Chapter 77

But I will say that for me, the existence of something that cares—and can, after death, make up for injustices in life—is not the question. But the answer.

—From the epilogue to Oathbringer , by Dalinar Kholin. Excerpt used at his tribunal, in absentia—for the appeal filed on his behalf by supporters after his excommunication from the Vorin church—as evidence of continued heresy.

D alinar was cast into the Spiritual Realm.

This time it was different. Though he tried to keep hold of Navani and Gav, he lost them in the rush.

They’d been moving from Desolation to Desolation, making their way toward the Recreance. Then, just now, a shadow had fallen over the vision. Causing it to end abruptly.

Images of his past came more quickly, more violently than before. Armored versions of him stomped through landscapes, fracturing them like a shattered mirror, only for another version of him to rip that reality apart, drunkenly weeping over his faults.

He clutched the Honorblade anchor, but didn’t use it yet. He … he needed to find Navani. He searched fervently for the line of light Connecting them, but the sea of overlapping images crashed against him in waves, blinding him. It was the ocean, and he a poor sailor on the rocks.

Those waves were made up of thousands of versions of him, boiling from the surf that was this strange place, the swirling colors and shimmering essence.

Be me, each of them demanded. I want to live again.

If he gave in, he’d never escape from those snarling back alleys of his own mind. He hunkered down before them, his eyes squeezed closed. “Stormfather,” he whispered. “Please.”

I will help, the Stormfather replied, if you leave this realm and never return.

Dalinar blinked and saw a figure breaking the tide in front of him. The figure shifted, changing shapes faintly—while keeping the same general form.

“Why?” Dalinar whispered. “Why are you so afraid?”

I had a plan. I need you to trust me.

“Trust you?” Dalinar said, surging forward through the thousands of landscapes that appeared and vanished. “How can I trust you? You had a plan for all this? What plan?”

The figure didn’t respond. So, desperate, Dalinar held the Honorblade close. Take me, he thought, to my destination. I need to go further than I have before. Far further …

He fell in a heap, and a new reality burst into being. He felt the Honorblade vanish from his grip—and he cried out as it did. He … he was alone, on a burning section of rock, with taller formations and clumps of stone here and there. A scent of burned flesh pervaded the air.

Dalinar knew this place. It was one of his original visions—the one where he’d discovered the discarded Honorblades after the Heralds walked away from them. The … ultimate end of his anchor, and the reason it had vanished after bringing him here. He had reached the day the Blades had been discarded.

He got to his knees in the shadow of a dying thunderclast. Jezrien the Herald was standing tall on a short ridge perhaps twenty yards away. The king looked more regal than he had in the earlier visions, but perhaps that was the kingly clothing: white and blue, without furs, the cloth more refined than it had been in antiquity. The outfit was marred with blood and ash, but that was something Dalinar associated with kingship.

“Chana,” Jezrien called to him. “Here.”

So, he was in her body this time? The red-haired bodyguard? He had the impression she was in Jezrien’s inner circle, even among the Heralds. She, Jezrien, and Ishar. Dalinar trotted over to join Jezrien on the ridge. From there, he saw armies hunting among the fallen for survivors.

Where was Navani? Would she find her way to this vision as well? Storms. He checked his arm bracer. They were on the sixth day; four remaining. He’d learned so much about Honor and the Oathpact from these visions, but the primary secret kept eluding him: how could he persuade that power to accept him as its new master?

He tried to reach out for his Connection to Navani, to pull her to him, but found nothing. He was torn between trying to find her and Gav, or continuing, because Jezrien was walking onward.

Before, when Dalinar had seen this vision, he’d arrived after the Heralds had abandoned their oaths. If he went with Jezrien, he could see the actual moment that had happened. Could this relate to Honor and his power? It felt likely.

“Hurry,” Jezrien said. “Ishar is at the meeting place already. I want to get there before the others.”

Dalinar joined him. Worried about Navani, but hoping she was already in the body of another Herald.

“Did you see any of the others?” Jezrien asked. “Maybe Kalak? I think everyone else survived. We’re doing it again—we aren’t taking risks. We hide from battle. Everyone except …”

“Except Taln,” Dalinar said.

