The Aether of Night

by Brandon Sanderson

I don’t know, the Aether said, its tone laced with frustration. I can’t remember! Perhaps the girl can figure out what it is. She seems to know a lot—we should ask her.

  Raeth snorted. I wish we could. But, I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of her anymore.

  Why not? The Aether asked. We could talk to her. She’s right behind you.

  Raeth laughed. What? He asked. Then the vines hit him.

  He didn’t even get out a yelp before the vines muffled his face, pulling him into the alley behind. He got one last glimpse of the soldiers, all focused on towing Darro up onto the Corpate, before he was yanked around the corner.

  More vines grew around him, constricting his hands and arms. At first, Raeth was too stunned to do anything but blink in surprise. Then, however, he reacted. The full might of his Night-powered Aether burst from his hand, pressing against the curling vines. He heard a hiss of pain behind him, a hiss that was matched by an equally sharp pain shooting through his arm. He pushed on, however, forcing the two opposing Aethers against each other, making the pain build as they dissolved one another.

  D’Naa’s Aether surged, pushing back against him, and the agony jumped to a new level. Raeth tried to scream, but the vine cut off his air. In fact, it was constricting around his neck, making his breaths come short.

  No you don’t! he thought. I’ll make you give up first! He pushed harder, and the blinding pain almost made him pass out. He had freed half of his body—if he could just inch the Amberite up a little further.

  Then, he saw her face, a shifting in the vines spinning him slightly. Her dark eyes were puffy and red from tears, but they were resolute. At that moment he knew. He couldn’t stand against those eyes. In the end, their Aethers were evenly matched, but her desire was stronger. His pain was only physical.

  The vines pulled tight, and Raeth fell unconscious.

  #

  “How could I let you get to me?” D’Naa whispered harshly, barely keeping back the tears as she fished out her diamond-tipped chisel and hammer. “I knew what you were all along. And still I let you get to me.”

  The problem was, she knew. She knew that the High Aedin weren’t what she had once assumed, she knew that Hern really was a caring man. If she’d been able to convince herself otherwise, the pain wouldn’t have been so acute. It was so much worse to be betrayed by someone you empathized with, someone you suspected was a good man.

  She placed the tip of the chisel in the middle of his palm, like her grandfather had instructed. “Why couldn’t you have been the hateful man everyone said you were?” she accused. “Then everything would have been so much easier.”

  She snapped the hammer down, and the Aether split directly down the center. She put the chisel down the center of the split, and, gritting her teeth, pried one half free from Hern’s palm. The hand immediately began bleeding, and D’Naa began to cry again. Sniffling, she pulled out two handkerchiefs. She wrapped the first around Hern’s hand, pulling it tight to stop the blood. Theoretically, his Aether would grow back in a few months time. Then she took the second cloth and wrapped it around the Aether Bud, careful not to let it touch her skin. She didn’t want to Bond it by accident.

  She stood, tucking the Bud into her sash. Hern lay wrapped in vines on the dirty cobblestones. Oh, my Emperor, D’Naa thought, involuntarily bending over and letting her hand grab hold of his. Then, strengthening her resolve, she wiped her tears and turned her back on him. Her grandparents waited at one of the Iraes—they had already paid for a Sending to Elekar. King Ala’D would have his Aether Bud before an hour passed.

  #

  “My lord! My lord, are you all right?”

  The dark fuzz slowly retreated from Raeth’s vision, bringing the alley sides and docile sky into view. Several of his guards knelt beside him on the hard cobbles, shaking him with urgent faces.

  Raeth blinked, groaning. His hand hurt more painfully than any wound he had taken fighting the Forgotten. He knew what he would see when he held it up before him. Half of his Aether, gone. He was surprised to find the bandage. Had D’Naa done that, or had the guards seen to him?

  Well, you have what you came fore, D’Naa, he thought with resignation, sitting. He couldn’t find it within himself to be angry at her—he knew he deserved her wrath. Besides, the loss of the Aether wouldn’t really hinder him. For a time, his Amberite would be weaker than normal, but when one had so little to begin with, additional weakness was rather insignificant. His other Aether, Night, was doing all the work lately anyway.

