Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“I considered that,” he said. “But I promised to unite instead of divide. I don’t do that by giving my book only to those who agree with me.

“If we’re revealing a new world, Jasnah, should we not do it together? Arguments and all? I feel like … like we are never going to agree on the details, you and I. This book though—it could show that we agree on the more important matters. After all, if an avowed atheist and a man starting his own religion can unite, then who can object that their personal differences are too large to surmount?”

“That’s what you’re doing, then?” she asked. “Creating a religion?”

“Revising the old one, at the very least,” Dalinar said. “When the full text of this is released … I suspect it will create a larger schism among Vorinism.”

“Me being involved won’t help that.”

“I want your thoughts nonetheless. If you are willing to give them.”

She pulled the book close. “I consider it among the greatest honors I have ever been offered, Uncle. Be warned, however, I am not known for my brevity. This could take me years. I will be thorough, I will offer counterpoints, and I may undermine your entire argument. But I will be respectful.”

“Whatever you need, Jasnah.” He smiled. “I hope that in your additions, we will create something greater than I could have alone.”

She smiled back. “Don’t say it that way. You make it sound like the odds are against it being possible, where I should say that is the most reasonable outcome. Thank you, Uncle. For your trust.”

To humans, our very visages become symbols. You find echoes of it even in the art from centuries before this Return.

—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days

There was a long line at the Oathgates today, but that was nothing new. Raboniel was certain the human kingdoms knew of the occupation by now, and so had authorized the Oathgates to be opened more frequently, allowing singer troops and servants occupying the tower to rotate out.

Venli’s group of fifteen friends huddled behind her, holding their supplies—hopefully appearing to be merely another batch of workers given a chance to return to Kholinar for a break. Venli pulled her coat tight against the wind. Listeners didn’t get as cold as humans seemed to, but she could still feel the bite of the wind—particularly since this form had carapace only as ornamentation, not true armor.

She wasn’t completely certain what to do after reaching Kholinar. Raboniel’s writ would certainly get her people out of the city, and even out of Alethkar. But Venli couldn’t wait the weeks or months it would take for them to walk to the Shattered Plains. She had to find out if her mother was still alive.

How far would the power of the writ go? Raboniel was feared, respected. Could Venli get her entire team of fifteen flown to that scout post via Heavenly One? Her mind spun with lies about a secret mission from Raboniel at the Shattered Plains. Indeed, it wasn’t too far from the truth. Raboniel had all but commanded her to go investigate the listener remnants.

And what then? Venli thought. Raboniel knows about them. She knows I’m going. She’s manipulating me. For what end?

It didn’t matter. Venli had to go. It was time.

Timbre pulsed softly as she stood in the line, map case over her shoulder, trying to ignore the wind.

“Are you disappointed in me?” Venli whispered to Conceit. “For leaving Rlain and the humans?”

Timbre pulsed. Yes, she was. The little spren was never afraid to be straight with Venli.

“What do you expect me to do?” she whispered, turning her head away from Dul so he wouldn’t hear her talking. “Help with their insane plan? He’ll get all those Radiants killed. Besides, you think I’d be any help to them?”

Timbre pulsed. Venli was doing well. Learning. She could help.

If I weren’t a coward, Venli thought. “What if we got you a different host? A singer who cares, like Rlain.”

Timbre pulsed.

“What do you mean?” Venli demanded. “You can’t want me. I’m an accident. A mistake.”

Another pulse.

“Mistakes can’t be wonderful, Timbre. That’s what defines them as mistakes.”

She pulsed, more confident. How could she be more confident with each complaint? Stupid spren. And why wasn’t this line moving? The transfers should be quick; they needed to exchange people and supplies before the highstorm arrived.

Venli told her people to wait, then stepped out of line. She marched to the front, where a couple of singers—formerly Azish, by their clothing—were arguing.

“What is it?” Venli demanded to Craving.

The two took in her Regal form, then the femalen answered. “We have to wait to perform the exchange, Chosen,” she said, using an old formal singer term. “The human who works the Oathgates for us has run off.”

“No one else has a living Blade, which is needed to operate the fabrial now,” the other explained. “If you could find the one they call Vyre, and ask when he will return…”

Venli glanced toward the sky. She could feel the wind picking up. “The highstorm is nearly here. We should move everyone inside.”

The two argued at first, but Venli spoke more firmly. Soon they started herding the frustrated singers toward the tower. Venli walked along the plateau, Timbre pulsing excitedly. She saw this as an opportunity.

“Why do you believe in me?” Venli whispered. “I’ve given you no reason. I’ve ruined everything I’ve touched. I’m a selfish, impotent, sorry excuse for a listener.”

Timbre pulsed. Venli had saved her. Venli had saved Lift.

“Yes, but I had to be coaxed into both,” Venli said. “I’m not a hero. I’m an accident.”

Timbre was firm. Some people charged toward the goal, running for all they had. Others stumbled. But it wasn’t the speed that mattered.

It was the direction they were going.

Venli lingered at the entrance to Urithiru. She hesitated, glancing over her shoulder. The previous highstorm had reached all the way past the sixth tier. This one would likely envelop nearly the entire tower, a rare occurrence, their scholars thought. She felt as if she could sense the power of it, the fury bearing down on them.

“What if,” she whispered to Timbre, “I offered to use this writ to smuggle Stormblessed or his family out of Urithiru?”

Timbre pulsed uncertainly. Would the writ’s authority extend that far? Venli thought perhaps it would. She wouldn’t be able to get any of the unconscious Radiants out; they were too closely watched, and someone would send to Raboniel for confirmation. But a few “random” humans? That might work.

She found Dul and the others inside the front doors. Venli gathered them around, away from prying ears, and quickly handed her writ to Mazish. “Take this,” Venli said. “If I don’t return, you should be able to use it to get away.”

“Without you?” Mazish said. “Venli…”

“I’ll almost certainly return,” Venli said. “But just in case, take the map too. You’ll need it to find your way to the other listeners in secret.”

“Where are you going?” Dul asked.