Arcanum Unbounded: The Cosmere Collection

“It’s nothing,” Matisse said, looking back at the children. Though some of them had begun to bed down in their brightly colored sheets, many had perked up and were watching Matisse deal with the two troublemakers.

  “Doesn’t look like nothing to me,” Teor said.

  “Well,” Matisse said, sighing. “They’re writing Aons. If you’re that interested, I suppose that we could make an exception and let you stay up … assuming you want to practice writing Aons. I’m sure we could fit in another school lesson tonight.”

  Teor and Tiil both paled. Drawing Aons was what one did in school—something that Spirit had forced them to begin attending again. Matisse smiled slyly to herself as the two boys backed away.

  “Oh, come now,” she said. “Go get your quills and paper. We could draw Aon Ashe a hundred or so times.”

  The boys got the hint and slipped back to their respective beds. On the other side of the room, several of the other workers were moving among the children, making certain that they were sleeping. Matisse did likewise.

  “Matisse,” a voice said. “I can’t sleep.”

  Matisse turned toward where a young girl was sitting up in her bedroll. “How do you know, Riika?” Matisse said, smiling slightly. “We just put you to bed—you haven’t tried to sleep yet.”

  “I know I won’t be able to,” the little girl said pertly. “Mai always tells me a story before I sleep. If he doesn’t, I can’t sleep.”

  Matisse sighed. Riika rarely slept well—especially on nights when she asked for her seon. It had, of course, gone mad when Riika had been taken by the Shaod.

  “Lie down, dear,” Matisse said soothingly. “See if sleep comes.”

  “It won’t,” Riika said, but she did lie down.

  Matisse made the rest of her rounds, then walked to the front of the room. She glanced over the huddled forms—many of whom were still shuffling and moving—and acknowledged that she felt their same apprehensiveness. Something was wrong with this night. Lord Spirit had disappeared, and while Galladon told them not to worry, Matisse found it a foreboding sign.

  “What are they doing out there?” Idotris whispered quietly from beside her.

  Matisse glanced outside, where many of the adults were standing around Galladon, drawing the Aons in the night.

  “Aons don’t work,” Idotris said. The teenage boy was, perhaps, two years older than Matisse—not that such things really mattered in Elantris, where everyone’s skin was the same blotchy grey, their hair limp or simply gone. The Shaod tended to make ages difficult to determine.

  “That’s no reason not to practice Aons,” Matisse said. “There’s a power to them. You can see it.”

  Indeed, there was a power behind the Aons. Matisse had always been able to feel it—raging behind the lines of light drawn in the air.

  Idotris snorted. “Useless,” he said, folding his arms.

  Matisse smiled. She wasn’t certain if Idotris was always so grumpy, or if he just tended to be that way when he worked at the Roost. He didn’t seem to like the fact that he, as a young teenager, had been relegated to childcare instead of being allowed to join Dashe’s soldiers.

  “Stay here,” she said, wandering out of the Roost toward the open courtyard where the adults were standing.

  Idotris just grunted in his usual way, sitting down to make certain none of the children snuck out of the sleeping room, nodding to a few other teenage boys who had finished seeing to their charges.

  Matisse wandered through the open streets of New Elantris. The night was crisp, but the cold didn’t bother Matisse. That was one of the advantages of being an Elantrian.

  She seemed to be one of the few who could see things that way. The others didn’t consider being an Elantrian as advantageous, no matter what Lord Spirit said. To Matisse, however, his words made sense. But perhaps that had to do with her situation. On the outside, she’d been a beggar—she’d spent her life being ignored and feeling useless. Yet inside of Elantris she was needed. Important. The children looked up to her, and she didn’t have to worry about begging or stealing food.

  True, things had been fairly bad before Dashe had found her in a sludge-filled alley. And there were the wounds. Matisse had one on her cheek—a cut she’d gotten soon after entering Elantris. It still burned with the same pain it had the moment she’d gotten it. Yet that was a small price to pay. At Karata’s palace, Matisse had found her first real taste of usefulness. That sense of belonging had only grown stronger when Matisse—along with the rest of Karata’s band—had moved to New Elantris.