  He waved aside the guards, pushing himself to his feet. How would she react when she found out that his Bud was incredibly weak? Would her people know enough to realize he wasn’t who he said? Hopefully, they would just assume the person they chose to Bond the Aether formed an inadequate Bond, as Raeth once had.

  “We’ve sent out patrols, my lord,” one of the guards promised. “We’ll catch him this time.” There was an angry look in his eyes. Faen was Amberite, as were all of Raeth’s personal guards. Though they continued to pay lip service to Raeth’s claims that a ‘rogue Verdant’ was trying to kill him, Faen obviously had his own suspicions.

  Raeth looked back into the alley. D’Naa would pay for a Sending as soon as possible. He could probably catch her before she left—and, even if he didn’t, he knew where she was going.

  “No,” Raeth said. “Don’t bother. We don’t have to worry about him any more.”

  The guard frowned.

  Raeth held up his hand. “They had me unconscious and didn’t kill me,” he explained. “They just split my Aether, probably in an attempt weaken me and undermine faith in my rule.”

  The guard cursed under his breath. Raeth’s explanation was a poor one, but it did lend credence to the ‘assassin’ being sent by Laene.

  “Cursed Verdant will see the entire Imperium fall,” another man swore.

  “Speak of this to no one,” Raeth said, still staring after D’Naa. “Otherwise, their attack will have the desired effect.”

  “My lord,” Faen said, “but your hand.”

  Raeth formed a fist, ignoring the pain, and focused Night through his remaining Amberite. The crystals grew as quickly, and as powerfully, as they always did, growing around his fist and coating his chest. “I think they will find me more powerful than assumed,” he replied simply. “Come on, let’s get my brother back to the palace. We still have a war to win.”

  He turned to go, joining the men as they walked toward the Corpate walker, Darro slumbering at its top. He paused, however, turning back to the empty alleyway.

  Run, D’Naa. Go to Kavir, where it is still safe. For a little while, at least. If I fail here in the next few days, let us hope that the creatures really are satisfied with just Bestarin and Amberite.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The bowmen raised their weapons in unison, bright flames smoking at their tips. Raeth couldn’t hear the order to fire, but the volley was released into the cold air. The arrows flew true despite the wind, slamming into the Forgotten line. The flames extinguished as soon as they touched the dark skin, lodging into the creatures’ strange flesh. The Forgotten marched forward, heedless of their wounds, advancing on the increasingly-ragged Imperium line.

  Raeth cursed quietly.

  “What were you expecting?” Darro asked, standing atop the Corpate next to Raeth. Recent Forgotten advances had brought them nearly to the edge of the Bells, and vantage points to watch the battle were few, requiring improvisation.

  “I don’t know,” Raeth admitted, gripping the Corpate’s railing. The wind was strong, but surprisingly warm. Winter was at an end, the snows beginning to retreat, as the warm southern air blew across the Aedinor plains.

  Raeth shook his head, watching the Forgotten crash into the human lines. “I’m just trying anything, Darro. We didn’t know what effect fire would have on them, so it was worth a try.”

  Darro didn’t say anything. The man had grown harder over the last few weeks—but, of course, they all h
ad. Raeth could see in his eyes, however, that Darro had yet to give himself forgiveness for his betrayal.

  Raeth turned back to the battlefield. Fire didn’t have any effect. He had suspected as much, but his words to Darro had been truthful. He was willing to try anything—he was running out of options. During the last week he had tried every idea that came to his mind, from clever battlefield layouts, to traps and holes dug in the ground, to throwing silver dust at the creatures—a method some legends claimed would ward away Forgotten spirits.

  Nothing had worked. Most things, such as the silver or fire, simply had no effect on the creatures. Other ideas produced reactions from the Forgotten, but never the ones Raeth had hoped to see. He had pulled out some aging chariots from times past in the hopes that they would be effective at dividing Forgotten forces, but the creatures appeared to be able to run as fast as any horse when they wanted—though Raeth was baffled why they didn’t make use of such speed at other times.

