . . . well, as we are from the Aviar.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Yes, so different,” Sixth said. “ The Aviar use the worms. We use the Aviar. And now tThe Ones Above seek to use us . . . It is the way of things. I am right. This was a trap. I can see traps. It is what I do. It’s inevitable, isn’t it?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Perhaps,” Vathi said.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He climbed off of his rock. “I have brought you back to safety,” he said. “Farewell.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Sixth . . .”

  ​ ​ ​ ​She seemed to search for words. That seemed odd for a homeisler. They always seemed to have plenty of words, piled atop one another, ready to spew out.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Of course, those were the wrong words. Right words were far more difficult. He understood her silence, then, as he walked away from her back into the jungle.

  ​ ​ ​ ​His trip back to his safecamp was accomplished with far less difficulty—and far less speed—than had been required by frantic crossing during the night. He tried to get into the rhythm of trapping, the familiar motions that had been his companions for many years.

  ​ ​ ​ ​However, the jungle looked different to him now. It had been conquered. Oh, the outpost was new, but the secrets were out and the peak had been crossed.

  ​ ​ ​ ​By the time he reached his safecamp, dusk was again approaching. He did only a cursory check of things here before finding himself striking out toward the beach. He arrived as night settled, and despite Kokerlii’s complaints, he shoved his canoe back out into the waters and climbed aboard.

  ​ ​ ​ ​He rowed all the way out into the waters, where he could look upon Patji as a whole. He sat there, dark waves undulating beneath his ship, as the moons rose and the stars came out.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Patji. Father. Killer and provider. A dark wedge in the night, crammed with life—so much that it seemed to spill out sometimes. The waves rolled and shook.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Sixth slept on his canoe that night. In the morning, while the sun rose behind him, he paddled around the island and came back to the fortress. He landed and went to its gates, demanding to speak to Vathi.

  ​ ​ ​ ​She came to the gates, changed, refreshed. She smiled as she saw him.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“I will come in,” he said, “and I will help you. But you will do something for me.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“What?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Eventually, the Ones Above will take some of the Aviar with them,” Sixth said. “They will find a way around their laws; they will get what they want. It is inevitable.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“You are probably right,” she said, cautious.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“When those birds go,” Sixth said, “I go with them. Into the Above. I don’t care what it takes. You will find a way. If you send Aviar, you send me.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​She frowned. “There has been talk of sending an ambassador with them, to their worlds in the Above. It was thought a politician or scientist should be chosen.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​It was not a question. So Sixth did not reply.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“A trapper, though,” Vathi said. “That makes a kind of sense, in and of itself. Who better to explore where none of us have yet gone.” She chewed on the idea. “I will try. I cannot promise anything, Sixth, but you have my word to try.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​Yes, he thought. He opened his mouth to say it, and Sak chirped. He frowned and turned back toward the island. Jutting from the ocean, arrogant. Destructive.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Patji. Father.

  ​ ​ ​ ​And finally, at long last, Dusk understood.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“No,” he whispered.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“But—”

  ​ ​ ​ ​He undid his pants pocket, then reached deeply into it, digging around. Finally, he pulled something out. The remnants of a feather, just the shaft now. A mating plume that his uncle had given him, so many years ago, when he’d first fallen into a trap on Sori. He held it up, remembering the speech he’d been given. Like every trapper.

  ​ ​ ​ ​This is the symbol of your ignorance. Nothing is easy, nothing is simple.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Vathi held hers. Old and new.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“No, they will not have us,” Dusk said. “We will see through their traps, and we will not fall for their tricks. For we have been trained by the Father himself for this very day.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​She stared at his feather, then up at him.

  ​ ​ ​ ​“Do you really think that?” she asked. “They are cunning.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​“They may be cunning,” he said. “But they have not lived on Patji. We will gather the other trappers. We will not let ourselves be taken in.”

  ​ ​ ​ ​She nodded hesitantly, and some of the fear seemed to leave her. She turned and waved for those behind her to open the gates to the building. Again, the scents of mankind washed over him.

  ​ ​ ​ ​Vathi looked back, thenShe held out her hand to him. “You will help, then?”

  ​ ​ ​ ​He considered it as he would a cutaway vine hanging from a tree ahead. His corpse appeared at her feet, and Sak chirped warningly. Danger. Yes, the path ahead would include much danger.

  ​ ​ ​ ​HeDusk took Vathi’s handanyway and stepped into the fortress anyway.

  WHEN YOUR STORY'S CLIMAX ISN'T AN ENDING:

  FIXING SIXTH OF THE DUSK

  BRANDON SANDERSON

  INTRODUCTION

  I’m very excited by how my story for the anthology turned out. The prose flowed very well, and I felt an excitement for the idea from the get-go. Polynesian culture fascinates me (something you can probably see hints of in my other works), and the idea of building a fantasy culture on that framework was exciting. A lot of things worked right from the start for me, including Dusk’s personality, his relationship with the island, and his clash with his own people.

  As I said in my brainstorming episode of Writing Excuses, I like to have an ending in mind when I begin writing a story. Usually when I say ending, I mean climax—that powerful moment when things come together, different threads intertwine, and the character and plot click together. Those are the moments I’m shooting for, and those are the kinds of things I need to be there to pull me through a story.

  For this story, my outline was very simple. I knew I wanted to make it a cross-island trip, so we could experience the
dangers of Patji. I also knew that I wanted to have Dusk interact with someone else, more of an outsider, to both contrast his character and give more depth to the setting. As I worked on the story, the clash between the old and the new became a theme, represented by the two characters. Dusk’s resistance to change, along with having him already know the secret to making birds gain talents, came as a natural development.

  My climax, then, became the information reveal about the nature of the birds both to Vathi and to the reader. I found quickly that I could align this reveal with a tense chase through the jungle, allowing the external conflict to come to a head at the same time that I reached the intellectual climax.

  Perfect. Except it wasn’t.

  THE LESSER PROBLEM

  As I wrote, I ran into two major hang-ups. The first was the question why. Why a tense chase across the jungle? What would drive the plot, make the protagonists move? My original intention—that of Dusk needing to return Vathi safely to her people—felt lukewarm to me. I wanted a more powerful motivator. I needed to up the stakes.

  The solution came in the bird that showed Dusk’s corpse. I’d put Sak in because I felt her power would be an evocative, cool thing to do with the magic—a visible manifestation, rather than just all happening in their heads, as I worried the psychic powers would feel. It wasn’t part of the original brainstorming session, but played well with the other parts of the narrative.

  However, as I approached the end of the first third of the story and realized I needed to up the stakes, Sak offered the perfect opportunity. She could show Dusk his corpse. Could she show the corpse of the island too? Could I devise an event so dangerous, it drove Dusk to cross the island at night, towing a half-trained homeisler? Could I put the entire island at risk?

  Cracking this problem gave me the bulk of my story. The Ones Above, which were something I first intended to simply be a reference to set this story in the Cosmere, became more central to the plot. Vathi’s devices from the Ones Above turned into the means by which I generated my big inciting incident. I liked this, as it allowed for another layer of new-meets-old, further entrenching the themes of the story. (Indeed, Dusk’s own themes as a character.)