“Then we could follow those,” Venli said. “You could sink into the rock and find them, then trace them outward.”

“No,” said another to Derision. “We cannot see while embedded. We can hear, and we can sing, and the tones of Roshar guide us. But this fabrial is made to be silent to us. To trace the lines, we would need to break apart the stone—and sever all the connections to the pillar. That might destroy the tower’s protections entirely, letting the Radiants awaken and defeating our purpose.”

“So if you did find a gemstone in the tower,” Venli said, “you couldn’t know whether it was tied to the protective field. You might break the gemstone and find it was tied to something else entirely.”

The Fused hummed at her in Derision. Venli was pushing the boundaries of the interference they would accept. “No, foolish one,” the femalen said. “This fabrial of protection is new. Added to the tower after its creation. There will be few other gemstones like it. The rest of the tower works as a single entity, which is why Raboniel was able to engage its protections by infusing it with Voidlight.”

That … didn’t really explain as much as they seemed to think, but Venli hummed to Subservience to indicate she appreciated the information and the correction. Her mind, however, was still daunted by the implications of what she’d learned earlier. She’d spent all these months being timid about her powers, telling herself she didn’t dare use them. Why was she so worried now, though?

Timbre pulsed. Indicating it was all right to be afraid of trying something new. It was natural.

But that wasn’t it, not entirely. It seemed that most of Venli’s life, she’d been afraid of the wrong things. Her curiosity had led to her people’s downfall. And now she played with powers she didn’t understand, gathering an entire group of hopefuls who depended on her.

If she made a wrong move, Dul and the others were doomed.

The Deepest Ones conferred. The femalen continued to watch Venli, however. The other three seemed to regard her as their foremost, for they quieted when she spoke.

“You are mortal,” she said to Venli. “You are the Last Listener. Few Regals earn a true title, and I find it odd to see the child of traitors developing one. Tell me, where would you place these nodes, if you were to do so?”

“I…” Venli attuned Agony. “I have no knowledge of the tower. I couldn’t say.”

“Guess,” the Fused prompted. “Try.”

“I suppose,” Venli said, “I would put it someplace easy to give it Stormlight, but a place no one would search. Or…” A thought occurred to her, but she quieted it. She didn’t want to help them. The longer it took to fully corrupt the tower, the better it seemed for her people. “No, never mind. I am foolish, Ancient One, and ignorant.”

“Perhaps, but you are also mortal—and think like one,” the Fused considered. “Mortals are busy. They live short lives, always stuffed with so many things to do. Yet they are also lazy. They want to do none of what they should. Would you not say this is true?”

“I … Yes, of course,” Venli said. This was not a Fused wanting someone to object.

“Yes,” said another Deepest One. “Would they not put the gemstone nodes, at least one of them, where Stormlight could renew it naturally?”

“Storms reach this high only occasionally,” another said, “but they do come up here. So it would make sense to put one in reach of the occasional free infusion of power.”

Timbre pulsed to Sorrow inside Venli. This was exactly the idea she’d chosen not to share. Where was the best place for a node? Outside somewhere—but not on the balconies, where it could be spotted. She looked across the atrium toward the large window. The Deepest Ones had come to the same conclusion apparently, for they flowed away toward the far wall, to look for signs of a gemstone embedded outside.

Timbre pulsed to Disappointment.

“I didn’t try to help,” Venli whispered. “Besides, they mostly figured it out on their own.”

Timbre pulsed again. Hopefully it would turn out to be nothing. It was just a guess, after all.

The Fused had left her with no instructions, so she remained with the servants—until she spotted a familiar figure hurrying through the corridor. Mazish, Dul’s wife, one of Venli’s inner circle.

She stepped forward quickly, intercepting the squat workform—who was humming to Anxiety.

“What?” Venli asked.

“Venli,” she said. “Venli, they … they’ve found another.”

“Another Radiant?” Venli asked to Confusion.

“No. No, not that. I mean.” She seized Venli by the arm. “Another one of you. Another listener.”

EIGHT AND A HALF YEARS AGO

Eshonai found the humans endlessly fascinating.

Between their first and second visits, Eshonai had organized several trips to try to find their homeland. Suddenly, everyone had wanted to join her, and she’d led large expeditions. Those had been all song, and no crescendo, unfortunately—the only thing she’d been able to locate was a solitary human outpost to the west.

They’d told her to expect a second visit soon, but now that visit seemed to be drawing to a close. So Eshonai took every remaining opportunity to watch the humans. She loved the way they walked, the way they talked, even the way they looked at her. Or sometimes didn’t.

Like today, as she strolled through Gavilar Kholin’s camp. His servants barely glanced at her as they packed. She stepped up beside one worker, who was unstringing a large metal bow. The man must have seen her standing there—but when he stood up a few minutes later, he jumped to find her beside him.

Such strange behavior. Sometimes she thought she could read the rhythms in the human motions—like that man with the bow would be attuned to Anxiety. Yet they still didn’t seem to grasp that listeners could hear something they could not. What would it be like to go about all the time without a rhythm in your head? It must be painful. Or lonely. So empty.

The various humans continued their packing, storing everything in wagons for the day’s storm. The humans were good at judging the arrival of those—though they were often wrong on the hour, they were usually right on the day. This, however, was no routine pre-storm packing job. They would soon leave; she could read this in the way they talked to each other, the way they double-checked bindings and folded tents with more precision than usual. They weren’t planning to unpack any of it for a while.

She wished they would stay longer—their first interaction had been so short, and now this second visit was over almost before it began. Perhaps she could go with them, as she’d told Venli. She’d asked how far beyond the hills their home was, but they didn’t answer, and refused to share their maps.

Eshonai moved to slip out of camp, but stopped as she noticed one man standing off from the rest. Dalinar Kholin looked out, eastward, toward the Origin of Storms.

Curious, Eshonai walked up to him, noting that he had his Shardblade out. He held it lightly before him, the tip sunken into the stone. He seemed to be searching for something, but before him stretched only the Plains—an empty expanse.

Unlike the others, he noticed her approach immediately, turning as she made the slightest scrape on the stones while walking. She froze beneath his gaze, which always seemed to be the stare of a greatshell.

Tags: Brandon Sanderson The Stormlight Archive Fantasy
Source: readsnovelonline.net