Jezrien nodded. “I sent Battar and Vedel to check on my daughter, mostly to keep them busy. We need to make our decision quickly, before they start trickling back.”

“Decision …” He knew what Jezrien referred to: this would be the decision not to leave for Braize. The decision to leave Taln alone to bear the Oathpact.

Cowardice. Except he saw the way Jezrien gazed down at the ground as he spoke. Saw the way his hands trembled, and how he had to make fists to hide it. Suddenly, instead of regal, he appeared haggard. Overwhelmed. Who was Dalinar to judge what thousands of years of torture could do to a man?

“Jezrien,” he said, “I still, so many centuries later, don’t understand how all of this works. Is it idiocy of me to admit?”

“No,” Jezrien said softly. “No, I suppose it isn’t. It’s courage, Chana. You should understand before we make this decision.”

“How does our dying trap the Fused?” Dalinar said.

“Braize,” he said. “The planet. It draws souls to it naturally. Honor fashioned it into a prison, but a prison needs a lock.”

“And … we are that lock?” Dalinar asked.

“Our oath is that lock. Because Odium first Connected to us when he gave us powers on Ashyn, Honor could use that bond against him. That, along with the promise we made, becomes the force that holds the Fused.” Jezrien’s eyes seemed distant. “It is … what the gods do. We form a binding through our willpower, holding the others we are Connected to—our replacements in a way—to Braize. Impossible, save for the strange nature of that planet lending our ten oaths a multiplicative strength.”

“But unless all ten of us return, they can be reborn.”

“Yes,” Jezrien said. “Normally. All ten …”

Dalinar thought he understood, as he’d seen some of it through these last visions. The Heralds would appear, then lead the people and help them fight. At some point during the battle, it became right to leave—after everyone had been rallied, inspired, trained. Then the Heralds had to go and lock the Fused away.

Thus, they never saw the true end of a Desolation. The Heralds frequently waited for a large battle—where lots of Fused had died—to go together to Braize and begin the Isolation. And beyond that, if one of them died and remained on Braize, that slowed the Fused. The more who did, the slower the enemy returned.

So to win a Desolation, they trained the humans, they killed as many Fused as possible, then they began staying in Damnation … reforging the lock. Until one of them broke in torture, and the floodgates opened again, letting the Fused begin the process to return to Roshar. At that point, the Heralds—exhausted—would return, starting the cycle once more.

A cycle that repeated until this last Desolation. When the nine had left the one.

They arrived in the natural hollow near a tall rock formation—almost like a castle—that offered some seclusion from the battlefield. This was where Dalinar had seen the vision of the Honorblades rammed into the ground.

Ishar was waiting for them.

And he was chatting with Honor.

Dalinar stopped in place, feeling a jolt of excitement. He was still on the right track. This was Aharietiam, some four or five thousand years before Dalinar’s time, perhaps two or three thousand years before the day he most wanted to see: when the Knights Radiant had walked away, and Honor had been killed. That was a long time off, yes—but this was a good step.

I need to find Navani, he thought. I’ll need her help to decipher all of this.

Jezrien joined Ishar. Honor was once again dressed in gold, his brown skin and white hair offering a distinctive contrast. Dalinar stumbled up after them.

“Lord,” Jezrien said. “Almighty. Did you … hear what we were considering?”

“Ishar’s plan,” Honor said. “Not to return to Braize.”

“We … we apologize for our weakness,” Jezrien said, looking away, squeezing his eyes shut, drawing shamespren. “But Lord, it’s so hard. We can’t … I mean, the mere thought of …”

“We’re broken,” Ishar whispered. “We need you to change the bond. Take it from us.”

“Break the Oathpact?” Honor asked.

“Change it, so that others can take our place,” Ishar said. “Or … or maybe make it allow half of us to hold the bond for one Isolation, then trade with the other half …”

“Five?” Honor said. “No, impossible. Five is a number of weakness. No symmetry, no power. Perhaps four would work. The number of Adonalsium’s four aspects. Or ten, sixteen … one.”

Dalinar felt cold. “One?”

