Chapter 64

All I will say is that I have kept my bargain, and I did not go in person at her request for aid.

N avani—seen by the others in this vision as Wit—felt her fingers tighten on Gav’s shoulders as he stood before her.

God had just appeared.

This was … Him. The being she’d worshipped since childhood. The one she’d burned glyphwards to. Dalinar said he was dead, but she’d never been able to accept that, not the way he said it. God could not die. Perhaps an aspect of him could die, an avatar.

So, she steeled herself. This wasn’t actually God. This was one of his many faces.

“My friends,” Tanavast said.

“Friends?” Ishar said softly. “You call us that?”

“We should have been friends, Ishar,” Tanavast said. “You should have listened to me so many years ago.”

“You brought war and death to our world,” Chana said.

“I brought truth, and the truth brought war and death,” Tanavast replied. “Do you deny this, Chana?”

Chana fell silent.

“Rayse would destroy you now,” Tanavast said. “He doesn’t care for the people he plays with; he never has. He has found the singers, and he’s been granting them immortality so they can kill you.” Tanavast’s eyes flashed golden. “You will not defeat him. Not alone.”

“Honor,” Nale said, shoving his way to the front of the group, “how do we know this won’t play out as it did last time?”

“Nale,” Tanavast said. “It is good to see you. Tell the others. Did I lie to you last time?”

“No,” Nale said. “But the powers you gave me … they helped burn the world itself.”

Honor’s expression softened. “I’m sorry. But did I warn you?”

“Yes,” Nale admitted. “You did.”

“It will not happen again, Nale,” Honor said. “Ishar’s plan is a good one.”

“And Passion?” Chana asked.

“Odium,” Tanavast corrected, “ hates you, as his name implies. You question him—therefore he will now seek to annihilate you.”

Navani soaked it in, too amazed to talk. This was a scholar’s dream. Even though she wasn’t a historian, this had to be witnessed, so it could be recorded. She practically held her breath, worried that any interruption or comment she made could taint the vision.

“I don’t know if I can trust you again, Honor,” Nale said.

Tanavast stepped forward and placed his hand on Nale’s shoulder. Navani felt the hair on her arms go up, her skin tingling.

“I,” Tanavast said, “am not perfect, Nale. I am merely a part of something that is perfect. I took this power upon myself to do good, and I mean to keep that Intent. I promise that I will not allow what happened to your ancestral home to happen here. However, you do need power to resist.”

“We can bind the enemy to a place far from here,” Ishar said. “Their souls keep returning, and that is something we can never defeat.”

“It is why they keep fighting,” Vedel said a moment later, looking up from the edge of the conversation. “Instead of finding a peaceful solution. If we can lock these Fused away, then perhaps we can persuade the living to listen.”

“A … binding,” Chana said. “What kind of binding?”

Navani trembled. She’d always imagined this happening in some grand hall or magnificent palace. In a temple or shrine. Not in an old leather tent, with rain pattering outside. She’d imagined regal clothing, not furs and rough cloth. Shining armor, not stone spears.

But it was happening. And she got to witness it.

“Most of you once served him,” Tanavast said. “He granted you his powers. There is a Connection we can exploit, so long as the circle contains enough of you. Strongest would be sixteen or my own number of ten—it cannot be nine. If you speak oaths to me, my power can be channeled and governed by rules to prevent a cataclysm. I will take back your Surges, then grant them anew, and together you will become a force that both protects Roshar and binds the enemy away from it.”

“Ten,” Shalash said. “But we are only nine …”

“No, Ash,” Jezrien said, turning toward her immediately. “There will be enough without you. We will find two more. We …” He trailed off as she met his eyes, and Navani sensed a history there. Things that had happened in the decades since Ash had removed her ribbon.

Jezrien sighed. “We will accept … any who volunteer.”

“Only volunteers,” Honor agreed. “This may well require you to travel to Braize, and its well of souls, to seal the enemy. Your pact will complete the blessing that Odium began, then rejected—but you will become mine instead of his. ”

Navani didn’t know if the others felt the same trembling that she did—the same sense of power and incredible force of purpose that emanated from Tanavast.

“I volunteer,” Ishar said first.

