Chapter 82

In the past, I’ve held on too tightly. I’ve worked on that, but find that sometimes my grip is too loose.

N avani trudged along the plateau in front of Urithiru, feeling the incredible, daunting weight of ignorance.

To those in this vision where she’d seen the Skybreakers leave, she looked like a Bondsmith now many centuries dead, one who had let the tower grow cold and inhospitable. The chill air surrounded her, attracting coldspren—like icicles that grew up from the ground the wrong way—that had once been familiar, before the tower awoke. She turned toward the crowd of people, and many shivered, pulling their arms in tight. They wore robes with open fronts and skirts that went to the knee, leaving them woefully unprepared for such a bout of winter.

But why? Why was the tower failing? Was it because of the strife between orders? It had been millennia since a Desolation—and while they’d once been led by the Heralds and Honor, they now had no divine guidance and no enemy to fight. It was little wonder they’d found their way to interorder squabbling.

As she walked toward the silent crowd, she absently breathed in Stormlight—it came easily, as this realm was completely suffused with it—and tried to sense the tower. She found only a low buzzing sound in place of the expected rhythms.

Though she did, in searching, find … something. A line? A faint teal line of light? She gasped, for while Dalinar had explained what he could see with his powers, and while she could feel Connections at times, she had never been able to see these lines. Though she’d tried reaching the Sibling before, it had always failed. But maybe here, near a copy of the tower …

She touched this line with her fingers, then followed it with her mind. She heard a very faint, yet wonderfully familiar rhythm. Navani? The Sibling’s voice, frail and distant. It is you!

Yes, she replied.

I sense you, suddenly, in me—and not. How?

I’m in a vision, she said. Of the days right before you went to sleep. I just witnessed the Skybreakers leaving. Sibling, can you bring us back? We are lost in here.

I … do not know how. My siblings might.

The Stormfather refuses, Navani said, reaching the front of the crowd, which parted for her. She walked over to where Dalinar and Gavinor were seated, then waved the others away—indicating she wanted space. People obligingly either moved into the tower or continued their treks toward the Oathgates.

“I’ll explain in a minute,” Navani said, at Dalinar’s questioning glance.

Sibling, she continued. Are you well in my absence?

Yes. You are here … and not here … The bond is strong enough for me to continue. But you saw them go? Those days are shadowed to my mind. The … Skybreakers?

They revealed the truth of humankind’s origins, Navani said. Then they left.

And … my Bondsmith?

I’m taking his role in this vision, Navani said. Sibling, what happened? How did it come to this?

I remember … fighting, the Sibling said. Angry Radiants. So many different personalities. So many different passions. During those days it grew worse. I wonder … I wonder if Mishram was behind it … But that was not the reason. No. It was the Bondsmith. Melishi. He … withdrew from me, and sought after … You won’t like this, Navani.

Fabrials? she guessed. Our newer kind?

Yes. Melishi discovered the means of imprisoning spren. It was that, mixed with a feeling. I get feelings sometimes, Navani. Of what is to come. I sensed … pain. So much pain.

The Recreance, Navani replied, looking up at the tower. It’s near. A Radiant mentioned Feverstone—and the Recreance happened there, not long after this.

Is there … a Windrunner? the Sibling asked. One from Rira, with hair the color of a heliodor?

Yes, Navani sent. I met him.

Follow him, the Sibling said, their voice growing softer. He lies. I do not know more, as it happened far from me.

Then they were gone. Navani’s line of light faded, slipping through her fingers like water.

“I saw but couldn’t hear,” Dalinar said, sitting and holding Gav in his lap. “You contacted the Sibling?”

Navani nodded, settling down with him. “I lost the thread.”

“That you found it after only a few days of practice is encouraging. The Sibling might be able to get us out.”

“They said they can’t,” Navani said. “But I don’t always trust that they know what is and isn’t possible.” She sighed, looking back to where the Skybreakers had been. “The Radiants of this time discovered the truth—probably from Nale—that humankind are the invaders on Roshar.”

“Already?” Dalinar frowned, Gav in his lap holding to him with his eyes closed. “I thought that happened closer to the Recreance. I believe we’re a good ten years from that, based on the age of that Windrunner. But … I suppose it could fit. Per the records we discovered in the tower, the Radiants discovered the truth, and had a plan to imprison Mishram. We had to connect the dots after that to determine what happened next. It could have taken some years to execute their plan, and for the news to build to them abandoning their oaths …”

Storms. She smiled at him.

“What?” he said.

“Just imagining the younger you tracking the intricacies of historical timelines, Dalinar. You could barely keep track of where you put your knife.”

