Chapter 58

I have plans to deal with Odium, as I told you before. I will not explain them to you.

W e’ll go east,” Jezrien said as Dalinar entered the dugout. “We’ll leave Battar in charge here.”

Dalinar hovered near the doorway. Jezrien and Ishar sat near the fire at the center, which had burned low. Chana—the red-haired woman with furs and the strange almost sword—paced behind them, while Vedel was somehow creating a strange latticework of lights between her fingers. Like the strings of a child’s game, except made of power, into which she stared.

That seemed an awful lot like Bondsmithing to Dalinar, and it held his attention while the others conversed.

“Jez, maybe the rebels are right,” Chana said as she flopped down in the dirt. Not the most graceful of people. “I doubt anything is ever going to flourish in this place.”

“Battar is confident,” Jezrien said. “Keep breeding the strains that do grow, albeit weakly, and she says eventually we’ll turn this mud fertile.”

“Would that we’d thought to bring soil with us,” Ishar said, shaking his head.

“Who thought we’d need dirt ?” Chana said. “It’s weird so many of you brought rocks. ”

“Mementos of a world lost,” Jezrien said. “Kalak. Going east. Do you agree?”

They looked to Dalinar.

“Yes,” Dalinar said. “We can’t abandon other humans to die.”

“So even Kalak agrees,” Chana said. “Our veterans are all grizzled elders, but they can help us train a new generation. Maybe just … a show of force, a threat to the migration grounds will be enough.”

“Jezrien,” Dalinar said, sitting by the fire with the others, “I said something earlier that upset you and Ishar. What is going on? Are you planning something without me?”

It was his best lead. He’d tried to talk about the idea of making Heralds, and these two seemed to know something. Indeed, they shared a glance.

“We’re not ready,” Ishar said, flicking his eyes to Vedel and her lattice of lines of light. She nodded.

“Your plans can take far too long, old friend,” Dalinar said to Ishar. “Immortality has you thinking like the stones themselves—watching the eons, barely changing.”

“My idea is an idea of gods, Kalak,” Ishar said. “It must move on their timescale, and cannot be rushed.”

“Surely you can give me something,” Dalinar said, thinking a note might be a good anchor. “Some … bit of explanation, perhaps? Written down?”

They stared at him blankly.

“What words are these?” Ishar asked.

Storms. Dalinar had a moment of utter disconnect, realizing that they didn’t have writing yet. They spoke in ways that felt so modern, and he had assumed too much. He should blame the bond that was translating for him. It made their conversation seem so comfortable, but their gestures and some of their facial expressions were far more alien.

Before he could try to explain, the drape covering the doorway rustled, and someone stepped in. The Herald Shalash—looking to be seventeen or eighteen.

Jezrien frowned. “Ash?”

“Why am I not invited?” Shalash asked. “Why do you all plan without me?”

“My beautiful,” Jezrien said, standing up. “My precious fur. We—”

“I’m over sixty years old, ” Shalash said, summoning violent angerspren in pools at her feet. “Why do you all always treat me like a child? ”

“Ash, dear,” Jezrien said, making an unfamiliar gesture with his hands out at the sides. “No need to get upset.”

“Gah!” Shalash said, tossing her hands into the air. “I can’t even get angry without being treated like I’m throwing a tantrum. I want to fight, Father. I’m immortal like you.”

“We’re not immortal,” Vedel said softly, collapsing her lattice of light. “The powers changed us, yes, but we are not eternal. You grow, Ash. Slowly.”

“I’m going east with you to see my cousins.” Ash yanked the ribbon from her head and tossed it to the ground, spilling long, straight black hair across her shoulders. “Sixty years as a child is enough.”

She stormed out of the chamber, leaving them all quietly stunned.

The ribbon was our previous anchor, Dalinar thought . I’ve witnessed the relevant moment involving it, and Navani said …

This vision would begin to unravel now.

“Listen and hear, the song of new sight,

A story of years, and of the long fight.

For these eyes are not yours,

We measure not the years,

We know not our full loss,

But we dream nonetheless.”

