“Matisse!” Idotris hissed, coming closer. “What is going on?”
“Ashe says New Elantris is under attack,” Matisse said, kneeling beside her lanterns. “Soldiers are slaughtering everyone.”
Idotris grew quiet.
She lit the lanterns, then stood. As she’d expected, the children—even the little ones—gravitated toward the light, and the sense of protection it offered. She handed one lantern to Idotris, and by its glow she could see his terrified face.
“What do we do?” he asked with a shaking voice.
“We run,” Matisse said, rushing out of the room.
And the children followed. Rather than be left behind in the dark, they ran after the light, Tiil and Teor helping the smaller ones, Idotris trying to hush those who began to cry. Matisse was worried at bringing light, but it seemed the only way. Indeed, they barely kept the children moving as it was, herding them in the fastest way out of New Elantris—which was the way directly away from the screams, now frightfully close.
That also took them away from the populated sections of New Elantris. Matisse had hoped that they’d run into someone who could help as they moved. Unfortunately, those who weren’t out practicing Aons were with her father, practicing with weapons. The only occupied buildings would have been the ones Ashe had indicated were being attacked. Their occupants …
Don’t think about that, Matisse thought as their ragged band of fifty children reached the edges of New Elantris. They were almost free. They could—
A voice suddenly yelled behind them, speaking in a harsh tongue Matisse didn’t understand. Matisse spun, looking over the heads of frightened children. The center of New Elantris was glowing faintly. From firelight.
It was burning.
There, framed by the flames of death, was a squad of three men in red uniforms. They carried swords.
Surely they wouldn’t kill children, Matisse thought, her hand shaking as it held its lantern.
Then she saw the glint in the soldiers’ eyes. A dangerous, grim look. They advanced on her group. Yes, they would kill children. Elantrian children, at least.
“Run,” Matisse said, her voice quavering. Yet she knew the children could never move faster than these men. “Run! Go and—”
Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a ball of light zipped from the sky. Ashe moved between the men, spinning around their heads, distracting them. The men cursed, waving their swords about in anger, looking up at the seon.
Which is why they completely missed seeing Dashe charge them.
He took them from the side, coming through a shadowed alleyway in New Elantris. He knocked down one soldier, sword flashing, then spun toward the other two as they cursed, turning away from the seon.
We need to go! “Move!” she cried again, urging Idotris and the others to keep going. The children backed away from the sword fight, heading out into the night, following Idotris’s light. Matisse stayed near the back, turning with concern toward her father.
He wasn’t doing well. He was an excellent warrior, but the soldiers had been joined by two other men, and Dashe’s body was weakened by being Elantrian. Matisse stood, holding her lantern in trembling fingers, uncertain what to do. The children were sniffling in the dark behind her, their retreat painfully slow. Dashe fought bravely, his rusty sword replaced by one that Sarene must have sent. He knocked aside blade after blade, but he was getting surrounded.
I have to do something! Matisse thought, stepping forward. At that moment, Dashe turned, and she could see cuts on his face and body. The look of dread she saw in his eyes made her freeze up.
“Go,” he whispered, his voice lost in the clamor, but his lips moving. “Run!”
One of the soldiers rammed his sword through Dashe’s chest.
“No!” Matisse screamed. But that only drew their attention as Dashe collapsed, quivering on the ground. The pain had become too much for him.
The soldiers looked at her, then began to advance. Dashe had taken down more than one of them, but there were three left.
Matisse felt numb.
“Please, my lady!” Ashe floated down beside her, hovering urgently. “You must run!”
Father is dead. No, worse—he’s Hoed. Matisse shook her head, forcing herself to stay alert. She’d seen tragedy as a beggar. She could keep going. She had to.
These men would find the children. The children were too slow. Unless … She looked up at the seon beside her, noting the glowing Aon at his center. It meant “light.”
“Ashe,” she said urgently as the soldiers approached. “Find Idotris ahead. Tell him to put out his lantern, then lead him and the others to someplace safe!”
