Chapter 44

Of different note, as Vava will attest in great disbursement, is that within orders strife is unexpected, yet still vulgar, of a shape and manifold variety, that is often overlooked, still worthy of consideration.

—From Words of Radiance, chapter 40, page 1

S hallan floated through shifting colors, transfixed by the beautiful flowing ribbons.

Like paint mixing all around her, sometimes becoming images, shapes, glimpses of other times. She could have lingered here for an eternity, watching the colors bleed, watching visions of people she’d been come and go.

Then suddenly it began to fade. She wanted to hold on, reluctant to leave—because in that flowing warmth all things were possible, but none of them were her fault. Here, she could merely exist.

Regardless, a world formed around her. Shallan found herself pulling free of a trance, as if stepping from a mire, and then she began to remember urgency. Mraize had collapsed the perpendicularity, and …

… she’d been sucked through. She felt at her pocket, in the leather armor she still wore, and found the knife she’d stolen from the Ghostbloods. Anti-Light. She clutched it, blinking, and looked around, suddenly terrified. How long had she floated like that? Where was she now?

A room appeared from the shifting mist: a lavish chamber with a luxurious bed and fine furnishings. And toys? There was a fortress made of wood on the floor, with toy soldiers and several prominent wooden Shardbearers.

Light peeked in through open window drapes, but something was wrong with the colors. It didn’t feel quite real. Indeed, when she picked up one of the soldiers from the wooden rampart, she could see that its colors bled into the air. A little like the colors of a prism, but separated, creating three little toy soldiers slightly off-center from one another.

Cyan, magenta, yellow, she thought, remembering her color theory lessons. Curious. Though she seemed to be solid, the light coming off every other object had that same surreal, off-kilter split of colors. As if they were on the floor of some Thaylen master printer’s offices, discarded for misalignment.

The door opened, revealing Pattern in his full-sized form, with Testament behind him—her hand on his shoulder. Like Shallan, they appeared more solid than the surroundings. “Ah!” Pattern said. “She is here, Renarin! Hmmm. I believe she is playing with your toys.”

“I was inspecting the colors,” Shallan said, wagging the toy soldier at Pattern.

“Oh!” he said. “Can I play with them, then? I always wondered at the fuss!”

As the others entered from a room outside, Pattern bounced over and began lining up the toy soldiers. He left Testament to haunt the room just inside the doorway, putting her back to the wall. Renarin entered, and Shallan got her first good view of his spren in physical form.

Technically Glys was a mistspren, a variety she’d met in Shadesmar. Their bodies were made of mist that was diaphanous and amorphous, but somehow still gave shape to the clothing they wore. Those she’d seen wore gloves, as well as some kind of crystalline mask with delicate features.

Renarin’s spren had turned a deep red color, like fog hiding a ruby somewhere within. Instead of a mask, Glys had a shifting … nothing. Like a swirling void, tinted red.

Rlain came in after Renarin, with his own spren, which was larger than Renarin’s but had the same kind of face. Rlain towered over all of them; in this form, he might even be taller than Kaladin. He was intimidating in his uniform, with his orange-red skullcap of carapace covering his cheeks and nose, and with that thick—if short—beard. He had powerful muscles, and eyes that upon first glance appeared black, without pupils. That was wrong, as there was differentiation in singer eyes when you looked closely.

Rlain had presence. She might have been frightened of him, if not for the way he glanced at Renarin for support, an action that was strikingly vulnerable. Storms. She needed to be careful about how she judged people. It was the artist’s way to paint a picture of someone the moment she saw them—but art was locked to the page, and a person was always so much more than any image could contain.

Pattern began humming contentedly, stacking the toy soldiers up like they were performers.

“So,” Renarin said. “Um … I think we ended up in the Spiritual Realm. Fortunately, our spren were able to find you all.”

Shallan winced. “Sorry. I dragged you two into this.” She took a deep breath. “And you were right when you said I was trying to get you to help me find Mishram. I didn’t expect … I’m sorry. Genuinely.”

“It is what it is,” Rlain said, his arms folded. “And if what you say about those assassins is correct—that they are hunting Mishram’s prison—then it is well we are here. I don’t want them finding one of our old gods. Odium has enough strength.”

“I stole this from one of them before the accident,” Shallan said, holding up the dagger, the metal at its tip warping the air. “We have to assume Iyatil and Mraize are in here somewhere too, and they have spren like yours—spren who can guide them.”

“This Mraize,” Renarin said, “matches the description of someone who captured Lift during the occupation and gave her to the enemy as a gift.”

Shallan winced. Capturing Lift? Giving her as a gift?

Yeah. That sounded like Mraize.

“So …” Shallan said, looking up. “We seem to be … in a child’s room?”

“Renarin’s room!” Pattern said happily. “From when he was young!”

“I will need memories,” Glys said, standing behind Renarin like a shadow. “To give form. I will help, but this is not real. Not even as not real as the other visions. Not real past. Sorry. I … will try to words … better.”

“It’s all right, Glys,” Renarin said. “We get it.”

“We do?” Shallan asked.

“Glys can help us shape some semblance of reality from this place,” Renarin said. “But it’s not going to tell us anything new or interesting, because he’s feeding on my memories, not the Connections and tones of the Spiritual Realm.”

Okay … that … barely made any sense to her. Storms. When had Renarin learned so much about these kinds of things?

You always underestimated him, Radiant reminded her. But at least that’s one habit you’ve started to break, as you grow.

“Think of this as a staging area,” Renarin said, gesturing at the walls with shelves bearing toys. “So we can decide what to do next.”

“Mraize and Iyatil,” Shallan said, “are trying to find the prison of the Unmade, Ba-Ado-Mishram. Dalinar will be here too, probably Navani as well, for other reasons.”