As Thude sang, Venli settled down on a worn stone that was peeking from the sand like a miniature plateau. Others nearby paused in their ministrations to the chasmfiends. Even several of the monstrous beasts nearby turned their heads toward the sound.

As Thude continued, Venli picked out what he meant by calling this a “song of new sight,” and insisting these “eyes are not yours.” His song was from the perspective of the chasmfiends. Indeed, as the stanzas progressed—sung to the Rhythm of the Lost, a stately and sometimes unnerving rhythm—she saw why.

She’d been told that chasmfiends could project images in one another’s minds—that they communicated through some sort of bond. Some were capable of sharing it with singers. According to Thude’s song, they found both humans and listeners to be a curious bunch of cremlings. It was hard, the song explained, to recollect the past. Chasmfiends didn’t write, and their songs weren’t of narrative, but emotions. They’d lived on these vast rolling hills for many centuries, and rarely saw singers or humans except when they underwent the final change—when they visited the Shattered Plains to grow manyfold and obtain the last stage of their adulthood.

That was all pretty vague. But the next part—the first humans who fought back and killed a chasmfiend—was starkly remembered by the beasts. Burned into the minds of all those nearby, then passed to the other chasmfiends as warning.

“Then raising a nail, made all of steel,

A warrior brought hail, and pain to feel.

Now our eyes saw true,

Our ears now heard trace,

Our ways were at fault,

These were rivals to fight.”

As the song continued, she realized she’d been expecting fear or anger from the chasmfiends. Instead, they responded to the killing as a challenge. Among their kind, a smaller chasmfiend would often challenge a larger one for dominance—but it was usually just a show. The smaller one, once proving itself bold and brave, would back off. They rarely killed each other.

These little things with the metal teeth, however—they didn’t back down. They were rivals, so the chasmfiends began fighting back, as a display of strength. The chasmfiends were animals … or maybe something different from both common animal and listener. Either way, they kept on fighting, stealing prey from the humans, individually challenging humans and sometimes listeners for dominance. Until the day …

“When report came in stark, by one who was bold,

A story made dark, without reason to hold,

It could not be said,

Without rhythm so sad,

Like a hit to the skull,

They were killing the small.”

Thude seemed to be taking some liberties, framing it in tones that the listeners would empathize with. The meaning was plain enough: The chasmfiends hadn’t initially grasped that the humans were attacking the pupating ones—because who would do that? There was no dominance to be established and no bravery to prove there. Yet they understood eventually. Their numbers were dwindling because the strange creatures were doing something unthinkable. For centuries, the chasmfiends had depended on this location—which they called the land of fallen stars—for their transformations. While they pupated many times in their lives, the final transformation had to happen at the Shattered Plains. Why was not clear to Venli from the song.

The song entered a prolonged set of stanzas eulogizing the young, which the listeners had also been killing. For their survival, yes, but to the near extinction of a grand species. It would have been bad enough if they’d been dumb animals, but to find them capable of thought … well, Venli could understand the Rhythm of the Lost as a choice. And the horror with which Thude—although no expert at composition—painted the realization.

The narrative continued with an unexpected turn: The chasmfiends decided these little things, small though they were, must actually be dominant. And so, when the listeners left the Shattered Plains … a group of the chasmfiends came and offered their version of a truce. This group—some fifty individuals, not the majority of the remaining chasmfiends, but a sizable chunk—had thrown their lot in with Venli’s people.

“The right time had come, songs became new.

The storm was undone, leaving fresh dew.

We lived with those small,

And found their true skill.

Not that of bringing ends,

But of scratching our ears.”

That brought a chuckle to those listening, though Thude sounded a little embarrassed by the joke ending. He had grown during this last year. Venli could remember a day when all he did was talk about wanting to get something to eat—yet here he was, leading their people and creating songs.

“So,” Venli said from her rock, “they simply … stopped trying to eat us?”

“We’re not food to them,” Thude said. “We never were—we were rivals. Venli, they still can’t grasp that we were harvesting them, as gemstones are meaningless to them—they think it was a turf war. Apparently, they find ways to live with one another in situations like that.” He glanced at the large dozing heaps that appeared much less fearsome when they were humming softly to the ministrations of the listeners.

