Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  Navani considered it, though storms, she knew she shouldn’t have. It was another trick—another catalyst added to the system to push the reaction forward. Yet Navani couldn’t lie to herself. She did want to know. As always, questions teased her. Questions were disorder awaiting organization. The more you understood, the more the world aligned. The more the chaos made sense, as all things should.

  “I’ve run into a problem,” Navani said, finally taking a sip from her cup. “I can make the two Lights intersect—I can get them to pool around the same gemstone, swirling out like smoke caught in a current of air. But they won’t mix.”

  “Opposites,” Raboniel said, leaning forward to look at the diagrams and notes Navani had made on each failed attempt.

  “No, merely inert substances,” Navani said. “The vast majority of elements, when combined, produce no reaction. I’d have long ago named these two things immiscible if I hadn’t seen Towerlight.”

  “It is what gave me the original idea,” Raboniel said. “I decided if there was a hybrid between Honor’s Light and Cultivation’s, there must be a reason no one had mixed Odium’s Light with either.”

  “Questions are the soul of science,” Navani said, sipping her wine. “But assumptions must be proven, Ancient One. From my research I believe these two aren’t opposites, but it isn’t proven to me yet.”

  “And to prove it?”

  “We need an emulsifier,” Navani said. “Something that causes them to mix. Unfortunately, I can’t fathom what such an emulsifier would be, though it might be related to sound. I only recently learned that Stormlight responds to tones.”

  “Yes,” Raboniel said, taking a sphere off the desk. “The sounds of Roshar.”

  “Can you hear the Light?” Navani asked.

  Raboniel hummed—then thought to nod—her response. She held up a diamond, crystalline and pure, filled with Stormlight from the highstorm the day before. “You have to concentrate, and know what you’re seeking, to hear it from a sphere. A pure tone, extremely soft.”

  Navani hit the proper tuning fork, letting the tone ring in the room. Raboniel nodded. “Yes, that is it. Exactly the same. Only…”

  Navani sat up. “Only?”

  “The sphere’s tone has a rhythm to it,” Raboniel explained, eyes closed as she held the sphere. “Each Light has a rhythm. Honor’s is stately. Cultivation’s is stark and staccato, but builds.”

  “And Odium’s?”

  “Chaos,” she said, “but with a certain strange logic to it. The longer you listen, the more sense it makes.”

  Navani sat back, sipping her wine, wishing she had access to Rushu and the other scholars. Raboniel had forbidden her from drawing on their expertise in this matter, giving the problem to Navani alone. Navani, who wasn’t a scholar.

  What would Jasnah do in this situation? Well, other than find a way to kill Raboniel?

  Navani felt the answers were right in front of her. So often, that was the case with science. The ancient humans had fought with stone weapons, but the secrets to metallurgy had been within their grasp.…

  “Does Towerlight have a tone?” Navani asked.

  “Two tones,” Raboniel said, opening her eyes and setting down the Stormlight sphere. “But they aren’t simply the tones of Cultivation and of Honor. They are … different, changed so that they are in harmony with one another.”

  “Curious,” Navani said. “And is there a rhythm to it?”

  “Yes,” Raboniel said. “Both tones adopt it, harmonizing as they play the same rhythm. A symphony combining Honor’s control and Cultivation’s ever-building majesty.”

  Their Towerlight spheres had all run out by now, and Raboniel had no way to restore them, so there was nothing for them to check.

  “Plants grow by Stormlight,” Navani said, “if you beat the proper rhythm in their presence.”

  “An old agricultural trick,” Raboniel said. “It works better with Lifelight, if you can find some.”

  “Why, though?” Navani asked. “Why does Light respond to tones? Why is there a rhythm that makes plants grow?” Navani dug in her materials and began setting up an experiment.

  “I have asked myself this question many times,” Raboniel said. “But it seems like asking why gravity pulls. Must we not accept some fundamentals of science as baselines? That some things in this world simply work?”

  “No, we don’t have to,” Navani said. “Even gravity has a mechanism driving it. There are proofs to show why the most basic addition problems work. Everything has an explanation.”