“I miss that knife,” he said, with a grunt, then met her eyes. “It helps that I care now. It helps more that I can read and write.”

She hesitated, trying to imagine being unable to write. There was a tendency in records for women to fondly imagine their husbands as big clumsy beasts, uncaring for details or nuance. With embarrassment, she remembered a few such comparisons in her own mind. But how much easier was it to remember details and discover nuance when you could write them out, discuss them via letters, ponder and record your thoughts? Storms, even look at a timeline?

She was quite aware of the injustices done to women by their society. That did not discount the different but still debilitating ones done to men.

“Anyway,” she said, clearing her mind, “you’re probably right about the timeline. Except … are we sure the news of the truth of humankind caused the Recreance?”

“No,” he admitted. “The Stormfather is our only real source of information, as Wit said he wasn’t on Roshar for these events. But the Stormfather holds back truths. I confronted him about this very idea, and he dodged the question, but even then—even before I knew he lied sometimes—I could sense there was more. The truth of where we came from must have contributed to the Recreance, but it isn’t the only secret.”

“The Sibling told me to follow that Windrunner,” Navani said. “He’s central to it somehow.”

“Since he’ll be the first one to abandon his Shards and kill his spren,” Dalinar said, “do you think it’s possible he was working with the enemy, planning how to cripple the Radiants?”

It was an unfortunate likelihood. She sat back on the cold stone, ignoring the odd looks from people who flowed from the gate nearby. How to get to the next step? They needed to chase that Windrunner, uncover his lies.

But first a breather. Gav seemed to have fallen asleep in Dalinar’s lap, and while she didn’t feel sleepy, she was bearing an increasing weight of mental exhaustion. “Dalinar,” she said, “could you please ask before you do something unexpected with your powers? I did not appreciate being thrust into the center of that conversation without warning, useful though it proved to be.”

“Sorry,” he said, looking away.

“Love,” she said, placing a hand on his knee, “you’re acting more … overwhelming lately. Stomping forward. Trampling over people like you used to. I thought you were doing better at such things.”

“Can you blame me?” he said, quietly to not disturb Gav. A chiller wind from the nearby mountains blew across them, and Dalinar shivered. “Navani, what if I’m not enough? What if I can’t solve this—either through gaining Honor’s power or another way—and defeat him?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted.

“From the beginning,” he whispered, “this has all focused on me. Visions. Revelations. Burdens. Honor’s plan was to make Odium agree to a contest of champions—which we’ve done. Now I have to find the solution. The only hope our homeland has of ever being free again … and it rests on me. Is it any wonder I’m becoming more overwhelming?”

She squeezed his leg. “The man you were can’t fix this, Dalinar. He never could have.”

He met her eyes, then he nodded. “I’ll remember that.”

“How many days left?”

“Still three,” he said, checking. “It’s consistent—within the visions, time passes very slowly.”

“We need to slip forward a little further,” she said, “without losing ourselves.”

“I don’t know if we have that level of control,” Dalinar said. “We keep stumbling around in here. If we knew what we were doing, we probably could have jumped from that first vision straight to the ones we wanted.”

“True,” she said. “But Dalinar, I think you underestimate how much we’ve learned. We’ve actually made a great deal of progress in learning to manipulate our situation in here, when you look at it.”

He grunted. “I guess you’re right. And Cultivation did encourage me to see the past. I’ve done that. So next …”

“We make another small increment,” Navani said. “A refinement, using what we’ve learned. How did you send me into this particular role of the vision?”

“I strengthened the line between you and Melishi,” he said. “I figured it would work, since you were both Bondsmiths of the tower.”

“And in so doing, you exerted a new kind of control over the vision,” she said, thoughtful. “At its core, science is about control. Being able to repeat the same experiment, get the same results, then use those results to your advantage.”

“So …” he said, “you’re saying if we can control the vision in a small way, we might be able to control the visions in a larger way too?”

“Yes.” Navani stood. “Repeatability is one of the fundamental steps to understanding the world. Once you can replicate a result, you can really start digging for the truth.”

“I don’t know if I can replicate what I did though,” Dalinar said. “It worked because you were both Bondsmiths, and it felt right to Connect you.”

“Connect me to someone else,” Navani said. She pointed at some people walking nearby, carrying their belongings toward the Oathgate. “That woman there.”

“Why her?”

“She has two children, a boy and a girl,” Navani said. “Like me. She is roughly my age. And judging by her bearing, she is proud, although she walks alone with no husband. As I did for years after Gavilar’s death.”