“One cosmere,” Honor said. “One Truth. One Adonalsium. A number of power and strength.”

“One …” Ishar whispered. “One could remain?”

“It would be a cracking of the Oathpact,” Honor said. “You would need to acknowledge that and decide. To give of your Honor, in small measure. There must yet be ten to hold the core, but one … one could stand at the forefront. Like a soldier in the lead of a formation.”

“But—” Dalinar started.

“Regardless,” Honor said, “I will no longer be aiding you as you go forward, Heralds. My part in this conflict is done.”

“What do we do?” Jezrien asked.

Storms, Honor had been here? And had nurtured the seed of their betrayal of Taln?

“I cannot afford to care any longer,” Honor said. “I can’t afford to care about any of you. I need … distance. Yes.”

“But Lord,” Ishar said, stepping forward, “what do we tell the people?”

“Do as you wish.” Honor vanished—no fanfare, no flash.

“That is it,” Jezrien said, making a small gesture with his hand—more subtle than the ones Dalinar had seen before.

“You’ll abandon him,” Dalinar whispered. “Now that you know one can do it alone.”

“Not fully alone,” Ishar said. “We will … support him … from this world.”

“I still wish others could take our place,” Jezrien said.

“I will find a way to replace us,” Ishar said. “But it will take time, Jezrien. For now, we leave Taln.”

Jezrien looked sick.

“Could you go to Damnation instead of him?” Ishar said, looking from him to Dalinar. “Can either of you go?”

“I …” Dalinar said. He didn’t want to break the vision. “I don’t know.”

“I can’t do it,” Jezrien whispered. Then summoned his sword and gazed at it, pain evident on his face. “But neither can I carry this in good conscience after abandoning a friend. When all but Taln have gathered, I will leave my Blade here, never to take it up again. I can wield Honor no longer.” His face seemed to grow more pale. “I feel it, Ishar. I feel myself … putting my burden upon him.” He glanced toward where the Almighty had been standing. “I thought … I thought he’d fix it …”

“Our god is no longer reliable,” Ishar said, then took a deep breath. “I will do what I can in his absence.” Ishar put his hand on Jezrien’s shoulder. “I first bore Surges. I initiated the Oathpact. I am the Bondsmith. I can bear some of your pain.” He looked to Dalinar. “I can bear part of it for each of you.”

“I can’t let you do that, Ishar,” Jezrien said.

“Why not? You are willing to abandon Taln. We all are.” Ishar’s expression softened. “Someone may need to step into Honor’s place. I can explore that possibility. Please, give me some of your pain.”

Jezrien hesitated, then nodded. “And the rest of us? What do we do?”

“Live,” Ishar said.

“I cannot live like this.”

“Then exist,” Ishar said. “For while we abandon the Oathpact here, the shell of it remains. We will be immortal, and Taln will hold for all ten—he has never broken, unlike the rest of us. We will go our separate ways. We will not seek or see one another. We will let it be.”

Jezrien met Dalinar’s eyes. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Dalinar said softly, “it must be done.”

Ishar delivered up his own Blade to the earth, ramming it in as Jezrien directed. They turned as other figures came stumbling up to the meeting place. Vedel, Ash, Battar. None appeared to be Navani or Gav.

Dalinar backed away and sat on the stone ground. If the Almighty had been willing to support you, maybe change the members of the Oathpact, this could have been avoided. So why? Why does he seem to be actively working against us?

Others arrived, everyone but Nale and Kalak. Dalinar closed his eyes and focused on his Connections. He breathed in and out. Whatever darkness had been overshadowing him faded away. The web of lines of light returned, extending from him, binding him to the people he loved …

Navani and Gav appeared on the ground before him—and unlike everything else here, they didn’t form from swirling Stormlight. Instead the air appeared to part around them, like dust being swept back on the stone floor—or even drapes being opened. Revealing them behind a layer of reality, as if they’d always been there.

“You found us,” Navani said, relieved, holding Gav.