“I need an oath, Ishar,” Tanavast said softly, stepping away from Nale. “You must bind yourself to Honor, to this pact, and swear to hold back the darkness.”

Jezrien stepped forward. “Ishar, let me say it first. Let me begin the circle, and you end it. It is my duty, as king.”

Ishar nodded. He closed his eyes, and a web of lines emanated from him, like the Bondsmithing she and Dalinar had begun to perform. This seemed far more intricate, and she realized she could never have replicated this with her childlike understanding of the power. Ishar mouthed words of Intent, then touched Honor and drew out a powerful cord of light.

“This will start the bond,” Ishar said. “Only once it is complete can Vedel seal immortality upon us—using our Connection to Honor to tap into constantly rejuvenating Investiture from the Spiritual Realm, locking our souls at our current age. This way we can be reborn again and again.”

Ishar touched his line to Jezrien first. “I swear this oath to you, Honor,” the king said. “I will hold back the darkness. I will protect this land.”

The cord of light went through Jezrien, and he began to glow. A low hum of power filled the room, vibrating with Honor’s tone. Ishar took a second cord from the god, and glanced around the room.

Jezrien took something from his pocket and held it out. A small round piece of stone—the same one that Dalinar had taken as an anchor. “I release your debt, Nale. I will not force this upon you.”

“I appreciate that,” Nale said. “I am uncertain I desire it, but I will take this charge with honor.”

“Do not consider it an honor,” Jezrien said. “A duty, yes, but not an honor.”

“I understand.” Nale hesitated, looking at Ishar holding a line of light, Connected to a god. “Though I had not expected you would come to an enemy with this offer.”

“An enemy, yes,” Jezrien said. “But an enemy who was correct all along, making me the villain, not you. We will fix what we’ve broken. Ishar and I agreed. There is no person we would welcome more eagerly into this pact than you. You are the single most honorable man I have ever had the privilege of opposing.”

“I wish that were true,” Nale said, watching that line of light. “But I will serve as best I can. I swear this oath, Almighty Honor. I will protect this people and this land. I will hold back the darkness.”

“And I will watch both of you,” Chana said, stepping forward. “Where my king goes, I go. I will protect the people and this land, Honor. I will hold back the darkness.”

Ishar Connected them both with lines of light, the hum of power increasing with each one. Navani watched with a held breath. This was not the way she had pictured it, but storms, it was beautiful. People Connected directly to God, bound to him, oathed to him. This was the very beginning of Vorinism.

Vedel was next, then Pralla. Before Battar could speak, Shalash stepped forward. Jezrien raised his hand, as if to ward her off again—then instead offered it to her. She took it, made her oath, and received a line of light. Battar was next.

Then nothing. Six and seven … who is the eighth?

Oh, right. She nudged Dalinar.

“Navani,” he whispered, “this can be our anchor. If I get an Honorblade here …” He took a deep breath. “Blood of my fathers, if this isn’t the opportunity of a lifetime …” He stepped to the group, which was forming into a circle. “I swear to Honor to protect this land. To hold back the darkness. I will do it. Somehow.”

Ishar Connected him, but remained outside the circle, as Jezrien had suggested he be last. There was still one missing.

“We eight who have sworn,” Jezrien said, “all remember the old world. But there is one more here who knew the gods. Midius? It is time.”

God himself turned to Navani. “I would have you, old friend. I think you’re the only one among us all who showed an ounce of wisdom on that day.”

She wanted to. But …

Wit would say no. He’d say it in a silly way.

Facing God, she tried to impersonate Wit, but she couldn’t bring herself to speak an insult. “I can’t, I really can’t,” she whispered, holding in tears. “Pick another.”

Jezrien looked disappointed and turned away, as if he’d truly thought in the moment that Wit would join them.

“It must be a volunteer,” Tanavast said. “And to create the bond, it is better if it is someone who has interacted with the gods in the past.”

None of those watching said anything. Until at last Nale took from Jezrien the disc with the marking on it. “It cannot be only kings and scholars, can it?” he said. “What finely dressed, immortal demigod will spare one thought for the woman whose name he does not know?”

He flipped the disc over in his fingers. “I have a recommendation.”

