Chapter 120

FOUR THOUSAND FIVE HUNDRED FIFTY YEARS AGO

I , the god Honor, walked a battlefield full of burning corpses. This time, I did not weep. I could not afford to weep. My followers needed me.

Rayse and I had been in an arms race. First his Fused, then my Heralds, then his Unmade, then my Radiants—which were not my conscious creation, but formed by pieces of me working independently. I crafted their oaths to maximize their abilities, per Kor’s contract and Ishar’s advice. That one understood the ways of gods as few mortals ever had.

Millennia had passed, and I clashed with Rayse, back and forth, time and time again. Gigantic proxy wars. Rayse was trapped in the Rosharan system, but if he could take control, he could send forces out into the cosmere to do as he wished. My armies resisted him. For his Fused, like my Heralds, were trapped in this system by our oaths. Only when one of us fully ruled Roshar could we use it as a stepping stone in our greater cosmere goals.

Yet here we were, after thousands of years … in a stalemate. How many … how many had died in these last centuries ? Still, I told myself that I had grown since the fires of Ashyn. Gods did not weep over the fallen; they rejoiced over the victories of the living.

This was part of what I’d been teaching my followers, along with the sanctity of oaths.

Rayse’s forces grow more powerful, I noted as I walked the battlefield, calculating casualty numbers. The Unmade, in particular, were growing in strength. He had hidden their creation from me, and I found them unnerving. My Radiants could do great things, but were kept in check by their oaths. His Fused were more limited—leaving him extra strength he could give to the Unmade.

I had the Heralds. And they, more and more, were able to draw on the powers of Roshar itself instead of just my Surges. I did not understand why or how, but I did not wish to seem weak by admitting that fact.

I considered. Thousands of years. Was this our fate ? Fighting for eternity ? I found myself treasonously timid. Why ? I, God, held the power of Adonalsium. I could see into the future, could think along multiple lines at once, could appear wherever I wished.

My avatar still infused the terrible storm of Roshar, making it a manifestation of my will and strength. A constant reminder of my blessing—via Stormlight—and the danger of disobeying my will. I was the storm. I should not be timid. I should be bold.

I turned, surveying the battlefield again. A lonely expanse of stone dotted by dark lumps. This time … this time my people had nearly lost. My system of Radiants—inspired by the Herald of Wisdom—should have been the greater, as they harnessed the power of oaths, but Rayse’s immortal Fused learned more and more the longer they lived. Each war was cataclysmic, named a Desolation by my ardent priests. Neither side able to win, both sides beating the other senseless until at the end, civilization was in ashes.

Then the Fused returned, having learned from each Desolation, while my forces had to start fresh. Rayse applied the lessons of nature: you could wear down any stone given enough time. I flew to the ends of the world, to Natanatan, where the battle had been most fierce this time.

At least my people survive, a part of me thought. This works . It wasn’t as bad as Ashyn. The sky didn’t burn, and the people could recover.

Rayse appeared before me, settling his hands on his golden scepter, beard blowing in the wind. “So. This was fun, even if you did win.”

“This is no victory,” I said, my voice raw.

“Your Heralds trap my best warriors away in that hellscape of Braize,” Rayse said. “Its unique properties are indeed fascinating. I almost think you admire me in naming it after me. Regardless, I was too new to my powers when I agreed to this accommodation. Thousands of years, and I cannot break free. I should be impressed.”

I could feel the hatred steaming off Odium. He had spent two and a half millennia in my prison. Twenty-five hundred years I had protected the cosmere with the blood and lives of my followers. Still the other Shards looked away. As for me … I had promised my people peace and tranquility in death, but in life I gave them only terror and ash.

“You make it as bad as you can each time, don’t you ? ” I whispered. “You want to break me.”

“You want to know what breaking you could be like, Tanner ? I barely attack the children during Desolations. I could order them to slaughter, instead of to war. I’m toying with that for next time. Merely to see your reaction.”

I screamed. And in my rage, I lost control and threw myself at him.

He laughed, and threw his power against mine. What followed was a thunderclap, and silence, as all was pushed away from us. In that space of nothing—every axon forced away—our souls melded in the most unnerving of ways, too intimate, too reminiscent of creation for a creature such as him. In that moment, tiny pieces of something discordant were born.

Something dangerous, even to a god. The counter to my essence. Anti-Light, it could be called.

Worse, the shock wave of our clash surged beneath us, power rushing and vibrating with those terrible tones. I realized too late that there was something strange about this land, beneath this city. Pieces of something fallen. A … fourth moon ? In splinters ? It reacted to us, and I saw people there—new ones, watchers, who had been hidden from me.

Those pieces of the sky … they sheltered from the eyes of God ? That was not aluminum. It was something greater. Something … that responded to our clash, the ground liquefying in a pattern, dictated by the tone and the strange nature of the place.

We vaporized an entire capital city in seconds. The direct clash between two gods was far too violent. I pulled back, horrified, knowing I’d just caused tens of thousands of deaths. One of the grandest cities … gone.

Rayse laughed. “Shall we fight again ? ”

I withdrew further from him.

“I will push you until you acquiesce. Let us renegotiate our agreement. You can be rid of me.”

I said nothing, but knelt and tried to recover.

These were my people. They followe d me.

I had put some of myself into them … and thus their pain was mine. So many dead …

No. I could be strong. I was God.

I stood up and looked Rayse in the eye. There was a weakness in him. One that Kor had noticed and whispered to me. Though we spent less time together—I had wars to oversee and a religion to lead—I loved her still, and could feel her love in return. The power that Rayse held loathed being trapped. I knew that the power inside Kor felt similarly. It hated stagnancy.

Regardless, there was something in Rayse we could exploit.

Since I refused to fight him, Rayse swept away in a tempest of anger and emotion. As Kor had whispered he might, he left a shadow. I did not look. I stood tall. Waiting.

Until it approached me and whispered, What if we want peace?

It was one of the Unmade.

“I cannot make peace with you,” I declared, “so long as he fights.”

Would you make peace with me? the shadow asked. If you could, and he did not stop you? Ba-Ado-Mishram was her name.

“Yes,” I said.

The shadow withdrew, timid, like a fain animal seeing the colorful world for the first time. Yes, Kor was right. But this opening would take many years to mature, and I could not wait upon it.

And thus, I decided to push the Heralds harder. I let them access my powers more fully, and those of Roshar itself. As long as I was bound by oaths, they would not be able to destroy the land. So it would be well.

I had declared it would be.