Self-Portrait

[Shallan Davar]

Shallan opened her eyes and was surprised by the quietness of her thoughts. Admittedly there was something buzzing in the background of her hearing, but there wasn’t a dragon speaking directly into her brain, no roaring pain from a leg having been blown clear off and her senses were only her own normal experiences of the world again. It was a blissful quiet. Shallan closed her eyes again, breathing deeply. She was tempted to let herself sleep some more, this was the most peaceful she had felt since her ill-informed venture to Inverexe. Regrettably, awareness brought with it questions. Bothersome things that continued to nettle at her thoughts until she could not continue to lie there any longer.

What had happened? Where was she?

Her memory of everything since losing her leg was blurry at best. She was no longer bonded to Smaug. Something had happened to cause that. Probably the end of their campaign against the unmaking. But the more she thought about it, the less it felt like she was resting in a nice, comfy, infirmary bed. In addition, she was pretty sure she couldn’t imagine wiggling the toes on a leg that had been blown off quite as vividly as she currently could. Things must have ended up complicated again.

With a thoroughly begrudging effort, Shallan opened her eyes again. The sky above her was the brightest blue. The buzzing sound she heard was the rhythmic cycle of waves upon a beach. A beach she had seemingly washed up on. She didn’t feel soaking wet, so she must have been lying there for quite some time. With a listless sigh, Shallan forced herself into a sitting position. The ocean stretched out in front of her to the horizon, blue and shining without rock or island to break the line between water and sky. The beach sand looked shinier than she remembered the islands had, but admittedly she had scarcely had time to take in the scenery in that series of airborne assaults. And she had been seeing the whole thing through Smaug’s eyes.

Presently, Shallan noticed that she was not the only person on the beach. There were no small number of people, some dressed familiarly, some more outlandish, but none who looked particularly like they “belonged” here on the shore. Then again, neither did she. They were heading away from the water, she noted, with a uniform sort of patient walking. With a huff, she rose to her feet, brushing what sand she could from the hem of her havah dress. Turning to look in the direction the others were heading, she beheld what could only be described as a morass of beings. They were all milling about and waiting in lines to some destination that Shallan couldn’t make out.

With minor trepidation, she moved to the edge of the crowd, trying to get a sense of what she’d even be waiting for. Her efforts to eavesdrop proved fruitless however, as the people were barely even speaking to one another. It was a surprisingly peaceful crowd, given the size of things, no arguing or shoving. Instead an air nervous anticipation hung above the whole situation but the flow of people was so smooth and natural that Shallan didn’t even realize that she’d taken place in one of the winding lines. How had she managed to make it through that large a crowd so quickly?

As she debated whether to step out of the line a robed and hooded figure passed along one side, it was a bit too tall to be human, but she couldn’t make out any facial features inside the cloak. It was proceeding along with an air of authority, handing out a small item to each of the people waiting.

“Please keep these in hand while you wait, they’ll help to speed up the process. Oh, with your bare hand, miss, thank you.”

Shallan took the offered gemstone with her freehand, and the robed figure continued down the line without further comment, repeating its declaration as it continued to hand out gemstones. She peered at the gemstone curiously, holding it up to the light to try to get a sense for its opacity. It was only then that she realized that there was no light to hod it up to. The entire beach was caught in a sort of pre-dawn glow. Like the sun was just waiting over the horizon. It was a pleasant sight, but slightly startling when Shallan tried to align it with how long she’d been here.

How long had she been here? After all, that crowd had been massive, and this line while far from stagnant, still stretched over the sand dunes and out of sight. It couldn’t still be a rising down for this long, surely?

She was still pondering the implications when she found herself at the front of the line. She blinked in alarm, then slowly took the seat offered to her by another of the hooded and robed individuals.

“Hello, may I have that gemstone? It has been listening to your soulsong while you waited in line and should help with the efficiency of your posthumous processing.”

Ah. There it was.

All of the questions snapping into place with the stark clarity of a belltower’s toll.

“I suppose that in the grand scheme of things, it would have been entirely too convenient that dying in the Crossroads would have brought me to the Tranquiline halls.” Shallan murmured dejectedly.

“Mmm, I am afraid that decision is not my jurisdiction precisely, Miss. We are only here to assess the legitimacy of your soul, not to judge its merit for the hereafter.”

“Pardon?” Shallan frowned again, simultaneously relieved and concerned by the statement, “Then you are…?”

“Our order’s official title is the First Step to Eternal Perfection.” The hooded figure made a symbolic gesture with its taloned hands that Shallan didn’t recognize, “But to most people we are generally known as paradise’s bureaucracy.”
Shallan’s trepidation did not abate at that explanation.

