Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  His home was a small box built near the statue garden. Veil had made a habit of visiting this garden, where she tried to coax Shallan out by drawing. It worked occasionally, though Shallan usually retreated after a half hour or so of sketching.

  Today, Veil curled up on a bench with a sketchpad, coat enveloping her, hat shading her eyes. Today was the day that Sixteen would emerge, assuming he followed his pattern. All she had to do was wait and not act suspicious.

  Shallan, Veil said, opening the sketchbook. See? It’s time to draw.

  Shallan started to emerge. Unfortunately, a faint humming sound made her panic and Veil was thrust back into control. She sighed, glancing to the side—to where Pattern walked among the statues, which she’d been told were of honorspren killed in the Recreance. Tall men and women with heroic builds and clothing that—though made of stone—seemed to ripple in the wind. How odd that they’d made these; after all, the real individuals were still around, though deadeyed.

  Pattern bobbed over to her. He was easy to tell from other Cryptics; he had an excitable spring to his step, while others slunk or crept, more furtive.

  “I thought you were watching the Nalthians today,” Veil said.

  “I was!” he said, plopping down on the bench beside her. “But Veil, I do not think any of them are Restares. They do not look like him at all. They do not even look like people from Roshar. Why do you think Azure appeared so much like an Alethi, when these have the wrong features?”

  “Don’t know,” Veil said, pretending to sketch. “But this Restares could be using something like Lightweaving. I need you to watch them carefully.”

  “I am sorry,” Pattern said, his pattern slowing, like a wilting plant. “I miss being with you.”

  You’re worried you’ll miss something important, traitor, Shallan thought. And want an excuse to keep spying on me.

  Veil sighed again. She reached over and put her hand on Pattern’s. He hummed softly.

  We need to confront him, Radiant thought. We need to find out exactly why he is lying.

  Veil wasn’t so certain. It was all growing so messy. Pattern, Shallan’s past, the mission they were on. She needed Shallan to remember. That would solve so much.

  Wait, Radiant thought. Veil, what do you know? What do you remember that I do not?

  “Veil?” Pattern asked. “Can I talk to Shallan?”

  “I can’t force her to emerge, Pattern,” Veil said. Stormwinds; she suddenly felt so tired. “We can try later, if you want. For now, Sixteen is going to come out of that house in a few minutes. I need to be ready to intercept him in a way that reveals his face, but doesn’t make him suspicious of me.”

  Pattern hummed. “Do you remember,” he said softly, “when we first met on the boat? With Jasnah? Mmm … You jumped in the water. She was so shocked.”

  “Nothing shocks Jasnah.”

  “That did. I barely remember—I was so new to your realm.”

  “That wasn’t the first time we met though,” Radiant said, sitting up straighter. “Shallan had spoken oaths before, after all. She had a Shardblade.”

  “Yes.” If he had been human, his posture would have been described as unnaturally still. Hands clasped, seated primly. His pattern moved, expanding, contracting, rotating upon itself. Like an explosion.

  “I think,” he finally said, “we have been doing this wrong, Radiant. I once tried to help Shallan remember, and that was painful for her. Too painful. So I started to think it was good for her not to remember. And the lies were delicious. Nothing is better than a lie with so much truth.”

  “The holes in her past,” Radiant said. “Shallan doesn’t want to remember them.”

  “She can’t. At least not yet.”

  “When Shallan summoned you as a Blade,” Radiant said, “and killed her mother, were you surprised? Did you know she was going to do something that drastic?”

  “I … don’t remember,” Pattern said.

  “How can you not remember?” Radiant pressed.

  He remained quiet. Radiant frowned, considering the lies she’d caught him in during the last few weeks.

  “Why did you want to bond a human, Pattern?” Radiant found herself asking. “In the past, you’ve seemed so certain that Shallan would kill you. Yet you bonded her anyway. Why?”

  This is a dangerous line of questioning, Radiant, Veil warned. Be careful.