  “I have heard,” Raboniel said, “that the Lights respond to sound because it is reminiscent of the voice of the Shards commanding them to obey.”

  Navani hit the tuning forks, touched them to their respective gemstones, then put them in place. A thin stream of Stormlight ran from one gemstone, a thin stream of Voidlight from the other. They met together at the center—swirling around an empty gemstone. Neither Light entered it.

  “Voidlight and Stormlight,” Navani said. “The voices of gods.” Or perhaps something older than that. The reason the beings called gods spoke the way they did.

  Raboniel came in close, shoulder-to-shoulder with Navani as they observed the streams of Light.

  “You said that Stormlight and Lifelight make a rhythm together when they mix,” she said. “So, if you could imagine a rhythm that mixed Stormlight and Voidlight, what would it be like?”

  “Those two?” Raboniel said. “It wouldn’t work, Navani. They are opposites. One orderly, organized. The other…”

  Her words drifted off, and her eyes narrowed.

  “… the other chaotic,” Raboniel whispered, “but with a logic to it. An understandable logic. Could we perhaps contrast it? Chaos always seems more powerful when displayed against an organized background.…” Finally she pursed her lips. “No, I cannot imagine it.”

  Navani tapped the rim of her cup, inspecting the failed experiment.

  “If you could hear the rhythms,” Raboniel said, “you’d understand. But that is beyond humans.”

  “Sing one for me,” Navani said. “Honor’s tone and rhythm.”

  Raboniel complied, singing a pure, vibrant note—the tone of Stormlight, the same as made by the tuning fork. Then she made the tone waver, vibrate, pulse in a stately rhythm. Navani hummed along, matching the tone, trying to affix it into her mind. Raboniel was obviously overemphasizing the rhythm, making it easier for her to recognize.

  “Change now,” Navani said, “to Odium’s rhythm.”

  Raboniel did so, singing a discordant tone with a violent, chaotic rhythm. Navani tried to match it with Honor’s tone. She had vocal training, like any lighteyed woman of her dahn. However, it hadn’t been an area of express study for her. Though she tried to hold the tone against Raboniel’s forceful rhythm, she quickly lost the note.

  Raboniel cut off, then softly hummed a different rhythm. “That was a fine attempt,” Raboniel said. “Better than I’ve heard from other humans, but we must admit you simply aren’t built for this kind of work.”

  Navani took a drink, then swirled the wine in her cup.

  “Why did you want me to sing those rhythms?” Raboniel asked. “What were you hoping to accomplish?”

  “I thought that perhaps if we melded the two songs, we could find the proper harmony that would come from a combination of Stormlight and Voidlight.”

  “It won’t be that easy,” Raboniel said. “The tones would need to change to find a harmony. I’ve tried this many times, Navani, and always failed. The songs of Honor and Odium do not mesh.”

  “Have you tried it with a human before?” Navani asked.

  “Of course not. Humans—as we just proved—can’t hold to a tone or rhythm.”

  “We proved nothing,” Navani said. “We had a single failed experiment.” She set her cup on the table, then crossed the room and dug through her things. She emerged with one of her arm sheaths, in which she’d embedded a clock and other devices. Like o
ther Stormlight fabrials in the tower, it didn’t work any longer. But it was rigged to hold a long sequence of gemstones.

  Navani ripped off the interior leather of the sheath, then settled at the table and fiddled with the screws and set new gemstones—full of Stormlight—into it.

  “What is this?” Raboniel said.

  “You can hear the songs and rhythms of Roshar,” Navani said. “Perhaps it’s merely because you have better hearing.”

  Raboniel hummed a skeptical rhythm, but Navani continued setting the gemstones.

  “We can hear them because we are the children of Roshar,” Raboniel said. “You are not.”

  “I’ve lived here all my life,” Navani said. “I’m as much a child of this planet as you are.”

  “Your ancestors were from another realm.”

  “I’m not speaking of my ancestors,” Navani said, strapping the sheath on so the flats of the gemstones touched her arm. “I’m speaking of myself.” She reset her experiment on the table, sending new lines of Stormlight and Voidlight out of gemstones, making them swirl at the center around an empty one.

