Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

She hiked more quickly to pass the soldiers and position herself next to the Deepest Ones. She liked watching them, because they melded with the stone, even as they moved. The bright azure light of Honor’s Moon revealed thirty figures, some in rippling robes, sliding across the ground while standing. It wasn’t quite like the shetel-im, the Flowing Ones, who could slide across any surface as if it were slick. This was something different. The Deepest Ones stood with their feet sunken into the ground up past their ankles.

They moved like nothing Venli had ever seen. Like sticks in a current following a powerful highstorm, as if the stone were pushing them along while they stood perfectly still. Their eyes glowed red—like those of all Fused and Regals—but theirs seemed a more sinister, dark shade.

“They interest you, I’ve noticed,” a voice said from Venli’s side.

She jumped, and turned to find Raboniel walking alongside her. Venli attuned Anxiety, and Timbre thrummed within her, worried. Had she been paying too much attention? Would it be seen as suspicious? She lowered her head and hummed to Agony. Already she worried this mission risked exposing her bond.

“No need to be ashamed,” Raboniel said to Conceit. “Curiosity is welcome in singers. It is a worthy Passion, Last Listener.”

Venli held Anxiety as she walked—at a swift hike—beneath Raboniel’s gaze. She intended to serve this Fused well, as Leshwi had asked. Of the staff, only Venli was Regal, so only she could make this difficult trip. So far, she had served the femalen in quiet capacities: setting out her bedroll at night, fetching water for her to drink. She hadn’t been given many other duties, and had barely been addressed. She’d begun to think that serving Raboniel would be—if not easy—at least uneventful. Why was she now drawing the femalen’s attention?

“You are such an odd choice by Leshwi,” Raboniel said. “When I discovered just who had been given as my new Voice … To so many, you are merely the child of traitors. Yet Leshwi gave you honor. Named you Last Listener.”

“She was kind, Ancient One.”

“She thinks highly of you,” Raboniel said. “Fused are not kind; they reward competence and Passion. Even if one is the daughter of traitors. I should have expected Leshwi’s Voice to be someone … irregular. She is among the most clever and capable of the Heavenly Ones.”

“She … might dispute that, Ancient One.”

“Yes, I realize how much work she does to make others underestimate her.” Raboniel said it to Satisfaction. “She is dangerous, and that is good.” She looked to Venli and blinked her red eyes once, humming softly to Satisfaction.

Timbre thrummed within Venli. Raboniel knew too much. She’d plainly discerned that Venli was a spy for Leshwi. But how much more had Raboniel figured out? Surely she didn’t know the full truth.

“Tell me,” Raboniel said. “What about the Deepest Ones interests you so? Why do you spend hours staring at them?”

“I find their powers fascinating,” Venli said—best not to lie until she had to.

“Nine brands of Fused,” Raboniel said. “Nine Surges. You know of the Surges?”

“The innate forces by which all life, all reality, are connected. Gravitation. Transportation. Transformation. But … I thought there were ten?”

“That is human talk,” Raboniel said to Derision. “They claim a tenth, of Honor alone. Adhesion is not a true Surge, but a lie that was presented to us as one. True Surges are of both Honor and Cultivation—Cultivation for life, Honor to make the Surge into natural law. Things must fall to the ground, so they created Surges to make it happen.”

“And the Surge of these ones?” Venli asked, gesturing toward the Deepest Ones.

“Cohesion,” Raboniel said. “The Surge of Axial Connection—the Surge that binds the smallest pieces of all objects to one another. The Surge that holds us together. The makay-im can meld their essence into the essences of other things, intermingling their axi. All things are mostly emptiness, though we cannot see that it is so. A stone, like a mind, exists to be filled by thought and Investiture.”

Venli hummed to Craving. Answers. Finally, answers. She didn’t know what half of any of this meant, but to have one of the Fused answer so easily … It excited her, though Timbre thrummed to Caution.

“The Radiants each have two Surges,” Venli said. “The Fused each have one. So are the Radiants more powerful?”

“Powerful? Is it better to have more abilities, or to have one ability handled expertly? We of the Fused know our Surge with an intimacy a Radiant will never know. Humans. They were not created for this world, these Surges, or the storms. Light leaks from humans like water through fingers. They get flares of great power, but cannot hold what they have.

“One of the Fused can contain Light and bask in it indefinitely. Even a Regal such as you knows this power in a lesser way—most don’t know it, but you contain a small amount of Voidlight in your gemheart. You can’t use it actively, of course, but you might have felt it enflaming your emotions.

“As for Fused, our dominance over our Surge is eternal. Where humans visit, we reign.” She gestured toward the Deepest Ones. “Can any Radiant claim to know the stones as these do, melding with rock, mixing their very axi? Radiants are so outwardly focused. They change the world, but ignore themselves. Yes, a Radiant can cast a stone into the sky, but the shanay-im can soar without worry of ever dropping.”

Venli hummed to Craving, though she wasn’t certain she agreed. Although she had been timid about using her Radiant powers in Kholinar, they excited her. Timbre said that she would be able to move stone, shape it.

She glanced at the Deepest Ones, who moved so quietly, so smoothly. Next to them, Venli’s own hiking gait—and that of the five hundred stormform soldiers marching behind—felt awkward. And she did feel envy at the way they flowed. So … why was it that the powers manifested differently in Radiants than they did in Fused?

She attuned Annoyance as she considered what Raboniel had said. Each answer seemed to give rise to a dozen new questions, but Venli knew that the Fused—even one that was in an accommodating mood like Raboniel—would not suffer questions forever. So, Venli settled on one last thing to ask.

“If Surges are from Honor and Cultivation,” she said, “then why do we serve Odium?”

“A dangerous question,” Raboniel said to Derision. “You truly are the daughter of traitors, aren’t you?”

“I—”

“Don’t cover up your ambition, child,” Raboniel said, leading Venli past a line of snarled shrubs, with little furry creatures scampering underneath in the night. “I like it in my servants. Still, there is a certain silliness to your question. Which would you rather worship? A god of plants? Or a god of emotions?” She waved to the southeast. “Cultivation hides in these mountains somewhere. She is everywhere, but she is also here. Alive, but frightened. She knows. She is not a god of people, but of creatures.

“And Honor? A god of laws? Again, which would you prefer? A god who knows only how to make a rock fall to the ground? Or a god who knows us, understands us, feels as we do? Yes, Surges are bound by Honor. Yet as you can see, his death did not change the world in any appreciable manner. His power binds all things together, but this alone is not worthy of worship. Odium … Passion … he will grant rewards.”