  “Mmm…” Pattern said, humming to himself. “Why. So many answers to a why. You want the truest one, but any such truth is also a lie, as it pretends to be the only answer.” He tipped his head to the right, looking toward the sky—though so far as she knew, he didn’t “see” forward, as he didn’t have eyes. He seemed to sense all around him.

  She glanced in the same direction. Colors shimmered in the sky. It was a crystalline day.

  “You and the others,” Pattern said, “refer to Shadesmar as the world of the spren, and the Physical Realm as ‘your’ world. Or the ‘real’ world. That is not true. We are not two worlds, but one. And we are not two peoples, but one. Humans. Spren. Two halves. Neither complete.

  “I wanted to be in the other realm. See that part of our world. And I knew danger was coming. All spren could sense it. The Oathpact was no longer working correctly. Voidspren were sneaking onto Roshar, using some kind of back door. Two halves cannot fight this enemy. We need to be whole.”

  “And if Shallan killed you?”

  “Mmm. I was sure you would. But together, we Cryptics thought we needed to try. And I volunteered. I thought, maybe even if I die it will be the step other spren need. You cannot reach the end of a proof without many steps in the middle, Shallan. I was to be the middle step.” He turned toward her. “I no longer believe you will kill me. Or perhaps I wish to no longer believe you will kill me. Ha ha.”

  Radiant wanted to believe. She wanted to know.

  This will lead to pain, Veil warned.

  “Can I trust you, Pattern?” Radiant asked.

  “Any answer will be a lie,” he said. “I cannot see the future like our friend Renarin. Ha ha.”

  “Pattern, have you lied to us?”

  His pattern wilted. “… Yes.”

  Radiant took a deep breath. “And have you been spying on us? Have you been using the cube Mraize gave us, in secret?”

  “I’m sorry, Radiant,” he said softly. “I couldn’t think of another way.”

  “Please answer the questions.”

  “I have,” he said, his pattern growing even smaller.

  There, Radiant thought. Was that so hard? We should have asked him right away, Veil.

  It was only then that she noticed, deep inside, that Shallan was seething. Twisting about herself, trembling, fuming, alternating between terror and anger.

  That … didn’t seem good.

  Pattern’s pattern swirled small and tight. “I try to be worthy of trust. That is not a lie. But I have brought someone for Shallan to meet. I think it is important.”

  He stood with a smooth inhuman motion, then gestured behind him with one long-fingered hand. Radiant frowned and glanced over her shoulder. Leaves from the trees farther up the plane lazily drifted down the central corridor. A faint shimmer dusted the air, and a small crystal tree started to grow in miniature on the bench beside her hand.

  Standing near a statue behind them was a dark figure wearing a stiff robe. Like Pattern’s, but dustier. And a head trapped in shadow. Twisted and wrong.

  Damnation, Veil thought.

  Shallan emerged. She grabbed Radiant, shoved her away someplace dark and small, and slammed the door shut.

  Shallan … Veil thought, then her voice crumpled. She should remain sectioned away. In the past, they hadn’t talked to one another this way. They’d simply taken turns being in control, as they were needed.

  Shallan was in control. The other two became whispers. “No,” she said to Pattern. “We are not doing this.”

  “But—” he said.

  “NO,” she said. “I want nothin
g from you, Pattern. You are a traitor and a liar. You have betrayed my trust.”

  He wilted, flopping onto the bench. Shallan saw movement from the corner of her eye and spun, her heart thundering in her ears. The small building she’d come here to watch—Sixteen’s home—had opened, and a furtive figure had emerged. Hunched over, face hidden in the cowl of a cloak, the figure hurried through the statue park.

  Excellent. It was time to fulfill Mraize’s mission.

  Shallan … Veil whispered.

  She ignored the voice and settled down on the bench, acting nonchalant as she opened her notebook. Veil’s plan had included wandering through the statue park, idly flipping through her notebook, then bumping into Sixteen—hopefully getting a good look at his face.

