“What can blind a god?” the governor asked.
“Another god,” Steris mumbled.
“So what do we do?” Reddi asked. “We can’t go to war, not if that’s what they want. But—”
He was interrupted by a knock at the door. There were no attendants in the room, just senators and the like, so Reddi answered it himself: revealing a young woman, a radio technician by her uniform, holding a folded piece of paper.
“What is it?” Reddi demanded.
“Communication from Dawnshot,” she said, “for Lady Ladrian. I … um … thought it was worth interrupting you, even though the people outside said—”
“You did the right thing,” Reddi said, taking it.
The poor woman was pale and trembling.
“You read it?” Steris asked.
“I had to transcribe it for you,” she said. “That’s how it works…”
Reddi handed Steris the letter, and she unfolded it. The opening words, bold and dominant, leaped off the page.
Bomb is confirmed real, and already fabricated. City-destroying capacity. Enemy is trying to find a way to deliver it to Elendel. It’s time to evacuate the city.
39
Marasi stood before an unassuming townhome, one in a long row of structures along the street, each a different color with a slightly different building shape. Each lawn held a different variety of tree. Bilming ideaclass="underline" mass-produced individuality.
Marasi hesitated on the threshold. Ruin. Was she ready to meet the Survivor himself? A man she had been taught since childhood to worship, a man who had transcended even the grave. Who had briefly held the mantle of Preservation before releasing it to the Ascendant Warrior. And who had then protected the people of the Southern Continent for years after the world was remade.
Moonlight was confident that her mentor really was him. So how would it feel to meet him?
You’ve chatted with Death, Marasi thought. Is this so different?
Judging by her nerves: Yes. Yes it was.
Moonlight touched her finger to a piece of metal on the door, and the thing unlocked. “Identity lock,” she noted, then pushed open the door. The small foyer inside was all hardwood and polish, and there were no paintings or other ornamentations of note. Moonlight headed to the left, into a large room with thick drapes covering the windows.
The walls were lined with maps, illuminated by electric lights. Moonlight slid her bag onto a table by the far wall, where a woman in her twenties — somewhat plump, with a stark blonde bob — was peering at a paper covered in strange writing. She had a small terrier in her lap.
“Moonlight,” the woman said after a glance. “You have to read this. Travel to Bjendal has been completely upset. That’s four primary systems we can’t visit without extreme danger, if you count Roshar. I’ve said it for years: The perpendicularities are no longer viable. They never were good for mass transportation or commerce, no matter how hard those fools on Nalthis try. We need a different…” The woman trailed off, then turned in her seat, perhaps hearing Marasi stepping into the room. “Hey! You brought a local!”
“Marasi, meet Codenames,” Moonlight said. “Codenames, meet Marasi. We’re working on a mission together.”
“Wow,” Codenames said, thrusting the sheet of paper at Moonlight, then hopping to her feet, the small dog under her arm. “You must trust her.”
“Hardly.”
“You brought her to the safehouse!”
“She forced me.”
“No one forces you to do anything,” Codenames said, then bounced over and thrust her free hand toward Marasi. “Hi! I’m Codenames Are Stupid. Long story.”
The woman had a faint accent, wholly unlike that of Allik or anyone Marasi had met from the Southern Continent. That, plus the way she’d spoken of “locals,” indicated … another traveler? The presence of an accent indicated she might not be as good at languages as Moonlight was, maybe?
Marasi shook her hand. “Is … um … the Survivor here?”
“Kell?” Codenames said. “Nah. Haven’t seen him in a week or so.” She spun toward Moonlight. “What do you think of the report? Worrisome, right?”
Moonlight held the paper pinched between two fingers. “Codenames,” she said, “what language is this even in?”
“Thaylen,” Codenames said. “Oh! It’s a fascinating one, Moonlight. You should learn it! Look how the letters interlock in—”
“I’ll stick to using Connection tricks for languages, thank you,” Moonlight said, spreading out the rubbings she’d taken.
“That’s cheating.”
“Another word for a clever shortcut,” Moonlight said. “Is TwinSoul here? I think we’re going to need some mathematics.”
“Lily and I will go and grab him,” Codenames said, carrying her dog and slipping away into the back rooms.
Marasi had watched the exchange with bafflement, but rather than focus on what she didn’t understand, she turned her attention to something she did. One of the maps was of Scadrial — the entire world. A more detailed map than she’d ever seen, far more extensive than the official surveys — it even included the dark parts of the unexplored islands and landmasses to the south.
If that was Scadrial, then what were these other maps? Rusts. How many worlds were out there?
There’s always another secret, she thought, remembering her catechism as a child studying the life of the Survivor.
A short time later, Codenames walked back into the room with an elderly man. He looked … well, ancient, judging by the long powder-white mustache and the liver-spotted skin, which was a deep tan. He wore a formal suit in the Bilming fashion, so … maybe he was from her land? But he also had a short beard with mustaches — a style she’d never seen a man wear in Elendel. Though he stood tall, not the least bit bowed by age, he did seem a little unsteady on his feet — since he gripped the doorframe as he stepped through it.
“Ah,” he said, pressing his palms together. “A guest! Welcome to our home, honored guest. Let me get you something to drink.”
“TwinSoul,” Moonlight said, “we are on a deadline to—”
“Deadlines are no excuse for rudeness,” TwinSoul said. “I am TwinSoul, and you are…?”
“Marasi,” she said.
“Lady Marasi!” he said. “Excellent.” He immediately turned toward what Marasi assumed was the kitchen. “How do you take your tea?”
“Um … mint tea, if you have it. With lemon?”
“Excellent!” he said again. He soon returned with a plate bearing a cup and an array of nuts and fruits. “Please enjoy.”
She felt guilty making someone so old wait on her — but at the same time there was a certain forcefulness to how he offered the refreshment. It reminded her of her aunt, who would be far more offended if you didn’t accept a drink. So Marasi took the cup and a handful of nuts.
“Now,” TwinSoul said. “What have you brought me, Moonlight? Curious, curious.” He stepped over to the table and surveyed the rubbings — stretching out his hands and resting them on the table.
Marasi stepped up, curious. There was something odd about his hands that she hadn’t noticed earlier: a line of crystal. Embedded in the skin, running along the outsides of his fingers and wrists — almost like a seam on a glove. It was pinkish-red, like rose quartz. The man leaned down, and she saw lines of similar crystal appear from beneath his collar, growing up the sides of his neck and temples. Crossing his skin like little rivers of liquid.