Chapter 87

Goodbye. It might be a great long time before we see one another again, if ever.

D alinar allowed himself to be kissed by the Regal.

He had never known of a singer to display affection in such a human way, but the kiss was genuine, and drew passionspren. It took an effort for Dalinar not to pull back, as he felt he was going to get knifed at any moment, yet this had to play out. He did hear a gasp from the spot where the others were hiding, likely from Navani, and he hoped that everyone else was too stunned to be suspicious.

The Regal finished her kiss and pulled back a little, her face still inches from his, eyes glowing faintly red. Her features, with that red and black marbling—so alien, so terrible. This was his enemy. This was …

Concern? She seemed concerned. Perhaps because he hadn’t responded to the kiss with the affection she anticipated.

“Are you all right?” she whispered. “Is it the others? You said we should show them.”

“It’s fine,” Dalinar said, resting his hand on her shoulder.

She hummed gratefully and nodded in an exaggerated way—for him, he realized. Storms … she legitimately cared. And when she looked to the other Windrunners, she offered them a smile—again exaggerated, but genuine. Singers did smile, they just tended to be less dramatic about it than humans.

This is not a betrayal, Dalinar thought. I don’t know what it is, but it’s not a betrayal.

“Do you want to do it?” she asked him. “Or shall I?”

“Go ahead,” he said.

She stood close to him, so he—feeling it was the right thing to do—put his arm around her. It was strange, doing that to someone who was taller than he was, and he had to be careful of the ridges and sharp portions of her carapace. He felt a moment of discomfort and betrayal himself, for Navani’s sake. He knew that she would understand, but few people would enjoy seeing their spouse in the arms of another.

“You are Garith’s dearest friends,” the singer said to the Windrunners. “We’ve decided we need to explain. We started meeting in secret years ago, after clashing on the battlefield …”

She glanced to him, and hummed softly.

“We were enemies at first,” he said, guessing what to say next.

“But we had one thing in common,” she said. “We both wanted all of this to end. Our initial meeting was awkward, and … well … I might have stabbed him.” She shrugged and looked to Dalinar. “He was … um … very understanding.”

“Ruined my outfit …” Dalinar said to the other Windrunners, who watched with wide eyes.

“Garith,” one woman said, “they’re the enemy. ”

“No,” Dalinar said. “They’re people. Same as us.”

It was harder to say than it should have been. They’d stolen his homeland, killed his brother. They’d assaulted the tower.

But … he’d attacked Herdaz in his youth, yet the Mink worked with him. His people had fought the Vedens for centuries, and now one was his daughter-in-law. Maybe there was something he could learn from this ancient Windrunner.

But why did this all turn out so poorly …?

A mounting dread began to build within him. He was not watching a vision that ended with a happy truce between peoples. This ended in slavery and broken oaths.

“I can accept,” said one of the other Windrunners, “that a few of the singers are willing to make peace. But the entire nation?”

“Garith,” said another, “you’re barely holding the Radiants together. And she argues so forcefully at our parleys!”

“My people don’t want war,” said the singer at his side. “But … more of them are aggressive than I’d prefer. I can’t look like I’m giving in. Garith and I wanted to show you, so you’d understand. Peace is possible. We can find a way.”

“Peace is possible,” Dalinar whispered.

The singer glanced at him, then nodded. “She agreed to come.”

“… She?” Dalinar said.

“These need to know it’s not just a few of us,” the singer said. “They need to know our new god is different.”

The hair on Dalinar’s arms went up as something changed. He turned to see that—among the shadows of the rising stones—a darkness had pooled. Liquid night. From it, into the light of the moon, stepped a figure.

It was in the shape of a singer. Shorter than most. No barbed carapace. No dangerous expression. An adult with alternating lines of white, red, and black. This was a spren though. Her bare feet didn’t touch the ground. Her hairstrands drifted unnaturally, lifted by some unseen wind. And she emitted the faintest glow, a violet red that was only really visible if you looked at the ground beneath her, where it reflected faintly.

The singer next to him, and the three who accompanied her, bowed their heads and hummed to a reverent rhythm. Could this truly be her? Ba-Ado-Mishram, the most terrible Unmade? Looking … like an average singer?

As she stepped forward, she jolted, and her figure—in a blink—was glaring at him with wide eyes, mouth open as if screaming. It passed just as quickly. A flash, and she was back. Dalinar frowned as it happened again, then again. It was like … like a second Mishram was trying to break out of this one. But as she stepped up to him, she stabilized into the kindly version.

“Garith,” she said, her voice overlapping somehow with multiple rhythms at once. “I have come, as you have vowed your sincerity.” She looked to the other Windrunners. “I was skeptical, but if these two can find peace, then perhaps others can as well. I did not become their god to watch them die. I …” She trailed off, and her demeanor changed. She jolted again, a screaming figure replacing her for a moment, then she was back. Staring …

Straight at where Navani’s group was hiding.