“Someplace safe? I don’t know if any place is safe.”
“That library you spoke of,” Matisse said, thinking quickly. “Where is it?”
“Straight north from here, my lady,” Ashe said. “In a hidden chamber beneath a squat building. It is marked by Aon Rao.”
“Galladon and Karata are there,” Matisse said. “Take the children to them—Karata will know what to do.”
“Yes,” Ashe said. “Yes, that sounds good.”
“Don’t forget about the lantern,” Matisse said as he flew away. She turned to face the advancing soldiers. Then, with a shaky finger, she raised a hand and began to draw.
Light burst from the air, following her finger. She forced herself to remain steady, completing the Aon despite her fear. The soldiers paused as they watched her, then one of them said something in a guttural language she assumed was Fjordell. They continued to advance on her.
Matisse finished the Aon—Aon Ashe, the same one inside of her seon friend. But of course the Aon didn’t do anything. It just hung there, like they always did. The soldiers approached uncaringly, stepping right up to it.
This had better work, Matisse thought, then put her finger in the place that Galladon had demonstrated and drew the final line.
Immediately, the Aon—Aon Ashe—began to glow with a powerful light right in front of the soldiers’ faces. They called out as the sudden flash of brilliance shone in their eyes, then cursed, stumbling back. Matisse reached down to grab her lantern and run.
The soldiers yelled after her, then began to follow. And, like the children earlier, they went toward the light—her light. Idotris and the others weren’t that far away—she could see their shadows still moving in the night—but the soldiers had been blinded too much to notice the faint movements, and Idotris had put out his light. The only thing for the soldiers to focus on was her lantern.
Matisse led them away into the dark night, clutching her lantern in terrified fingers. She could hear them pursuing behind her as she entered Elantris proper. Sludge and darkness replaced the clean paving stones of New Elantris, and Matisse had to stop moving so quickly, lest she slide and stumble.
She hurried anyway, rounding corners, trying to stay ahead of her pursuers. She felt so weak. Running was hard as an Elantrian. She didn’t have the strength to go very quickly. Already she was beginning to feel a powerful fatigue inside of her. She couldn’t hear any more pursuit. Perhaps …
She turned a corner and ran afoul of a pair of soldiers standing in the night. She paused in shock, looking up at the men, recognizing them from before.
They’re trained soldiers, she thought. Of course they know how to surround an enemy and cut them off! She spun to run, but one of the men grabbed her arm, laughing and saying something in Fjordell.
Matisse cried out, dropping the lantern. The soldier stumbled, but held her firm.
Think! Matisse told herself. You only have a moment. Her feet slipped in the sludge. She paused, then let herself fall, kicking at her captor’s leg.
She was counting on one thing: She’d lived in Elantris. She knew how to move in the slime and sludge. These soldiers, however, didn’t. Her kick landed true, and the soldier immediately slipped, stumbling into his companion and crashing back to the slimy street as he released Matisse.
She scrambled
to her feet, her beautiful bright clothing now stained with Elantris sludge. Her leg flared with a new pain—she’d twisted her ankle. She’d been so careful in the past to keep free of major pains, but this one was stronger than anything she’d gotten before, far stronger than the cut on her cheek. Her leg burned with a pain she could barely believe, and it didn’t abate—it remained strong. An Elantrian’s wounds would never heal.
Still, she forced herself to limp away. She moved without thinking, only wishing to get away from the soldiers. She heard them cursing, stumbling to their feet. She kept going, hopping slightly. She didn’t realize that she had moved in a circle until she saw the glow of New Elantris burning in front of her. She was back where she had begun.
She paused. There he was, Dashe, lying on the paving stones. She rushed to him, not caring anymore about pursuit. Her father lay with the sword still impaling him, and she could hear him whispering.
“Run, Matisse. Run to safety.…” The mantra of a Hoed.
Matisse stumbled to her knees. She’d gotten the children to safety. That was enough. There was a noise behind her, and she turned to see a soldier approaching. His companion must have gone a different direction. Yet this man was stained with slime, and she recognized him. He was the one she had kicked.
