Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Brandon Sanderson

  “We don’t always see strength the right way,” Adolin said. “Like, who is the better swimmer? The sailor who drowns—giving in at long last to the current after hours of fighting—or the scribe who has never stepped into the water?”

  “Do you have a point with these questions?” Formless snapped, slamming her trunk closed. “Because I don’t see one.”

  “I know. I’m sorry.” Adolin grimaced. “I’m not explaining it well. I just … I don’t think Shallan is as weak as you say. Weakness doesn’t make someone weak, you see. It’s the opposite.”

  “That is foolishness,” she said. “Return to sleep. Your trial is in a couple hours, and you shouldn’t be fatigued for it.”

  Formless stalked out into the living room. There she hid by the side of the door and waited to see if Adolin followed. Pattern perked up from where he’d been sitting at the desk, and Formless quieted him with a glare.

  Adolin didn’t come out. She heard him sigh loudly, but he remained in bed.

  Good. She had to act quickly. Formless needed to give him this last gift, the gift of winning here in Lasting Integrity. She owed the memory of Shallan that much.

  I know what you’re doing, Veil whispered. I’ve finally figured it out.

  Formless froze. She checked on Radiant—tucked into the prison of her mind, trying to break free but unable to speak. So why could Veil?

  Well, she could ignore a voice or two. Formless sat at the desk and sketched the layout of the judge’s home. They’d paced it off yesterday, and peeked in windows. With her talent for spatial awareness, this floor plan should be accurate.

  You aren’t a new persona, Veil thought. If you were, you couldn’t draw like that. You can lie to yourself, but not me.

  Formless froze again. Was this what she wanted? What she really wanted? She wasn’t sure of anything anymore.

  There were so many questions. Why was Veil able to talk? Who had killed Ialai? How would she extricate herself from Adolin, from the Radiants? Was that the life she desired?

  Formless steeled herself, quieting the questions. She placed a hand on her forehead, breathing deeply.

  Pattern stepped over, so Formless closed the sketchbook and slid it into her satchel.

  “… Veil?” Pattern asked. “What are you doing?”

  “It has to happen today,” Formless said. She checked the clock. “Soon. Before the judge leaves his quarters.” She gripped the gemstone she’d hidden in her pocket.

  “Veil,” Pattern said. “This is not a good idea.”

  He is right, Veil thought. He is right, Shallan.

  I am Formless, she thought back.

  No you’re not, Shallan.

  “I wouldn’t be so quick to tell me what is right and wrong, Pattern,” Formless said to him. “We still haven’t dealt with your betrayal and your lies. Perhaps you aren’t the best judge of morality, and should leave that to me.”

  His pattern slowed and his shoulders slumped, and he stepped backward as if he wanted to vanish into the shadows.

  Formless drew out a little Stormlight, savoring the sensation of it inside her veins. Then she performed a Lightweaving.

  It worked. Formless was a composite of the three—a single person with Shallan’s drawing and Lightweaving abilities, Radiant’s determination and ability to get things done, and Veil’s ability to push aside the pain. Veil’s ability to see the truth.

  The best of all three of them.

  Lies, Shallan, Veil thought. Storms. I should have seen this. I should have known.…

  She glanced at herself in the mirror, and found the Lightweaving to be perfect. She looked exactly like Lusintia, the honorspren woman. She even gave off the same faint glow. This was going to be so easy.

  Formless packed her drawing tools in case she needed to quickly sketch a new face. A Lightweaving disguised her satchel as a cloth bag like the ones the honorspren used.

  Bells from below announced that it was about an hour until the trial. She crossed the room, passing Pattern, who had withdrawn to the corner. He stood in the shadows, his pattern moving lethargically.

  “What’s happening?” he said. “Something is very wrong with you, Shallan. I have handled this so poorly. I talked to Wit yesterday, and he—”

  “You’re still doing that?” Formless said. “You’re still disobeying me?”

  Pattern pulled away further.

  “I’ve had enough of you,” Formless hissed. “Stay here and cover for me with Adolin. We’ll talk about this at length after the trial.”