Run, Mishram! Dalinar thought. Hide!

But he needed to see. This was why he was here.

“Who else did you bring?” Mishram asked, pointing. “Who is out there?”

The Windrunners turned, displaying obvious shock, as some of those who had been hiding emerged. Navani was there, appearing concerned as she held Gav’s hand. Kalak, at the rear, looked ashamed. No sign of Melishi. Dalinar turned, inspecting the region. That ridge there … a flanking maneuver would …

He spotted Melishi slipping out from between two stones nearby. The man had backed out of the woods and rounded behind Mishram, and was now only ten feet away. Melishi carried a large gemstone, and as Mishram noticed him, she cocked her head—but didn’t seem frightened.

Fabrials as we know them, Dalinar realized, haven’t been invented yet. Humans only barely learned to trap spren—and Mishram has no idea what that stone can do.

“I,” Melishi said, “am the Bondsmith.”

“Yes,” Mishram said. “The one who abandoned the tower.”

Melishi stepped closer, his robes rustling, that gemstone—big as a child’s head—clutched before him in a two-handed grip. Largely uninfused, it glowed a soft yellow.

The singer at Dalinar’s side—he still didn’t know her name—grabbed his hand. “The Bondsmith? If he joins with our cause … if he believes … this could be the moment when we find lasting peace!”

Storms. None of them realized they were witnessing an assassination. Dalinar’s instincts screamed at him to do something, but he held back. Rooted. A stone, like the watching monoliths.

He had been on enough battlefields to know what was coming. He could have listed off the beats. Melishi getting even closer. Ba-Ado-Mishram watching like a lone soldier, uncertain if she should stand her ground or run.

“You’re trying to unite them,” Melishi said. “All of the singers … unite them to follow you.”

“I bring them harmony,” Mishram said. Speaking with rhythms in an inhuman way—and yet there was a vulnerability. “Odium would burn them, so I made my play, infusing myself with the full power of his perpendicularity. He is trapped on Braize for the moment. I can replace him.”

Melishi stopped right before her. “And we can have peace. Two peoples. One world.”

“Yes,” Mishram said. “Peace.”

“In that we are united,” said Melishi. “I know how to be certain we will have peace. All you have to do is open your heart, and trust. I will unite us all. ”

Those words struck Dalinar through like a spear. Standing with a singer lover at his side, he forced himself to watch as the honor of an entire people was broken in an instant. Melishi raised the gemstone to the unsuspecting spren, and …

Hesitated.

Mishram cocked her head.

Dalinar’s breath caught.

“ D o it , Melishi , ” Honor’s voice said, vibrating through the small hollow of stone.

Melishi did. Dalinar wasn’t certain of the mechanics, though he’d done it once with the Thrill. Something about a deep Connection to the Unmade, which Melishi had forged with ideas of unity. Something about welcoming them in, then continuing to pull.

In this case, Mishram’s desire to stop the war bound her to the Bondsmith, who wanted exactly the same thing—but was willing to do an unspeakable act to make it happen. The Bondsmith began to glow, and Mishram distorted and bent, screaming with a sudden raw panic. A hundred overlapping voices, and a tunnel of light.

Dalinar sent himself away, out of the body of the Windrunner, to rejoin Navani. She took him in her arms, burying her face in his chest, trembling as they listened to the terrified shrieks of a spren betrayed.

In that instant, something ripped within the world itself. Roshar’s rhythms and tones froze. Like a heart suddenly stopped. Three terrible seconds.

Then it was back. When the light faded, Melishi held a gemstone prison in his hands, and Honor was standing behind him.

“Honor, you bastard,” Dalinar whispered. “You were responsible for all of this.”

“This is why!” Navani whispered. “Why the power refuses another host, why it—”

Screaming.

The singers collapsed, as if one. Drawing shockspren, Garith caught the direform next to him, preventing her from hitting hard, but all four singers began to writhe and scream.

Dalinar, with Navani—Gav holding to her skirt—walked back to the center of the hollow. Garith held his direform lover … but she was losing her form. Dalinar had never seen a singer changing forms, but this was traumatic, her carapace becoming brittle and ripping free, her body shrinking—the bones cracking and popping. By the time it was done—and she lay limp in Garith’s arms—both were stained with orange singer blood.

What had once been a femalen of imposing stature and confidence had shrunken to something all too familiar: one of the quiet, mostly mute servants who had waited on Dalinar most of his life. He felt he could see the light of understanding fade from her eyes.

She looked up at Garith, blinking, and seemed confused. And terrified.

