Chapter 89

Some might assume that Light and anti-Light are opposites, as can be found in philosophy, though not truly in actual physical science. Hot banishes and destroys cold. Light banishes and destroys dark. Likewise, one might say that Light and anti-Light are opposites in that they are mutually destructive.

—From Rhythm of War, first coda, Navani Kholin

K aladin tried to retain the peaceful feelings from the night before, but those evaporated as the group approached the Dustbringer monastery. Instead he felt … determination? Resignation? Something in between?

Would Szeth fight here, or would he refuse? Hold to the morals he’d begun to find for himself, or bow before the pressure of expectations? Kaladin had done all he could to prepare the man, but so had Nale.

Conceptually, Kaladin was fine with Szeth deciding he needed to kill the Honorbearers to protect his people. Yet something about this whole situation itched at him. If he’d been in Szeth’s place, he’d feel manipulated. They didn’t know the whole story, and killing when you didn’t have the whole story … that made him uncomfortable, so he could fully understand Szeth wanting to stop. Storm it, if he wanted to stop, Szeth should have that right.

They wound up a switchback, hiking through some highlands on the border between Shinovar and eastern lands. Syl had flown on ahead. Nale, who seemed never to get tired, stood atop a ridge above. And as Kaladin finally arrived, sweaty, he resisted the urge to draw in Stormlight. If Nale could do this without it, so could Kaladin. Indeed, it was good to get some physical exercise to keep his body strong.

At least the view was spectacular: looking back, he saw a verdant landscape adorned by lakes and rivers. From up here, it seemed less alien. More … pastoral. A giant panorama like a painted canvas, with mountains in the distance, clouds and that river of spren far overhead, less visible in the daylight than it had been at night. Those clouds were gorgeous too, letting sunlight break through to highlight its favorite parts of the landscape.

The ridge here was soil, not rock. What prevented it from simply melting down in the rain? Was there solid mountain rock beneath this, like the spine of a person under their skin? He’d always imagined there was, but Szeth talked as if the soil went down, down, down. Like an ocean, the depths of which were unknowable.

“Look at it,” Nale said softly as Szeth, last up the switchback, joined them. “This is a land of ancient laws, carried with us from a better place. This land became a shard of the old world where we once lived. Its rules run deep, deep as the bones of your ancestors. People I knew, spoke with, laughed with, are buried here, seven thousand years dead. This is your heritage, Szeth.”

“Wait,” Kaladin said. “Because laws are old, they’re good?”

“You would discard the wisdom of your elders?” Nale asked.

“My elders were shockingly keen on things like slavery,” Kaladin said. “I don’t revere anything or anyone just because of age.”

“Do not dismiss their wisdom because of their faults, Stormblessed,” Nale said. “Sometimes we see farther as we age. Our posture shrinking, our thoughts elevating.”

Unfortunately, there was some truth in that. The Radiant orders were ancient, and he’d grown immeasurably because of the way their oaths made him stretch. The Words weren’t easy, and they hurt, but they were right. At the same time though …

Well, he’d seen too much to blindly trust that the people in charge were there for a reason. A lot of laws and rules were the same—retaining their positions by merit of momentum, not virtue. If true nobility wasn’t of blood, but of the heart, as Dalinar said … then good traditions would be valuable because of what they offered, not because they merely existed.

But how to explain all of that? In a way that didn’t make his words stumble over one another?

“I’ll make my own choices,” Kaladin said. “Based on what I see and experience.”

“Your perspective is flawed.”

“No more so than anyone else’s. No more so than the people who made these laws, Nale. That’s what I keep saying.”

“No,” Nale said. “ I keep telling you these laws go back to something greater.”

“Is that why you follow them, then?” Kaladin asked. “I still don’t get it, Nale.”

“I do what is right because it is right.”

Kaladin ground his teeth. He needed to change the way he did this. Logic didn’t work with Nale, and never would. Kaladin couldn’t argue someone out of being mentally ill. Any more than someone could argue him out of feeling bad. So what had worked?

Certain skills—like being able to resist his own thoughts—had helped him, with time and practice. That wasn’t something someone else could do for Nale though. Really, the things that had helped Kaladin the most were the times when Adolin had listened. Had just … talked to him.

He remembered how the Wind loved Nale. A weathered hero who had seen millennia …

“Maybe you’re right, Nale,” Kaladin said. “You’ve seen so much more than the rest of us. I’ll admit, maybe I haven’t listened to you enough. Could you tell me about some of the best parts of being a Herald, maybe from the early days?”