My leg hurts so much! she thought. She turned over, holding to Dashe’s immobile body, too tired—and too pained—to move any further.
The soldier grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her away from her father’s corpse. He spun her around, the action bringing other pains to her arms.
“You tell me,” he said in a thickly accented voice. “You tell me where other children went.”
Matisse struggled in vain. “I don’t know!” she said. But she did. Ashe had told her. Why did I ask him where the library was? she berated herself. If I didn’t know, I couldn’t give them away!
“You tell,” the man said, holding her with one hand, reaching for his belt knife with the other. “You tell, or I hurt you. Bad.”
Matisse struggled uselessly. If her Elantrian eyes could have formed tears, she would have been crying. As if to prove his point, the soldier held up his knife before her. Matisse had never felt such terror in her life.
And that was when the ground began to shake.
The eastern sky had begun to glow with the coming of dawn, but that light was overshadowed by a sudden burst of light from around the perimeter of the city. The soldier paused, looking up at the sky.
Suddenly Matisse felt warm.
She didn’t realize how much she’d missed feeling warm, how much she’d grown used to the stale coolness of an Elantrian body. But the warmth seemed to flow through her, like someone had injected a hot liquid into her veins. She gasped at the beautiful, amazing feeling.
Something was right. Something was wonderfully right.
The soldier turned toward her. He cocked his head, then reached out and rubbed a rough finger across her cheek, where she had been wounded long ago.
“Healed?” he said, confused.
She felt wonderful. She felt … her heart!
The man, looking confused, raised his knife again. “You healed,” he said, “but I can hurt you again.”
Her body felt stronger. Yet she was still just a young girl, and he a trained soldier. She struggled, her mind barely beginning to comprehend that her skin was no longer blotched, but had turned a silvery color. It was happening! As Ashe had predicted! Elantris was returning!
And she was still going to die. It wasn’t fair! She screamed in frustration, trying to wiggle free. The irony seemed perfect. The city was being healed, but that couldn’t prevent this terrible man from—
“I think you missed something, friend,” a voice suddenly said.
The soldier paused.
“If the light healed her,” the voice said, “then it healed me too.”
The soldier cried out in pain, then dropped Matisse, stumbling to the ground. She stepped back, and as the terrible man collapsed, she could finally see who was standing behind: her father, glowing with an inner light, the taint removed from his body. He seemed like a god, silvery and spectacular.
His clothing was ripped where he’d been wounded, but the skin was healed. In his hand he held the very sword that had been impaling him moments before.
She ran to him, crying—she could finally cry again!—and she grabbed him in an embrace.
“Where are the other children, Matisse?” he said urgently.
“I took care of them, Father,” she whispered. “Everyone has a job, and that’s mine. I take care of the children.”
* * *
“And what did happen to the children?” Raoden asked.
“I led them to the library,” Ashe said. “Galladon and Karata were gone by then—we must have missed them as they ran back to New Elantris. But I hid the children inside, and stayed with them to keep them calm. I was so worried about what was happening inside the city, but those poor things…”
“I understand,” Raoden said. “And Matisse … Dashe’s little daughter. I had no idea what she’d gone through.” Raoden smiled. He’d given Dashe two seons—ones whose masters had died, and who had found themselves without anyone to serve once they recovered their wits when Elantris was restored—in thanks for his services to New Elantris. Dashe had given one to his daughter.
“Which seon did she end up with?” Raoden asked. “Ati?”
“Actually, no,” Ashe said. “I believe it was Aeo.”
“Equally appropriate,” Raoden said, smiling and standing as the door opened. His wife, Queen Sarene, entered, pregnant belly first.
“I agree,” Ashe said, hovering over to Sarene.
Aeo. It meant “bravery.”
POSTSCRIPT
This short story has a rather interesting backstory.
