Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

Maya stared at it. Her eyes had been scratched out by the events of the Recreance, but she could still see. She’d been blinded without going blind, killed without dying. The ways of spren were strange.

“Hey,” he said, crouching down. “We’ll soon be able to go ashore.”

She didn’t respond, as usual—though as one of the peakspren passed outside the tarp awning, she snapped her head to stare in that direction.

“Anxious too, eh?” Adolin said. “We both need to calm down. Here.” He moved to where his things had been stored and took out his longsword, then fell into a stance. The ceiling of the tarp was a good foot over his head, and most everyone had clustered on the other side, near Godeke and the spheres. So he had some space for a basic kata.

Each day, Maya joined him in his morning stretching routines, where he did a centering kata that Zahel had taught him years ago. Would she follow a different kata, if he showed it to her? A longsword was a bad imitation of a Shardblade, but it was the closest he had.

He placed his sapphire on the top of his closed sword trunk for light, then fell into a slow, careful kata meant to teach thrusting practice. Nothing flashy, no stupid twirls or spins of the blade. A basic exercise, but one he’d done hundreds of times with his Shardblade on the practice grounds. This particular portion imitated hallway fighting, where you couldn’t swing too high or too far to the sides, lest you hit stone. So it was perfect for this enclosed space.

Maya watched him, her head cocked.

“You know this one,” he told her. “Remember? Hallway fighting. Practice with thrusts and controlled swings?”

He started over, but slower. One motion flowing into the other. Step, good two-handed grip, lunge forward with a thrust, then reset while turning the other direction. Back and forth, a rhythm, a song without music. A fight without an opponent.

Maya hesitantly stood up, so he paused. She walked over to him, inspecting his sword with her head still cocked. The fine intertwining vines of her face looked like sinew, a human face with the skin removed. She traced the length of the sword with her gaze.

Adolin reset again. Maya carefully did the same beside him—and her form was perfect. Even Zahel on his worst day wouldn’t have found reason to reset her stance. Adolin slowly moved through the kata, and she followed—holding nothing but empty air, but moving in lockstep with him as he thrust, then reset, then turned.

Conversation on the other side of the enclosure died off, spren and soldiers alike watching. Soon they faded from Adolin’s attention. It was just him, the sword, and Maya. The relaxing repetition made his tension melt away. Katas were about more than training; they were a way to focus. That was something every young swordsman needed to learn, whether he intended to fight in duels or lead a battlefield charge. Adolin felt sorry for those who had never known the centering peace of training; it could turn aside even the mightiest of storms.

After some time—Adolin didn’t notice how much—Shallan ducked under the tarp. She’d dismissed her Lightweaving, so plainly didn’t consider them to be in any danger. Ua’pam, however, stared at Maya, the cracks in his skin pouring a molten light over the deck and the bottom of the tarp.

Adolin finally stopped, Maya pausing beside him. As he relaxed and wiped his brow, she settled back down in her little cubby.

Ua’pam walked up to him, scratching at his head in a distinctly human gesture. “Another kata?” he asked. “This is more than simple training. Truly, you must tell me. How have you done this? Each day, your training of her proves more remarkable.”

Adolin shrugged, snatching a towel as Felt tossed it to him. “She remembers the times we’ve sparred together as man and Blade.”

“She’s a deadeye,” Ua’pam said. “She was killed thousands of years ago. She doesn’t think. The trauma of her Radiant betraying her broke her mind.”

“Yeah, well, maybe it’s wearing off.”

“We are spren. We are eternal. Our deaths do not merely ‘wear off.’”

Adolin tossed the towel back to Felt. “And spren were never going to bond humans again—yet here you are, Zu’s companion spren. Words like ‘eternal’ and ‘forever’ aren’t as definitive as you all pretend.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” Ua’pam said.

“And that might just be why Maya and I are able to do things you think impossible.” Adolin glanced at Shallan. “We’re good to go into town?”

“No hints of Fused activity,” she said. “Lots of caravans come through here—some are even camped outside the town—and humans aren’t unusual in them. The spren at this waystop won’t consider us odd. We merely need to tell everyone we’re traders.”

“Right then,” Adolin said. “Let’s all get off this boat and stretch our legs. Stay together in groups though, and don’t make trouble.”

* * *

Shallan continued to have a hangover. Her brain pounded, incessant, angry. A kind of “How could you?” accusation. She worried that now that they had reached land, she might attract painspren—which could be dangerous.

This is your fault, Veil, Radiant thought at her. How could you let us go to sleep without burning off the wine?

I wasn’t thinking straight, Veil thought. That’s kind of the point of drinking.…

She can’t use Stormlight very well, Shallan thought. Don’t blame her. At least the pain was fading. When she’d taken in Stormlight to put on her illusory face, it had healed some of the agony. Stormlight was precious, however, and she’d used only what she needed to get her illusion going.

She probably could spare a little more.

No, Radiant thought. We should suffer, as our punishment for abusing drink.

It’s not Shallan’s fault, Veil complained. She shouldn’t have to hurt because of what I did.

I had more than a few cups myself, Shallan thought. So let’s drop this.

The others—eager to get out and see the town—broke up into teams, though Adolin waited for her. They walked onto the simple stone dock and into the town—though “town” was a generous term for it. She’d been able to walk through all four streets in under half an hour.

Still, although small, the place presented a shocking variety of spren, most of them coming from the five or six caravans that were camped here at the moment. Even from her perspective now, she was able to spot six different varieties. She’d taken some Memories to continue her natural history—and intended to go back out and get a few more.

Plus, some of those caravans had humans in them. Who were they? How had they found their way to this side? Were they from other lands, like Azure? She longed to get back out and do closer inspections.

Except … Veil said. You know.

She did. This might be a chance to—after two weeks of travel—finally have some time alone. Indeed, Unativi’s sailors were drawing lots to determine who had to stay on the barge to guard it. Perhaps …

“Go on ahead,” Veil said, pulling her hat on—from where it had been hanging behind her neck by its laces—so Adolin knew who she was. “I’ve had a chance to stretch my legs; I think I’ll rest a little more.”