  Of course, there was something else she’d gained by getting thrown into Elantris: a father.

  Dashe turned, smiling in the lanternlight as he saw her approach. He wasn’t her real father, of course. She’d been an orphan even before the Shaod had taken her. And, like Karata, Dashe was sort of a parent to all of the children they’d found and brought to the palace.

  Yet Dashe seemed to have a special affection for Matisse. The stern warrior smiled more when Matisse was around, and she was the one he called on when he needed something important done. One day, she’d simply started calling him Father. He’d never objected.

  He laid a hand on her shoulder as she joined him at the very edge of the courtyard. In front of them, a hundred or so people moved their arms in near unison. Their fingers left glowing lines in the air behind them—the trails of light that had once produced the magics of AonDor. Galladon stood at the front of the group, calling out instructions in his loose Duladen drawl.

  “Never thought I’d see the day when that Dula taught people Aons,” Dashe said quietly, his other hand resting on the pommel of his sword.

  He’s tense too, Matisse thought. She looked up. “Be nice, Father. Galladon is a good man.”

  “He’s a good man, perhaps,” Dashe said. “But he’s no scholar. He messes up the lines more often than not.”

  Matisse didn’t point out that Dashe himself was pretty terrible when it came to drawing Aons. She eyed Dashe, noting the frown on his lips. “You’re mad that Spirit hasn’t come back yet,” she said.

  Dashe nodded. “He should be here, with his people, not chasing that woman.”

  “There might be important things for him to learn outside,” Matisse said quietly. “Things to do with other nations and armies.”

  “The outside doesn’t concern us,” Dashe said. He could be a stubborn one at times.

  Well, most times, actually.

  At the front of the crowd, Galladon spoke. “Good,” he said. “That’s Aon Daa—the Aon for power. Kolo? Now, we have to practice adding the Chasm line. We won’t add it to Aon Daa. Don’t want to blow holes in our pretty sidewalks now, do we? We’ll practice it on Aon Rao instead—that one doesn’t seem to do anything important.”

  Matisse frowned. “What’s he talking about, Father?”

  Dashe shrugged. “Seems that Spirit believes the Aons might work now, for some reason. We’ve been drawing them wrong all along, or something like that. I can’t see how the scholars who designed them could have missed an entire line for every Aon, though.”

  Matisse doubted that scholars had ever “designed” the Aons. There was just something too … primal about them. They were things of nature. They hadn’t been designed—any more than the wind had been designed.

  Still, she said nothing. Dashe was a kind and determined man, but he didn’t have much of a mind for scholarship. That was fine with Matisse—it had been Dashe’s sword, in part, that had saved New Elantris from destruction at the hands of the wildmen. There was no finer warrior in all of New Elantris than her father.

  Yet she did watch with curiosity as Galladon talked about the new line. It was a strange one, drawn across the bottom of the Aon.

  And … this makes the Aons work? she thought. It seemed like such a simple fix. Could it be possible?

  The sound of a cleared throat came from behind them and they turned, Dashe nearly pulling his sword.

  A seon hung in the air there. Not one
of the insane ones that floated madly about Elantris, but a sane one glowing with a full light.

  “Ashe!” Matisse said happily.

  “Lady Matisse.” Ashe bobbed in the air.

  “I’m no lady!” she said. “You know that.”

  “The title has always seemed appropriate to me, Lady Matisse,” he said. “Lord Dashe. Is Lady Karata nearby?”

  “She’s in the library,” Dashe said, taking his hand off the sword.

  Library? Matisse thought. What library?

  “Ah,” Ashe said in his deep voice. “Perhaps I can deliver my message to you, then, as Lord Galladon appears to be busy.”

  “If you wish,” Dashe said.

  “There is a new shipment coming, my lord,” Ashe said quietly. “Lady Sarene wished that you be made aware of it quickly, as it is of an … important nature.”

  “Food?” Matisse asked.

  “No, my lady,” Ashe said. “Weapons.”

  Dashe perked up. “Really?”

  “Yes, Lord Dashe,” the seon said.