“What did you do?” Garith demanded, pulling her close, looking up at Melishi. “What did you do? ”

Melishi backed away, clutching the gemstone. “Honor told me there was a way to find peace, forever.”

Garith settled the singer down on the ground, whispering, “I’ll fix this, Shmone. I … I’ll fix this.” He rose, thunder in his expression, angerspren pooling at his feet, and started toward Melishi. “We gave our word, Melishi. That we were negotiating in good faith! We swore an oath !”

Dalinar joined him, stalking across the stones, no longer caring that this was all just a re-creation. Others followed him, some of those who had been hiding with Navani, though Kalak cowered in the back. Dalinar’s hands itched to close around that Bondsmith’s neck. He felt hollow, remembering those awful seconds when the entire planet had gone still.

Melishi, terrified, sought to hide behind Honor. The god continued to stand firm, staring them down.

“You did this,” Garith said. “Why?”

“It was necessary,” Honor said.

“You are supposed to respect oaths!” Garith said, stopping right in front of Honor. “You embody them! How could you allow this? How?”

Honor turned as if to leave. Garith reached for him, but as his fingers touched the god …

A vision. Injected directly into Dalinar’s mind. Of Radiants burning Roshar, of the sky on fire, of people dying and withering to dust. Of Garith himself, glowing with power, leaving thousands—human and singer alike—dead. Navani gasped—and the Windrunners cried out in pain. Even Melishi and the Radiants who had come with him howled.

They all saw it. Every Radiant on Roshar. What could be. A reminder that their powers could utterly lay waste to an entire world. It had happened before.

“You,” Honor said, “are destruction incarnate. You are as Dawnshards. You will soon become Surges unbounded, as I cannot watch you any longer. The Radiants will end this planet.”

His words thundered through Dalinar’s heart, and he finally understood the Recreance. All these years, and now he understood. Garith would walk away from his oaths, as would most of the others, because what were words like those after a tragedy like this? After God abandoned you, and you saw what you believed was the future?

The vision faded, and Garith stumbled back, returning to his fallen love. Honor remained in place—and strangely, the deity’s expression changed. He focused on Dalinar, then Navani, then sighed.

This … this wasn’t the past playing out. Dalinar saw as much in the god’s eyes. Honor had seen him.

“Blood of my fathers,” Dalinar said. “You’re not dead, are you? You never were. It was an act?”

“No,” the being said, and its voice was familiar. “It’s me. I was created in his image.”

“Stormfather,” Dalinar said. “You were here; you did see all of this. You’ve known the truth all along—it was lies when you said you didn’t remember. Why?”

“You, Dalinar,” the Stormfather said, sounding exhausted, “have seen far too much. I hope you are satisfied. I … I must stop hiding you from Odium. You are his. And this is … this is his domain now.” He vanished, and Dalinar was cast into the chaos of the Spiritual Realm again.

This time, when he tried to find the lines of light Connecting him to people and places, he discovered they had vanished. And a shadow loomed over him.

Odium.

Renarin knelt beside the fallen singer as the Windrunner returned to her side and cradled her.

Renarin felt powerless. He thought his gasp earlier—while hiding in the leaves—might have ruined things. It hadn’t, fortunately, but seeing a singer and a human kiss …

This had all been started by love. Love and betrayal.

The poor Windrunner didn’t look at Renarin. He clung to his love and started humming. A rhythm. The Rhythm of Joy. A human, outside of one of the visions, had learned them—and was desperately trying to bring her back.

A hand on his shoulder. Rlain’s, though he was in the body of another Radiant spy. He hummed to the Lost.

“I know why she hates us now,” Renarin whispered. “I’d hate us too.”

“She’s wrong,” Rlain said.

Renarin glanced at him. “How can you say that? After seeing this?”

“I see,” Rlain said, regarding the others around the hollow, “people. Some who have done evil things, yes, but others who have loved. Renarin, you asked how it is for us. We feel love, as any human does. But we’re afraid of it because we associate powerful emotions with him. ” He squeezed Renarin’s shoulder. “Doesn’t stop us from hating. In that, he wins, because he scares us away from the beautiful emotions and leaves only the destructive ones.”

Storms. Renarin stood up next to him.

“She’s wrong,” Rlain said, “if she hates humans. Because it merely gives him what he wants: two sides delineated simply. One who can just be ‘the enemy.’ People can be wonderful or terrible; an enemy, though, can only be something to fight.” He looked down, then hummed to Anxiety. “Does that sound trite?”

“A little,” Renarin said. “The thing is, the deepest truths always sound a little trite. Because we all know them, and feel foolish being reminded.”

Shallan passed by—Glys warned him it was her—and scanned the crowd, her eyes narrowed. Looking for Mraize or Iyatil.

No one here, Glys said, plays their part poorly. Perhaps they are lost, and did not find this day?