Nale eyed him, as if sensing a trap. However, he also seemed pleased to have won the argument. As they continued hiking eastward—toward some trees growing along the slopes—he started talking. And Kaladin caught Szeth watching intently.

“The early days were some of the hardest,” Nale said. “We didn’t yet know how the Surges interacted with Roshar. And the people? They lived difficult lives back then, Stormblessed. In huts and dirt. Or … crem …” His eyes unfocused a little and he swept out with a hand. “I remember my first rebirth. I’d joined the Heralds uncertainly, but that Return convinced me. The war between humans and singers had become so bad so quickly. Odium persuading good singers they had to slaughter every human to ever have peace.

“The best of them refused. Did you know that? We don’t talk about it. Odium killed so many of them before he and Honor made their pact not to intervene directly. Odium executed singers who wouldn’t kill for him, and over centuries built groups of them trained only for death. It was particularly bad those early years, but …”

He halted in place.

“But?” Kaladin asked.

“I stopped them,” Nale whispered. “I stood between darkness and life, and I was the light …”

“Do you remember how that felt?” Kaladin asked.

“Painful,” Nale said. “But glorious. I wasn’t always so harsh, you know. I spoke of it to Lift. I should like to see her again … something about that child … always outside my reach, taunting me with who I used to be …”

Nale stared ahead. He actually appeared to think about this, cocking his head.

“I do remember …” Nale said. “That feeling …”

“We should talk about that!” Kaladin said. “When you—”

“I was flawed then,” Nale said, with a dismissive wave of his fingers. “I have learned and grown this last year.”

“But—”

“No more of this conversation.”

Damnation. Kaladin had felt so close—and he was a fool for stepping in, too eager to help, speaking when he should have remained quiet. Still, it hinted at possible progress. That getting through to Nale wasn’t so much about persuading him that he was wrong, but about reminding him of the person he’d been.

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Szeth said, his soft voice interrupting from behind. “The past is dead, Kaladin. I must think of the task ahead of me. There is an Unmade here, disrupting our laws and our ways. I must focus on stopping it.”

“That is true,” Nale said after a moment’s thought. “An Unmade has no jurisdiction in Shinovar. If you find one here, you can legally do as you see fit.” Nale turned to Szeth. “You are Truthed: one who fights for what is right, bearing the traditions and history of your people like a crown.

“You are a Bearer of Honor. Your original Blade was stolen, but now you carry six more. Blades that, with Jezrien’s death, no longer anchor the Oathpact—and which are no longer bound to any Herald. They are yours, Szeth. You are the product of generations of preparation.”

“Truthed,” Szeth whispered. “Szeth-son-Neturo. Truthed of Shinovar …”

“I trust you to make the correct decision.” Nale turned and began walking.

Another dramatic walkaway. Kaladin sighed, then patted Szeth on the shoulder. Together they followed, passing some very strange trees. They were green and cone-shaped. How did they know to grow in that shape? And the leaves? They were little spikes. What was wrong with this place? Every time he felt he was getting used to it and coming to appreciate its beauty, he found something like this.

Their walk brought them to another small town, one with a stone wall, nestled among the trees atop the hill. The gate was open, and as they entered, Kaladin saw the telltale signs: furtive movements at the windows of barracks. Doors that shook as people pressed close to listen. A certain … darkness in the air. Not quite a shimmering, but something.

This place was corrupted. That Unmade had hold of the Honorbearer here. And storm it, Kaladin worried he had led Szeth wrong. This place did need help. Why should Kaladin be encouraging Szeth to stop fighting?

Because he wants to, Kaladin reaffirmed. And every soldier should have the option to put down their spear if they choose to and are willing to pay the cost.

Kaladin had accepted and embraced his calling as a watcher at the rim. He did it so that others could choose, through no act of cowardice, to live differently. If Szeth wanted to step down, they’d figure out what to do next.

It was the meaning of “journey before destination.” And Kaladin believed it.

That would have to be enough.

As Venli’s expedition of listeners finally reached the central plateaus—sneaking through the chasms amid wobbling rainspren—the signs of the battle above became more and more pronounced. Figures leaping in groups across the gaps. Shouts and screams to match the beat of the lightning and thunder. Corpses floating in the rivers. Fused. Radiants. The best of Roshar, murdering one another yet again in an unbreakable chain of death.

