Chapter 90

… In mathematics, we have negative numbers—an impossible reality, yet an extremely useful model, as explained by the woman who developed them. Negative one balances with one to create zero, both evening out at nothing.

—From Rhythm of War, first coda, Navani Kholin

I t was good to be back at the Dustbringer monastery, Szeth thought, breathing in the scent of the pines. He hadn’t realized how much he’d missed this place. An open sky. A refreshing breeze. Ice skating on the pond.

… And then he says that he helped build a huge fortress! Nightblood was saying as they walked. A huge one! Big, big, big! And others joined in. They did it even before there were Radiants! Isn’t that deevy? Stoneshaping is deevy.

“Is that another word of Lift’s?” Szeth said, smiling.

Yup! She knows the best words. They sound so much more fun, don’t they, than regular words? Oh! Do you think we’ll see her tonight at dinner?

“No, sword-nimi,” Szeth said, gently reminding. “She is thousands of miles away. That is a long distance.”

Oh! Right. Right. Deevy. Hey, the swords say they’re almost home. What does that mean?

Szeth shook his head and unstrapped his pack. “I don’t know, I’m afraid.” Then, speaking louder, he handed the swords to Kaladin. “Take care of them. Nin-son-God, do I need to worry about two Honorbearers attacking me today?”

“No,” Nin said. “Your test today is of a different sort. You will face only one foe.”

“The former Honorbearer was elderly,” Szeth said. “I assume Gearil-daughter-Gearil has passed? I will face a new, younger Bearer?”

“Yes,” Nin admitted.

“Good,” Szeth said, considering his plan. Syl came down from the sky, where she’d been watching the roadway of spren.

“It’s so odd up there …” she said, landing—full sized, as she almost always was these days. “Only nature and emotion spren are there. No Radiant spren, unbonded or otherwise. They all are still on the other side, but in such quantities it makes the air glow here.”

“Kaladin, Sylphrena,” Szeth said to them, “I would not like your help today.”

“But,” Kaladin said, “if you—”

“No help, please,” Szeth said.

Nearby, Nin nodded in approval.

“This is one of my favorite monasteries,” Szeth said, “and a skill at which I excelled. I … can find my own way here.”

Kaladin reluctantly nodded and took the pack of swords. Szeth turned to the monastery, built in the classic style: a large stone block with slits for windows, standing on a hill in the town, which was dressed up by the appealing surroundings and those wonderful trees. But it was just a fortress. One that hadn’t served its function, as it had been corrupted from within.

Szeth summoned his Shardblade as he walked. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

I’ve been thinking, his spren said.

“About?”

About what it means to swear oaths, the spren explained. About the best way to help you.

“And?” Szeth asked, stopping in the doorway.

I think … I need more time.

It was remarkable that a highspren should need time to think. Szeth peered into the monastery’s grand hall, noting the glowing gemstones on the walls, then the lone figure all the way on the other end. The person—female, judging by the fit of her grey robes—was swathed in cloth wrapping even her head and face.

Szeth made his decision. He reached to the side and dropped his sword. Dismissing it.

“I will not fight you,” he said into the room.

He did not look to see Nin’s or Kaladin’s reactions. He was not choosing either of their ways. He was … testing his options. That was all. But in one thing Kaladin was correct.

What Szeth had been doing was destroying him.

“Szeth,” his spren hissed, forming a rift by his head, “what are you doing ?”

“Something is wrong,” Szeth said. “Something big. How did my people—Honorbearers included—allow an Unmade to entice them? Why did no others resist as I did? How did my father, who became grand senator of our people, get taken in? It’s never made any sense to me—and I once decided the only reasonable assumption was that I’d seen things wrong. That I was Truthless. Yet Nin names me Truthed. So how could all this have happened?”

The figure approached, her Honorblade appearing in her fingers. The Dustbringer Blade, with a strange slit down the middle and a great deal of ornamentation around the hilt. Her footsteps left burning imprints in the floor. He’d learned that particular intimidation trick.

“Szeth!” his spren said. “I really think you should fight!”

“No one will tell me the truth,” Szeth said. “A pilgrimage, for what? Why do the Honorbearers vanish to smoke when I kill them?”

The Dustbringer started running.

“Szeth!” the spren said. “ Szeth! ”

“I am not smart enough to figure out what is happening, but I’m not going to fight. I’m going to find answers.”