  “Sing Honor’s tone and rhythm again, Ancient One,” Navani asked.

  Raboniel sat back on her stool, but complied. Navani closed her eyes, tightening her arm sheath. It had been built as a fabrial, but she wasn’t interested in that function. All she wanted was something that would hold large gemstones and press them against her skin.

  She could feel them now, cool but warming to her touch. Infused gemstones always had a tempest inside. Was there a sound to them too? A vibration …

  Could she hear it in there? The tone, the rhythm? With Raboniel singing, she thought she could. She matched that tone, and felt something on her arm. The gemstones reacting—or rather the Stormlight inside reacting.

  There was a beat to it. One that Raboniel’s rhythm only hinted at. Navani could sing the tone and feel the gemstones respond. It was like having a stronger singer beside her—she could adapt her voice to match. The Stormlight itself guided her—providing a control, with a beat and rhythm.

  Navani added that rhythm to her tone, tapping her foot, concentrating. She imagined a phantom song to give it structure.

  “Yes!” Raboniel said, cutting off. “Yes, that’s it!”

  “Odium’s rhythm now,” Navani said to Honor’s tone and beat.

  Raboniel did so, and it struck Navani like a wave, making her tone falter. She almost lost it, but the gemstones were her guide. Navani sang louder, trying to hold that tone.

  In turn, Raboniel sang more forcefully.

  No, Navani thought, taking a breath then continuing to sing. No, we can’t fight. She took Raboniel’s hand, singing the tone, but softer. Raboniel quieted as well. Holding the Fused’s hand, Navani felt as if she were reaching for something. Her tone changed slightly.

  Raboniel responded, their two tones moving toward one another, step by step, until …

  Harmony.

  The rhythms snapped into alignment, a burst of chaotic notes from Raboniel—bounded by a regular, orderly pulse from Navani.

  Heartbeats. Drumbeats. Signals. Together.

  Navani reached over and placed their clasped hands on the empty gemstone at the center of the experiment, holding them there as they sang for an extended moment in concert. In tandem, a pure harmony where neither took control.

  The two of them looked at each other, then fell silent. Carefully, they removed their hands to reveal a diamond glowing a vibrant black-blue. An impossible color.

  Raboniel trembled as she picked the gemstone out of its place, then held it up, humming a reverential rhythm. “They did not annihilate one another, as I assumed. Indeed, as part of me hoped. You were right, Navani. Remarkably, I have been proven wrong.” She turned the gemstone in her fingers. “I can name this rhythm: the Rhythm of War. Odium and Honor mixed together. I had not known it before today, but I recognize its name; I know this as surely as I know my own. Each rhythm carries with it an understanding of its meaning.”

  The sphere they had created was different from Szeth’s—blue instead of violet, and lacking the strange distortion. Navani couldn’t be certain, but it seemed to her that was what Raboniel had been seeking.

  “Ancient One,” Navani said. “Something confuses me. Why would you have preferred that these two annihilate one another?” Navani had an inkling why. But she wanted to see what she could prompt the Fused to reveal.

  Raboniel sat for a long time, humming softly to herself as she inspected the gemstone. She seemed fascinated by the motion within, the Stormlight and the Voidlight mixed to form something that surged in brilliant raging storms, then fell still—peaceful and quiet—between.

  “Do you know,” the Fused finally asked, “how Honor was killed?”

  “I … am not certain I accept that he was.”

  “Oh, he was. At least the being you call the Almighty—the being who controlled the Shard of power that was Honor—is dead. Long dead. Do you know how?”

  “No.”

  “Neither do I,” Raboniel said. “But I wonder.”

  Navani sat back in her seat. “Surely, if it is true—and my husband says it is, so I accept the possibility—then the mechanisms of the deaths of gods are far beyond the understanding of humans and Fused alike.”

  “And did you not tell me earlier that everything has a mechanism? The gods give us powers. What are those powers? Gravitation, Division, Transformation … the fundamental Surges that govern all things. You said that nothing simply is. I accept that, and your wisdom. But by that same logic, the gods—the Shards—must work not by mystery, but by knowledge.”

