“Wise words,” Dalinar said.
Wise words? Was he being patronizing? Humans seemed to not expect much from her people, and were surprised whenever a complex conversation happened. As if they were amused that the listeners were not as dull-minded as parshmen.
“I would like to go to see places where you live,” Eshonai said. “I would visit you, and have you visit us, more.”
Dalinar dismissed his Blade, sending it away with a puff of white fog. She attuned Confusion.
“My brother has taken an interest in you,” Dalinar said softly. “This … Well, be more cautious with your invitations, parshwoman. Our attention can be dangerous.”
“I do not understand,” she said. It sounded as if he were warning her against his own.
“I have grown tired of pushing people around,” Dalinar said. “In my wake, I’ve left too many smoldering holes where cities used to be. You are something special, something we’ve never seen before. And I know my brother—I know that look in his eyes, that excitement.
“His interest could benefit you, but it could have an equal cost. Do not be so quick to share your stormshelter with men you just barely met. Don’t offend, but also don’t be too quick to bend. Any new recruit needs to learn both lessons. In this case, I’d suggest politeness—but care. Do not let him back you into a corner. He will respect you if you stand up for yourselves. And whatever you do, don’t give him any reason to decide he wants what you have.”
Be forceful, stand up for themselves, but don’t offend their king? How did that make any sense? Yet looking at him—listening to his calm but firm voice—she thought she did understand. His intent, as if given to her by a rhythm.
Be careful with us was what he was saying. We are far more dangerous than you think.
He had mentioned … burning cities.
“How many cities do your people live in?” she asked.
“Hundreds,” he said. “The number of humans in our realm would stagger you. It is many times the number of parshmen I’ve seen here living with you.”
Impossible. That … was impossible, wasn’t it?
We know so little.
“Thank you,” she said to Appreciation. She got it to click, the way of speaking his language but putting a rhythm to it. It could work.
He nodded to her. “We are leaving. I realize this visit was short, but my brother needs to return to his lands. You will … certainly meet us again. We will send a more permanent envoy. I promise you this.”
He turned, moving with the momentum of a shifting boulder, and walked toward his stormwagon.
* * *
Venli felt as if the bright red gemstone would burn its way through her clothing. She huddled in one of the stormshelters: a group of wide slits in the ground near the city, which they’d covered over with animal carapace and crem. Each was in the top of a hill, so the sides could drain.
Venli’s immediate family gathered together in this one to chat and feast, as was their habit during storm days. The others seemed so cheerful, speaking to Joy or Appreciation while they ate beside the fire, listening as Venli’s mother sang songs by the light of uncut gemhearts.
Those could be organic, lumpish things. While they took in Stormlight, none were nearly as bright as the strange gemstone in her pocket. The one the human had given her. Venli felt as if it should be on fire, though it was as cold as a normal gemstone. She attuned Anxiety and glanced at the others, worrying they’d see that too-red glow.
I’m supposed to go out into the storm, she thought, listening to the rain pound distant stone. Does this count? I can see the storm out there, flashing and making its own rhythm, too frantic. Too wild.
No, she wasn’t close enough. Hiding in one of these shelters wouldn’t allow her to adopt mateform, which was the sole transformation they did regularly. No one wanted to go back to dullform, after all.
There were other forms to be found. She’d been close to warform. And now … this gemstone …
She’d carried it for weeks, terrified of what might happen. She glanced at her mother, and the close family members who sat and listened. Enraptured by the beautiful songs. Even Venli, who had heard them hundreds of times, found herself wanting to drift back and sit at her mother’s feet.
None of them knew what was happening. To Jaxlim. Mother hid it well. Was it true, that other forms could help her? The humans were leaving now, so this was the last chance Venli would have to try the gemstone, then—if it didn’t work—get answers from the human who had given it to her.