Kaladin strolled through a highstorm like it was nothing. In fact, there was barely anything to distinguish it from the rain showers he and Szeth had encountered a few days before. Same darkened sky, as if it were brooding. Same lazy rain, chill but not cold. Same odd sounds: water on grass and soil. He was accustomed to the rapping of rain on stone, a sound not unlike twigs cracking. In Shinovar, rain fell with a sputter and a tap, more center drum than rim.

He and Szeth hiked toward the next monastery, waiting for the storm to recharge their gemstones. He’d thrown on the cloak Dalinar had given him, and found that Leyten had properly oiled it against rain. With his boots laced tight and his hood up, he kept relatively dry. It wasn’t pleasant, particularly not with the way the ground melted here when exposed to water, but neither was it arduous.

Strolling. Through a highstorm, his armor spren dancing in the air currents above. He thought maybe he understood one of Wit’s old stories better. Naturally this was the place where, after running across an entire continent, a man could at last find the wind faltering. Of course Fleet had failed in the end, but that hadn’t been the point.

“Hey, Szeth,” Kaladin said, hurrying up beside him—slipping only twice in the mud. “You know the story of Fleet?”

“No,” Szeth said softly.

“It’s … I guess it’s not relevant.” If Szeth had one talent, it was continuing on despite adversity. He didn’t need reminders of that. But … “Want to hear it anyway?”

Szeth didn’t reply. He often did that, ignorant or uncaring of social customs. Kaladin clenched his jaw, trying not to feel annoyed. Kaladin had thought he was making some progress with Szeth, but then last night Szeth had apparently fallen into Shadesmar, fought two Honorbearers, and returned. Despite Kaladin’s prodding, Szeth had barely said five sentences about it.

Szeth wasn’t opening up to him, no matter what he did. The man had even stopped telling the story of his younger life. Kaladin felt so awkward pushing for more—he really was muddling through things he barely understood, wasn’t he? He looked up at the sky, almost offended by how much light shone through those clouds even while it was raining. Why should the people here get to live in such relative ease? What did Szeth possibly have to complain about, growing up in such an idyllic place? Why was …

No. Kaladin forcibly pushed back on those dark thoughts. This quiet storm reminded him of the Weeping, when he always had a rougher time. Kaladin smiled and remembered lying on a rooftop once in the rain, when Tien—with his boundless optimism and love—had shown up with a toy horse for his big brother. That memory could make him smile now, when once it had only reminded him of Tien’s death.

The people of Shinovar shouldn’t feel bad because the storms aren’t strong here, he told himself. Everyone’s challenges are different.

Kaladin took a deep breath. “Hey. Why are we heading to the Elsecaller monastery? We have the sword, and the Honorbearer is dead. Shouldn’t we just move on?”

“We must check,” Szeth said, his eyes forward, “to make certain the people are released when their Honorbearer dies. It happened once. I want to confirm that it continues to happen.”

It was a fair enough reason.

“Your suggestions to me,” Szeth added, “about my thoughts. They are … helping. Thank you.”

The words hit Kaladin like a ray of sunlight through breaking clouds. “Really?” he said. Then felt a fool. “I’m glad you’re trying them.”

“I assumed you would be.”

“Do understand,” Kaladin said, “it … it’s not an easy fix. You have to practice it day after day, even when your mind doesn’t want to. Especially when it feels like it’s too hard. Learning to resist your own mind is difficult, Szeth.”

“Yes, I see,” Szeth said. “I will consider.”

“We’re a lot alike, you know,” Kaladin said.

“We are?”

“Left our homes as youths to become soldiers,” Kaladin said. “Ended up fighting battles we didn’t believe in, because of our foolish choices. I see myself in you, Szeth.”

“I cannot say the same,” Szeth replied. “I do my job. You always seem to be questioning yours. I find that aspect of you embarrassing.”

Kaladin dented his palms with his fingernails as he made fists, forcing himself not to snap at the man.

And as if in reward for Kaladin’s self-control, Szeth continued a moment later. “However, I now see reason in Dalinar sending you with me. Your words … have merit. For the first time in quite a while I find myself wavering. Perhaps you will be victorious here, Kaladin Stormblessed, and I will take your words as law.”