  Unfortunately, Shallan wasn’t in position yet to do that. She’d been distracted by Pattern and his lies. She stood and meandered toward the statue garden, trying to appear nonthreatening. She needed to determine for certain that Sixteen was her target. Then …

  Then what.

  Kill him.

  What are you doing? Veil thought. Such a distant, annoying voice. Couldn’t she quiet it entirely?

  You were the one who wanted to go forward with Mraize’s plan, Shallan thought. Well, I agree. So two of us have decided.

  I wanted to gather information, Veil thought. I wanted to use it against him. Why are you suddenly so aggressive?

  Because this was exactly who Shallan was. Who she’d always been. She stalked toward the statue garden. Radiant was, of course, screaming and railing at her—but she was outvoted.

  Shallan had been watching and learning these last months, and she’d picked up some things from Veil. She knew to get into Sixteen’s blind spot, then stop and appear like she was sketching a statue—so when he turned to glance around, she seemed unremarkable.

  She knew to glide forward when he turned away. She knew to step carefully, putting the heel of her foot down first and rolling toward the toe. She knew to walk on the sides of her feet as much as possible, not letting the flats slap.

  She got right up behind Sixteen as he hunched over, fiddling with some notes. She grabbed him by the shoulder, then spun him around. His hood fell, revealing his face.

  He was Shin; there was no mistaking that pale, almost sickly skin and those childlike eyes. Restares was a short Alethi man with wispy hair. This man was short, yes, but completely bald, and was not Alethi. So unless Mraize was wrong and Restares was a Lightweaver, this was not her man.

  He shouted and said something to her in a language she didn’t recognize. She released him, and he fled toward his home. Her heart thumping in her chest, she pulled her hand out of the satchel. She hadn’t even realized she’d reached into that, for a weapon.

  She didn’t need it. This wasn’t him.

  Pattern walked up, having recovered some of his characteristic perkiness. There was no sign of the other spren he’d wanted her to meet.

  “Well!” he said. “That was exciting. But this is not him, is it?”

  “No,” Shallan said. “It’s not.”

  “Shallan, I need to explain to you. What I’ve been doing.”

  “No,” Shallan said, covering her pain. “It is done. Let’s move forward instead.”

  “Mmm…” Pattern said. “I … What has happened to you? Something has changed. Are you … Veil?”

  “No,” Shallan said. “I’m me. And I’ve finally made a difficult decision that was a long time coming. Come on, we need to report to Mraize. His intel was wrong—Restares is not in this fortress.”

  Such skills, like my honor itself, are now lost to time. Weathered away, crushed to dust, and scattered to the ends of the cosmere. I am a barren tree of a human being. I am the hollow that once was a mighty peak.

  The Sibling refused to speak to Navani.

  She lowered her hand and stared at the garnet vein in the wall. Such a wonderful secret. In plain sight, surrounding her all this time. So common your eyes passed over it, and if you noticed it at all, you remarked only briefly. Simply another pattern in the strata.

  The soul of Urithiru had been watching her all along. Perhaps if Navani had discovered it sooner, they could have achieved a different result.

  She replaced her hand on the vein. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please know that I’m sorry. Truly.”

  For the briefest moment, she thought the Sibling would respond this time. Navani felt something, faint as the movement of a shadow deep within the ocean. No words came.

  With a sigh, Navani left the crystal vein and wound her way through the shelves of the small library to reach her desk beside the door. Today, in addition to the guard, Raboniel’s daughter—with the topknot and the vacant eyes—sat on the floor right inside.

  Navani settled onto her seat, trying to ignore the insane Fused. Notes and half-finished experiments cluttered her desk. She didn’t have the least bit of interest in continuing them. Why would she? Everything she’d attempted so far had been a sham. She wrote out her daily instructions to the scholars—she was having them perform tests on Voidspren fabrials, which Raboniel had delivered before everything went wrong. She gave this to a messenger, then sat there staring.