“As you found me before,” Dalinar said. He checked his arm clock again, and saw it had barely moved. Storms, he could age decades in here if he wasn’t careful, while minutes passed outside. That would almost be as bad as the opposite. “It’s near the end of the sixth day, Navani. I just learned that Honor abandoned the Heralds in the moments before they walked away from their swords.” He frowned. “Ishar did something I hadn’t known about: he took some of the pain of the others, and carried it himself. Maybe that is why he seems so unreliable during our time.”

Navani hugged Gav tighter, and Dalinar gave them a moment to recover. Some of the lines of white light connected to his core were fading; two strong ones pointed to Navani and Gav, but a few others stood out—one in particular as strong as his line to Navani. Curious. And there was another, drifting off into nothing, that felt … familiar. The Stormfather.

Dalinar followed it with his eyes, spotting a shimmering in the air nearby. And beside it … a second shimmering, almost imperceptible. Wait. What was that?

Both are him, Dalinar thought. The modern him, and the ancient one.

But the Stormfather hadn’t truly been alive during this event, had he? It was all so muddled. For now, Dalinar wanted to check on his grandnephew. He knelt beside Gav, who—after being set down—was looking around with interest.

“How are you, lad?” Dalinar asked him.

“Good, Grampa,” the boy said.

“Was it bad, being in the strange place?”

“A little,” the boy said. “But … I knew you’d come for me.”

“I will,” Dalinar said, then took the boy in an embrace. “I always will, Gav.”

“Grampa,” the boy said. “When I was with the ardents, they said you saw God in dreams. Is that what this is?”

“Yes,” Dalinar said, pulling back, surprised—again—at Gav’s maturity. The ardents still at Urithiru were those who had chosen Dalinar’s way, over the more orthodox branches of the religion forming in reaction to his teachings. Those who remained revered him on a level that probably should have made him uncomfortable.

“I thought so.” Gav pointed toward the gathered Heralds. “Aunt Dova is here. Should we talk to her?”

“Wait,” Dalinar said. “Aunt Dova? You know her?”

He nodded. “She visited Mother. Sometimes.”

A Herald had been visiting Aesudan? Dalinar frowned, looking at Navani, who knelt beside him.

“You’re sure, Gav?” she asked.

He nodded, his eyes wide.

“I think, lad,” Dalinar said, “she’s just a pretend version of … Aunt Dova.”

The boy merely nodded again. “I’ll watch, Grampa,” he whispered. “Like you. God trained you. He’ll train me too. To be a king. To kill those who killed Daddy.”

Storms. Once they were through this, he’d chat with the lad, try to help him with those feelings. For now, he and Navani stood, and he nodded toward “Aunt Dova.”

“Any idea why she might have visited the palace?” he asked.

“No idea,” Navani said. “I don’t recognize her though. So I didn’t see her there.” She thought a moment. “What happened? How did we lose track of each other during this transition between visions?”

“There was a darkness in the last one,” Dalinar said. “And it fell apart. I used the sword to get here, then it evaporated.”

“It wouldn’t be viable after this anyway; the Heralds’ swords will no longer be as tied to important events. We’ll need another anchor to progress. Do you know who you are replacing?”

“Chana,” he said.

“And me?” Navani asked.

Dalinar shook his head. “Nobody was with me when you appeared there. Maybe they’ll see you as a spren, like Gav.”

Navani, seeming thoughtful, brushed herself off and went to listen in on the Heralds. They were talking over the plan.

“Grampa,” Gav whispered, “when can we go home? I will listen … I will be strong. But … do you know?”

“Stormfather?” Dalinar asked, giving the boy another hug.

No response.

“ Stormfather !” Dalinar said, allowing the authority of storms to well up within him. He didn’t know how he did it.

What? the Stormfather said in his mind, and the shimmering moved closer to him.

“Take the boy out of here,” Dalinar said to it. “At least let him find peace.”

Your recklessness brought him here.

“You could send him home.”

You could bring him home.

Dalinar gritted his teeth.

This might scar him, the Stormfather said. What he sees could be horrible. Don’t you care?

“Of course I care!” Dalinar snapped. “But I’m a king. I can’t think of the one; it’s my duty to think of the people as a whole. I’m close to the power of Honor. I can feel it. With it, I can defeat Odium. But if I leave now—for Gav or Navani, or even myself—I fail everyone else as a result!”

