Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

Though she was confident, Resolve attuned, the others’ complaints had been particularly bothersome lately.

We know where the forest is and how to reach it. Why map its size? What will that help?

The river flows this direction. Everyone knows where to find it. Why bother putting it on paper?

Too many of her family wanted to pretend the world was smaller than it was. Eshonai was convinced that was why they continued to squabble with the other listener families. If the world consisted only of the land around the ten cities, then fighting over that land made sense.

But their ancestors hadn’t fought one another. Their ancestors had turned their faces to the storm and marched away, abandoning their very gods in the name of freedom. Eshonai would use that freedom. Instead of sitting by the fire and complaining, she would experience the beauties Cultivation offered. And she would ask the best question of them all.

What will I discover next?

Eshonai continued walking, judging the river’s course. She used her own methods of counting the distance, then rechecked her work by surveying sights from multiple angles. The river continued flowing for days once a storm passed. How? When all other water had drained away or been lapped up, why did this river keep going? Where did it start?

Rivers and their carapace-covered spren excited her. Rivers were markers, guideposts, roadways. You could never get lost if you knew where the river was. She stopped for lunch near one of the bends, and discovered a type of cremling that was green, like the trees. She’d never seen one that shade before. She’d have to tell Venli.

“Stealing nature’s secrets,” Eshonai said to Annoyance. “What is a secret but a surprise to be discovered?”

Finishing her steamed haspers, she put out her fire and scattered the flamespren before continuing on her way. By her guess, it would take her a day and a half to reach her family. Then, if she left them again and rounded the other side of the forest, she’d have a finished picture of how it looked.

There was so much to see, so much to know, so much to do. And she was going to discover it all. She was going to …

What was that?

She frowned, halting in her tracks. The river wasn’t strong now; it would likely slow to a trickle by tomorrow. Over its gurgling, she heard shouts in the distance. Had the others come to find her? She hurried forward, attuning Excitement. Perhaps they were growing more willing to explore.

It wasn’t until she was almost to the sounds that she realized something was very wrong with them. They were flat, no hint of a rhythm. As if they were made by the dead.

A moment later she rounded a bend and found herself confronted by something more wondrous—and more terrible—than she’d ever dared imagine.

Humans.

* * *

“‘… dullform dread, with the mind most lost,’” Venli quoted. “‘The lowest, and one not bright. To find this form, one need banish the cost. It finds you and brings you to blight.’”

She drew in a deep breath and sat back in their tent, proud. All ninety-one stanzas, recited perfectly.

Her mother, Jaxlim, nodded as she worked the loom. “That was one of your better recitations,” she said to Praise. “A little more practice, and we can move to the next song.”

“But … I got it right.”

“You mixed up the seventh and fifteenth stanzas,” her mother said.

“The order doesn’t matter.”

“You also forgot the nineteenth.”

“No I didn’t,” Venli said, counting them in her head. Workform? “… Did I?”

“You did,” her mother said. “But you needn’t be embarrassed. You are doing fine.”

Fine? Venli had spent years memorizing the songs, while Eshonai barely did anything useful. Venli was better than fine. She was excellent.

Except … she’d forgotten an entire stanza? She looked at her mother, who was humming softly as she worked the loom.

“The nineteenth stanza isn’t that important,” Venli said. “Nobody is going to forget how to become a worker. And dullform. Why do we have a stanza about that? Nobody would willingly choose it.”

“We need to remember the past,” her mother said to the Rhythm of the Lost. “We need to remember what we passed through to get here. We need to take care not to forget ourselves.”

Venli attuned Annoyance. And then, Jaxlim began to sing to the rhythms in a beautiful voice. There was something amazing about her mother’s voice. It wasn’t powerful or bold, but it was like a knife—thin, sharp, almost liquid. It cut Venli to the soul, and Awe replaced her Annoyance.

No, Venli wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But her mother was.

Jaxlim sang on, and Venli watched, transfixed, feeling ashamed of her earlier petulance. It was just so hard sometimes. Sitting in here day after day, memorizing while Eshonai played. The two of them were nearly adults, only a year off for Eshonai and a little more than two for Venli. They were supposed to be responsible.

Her mother eventually trailed off, after the tenth stanza.

“Thank you,” Venli said.

“For singing something you’ve heard a thousand times?”

“For reminding me,” Venli said to Praise, “of what I am practicing to become.”

Her mother attuned Joy and continued working. Venli strolled to the doorway of the tent and peered out, where family members worked at various activities, like chopping wood and felling trees. Her people were the First-Rhythm family, and had a noble heritage. They were thousands strong, but it had been many years since they’d controlled a city.

They kept talking of winning one back soon. Of how they’d strike out of the forest and attack before a storm, claiming their rightful seat. It was an excellent and worthy goal, yet Venli found herself dissatisfied as she watched warriors making arrows and sharpening ancient metal spears. Was this really what life amounted to? Fighting back and forth over the same ten cities?

Surely there was more for them. Surely there was more for her. She had come to love the songs, but she wanted to use them. Find the secrets they promised. Would Roshar create someone like Venli, only to have her sit in a hogshide tent and memorize words until she could pass them on, then die?

No. She had to have some kind of destiny. Something grand. “Eshonai thinks we should draw pictures to represent the verses of the songs,” Venli said. “Make stacks of papers full of pictures, so we won’t forget.”

“Your sister has a wisdom to her at times,” her mother said.

Venli attuned Betrayal. “She shouldn’t be off away from the family so much, being selfish with her time. She should be learning the songs like me. It’s her duty too, as your daughter.”

“Yes, you are correct,” Jaxlim said. “But Eshonai has a bold heart. She merely needs to learn that her family is more important than counting the number of hills outside the camp.”

“I have a bold heart!” Venli said.

“You have a keen and crafty mind,” her mother said. “Like your mother. Do not dismiss your own talents because you envy those of another.”

“Envy? Her?”

Venli’s mother continued weaving. She wasn’t required to do such work—her position as keeper of songs was lofty, perhaps the most important in the family. Yet her mother always sought to keep busy. She said working her hands kept her body strong, while going over songs worked her mind.