The figure reached him, sword out and trailing fire. Another trick to intimidate. She drew close enough to swing, and when she did, Szeth Lashed himself to the side just enough to dodge.

A set of swings followed, four sweeping attacks, each dodged with his powers. She moved in, using the Dustbringer Surges to alter her traction on the ground—sometimes sliding easily, sometimes gaining purchase in an instant and leaping forward with powerful lunges.

He dodged them all.

He knew these tricks. When she set the air alight, he held his breath, as it wasn’t terribly dangerous, no matter how flashy. So much of being a Dustbringer was about intimidation. True, with the right preparation, she could fill the air in an enclosed space with wood dust and then set it alight to create an incredible explosion. But he saw this woman’s tutor in her attacks. Flashes and burning motions intended to distract, so that a well-timed sword thrust could do the true damage. If not that, catch them unaware and use Division on them directly.

He did not fall for the feints. He dodged, sometimes flying, sometimes burning the ground or setting wood alight before she could turn it into explosive dust.

“What is this about?” he asked her softly. “You’re new to this calling. Newer, at least. Tell me.”

She growled, snapping her fingers, letting fire burn around her in a puff. You could only do that so much, as it drew water from the air, creating a gas you could set alight. Gearil-daughter-Gearil had loved such shows. However, so long as he did not permit this woman to touch him or the ground he stood upon, he should mostly be safe from Division. It could be an extremely destructive talent, but was less valuable in a duel than it was in battle, where close proximity could allow you to set entire swaths of ground and people aflame.

He dodged the next sweeping attacks, and he sensed frustration in the Honorbearer’s strikes. He was beginning to see how much his terrible existence had improved his skills. These Honorbearers, despite their training, had little practical experience with death and destruction—yet death and destruction had been Szeth’s life ever since his exile began. He’d found, and fought, his equals in people like Kaladin.

He had begun as one of the best that Shinovar had ever created, and he’d long since surpassed that.

“ Fight me,” the woman snapped as he dodged.

Wait.

“How did you know?” she hissed. “You humiliate me!”

It couldn’t be.

Szeth landed, meeting the Honorbearer’s gaze as she dashed up to him. He formed his Blade in a heartbeat and raised it, absently blocking her strike at his neck. He leaned forward and looked straight into her eyes.

It was.

“I will not fight you,” he whispered. “I will not kill you. Do as you must.”

He tossed his sword once more and sat down.

“Szeth!” his spren cried.

The Honorbearer swung for him again, her hands trembling. The Blade stopped right before it hit his neck.

He met her eyes as she stood there, and he could see the conflict inside. She gathered her strength, gripped the Blade in two hands, and swung yet again—but again she pulled up short before actually striking him.

“Did they all let me win?” Szeth asked. “Has this all been some sham to make me think I’m accomplishing something?”

“No, Szeth!” his spren said in his ear. “They’re all supposed to try to kill you!”

The figure backed away, grunting softly, then ran toward him again as if trying to force herself to attack. She couldn’t do it though, and drew back, stalking around him in a circle.

“Szeth,” his spren said, “listen to me. You’ve come to the wrong conclusion. Something strange is happening, but it’s not what you think. These Honorbearers are supposed to fight you with whatever they have. Do you think being pulled into Shadesmar was a sham?”

“No,” he agreed. Each of those previous fights had felt desperate to him, and at the last monastery someone had tried to knife him in the back. They wanted him dead.

But this woman … he was right about her. And beyond, he was just so tired of the killing.

“Why?” he asked the figure stalking around him. “Why do you hold back?” She yanked the cloth from her head, exposing short-cropped brown hair and a face—aged, as his had. Harder. Thicker of neck. Scarred. But so familiar.

“Elid,” he said. Evidently his sister had chosen to train, as she’d always wanted.

“Fight me, Szeth!”

“No.”

“You broke our family! You destroyed our name. Stories about you have chased me all my life. Truthless, they whispered, as if you were a disease that could spread.” She whipped up her sword toward him. “Fight!”

“Elid …” He climbed to his feet.

“Mother is dead,” she snapped. “Did you know that? Tumors. Dead. Gone. You weren’t here. I had to hold her hand.”

He hesitated.

“Father …” Elid said, looking away. “Father is dead. Taken by … the Voice …”

Szeth felt a strange sense of calm, knowing that Elid could kill him, and he would not fight back. He remembered wishing someone would kill him, not long ago. His thoughts were … more complicated now. But at the same time, this relief, this … this emotion. It was …

It was calm. He was calm. Even the voices grew softer.

