Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

“What is a Fused?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know,” Venli said. “Our gods have returned, terrible as warned. I was largely responsible for this, even if Rlain says he’s certain they would have found their way back anyway.”

Thude perked up at Rlain’s name.

“We’re going to have to do something to protect ourselves,” Venli said. “Something to make everyone leave us alone.” She held out her hand, and a little spren in the shape of a comet flew up from the grass and started circling it. “She’s new to this realm and a little confused. But she’s seeking someone to bond and make into a Radiant. Like me and my friends.”

“You came to us last time with a spren who wanted a bond,” Thude said to Reprimand. “And what happened?”

“This will be different,” Venli said, alight with Stormlight. “I’ve changed. I promise you all the time you need to test my words. To decide without being pushed. For now, please let me see my mother.”

He hummed to Winds at last, a sign for her to follow, as he started walking back to camp. Venli attuned Joy.

“There are more of these spren that will make listeners into Radiants?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said.

“How many?”

“Hundreds,” she said.

The Rhythm of Joy grew loud inside Venli as she entered the camp—though many who saw her hummed to Anxiety. She cared for only one sight. An old singer woman sitting by a tent made from woven reeds.

Venli’s heart leaped, and the rhythms sounded more pure. More vibrant. Jaxlim really was alive. Venli rushed forward, collapsing to her knees before Jaxlim, feeling as if she were again a child. In the good way.

“Mother?” she asked.

Jaxlim looked up at her. There was no recognition in the old listener’s eyes.

“Without her,” Thude said, stepping up beside Venli, “we’re losing the songs. Nobody else who knew them escaped.…”

“It’s all right,” Venli said, wiping her tears. “It’s going to be all right.” Timbre, within Venli, let out a glorious song.

Venli held out her hand, and the little lightspren inched into the air, then began spinning around Venli’s mother. The Reachers were searching for people who exemplified their Ideal: freedom. And the listeners were the perfect representation.

However, a Radiant bond required volition, and her mother couldn’t speak Ideals—though the Reachers indicated that the start of the bonding process didn’t require that. They also thought becoming Radiant would heal her mother, though they couldn’t say for certain. Mental wounds were difficult, they explained, and healing depended greatly on the individual.

Jaxlim could still want this, couldn’t she? She could still choose? “Listen, Mother,” Venli pled to Peace. “Hear me. Please.” Venli began singing the Song of Mornings. The first song she’d learned. Her mother’s favorite. As she sang, listeners gathered around, lowering their weapons. They started humming rhythms to match hers.

When she finished, Thude knelt beside her. The little spren had slipped into Jaxlim’s body to seek her gemheart, but no change had happened yet. Venli took out a Stormlight sphere, but her mother did not drink it in.

“It was beautiful,” Thude said. “It’s been too long since I heard one of the songs.”

“I will restore them to you,” Venli whispered, “if you’ll have me. I understand completely if you won’t—but I’ve brought other Radiants with me, my friends. Along with some of the enemy who have chosen to defect and become listeners.”

Thude hummed to Skepticism.

“Again, if you turn me aside, that is understandable,” Venli said. “But at least listen to my friends. You’re going to need allies to survive in this new world, a world of Surgebinders. We can’t go alone as we did before.”

“We’re not alone,” Thude said. “I think you’ll find that things have changed for us, as they have for you.”

Venli hummed to Consideration. Then she heard a scraping sound, like rock on rock. Or … claws on rock?

A shadow fell over Venli, and she started, staring up at a powerful long neck with a wicked arrowhead face on the end. A chasmfiend. Here. And no one was panicking.

Storms. “That’s…” she whispered. “That’s how you got out of the chasms that night, during the storm?”

Thude hummed Confidence.

Before she could demand answers, something else interrupted her. A voice.

“Venli? Venli, is that you?”

Venli looked down to see that her mother’s eyes had focused, seeing her.

Your Words, Venli, a distant femalen voice said in her mind, are now accepted.

Nearly as much as I look forward to serving you, newest Odium. Who was so recently one of them. You understand. And you are the one I’ve been waiting to worship.

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

Around four hours after Teft’s funeral, Kaladin went looking for Dalinar. The Blackthorn had returned the previous night, but Kaladin had been too exhausted that evening to do more than salute him, then find his bed.

So, he excused himself from the party at Jor’s winehouse and soared up toward the top of the tower. It felt good to fly up all on his own. Here, as reported by the messenger who’d brought him the news, Kaladin and Syl found the Bondsmith … er, the Stormfather’s Bondsmith … taking reports with Navani. The other Bondsmith. That was going to take some getting used to.

Kaladin and Syl intended to linger outside the small council room until Dalinar finished his current meeting, but as soon as he saw them, he broke it off and came trotting over.

“Kaladin,” he said. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you.”

“You’ve been busy, sir,” Kaladin said. He glanced down at his uniform. “Maybe I shouldn’t be wearing this.”

Dalinar actually blushed. What a remarkable sight. “About that,” he said. “I should have known I couldn’t—and shouldn’t—try to relieve someone like you from—”

“Sir,” Kaladin interrupted. He glanced at Syl, who nodded. He turned back to Dalinar. “Sir, you were right. I have a lot of healing to do before I should be in command again.”

“Even still?” Dalinar asked, glancing at Kaladin’s forehead—and the missing brands. “After what you have accomplished? After swearing the Fourth Ideal?”

“The Ideals don’t fix us, sir,” Kaladin said. “You know that. We have to fix ourselves. Perhaps with a little help.” He saluted. “We were on the correct path with me, sir. I need to take time away from the battle. Maybe so much time that I never return to full command. I have work to do, helping men like me and Dabbid. I’d like your permission to continue.”

“Granted,” Dalinar said. “You’ve grown, soldier. Few men have the wisdom to realize when they need help. Fewer still have the strength to go get it. Well done. Very well done.”

“Thank you, sir,” Kaladin said.

Dalinar hesitated—something seemed to be troubling him. He put his hands behind his back, watching Kaladin. Everyone else was celebrating. Not Dalinar.