“That’s a necessary thing?”

“It’s er… it’s become an increasing problem these last couple of years I am afraid. Death has always been a tricky subject for those beings who reside in the Crossroads. Folks here have a tendency to make… let us call it return trips for lack of a better word. Add onto that mess the ultimate state of the souls of Unmade beings, and the potential fate of the quasi-real soldiers some groups are starting to employ to bolster their blood counts and it quickly becomes an actuarial nightmare to tell who’s even really dying or not these days!”

“I… really?” Shallan was finding herself put on the back foot by the frankness of this conversation. To have something like her soul and eternal fate be discussed like she was speaking to a bank teller was unnerving to say the least. “And that all has to be sorted through scientifically, I imagine?”

“As much as you can, though, soul science drifts into metaphysics without even trying to. We’ve actually had to create significant amounts of new categories to handle the wide array of things that reside in the crossroads, and that only makes the situations more complicated when you come across the people who are still managing to break the systems of organization we’ve created!”

The figure tapped at the gemstone briefly with one of its talons, then sighed.

“And this is exactly what I mean! You’re reading as three different souls, one of which is owed a reincarnation! I don’t suppose you were a necromancer or some sort of soul-splicer in life? That would at least make the case shut and dry.”

“Afraid not…” Shallan answered, though it didn’t seem prudent to offer this being any shortcuts when it came to a discussion like this. This think almost seemed to be looking for an excuse not to consider her case fully.

“No… I don’t see any evidence of binding, all of the involved parties agreed to the bond willingly…” The hooded being gave an exasperated sigh.

She would be better off saying nothing, she knew that, but the curiosity burned at her brain like a hot knife. “Is it really that hard to tell which soul matches the body?”

“We, er… It’s against policy to discuss too much metaphysics with a being that might be returning to the world. To put it simply, I don’t have your body to compare it to. What you’re perceiving right now is more of a… metaphorical existence. It’s a way for your uh… your self to interact with this space in a way that isn’t too disconcerting for you. It's personalized too, so I can’t tell what you’re seeing, or tell you what it looks like to anyone else waiting in the line either.”
“Ohh, so that’s why there aren’t as many sea monsters and zombies in the line as there were back on Opealon?”

The figure gave a non-committal shrug, which briefly sent Shallan into a dangerous spiral of questions about how a thing that didn’t really have a body could be communicating in a non-verbal manner.

“At any rate, I’m going to have to dump you into a soul-searching scenario to figure out which of those signatures is the real you. One moment.”

The being extended a taloned hand, glowing lines spreading from its fingers into an intricate design. It twisted the expanding glyph and Shallan felt her world splinter. Her perception twisted, spiraled slices of the image before her uncoiling and falling away. The crowd, the beach, the sky, all of it was going away. She glanced down to her trembling hand to realize she too was uncoiling. She would have cried out in alarm if she still had a mouth.

 

[Shallan Davar]

Shallan jolted awake at her desk. The smell of books was the first thing she took note of, and a less skeptical Shallan would have sworn she was back in the Palanaeum of Kharbranth. Bookcases towered above her in all directions, but even their vast quantity could not suffice, for the piled tomes were stacked in great spires wherever did not need to be kept clear for passage. That fact alone was enough to confirm that this space, though wondrous was not Kharbranth, for she could only imagine the fits some of the ardents would be in, seeing such ancient books piled upon the smoothed stone floor.

Shallan stood up from the desk, hand clutched to her forehead. Aching pain aside, her memory seemed to have decisive gaps in it these days . She would have guessed Veil had been drinking heavier than usual, but the dark-eyed spy adamantly claimed otherwise. Shallan believed her, the personalities had all agreed to mutual trust. None of them would get anywhere if they were keeping secrets from one another. No, this was another of the Crossroads’ many mysteries.

At her desk burned a candelabra, the only source of light by which she could perceive the bookshelves that surrounded her. Floral-shaped silver metal supported a quintet of burning candles. They could not have been lit long, judging from the lack of running wax. The small flames illuminated the darkness of the grand library, though the ceiling of the space was lost somewhere in the darkness above her. In the vague blackness above she could make out some other spots of light. If they were, as she suspected, further candles, this space was in fact a tiered and hollow cylinder. To consider the fact that a space this large was so greatly overcrowded by the books it contained was mind-numbing.

Glancing down the winding array of shelves and stacks, Shallan questioned the wisdom of using fire for light amidst so much precious knowledge, but since the Crossroads was lacking in stormlight for general use, she supposed the choice was out of necessity, dangerous though it might be. Noting that her satchel and spheres were nowhere to be seen, Shallan supposed that she was herself equally in need of light. Freehand carefully holding the candelabra, Shallan ventured away from her desk into the maze of books.

