Chapter 93

Instead, I find the closest model to be that of destructive interference in sound. A destructive waveform is not itself an opposite, but indeed the exact same waveform played opposite the primary one.

—From Rhythm of War, first coda, Navani Kholin

I t was time.

As the tempest of chaos swirled around her in the Spiritual Realm, Shallan realized she needed to keep her promise to Veil and Radiant. She had to see and accept what Veil had once seen and accepted for her.

It was time to visit that day.

It formed around her—and oh, how she missed the chaos of the Spiritual Realm. So much better was possibility than reality. She could have spent an eternity surrounded by figures from the past and future, made as if from flowing paint and mist. Instead she came here. To the Davar estate.

She’d been eleven.

She appeared in her adult body—not the child’s body whose perspective had once shaped her view of the world. Always forced to look up. Always knowing everyone else was so much stronger than she was. And therefore—she’d believed—wiser.

She was in her room. A small chamber with fluffy white carpet. She’d loved to roll on that carpet, feel it tickle her cheek, then her neck, then her other cheek. Near one wall was her trunk, and in that—hidden poorly—her drawings.

They weren’t good. She wasn’t an artist yet, and wouldn’t truly start to become one until Helaran brought her supplies in the future. But she had …

Strength, Veil thought.

… but she had spent time in the gardens with Testament. Exploring her powers, and saying truths.

She opened the door and walked the memory, where light streaming through windows looked too golden, the colors of the wood trim too rich. In the hallway she glanced out a window into the gardens, and saw a young girl with a freckled face and a white gown.

She was surrounded by shivering vines, the type that poured down walls like waterfalls in this part of Jah Keved, glittering with glowing lifespren. The air smelled of life—a faintly grassy scent, mixed with the dampness of water standing in pools from the recent rainfall. Young Shallan had felt safe here. Just her, the plants, the lifespren, and Testament.

The stone bench in front of the young Shallan—kept clean from crem but growing lichen along its legs—was dimpled with Testament’s shape.

“I’m afraid,” young Shallan said.

“Why, Shallan?”

Older Shallan raised her head sharply, hearing Testament’s calm, wise voice. The way it had been. Storms, that sound struck something inside Shallan. The memory seemed to become more real in that moment.

“Because,” young her whispered, “I don’t want anything to change, and it will. I hate the future. I’m scared of it.”

“A truth,” Testament responded, “that I will hold dear, Shallan.” The plants moved and writhed, twisting across the ground, forming a symbol out of greenery with young Shallan at the heart of it.

“Why?” adult Shallan said. “Why would you let a girl of eleven swear the oaths? I was too young.”

Testament felt, Pattern said in her mind, that starting with a child who had no preconceptions would be better for inspiring a new generation of Radiants. And then … there was the other reason you drew our attention …

Adult Shallan turned as the young Shallan stood up, gathering Testament on her dress, and snuck into the house. Always sneaking about, always listening. Shallan followed until they reached the door to her mother’s room. On the other side, Mother’s voice, speaking with a man who was visiting from far away, a man the servants whispered must be her lover.

Young Shallan listened at the door, terrified, hoping to find it wasn’t true. Adult Shallan simply strode past her and pushed the door open.

Mother was there, pacing, wearing a beautiful blue and gold dress. In that moment Shallan remembered her companion in crisp detail: a foreigner who wore the Skybreaker symbol on his sleeve. He carried a box with a glowing light inside, like the one that Shallan had used to communicate with Mraize while in the Cognitive Realm. A sphere rose from it and formed a face. A face she knew from art and description.

Nale—Nalan’Elin, the Herald.

“Chana,” he said. “I need you to join Kalak and myself in Kholinar. Our work grows more difficult.”

Nale.

Kalak.

Chana.

“It’s true,” Shallan whispered, tears forming at the corners of her eyes.

Yes, Pattern said. I’m sorry.

They didn’t seem to be able to see the adult her; no one reacted to her. Indeed, young Shallan kept kneeling outside, listening as if the door were closed.

