Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

Rlain pushed the cart through the halls of Urithiru. There were a lot of people out, both human and singer. Bringing water from the wells was a full-time duty for many hundreds of workers. A lot of the population had moved away from the perimeter, which was growing too cold. Instead they crowded together into these interior rooms.

Humans gave way for him. Most of the singers didn’t glance at him, but those who did usually noticed his tattoo. Their rhythms changed, and their eyes followed him. Some hated him for the treason of his ancestors. Others had been told the listeners were a brave frontrunner group who had prepared for Odium’s return. These treated Rlain with reverence.

In the face of it all—the frightened humans, the mistrusting Regals, the occasionally awed ordinary singers—he wished he could simply be Rlain. He hated that to every one of them, he was some kind of representation of an entire people. He wanted to be seen as a person, not a symbol.

The closest he’d come had been among the men of Bridge Four. Even though they’d named him “Shen,” of all things. That was like naming one of their children “Human.” But for all their faults, they had succeeded in giving him a home. Because they’d been willing to try to see him for himself.

As he pushed his cart, he caught sight of that cremling again. The nondescript brown one that would scuttle along walls near the ceiling, blending in with the stonework. They were still watching him.

Venli had warned him about this. Voidspren invisibility didn’t work properly in the tower. So it appeared that, to keep an eye on someone here, they’d begun entering an animal’s gemheart. He tried to pretend he hadn’t seen it. Eventually, it turned and scuttled down a different hallway. Voidspren weren’t fully able to control the animals they bonded; though apparently the dumber the animal, the easier they were to influence. So there was no way of telling if the Voidspren had decided it had seen enough for the day, or if its host was merely distracted.

Rlain eventually reached the atrium, and like many people, he briefly basked in the light coming through the large eastern window. There was always a lot of traffic in here these days. Though only the privileged among the singers were allowed to use the lifts, people of both species came here for light.

He crossed the atrium with his cart, then pushed it through into the Radiant infirmary. He still couldn’t relax—as a surprising number of humans moved through the room among the unconscious Radiants.

Ostensibly they all had a reason to be there. Water carriers, people to change the bedpans, others recruited to help feed broth to the Radiants. There were always new volunteers—the men and women of the tower were turning coming here into some kind of pilgrimage. Look in on the Radiants. Care for them. Then go burn prayers for them to recover. None of the people working in here seemed bothered by the fact that—not two years ago—they would have cursed by the Lost Radiants.

Eyes chased Rlain as he—forcing himself to walk to the beat of the Rhythm of Peace—delivered the cart of freshly laundered sheets and pillows to those changing them. A man with one arm and haunted eyes was overseeing this work today. Like most of the others in the room, he’d painted his forehead with the shash glyph. That baffled Rlain.

A few days ago, Lezian the Pursuer had ordered his men to beat those who wore the forehead mark—though only a day later, that order had been reversed by Raboniel. Still seemed strange that so many humans would wear the thing. They had to realize they were singling themselves out.

Though he’d been forced to rein in his men, and there had been fewer incidents recently, the Pursuer continued to push for more brutality in the tower. Unnervingly, he’d placed a few guards here in the infirmary: two stormform Regals currently, on rotation with several other Regals, who stood watch at all hours.

Rlain felt their stares on him as he walked to the back of the room where Lirin and Hesina had used hanging sheets to section off a part as a kind of office and living quarters for themselves. Rlain forced himself to attune Confidence until he could step between the sheets.

Inside he found Lirin peeking out at the stormforms. A small surgery station was set up behind him, where Lirin could see patients—because of course he needed to do that. Kaladin had spoken of his father, and Rlain felt he knew Lirin and Hesina, though he’d interacted with them in person for only a few weeks.

“Well?” Rlain asked.

“The stormforms have seen me and Hesina,” Lirin whispered. “We couldn’t stay hidden all the time. But I don’t think it matters. By this point, someone must have recognized us. I wouldn’t be surprised if those Regals were sent here in the first place because this ‘Pursuer’ discovered we were here.”

“Maybe you should remain quiet,” Rlain said, searching the ceiling for cremlings. “Or maybe we should get you out.”

“We’ve been watching for cremlings,” Lirin said. “And haven’t seen any. Nothing so far. As for the Pursuer, Venli says that we should be safe from him, so long as that Heavenly One, Leshwi, protects us.”

“I don’t know how much I trust any of them, Lirin,” Rlain said. “Particularly Fused.”

“Agreed,” Lirin said. “What games are they playing? Leshwi didn’t even ask after my son. Do you have any idea why they are acting this way?”

“Sorry,” Rlain said. “I’m baffled. Our songs barely mention the Fused except to say to avoid them.”

Lirin grunted. Like the others, he seemed to expect Rlain to understand the Fused and Regals more than he did—but to the surgeon’s credit, he and Hesina had accepted Rlain without suspicion, despite his race. For all that Lirin complained about Kaladin, it seemed he considered someone his son called a friend to be worthy of trust.

“And Venli?” Lirin asked. “She wears a Regal form. Can we trust her?”

“Venli could have left me in prison,” Rlain said. “I think she’s proven herself.”

“Unless it’s a long con of some sort,” Lirin said, his eyes narrowing.

Rlain hummed to Reconciliation. “I’m surprised to hear of your suspicion. Kaladin said you always saw the best in people.”

“My son doesn’t know me nearly as well as he presumes,” Lirin said. He continued standing by the drapes.

Rlain made his way past the surgery table to where Hesina had set out one of his stolen maps on the floor. There, he hummed to Anxiety. “Maybe we shouldn’t have these out,” he whispered. “With those Regals around.”

“We can’t live our lives terrified of enemies at every corner, Rlain,” Hesina said. “If they wanted to take us, they’d have done it already. We have to assume we’re safe, for now.”

Rlain hummed to Anxiety. But … there was wisdom in her words. He forced himself to calm. He had seen that cremling, yes, but didn’t know it had a Voidspren. Perhaps he was jumping at shadows. Likely, he was just on edge because of the way everyone treated him during his trips through the tower.

“I keep thinking,” Hesina said, looking over the map, “that if we could get this to Kal, it might help.”

Rlain glanced at Lirin, humming to Curiosity. Hesina wouldn’t catch the rhythm, but she clearly understood his body language.

“Lirin’s dispute is not mine,” Hesina said. “He can play the stoic pacifist all he wants—and I’ll love him for it. But I’m not going to leave Kal out there alone with no help. You think if he had exact maps of the tower, he might have a better chance?”