The chasmfiends wanted to eat the dead, but they refrained at the request of Venli and the others. This did confuse the beasts, however. Surely eating dead things was fine. Humans and singers didn’t taste that good, but they’d do. Fortunately, they soon found a few fallen chulls—likely from ranching efforts on one of the plateaus—that had been spooked and run off a ledge.

Venli stood with the Five, water flowing around their thighs, as they decided their next move.

“I feel it just ahead,” she explained. “Maybe two plateaus over that way.”

“That’s the heart of Narak itself,” Thude said to Anxiety.

“It’s calling to us,” said Estel, a newer member of the Five, who had chosen to hold nimbleform. They no longer each bore a different form; that had proven impractical. Plus there were more than five known forms. “It sheltered us during our exile. It calls to us for a reason.”

“I’m worried,” Venli whispered to the Terrors. “Last time I did anything like this, I was playing into Odium’s hands. I did it willingly. I knew what I was doing. I … I wasn’t deceived. I have to admit that. But this time, maybe I am? Maybe this is some kind of signal meant to draw us in.” She put her hands to her head, rubbing at the roots of her hairstrands. “I can’t shake a dreadful rhythm. I’m scared.”

“Do you reject him?” Bila asked softly.

“Yes,” Venli whispered. “After what he did to our people? I reject him who would be our god.”

“Then he cannot control you,” Bila said.

“I wish that were so,” said Kivor, a hulking malen in warform. “But he is crafty, and takes some unaware. Eshonai would not have gone willingly to him if she’d fully known what she was doing. We five should vote. Yes, we’ve come all this way, but to think we can’t turn around now is foolishness.”

“I could go ahead without you,” Venli said. “In case it’s a trap.”

“We vote,” Kivor said, firm. “Thude. What say you? Do we go on? See what this mystery is, even if it might destroy us?”

“I vote yes,” Thude said. “If it destroys us, so be it, but we must find the answers.”

“Why?” Bila asked, her face shrouded in darkness, for they dared not use gemstones here. Overhead, humans shouted and Windrunners streaked through the air. “Why do we need answers?”

“Because we’ll be destroyed without them,” a voice said from behind them. They turned, looking at another shadow—though Leshwi’s voice announced who she was. “What are we? Some thousand, against the might of Odium? We shall need some way to resist. I can’t help thinking that whatever you’re hearing … it’s been sent to us for a purpose.”

None of the Heavenly Ones could hear the sound. Just Venli and—for some reason—the chasmfiends.

“I …” Leshwi continued, then she blinked, her eyes starting to glow red. “Odium is offering his power to all who are here fighting. I could not resist. I’m sorry. I do not think he saw me individually or knows I am here.”

“It took me months to learn to fully reject him,” Venli said. “We did not expect you to do it in a week, Leshwi.”

“I should be held to a higher standard,” Leshwi said. “I am Fused. I am immortal. I—”

“Think of yourself as young again, Lady Leshwi,” Venli said gently, to Peace. Though admittedly, there was a part of her that felt a thrill at being able to speak commandingly to one who had held such power over her. “You are starting over. Right now, the important question is: Will your nature give us away? Will he see you if you remain with us?”

“I honestly don’t know,” she said. “I and the others should hold back a little from what you do next.”

It was a wise offer. They accepted it, then the rest of the Five voted one at a time. It was unanimous to continue. They did not ask Venli for her vote, as she did not lead, even if she’d guided them this far. Leaving the Heavenly Ones and the chasmfiends behind for now, Venli and the other fourteen listeners crept inward.

That tone thundered in her ears. It was … it was ahead … but down …

They reached the central plateau itself. Above, the humans had set up watchposts hanging over the chasms. They were tattered and broken, presumably damaged in the battle. Perhaps they had been used in an effort to spot Deepest Ones. Nervously, Venli peeked into Shadesmar to see if any Fused were nearby, but found only an expanse of beads—with glowing flames higher up, representing the fighting humans and singers.

Except … the beating … was lower. Beneath the beads. Beneath the ground.

“What?” Thude whispered.

“It’s underneath us,” Venli whispered. She pressed her hand against the chasm wall as she crouched in the flowing water.

Yes, the stones said to her. You are nearly here.

Closing her eyes, she drew in Stormlight. Rock flowed like water, pushing back the river as it rose up on the sides, creating a hole in the wall that was protected from the stream by a lip. She climbed in, and peered down a tunnel that led far beneath the ground.