Is that actually your reason, the Stormfather demanded, or is it because you need to be right? Is it because you need to be the one who makes the decisions, who has the final say?

Dalinar didn’t reply. For all the spren claimed it didn’t see or do things the way that men did—that it didn’t understand the ways of humankind—it was expert at deflecting conversations and diverting Dalinar’s attention.

Dalinar looked back at the second shimmering he’d seen earlier. “That’s you, isn’t it? You were here watching, when the Heralds broke the Oathpact.”

I had to witness it, the Stormfather said.

Storms, it was so hard to sort through the lies—in previous conversations, the Stormfather claimed he’d merely been a primal force during this era. A wind that blew with the storms, personified by human attention. He’d said he hadn’t developed a full personality until Honor’s death, when he’d inherited some of Honor’s memories.

Yet the Stormfather had been here. Dalinar would have to discuss this with Navani. He glanced at her, and found that she was waving her hand in front of Jezrien’s face—getting no reaction.

“You’re right,” she called to Dalinar. “They noted me as a spren, but now won’t even acknowledge me. I think the vision is pretending I’m not here. As happened with Gav, after you pulled him into a vision.”

Dalinar nodded in thought.

“Grampa,” Gav said softly, “were you hearing someone in your head? Just now, before talking to Gram?”

“Yes,” Dalinar said. “I was talking to the Stormfather. He’s a friendly spren, son.”

“I hear Daddy sometimes. Telling me I’m a good boy.”

“Listen to voices like that, Gav,” Dalinar whispered.

Navani returned and settled down beside Dalinar. “I don’t know if being ignored is better or worse. I can walk around without distracting them, but I can’t ask questions.”

“What does it mean that Honor left the Heralds?” Dalinar asked her. “Is it tied to his death? And to why the power hasn’t attached to anyone in all these years?”

“I don’t know,” she said.

Nale arrived—and the others welcomed him, friendly. Their attitudes toward one another had changed over the millennia. Nale took the news of their imminent disbanding with a nod. He asked after Kalak—who they feared might have died, though Dalinar knew he would arrive eventually—then left his sword. He paused with his hand on it for a moment and exhaled, shivering as something seemed to pass from him. He walked away without a further word, the first of them to leave. He would later, Dalinar knew, reclaim his weapon—as would Ishar.

“What can we use as an anchor to the next vision?” Dalinar asked. “I worry this one will fall apart as soon as all the Heralds leave their swords.”

“Hopefully we won’t lose one another again,” Navani said. She thought a moment, then pressed her hand to his chest. He frowned until he saw what she was doing—concentrating, strengthening the power of the line of light Connecting them.

Unite them. Dalinar still occasionally heard echoes of that command vibrating through him. He thought that hadn’t come from the Stormfather or Honor, but from a god that once had existed, and might yet, if not in a form people recognized. He had no evidence other than his own feelings. But he had written—he hoped convincingly—of those experiences in his book.

“There,” Navani said, pulling her hand away. “That might make it easier for us to find one another.”

“We can’t go back to searching for a new anchor each vision. That was too slow—not to mention maddening.”

“Wit said this was the best way.”

“He said this was a way,” Dalinar said, standing up. “But Wit’s not a Bondsmith; he can’t manipulate Connection.” He looked to that shimmer of the real Stormfather. “The Stormfather, the real one, told me he had to watch this event when it actually happened. Because it was too important not to witness. If he watched this, do you suppose …”

She frowned. “Was he even alive before Honor died?”

“I get confusing answers to that question,” Dalinar said. “Wait for me; I’m going to try something.”

Dalinar stalked toward that shimmer, and as he did, the vision started to break apart. Shifting Stormlight began to claim it, but Dalinar seized hold of that line of light Connecting him to the Stormfather. He held tight, pulling on it, like he was holding a horse’s reins.

The vision stabilized around him.

What are you doing? the Stormfather said, trepidatious.

“You know what we need to see next,” Dalinar said. “I can use you to get there.”