The silence was broken only by her footfalls as she wove between the bookstacks. Shallan found herself stepping progressively quieter, so as not to disturb anyone else who might be somewhere within the labyrinth. At times she began to doubt that this many books could possibly have been retained in a single location, but every time she stopped to open one that was accessible, it seemed to be a legitimate manuscript, or at least a sufficiently thought-out forgery to fool her limited knowledge of the Crossroads.

She wandered, for how long she did not know. Her only measure for the passing of time was the steady decline of he candelabra’s wax, but her experience with candle-dipping was too limited to know what estimates she could make of time from the candle-melt alone. She was not yet hungry, nor was she feeling tired due to physical exhaustion. Could she really have only been walking for a few hours?

The question of time was soon to become a moot point, her only light source was rapidly dwindling, and she had yet to come across another source of it in this vast forest of knowledge. Without a better solution she had extinguished one of the candles, with the intent to light it from another just before it was spent. A sacrifice in light quality to forestall the increasingly inevitable darkness. She would have kept only a single one lit, but for fear that it might go out suddenly from a draft and leave her stranded in the black nothingness with four candles still intact.

Her wandering continued, devoid of any sign of life or way out, and her candles hung low in pools of melted wax. Without better recourse she set the candelabra down on a nearby book and eased loose the candle she’d preserved. The single wick would be a paltry amount of light in a space like this, but it was vastly preferable to nothing. Holding its wick to the dying flame she watched intently.

It wasn’t catching. Fighting back a growing sense of panic, she tried a few different angles, but the stubborn wick refused to catch hold of the flame. She had planned for this! She had thought ahead! Why wasn’t it working? Nothing she could do would coax new light onto it. Shallan pleaded wordlessly with the candles as the last of her flames darkened to embers, and the opaque blackness rushed in to envelop her.

 

[Shallan Davar]

The instant that Shallan’s light was truly gone a buzzing began. The humming of a switch snapping into place. A spotlight flared into existence, singularly focused on her from somewhere far above, She froze like a startled deer and briefly considered trying to hide. Without a light source or destination however, it would be a futile flight. The spotlight descended in a jostling, sequenced manner. The movement had a rhythm to it, and Shallan was almost reminded of a chasmfiend descending from the walls of the Shattered Plains, though thankfully on a much smaller scale. She gripped the extinguished candelabra with her freehand, staring up to try to spot the figure that was attached to the approaching spotlight. As it approached she became relatively confident that the spotlight was suspended over one shoulder somehow, and she would catch brief glimpses of its form, large and hunched with a metallic shine.

“Ha-ave you found what you were seeking?”

The voice was gravelly and a little halting, but not overtly threatening. As the being finished its descent to the ground floor, Shallan was finding her need for answers well outpaced her fear. She stood her ground, staring down the shadow that sat on the very edge of the spotlight. Whatever it was, it wasn’t immediately hostile. In fact, it seemed to be waiting for her response. After a brief consideration, she decided to employ the shield of etiquette. Setting the candelabra down, she dropped into a proper Vedan curtsey.

“Brightness Shallan Davar. I don’t mean to interrupt you, but may I impose upon you for assistance? I find myself lacking in illumination just now, both figuratively and literally. Any help you can provide would be most appreciated.”

The being with the spotlight was silent for a time. Now that it was close, Shallan could hear a faint metallic ticking, like a mechanical counter of some kind, or perhaps a metronome. With a humming whir, an arm extended out of the darkness, made of brass metal and black piping. It extended a finger towards the candelabra, there was a brief flash and a flame blinked into being on the remaining candle.

The new candlelight did little in comparison to the glare of the spotlight that was still shining in her face, but she took up the candelabra, curtseying again gratefully. The creature must have noted her squinting, for it lowered the spotlight out of her face. In the process she got a better look at its own features.

The thing was larger than a normal person, though it hunched over itself in a way that made it difficult to judge height accurately. A multitude of metallic limbs extended from beneath it, ending in points that it used to suspend itself between bookshelves. Even now, talking with her, it was not standing on the ground. It was entirely metallic, she realized. A clockwork creation that harkened Shallan back to some of the mechanized warriors she had fought against and alongside while on Opealon.

Memory and recognition flushed back to clear away the fog of confusion, just as the candlelight chased away the surrounding darkness.
“Wonderful. If I might be allowed to further impose, where in fact am I? I do not recall coming here initially, and I am finding that statement uncomfortably frequent of late.”