“Chana,” Nale continued, his voice cool and emotionless as the glowing face spoke, “you’re being unreasonable. This entire endeavor of yours was unreasonable.”

“I wanted a life again,” Mother snapped. “I fell in love.”

“You found a dupe.”

Mother growled. Literally growled. She stalked across the room toward the Skybreaker, and he stepped back, alarm blooming on his face, keeping behind the glowing sphere as if to defend himself or ward her away.

Shallan watched, transfixed. That … wasn’t how she remembered her mother, who had been so sweet, so overtly feminine. Here, she wasn’t even wearing a glove.

“He loves me, Nale,” Mother growled. “I have a family. ”

“And where has that led you?” the voice said, calm. “To this? And the child? What of Shallan?”

Mother turned away. Shallan walked between them, looking from one to the other.

“She is one of them,” Mother said.

“Yes,” Nale said. “Which means …”

Mother didn’t respond.

“Dreder will kill her if you do not,” said Nale. “We have legal justification, by the Veden Voidcraft Act, to punish those who seek such powers—as you well know. Kill her. Those are my orders.” Then his face smoothed out to the round seon spren, which returned to its box.

Young Shallan—still listening at the doorway—gasped, then pulled away. Testament had realized the danger, and whispered to Shallan that they needed to escape. Young Shallan scurried away, back to her rooms, where she’d begun gathering things to flee.

Older Shallan waited in this room, stabbed through with a variety of pains. One would think her a connoisseur of pain by now, as she could name the different types. She wiped the tears from her eyes, recognizing betrayal—its own distinct flavor—mixed with the confused agony of seeing her mother again and the strangely poignant pain of discovery.

The Skybreaker … Dreder … set aside the box. “All but your husband’s bastard bear a terrible burden, including predispositions inherited from you. Nale says you were warned it would happen. Chana … killing the child now will be a mercy.”

“You don’t understand,” Mother whispered. “She’ll come back, Dreder. Once I kill her, she’ll return to life. She’s taking my place.”

“What nonsense is this?”

“Shallan has powers,” Mother said, “but the Radiants are dead and gone. This means that I’ve found what I was searching for: an heir. The bond has passed from me to her. She is eternal now and I am mortal. ”

“Chana,” Dreder said, “I’m no Herald, but even I know Bondsmithing well enough to know you can’t give away your bond to the Oathpact. ”

“I’ve already done it,” Chana said. “You’ll see. Shallan will be reborn, and then … then I’ll be free.” Mother looked to the side, and met the older Shallan’s eyes. “You’ll do better than I could, Shallan.”

“You’re insane,” Dreder said softly. “Only Nale remains unscathed. But very well. Prove it to me. Kill the child, and let her return. I will report this news to my lord Herald and the other Skybreakers.”

He just wanted a budding Radiant eliminated—as had been the Skybreaker pattern for centuries. Mother held Shallan’s eyes, then stalked away with a bearing that young Shallan had never seen. Confident, strong as a warrior in battle.

Dreder sighed and followed. “Nasty business,” he said to himself. “I hate it when they’re children …”

Shallan, cold, trailed after them. She couldn’t watch this, could she? She …

Yes, you can, Veil said.

Yes, you can, Radiant said.

She could. She followed them down the hallway, and felt something changing in her. The pains were still there, but they had dulled, the barbs no longer razor sharp.

Her mother had not been well. Obviously. That didn’t excuse her actions, but somehow seeing it … seeing it and confronting it helped.

Shallan stopped at her childhood room, but young Shallan wasn’t there. That’s right. Her father had found her, taken her to his rooms to ask what she’d seen. Shallan followed Dreder and Chana as they strode over and burst into Father’s chamber.

Father immediately confronted them. Arguments followed. Then a struggle. Father cut Dreder across the arm, spilling his blood on the white carpet, but the Skybreaker barely seemed to mind as he immobilized Father. Dreder drew in Stormlight to heal, then he looked to Mother and held out a knife.

Shallan’s breath caught, as Mother pushed the struggling young Shallan to the ground. Heat welled inside the adult Shallan: anger, betrayal, a frenzy of primal, raw emotions. She lunged forward, unable to hold herself back, planning to grab her mother and rip her away from the child.