He … he was done. He was finally done.

He stood and stepped forward, holding out his hands. She lifted her sword to the side of his neck, but he could see from how it trembled that she didn’t want to harm him. So he leaned forward until she dismissed the Blade, and as it vanished to mist, he embraced her.

“I’m supposed to kill you,” she whispered. “I won my own Blade after you left. To prove I wasn’t weak, I wasn’t Truthless. In the end, your leaving wasn’t enough. You still ruined my life.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I … am taken by it too,” she said. “The darkness. The Voice. You know it?”

“I do.”

“I can’t think, Szeth. I didn’t want to think. Why did you drop your sword and sit down like that? Why would you ever do that? Even if you recognized my voice, you must know that I was ready to kill you. Why did you trust that I wouldn’t?”

“I didn’t, Elid. I just decided to be done.”

“Hell of a time to decide that,” she said, holding to him.

“An excellent time, actually.”

Her grip on him tightened. “Listen,” she said. “I feel like years have passed in a blink, in a daze. You have to stop it. You have to free us.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. But maybe if you do it … if you succeed …”

“Succeed at what ?”

“They haven’t told you?” She pulled back, and started to unravel. Turning to dark mist, dying. “You don’t know?”

“Know what?” Szeth asked, clinging to her hands. “Why am I here, Elid?”

“The Oathpact is broken,” she said, her face distorting. “He’s summoning me, to try to stop me, but I know . The circle is shattered. The Heralds degrade. They need someone new. They need … you, Szeth. This pilgrimage, it’s an audition. Jezrien is dead. And you are to take his—” She went stiff, then completely vanished.

Her sword clanged to the ground in the empty monastery, and he was left holding air.

“I had worried about that one,” Nin said from behind. “Ishar said she would be likely to kill you because of her long-building anger. She proved to be … weaker than we’d hoped.”

Szeth turned, livid. “You used my sister against me?”

“You must be strong,” Nin said, darkening the gateway into the monastery, “to take up this mantle.”

“To be a Herald?” Szeth said. “Were you going to ask me?”

“None of us asked for this,” Nin replied. “We did what was needed. As you always have.”

“It’s true ?” Kaladin said, stepping around Nin. “You’re looking for … for another Herald. ”

“To hold back the tide of evil,” Nin said, “the Oathpact must be sure and whole.”

“Wait,” Syl said, appearing full sized next to Kaladin. “Will a new Oathpact even do anything? The Fused came back this time because of the Everstorm, right?”

“The Fused Returned because Taln broke,” Nin said. “The Everstorm was brought in, along with gemstones bearing spren, in order to quicken the process of rebirth—and to make it easier to give forms of power. We do not know what would have happened if Taln had not broken before the Everstorm arrived. Ishar explained this to me.”

“So you don’t know,” Syl said, pointing. “You don’t know that re-forming the Oathpact will actually achieve anything. The Everstorm, the methods of physically bringing Voidspren through Shadesmar, might make it meaningless.”

“We must try regardless,” Nin said. “Ishar says the only way to stop the Fused is to use our souls to lock them away, as part of an oath. If we had a new member, an unparalleled warrior, as Jezrien was—a man with no attachments to this world, a man who always does what is needed …”

Syl folded her arms, and seemed unconvinced. “I thought you wanted the singers to win.”

Szeth frowned, looking to him, still feeling … warm from his sister’s embrace. It was a good question.

Nin cocked his head though. “Why would you have such a wrongheaded idea? Why would I want the singers to win? They’re our enemies.”

“You fight alongside them!” Syl said. “Your Skybreakers side with them!”

“The singers have the legal precedent,” he said, “and we must follow the law. But they are our enemies, and I obviously want them to fail.”

“You uphold them!” Syl said.

“Nonsense,” Nale said.

Syl’s mouth worked, her eyes wide, and she looked baffled. Szeth … empathized. He’d worked his mind in circles trying to understand morality himself, though he’d assumed a piece of divinity would have an easier time.

Kaladin stepped up next to her, standing just inside the monastery, holding the bundle of swords. “Syl …” the Windrunner whispered. “I know he can sound logical, so it’s natural we’ve tried logic in return. But it won’t work. You can’t persuade someone delusional with logic. ”

Nin sniffed in dismissal of that and glanced at Szeth. “You are ready for this burden?”