Venli attuned Determination and rose from her place, walking toward the end of the shelter, where they’d tied their gemstones to be renewed—close enough to the storm to be given light by the Rider’s touch. Several of the others whispered behind her, their voices attuned to Amusement. They thought she had decided to adopt mateform, which she’d always been adamant she would never do.
Her mother had smiled when she’d asked, explaining that few ever intended to adopt mateform. She acted as if it was simply something that happened, that an urge overtook you, or you sat too close to the exit during a storm—then poof, the next thing you knew, you’d become a silly idiot looking to breed. It was embarrassing to think others assumed Venli was doing that now.
She reached the wet stone at the edge of the shelter, where rainspren clustered with eyes pointed upward and grasping claws below. The wind and thunder were louder here, like the war calls of a rival family, trying to frighten her away.
Perhaps it would be best just to give the gemstone to her mother, and let her go try to find the new form. Wasn’t that what this was about?
No, Venli thought, trembling. No. It’s not.
Months spent trying to find new forms had gotten her nowhere—while Eshonai gained more and more acclaim. Even their mother, who had called her explorations foolish, now spoke of Eshonai with respect. The person who had found the humans. The person who had changed the world.
Venli had done what she was supposed to. She’d remained with her mother, she’d spent endless days memorizing songs, dutiful. But Eshonai got the praise.
Before her nerves betrayed her, Venli stepped out onto the hillside, entering the storm. The force of the wind made her stumble and slide down the slick rock. In an eyeblink she went from sheltered, song-filled warmth to icy chaos. A tempest with sounds like instruments breaking and songs failing. She tried to hold to the Rhythm of Resolve, but it was the Rhythm of Winds by the time she scrambled behind a large boulder and pressed her back against the stone.
From there, her mind devolved to the Rhythm of Pleading, bordering on panic. What was she doing? This was insanity. She’d often mocked those who went out in the storms without shields or other protections.
She wanted to return to the shelter, but she was too frightened to move. Something large crushed the ground nearby, causing her to jump, but a moment of darkness in the howling tempest prevented her from seeing how close the impact had been. As if the lightning, the wind, and the rain all conspired against her.
She reached into her pocket and took out the gemstone. What had seemed so bright before now seemed frail. The red light barely illuminated her hand.
Break it. She was supposed to break it. With fingers already numb from the cold, she searched around, eventually finding a large stone. The ground was shattered here in a circle the size of a listener. She retreated to the relative shelter of the boulder, shivering as she held the gemstone in one hand, the rock in the other.
Then silence.
It was so sudden, so unexpected, that she gasped. The rhythms in her mind became as one, a single steady beat. She looked upward into pure blackness. The ground around her seemed dry all of a sudden. She slowly turned around, then huddled down again. There was something in the sky, something like a face made from clouds and natural light. The impression of something vast and unknowable.
YOU WISH TO TAKE THIS STEP? a not-voice said, vibrating through her like a rhythm.
“I…” This
was him, the spren of highstorms—the Rider of Storms. The songs called him a traitor.
YOU HAVE SPENT SO LONG AS CHILDREN OF NO GOD, the rhythm said to her. YOU WOULD MAKE THIS CHOICE FOR ALL OF YOUR PEOPLE?
Venli felt both a thrill and a terror at those words. So there was something in the gemstone?
“My … my people need forms!” she shouted up toward the vast entity.
THIS IS MORE THAN FORMS. THIS POWER CHANGES MORTALS.
Power?
“You served our enemies!” she called to the sky. “How can I trust what you say?”
YET YOU TRUST THE GIFT OF ONE OF THOSE ENEMIES? REGARDLESS, I SERVE NO ONE. NOT MAN OR SINGER. I SIMPLY AM. FAREWELL, CHILD OF THE PLAINS.
CHILD OF ODIUM.
The vision ended as abruptly as it had begun, and Venli was again in the storm. She nearly dropped her burdens in shock, but then—huddling against the gleeful wind—she set the glowing gemstone on the ground. She gripped the rock in her hand, slick with rain. She wavered.
