Shadows Beneath: The Writing Excuses Anthology by Howard Tayler Dan Wells Mary Robinette Kowal Brandon Sanderson Read Free Book Online Page A

other side of the sea.”
    He lifted his chin. “Stand. The Apex Councilor has decided to hear what you have to say.”
    The Apex Councilor sat in a squat room, not at all grand, with a broad table in front of him. Yet even here, in the most utilitarian of chambers, great windows stood behind the councilor and cast light across his table. Stacks of paper crowded the surface in front of his aides, piled in neat right angles, every corner squared to the edge of the table.
    On either side of the door stood guards with tall spears. Tassels hung from the shafts, making the weapons look almost ornamental, but the light that gleamed from the edges made it clear that these were honed and sharp. Their breastplates were painted with a lacquered rendition of the full moon, with silver rays blending into the metal of the armor. The velvet of their livery was a blue so deep as to be almost black. Tied around their upper arms were blue armbands, which appeared light only in contrast.
    As Katin was brought into the room, the councilor shifted a pile of paper closer to himself. “You have been accused of being shy of an oxtail. How do you respond?”
    “I do not know what an ox-tail is.”
    Silhouetted by the window, his face was not visible, but the sharp jerk of his head was unmistakable. “Do not toy with me.”
    “I am not! I have no understanding what you are speak of.”
    “Every citizen must have an oxtail to travel outside their city of birth.”
    “Perhaps that is the problem. I am not citizen. We are from Marth, across the sea.”
    The councilor broke into laughter at this. “Even if there were land across the sea, there is no way to navigate outside the light of the eternal moon. The fine for being without your oxtail is not so egregious that you must make up fairy stories.”
    “I am not! We have been trying explain since we got here that we are explorers from the other side of world. Where I come from, an ox-tail belongs firmly on an ox.”
    He cocked his head. “Are you saying ‘ox-tail’?”
    “Yes.” Katin slowed down and tried to adjust her speech so it was more accurate. “That is what the man at the ship asked us for.” Before he shot Lesid.
    He uttered a noise that sounded as though he cursed. “You were supposed to have had language lessons.”
    “I did.”
    “From a historian. Your province speaks a particularly backward form of Setian.” He rubbed his forehead. “Still, that might explain some of the confusion. You are saying ‘ox-tail’ but what I mean is ‘oxtail.’”
    Aside from a slight change in emphasis, Katin could hear no distinction. “What is the difference?”
    “One is the tail of an ox. The other is a license to travel.”
    She gaped at him. Lesid had been shot . . . “One of my shipmates was killed because we couldn’t understand what the man at the dock was saying.”
    “All provinces have the same requirements. You should have undertaken this before leaving your home.”
    Katin lost her temper and felt the touch of Dorot on her soul. “I told you. We are from across the ocean. We could not possibly have gotten an oxtail before leaving because we didn’t know that there was such a thing. If you tell us where to go to get a license, I’m sure we’ll all happily pay the fee.”
    One of the aides scribbled something on a piece of paper and passed it to the councilor. “I understand that you first disturbed the library with a prank.” He studied it for a moment. “Why do you keep insisting on this fiction? Navigation is not possible out of the sight of the blessed moon.”
    “We navigate by the stars. Really, have you had no one else visit your shores?”
    “Castaways from one of the lower islands.” The councilor stroked his chin. “The stars move. How do you propose that one navigate by them?”
    Katin faltered. She knew nothing of the subject beyond seeing the captain do it. “I . . . I am not certain.”
    “Because it cannot be done.”
    “No. Because I