  She turned the gemstone in her fingers, then met Navani’s eyes. “Honor was killed using some process we do not yet understand. I assume, from things I have been told, that some opposite was used to tear his power apart. I thought if I could discover this opposite Light, then we would have power over the gods themselves. Would that not be the power to end a war?”

  Storms. That was what he’d wanted. That was what Gavilar had been doing.

  Gemstones. Voidlight. A strange sphere that exploded when affixed to a fabrial … when mixed with another Light …

  Gavilar Kholin—king, husband, occasional monster—had been searching for a way to kill a god.

  Suddenly, the extent of his arrogance—and his magnificent planning—snapped together for Navani. She knew something Raboniel did not. There was an opposite to Voidlight. It wasn’t Stormlight. Nor was it this new mixed Light they’d created. But Navani had seen it. Held it. Her husband had given it to Szeth, who had given it to her.

  By the holiest name of the Almighty … she thought. It makes sense. But like all great revelations, it led to a multitude of new questions. Why? How?

  Raboniel stood up, completely oblivious to Navani’s epiphany. The Fused tucked away the gemstone, and Navani forced herself to focus on this moment. This discovery.

  “I thought for certain it was something about the nature of Odium’s power contrasting Honor’s power that led to the destruction,” Raboniel said. “I was wrong, and you have proven exceedingly helpful in leading me to this proof. Now, I must abandon this line of reasoning and focus on my actual duty—the securing of the tower.”

  “And your promise that you would leave if I helped you find this Light?”

  “I’m sorry,” Raboniel said. “Next time, try not to be so trusting.”

  “In the end,” Navani whispered, “you are his, and I am Honor’s.”

  “Unfortunately,” Raboniel said. “You may remain here and continue whatever other research you wish. You have earned that, and my gratitude. If you would like to seek a simple job in the tower instead, I will arrange it. Consider your options, then tell me your wishes.” Raboniel hesitated. “It is rare for a Fused to be in the debt of a human.”

  With that, she left. Navani, in turn, downed the rest of the cup of wine, her head abuzz with implications.

  SEVEN AND A HALF YEARS AGO


  Venli ducked out of the way of a patrol of human guards. As she hid in the doorway, she attuned Peace in an attempt to calm her emotions. She’d come with her people to sign the treaty, but that—and the feast to mark the occasion—was still hours away. While her people prepared, Venli crept through forbidden hallways in their palace.

  The pair of guards, chatting in the Alethi tongue, continued on their patrol. She breathed quietly, trying hard not to let the majesty of this human building overwhelm her. Ulim assured her that her people had built equally grand structures once, and they would again. They would build such amazing creations, this palace of Kholinar would look like a hut by comparison.

  Would that she could skip this middle part, where she was required to be in such danger. Planning with Ulim, that she liked. Being famous for revealing warform, that she loved. This creeping about though … She’d expressly disobeyed human rules, slipping into forbidden sections of the palace. If she were caught …

  She closed her eyes and listened to the Rhythm of Peace. Only a little longer, she thought. Just until Ulim’s companions reach us. Then this will all be over.

  However, she found herself questioning more now that Ulim had left her gemheart. Ulim spoke of a hidden storm and a coming war, with figures of legend returning to fight. That talk spun in her head—and things that seemed so rational a day ago now confused her. Was this really the best way to convince her people to explore forms of power? Wasn’t she toying with war and destruction? Why was Ulim so eager?

  As soon as they’d reached the palace, he’d insisted that she help him gather a bag of gemstones left by his agent here. More spren, like him, ready to be delivered to Venli’s scholars. That hadn’t been part of the original plan. She’d merely wanted to show her people how dangerous the humans were.

  But what was she to do? She’d started this boulder rolling down the cliff. If she tried to stop it now, she’d be crushed. So she continued doing as he said. Even if, without him in her gemheart, she felt old and dull. Without him, she couldn’t hear the new rhythms. She craved them. The world made more sense when she listened to those.