A light shone at the distant end. She looked to the Five. Thude appointed the remaining nine to stay back and watch, then—humming to Determination—Venli and the Five started into the tunnel.

Jasnah and Fen agreed on a compromise. Their Radiants had left Thaylen City through the Oathgate to support the beleaguered forces on the Shattered Plains. She wished she could get them to Adolin and Yanagawn, but with the Oathgate there in enemy hands, the corrupted spren refused to accept transfers.

Hopefully the Shattered Plains could use them, though she worried about their Stormlight reserves—with her mother and uncle still absent, and Wit being cagey about when they might return. In addition, the compromise with Fen required the bulk of Jasnah’s conventional troops to remain at Thaylen City. It would take costly Stormlight to get them transferred—so the Radiants made sense as the first step.

As she stood outside the Oathgate platform—watching it flash with light as the last batch of Radiants vanished—she considered the wobbling knees of their coalition. Too few troops had been sent to Azimir. Fen’s arguments—that the bulk of the Alethi forces would soon arrive to help defend the capital—had seemed sound. Except that Emul and Tashikk had turned on them, shockingly, and attacked those troops.

She felt like she should have seen that. It was a huge political upheaval, the final shattering of the Azish Empire, and she still reeled from it happening in this day and age. But it was even more horrifying in context. Jasnah sat on troops that weren’t needed, while Adolin—according to the regular updates she received from May Aladar—fought desperately, low on resources, isolated without a functional Oathgate.

The Crzmak Stability, she thought, turning and walking through the city, wearing her uniform, unaccompanied by bodyguards. She’d sent those with the Radiants to support Sigzil. Some centuries ago, a coalition had risen among the squabbling families of Thaylenah, led by the charismatic explorer Crzmak. Its fate was an example of how the best intentions could go wrong when resources grew tight.

Fen wanted to make absolutely certain that her city didn’t fall—and who could blame her? In her eyes the Shattered Plains were expendable. Yet if they lost the Shattered Plains, Urithiru lost autonomy—the farms, forests, and ranching efforts there were essential to supply the city. Jasnah had begun to imagine a new Alethkar at the Shattered Plains—a place for her people outside of Urithiru.

Without the Shattered Plains … they’d have to rely on Thaylen City to ship resources in via Oathgate. Fen promised no tariffs, and Jasnah believed her. But what about the merchant council? What about their heirs? She shook her head, walking back to her base of operations on this tier—the old temple. Ivory was off secretly listening to Fen report to the Thaylen Council, accompanied by Brightlord and Brightlady Bethab—Urithiru’s ambassadors to the city.

Jasnah had sent Ivory because although she trusted Fen as much as she trusted anyone, she’d still like to know exactly what the woman said. At her desk in the temple, Jasnah began digging out her projections about what might happen at the Shattered Plains. As moving clouds darkened the windows, she fished in her pocket for spheres. Battle was … so much more messy than she’d expected. Why did everyone speak so much of the grand execution of battlefield strategy, if it rarely went as planned?

The room grew even darker. Those clouds were—

“I had hoped,” a soft voice said, “that you wouldn’t realize the ships were empty. When did you send Windrunners to check? Odd, how it’s so easy to see anything, yet miss so much.”

Jasnah froze, ice bathing her veins. She looked up, and saw that the darkness falling over the room had come not from clouds, but from a shadow cloaking the front of the chamber: a black mist with a strange golden light at the core, tinged red on the outsides. It billowed forward like an Everstorm front.

The words came from within.

Her mouth went dry. Fearspren wiggled like globs at her feet, despite her best efforts. “Odium. You cannot touch me. Not without violating your pact and opening yourself to attack.”

“Wit has explained well, I see,” the cloud said. “Do not fear, Jasnah. I’m not here to hurt you, but to compliment you. I was worried you might see through my ruse with the ships. You have that way about you.”

Jasnah backed away from the table and summoned her armor. It formed around her in a flash, clamping into place, pressing her clothing tight. Odium couldn’t hurt her directly—Wit was certain of that—but where there was a whitespine, you often found pups. He might not be alone.

“Jasnah,” Odium said. Was that voice … familiar? “You were right to send your Radiants away. I will take this city, but not by military force.”

The dark mists coalesced.

Into Taravangian.

“Thaylen City will fall by tomorrow evening,” the figure said. “I’ve come to see to it personally.”