Page 63 of The Sunlit Man

“From that day it was said that their eyes had been bleached by the intense light, like clay cooked too long. Instead of normal dark browns, many Alethi have watery blue or other light eyes. The brilliance of the heavens—where Yaezir himself sits upon his throne—had destroyed their ability to see as common people do. Though they now saw the world washed-out, the gleam of treasure also faded because of this.

“After their loss, the Tagarut began to act like people. No longer lusting only for treasure, they learned tospeak. Never to write, but still, a measure of civilization came to them. And that is why, to this day, the eyes of their leaders are light-colored. And why you can finally have a conversation with one—instead of only running for your life.”

He looked to Contemplation and found her smiling. She stared forward, watching her city fall to pieces, an ideal abandoned like so many needed to be. “I had not expected to find a storyteller in you, Sunlit.”

“I had not expected to become one.”

“If it pleases you to say, is that the end? Where is the moral?”

“There is none. It’s just a whimsical story.”

“Curious. Our stories are never like that. There’s always some message. Usually rather heavy-handed, if my bluntness is not too shocking. For some reason, many involve children who get eaten by shades.”

“My master likes those kinds of stories,” Nomad said. “The kinds with points. It’s gotten so he lies and tells people there isn’t a point to anything he says, all to keep them from drifting off and ignoring him for preaching to them. But I’ve found I prefer the ones that are just…stories. No point other than to be interesting.”

Contemplation nodded as the building he’d met her in, the one that had been her home here on Beacon, broke away and fell off. “I should like,” she whispered, “to live my remaining days in a place where we could afford to tell such stories. A place with no running. A place of peace and…whimsy.”

“I understand,” he said.

Contemplation and Nomad were forced to retreat from their edge of the city as those ships were dropped off next. They mingled with the many people who stood closer to the center, watching their city be dissected—pieces cut free, like fingers removed to save the arm from gangrene.

Next to him, a child holding her mother’s hand pointed at the sky. “Look, Mommy. A new star.”

“How would you know, Deborah-James?” her mother asked.

“We study the stars in school,” the girl replied. “So we can know where we are. Look, it’s new.”

Nomad froze, then turned and searched the sky. He found it almost immediately, up and to the right, near the rings. Glowing brightly in reflected sunlight.

Well, storms, the knight whispers. Party is over.

“Huh,” Contemplation said, following his gaze. “Itisa new star. Or…a new part of the ring, maybe? A good sign. A sign, maybe, that Adonalsium blesses our journey?”

“Yeah, no,” Nomad said. “That’s not a new star or an asteroid, Contemplation. That’s a massive warship in low orbit around the planet. They’re called the Night Brigade. Distant cousins of yours, actually. They’re here to kill me.”

“They have a ship,”Contemplation said, “for traveling the stars?” She turned to him and finally seemed to see him for who he was.

“Yes,” he said. “Those ships are getting more and more common these days.”

“Then perchance…perchance we could ask them for help against the Cinder King? Or we could get passage on their ship or… You’re looking at me with an expression that says I’ve said something insane.”

“The Night Brigade commands armies of the dead,” he said. “They’re largely a mercenary force, known for their brutal efficiency. They’re the only army I know that makes you keep on fighting after you’ve died. They arenotsympathetic to the problems of local people. To put it mildly.”

“Very well,” she said. “Then what do we do?”

“Get back under cloud cover,” he said, striding toward the hub of Beacon. “Run dark, as you’re so good at doing. They won’t know immediately where to find me and will need time to survey the planet. I hoped it would take them longer to follow me to this system, but we’ve still got time.”

“Fine,” Contemplation said, barely keeping up. “But let me offer this reminder: you recognize the limited nature of that very time, correct? We are approaching the mountains at a frightening rate.”

“We’re close to being on schedule,” he said. “Two more hours for fabrication and installation.”

“An incredible pace.”

“But doable,” he said, “now that we have a working engine prototype. We don’t need to swap out most of your equipment; I designed this to work with the ship structures you have. The hardest part is getting the boilers in place, but those are the simplest parts to fabricate—and should go quickly.”

“Another hour or two up the slope,” Contemplation continued.

“Again, doable,” Nomad said.

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