  She took a deep breath and peeked out to make sure no one was watching—they might wonder why Lusintia had been in Shallan’s house—then slipped out and began crossing the southern plane. The fortress was quiet. Spren didn’t sleep, but they did have less active periods. They would congregate at “night” in the homes of friends, leaving the walkways of the fortress relatively unwatched.

  A few leaves fluttered through the open air between the four sides. Formless tried not to look at the other three planes, three cities making an impossible box around her. She wasn’t good at—

  “Veil,” a voice said behind her. “I need to explain. I must tell you the truth. Mmm…”

  She groaned and turned. Pattern was following her like a barely weaned axehound pup.

  “You’ll give away my disguise!” she snapped at him.

  He stopped, his pattern slowing.

  “You must know what Wit said,” Pattern replied. “He is so wise. He seems to like you and hate everyone else. Ha ha. He made fun of me. It was very funny. I am like a chicken. Ha ha.”

  Formless closed her eyes and sighed.

  “He said to tell you that we trust you,” Pattern said. “And love you. He said I should tell you that you deserve trust and love. And you do. I’m sorry I’ve been lying. For a very long time. I’m so sorry. I didn’t think you could handle it.”

  “Shallan couldn’t,” she said. “Go to the room and wait. I’ll deal with you later.”

  She strode away, and fortunately he didn’t follow. It was time to become the woman she’d been building toward ever since she left her home to steal from Jasnah. Formless could finally join the Ghostbloods. She didn’t care about Shallan’s past. Let it sleep. She could be like Veil, who didn’t have to worry about such things.

  You’re pretending to be like me, Veil thought. But Wit is right. You deserve to be loved, Shallan. You do.

  The High Judge’s quarters were all the way at the top of the plane, near the battlements. It was difficult to ignore the strange geometry up here, past the parks and the trees, because the sky was so close. She wanted to spend time drawing it, but of course she wasn’t like that anymore. She needed to find all this disorienting and strange. Like Veil.

  It helped to focus on the target: a small building near the corner of the wall. She passed several honorspren, but not many. She waved to those who waved to her, but mostly strode forward with a sense of purpose.

  Once Formless arrived, she loitered near the house, glancing around until she could be reasonably certain no one was looking. That was difficult, with multiple planes to watch. At least the plan was simple. Step up to the door. Soulcast the doorknob into smoke to get past the lock. Sneak in and make her way to the back room, which was the High Judge’s study. Knife him before he could react, then take his place for the trial.

  This was her last step. This was the end.

  I … Radiant said, her voice distant. I killed Ialai.

  Formless froze in place.

  I saw … Radiant whispered, that you were about to do it. That you had poison secreted in your satchel. So I stepped in. To protect you. So you … didn’t have to do it. To prevent … what is happening to you now … Shallan …

  She squeezed her eyes shut. No. No, she wouldn’t back down. She had to do this. To end it. To end the wavering.

  She opened her eyes, strode up to the door, and grabbed the knob with her freehand. It vanished beneath her touch. Soulcasting really was e
asier on this side. The knob barely cared that she asked it to change.

  She pushed open the door. The room inside was packed. Pieces of furniture stacked atop one another. Rolled tapestries. Knickknacks and mementos, like a small glass chicken on the windowsill and a pile of dusty letters on a table.

  Formless shut the door with a quiet motion. The windows provided enough light to see by, and she could see the glow of candlelight beneath the room’s other door, the one that led into the High Judge’s study. Kelek was here. She revealed Mraize’s knife, then stepped forward.

  As she did so, she felt a coldness—like a sharp breeze. Stormlight left her in a rush. Formless paused, then glanced over her shoulder.

  Veil stood behind her.

  “I know why you’re doing this, Shallan,” Veil said. “There’s no fourth persona. Not yet. You’ve given yourself another name, so you can tuck away the pain. You take that step though, and it will be real.”

  “This is who I want to be,” Formless said. “Let me go.”

  “You’re running again,” Veil said. “You think you don’t deserve Adolin, or your place as a Radiant. You’re terrified that if your friends knew what you truly were, they’d turn away from you. Leave you. So you’re going to leave them first.

