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“There was a time once,” Rysn said, “when I went with my babsk—the man who trained me—to trade. And the person we met had left spheres and gemstones all about, casually. A sign of wealth. My babsk, he traded differently with this person than others we’d met. Harsher, more cutthroat. Um, that means . . . well, it’s another word for harsher I guess.”
Cord took one of the sketches. “This thing is the same?”
“Maybe,” Rysn said. “Afterward, I asked my babsk why he’d acted that way. He told me, ‘People don’t leave money out casually. They do it to make you see it. Either they want to pretend they have more than they have, or . . .’ ”
“Or?” Cord asked.
“Or they want you to fixate on it,” Rysn said. “And ignore some greater prize. Would you fetch one of the sailors for me? I need to deliver a message to Rushu.”
15
Lopen soared up high, Rua at his side, surveying the island. From up here, it seemed so small.
The city had a curious shape, like a flower with radiating petals. The rest of the island was boring: one big long beach. Nothing moved; nothing seemed suspicious, which he figured was how a place that was suspicious would act.
He dropped down to the rest of the group, where Rushu was doing a sketch of some of the buildings here at the outskirts of the city. These were covered in crem, giving them that familiar melted appearance that he associated with old things.
“From up there,” he said, “it all just looks like rocks. Why do you suppose there’s crem here, but not on the beach?”
“I would guess,” she said, still sketching, “that some of this was already covered in crem when the highstorms stopped reaching this island. The carapace and gemhearts by the beach are certainly old, but they must be fresher than these ruins.”
What he’d mistaken for walls when first approaching was really a line of buildings. Homes, perhaps? They were uniform, and groups of them formed the “tips” of the flower petals he’d seen from above.
Rushu finished her sketch, then turned to another page in her notebook—one that contained some kind of map.
“Hey!” Lopen said. “That looks exactly like the city!”
“An ancient map of Akinah,” she explained. “I was hoping to use it to conclusively prove this is the same place. You seem to have done that for me.”
“Glad to help,” Lopen said. With their squad of eight spear-wielding sailors, they moved inward, passing the grown-over buildings and entering the heart of the city.
Here, the roofs had all fallen in, leaving pillars and some remnants of walls. It was covered in just enough crem to make the ruins feel like they were sinking into the ground, but not enough to turn them into lumps. The result gave the place an almost rotting cast, reminding him of the refuse he’d find in the chasms with Bridge Four. These were the bones, the broken branches, and the withered flesh of a once grand city.
“It’s smaller than I’d imagined,” Lopen said, turning about and using his spear to gesture toward the far end of the city. “I could walk across the whole place in, sure, less time than it takes Punio to do his hair before we go out dancing.”
“Older cities were all that way,” Rushu said. “It was harder for the ancients to build windbreaks and aqueducts, and they didn’t have large trade operations to resupply cities with food. So everything was constructed on a much smaller scale.”
Lopen turned around in a circle, feeling like those broken buildings were skulls, with sunken eye sockets for windows, all dripping with hardened crem. Rushu sent the sailors to go searching through some of those, and he shivered. Why was he so nervous about this place?
“I . . . don’t know that we’ll find anything useful in here, Rushu,” he said, scanning about. “The place is less ruins than rubble.”
“The fact that it exists in such an undisturbed state is monumentally important, Lopen,” Rushu said. “It will be of great interest to archaeologists and historians. The more we’ve learned about the Recreance, the more we’ve realized that our understanding of the past is painfully incomplete.”
“I suppose,” Lopen said as she held up her little map. “Any idea where the Oathgate would be?”
“Well, the optimal place would be in the center of the city for equilateral access,” Rushu said. “Either that, or nearest the docks for maximum trade convenience. Unfortunately, judging by the three in Azimir, Kholinar, and Thaylen City, the Oathgates were not placed optimally. Instead, all three are within convenient access of the ruling class.”
“Storming lighteyes,” Lopen muttered. “Always making things more difficult for us common folk.”
“Us common folk?” she asked. “You are a Knight Radiant.”
“The most common one.”
“You frequently tell me how uncommon you are, Lopen.”
“It’s only a contradiction if you think about it.”
“I . . . I have no response to that.”
“See? You are getting it already. So . . . where would the rich folks have been in this city?”
“My guess is those larger lumps over there. The Oathgates tend to be on large platforms, and that section seems to be raised higher than the surroundings.”
They began walking toward the ruins she had indicated. As they did, Lopen found himself holding his spear tightly and checking over his shoulder. And storms, it wasn’t just him being jumpy. There was something unnerving about this place. With those clouds overhead, the distant fog, the stillness.
It was, sure, a mausoleum. But instead of being for kings or such, it was for an entire people. This had once been a vibrant capital, a center of trade.
It wasn’t simply ruins. It was lonely ruins, always overcast and never seeing the sun, but also never seeing rain or storm. Was that why Rysn’s porter had worked so hard to keep them away? To prevent them from disturbing the place’s slumber? Or had Lopen listened to one too many of Rock’s firelight stories about spirits and gods?
At any rate, he nearly jumped all the way to the Halls when someone came around the corner. Lopen yelled and drew in Stormlight, then felt foolish. It was only Pluv, one of the sailors.
“Message for Ardent Rushu,” he said, “from the rebsk.”
Rushu took the note and read it while Lopen scanned the ruins again. He spotted all eight sailors, and a part of him was surprised that one hadn’t vanished mysteriously. He ought to go tell them to stick together, just in case.
“Curious,” Rushu said, tucking away the note.
“What does she say?”
“It’s a warning,” Rushu said. “She thinks everything about this place is too expected, too perfect. An opening in the stones out in the water, leading toward a perfect landing beach, with gemstones littered around for the taking? I suppose even these ruins are exactly as I imagined them. . . .”
“So what does it mean?” Lopen asked.
“I’m not sure. Did you, by chance, grab any of those gemstones on the beach?”
Lopen fished in his pocket for the small gemheart he’d picked up earlier. “Grabbed one,” he said. “I was going to ask you what you thought about there being no crem on it, but got distracted.”