  Every strategy he employed was efficiently countered; though he no longer blamed himself for the Forgotten’s foresight. Apparently, they could anticipate plans crafted by the Counsel without Raeth’s input—he had tested that theory just to make certain.

  The Imperium was in serious trouble. They had cut the Forgotten numbers by nearly a third, but their own forces were dwindling just as quickly. Reserves were exhausted, every Aedin who had ever lifted Amberite or Verdant in battle had been recruited, and troops had been sucked from every available source in the kingdoms.

  Though, if he was truthful to himself, Raeth knew that the other kingdoms—Khur and En Mahall—were holding back, but he couldn’t blame them. They, like everyone else, saw Vae Annitor as a lost cause. If they didn’t hold something back, they wouldn’t have any troops to defend their homelands.

  They don’t see, Raeth thought with a shake of his head. If Aedinor falls, then the Imperium falls. Once that happens, we’re divided. If we don’t fall to the Forgotten, then we’ll eventually be destroyed by the Harrmen or Seaborn raiders. Any number of foes have been waiting for centuries, drooling over the Imperium’s wealth. They’ll come. If we fail, the rest of you won’t be any better off than Aedinor.

  This was it. If they didn’t hold the Forgotten before Vae Annitor, then they never would. Unfortunately, the outcome was looking more and more inevitable.

  Raeth stood in the face of the blowing wind, his eyes hard, but his heart wavering. He had promised Gaedin and the Senate that he could hold the Forgotten, but so far he’d been woefully unsuccessful. True, the Imperium had retreated more slowly during the last week, but it was still retreating. In a day or two the army would break, and after that there would be no regrouping. The Imperium would fall.

  He turned to the south, looking across the serenity of melting snow and unploughed fields. They were close—within a day’s march of Vae Annitor. Villages dotted the plains, all sustained by the powerful city and its Aethers. Looking across the land he could almost forget the sounds coming from his right, the sounds of men fighting and dying.

  “Send me,” he requested. A second later, the pain began, lacing through his body as he dissolved into light, but he was growing accustomed to it. All Sendings were short, but this one extremely so, and a second later he materialized in the Counsel room. Warmth hit him immediately, but it was an almost unwelcome comfort. The wind kept him alert.

  Raeth shrugged off the nausea and the pain, forcing himself to step off the platform and approach the map table. Gaedin and the generals stood watching the updates, and their frowns were enough to bespeak their concern. Several looked up, meeting Raeth’s eyes.

  “I know,” Raeth said quietly, placing his hands flat on the table, staring down at the mapkeepers’ pieces. There has to be a way! He thought with frustration, pouring over the shifting pieces, ignoring the quietly-spoken commands of generals given to messengers. His eyes burned with fatigue, however, and his body agreed.

  The last week had been difficult on him—with D’Naa gone and Darro feeling solemn, Raeth had been left with little diversion except the map. He replayed every battle with the Forgotten, watching for signs of weakness or insight into his foes. Three times he thought he’d discovered vital weaknesses in the Forgotten strategy, and three times they had altered their ways before he could monopolize on the weakness.

  Raeth watched the battle progress quietly, letting the generals do their jobs. Occasionally, he would see something they did not and make a change in the orders, but mostly he deferred to their wisdom. The men fought well—valiantly even. The groups of Amberite Bonds mixed with either Verdant or regular soldiers worked like individuals, holding back the Forgotten.

  But it wasn’t enough. The Forgotten were much more careful now—they didn’t throw themselves at the Aethers like Raeth had hoped they would. That was a good thing, in a way—the Forgotten hesitance was what had let the Imperium hold for so long. However, the long-term effects were not good. The creatures waited for signs of weakness or opportunity, then swarmed forward upon individual teams, overrunning the Verdant vines and taking down the Amberite Bonds. Once that happened, the entire team fell easily.

  That day’s battle progressed much as Raeth had foreseen. Like always, they had engaged the creatures a couple of hours after mid-day. Since the forgotten always stopped at night, that gave the Imperium forces an easy cut-off point at which to disengage, without worry of being followed.