  “That’s why you kept spending time with the Ghostbloods. That’s why you’re here. You see this as an out from your life. You figure if you become the despicable person the darkness whispers that you have been, then it will all be decided. No going back. Decision’s made.”

  Formless … Formless …

  Was just Shallan.

  And Shallan wanted to do this. She wanted to show them what she truly was. So it would be over.

  “I can’t be Shallan,” she whispered. “Shallan is weak.”

  Shallan put her hands to her eyes and trembled. Veil felt her emotions in a sudden wave of pain, frustration, shame, and confusion. It made her shake as well.

  “Who is a better swimmer?” Veil whispered. “It’s the sailor who has swum his entire life, even if he encounters rough seas that challenge him. Who is the stronger man? It is the man who must pull himself by his arms. And that swordsman with one arm … He was probably the best in raw skill. He couldn’t win because of his disadvantages, but he wasn’t weaker than the others.”

  Shallan stilled.

  “Adolin is right,” Veil said. “He’s always been right about you. Tell me. Who is the strongest of mind? The woman whose emotions are always on her side? Or the woman whose own thoughts betray her? You have fought this fight every day of your life, Shallan. And you are not weak.”

  “Aren’t I?” Shallan demanded, spinning. “I killed my own father! I strangled him with my own hands!”

  The words cut deep, like a spike through the heart. Veil winced visibly. But that cut to the heart somehow let warmth bleed out, flowing through her. “You have borne that truth for a year and a half, Shallan,” Veil said, stepping forward. “You kept going. You were strong enough. You made the oath.”

  “And Mother?” Shallan snapped. “Do you remember the feel of the Blade forming in our hands for the first time, Veil? I do. Do you remember the horror I felt at the strike, which I never meant to make?”

  Her mother, with stark red hair—a length of metal in her chest as her beautiful green eyes turned to coal. Burning out of her face. Shallan’s voice, screaming at what she’d done. Screaming, begging to take it back. Wishing she were dead. Wishing … Wishing …

  Another spike to the heart. More warmth bleeding out, blood flowing with thunderous heartbeats. Veil always felt so cold, but today she felt warm. Warm with pain. Warm with life.

  “You can bear it,” Veil whispered. She stepped forward, eye-to-eye with Shallan. “You can remember it. Our weakness doesn’t make us weak. Our weakness makes us strong. For we had to carry it all these years.”

  “No,” Shallan said, her voice growing soft. “No. I can’t…”

  “You can,” Veil whispered. “I’ve protected you all these years, but it’s time for me to leave. It’s time for me to be done.”

  “I can’t,” Shallan said. “I’m too weak!”

  “I don’t think you are. Take the memories.” Veil reached out her hand. “Take them back, Shallan.”

  Shallan wavered. Formless had vanished like a puff of smoke, revealing all her lies. And there was Veil’s hand. Inviting. Offering to prove that Shallan was strong.

  Shallan took her hand.

  Memories flooded her. Playing in the gardens as a child, meeting a Cryptic. A beautiful, spiraling spren that dimpled the stone. Wonderful times, spent hidden among the foliage in their special place. The Cryptic encouraged her to become strong enough to help her family, to stand against the terrible darkness spreading through it.

  Such a blessed time, full of hope, and joy, and truths spoken easily with the solemnity and wonder of a child. That companion had been a true friend to an isolated child, a girl who suffered parents who constantly fought over her future.

  Her spren. A spren who could talk. A spren she could confide in. A companion.

  And that companion had not been Pattern. It had been a different Cryptic. One who … One who …

  Shallan fell to her knees, arms wrapped around herself, trembling. “Oh storms … Oh, God of Oaths…”

  She felt a hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right, Shallan,” Veil whispered. “It’s all right.”

  “I know what you are,” Shallan whispered. “You’re the blankness upon my memories. The part of me that looks away. The part of my mind that protects me from my past.”