The metal creature seemed not to understand the question. Its head tilted to one side, like one of the colorful chickens you would sometimes see on a sailor’s shoulder. Shallan stood still, waiting for it to consider. Eventually it turned to gaze upwards at one of the bookshelves.

“There is noth-thing quite so grand as this pla-ace. Every book is a treas-sure, and here are found more than ever dre-reamed of. It is a marvel.” The mechanical being turned its attention back to Shallan with eagerness, almost a pleading tone.

“Did you find the book of your tu-ruth?”

“No…” Shallan admitted, “I am afraid that I don’t have a clue what you’re asking me.”

Somewhere in the distance, what had to have been a book fell to the stone floor from a great height. The echoing thud set Shallan’s heart racing. The creature did not flinch, looking at her silently. Shallan could hear the blood rushing in her ears as she waited through its contemplative silence.

Eventually the creature nodded. It had no real means of facial expression, its face was only a vaguely defined shape with three glowing holes on one side that Shallan could imagine were eyes. Even without a face, Shallan still felt a sadness, perhaps even a pity as it slowly turned away.

“It is a long journ-rney. I wish you well on it.”

Shallan frowned as the creature clambered up and away into the shelves, its spotlight extinguished.

“Wait! Please, I need your help! I don’t know where I-”

Shallan’s candle whiffed into nothingness, and Shallan had only a moment to glance at it before she felt the stone ground rushing up to meet her.

---​

With a jolt she sat up from her desk. It was lit by a quintet of candles, and surrounded by a labyrinth of overflowing bookshelves. The dark passages of knowledge loomed as before in all directions. Shallan stumbled to her feet uneasily, considering the sequence of events. She had been told she was going to be in some sort of test…

“Oh Stormfather, preserve me…” SHe murmured under her breath, “He didn’t mean a literal book, did he?”

 

[Shallan Davar]

There was something here Shallan was missing. It appeared to be a repeatable sequence of events. This time she had searched through books until her candlelight had withered again. And once again the brass librarian had come to ask her about the book of her truth. When she replied in the negative she had awoken at the desk, candles restored and burning. She had considered trying to map a route out, making little wax marks on the ground as she wandered. She only encountered one or two places where she had been forced to backtrack however, and was no closer to making sense of the place when she had run out of light again and been found by the librarian. Her next journey into the passageways found no sign of her wax markings, but turns that she remembered, meaning that the wax was being cleaned up.

After a few cycles of mapping efforts proved fruitless, she turned to experimenting with the condition of the test. If she doused all of her candles early, the librarian would appear far more quickly. She now suspected it was aware of her location at all times, and merely waited to appear until she was out of light. When she stood quiet and still, she occasionally thought she could make out the quiet whirring of a gear from somewhere above. While this discovery was interesting, it did not particularly improve her situation. The other candles consistently refused to re-light when they were extinguished, and shortening the time before the start of the cycle did not feel particularly in her interests.

Her next experimentation was with the Brass Librarian itself. The machine’s approach and the question it asked were always the same. It seemed to believe that she would have a literal book to provide it, as it extended its hand for her to hand over the book when she falsely claimed to have found it. When she provided a book on the practices of Erde Nonan nobility for it, the librarian had examined the book, then turned away with the same sad expression, before the cycle began anew once more. Further it did not respond with much verbage to any of her questions, merely brief statements of admiration for the books that made up this place, and repetition of its same initial question to her.

The book of her truth.

It was a strangely worded phrase. She was now approaching thirty some cycles of this journey, feeling that she had made little to no progress. It was time now to examine every possible angle of what this test could be after. Shallan had spent some time examining the bookshelves on some of the cycles, well and fully aware that the logistical realities of finding a single book within this multitude was a nigh impossible task. A creeping question was starting to worm into her brain, that the task was meant to be one of pure persistence, to slowly make her way through this massive wealth of knowledge, until it drove her insane or she found the single book she sought. After all, only a truly determined soul could hold to such a task for the near eternity it would take to comb through such a vast treasure trove of knowledge.

A treasure trove… oh Stormfather…

Shallan halted in her tracks, her gaze turning upwards to the vaulted ceiling above her. The brass librarian had called the books here treasures, and in that line of thinking, this place was more than a vault. If one considered the books as treasures, this was a dragon’s hoard. She looked down at the candles steadily melting in her candelabra. The bureaucrat had not specified who the soul-searching exercise had been for. She had mistaken something quite crucial from the beginning. After all, Shallan was not the one who’s soul entitled them to a reincarnation. That opportunity had been afforded to the Dragon Queen Yucatan, to Karakul, to Eszter. The test was not for Shallan to search her soul. This test was to prove that her soul was Smaug.