  Eventually Raboniel herself made an appearance, wearing an Alethi havah that fit her surprisingly well. Clearly a good dressmaker had tailored it to the Fused’s taller, more broad-shouldered frame. One might have thought her form would make her unfeminine, particularly with the unpronounced bust common to most singer femalens. Instead—with the excellent cut and the confidence of her stride—Raboniel wore the dress as if it had always been designed to accentuate someone of height, power, and poise. She had made this fashion her own. Adolin would have approved.

  At least he was safe. Adolin, Renarin, Jasnah, Dalinar, and little Gav. Her entire family safe from the invasion and the mess Navani had made. It was one small blessing she could thank the Almighty for sending her.

  Raboniel had brought a stool—a low one, so that when she sat on it, she was at eye level with Navani. The Fused set a basket on the floor, then pulled out a bottle of burgundy wine. A Shin vintage, sweeter than traditional Alethi wines, known as an amosztha—a Shin wine made from grapes.

  “Your journals,” Raboniel said, “indicate you are fond of this vintage.”

  “You read my journals?” Navani said.

  “Of course,” Raboniel said, setting out two glasses. “You would have wisely done the same in my position.” She uncorked the bottle and poured half a cup for Navani.

  She didn’t drink. Raboniel didn’t force her, instead inspecting the wine with an expert eye, then taking a sip. “Ah, yes,” she said. “That is a taste infused with memory. Grapes. Your ancestors never could get them to live outside Shinovar. Too cold, I believe. Or perhaps it was the lack of soil. I found that explanation odd, as grapevines seem similar to many of our native plants.

  “I wasn’t there when your kind came to our world. My grandmother, however, always mentioned the smoke. At first she thought you had strange skin patterns—but that was because so many human faces had been burned or marked by soot from the destruction of the world they left behind.

  “She talked about the way your livestock moaned and cried from their burns. The result of humans Surgebinding without oaths, without checks. Of course, that was before any of us understood the Surges. Before the spren left us for you, before the war started.”

  Navani felt the hair go up on the back of her neck as she listened. Storms. This creature … she had lived during the shadowdays, the time before history. They had no primary accounts of those days. Yet one sat before her, drinking wine from Navani’s secret stash, musing about the origins of humanity.

  “So long ago,” Raboniel said, with a soft, almost indistinguishable cadence to her words. “So very, very long ago. What has it been? Seven thousand years? I don’t think you can comprehend how tired I am of this war, Navani. How tired all of us are. Your Heralds too.”

  “Then let’s end
it,” Navani said. “Declare peace. Withdraw from the tower and I will convince Dalinar to engage in talks.”

  Raboniel turned her wine cup around, as if trying to see the liquid within from different angles. “You think talks haven’t been tried? We are born to fight one another, Navani. Opposites. At least so I thought. I always assumed that if Stormlight and Voidlight could be forced to truly mix, then … poof, they’d annihilate one another. Much as we’re doing to one another in this endless war…”

  “Is that what this is all about?” Navani asked. “Why you want me to combine the Lights so badly?”

  “I need to know if you’re right,” Raboniel said. “If you are, then so much of what I’ve planned will collapse. I wonder … whether sometimes I can’t see clearly anymore. Whether I assume what I want to be true is true. You live long enough, Navani, and you forget to be careful. You forget to question.”

  Raboniel nodded toward Navani’s desk. “No luck today?”

  “No interest,” Navani said. “I think it is time for me to accept your initial offer and start carrying water.”

  “Why waste yourself like that?” Raboniel asked, her rhythm becoming intense. “Navani, you can still defeat me. If it wasn’t possible for humans to outthink the Fused, you’d have fallen during the first few Returns. The first few Desolations, as you call them.

  “Instead you always pushed us back. You fought with stones, and you beat us. My kind pretends we know so much, but during many Returns, we’d find ourselves struggling to catch up to your kind. That is our terrible secret. We hear the rhythms, we understand Roshar and the spren. But the rhythms don’t change. The spren don’t change.

  “If you and I discover this secret together, you’ll be able to use it better than I will. Watch and see. At the very least, prove me wrong. Show me that our two Lights can meld and mix as you theorize.”