“Wait … as law?”

“Yes,” Szeth said, soaring smoothly over a large puddle, landing on the other side. “Dalinar does not want my devotion. I believe I can change my guide and still remain true to my Skybreaker oaths. I have been considering following the law as the others do. Perhaps instead I could do as you say.”

Kaladin groaned. “Szeth, I’m not trying to get you to follow me instead of Dalinar.”

“Ah, you aren’t?” Szeth said, glancing to the side. “I misunderstand, then. You have been doing a poor job of making your intentions clear.”

“I want you to follow your own conscience!”

“My own conscience says I cannot trust my own conscience,” Szeth said, perfectly straight-faced.

“What you do instead isn’t healthy.”

“My health is irrelevant.” He regarded Kaladin again, then smiled. “Do not look so displeased. Your way of thinking does help. It has led me to a position of leverage over my own will. Because of you, Kaladin, I am finally able to recognize—and admit—that it is time for me to die. I’m at last capable of the strength required to kill myself.”

Kaladin stopped in place, rain tapping at the oiled hood of his cloak. “You what ?”

“The law demands that I, for my crimes, be punished,” Szeth said, continuing to walk. “I have killed many; I should face justice. I will complete the pilgrimage, cleanse my homeland, then find peace in destruction at my own hand. Now that I know I’m not Truthless, I can deliver judgment to myself.” He looked back. “I used to pray the spren would strengthen the hands of those who struck at me. Silly, isn’t it? When the rock was always just a rock, and I could have ended my own suffering at any point.” He shrugged, then turned and continued along the rainy path.

“Szeth!” Kaladin shouted. “That isn’t why I’ve been teaching you!”

“Do you want me to make my own decisions?” Szeth called back.

“Yes, but—”

“This is mine, bridgeman! Come, let’s hurry. For once my fate seems certain, and I find that invigorating.”

Kaladin lingered, feeling like the rain was knocking and trying to get in. To tell him what a fool he had been.

Syl zipped down and appeared next to him. “So few spren, even in a storm,” she said, looking skyward. “Just your armor spren—not another single windspren. Something’s happening. The Wind says … says the storm is wavering.”

Kaladin heaved himself forward, pulling his cloak closer. “Did you hear what he said?”

“Szeth?” she said, joining him and stepping lightly—although full sized, she floated and danced more than walked. “Yes.”

“I thought I was making progress.”

“It’s merely progress with a few … twists and turns.”

Kaladin shook his head, rain streaming down his shoulders. “Why do I find him so infuriating, Syl? Shouldn’t I enjoy helping him? Part of me wants to let him end himself. He’s right—he does deserve to die, doesn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” she said softly. “Does anyone?”

“He’s killed hundreds.”

“Under orders. As have we.”

“A soldier bears some weight of responsibility for the people they kill,” Kaladin said. “We all know that, deep down.”

“So …”

“So, storms, I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “Part of me feels like he’s a lost cause, Syl. He doesn’t want my help. I should leave him alone and focus my attention on what the Wind needs me to do. Szeth is too far gone.”

“People didn’t leave you alone when you thought you were too far gone.”

He didn’t reply to that. Because she was right, yes, but this was also different. Szeth was …

Well, Kaladin couldn’t even really define it. Szeth was just so … so … unhelpable.

He felt unsatisfied with those thoughts, but he persisted in them, belligerent as he stalked through the rain. They passed a single rainspren— one —which Szeth knelt by and bowed to, whispering, before they continued. Kaladin remained in his self-enforced sour mood for another hour of hiking, until something changed. He stood up straight, then reached to his pocket, finding light bursting from it. His gemstones had been recharged. Just like that?

Son of … Honor … A distant voice, accompanying a rumble of thunder with no lightning.

“What?” Kaladin whispered.

When there was no response, he glanced at Syl. She shook her head. “I told you. Something’s been … strange about Father lately. He’s … withdrawn from me, Kaladin.”

“Do you have any idea why?”

“No. And I can’t get the Wind to say much. She seems weaker today. Whatever is happening, I don’t think it can be good.”