  “Why would she send those?” Matisse asked, frowning.

  “My mistress is worried,” Ashe said quietly. “It seems that tensions are growing on the outside. She said … well, she wants New Elantris to be prepared, just in case.”

  “I’ll gather some men immediately,” Dashe said, “and go collect the weapons.”

  Ashe bobbed, indicating that he thought this to be a good idea. As her father walked off, Matisse eyed the seon, a thought occurring to her. Maybe …

  “Ashe, could I borrow you for a moment?” she asked.

  “Of course, Lady Matisse,” the seon said. “What do you need?”

  “Something simple, really,” Matisse said. “But it might just help.…”

  * * *

  Ashe finished his story, and Matisse smiled to herself, eyeing the sleeping form of the little girl Riika in her bedroll. The child seemed peaceful for the first time in weeks.

  Bringing Ashe into the Roost had initially provoked quite a reaction from the children who weren’t asleep. Yet as he’d begun to talk, Matisse’s instincts had proven correct. The seon’s deep, sonorous voice had quieted the children. Ashe had a rhythm about his speech that was wonderfully soothing. Hearing a story from a seon had not only coaxed little Riika to sleep, but the rest of the stragglers as well.

  Matisse stood, stretching her legs, then nodded toward the doors outside. Ashe hovered behind her, passing the sullen Idotris at the front doors again. He was tossing pebbles toward a slug that had somehow found its way into New Elantris.

  “I’m sorry to take so much of your time, Ashe,” Matisse said quietly when they were far enough away not to wake the children.

  “Nonsense, Lady Matisse,” Ashe said. “Lady Sarene can spare me for a bit. Besides, it is good to tell stories again. It has been some time since my mistress was a child.”

  “You were Passed to Lady Sarene when she was that young?” Matisse asked, curious.

  “At her birth, my lady,” Ashe said.

  Matisse smiled wistfully.

  “You shall have your own seon someday, I should think, Lady Matisse,” Ashe said.

  Matisse cocked her head. “What makes you say that?”

  “Well, there was a time when almost no Elantrian went without a seon. I’m beginning to think that Lord Spirit may just be able to fix this city—after all, he fixed AonDor. If he does, we shall find you a seon of your own. Perhaps one named Ati. That is your own Aon, is it not?”

  “Yes,” Matisse said. “It means hope.”

  “A fitting Aon for you, I believe,” Ashe said. “Now, if my duties here are finished, perhaps I should—”

  “Matisse!” a voice said.

  Matisse winced, glancing at the Roost, filled with its sleeping occupants. A light was bobbing in the night, coming down a side street—the source of the yelling.

  “Matisse?” the voice demanded again.

  “Hush, Mareshe!” Matisse hissed, crossing the street quietly to where the man stood. “The children are sleeping!”

  “Oh,” Mareshe said, pausing. The haughty Elantrian wore standard New Elantris clothing—bright trousers and shirt—but he had modified his with a couple of sashes that he believed made the costume more “artistic.”

  “Where’s that father of yours?” Mareshe asked.

  “Training the people with swords,” Matisse said quietly.

  “What?” Mareshe asked. “It’s the middle of the night!”

  Matisse shrugged. “You know Dashe. Once he gets an idea in his head…”

  “First Galladon wanders off,” Mareshe grumbled, “and now Dashe is waving swords in the night. If only Lord Spirit would come back…”

  “Galladon’s gone?” Matisse asked, perking up.

  Mareshe nodded. “He disappears like this sometimes. Karata too. They’ll never tell me where they’ve gone. Always so secretive! ‘You’re in charge, Mareshe,’ they say, then go off to have secret conferences without me. Honestly!” With that, the man wandered away, bearing his lantern with him.

  Off somewhere secret, Matisse thought. That library Dashe mentioned? She eyed Ashe, who was still hovering beside her. Perhaps if she coaxed him enough, he’d tell her—

  At that moment, the screaming began.

  The shouts were so sudden, so unexpected, that Matisse jumped. She spun about, trying to determine the location of the sounds. They seemed to be coming from the front of New Elantris.

  “Ashe!” she said.

