Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“We’ll find our way out here,” Venli said to Confidence. “Somehow.”

“Well, go with honor then,” Kaladin said. “And with the queen’s promise. If you change your minds, or if you and yours need refuge, we’ll take you in.”

The Heavenly Ones took to the air, humming to Praise. They began lowering the new listeners—and their supplies—down into the chasm for the hike eastward. With the highstorm passed, and with Fused to watch for chasmfiends from above, they should be able to make their way to the eastern flats where the other listeners had gone.

Rlain gave Venli a hug and hummed to Praise.

“I don’t deserve any of this,” she whispered to him. “I was weak, Rlain.”

“Then start doing better,” he told her, pulling back. “That is the path of Radiance, Venli. We’re both on it now. Write me via spanreed once you find the others, and give my best to Thude and Harvo, if they made it.”

She hummed to Appreciation. “You will come to us soon?”

“Soon,” he promised, then watched her go.

Kaladin stepped up beside Rlain and rested a hand on his shoulder. Rlain couldn’t feel the Plate, though it was apparently always there—invisible, but ready when needed. Like a Shardblade, but made up of many spren.

Kaladin didn’t ask if Rlain wanted to leave with the others. Rlain had established that he needed to stay, at least until Renarin returned. Beyond that … well, there was something Rlain had started to fear. Something nebulous but—once it occurred to him—persistent. If the humans had a chance to win this war, but at the expense of taking the minds of all the singers as they’d done in the past, would they take it? Would they enslave an entire people again, if given the opportunity?

The thought disturbed him. He trusted Kaladin and his friends. But humankind? That was asking a lot. Someone needed to remain close, in order to watch and be certain.

He would visit the listeners. But he was a Radiant and he was Bridge Four. Urithiru was his home.

“Come on,” Kaladin said. “It’s time to go give Teft a proper send-off. Among friends.”

* * *

Taravangian’s vision expanded, his mind expanded, his essence expanded. Time started to lose meaning. How long had he been like this?

He became the power. With it, he began to understand the cosmere on a fundamental level. He saw that his predecessor had been sliding toward oblivion for a long, long time. Weakened by his battles in the past, then deeply wounded by Honor, this being had been enslaved by the power. Failing to claim Dalinar, then losing the tower and Stormblessed, had left the being frail. Vulnerable.

But the power was anything but frail. It was the power of life and death, of creation and destruction. The power of gods. In his specific case, the power of emotion, passion, and—most deeply—the power of raw, untamed fury. Of hatred unbound.

In this new role, Taravangian had two sides. On one was his knowledge: ideas, understandings, truths, lies … Thousands upon thousands of possible futures opened up to him. Millions of potentials. So numerous that even his expanded godly mind was daunted by their variety.

On the other side was his fury. The terrible fury, like an unbridled storm, churned and burned within him. It too was so overwhelming he could barely control it.

He was aware of what he’d left behind in the mortal realm. Szeth had long since climbed to his feet and sheathed Nightblood. Beside him, the assassin had found a burned-out corpse, mostly eaten by the sword’s attack. That was Rayse, Taravangian’s predecessor, but Szeth wasn’t able to tell. The sword had consumed clothing and most of the flesh, leaving bits of stone-grey bone.

They think that’s me, Taravangian thought, reading the possible futures. Szeth didn’t see what happened to me spiritually. He doesn’t know Odium was here.

Almost all possible futures agreed. Szeth would confess that he’d gone to kill Taravangian, but somehow Taravangian had drawn Nightblood—and the weapon had consumed him.

They thought him dead. He was free.…

Free to destroy! To burn! To wreak havoc and terror upon those who had doubted him!

No. No, free to plan. To devise a way to save the world from itself. He could see so far! See so much! He needed to think.

To burn!

No, to plot!

To … To …

Taravangian was startled as he became aware of something else. A growing power nearby, visible only to one such as him. A godly power, infinite and verdant.

He was not alone.

* * *

They gave Teft a king’s funeral, Soulcasting him to stone. A sculptor would be commissioned to create a depiction of Phendorana to erect next to him. The Sibling said there was a room, locked away, where the ancient Radiants stood forever as stone sentries. It would feel good to see Teft among them, in uniform and looking at them all with a scowl, despite the embalmer’s best efforts.

It felt right.

All of Bridge Four came, except for Rock. Skar and Drehy had relayed the news after returning to the Shattered Plains—it seemed Kaladin wouldn’t be seeing Rock again.

Together, the men and women of Bridge Four praised Teft, drank to him, and burned prayers for him in turn. Afterward, they sought a tavern to continue celebrating in a way Teft would have loved, even if he wouldn’t have let himself participate.

Kaladin waited as they drifted away. They kept checking on him, of course, worried for his health. Worried about the darkness. He appreciated each and every one of them for it, but he didn’t need that type of help today.

He was kind of all right. A good night’s sleep, and finding peace restored to the tower, had helped. So he sat there, looking at the statue created from Teft’s body. The others finally seemed to sense he needed to be alone. So they left him.

Syl landed beside him fully sized, in a Bridge Four uniform. He could faintly feel her when she rested her head on his shoulder.

“We won’t stop missing him, will we?” she asked softly.

“No. But that’s all right. So long as we cling to the moments we had.”

“I can’t believe you’re taking this better than I am.”

“I thought you said you were recovering.”

“I am,” she said. “This still hurts though.” Once the tower had been restored, she’d mostly returned to herself. Some of what she’d felt had been gloom from what Raboniel had done.

Some of it wasn’t.

“We could ask Dalinar,” Kaladin said. “If maybe there’s something wrong with you. A bond or something unnatural.”

“He won’t find one. I’m merely … alive. And this is part of being alive. So I’m grateful, even if part of it stinks.”

He nodded.

“Really stinks,” she added. Then for good measure, “Stinks like a human after … how long has it been since you had a bath?”

He smiled, and the two of them remained there, looking up at Teft. Kaladin didn’t know if he believed in the Almighty, or in the Tranquiline Halls, or whether people lived after they died. Yes, he’d seen something in a vision. But Dalinar had seen many dead people in his visions, and that didn’t mean they still lived somewhere. He didn’t know why Tien had given the wooden horse to him, as if to prove the vision was real, only for it to immediately vanish.