Interlude 3

E l, who had no title, stepped up to the Kholinar palace vault. Four Regal singers had been placed there as guards—a position of honor. Hopefully they would not fall too far after this.

“You will open the vault for me,” El said to no rhythm.

They didn’t question. That pleased him, as he never liked to kill mortals who served well. Their emotions did them credit. Still, he’d assumed they would know not to obey orders from him. He’d thought the Nine would have made that clear the moment he was reborn, but they were distracted with their war.

So, unwitting, the four Regals hummed to Subservience, unlocked the doors, and opened them for him, bowing. When he entered, their leader—an envoyform—hurried in after.

“I am to accompany all who enter, great one,” the Regal said, bowing again. “Pardon my intrusion.”

“What is your name?” El asked.

“Heshual,” the Regal said.

“One of our names,” El said, strolling through the small chamber—which someone had begun to line with aluminum sheets. “What was your name before?”

“It was … Govi, great one.”

“Do you miss your old name?”

“No?” the Regal said.

“So timid,” El said to no rhythm. “You were passionate enough to become a Regal in this Return?”

“I …” Heshual hummed to Tribute, which was a ridiculous rhythm to use for this exchange.

El picked through the room, ignoring stores of gemstones, seeking a specific item. He stoked his annoyance, cherished it as all emotions should be. He did not channel it at this Regal, however, for El understood the reason for the timidity.

“It is all right,” El said. “I assume one Fused noticed your passion and put you up for elevation—but since then, others have reprimanded you for standing up for yourself. Now you don’t know the proper way, because society is in shambles and my kind refuse to be proper role models.”

The Regal hummed to Craving. A sign of agreement, and wanting more treatment like this. He got that rhythm right.

“My kind wear thin, like shoes walked upon for too many miles,” El said softly. “My honor was stripped in part because I warned of the signs. We cannot rule much longer.”

He found what he was seeking at last, on a shelf near the back of the vault: a specific gemstone, still attached to its dagger. Jezrien’s prison. El took it off the shelf, reverent.

“Be careful, great one,” the Regal said. “That is a dangerous weapon.”

“Oh, I know,” El said, taking one of the new anti-Stormlight gemstones from his pocket. He lifted it up, appreciating Raboniel’s handiwork. Then he touched it to the tip of the dagger, which pulled the anti-Light out and sent it into the gemstone prison.

“Great one!” the Regal said. “That will … That …”

El held up the gemstone, where a Herald’s soul had been trapped. It flashed as anti-Light met Light, and Jezrien was at long last destroyed. Not much of an explosion; barely enough to crack the gemstone. There hadn’t been much of Jezrien left.

Now even that was gone. Forever. “Goodbye, old friend,” El whispered to no rhythm.

Then he looked at the Regal, who gaped at him, horrified, fearspren appearing at his feet.

“That imprisonment,” El said, tossing the dagger away, “is a punishment none deserve. We shame ourselves by trapping, instead of destroying, a Herald.” He held up his anti-Light gemstone, still almost full. “Yes, you were already nearly gone, weren’t you, old friend? The prisons don’t work on humans as well as was thought …”

The poor Regal was cycling through rhythms like a person beset with madness. The soul of a trapped Herald had been by far the most valuable thing in the vault.

“You should run to the Nine right now,” El suggested. “If you are quick, they might not punish you. The fault is theirs for not warning you about me. And perhaps I bear some fault. For being me. Naturally.”

The Regal scrambled away, calling for the other three to watch El and not let him leave. Fortunately for them, he had no wish to depart. He settled down on a bench at the side of the chamber, wondering at the way many had changed names. Was that a glorious recovery of their ancient roots? Or a betrayal of the culture they’d possessed in the absence of the ancients?

Before more guards arrived, he felt a presence overshadow him. Odium.

What have you done, servant? the familiar voice said, vibrating El through his gemheart. An act of treason by one of the Fused?

El did not reply. He considered that voice.

It was almost right.

Well? Odium said.

“I see you,” El replied softly with no rhythm. “I know you for what you are. And what you are not.”

The old Odium had come to hate being challenged. Perhaps that was why the Fused were so erratic—after thousands of years trapped on Braize, unable to fulfill his plans, their god had become erratic first.

The new Odium pondered. Who are you? Ah … I see. Yes, curious. I had not paid enough attention to you, El.

“Do you have his memories, then?” El asked.

I can view them if I desire, though I do not see why you would name Jezrien a friend, yet destroy his spirit.

“In all your divine wisdom,” El said, “you cannot imagine a situation where a friend deserves to die?”

The new Odium laughed. A legitimately joyful-sounding chuckle. Curious. In a blink, he appeared beside El and waved a hand, slamming the vault door to lock out approaching guards. This Odium was human, elderly, and did not care to make himself larger than El to intimidate him.

