Interlude 6

T aravangian, the god divided, decided to let each side of him rule for a short time in turn. First, the intellect.

He found himself more capable, more balanced in this regard as a god. He remembered days of mortality feeling cold indifference to the needs of people—and that terrible callousness now troubled him. Such ruthlessness was not actually logical, for it ignored social consequences. Allowing his intellect to reign was not about complete alienation of emotion, but rather about deciding based on reason, while feeling emotion. To that end, he looked at what he was doing, and found …

That Cultivation had a point in arguing for him to end the war early—there was good logic in potentially going to Dalinar and the other monarchs, then accepting a deal that restored Alethkar without need for a contest of champions. For one, not pressing the war was safest for Odium personally. He was a new god, and mistakes now could be dangerous, particularly if those powerful forces off-planet decided he was too much of a threat.

He had millennia to plan, to decide how to conquer the cosmere as he wished. He studied the permutations, his own conclusions, and the goals he’d set out for himself as a mortal, and …

No. Working through it in a thousand different ways, he could not justify ending the war. He was so likely to win, and the offworld forces were highly unlikely to intervene. Plus, there was an element that Cultivation had not been able to fully understand. Odium’s power did not want an end to the war.

It wanted to fight, and to rage, and it was livid that his predecessor had let himself get trapped into this contest where the fighting ended. To go down a path of peace had its own terrible danger, especially since there was another being that the power of Odium preferred over Taravangian. Her name was Ba-Ado-Mishram, and if Taravangian was not cautious, the power might leave him for her, as it had left Rayse for him.

So, carefully, he fed emotion to the power. He promised it conquests in the sky, worlds to bend to their will—passion, fury, anger, and pain. All the most powerful emotions that it desired. It fed on that, simmering, while he considered his plans. They were good. Even excellent. He had a real and legitimate chance at solidifying the entire world beneath his reign.

As a test, he showed the power that if it raged too much, it would lose what it wanted. Extinction of humankind would stop the anger, the rage. He showed it that it would need to learn to fuel itself with more than anger.

The power refused to accept that or change. It had given birth to the Thrill, the grand spren who represented a lust for battle, because it loved the emotions of war. It did not accept that too much emotion could ever be a bad thing.

Curious. The power could not change, or would not. Though it should have been all emotions—and his predecessor had insisted that was his purview—the power did not like subtle emotions. It liked loud ones. The passion of fiery lust, yes. But genuine love? Things such as love and contentment felt like the purview of other gods. They had taken some slices of its … portfolio, so to speak, during the Shattering.

It liked anger most of all. Anger could simmer when passion gave out. Anger could rule a person longer than any lust. Anger was true fire.

More information. Good. The more he explored his new capacities, the more he understood. For Taravangian could learn, even if the power refused. He pondered further, with vast resources of mind. His faculties were such that they made his most intelligent days as a mortal seem …

Well, actually, those had a hint of divinity to them. A respectable level, for a human.

Still, he was so much more now. Yes, he needed war, for the logical decision was to seek a cosmere unified behind one god. The risks of enacting his plans were not too great. He had set up his confrontation with Dalinar so that he won regardless of what happened. He was confident in his ability to win the vast majority of Roshar.

He would be trapped here, but he could keep feeding the power promises of the conquest to keep it happy. So how, according to intellect, did he best prepare?

He needed a command staff.

People of great capacity, and ones he could trust—or rather, ones he could predict so he would know what would cause their failures or betrayals. El, the singer, was a first step. Taravangian had plans for that one in coming decades. He needed others. Specifically, those who would live long enough to see his plans enacted.

Therefore, he appeared at Kharbranth. It was time to speak with Dova.

Remaining invisible, he first walked the beautiful, dimly lit hallways of the Palanaeum. Books, a weight of information gathered meticulously by his ancestors, each a work of art. This was humankind at its best, standing against the tides of darkness with ink and pen. He breathed it in, and felt the many words in here. Though minuscule compared to his knowledge, they represented something grand.

Was he being too emotional, enjoying this? No, it was logical to admit that he—a god of emotions—needed to feel. Again, it was not rejection of emotion that defined intellect, but instead ruling emotion with that intellect. So he slowed time for himself—spending nine thousand heartbeats in the space of a few minutes to bask in the wonderful sense of place a grand library provided.

That done, he appeared in Dova’s offices on the seventh floor down. Dova—Battah the Herald—had been an older woman when joining the Oathpact, and had remained that age for seven thousand years now. Bald—as she enjoyed the way that imitating an ardent made most ignore her—she was writing softly at her desk in a dark room, surrounded by some of the most valuable items in the entire world. Priceless paintings, jeweled vases, bars of aluminum.

He stepped up, and divinely absorbed the contents of her stacks of papers without needing to touch them.

“While I did intend for you to rule from the shadows, old friend,” he said, manifesting in a form standing behind her, “I do wish you’d try to let my daughter have a say now and then. She needs to learn to be a queen.”

Dova froze. She spun her chair, and while it was not particularly logical to enjoy her look of utter shock, he did it anyway.

“Hell,” she said. “You’re the new Odium.”

He spread his hands to the sides, palms out. “Would you like to worship me?”

“I’d like to be paid, you old rat,” she said, leaning back in her chair, facing him and crossing one ankle over the other knee. “If I’d known how much trouble it would be to keep your kingdom from falling apart, I’d have demanded so much more.”

“Dova,” he said, “you’re immortal, and fantastically rich already. Why do you need money?”

“Do you have any idea the power of compound interest?” she said. “The system breaks entirely when you can wait it out for a hundred years.”

Taravangian smiled. She was, for obvious reasons, the most interesting member of the Diagram. Why would a Herald of the Almighty be so … crassly mercenary? The answer proved to be one he’d never exactly understood when alive. Each of these Heralds was suffering under a cloud of mind and soul, and this was how hers manifested. The wise counselor, known for her wisdom for millennia, had become corrupt.

He honestly wasn’t certain he could ever name her friend. Dova had no permanent allegiances. She was, however, a genuine genius—for a mortal. And she could be bribed quite effectively. So long as you knew you could offer the most, she would always be loyal. What value would it be to have a Herald serving him, especially if she returned and went among them? It was something his predecessor had never tried.

“I have need of your skill,” Taravangian said. “Specifically, the art with crystal spikes you have been practicing. I believe that you can restore sight to the blind?”

“After a fashion, and with a great cost. They will never truly see again.”

“But they will sense Investiture?”

“Yes.” She spun her pen in her fingers. “A god needs nothing, and you could figure out my crystal spikes on your own. You simply want to begin integrating me into your new organization, don’t you?”

“Why should I reproduce what you have learned so well? It’s more than just wanting to make use of you, Dova. It’s that I recognize a valuable tool when one is presented to me.”

“Well, I believe you are technically now the embodiment of everything I was created to fight against. Even with the Oathpact broken and Ishar doing whatever the hell it is he’s doing, I am a Herald of Honor. Working for Odium …” She clicked her tongue. “How unseemly would that be?”

He smiled at her.

She smiled back.

“The pay will be excellent?” she asked.

“Beyond excellent.” He paused for effect. “I can likely get you a planet eventually. A small one, at least. I’ll try to find a way to get you off Roshar to visit it.”

She hesitated, her eyes widening, inspecting him to see if he was serious. He was. Today, levity was mostly a social construct to him.

“I,” Dova said, rising, “will gather my things immediately.”