Venli hummed to Appreciation and Mikaim withdrew. Eshonai stood opposite Venli over the cot, her helmet under her arm, and for a time the two of them hummed together to the Lost. A rare moment when they both heard the same rhythm.
“Do you know what happened?” Venli finally asked.
“She was found wandering one of the outer plateaus. Frightened, acting like a little child. She didn’t respond to her own name at first, though by the time she got here she had recovered enough to begin answering questions about her childhood. She didn’t remember how she hurt herself.”
Venli breathed deeply, and listened to the haunting Rhythm of the Lost, a violent beat with staccato notes.
“We might need to confine her to her house,” Eshonai said.
“No!” Venli said. “Never. We can’t do that to her, Eshonai. Imprisonment on top of her ailment?”
Eshonai attuned Reconciliation, settling down on the floor, her Shardplate scraping softly. “You’re right, of course. She must be allowed to see the sky, look to the horizon. We can get her a servant perhaps. Someone to keep watch over her.”
“An acceptable accommodation,” Venli said, lingering beside the cot. She really should check on her scholars.
Eshonai leaned—gingerly, because her Plate was so heavy—against the wall. She closed her eyes, humming to Peace. It was forced, a little loud. She was trying to override other rhythms.
She looks more like herself sitting like that, Venli thought idly, remembering Eshonai as a child. The sister who would pick Venli up when she scraped her knee, or who would chase cremlings with her. Eshonai had always seemed so vibrant—so alive. As if she’d been trying to burst out, her soul straining against the confines of a flawed body.
“You always led me toward the horizon,” Venli found herself saying. “Even as children. Always running to the next hill to see what was on the other side…”
“Would that we could return,” Eshonai said to the Lost.
“To those ignorant days?”
“To that joy. That innocence.”
“Innocence is more false a god than the ones in our songs,” Venli said, sitting beside her sister. “People who chase it will find themselves enslaved.”
Venli felt tired, she realized. She’d been spending far too many nights thinking of plans. And it would only get worse, as she needed to start going out into storms to trap stormspren.
“I’m sorry I brought us to this,” Eshonai whispered to Reconciliation. “We’ve lost so many. How far will it go? All because I made a snap decision in a moment of tension.”
“That sphere,” Venli said. “The one King Gavilar gave you…” They’d all seen it, though it had faded several months later.
“Yes. A dark power. And he claimed to be seeking to return our gods.”
Ulim had been nervous about Gavilar’s sphere. The little spren said Gavilar hadn’t been working with him, or any of Odium’s agents—indeed, he’d been hostile to them. So Ulim had no idea how he’d obtained Odium’s Light.
“Maybe,” Venli said, “if the humans are seeking to contact our gods, perhaps we should explore the option too. Perhaps the things from our songs are—”
“Stop,” Eshonai said to Reprimand. “Venli, what are you saying? You better than most should know the foolishness of what you say.”
I’m always a fool to you, aren’t I? Venli attuned Irritation. Unfortunately, this was the Eshonai she’d come to know. Not the child who encouraged her. The adult who held her back, ridiculed her.
“Sing the song with me,” Eshonai said. “‘Terrible and great they were, but—’”
“Please don’t turn this into another lecture, Eshonai,” Venli said. “Just … stop, all right?”
Eshonai trailed off, then hummed to Reconciliation. The two of them sat for a time, the light outside dimming as the sun drifted toward the horizon. Venli found herself humming to Reconciliation as well. She explored the rhythm, finding a complementary tone to Eshonai’s, seeking again—for a brief moment—to be in tune with her sister.
Eshonai quietly changed to Longing, and Venli followed. And then, cautiously, Venli switched to Joy. Eshonai followed her this time. Together they made a song, and Venli began singing. It had been … well, years since she’d practiced the songs. She’d long ago stopped thinking of herself as the apprentice song keeper; they had plenty of others to uphold their traditions, now that they’d united the families.