Should she take more care?
What greatness was achieved by being careful, though?
Eshonai hadn’t been careful, and she’d discovered a new world. Venli slammed the stone downward and crushed the gem. Light escaped in a puff, and she winced in the pelting rain, bracing herself for a wondrous transformation.
“Finally!” a voice said to the Rhythm of Irritation. “That was unpleasant.” The red light turned into a tiny human male, standing with hands on hips, glowing faintly in the storm.
Venli pulled her arms in tight, shivering, blinking rainwater out of her eyes. “Spren,” she hissed. “I have summoned you to grant me one of the ancient forms.”
“You?” he asked. “How old are you? Are there any others I could talk to?”
“Show me this secret first,” she said. “Then we will give your form to others. It can heal them, right? That is what I was told.”
He didn’t reply.
“You will not deny me this!” Venli said, though her words were lost in a sudden peal of thunder. “I’ve suffered long to accomplish this goal.”
“Well, you’re certainly dramatic,” the little spren said, tapping his foot. “Guess we use the tools we find in the shed, even if they’ve got a little rust on them. Here’s the deal. I’m going to take up residence inside of you, and together we’re going to do some incredible things.”
“We will bring useful forms to my people?” Venli asked, her teeth chattering.
“Well, yes. And also no. For a while, we’ll need you to appear as if you are still in workform. I need to scout out how things are on old Roshar these days. It’s been a while. You think you can get into Shadesmar, if we need to?”
“Sh-Shadesmar?” she asked.
“Yes, we need to get to the storm there. The newer one in the south? Where I entered that gemstone … You have no idea what I’m talking about. Delightful. Right, then. Get ready, we’ve got a lot of work to do.…”
* * *
Eshonai attuned Anxiety as she stood by the mouth of the shelter, searching for her sister. She couldn’t make out much in the tempest. The flashes of lightning, though brilliant, were too brief to give her a real picture of the landscape.
“She really did it, did she?” Thude asked to Amusement as he stepped up beside her, chewing on some fruit. “After all that complaining, she sauntered out to become a mate.”
“I doubt it,” Eshonai said. “She’s been trying to find warform for months now. She’s not looking to become a mate. She’s too young, anyway.” The humans had been surprised at how young Eshonai and Venli were—apparently, humans aged more slowly? But Venli was still months away from official adulthood.
“Younger ones have made the decision,” Thude said, rubbing at his beard. “I’ve thought about it, you know? There’s a certain bond to once-mates.”
“You just think it sounds fun,” Eshonai said to Reprimand.
He laughed. “I do at that.” Thunder shook the enclosure, silencing both of them for a time as they listened to it, both attuning the Rhythm of Winds out of deference. There was something wondrous—if dangerous—about feeling the very vibrations of the storm.
“This isn’t the time to be distracted by something silly like mateform,” Eshonai said. “The humans are leaving again once this storm ends. We should be talking about sending someone with them.”
“You’re too responsible for your own good sometimes, Eshonai,” Thude replied, his arm up against the top of the enclosure as he leaned forward, letting the rain hit his face.
“Me? Responsible?” she said. “Mother might have words for you on that topic.”
“And each one would remind me how alike the two of you are,” Thude said, attuned to Joy and grinning at the storm like a fool. “I’m going to do it one of these days, Eshonai. I’m going to see if Bila will go with me. Life is meant to be more than working the fields or chopping wood.”
With that, Eshonai could agree. And she supposed she could understand someone wanting to do something different with their life. None of them would exist if their parents hadn’t decided to become mates.
The idea still made her want to attune Anxiety. She disliked how much that form changed the way people thought. She wanted to be herself, with her own desires and passions, not let some form override her. Of course, there was an argument that she was even now influenced by workform.…
She attuned Determination and put that out of her mind. Venli. Where was she? Eshonai knew she shouldn’t fear for her sister. Listeners went into the storms all the time, and while it was never strictly safe, she didn’t need to hum to Anxiety like the humans did when they talked of storms. Storms were a natural part of life, a gift from Roshar to the listeners.