“I don’t think they see us as dominant,” Venli said, her arms folded.

“It’s more complex than that,” Thude explained. “To them, dominance was never about dominating . They want to look strong before each other, probably to attract mates, partially also because it just … feels good, I suppose. We showed ourselves capable of fighting, and they were the ones who backed away. Now they’re content to live together.”

“We were cowardly,” Jaxlim said. She stood with hands clasped behind her. “We killed their young.”

“They give no signs of bearing a grudge, fortunately,” Thude said to Consolation. “They evidently like this arrangement. People to clean their carapace and scratch between gaps is an excellent trade for sharing some food, in their minds. They’re predators, and big ones. They need to sleep … well, most of the day, really.” He changed to the Rhythm of Determination. “But Venli, Jaxlim, if we need a boulder lifted or a beast slain … they’re eager to help. And they can carry dozens of us on their backs at once.”

“Can they fight?” Venli asked.

“I think history has proven they can,” Thude said. “But it’s also shown that they’re outmatched by Shardbearers.”

“What about Fused?” Venli said.

Thude looked at her, uncomfortable. He didn’t want to face it, but Venli had to.

“Odium is going to take notice of us eventually,” she said, laying her arms on her knees as she sat. “Even if we don’t participate in the fighting. You remember the deal between him and the humans?”

She had a spanreed, and had sent a few short communications to Rlain, as promised when they’d parted. He wasn’t responding lately, which worried her, but before he’d gone silent, he’d explained the details of the contest to her.

“Yes,” Thude said to Anxiety. “There might be fighting right now, but it’s leading to peace in a few days. That’s good for us, isn’t it?”

“It seems that the enemy,” she said, “will have plenty of time to focus on small details he’s ignored. People he thought he’d destroyed completely, but who persist—their continued existence making a liar of him.”

“Gods,” Jaxlim said softly, “do not like being embarrassed.”

“We could join the humans,” Venli said idly. She’d rejected their overtures, but … she couldn’t ignore the potential. Not if she was serious about preserving her people.

Thude glanced to her, and Bila—his once mate, and another member of the Five—walked up, taking his arm. She’d been listening while working on one of the nearby chasmfiends. Though they didn’t hum to it, Venli could tell they didn’t entirely trust her yet—and with good reason. Yes, she’d brought them Radiant spren, but her actions in the past …

“The humans murdered us, Venli,” Bila said. “You yourself led the charge to destroy them with forms of power.”

“And where did that get us?” she asked to Annoyance. “Look, I hate it, and want to reject it too. But Odium is our enemy while the humans … only some of them are.”

“After all this time, bowing before human monarchs?” Thude said. “It violates the very soul of our people. Our independence defines us.”

“People can change,” she said. “I did. We can.”

“We’ll talk,” Bila said to her. “Among the Five. But Venli, I agree with Thude. Our lives, our existence, have always been a risk. Better that we continue than give in.”

“I can respect the humans,” Thude said to Reprimand, “but we can never join them.”

They hummed to Resolve. Venli mostly agreed, but was annoyed when they turned and left together. She’d been through so much. Now she came here, and she was back to being ignored. It was—

It was …

Probably what she deserved. She took a long calming breath, letting Timbre’s rhythms help her find a way to Peace. One would think that by now she would have purged herself of being selfish. It was still there, however: that drive to demand respect. The part of her that wanted power and praise.

Timbre pulsed, indicating it was a normal emotion. But Venli thought she felt it more strongly than others. Why was that? Was she genuinely a worse person than the rest of them?

Timbre replied that there were different challenges for different people. Being self-aware was part of the solution. Venli returned her thanks, but privately she was even a little annoyed by Timbre—who always had the right answers. Still, she’d decided not to indulge in self-pity. She’d have to remain vigilant, and work harder to reject her natural inclinations toward pride. She instead attuned Joy, reminding herself how wonderful these last three days had been.

“Venli,” her mother said, walking over, “are you well?”

“Just frustrated and confused.”