“We’ll see if Wit has any news for us,” Kaladin said, “when we report in tonight.”

She nodded and floated on ahead. Kaladin, for now, didn’t try further with Szeth—because he knew that the wrong words could be dangerous. Better to think about a plan first so he didn’t cause additional problems.

Szeth had halted atop a hill in the rain, and as Kaladin joined him, the reason became obvious. They’d arrived. The next monastery was straight ahead. In the middle of a river.

“Ten. But we are only nine …” Shalash said, as part of the conversation with the Almighty. Renarin wouldn’t have noticed anything wrong, except suddenly Glys spoke.

There! the spren said. There, that’s one of them! Shalash didn’t say that during the actual event!

Renarin froze, then cursed himself for doing so. He forced himself to look away and meet Rlain’s eyes. He nodded, as Tumi had shared their technique for spotting intruders. Shalash’s line had been out of place. She was either Shallan or one of the assassins.

Um … Renarin thought, now what?

Rlain was already moving though. Both of them had trained with Kaladin, but Rlain had taken to the training far more fully—despite at first pretending not to know much. He had the experience of both the Alethi and the listener armies. Would that be enough against Shallan’s assassins?

Renarin tried to stay near enough to Rlain to help without looking suspicious. Everyone else was focused on the conversation with Honor. Then he met Shalash’s eyes by accident. They locked gazes—and she whispered, barely audible, “Renarin?”

Storms. It was Shallan.

Glys, tell Rlain, Renarin sent as he nodded to Shallan.

I will do so, Glys said. But you must speak very soon. Then Shallan must too, and Pattern does not yet know how to communicate mind-to-mind! Ordinary Radiant spren have trouble with this, as Honor considered it an invasion of privacy. Perhaps he worried they would learn to hear his mind, as part of the bond. Regardless, Pattern cannot pass the correct words to Shallan.

The others had begun to glow, swearing oaths, a humming power filling the room. Renarin knew his aunt Navani would be quietly memorizing all of this. He could go to her for a thorough analysis after. For now he repeated the words that Glys gave him, received Ishar’s line of light, then stepped up beside Shallan and whispered to her, hoping the hum would cover his whispers.

“You’re going to be expected to say what Ash originally said,” Renarin explained. “I can tell you what to do.”

“Wait,” she whispered, “how do you know this?”

“Glys,” he said. “I’ll explain later. Step forward—but wait for Jezrien to take your hands. Then say the exact words the others have.”

She did that, playing the role well. Renarin counted off the people in the room as Dalinar took the role of Kalak. So … he could assume the enemy wasn’t one of the Heralds, as none of them had spoken out of turn. That left only a handful of guards standing at the back of the room. Careful not to meet their eyes, Renarin whispered to Shallan.

“I think your assassins must be those guards.”

“That was my guess as well,” Shallan whispered, “once I realized you were Vedel.”

“What was my giveaway?” he asked.

“You’re fidgeting with the ties on your dress.”

Storms. He hadn’t even realized. He forcibly let go of them, feeling himself blush at being so obvious.

“It’s all right,” Shallan whispered. “It takes years of practice to expunge your tells—unless you can fabricate an entirely new personality. Which I don’t recommend.”

Renarin relayed their suspicions to Rlain. The singer repositioned closer to those guards as Glys whispered to Renarin what was coming.

“A large group of them are about to leave,” Renarin whispered to Shallan beneath the hum of power, “to fetch Taln. The rest of us can stay here. Be ready to move.”

She nodded, not acting the least bit worried, though it was nerve-racking to him. How did people live with this? The knowledge that in seconds, life and death would be decided? That in seconds someone he loved could be … gone? Decades of life learning, dreaming, preparing just … snuffed out?

The group began to leave, bowing to Honor as they exited. Those Ghostbloods had been planning for this mission. Storms. What if their spren really did know the script, as Glys had warned, and could therefore play any part perfectly? They could be anyone.

Those soldiers at the back looked unconcerned. But wouldn’t you act unconcerned? Renarin wavered as the last people left the tent, leaving him, Shallan, Rlain, and the three guards.

Renarin took a deep breath and got ready to join Shallan in striking against the guards. As he did, Honor attacked him.