You cannot win Honor’s power through force of will, Dalinar, the Stormfather said. Your brother tried to force his way to his goals, and he ended up broken.

“What do you know about my brother?” Dalinar demanded. “How many lies have you told me?”

Only the ones you needed to hear.

“You can lead me to the next vision,” Dalinar said.

And so you continue, bullheaded as always, the Stormfather snapped. We clash, you refuse to listen, and you bend me to your will. You talk of reconciliation, and us getting along, but then you ignore my wishes when it is convenient for you. Then you are angry when I don’t want to work with you?

Dalinar stopped beside the shimmer. “Would you let the world fall under Odium’s control because of your pride, Stormfather?”

Better than potentially letting it burn, Dalinar, under your control. I need someone willing to work with the power, not against it.

“Sometimes there is no path forward,” Dalinar said, “so you have to break one open.”

Like you did with Elhokar? Pounding him into submission? You never knew he was seeing Cryptics because instead of asking why he was afraid, you burst in and attacked him!

“I showed him I wasn’t a threat!” Dalinar said.

By beating him near senseless, the Stormfather said. I should never have picked you, Dalinar. You are born of war, and trail blood like a shadow. The sole thing you know how to do is break. If you are told no, you just punch harder—because life has taught you that’s how to get what you want. But sometimes, deny it though you may, the world doesn’t need what you want.

Dalinar let his fingers trail from the line of light. There was … there was too much truth in the Stormfather’s words.

“What are you?” Dalinar asked, narrowing his eyes at the shimmer. “What are you really ?”

What I’ve always been, the Stormfather said. Perhaps if you hadn’t treated me like you did Elhokar and every other person in your life, we’d have made it further, Dalinar. I suppose the fault is mine. I knew what you were. This is the end. You will die in this realm—a worse death than your brother, and a worse one than you deserve. Goodbye.

The Stormfather faded, and the vision burst like a bubble, Stormlight swirling around him, consuming him. Those words echoed in his mind. A farewell. An expectation of death.

The Stormfather was right. The only way Dalinar knew how to solve problems was by attacking them. It was a flaw. Perhaps a fatal one.

But blood of his fathers, he was not going to die in here. He was not going to let the world wither beneath Odium because of his own weaknesses. He might know only how to kill and fight, but at least he was storming good at it.

He again seized hold of the line of light Connecting them. The Stormfather didn’t merely know the secrets surrounding Honor’s death—the Stormfather was fixated upon them. The Stormfather wasn’t simply an anchor, he was the pathway, the portal. The answer. Dalinar held to the line of light with one hand, and seized the one Connecting him to Navani with the other. He heaved on both, pulling like he had on that fateful day when he’d bound the realms.

For a long moment—during which he knew time was passing with frightening speed—he stood there, a line of light in each hand, like some mythical giant. The one the Thaylen stories said pulled the sun up by a cord each morning. He shouted, straining, and through sheer force of will brought his hands together and made the lines meet.

Realities overlapped. He heard the Stormfather growl in anger—for in that moment, a new vision formed. A familiar sight: the large main thoroughfare of Urithiru, full of people dressed in old styles of clothing. Takamas, robes, long enveloping skirts. A man strode among them, tall and confident, wearing Shardplate that glowed blue—matched by his rippling blue cape. A Windrunner. His helm was off, revealing blond hair and skin pale as the palest Shin.

Dalinar knew that man.

We’re here, he thought. It worked. He checked his arm, and found he’d lost another day. Three remained until the contest, but he was here. At the right time. He glanced to the side, where Navani had replaced one of the many people waiting in the wings of the hallway. Gav held to her leg.

“What is this?” she asked. “Dalinar, what did you do?”

“I used my Connection to the Stormfather to bring us here,” he said. “To where we need to be.”

“How do you know?”

“You see that Radiant?” Dalinar said, pointing. “He’s the first one who gave up his Blade and Plate at the Recreance, the leader who stepped out before them all. I remember him distinctly from my visions of that day. He still has his armor now, and he looks younger than I remember, so the Recreance hasn’t happened yet.” He paused. “We’ve reached our goal: these are the last days before Honor died.”

THE END OF

Day Six