She still remembered the songs though. This was the Song of Mornings. A teaching song, meant to train a young child for more complex rhythms and songs. There was something satisfying about a simple song you could sing well. You could add your own complexity. And you could sing the song’s soul—rather than struggle with missed lyrics or failed notes.
She let her voice drift off at the end, and Eshonai’s humming quieted. Dusk fell outside. The perfectly wrong time for the Song of Mornings. She loved that it had worked so well anyway.
“Thank you, Venli,” Eshonai said. “For all that you do. You don’t get enough credit for having brought us these forms. Without warform, we wouldn’t stand a chance of resisting the humans. We’d probably be their slaves.”
“I…” Venli tried to attune Confidence, but it slipped away from her. “As long as you and Demid know what I did, I suppose it doesn’t sting so much when others pass me over.”
“Do you think you could find me a different form?” Eshonai said. “A form that would let me talk better, more diplomatically? I could go to the humans and explain what happened. Maybe I could speak with Dalinar Kholin. I feel like … like he might listen, if I could find him. If I could make my tongue work. They don’t hear the rhythms, and it’s so difficult to explain to them.…”
“I can try,” Venli said, Pleading sounding in her ears. Why Pleading? She hadn’t attuned that.
“Then maybe I could talk to you,” Eshonai said quietly, drooping from fatigue. “Without sounding like I’m trying to lecture. You’d know how I really feel. Mother would understand that I don’t try to run away. I just want to see…”
“You’ll see it someday,” Venli promised. “You’ll see the whole world. Every vibrant color. Every singing wind. Every land and people.”
Eshonai didn’t respond.
“I … I’ve been doing things you might not like,” Venli whispered. “I should tell you. You’ll explain that what I’m doing is wrong though, and you’re always right. That’s part of what I hate about you.”
But her sister had already drifted off. The stiff Shardplate kept her in a seated position, slumped against the wall, breathing softly. Venli climbed to her feet and left.
That night, she went into the storm to hunt stormspren for the first time.
Maybe if I remembered my life, I’d be capable of being confident like I once was. Maybe I’d stop vacillating when even the most simple of decisions is presented to me.
The weather turned energetic by the time Adolin’s trial arrived. The honorspren he passed chatted more, and seemed to have more of a spring to their steps as they flowed toward the forum on the southern plane of Lasting Integrity.
He couldn’t feel the weather, though Blended said it was like a faint drumming in the back of her mind, upbeat and peppy. Indeed, the inkspren seemed chattier.
He felt more nervous than at his first ranked duel—and far less prepared. Legal terms, strategies, even the details of his political training all seemed distant as he walked down the steps to the amphitheater floor. As Blended had feared, the place was packed with honorspren. Many wore uniforms or other formal attire, though some wore loose, flowing outfits that trailed behind them as they walked. These seemed more free-spirited. Perhaps their presence would help the crowd turn to his side.
Blended said that was important. The High Judge—being who he was—would likely listen to the mood of the crowd and judge accordingly. Adolin wished someone had explained to him earlier how fickle his judge would be. That might favor Adolin, fortunately: he could depend
on some level of erratic behavior from Kelek, whereas the honorspren were basically all against him from the start.
They didn’t boo as he reached the floor of the forum; they had too much decorum. They hushed instead. He found Shallan seated next to Pattern over on the left side. She pumped her fist toward him, and he had the impression she was Radiant at the moment.
Kelek sat upon a thronelike seat with a bench before it, both built in among the forum’s tiers. The Herald seemed imposing, and Adolin was reminded that—despite the man’s odd behavior—Kelek was thousands of years old. Perhaps he would listen.
“All right, all right,” Kelek said. “Human, get over there on the podium and stand there until this show finishes and we can execute you.”
“Holy One,” an honorspren said from his side. “We do not execute people.”
“What else are you going to do?” Kelek said. “You don’t have prisons, and I doubt he’ll care if you exile him. Hell, half the people in this place would regard escaping your presence to be a reward.”
“We are building a proper holding cell,” the honorspren said, looking toward Adolin. “So he can be kept healthy and on display for years to come.”