Shallan waved them forward. “Hurry. Dalinar is still confronting Honor.”

“More importantly,” Rlain said, pointing to the Bondsmith Melishi, hiding behind the figure of the god, “he has the prison.”

She and Rlain hurried after Dalinar, though Renarin lingered, wanting to say something to the poor Windrunner who had been betrayed. What could he do to help?

“I’ll make it right,” Renarin whispered.

The Windrunner looked up, and seemed to see him. Somehow, across time, through the void that was Beyond, this man saw Renarin. He gasped.

“I promise,” Renarin said. “I’ll find a way.”

The man nodded, tears in his eyes, and Renarin finally hurried after the other two. But they were too late. The vision started to unravel, though Renarin heard something first.

“Stormfather. You were here; you did see all of this.” Renarin’s father. “You’ve known the truth all along—it was lies when you said you didn’t remember. Why?”

“You, Dalinar”—a booming voice, like thunder—“have seen far too much. I hope you are satisfied. I … I must stop hiding you from Odium. You are his. And this is … this is his domain now.”

Everything burst apart, and Renarin lost track of them all—not just his father, but Shallan and Rlain.

I can find them, Glys said. I will.

The shifting smoke stabilized around him, becoming an expanse of black stone—not much to see. Glys—who hid inside Renarin again—struggled to hold it together.

Shallan, Rlain, Pattern, and Testament formed from that mist as it retreated.

“Did you see where the man went?” Shallan asked, turning around. “The one carrying Mishram’s prison?”

“I managed to,” Rlain said. “He opened a perpendicularity and was pulled through.”

“The Bondsmith went straight into the Spiritual Realm,” Pattern said. “Mmmm … Then he was lost. He carried the prison into his tomb.”

“So we didn’t learn anything new,” Shallan said, folding her arms. “We already knew he was in here.”

“We need a Connection,” Renarin said, feeling tired. How long had they been here? An entire day, or maybe two, even? He should need sleep, something to drink, shouldn’t he?

“What was that?” Rlain asked. “You said a Connection.”

“That’s the way to find things in here,” Renarin said. “It’s how Father and Navani did it.”

“Mishram’s prison is in here somewhere,” Shallan said, “and locations in the Spiritual Realm aren’t … really locations. They’re like … memories, thoughts. All you need to reach a distinct point is the right Connection.”

“We just saw the prison being made,” Rlain said. “Isn’t that enough?”

“No, unfortunately,” Renarin said, thinking back to what Glys had said earlier. He felt the spren vibrating within him, to what he thought was the Rhythm of the Lost. To find the lost … you needed more than superficial Connection. “We have to know how she felt. We have to know Mishram. Deeper than seeing, we have to feel it.”

“So we get angry?” Rlain asked.

“Deeper than anger,” Renarin said. He considered how Mishram must have felt, being betrayed, and something occurred to him. “Glys. Where were the other Unmade when this happened? Were they fighting somewhere?”

No, they knew, Glys said. Some were there. They watched.

What?

“They were there ?” To Rlain’s confused glance, he explained. “Glys says the other Unmade were there watching.”

“Tumi agrees,” Rlain said. “He says he could feel them. I didn’t see anything. Did you?”

“No.”

“Sja-anat is often invisible,” Shallan said.

She … was there, Glys said. That is part of why she sent us to you. She has not spoken of the events she saw, but she feels pain for them.

There was something here, if Renarin could just …

Renarin! Glys said with a sudden urgency. Another watches us! What is that?

Renarin followed Glys’s prompting, and turned to see something approaching across the expanse of simple dark stone and a black sky, lit—like some places in Shadesmar—with some unseen, inexplicable light. The figure wore plain leathers, as Shallan had been wearing when she’d entered this place. Its face was a dark swirl of mist, like a whirlpool of smoke.

“What is it?” Rlain asked, subtly putting himself between the thing and Renarin.

“It’s me,” Shallan whispered. “I’m making it somehow.” She reached out her hand, palm forward. The thing froze. “Storms. I … I should be more in control. I’m sorry. I …” She looked to Renarin, and her face was panicked, so full of emotion even he could tell what she was feeling. “We need to leave. Go somewhere more stable. Please.”

I will try, Glys said. But it is harder now. I do not know why. Unless …

“Unless?” Renarin whispered.

Unless it’s his influence. Renarin! The sky!

A shadow rose in the distance. Dark, ominous, with a crown that stretched toward the heavens, and golden light pouring from its eyes.

“Now, now,” Odium said, his voice—strangely familiar—booming across them. “I see. Rats in the walls. Amazing that you could all hide from me. Unfortunately, I’m quite busy. So why don’t you stay where I put you until I’m ready?”

They were cast into the mist, the vision bursting, separating them in a flurry of power.

THE END OF

Day Seven