  “I’m already going, Lady Matisse,” the seon said, zipping into the air, a glowing speck in the night.

  The yells continued. Distant, echoing. Matisse shivered, backing up unconsciously. She heard other things. The ring of metal against metal.

  She turned back toward the Roost. Taid, the adult who supervised the Roost, had walked out of the building in his nightgown. Even in the darkness, Matisse could see a look of concern on his face.

  “Wait here,” he said.

  “Don’t leave us!” Idotris said, looking around in fright.

  “I’ll be back.” Taid rushed away.

  Matisse shared a look with Idotris. The other teenagers who had been on duty watching the kids had already gone to their own homes for the night. Only Idotris and she remained.

  “I’m going to go with him,” Idotris said, stalking after Taid.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Matisse said, grabbing his arm and pulling him back. In the distance, the yelling continued. She glanced toward the Roost. “Go wake the kids.”

  “What?” Idotris said indignantly. “After all the work we did to get them to sleep?”

  “Do it,” Matisse snapped. “Get them up, and have them put their shoes on.”

  Idotris resisted for a moment, then grumbled something and stalked inside the room. A moment later, she could hear him doing as she asked, rousing the children. Matisse rushed over to a building across the street—one of the supply buildings. Inside, she found two lanterns with oil in them, and some flint and steel.

  She paused. What am I doing?

  Just being prepared, she told herself, shivering as the screaming continued. It seemed to be getting closer. She rushed back across the street.

  “My lady!” Ashe’s voice said. She glanced up to see that the seon was flying back down toward her. His Aon was so dim that she could barely see him.

  “My lady,” Ashe said urgently. “Soldiers have attacked New Elantris!”

  “What?” she asked, shocked.

  “They wear red and have the height and dark hair of Fjordells, my lady,” Ashe said. “There are hundreds of them. Some of your soldiers are fighting at the front of the city, but there are far too few of them. New Elantris is already overrun! My lady—the soldiers are coming this way, and they’re searching through the buildings!”

  Matisse stood, dumbfounded. No. No, it can’t happen. Not here. This place is peaceful. Perfect.

  I escaped the outside world. I found a place where I belonged. I
t can’t come after me.

  “My lady!” Ashe said, sounding terrified. “Those screams … the soldiers are attacking the people they find!”

  And they’re coming this way.

  Matisse stood, lanterns clutched in numb fingers. This was the end, then. After all, what could she do? Nearly a child herself, a beggar, a girl without family or home. What could she do?

  I take care of the children. It’s my job.

  It’s the job Lord Spirit gave me.

  “We have to get them out,” Matisse said, sprinting toward the Roost. “They know where to look because we cleaned this section of Elantris. The city is huge—if we get the children out into the dirty part, we can hide them.”

  “Yes, my lady,” Ashe said.

  “You go find my father!” Matisse said. “Tell him what we’re doing.”

  With that, she entered the Roost, Ashe hovering away into the night. Inside, Idotris had done as she asked, and the children were groggily putting on their shoes.

  “Quickly, children,” Matisse said.

  “What’s going on?” Tiil demanded.

  “We’ve got to go,” Matisse said to the young troublemaker. “Tiil, Teor, I’m going to need your help—you and all of the older children, all right? You have to try and help the young ones. Keep them moving, and keep them quiet. All right?”

  “Why?” Tiil asked, frowning. “What’s going on?”

  “It’s an emergency,” Matisse said. “That’s all you need to know.”

  “Why are you in charge?” Teor said, stepping up to his friend, folding his arms.

  “You know my father?” Matisse said.

  They nodded.

  “You know he’s a soldier?” Matisse asked.

  Again, a nod.

  “Well, that makes me a soldier too. It’s hereditary. He’s a captain, so I’m a captain. And that means I get to tell you what to do. You can be my subcaptains, though, if you promise to do what I say.”

  The two younger boys paused, then Tiil nodded. “Makes sense,” he said.

  “Good. Now move!”

  The boys went to help the younger children. Matisse began to herd them out the front door, into the darkened streets. Many of them, however, had caught on to the terror of the night, and were too scared to budge.