  “Of course I am,” Veil said. “I’m your veil, Shallan.” She squeezed Shallan’s shoulder, then turned toward the closed door. Had Kelek heard them talking … or … had they even spoken out loud?

  Shallan surged to her feet. No. It hurt too much. Didn’t it make more sense to become what Mraize wanted? Adolin would hate her for what she did. Dalinar would hate her. Shallan represented the very thing they all said they would never do. The thing they blamed for all of their problems. The thing that had doomed humankind.

  She … she was worthless. She reached for the doorknob.

  You can bear it, Radiant whispered.

  No. She could become Formless and join the Ghostbloods wholeheartedly. Become the woman she’d created for herself, the strong spy who lived a double life without it bothering her. She could be confident and collected and painless and perfect.

  Strength before weakness, Radiant said.

  Not a woman who had … who had …

  Be strong.

  Shallan turned, breathing out, and Stormlight exploded from her like her life’s own blood. It painted the room before her, coloring it, changing it to a lush garden. Covered in bright green vines and shalebark of pink and red.

  Within it, a hidden place where a girl cried. The girl wept, then screamed, then said the terrible words.

  “I don’t want you! I hate you! I’m done! You never existed. You are nothing. And I am finished!”

  Shallan didn’t turn away. She wouldn’t. She felt the ripping sensation again. The terrible pain, and the awful horror.

  She hadn’t known what she was doing, not truly. But she had done it.

  “I killed her,” Shallan whispered. “I killed my spren. My wonderful, beautiful, kindly spren. I broke my oaths, and I killed her.”

  Veil stood with her hands clasped before her. “It’s going to hurt,” Veil warned. “I’m sorry for the pain, Shallan. I did what I could—but I did it for too long.”

  “I know,” Shallan said.

  “But I have no strength that you do not, Shallan,” Veil said. “You are me. We are me.”

  Veil became Stormlight, glowing brightly. The color faded from her, becoming pure white. Her memories integrated into Shallan’s. Her skills became Shallan’s. And Shallan recognized everything she had done.

  She remembered preparing the needle hidden in her satchel to kill Ialai. She saw her past, and her growing worry
in all its self-destructive horror. Saw herself growing into the lie that she could never belong with Adolin and the Radiants, so she began searching for another escape.

  But that escape wasn’t strength. This was strength. She closed her eyes, bearing the burden of those memories. Not only of what she’d done recently, but what she’d done in the garden that day. Terrible memories.

  Her memories.

  As there was nothing left for Veil to protect Shallan from feeling, she began to fade. But as she faded, one last question surfaced: Did I do well?

  “Yes,” Shallan whispered. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

  And then, like any other illusion that was no longer needed, Veil puffed away.

  Shallan took a deep breath, her pain settling in. Storms … Pattern was here. Not her new Pattern, the first one. The deadeye. Shallan needed to find her.

  Later. For now, she had a job to do. As she gathered herself, the door to the study clicked open, and light spilled around a figure. An Alethi man with wispy hair and weary eyes. Shallan knew that expression well.

  “I see,” Kelek said. “So you are the one sent to kill me?”

  “I was sent for that purpose,” she said, holding up the knife. She set it on a nearby table. “Sent by someone who didn’t realize I’d be strong enough to say no. You’re safe from me, Kelek.”

  He walked over and picked up the knife in timid fingers. “So this is like the one they used on Jezrien?”

  “I don’t know,” Shallan said honestly. “A group called the Ghostbloods wanted me to use that on you.”

  “Old Thaidakar has always wanted my secrets,” Kelek said. “I thought it would be the man, your husband, who came for me. I wonder if he knows I’ve had trouble fighting these days. It’s so hard to decide. To do anything really…”

  “Is that why you’ve been so hard on Adolin?” Shallan asked. “At the trial?”

  Kelek shook his head. “You two stumbled into a little war of ideologies. The older honorspren—they’re so frightened of what happened to their predecessors. But the young ones want to go fight.”

  “I can tell you about the people who sent me,” Shallan said. “We can share information. But first I have a request. You’re about to convict my husband in this sham of a trial. I’d like you to reconsider.”