Wonderful, Adolin thought, stepping into the place indicated. The consequences of failure, however, had always been far bigger than his own life. The war needed Radiants, and Radiants needed spren. If Adolin failed, it meant leaving thousands of troops to die without proper support.
He needed to stand here, tall and confident, and win this challenge. Somehow.
He turned to face the crowd. According to Blended, today would be the worst of the days. Three witnesses against him. Tomorrow he’d get to have his say.
“Very well,” Kelek said. “I suppose you need to give trial terms, Sekeir?”
The bearded honorspren stood up. “Indeed, Honored One.”
“Make it fast,” Kelek said.
Adolin took a moment of enjoyment from the affronted way Sekeir received that injunction. The honorspren had likely planned a lengthy speech.
“As you wish, Honored One,” Sekeir said. “Today, we enter a trial as demanded by this human, Adolin Kholin, to determine if he can bear the sins of the Recreance—where men killed their spren. Since this event happened, which no one disputes, then we must simply prove that we are wise to stay away from all humans as a result.”
“Right, then,” Kelek said. “Human, this works for you?”
“Not exactly, Honored One,” Adolin said, using the opening statement Blended had helped him prepare. “I did not agree to be tried for my ancestors. I agreed to be tried for myself. I told the honorspren I personally bear no blame for what humans did in the past. Because of that, I contend that the honorspren are acting dishonorably by ignoring my people’s pleas for help.”
Kelek rubbed his forehead. “So we’re arguing over even the definitions? This doesn’t bode well.”
“There is no argument,” Sekeir said. “Honored One, he says he wishes to bear no sins of his ancestors, and we should instead prove why he specifically can’t be trusted. But the Recreance is a large portion of why we cannot trust his kind! We set the terms when he entered: He would have to stand trial for all humankind. He can dissemble if he wishes, but he did enter our fortress, and therefore agreed to our terms.”
Kelek grunted. “That makes sense. Human, you’re going to have to stand trial as he wishes. That said, I’ll keep your arguments in mind when I finally judge.”
“I suppose I must agree,” Adolin said. Blended had warned him not to push too hard here.
“So … trial by witness, right?” Kelek said. “I’m to listen to the arguments presented, then decide. Either the honorspren are being selfish, denying honor, and I should command them to go to the battlefield. Or I decide they’ve been wise, that humans are not worthy of trust—and we throw this man in a prison as an example?”
“Yes, Honored One,” Sekeir said.
“Great,” Kelek said. “I assume you had no lack of volunteers, Sekeir. Who is first?”
“Amuna,” said the honorspren. “Come, and bear your witness.”
The audience whispered quietly as a female spren rose from her spot on the front row. She wore a warrior’s pleated skirt and a stiff shirt. She was slender and willowy, and when she stepped she was as graceful as a leaf in the wind. Adolin recognized her; this was the spren to whom he’d been forced to surrender Maya on their first day in Lasting Integrity. He’d occasionally seen Amuna again during his daily visits to Maya.
The two honorspren sitting beside her bore ragged clothing and scratched-out eyes like Maya’s. On a glowing honorspren’s face, the scratches made a stark contrast.
“You all know me,” said the spren in the pleated skirt, “so I will speak for the benefit of Highprince Adolin. I am Amuna, and my duty is to care for the deadeyes in Lasting Integrity. We take their care very seriously.”
“And the ones watching outside?” Adolin asked. He was allowed to talk during testimonies, though Blended had warned him to be careful. If he was too belligerent, the High Judge could order him gagged. And he had to be careful not to address the audience in a way that invited them to interrogate him.
“We … cannot accept them all in, unfortunately,” Amuna said. “We had not thought to see so many. We have tried to invite in all of the honorspren deadeyes.”
“Are there many?” Adolin asked.
“In total? We have some twenty deadeyed honorspren in the fortress now, though there were some two thousand honorspren alive at the time of your betrayal. A single one survived.”
“Syl,” Adolin said.