Jaxlim settled down on the stone beside Venli, then wrapped her arms around her, humming softly to Love. Venli wasn’t a child anymore, and felt ashamed at first. But then … then Timbre picked up the rhythm too, and it vibrated through Venli. Being held wasn’t solely for little children. It was for all children. She closed her eyes and at first suffered it, then accepted it, then …

Then savored it. She breathed out, and allowed herself to attune Love as well. It had been a long, long journey. But within that embrace, all she wanted was to be the daughter her mother expected. The daughter who knew the heritage of her people, and carried with her their songs. She’d need to hear Thude’s new one again, and memorize it.

And yet, the oddities, Venli thought . There are serious holes in that story. “Why?”

“Why what?” Jaxlim asked, still holding her.

“Chasmfiends need to come to the Shattered Plains for their ultimate transformation. Why? The highstorms give them the power to grow. So can’t they make that transformation anywhere?”

“Many animals have such instincts.”

“We just learned they’re more than animals, Mother,” Venli said. “They apparently tried the final pupation elsewhere.”

“That might only be the song,” Jaxlim said. “Thude said he’s not expert in them.”

Venli let the hug persist a little longer, but found she couldn’t leave the questions alone. She rose and strode to one of the chasmfiends—a large one, with dark eyes full of mystery. It snorted at her as she stepped in front of it, her every instinct indicating she should run.

Instead, she stared it in the eyes. “Why?” she said. “Why do you need to pupate on the Shattered Plains?”

The beast settled its head back down, closing its eyes and turning away from her. She stepped in front of it again, right up near the eye.

“I can be extremely stubborn,” she whispered. “It’s practically my defining trait. So I’m going to get an answer.”

The thing snorted again, then opened one eye.

In a second, she felt what it had, climbing onto a plateau years ago. Needing to grow, bursting against its own carapace. It followed a song. A thousand powerful songs, sung by fragments of light in the ground. There, within its cocoon …

Power. Flooding it. Expanding it. Power coming from the sky and from the ground.

Venli gasped, and searched her memory for the songs she’d been taught to repeat so many times. About how her people had found their way to the Shattered Plains. It seemed they’d been led there. But by what?

By songs, the stones whispered.

“There is something here, isn’t there?” she whispered. “Why has everyone fought so hard over this barren, broken expanse?”

“Venli?” her mother asked, stepping up to her. “It’s because of the Oathgate and the Shardblades abandoned here.”

“Yes,” Venli said, feeling the chasmfiend’s memory. “But what … what if there’s more?”

Why had a kingdom ever been built in this desolate place, where the storms were so devastating?

What had broken the Plains?

What had she felt from the chasmfiend as it transformed?

Finally, why did Odium want this place so badly? Badly enough to have sent one of the Unmade, Nergaoul—the Thrill—to dominate it during the Alethi occupation?

The stones seemed to know. But before she could ask them, the chasmfiends started singing. A highstorm was near.

Navani watched as Dalinar vanished into the hut dug in the hillside, a hole in the top letting smoke from the fire within trail out, like a kettle’s spout for steam.

“Gram?” Gav asked, seated nearby. “I’m scared.”

Navani knelt by the boy and hugged him. “Don’t be frightened, Gav. We’re here with you now.”

“Is this really a place of pretend?”

“Yes,” Navani said. “You know how you and Grandpa play greatshell, where he’s the beast, and you’re the mighty knight who slays it?”

Gav nodded.

“Well, this is a place where everything—even the ground and the sky—pretends with us. We came here to learn secrets.”

“Secrets that … the ground and the sky know?”

“Well, maybe.” Navani thought a moment. “Wind, can you hear me?”

“Gram?” Gav asked. “Is this part of the pretending?”

“Yes, Gav. It is. Wind, you spoke to us earlier,” Navani said, staring at the sky. “Please. Can you see me here, now?”

I see you, a quiet voice said. Woman of another time. This was my time. My era. This was when I lived …

“Did you die, then?”

Spren don’t die, they only change forms. We bend to how people see us, and so I am no longer a god. You worship the storm instead.

“Gram?” Gav said. “What is that voice?”

“It’s …” Navani hesitated. “It’s the Wind, Gav.”

“Will it hurt me?”