Szeth, numb, shook his head. “Herald,” he whispered. “ Me? Are you insane ?”

“I have been told we are,” Nin said, turning. “Come. Two monasteries remain. Your father is at the last one.”

“Elid said our father is dead!” Szeth said.

“He is. So is your sister. You think you’ve been fighting the living in these monasteries, Szeth? Come now.” He stepped outside.

Dead? He’d been told it before, but he felt sick, cold. Confused.

Kaladin came running up. “Szeth. This …”

“This is an impossibility,” Szeth said, shoving down the emotions. He started walking. “What Nin wants from me is an impossibility.”

And yet, Szeth’s own sorry life had taught him that he was a poor judge of what was possible and what was not.

Sigzil sat in a meeting within a building on Narak. Rain pelting the stone roof.

“We’ve never fought a battle like this,” Balivar said, sitting at the table with seven others, Sigzil included. Chella the Edgedancer was there, as well as Winn. Three other generals, along with Dami—the Stoneward they named the Stormwall—rounded out the group. Their entire leadership.

“I don’t like how many losses we’re taking,” said Chella, a woman who wore her hair long to flow in the wind. “We’ve lost almost sixty Radiants, including squires. It horrifies me. Sixty! More casualties than we’ve taken over the entire last year. ”

“Is this truly worth it?” Balivar asked. “For some barren rock in a land no one cares about?”

“The Bondsmith told us to hold,” the Stormwall said, crossing arms as thick as some people’s thighs. “So we hold.”

“The Bond smiths ,” Chella said, “put us in command of this battle. We can decide when the costs are too high.”

They looked to Sigzil. Who banished the sounds of Leyten dying and sat up tall. “What are our options for defense?” he asked the generals.

“They aren’t great, Brightlord,” Winn said. “We can continue to risk Windrunners and Edgedancers to harry those Focused Ones, but we’ve lost so many …”

“Even with the Stonewards resealing cracks and thickening our defenses, I fear the enemy powers are too strong for our fortifications,” Balivar added. “The moment we run out of Stormlight, we will fall.”

“We’ll fall anyway,” said General Habrinar, an old greybeard—who had also been pulled out of retirement. He folded his arms on the table. “We are outnumbered, and that disparity grows worse with each loss we take, with enemy reinforcements having come via Elsegate. Truth is, I think we’re going to lose the entire war. I don’t trust this so-called battle of champions. The enemy has been winning, so why would he agree to such a thing? I think it’s a ruse. It doesn’t make any kind of strategic sense.”

“ That, ” the Stormwall said, “is pure conjecture. Dalinar Kholin is one of the greatest military minds Roshar has known. He wouldn’t agree to a contest like this unless it was the right move.”

“We don’t have to worry about it either way,” Sigzil said, standing up. “Our job is this battlefield. We need to last two more days. Does anyone have an idea?”

The generals glanced at each other.

“It’s that bad?” Chella asked.

“Brightlord Sigzil’s plan to strategically give up plateaus was brilliant,” General Rust Elthal said. “But it’s really the only thing that got us this far. Especially without Stormlight, I can think of no way to survive. Brightlord Sigzil, are you certain the Bondsmiths are unavailable? I have reports of Brightness Navani being seen in the hallways.”

“A ruse, unfortunately,” Sigzil said, with a grimace. “We have to do this with the resources we have—or will soon have. We have Jasnah’s Radiants, and my Windrunner colleagues have finished delivering the Mink and his people. They will be here before too long.”

“More Radiants won’t mean anything if our Stormlight gives out though, will it?” Chella whispered.

“Still, we must try,” Winn said, looking to Sigzil.

The next parts grew technical. How to arrange troops on the two remaining plateaus: Narak Prime and Narak Two, the Oathgate plateau. As the meeting finally broke, Sigzil remained behind with General Winn, who was the rare Alethi that was around his height. They stood in the doorway, watching the others retreat through the rain.

“I want your honest evaluation,” Sigzil said. “What are our chances of lasting another two days?”

“Ten percent, maybe,” Winn said. “With heavy casualties. Brightlord, I’ll be frank. General Habrinar has always been a fatalist, but in this case he’s right. Ours is a terrible situation. A normal siege favors the defenders—so long as you don’t run out of food and water, you’re good for long periods. But with the powers the enemy has, and with this storm, and us being surrounded, and our Stormlight low …” He looked to Sigzil. “We are a candle before the storm, Brightlord.”