Though a little piece of Eshonai … a part she hated to acknowledge … noted how much easier life would be without Venli around, complaining all the time. Without her jealousy. Everything Eshonai did—every conversation, or plan, or outing—was made harder when Venli decided to be involved. Complications would materialize out of calm air.
It was weakness in Eshonai that she should feel this way. She was supposed to love her sister. And she didn’t really want harm to come to Venli, but it was difficult not to remember how peaceful it had been to explore on her own, without any of Venli’s drama.…
A figure appeared out of the storm, slick with rain, backlit by lightning. Eshonai felt guilty again, and attuned Joy by force upon seeing it was Venli. She stepped out into the storm and helped her sister the rest of the way.
Venli remained in workform. A wet, shivering femalen in workform.
“Didn’t work, eh?” Thude asked her.
Venli looked at him, as mute as a human, her mouth opening a little. Then, unnervingly, she grinned. A frantic, uncharacteristic grin.
“No, Thude,” Venli said. “It didn’t work. I will have to try many, many more times to find warform.”
He hummed to Reconciliation, eyeing Eshonai. She’d been right—it hadn’t been about mateform after all.
“I should like to sit by the fire,” Venli said, “and warm myself.”
“Venli?” Eshonai said. “Your words … where are their rhythms?”
Venli paused. Then she—as if it were a struggle—began humming to Amusement. It took her a few tries.
“Don’t be silly,” Venli said. “You just weren’t listening.” She strode toward the fire, walking with a swagger that seemed even more confident than normal. The high-headed stroll of a femalen who thought that the storms began and ended upon her whims.
I find this experience so odd. I work with a scholar from the ancient days, before modern scientific theory was developed. I keep forgetting all the thousands of years of tradition you completely missed.
—From Rhythm of War, page 6 undertext
Kaladin landed on the balcony with a muted thump. Syl was a glowing ribbon of light farther into the building. He couldn’t see the scouts who had packed up and left with the spanreeds, but he truste
d Syl was watching them.
He followed into the darkness, putting his Stormlight into a sphere so he didn’t glow. He had failed to spy on the Oathgates, but if he could somehow steal one of those Voidlight spanreeds, he could still help Navani.
He crept as quickly as he dared in the darkness, one hand on the wall. He soon neared a hallway with lanterns along the wall; as this was the third floor of the tower, much of it was occupied and lit. The lanterns revealed two femalen singers ahead, wearing havahs and chatting quietly. Syl carefully darted into side tunnels and nooks behind them.
Kaladin trailed far behind, relying on Syl to point out turns, as the two singers were often out of his direct line of sight. This section of the tower was a large laundry facility, where darkeyes could come to use public water and soap. He passed several large rooms without doors where the floor was shaped into a sequence of basins.
It was nearly empty now. The tower’s pumps hadn’t been changed to work on Voidlight, it seemed. He did have to avoid several water-carrying teams—humans pulling carts, with singer guards—moving through the tunnels. Syl soon came zipping back, so he ducked into a darkened alcove near an empty room full of baskets for laundry. The place smelled of soap.
“Guard post ahead,” she whispered. “They went through it. What do you want to do?”
“Any Fused nearby?” Kaladin asked.
“Not that I saw. Only ordinary singers.”
“Theoretically, regular guards shouldn’t be able to see you unless you let them. Follow those singers with the spanreeds. Hopefully their rooms are nearby. If they split up, pick the one with the blue havah—the embroidery indicates she’s the more important. Once you know where her room is, come back, then we can sneak in another way and steal the spanreed.”
“Right. If they get too far away from you though, I’ll lose myself.…”
“Return if you start to feel that,” he said. “We can try another night.”
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