Shallan’s knowledge of dragons was inconsistent at best, a mixture of rumor, hearsay, and the mental detritus from having shared the mind of one for a few months. Even so, this realization began to fit the disparate pieces of the puzzle together. A dragon had an almost preternatural eye for details, and a memory to match when it came to materialistic possessions. A dragon would know the precise location of every piece within its hoard, would know when even the smallest parcel had been stolen from it. But would that kind of knowledge translate to the finding of a book among this many thousands? She was somewhat less convinced of that fact, particularly when she doubted that Smaug would even consider the books valuable to begin with. To Shallan the scholar they had merit, to Smaug the greatest of Calamities, this task would be a prime example of mortal foolishness, even while it was being proposed by immortal beings.

Another puzzle piece clicked into place as her gaze rested on the candelabra. The Brass Librarian appeared as soon as her candles went out. However, she could not prolong the light her candles provided, nor was it enough time to accomplish the task needed of her. A futile cycle without escape would drive most to lash out. Would push someone as prideful as Smaug to the point of furious outrage. And in her hand was the tool she needed to make her displeasure known. After all, what dragon would hesitate to set the object of its hatred alight?

Shallan held the candelabra at an angle, poised above one of the nearby stacks of books. It dripped wax onto the cover slowly as she debated. This place was cramped and dry. She was nearly certain that once the pages caught light, it would leap between the shelves to cover the entirety of the library within moments. She knew that Smaug wouldn’t think twice before setting the whole of the structure ablaze; but Shallan found herself firmly opposed to the idea. Rationally, there was a strong likelihood that these were not even real books. After all, this was a soul-searching activity, not a real location in the Crossroads.

At least, that was what she had assumed from its cyclical nature. As Shallan hesitated moments from causing the conflagration, she realized that she could not bring herself to do it. The knowledge within these books was a treasure, truly. If she claimed to be a scholar, did she really put the contributions of her own freedom to be greater than the knowledge already to be found here? A dragon was that prideful, Smaug would be laughing at her now for even stopping to question the very notion that she would not set this whole place ablaze.

But she was not a dragon.

Before she was able to second guess herself, Shallan blew out the candles. Almost immediately the spotlight of the Brass librarian blinked into existence and it began its descent of the shelves to speak with her again. Burning down the library was what the test expected of her. She was confident of it now. By not performing the action, was she simply accepting an eternity of this cycle?

“Ha-ave you found the book of your tu-ruth?” the brass librarian spoke again with the same halting tone.

“I am Shallan Davar.” She replied with a feeling of finality, “I am the one who seeks the truth.”

She had spoken that same oath to Pattern back on Roshar, and here she reaffirmed it not to be a lie. The brass librarian considered her for a time, then with a clicking sound, its head bobbed several times in succession.

“You do not wish to bur-urn the library. You wish to stay.”

“Well, I do not wish to burn the library, this is true. But it's less a desire to remain within it then a refusal to destroy such a treasure. If my punishment for such is the eternal pursuit of a meaningless quest, that is the price I stake on it.”

Again the brass librarian considered, and again its head bobbed several times. Shallan felt the distinct impression it was smiling.

“My assess-ssessment is sufficient. I know now your soul’s song. You spared my treas-sure from your flames, and retur-urn the good tur-urn.”

Once more the stone floor rushed up to her.

---

With a jolt, Shallan found herself back at the desk before the hooded bureaucrat. The being was holding the same stone as before. Indeed, Shallan was becoming suspicious about whether time was actually passing for any of this activity. Did time even exist after one was dead? The hooded being tapped the gemstone twice with its taloned hand, and nodded faintly.

“The soul searching exercise has been completed, and our proctor has rendered their assessment. Because of your heritage you are entitled to return, should you seek to bring vengeance upon those that felled you, great wyrm.”

Shallan, now thoroughly done with the impermanence of soul-realities and their effects on her metaphorical stomach could think of nothing to say, and merely nodded with what she hoped was her most Smaug-like silent menace. The hooded figure took this as sufficient assent, and began tracing another glyph.
“Though we can release your soul back to the crossroads, the journey it takes is beyond our jurisdiction. It is my understanding that your draconic blood will reincarnate you into a different form, but that is only overheard from talk of the process, we do not act beyond the release of the soul.”

A new host of horrible possibilities were suddenly conjured in Shallan’s mind. If she wasn’t reincarnating, how would she return to life? Would she be on Opealon? Would she still be bonded to the corpse of the dragon? Would she even be in her own body?

She could not ask the hooded figure without revealing her deception, and as the world tessellated away from her perceptions for the last time, all Shallan could do was close her eyes and pray.