Sigzil took a deep breath. “I … maybe have an idea.”

“Thank the Heralds,” Winn whispered. “What? Why didn’t you mention it at the meeting?”

“I wanted to see if anyone had anything better,” Sigzil said. “Because I haven’t completely worked out the details of mine. It seems like it might be impossible. But Vienta and I have been looking over the fine points of the agreement between Dalinar and Odium, and … maybe we have something. I need more time.”

“Then we will give it to you,” Winn said.

He saluted and walked off into the rain, more of a spring in his aged step.

“Storms,” Vienta whispered. “Sigzil, this idea … it can’t work. I can’t see how we could possibly trick the Fused into following us off the plateau.”

He thought maybe he could trick them into abandoning it completely—following his army into the rain, so that when the deadline came, the enemy didn’t hold the plateau. She was right though; they wouldn’t be diverted that far.

But there was something here … He felt he could crack this. Storms, he’d come here to lead, and found he was actually good at it when he stopped worrying so much about what people thought of him.

He wanted to bring that to fruition and save the place. He wanted Leyten’s death—still a raw wound inside—to mean something. He wanted to live up to the trust they all had in him.

“We have to make this work, Vienta,” he said. “It’s our job.”

“I’m sorry,” she replied, invisible. “I’ve not been a good spren lately. I …”

“It’s all right,” Sigzil said. “You’ve been extremely helpful. How are you feeling?”

“I keep hearing Ethenia scream,” she whispered. “We aren’t supposed to be able to die, Sigzil. We’re the wind and the heart of Honor itself. If we can die … what does that mean? That even Honor, the winds, the planet itself can just … end?”

He wasn’t a philosopher, as much as his master Hoid had tried, so he had no answer. He merely stood there, looking out through the rain.

Rocks sang as Venli and the others reached the end of the tunnel. They found a magnificent golden pool of light.

Awespren burst around them, six of them, floating blue balls that expanded as they faded into nothing.

This pool was hidden in a rocky cavern with no exits, directly beneath the main Narak plateau. Thirty yards or more wide, it glowed, shimmering and brilliant. The liquid seemed thicker than ordinary water, and it rippled as Thude knelt and tapped it with his axe.

It was the source of the sound.

“What is it?” Bila asked to Awe.

Timbre pulsed an explanation.

“Timbre has seen a pool like this,” Venli said. “In the mountains. The Fused use it as a gateway to another realm. They always called it Cultivation’s pool. The greatest of the gods create them, and Timbre says she thinks … it gathers for the same reason Stormlight streams off a human.”

“All three have one of these?” Thude asked, dipping his axe again. “Honor, Cultivation, and Odium?”

“Honor’s pool moves around,” Venli said. “No one knows where Odium’s is. At least … no one did. The Fused talked about it, that Odium doesn’t trust anyone to know its location, after an event they wouldn’t speak of.”

It had been hidden, at least until now. Until …

Until, Timbre guessed, someone arrived who was bonded to both a spren of Odium and a spren of Honor. Venli. Had Odium somehow masked his pool using Honor? Or was it something else? What had the stones said …

Pieces of the sky, fallen here. Watched over by strange people. Secrets even the gods didn’t understand.

Chasmfiends had always been capable of hearing it. That was what led them to this region to pupate. The ancient singers had unwittingly followed it here too, before it had been hidden. When the Everstorm and highstorm had clashed, this pool had fueled their explosive destruction. Most importantly, the power here—and the bits of fallen sky—had somehow been involved in the destruction of a city and a people.

Odium wanted to hold this portion of land at all costs. Rlain’s description of the contest explained so much—and she wished he hadn’t stopped answering. Because she could see why the war above was so fearsome, why the Everstorm was here.

Odium had brought his best to protect this pool. Venli attuned the Terrors. What on Roshar were they going to do with such knowledge?

Thude foolishly reached out to touch the power, but Bila held him back. Together they stared at it, golden light reflecting in their eyes.

Before they could make a decision, one of the guards came stumbling down through the tunnel. “Our Heavenly Ones have been discovered.”

“By which side?” Venli asked, anxious.

“The singers,” he said. “And by some kind of extremely dangerous-looking Fused.”