  The Imperium retreated slowly during the progress of the battle, forced back onto the plains. At the end of the day, the Bells were officially lost, and the Forgotten army stepped onto the Annitor flats. Raeth could see the men’s exhaustion and desperation manifest through the map by the way their lines moved. They struggled weakly the entire day, like a thread pulled far too tightly. Soon they would snap. They wouldn’t last another day.

  “All right, general,” Raeth said quietly, not looking up form the map. “Tell the Senate that the Bells are lost. Tomorrow, we’ll evacuate the city.”

  “Yes, my lord,” Gaedin said. There was no triumph in his voice, though he had been right all along.

  I’ve failed them, Raeth thought, shaking his head. Or, at least, I will have failed them. He had given the order for evacuation to start the next day for a reason. He still had one night, and he intended to spend it pouring over the maps one last time. Perhaps he would see something that he hadn’t. Perhaps he would find a way.

  “Lord Hern?” a messenger asked, approaching.

  Raeth looked up, blinking tired eyes. “Yes?”

  “A Captain Ydallen wishes to speak with you, my lord,” the messenger explained.

  Raeth frowned. He didn’t recognize the name. “Who?” he asked.

  “One of the scouts, my lord,” the messenger explained, his Shorriken hat drooping far to one side. “He claims you gave him personal orders. Something about capturing a Forgotten?”

  Raeth paused, remembering his conversation weeks before, the day he had first gone to fight the Forgotten. He’d completely forgotten about the request.

  Shaking off his fatigue, he stepped up to the Sending platform and nodded for the Vo-Dari.

  #

  It looked as if the scouts had used a couple hundred feet of rope to tie their captive to the tree. Raeth didn’t blame their caution—even the most stout-hearted of men regarded the Forgotten with a measure of disquietude. The souls of the vilest of traitors, come to exact retribution—such weren’t the sort of enemies one took lightly.

  The creature blended with the falling darkness, growing more difficult to make out as dusk passed into night. Beside Raeth, one of the scouts lit a torch, but the light almost made the creature seem lest corporeal, the fire-thrown shadows shifting and blending with its skin. Raeth was still baffled as to why the creatures always stopped at night—they didn’t seem any weaker. One of the first tricks Raeth had tried was to judge their strength in a night battle. Just like they had every other time, the creatures had responded quickly when approached at night,
fighting back with their usual methods.

  “The things are Twins-cursed hard to capture,” Ydallen said. Raeth now recognized the tall Aedin man with his fur-lined cloak. “They can bend and distort their bodies like no man could. Bonds don’t hold them like they should. And, if you do tie one up, you have to make certain it’s not wounded very badly. Otherwise, the tightness will make all of their insides seep out.”

  Raeth regarded the creature thoughtfully, trying not to show how uncomfortable it made him. He fought them all day, but that was different than standing before one. There wasn’t time for reflection or study during battle—only time for trying to stay alive.

  The creature stared at him with caliginous eyes, not moving, obviously not breathing. It looked just like a man, only built not from flesh—formed right from the darkness itself. It had features, but they were difficult to make out, since the skin—or the Night—didn’t reflect light.

  If you push on them tightly, their insides seep out of their wounds, Raeth thought. That’s something, at least. They’re like…dark wineskins, filled with smoke.

  However, the knowledge wasn’t much help. Pressing on them might make the smoke escape faster, but smashing them with an Amberite hammer was even more effective.

  “You did well,” Raeth praised, taking a step closer to the creature. It didn’t move or flinch.

  “Thank you, my lord,” Ydallen replied. Raeth saw hope in his eyes. He had done as commanded, even if that command had been something of a whim.

  “So,” Raeth said, “you captured this one unwounded?”

  “He only took one cut,” Ydallen explained, stepping forward. “On the shoulder. Right… .” the man trailed off, looking closely at the creature. “I can’t find it,” he confessed.

  Raeth frowned. “Hand me a knife,” he requested, holding out his hand. A second later one of the guards placed a thin steel blade into his hand. Raeth stepped forward and, trying to convince himself that he wasn’t been cruel, sliced the creature in the shoulder.