That was more than curious. That was impressive.

“I have a problem,” Odium said. “Would you help me solve it?”

“As a test?” El asked. “Or a legitimate need?”

“Let it be both,” Odium said, strolling through the vault, studying objects one at a time. He wore the enveloping clothing many humans preferred—covering most of the body, never letting skin or carapace through. A way to display the ornamentation of skilled labor.

“I would hum to Subservience,” El said, “if I had rhythms still.”

“I will accept that,” Odium said. “I have a plan to capture the entire world, and am confident in my ability to secure Thaylenah and Shinovar. As for Azir, my predecessor left an army that had been heading toward Lasting Integrity, which I was able to turn. It lacks Fused, and now lacks surprise, but I think it should be sufficient to claim Azimir. But the Shattered Plains trouble me.”

“I believe,” El said, “you have sent great numbers of Fused to the location.”

“Is that odd of me?” Odium asked, pausing beside a stack of gemstones, each large as a fist, on a shelf.

“I have been told,” El said, “that the term to use with a divinity is not ‘odd,’ but ‘inscrutable.’”

Odium smiled again. He tapped each gemstone in turn, and they glowed with Voidlight—soft purple-on-black.

“If you have sent so many Fused,” El continued, “and continue to worry—then I’d ask what is so important about a wasteland. Thaylenah is a trading hub, vital for controlling the seas. Azir is the seat of an empire, and of great cultural and scientific development in this era. Both greater prizes. Both facing lesser armies.

“One might guess this is about proximity. For example, getting those Fused to Azimir in time might be impossible. And you are confident in your plan for Thaylenah. So a reasonable person might assume that you sent the Fused to the only remaining location of note.”

“Are you reasonable, El?”

“Rarely.”

Once again Odium smiled. “I would like to bring further forces to support the Shattered Plains. How would you do this?”

“How much of a cost am I to assume I’d be willing to pay?”

“A steep one.”

“Then you already know the answer,” El said. “As the solution is a part of you.”

“Dai-Gonarthis is dangerous to unleash,” Odium said.

“Despite that,” El said, “if you require an Elsegate, she is the sole option—unless you have access to corrupted Elsecallers or a proper Honorblade.”

“I have neither yet,” Odium said as he walked back to El. “You have traveled with the Black Fisher before.”

“Yes,” he said. “Most of the lands you’d want are still protected from her touch, but Natanatan … Perhaps. You would need a strong source of Investiture on either side. And someone to lead your armies.”

Odium studied him. “I see you, El, for what you are not. And for what you are.”

El bowed his head.

“If you serve me,” Odium said, “you may need to kill more of your … former friends.”

“My friends had their chance. When left on this world, they enslaved my people. The Heralds deserve annihilation. It is … a mercy.”

Odium nodded. “I dub you—”

“No titles. Please.”

Odium hesitated, and El saw danger in his expression. So, he was not immune to the rage, and being cut off by someone much lesser crossed a line. A worthy experiment.

“Very well,” Odium said. “I name you ruler, with no title. You will take leadership of my armies to assault the Shattered Plains. Travel to the Peaks via shanay-im, and I shall send Dai-Gonarthis to you. Use her … particular talents to take the garrison at the Peaks, and claim the Shattered Plains in my name. I will pay her price another time.”

This left many things unsaid. Why Odium was so interested in the Shattered Plains. How he knew that there would be enough power to Connect them to the well at the Horneater Peaks.

The solution to both unsaid questions was likely the same. El again bowed his head. “The Nine will not care for my elevation.”

“And what are your thoughts on the Nine?”

“I think of them little, and when I do, I think little of them. Master.”

“Then they report to you, El. Help me claim this world.”

“If I do, can I rule human lands for you?”

“If that is your wish, I will grant it.”

Excellent. El bowed. “I will not fail, lest I be destroyed.”

“El, I do not throw people away for failure, unless it came about by their negligence. Adopt this policy. Even in failure, it is often not the tool, but the wielder, who is at fault.” The god began to fade, evaporating to dark mist. His voice lingered. “We have much work to do. Not just on one world, but many.”

Fascinating. El had walked in here expecting imprisonment, probably execution and forced rebirth. Instead it seemed he was leaving with an army, a promise, and a new god who might at last be able to conquer the entire cosmere.

What an enchanting day. In his head, he began to compose a poem to celebrate this new god he was delighted to worship. Someone who, he suspected, would know the value of what he had—and would let El help humankind finally realize their true passions.

He put Jezrien’s former prison back on the shelf, then tossed his anti-Stormlight gemstone into the air and caught it again while walking to the doorway, enraptured at the thought of how the Nine would react.