This story is about Derethil and the Wandersail. This is excerpted from the book, “The Way of Kings” by Brandon Sanderson.
This is a long immersive story, so grab a cup of your favourite beverage and settle down to read it.
Derethil was a king during the shadowdays, the time before memory. A powerful man. Commander of thousands, leader of tens of thousands. Tall, regal, blessed with glowing skin and handsome eyes. He was a man to envy.
Derethil fought his enemies and conquered them. When there was finally peace, he found he was not content. His eyes always turned westward toward the great open sea. He commissioned the finest ship men had ever known, a majestic vessel intended to do what none had dared before: sail the seas during a high storm.
Many called him a fool, yet he could not hold himself back. Only a madman would sail a ship in a high storm. A high-storm on land was terrible enough. But on the sea? He commissioned an enormous ship with a sail as large as a building, secured to an arrowlike hull. He named the vessel, the Wandersail and gathered a crew of the bravest of sailors. Then, on a day when a high storm brewed, this ship cast off. Riding into the ocean, the sail hung wide, like arms open to the storm-winds….
The massive ship was miniscule before the awesome power of a highstorm. Blown, carried out into the endless sea. The Wandersail was nearly destroyed in the crash, but Derethil and most of his sailors survived. They found themselveso n a ring of small islands surrounding an enormous whirlpool, where, it is is said, the ocean drains. Derethil and his men were greeted by a strange people with long, limber bodies who wore robes of single color and shells in their hair unlike any that grow back home on Roshar.
These people took the survivors in, fed them, and nursed them back to health. During his weeks of recovery, Derethil studied the strange people, who called themselves the Uvara, the People of the Great Abyss. They lived curious lives. Unlike the people in Roshar – who constantly argue – the Uvara always seemed to agree. From childhood, there were no questions. Each and every person went about his duty.
One day, while Derethil and his men were sparring to regain strength, a young serving girl brought them refreshment. She tripped on an uneven stone, dropping the goblets to the floor and shattering them. In a flash, the other Uvara descended on the hapless child and slaughtered her in a brutal way. Derethil and his men were so stunned that by the time they regained their wits, the child was dead. Angry, Derethil demanded to know the cause of the unjustified murder. One of the other natives explained. “Our emperor will not suffer failure.”
As Derethil began to pay more attention, he saw other murders. These Uvara, these People of the Great Abyss, were prone to astonishing cruely. If one of their memebrs did something wrong – something the slightest bit untoward or unfavourable – the others would slaughter him or her. Each time he asked, Derethil’s caretaker gave him the same answer. “Our emperor will not suffer failure.”
The emperor, Derethil discovered, resided in the tower on the eastern coast of the largest island among the Uvara.
Derethil determined that he needed to confront this cruel emperor. What kind of monster would demand that such an obviously peaceful people kill so often and so terribly? Derethil gathered his sailors, a heroic group, and they armed themselves. The Uvara did not try to stop them, though they watched with fright as the strangers stormed the emperor’s tower.
Derethil and his men came out of the tower a short time later, carrying a desiccated corpse in fine robes and jewelry. “This is your emperor?” Derethil demanded. “We found him in the top room, alone.” It appeared that the man had been dead for years, but nobody had dared enter his tower. They were too frightened of him.
When he showed the Uvara the dead body, they began to wail and weep. The entire island was cast into chaos, as the Uvara began to burn homes, riot, or fall to their knees in torment. Amazed and confused, Derethil and his men stormed the Uvara shipyards, where the Wandersail was being repaired. Their guide and caretaker joined them, and she begged to accompany them in their escape. So it was that Nafti joined the crew.
Derethil and his men set sail, and though the winds were still, they rode the Wandersail around the whirlpool, using the momentum to spin them out and away from the islands. Long after they left, they could see the smoke rising from the ostensibly peaceful lands. They gathered on the deck, watching and Derethil asked Nafti the reason for the terrible riots.
Holding a blanket around herself, staring with haunted eyes at her lands, she replied, “Do you not see, Travelling One? If the emperor is dead, and has been all these years, then the murders we committed are not his responsibility. They are our own.”
What does this story mean to you? People see in stories what they are looking for. What are you looking for and what do you see? What is it that you don’t want to take responsibility for?
P.S. If you are ready to level up, work with me for 1:1 career coaching. Hit reply, and I’d love to share more.
💌 Siri