Rlain hummed something.

Renarin, in turn, nodded. “Yes, it is curious. Shallan, do you know why my father would come here? Glys says it’s dangerous.”

“It is dangerous,” Glys agreed. “And will be.”

“Dalinar is hunting for information, I think,” Shallan said. “And … perhaps for the power of the god Honor, from what I overheard. So that maybe … that power can be exploited.”

Renarin and Rlain shared a glance.

“Your father,” Rlain said to a hesitant rhythm, “is an … impressively ambitious person, Renarin.”

“Yeah. I’ve noticed.” Renarin made fists and seemed, to her best estimation, overwhelmed. She opened her mouth to offer some solution, but then he nodded firmly. “Right. If an Unmade’s prison really is in here, we need to find it. First.”

You, Radiant noted, are not the only one who has grown.

“We should join Dalinar and Navani,” Shallan said. “From what Iyatil and Mraize said, they hope the Bondsmiths’ visions will lead them to Mishram’s prison. With your father’s help, we can—”

“No!” Glys said urgently.

“No!” Rlain’s spren said, standing close behind him like a shadow. “No, no revealing ourselves!”

“The gods hate us,” Glys said. “In here, we will be exposed to them. They will destroy us!”

“Honor’s power will hate us,” Rlain’s spren said.

“We are its enemies,” Glys agreed. “It does not fully think, but it will know. To kill us.”

“Odium will destroy us.”

“We are traitors to his vision.”

“Cultivation will destroy us.”

“We are abominations,” Glys said. “She will hate us. All will hate us. We cannot be seen.”

Both of them deliberately stepped further into the shadows of their respective Radiants, peeking out, uncertain.

“All right …” Shallan said. “So … that makes this more complicated.”

“There are laws governing what the gods can do,” Renarin said. “Wit talks about it sometimes. But I think … if you enter their domain …”

“If you invade a person’s house,” Glys said softly, “the law has fewer protections for you. Worse for us. We have chosen to be Enlightened by her, which puts us in the power of all gods. We will die if we are exposed.”

“In secret,” Rlain’s spren said. “We go in secret. Using our illusions to protect us. Illusions are quiet. Your enemies, they will come to the same conclusions. They will follow the Bondsmiths, who are Connected to events they seek.”

“So the assassins will be hiding in the visions,” Rlain said, his voice deep and contemplative, “acting out a role, unknown to Dalinar and Navani.”

“We don’t actually have to find Mishram’s prison, you know,” Renarin said. “We could, um, find these Ghostbloods and just … er …”

“Just what?” Shallan asked.

“Murder?” Pattern said, placing another soldier. He’d built a surprisingly tall pyramid. “Oh, you mean murder ! Shallan is good at murder. Yes, mmmmm …”

“Pattern,” she said, “please don’t say it that way.”

“She is good,” Pattern corrected himself, “at making people who were once alive and threatening, unalive and unthreatening. Mmmm. Very good at it.”

“Right, um …” Now the old Renarin was back, unwilling to meet her eyes. “So … if we stop those two, that should be enough, right? We don’t need to find the prison?”

“For the short term that would work,” Shallan agreed. “Are you fine with killing like that, Renarin?”

“I am,” he said, looking up. “We are the authorities in this matter, invested with responsibility by our oaths and commissions. These two not only sided with the enemy, they have attacked—by your word—my cousin Jasnah. We do what we have to in order to protect.” For support he looked to Rlain, who hummed—then after a moment nodded, as if he belatedly realized he needed to give more of a confirmation for humans.

Neither asked if she was willing. They assumed it, and … well, Mraize was her enemy. He’d manipulated her. Threatened her brothers. He did not deserve her loyalty—and she’d overtly declared war on him.

Still, she found her heart treasonously hesitant.

You’re ready for this, Shallan, Veil thought. We can bring him down.

Yes, but Radiant may have to do the killing, she thought. When the hard part comes.

It is why I exist, Radiant said .

“All right,” Renarin said. “Let me see if I can locate Father and Aunt Navani. Glys, I’ll need your help.”

They settled on the floor, closing their eyes. Shallan hauled herself to her feet and decided to inspect the room. This was Renarin’s childhood bedroom, was it? She found a number of stuffed chulls, which appeared to have occasionally been used as mounts for the soldiers—making for the slowest, most meandering cavalry of all time. She stopped near Testament, who stood with her hand on one of those animals. Her forlorn pattern twisted, almost motionless.

“She’s thinking of you,” Pattern said softly, stepping up beside her. “When you were young.”

Shallan glanced over her shoulder, to where he’d left a perfect three-dimensional pyramid of soldiers—their wooden bases and flat helmets letting them balance.

“She thinks of you,” Pattern continued, laying his hand on Testament’s. “And the way you were back then.”

“Pain,” Testament whispered.

“In pain,” Pattern said. “A child should live happily. Every child. You did not.”

“I did for a while,” Shallan whispered.

“Is that true?” Pattern said.

“I loved my brothers, and …” Shallan wiped a tear she hadn’t realized was forming. “And there were good times. In the gardens. With her.”

Pattern took Shallan’s hand, then Testament—with a lurch—moved her hand on top. Both squeezed.

“This place,” Pattern warned her, “is affected by your thoughts. Ah, yes, and your memories and your soul too. Your soul can make things appear without thought. It might be difficult. Take care. We will stay close.”

She nodded. “I don’t deserve you,” she whispered. “Either of you.” Pattern hugged her, his too-stiff clothing feeling odd, but she welcomed the gesture.

Nearby, Renarin stood up. “We’ve found my father. He’s in a vision.”

“Good,” Pattern said. “Excellent, even! Let’s go murder some folks!”