If we flash back to January 2006, we find me having been dating Emily (who would eventually become my wife) for about two months. On one of our dates, Emily told me something amazing. One of her eighth-grade students—a girl named Matisse—had done a book report on Elantris. Now, Matisse didn’t know that her teacher was dating me. She didn’t even know that Emily knew me. It was just a bizarre coincidence.
This report she did was incredible. Instead of a simple write-up, she created a worldbook about Sel; it had sketches and bios of the characters, strips of Elantrian cloth stapled in as examples, and little pouches filled with materials from the book. Emily showed it to me, and it completely blew me away. Back then, I was still very new to being a published writer, and seeing the work that Matisse had put into her report was one of the most striking moments of my early career.
I wanted to do something special as a thank-you for Matisse, who still didn’t know that her teacher was dating one of her favorite authors. I decided to write a little companion story to Elantris.
In any novel, there are events you decide to leave out for pacing reasons. I knew what was going on inside the city of Elantris when the attack by the Dakhor came. In the back of my mind, I also knew that the children were saved and protected by Dashe and Ashe the seon. I didn’t want them to fall like the others; Karata had worked so hard to protect them, and letting the children not have to suffer through the slaughter at New Elantris was my gift to her.
I decided to write a little story to deal with all of this. And because Matisse had inspired me, I decided that I would name a character after her. The Matisse in the story doesn’t act like the real Matisse. I didn’t know the real Matisse; I’d never met her. Now, though, I’ve met her a number of times—she comes to my signings on occasion. She even gave us the original Elantris book-report book as a wedding gift.
Looking back at this story, I think it might be a tad on the sentimental side. I hope that it doesn’t come off as too melodramatic. (Read outside the context of the Elantris novel, I think that it might.) But for what the story is, I’m quite pleased with it.
THE
SCADRIAN
SYSTEM
THE SCADRIAN SYSTEM
THE inner system here is basically empty, save for the planet Scadrial, which is fortuitous—considering the vast changes the system has undergone because of the influence of its Shards.
The remarkable thing about Scadrial is how well humankind has flourished on it, despite these repeated cataclysms. Surely other planets in the cosmere have seen worse disasters, but on none of them will you find a thriving, technologically advanced society as exists on Scadrial.
Indeed, I am convinced that without the Lord Ruler’s oppression of technology on the planet for a thousand years, Scadrial would have eclipsed all others in scientific learning and progress—all on its own, without the interaction between societies we enjoy in Silverlight.
Scadrial, another dishardic planet, is characterized by a host of unique features. It is one of only two places in the cosmere where humankind does not predate the arrival of Shards. Indeed, I am convinced from my studies that the planet itself did not exist before its Shards, Ruin and Preservation, arrived in the system. They picked a star with no relevant planets in orbit, specifically choosing this location because it was empty, so they could place there whatever they wished.
Yes, the Shards undoubtedly used humans from Yolen as a model (indeed, both of the Vessels for these Shards were human before their Ascensions) in creating life. Because of this, the flora and fauna on Scadrial are very similar to what you’ll find on Yolen. (The non-fain parts, of course.) It is also very similar to Yolen in size and gravitation, both being exactly at 1.0 cosmere standard.
Though the Shards created this planet together, it quickly became the symbol of—and prize in—their conflict. To speak on the personalities of the Vessels themselves is not my field of expertise; better to approach one of my colleagues who specializes in pre-Shattering biography and history, rather than an arcanist. I can say, however, that their conflict is manifested directly in the ways that Investiture is used on Scadrial.
This is a powerful magic, and one where humans themselves have often had access to grand bursts of strength. I would challenge one to identify another planet, save only Roshar, where one can find such strength of Investiture so commonly in the hands of mortals. Periodically throughout Scadrial’s history, a man or woman gained access to vast amounts of power, with incredible effects. The most obvious evidence of this is the fact that the star charts Guyn has so kindly provided list two orbits for Scadrial. The planet was literally moved at various points by individuals wielding immense amounts of Investiture. (As an aside, this has wreaked havoc with trying to understand historical calendars on the planet.)