“The Ancient Daughter was in a catatonic state,” Amuna said, “and was spared. But every other honorspren—every single one—had answered the call of the Radiants during the False Desolation. Can you understand the magnitude of that tragedy, Highprince Adolin? The murder of an entire species, all in one day? Absolute extermination, performed by the most intimate of friends?
“We often encounter deadeyes wandering aimlessly in the barrens, or standing in the shallows of the ocean. We bring them here, give them Stormlight, care for them the best we can. Frequently, we can do only a little before they are summoned away to your world—where their corpses are used to continue your brutal murders!”
She turned, gesturing toward the two deadeyes on the bench—and though she faced Adolin, her words were obviously for the crowd. They, not the High Judge, were the true adjudicators.
“This is what you’d have us return to?” she demanded. “You say you aren’t the same people who lived so long ago, but do you honestly think you’re any better than them? I’d contend you are worse! You pillage, and murder, and burn. You spare no expense nor effort when given an opportunity to ruin another man’s life. If the ancient Radiants were not trustworthy, then how can you possibly say that you are?”
Murmurs of assent washed through the crowd. They didn’t jeer or call as a human audience might—he’d suffered that during many a dueling bout. Blended had warned him not to say too much by way of defense today, but they seemed to want something from him.
“Every man fails his own ideals,” Adolin said. “You are right. I am not the honorable man I wish that I were. But my father is. Can you deny that the Stormfather himself was willing to take a chance upon a man from this epoch?”
“This is a good point,” Kelek said, leaning forward. “The Stormfather is all we have left of old Tanavast. I would not have thought to find his Bondsmith again, no indeed.”
Amuna spun toward Adolin. “Do you know what would happen, Prince Adolin, if the Stormfather were to be killed?”
Adolin paused, then shook his head.
“A wise answer,” she said. “As no one knows. We were fortunate that no Bondsmiths existed at the time of the Recreance, though how the Sibling knew to end their bond early is a matter of dispute. I can only imagine the catastrophe that awaits us when your father kills his spren.”
“He won’t,” Adolin
said. “My father is no common man.”
“Such could be said of all the Radiants in times past,” Amuna said, stepping toward him. “But now, I am the one who cares for the betrayed. I hear their voiceless sorrow; I see their sightless pain. I would have Lasting Integrity pulled down, stone by stone, before I agree to send a single honorspren to suffer a similar fate.”
She bowed to Kelek, then turned and sat between the two deadeyes. They continued to sit, faces forward, motionless.
Adolin ground his teeth and glanced to Shallan for support. At least there was one friendly face out in that crowd. He forced himself to remain standing, hands clasped behind him in the posture his father used when he wanted to appear commanding. He’d worn his best coat. For all it mattered. Storms, he felt exposed here on the floor, surrounded by all the glowing figures. This was worse than when he’d been alone in the dueling arena facing four Shardbearers. At least then he’d had his Blade in hand and Plate on his back.
They waited for Kelek to call the next witness. The High Judge, instead, spent a good twenty minutes writing in his notebook. He was a divine being, like a kind of ardent, if magnified a thousand times. It wasn’t surprising to see him writing. Adolin just hoped the notes he was taking related to the testimony. He half expected that the Herald was solving word puzzles like the ones Jasnah enjoyed.
Eventually, the Herald dug something out of his pocket—fruit it seemed, though it was bright green and it crunched when Kelek took a bite.
“Looks good,” Kelek said. “Nothing too unexpected, though I have to say he does have a good point. An unchained Bondsmith is dangerous, but the Stormfather did choose one anyway.…”
“You know how erratic the Stormfather has been lately,” said an elderly female honorspren at Kelek’s side. “His wisdom is no longer something to trust.”
“Valid, valid,” Kelek said. “Well then, next witness.”
“Next to speak will be Blended,” Sekeir said. “Inkspren emissary to Lasting Integrity.”
What? Adolin thought as his tutor stood up from the crowd and walked to the floor of the arena. The watching honorspren murmured together quietly at the sight.
Rhythm of War (9781429952040) Page 118