“You’re one of the interpreters,” he said.

“Yes.”

“What was your name?”

“Eshonai,” she said, though she had little doubt he’d forget again. The humans didn’t seem to be able to distinguish very well between different listeners.

“Have you been out there?” he asked, nodding toward the Plains. “To the center?”

“No,” she said. “I’d like to go, but the old bridges … they do not stand. It would take work, much work, to put them back. Most of my people don’t like … what is the word? Going where it is difficult to go?”

“Exploring, perhaps,” he said.

“Yes. Exploring. We once exploring. But now, very little exploring.” Until recently.

He grunted. “You’re good with our language.”

“I like it,” she said. “Speaking new ways. Thinking new ways. They are same, yes?”

“Yes, perhaps they are.” He turned and looked over his shoulder toward the west. Toward his homeland. “Perhaps your people are afraid to return to where they once lived.”

“Why fear that?” Eshonai asked, attuning Confusion.

“Places have power over us, parshwoman,” he said. “Places have memories. Sometimes when you go to a place you’ve never been, it can be wonderful … because it lets you be someone else. No expectations. No storming memories.”

“I like new places,” she said. “Because … they are new.” She attuned Irritation. That hadn’t come out as she’d wanted it to; she felt stupid, speaking their language. It was difficult to express anything deep while speaking it, because the rhythms didn’t match the sounds.

“Wise words,” Dalinar said.

Wise words? Was he being patronizing? Humans seemed to not expect much from her people, and were surprised whenever a complex conversation happened. As if they were amused that the listeners were not as dull-minded as parshmen.

“I would like to go to see places where you live,” Eshonai said. “I would visit you, and have you visit us, more.”

Dalinar dismissed his Blade, sending it away with a puff of white fog. She attuned Confusion.

“My brother has taken an interest in you,” Dalinar said softly. “This … Well, be more cautious with your invitations, parshwoman. Our attention can be dangerous.”

“I do not understand,” she said. It sounded as if he were warning her against his own.

“I have grown tired of pushing people around,” Dalinar said. “In my wake, I’ve left too many smoldering holes where cities used to be. You are something special, something we’ve never seen before. And I know my brother—I know that look in his eyes, that excitement.

“His interest could benefit you, but it could have an equal cost. Do not be so quick to share your stormshelter with men you just barely met. Don’t offend, but also don’t be too quick to bend. Any new recruit needs to learn both lessons. In this case, I’d suggest politeness—but care. Do not let him back you into a corner. He will respect you if you stand up for yourselves. And whatever you do, don’t give him any reason to decide he wants what you have.”

Be forceful, stand up for themselves, but don’t offend their king? How did that make any sense? Yet looking at him—listening to his calm but firm voice—she thought she did understand. His intent, as if given to her by a rhythm.

Be careful with us was what he was saying. We are far more dangerous than you think.

He had mentioned … burning cities.

“How many cities do your people live in?” she asked.

“Hundreds,” he said. “The number of humans in our realm would stagger you. It is many times the number of parshmen I’ve seen here living with you.”

Impossible. That … was impossible, wasn’t it?

We know so little.

“Thank you,” she said to Appreciation. She got it to click, the way of speaking his language but putting a rhythm to it. It could work.

He nodded to her. “We are leaving. I realize this visit was short, but my brother needs to return to his lands. You will … certainly meet us again. We will send a more permanent envoy. I promise you this.”

He turned, moving with the momentum of a shifting boulder, and walked toward his stormwagon.

* * *

Venli felt as if the bright red gemstone would burn its way through her clothing. She huddled in one of the stormshelters: a group of wide slits in the ground near the city, which they’d covered over with animal carapace and crem. Each was in the top of a hill, so the sides could drain.

Venli’s immediate family gathered together in this one to chat and feast, as was their habit during storm days. The others seemed so cheerful, speaking to Joy or Appreciation while they ate beside the fire, listening as Venli’s mother sang songs by the light of uncut gemhearts.

Those could be organic, lumpish things. While they took in Stormlight, none were nearly as bright as the strange gemstone in her pocket. The one the human had given her. Venli felt as if it should be on fire, though it was as cold as a normal gemstone. She attuned Anxiety and glanced at the others, worrying they’d see that too-red glow.

I’m supposed to go out into the storm, she thought, listening to the rain pound distant stone. Does this count? I can see the storm out there, flashing and making its own rhythm, too frantic. Too wild.

No, she wasn’t close enough. Hiding in one of these shelters wouldn’t allow her to adopt mateform, which was the sole transformation they did regularly. No one wanted to go back to dullform, after all.

There were other forms to be found. She’d been close to warform. And now … this gemstone …

She’d carried it for weeks, terrified of what might happen. She glanced at her mother, and the close family members who sat and listened. Enraptured by the beautiful songs. Even Venli, who had heard them hundreds of times, found herself wanting to drift back and sit at her mother’s feet.

None of them knew what was happening. To Jaxlim. Mother hid it well. Was it true, that other forms could help her? The humans were leaving now, so this was the last chance Venli would have to try the gemstone, then—if it didn’t work—get answers from the human who had given it to her.

Venli attuned Determination and rose from her place, walking toward the end of the shelter, where they’d tied their gemstones to be renewed—close enough to the storm to be given light by the Rider’s touch. Several of the others whispered behind her, their voices attuned to Amusement. They thought she had decided to adopt mateform, which she’d always been adamant she would never do.

Her mother had smiled when she’d asked, explaining that few ever intended to adopt mateform. She acted as if it was simply something that happened, that an urge overtook you, or you sat too close to the exit during a storm—then poof, the next thing you knew, you’d become a silly idiot looking to breed. It was embarrassing to think others assumed Venli was doing that now.

She reached the wet stone at the edge of the shelter, where rainspren clustered with eyes pointed upward and grasping claws below. The wind and thunder were louder here, like the war calls of a rival family, trying to frighten her away.

Perhaps it would be best just to give the gemstone to her mother, and let her go try to find the new form. Wasn’t that what this was about?

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