“No,” Navani whispered. “Remember what I showed you in the tower? Some spren are good. Some spren help us.”

“I …” Gav grew thoughtful, after his way. “I remember. I heard … something earlier, before Grampa found me. A nice spren, that said it could protect me from the bad ones. It sounded like Daddy.”

“Good!” Navani said, but she doubted Gav knew his father’s voice. He had been so young when Elhokar left for the Shattered Plains.

Child, the Wind said to Gav, I will not hurt you. I am not the storm, though I am in the storm.

“Wind,” Navani said, still hugging Gav, “is … what my husband wishes to do … is it valid?”

Valid? Or possible?

“Either?” she said.

Both, but there are burdens to be borne. Secrets even I do not know, because I was voiceless and quiet—confined mostly to Shinovar. If the Bondsmith wishes to become Honor, it will hurt.

“Would it … help him with his fight?”

“Grampa is a good fighter, ” Gav whispered. He closed his eyes. “I want to be a good fighter. Like him. Like Daddy. I want to be a king.”

It might help, the Wind said. I prepare in case it does not. To protect my charges.

“Your charges?” Navani asked.

The spren, the Wind said. We find our own champion. Blessed by the storm. A champion for the wind itself …

Navani considered that, but was distracted as she saw the distant mountains begin to fade. The vision was ending.

Dalinar started picking up random objects in the dugout, frantic, since Navani said she’d felt something at touching the ribbon. He even grabbed the ribbon, hoping maybe it would work again. He felt nothing.

But as he worked, the others occasionally giving him odd glances, a word cut through his panic.

“Nale gave me a mark of debt.”

Jezrien had said it, but Dalinar spun, realizing something. All of the Heralds had been accounted for in this vision except Taln and Nale. Two who seemed Makabaki. And this group were discussing going to help “Makibak.”

“Nale,” Dalinar said, kneeling by the others. “He will be there?”

“Probably,” Chana said, lounging back. “I don’t like that one. He might avoid us.”

“No,” Jezrien said. “He will help. Nale is one of the most honorable men I’ve ever known.”

“He was our enemy!” Chana said.

“And we were wrong,” Vedel whispered. “He knew the truth of the god Passion long before any of us did. We fought on the wrong side of that war, Chana. I feel I will spend my life regretting that choice.”

“Nale,” Dalinar said, “gave you … something?”

Dalinar heard a rumbling in the back of his mind. The Stormfather was watching, quietly.

“Yes,” Jezrien said, reaching to his pouch. He took out a small piece of stone, marked with scratches in the shape of an animal head. A picture that was reminiscent of a glyph. Maybe they did have writing—or some early ancestor of it.

“He … owes you a new ox?” Chana said, frowning.

“No, this represents a larger debt,” Jezrien said. “An ox debt was all we had to signify the moment. The Makibaki have been using them to mark all kinds of things.”

Dalinar stared at the disc. It would work. A connection from this moment to Nale, and a debt he owed Jezrien.

Dalinar. The Stormfather’s voice. Please. Don’t take this step. I … Please. It might …

“It might what?” Dalinar whispered.

It might reveal … me …

Dalinar hesitated. He felt an empathy for the Stormfather, as Dalinar knew the pain that history remembered could reveal. But this was the only path.

“I’m sorry, Stormfather,” Dalinar said, with genuine regret.

Jezrien was still watching the disc. “Nale gave me this with a promise. If I show him this, he’ll listen to—”

Dalinar snatched it. He immediately felt it pulsing with a deep sense of meaning—a Connection. He leapt to his feet, and Chana—moving quickly—lunged to tackle him. But Dalinar realized he’d been ready for this. An old instinct that had led him to identify the one in the room most likely to attack him.

He dodged her, then burst out of the hovel. The vision was breaking apart, buildings unraveling as if to smoke, but he found Navani desperately trying to find an anchor near the firepits. He charged up and hooked his right arm around her. Gav began to cry as the vision unraveled, but Dalinar seized the boy with his left hand and held on tightly. All the while keeping hold of that little stone disc in his right fist.

In the chaotic darkness that followed, it formed an anchor to the next point in their journey.