But her Mother knelt there—holding young Shallan down—knife held high …

And hesitated.

She hesitated.

Adult Shallan lurched to a stop, inches from them, emotion leaking from her as tears staining her cheeks. Is that new? Shallan demanded. Did that actually happen? Or is it a change because it’s what I want to see?

I do not know, Pattern said. I’m sorry.

It … Testament’s voice, weak but audible. It happened. She paused.

Adult Shallan collapsed to her knees beside the two. Mother knelt there, knife out and ready, emotions of her own warring on her face. Anger, determination … then …

Her face softened. She did not strike.

A sword appeared in young Shallan’s hands, materializing out of white mist. She rammed it up through her mother’s chest, and Chana’s eyes burned.

Dreder shouted, reaching for her. His eyes burned next, and he fell facedown.

Mother somehow lasted a moment, mouth moving, eyes black—before slumping down onto the crying child. Who hurled the Shardblade away, screaming at what she’d done. Adult Shallan turned aside, suddenly nauseous. She gasped deep breaths. In, out. In, out.

Mother. The Herald. Dead.

This day. This terrible day.

The day the world had ended.

And Shallan was to blame.

In the farthest reaches of her mind, she heard that same child’s voice crying. Nestled in her head. Not new.

I’ve protected her all this time, Veil whispered. It’s all right. She’s safe. She always has been.

Shallan wiped her tears. Storms. She was through it. She’d watched it. She’d survived. Emotions still made a mess of her, but a budding knowledge—reinforced by experience—emerged like a powerful light from within.

She could do this.

She had already done it. She’d survived it as a child—the only way she knew how, but even then she’d been strong.

She forced herself to turn back and watch. The Shardblade hadn’t vanished to mist, but young Shallan wouldn’t look at it. Whispering self-hatred, she had begun renouncing her oaths in this moment, though it wouldn’t fully happen until the next day, in the garden, when she was more lucid and capable of truly doing so.

“ I hate you, ” young Shallan would say. “ I’m done. ”

Adult Shallan closed her eyes, struggling—but succeeding—in dealing with this flood of new emotions. Memories of what she had done to a dear friend.

Does it hurt? Shallan asked Testament.

Yes, Testament said. But … sometimes … pain is required …

Shallan took a deep breath, and opened her eyes. Father, surrounded by shockspren, pushed himself up from the floor.

Shallan? Pattern said in her mind. Are you … are you all right?

I can handle it, she replied.

We worried it would break you, he said. I think the Spiritual Realm itself wants to show you things that hurt.

“It never broke me,” Shallan said. “It merely cracked me, Pattern. I filled those cracks.” She took another deep breath, shuddering. “I’m glad to remember.”

There will be more emotion to come, Radiant said. But when it comes, we’ll be here to help.

Father put the Shardblade in his safe, then gently wiped the blood from the young Shallan’s face. She felt anger at seeing him be so tender, as his temperament had always been erratic at best, abusive at worst. This moment would shatter their family.

Should she blame herself? Could she? Could anyone actually blame the young girl trembling in her father’s arms?

No. She had to blame her mother, because her mother was to blame. The hesitation was to Mother’s credit, and Mother’s insanity provided context. But context didn’t excuse actions, only helped give reasons for them. A child had the right to defend herself, and the hesitation had not been a complete halt to the violence. Adult Shallan knelt beside her mother’s fallen corpse. How did she feel about this woman now? Still angry, yes. Still angry.

You don’t have to forgive her, Testament said. What she did was terrible.

I don’t have to, Shallan replied. But I want to.

Father began singing his lullaby. Shallan knelt there, suddenly drained. There was … more. More she had to do. More she wanted to do.

Are we … just going to ignore … that you’re the daughter of a Herald? Pattern said. Shallan, Heralds are like spren—they don’t die permanently, not even by Shardblades. She’s still alive somewhere.

“I know,” Shallan said, wiping her tears again as her father continued to sing. “Pattern … she was at my wedding.”