“Odd …” Dalinar said.

She glanced at him.

“As you said that,” he told her, “ you forged just the smallest Connection to the woman.”

“Perception,” she said, remembering the research into spren. “Perception changes Investiture, Dalinar. Wit talked about this place, and how it is a shifting web of Connections.”

“He also said it was beyond the ability to understand.”

“He said it was beyond our ability to understand,” she replied. “But so are all natural phenomena, in the beginning. It is the scientist’s duty to make that which was once unknowable so commonplace that you can wear it on your arm and think nothing of it.”

Dalinar glanced at the fabrial clock. Then nodded, closing his eyes and concentrating.

A moment later, Navani was in the place of that woman. Carrying a large pack with her family’s belongings, and accompanied by two children. It worked. She looked back across the barren plateau to Dalinar, who stood with Melishi the Bondsmith. Melishi put his hand to his head as if confused, then rushed off toward the tower.

Perfect. She soothed the two teenaged children, sent them on their way with their packs—even though she knew they weren’t real, she couldn’t help herself—then walked back to Dalinar. He was speaking with Gav as the child stirred in his lap.

“… It’s all right, Grampa,” Gav was saying. “Daddy told me it would be all right.”

“You heard him?” Dalinar said. “Elhokar’s voice.”

Gav nodded sleepily.

“Is that possible?” Navani asked.

“I don’t know,” Dalinar whispered. “I feel … like sometimes I hear Evi’s voice. It might be my mind pretending. At any rate, it seems to have comforted him.”

Navani nodded, looking after Melishi.

“So …” Dalinar said, “under the proper circumstances, we can choose how we’re perceived in these visions. That sounds useful. But we still need to jump forward a few years, to chase down that Windrunner’s secrets.”

“You used the Stormfather as an anchor,” Navani said. “How? Can you talk me through it?”

“I was angry with the Stormfather, and I knew that he knew what I needed to see. I used my Connection to him—slammed my hands together and made us shift here.”

“Because the Stormfather was thinking about it,” Navani said. “The very secrets the Stormfather was trying to hide hovered in his mind, forging that Connection for us.” She took a deep breath. “That was similar to the other anchors, which were related in some way to the events we saw. Well, we are on a path toward the Recreance, and that Windrunner, Garith. This is our destiny: to find why Honor died, and how.”

She looked to Dalinar and he stood up, disturbing Gav.

“Navani,” Dalinar said, “that’s working. I don’t know if you’re reinforcing what is already there, or if you’re creating something new—but I feel like I can see the pathway.”

“The Stormfather knows it,” she said, “and you have a profound Connection to him. Roshar knows what happened. These events somehow began the sequence that led to you and me becoming Bondsmiths. This isn’t just a mystery, it’s our heritage. ”

Dalinar met her eyes and nodded. He had the Connection, the pathway. An anchor forged of their own natures, history, and bonds. “I am in awe, Navani. I didn’t realize your scholarly methods could help us understand the ways of the gods.”

“Dalinar,” she said, “understanding the ways of God is the primary purpose of science.”

With that, he engaged his powers.

And they appeared on a battlefield with singers arrayed before them. Navani, Dalinar, and Gav were among the Radiants—and in the distance, that Windrunner was walking up to a tent. He was about ten years older now, with greying hair—the same age he looked in the vision where Dalinar had first seen him, on the day of the Recreance.

The thunderclast slammed a fist down, breaking cobbles. The stones spasmed, the near miss throwing Adolin to the ground. He scrambled backward on hands and knees, forced to leave the hammer.

The creature raised its fist from the ground, dropping chips of broken cobble like clattering rain. This one walked with a hunched-over gait, still bipedal, but those arms were so long they would scrape the ground if it didn’t curl them up while walking. It attacked again, voiceless, as Adolin’s soldiers swarmed it on both sides—oil draining from the small kegs on their backs, coating the stone beneath its feet. Other soldiers broke larger barrels at the head of the street, letting it flow down.

Adolin puffed inside his helm, hoisting the large chain over one shoulder—with the other end running some forty feet back down the street toward the carriage, which he’d disconnected from Gallant. The horse danced around, snorting, but obeyed Adolin’s strict command to stay put—between the oiled ground and uneven cobbles, bringing a horse into this was begging for a broken leg.

Right, Adolin thought. Just get the chain wrapped around one leg. Use the hook on the end to hold it secure.

He heaved forward, blessing the power of Plate to keep him moving despite his mounting fatigue. He pushed into the nearest building, pulling the chain with him. This was one of many tenements along the road. In Azimir, these tended to be nicer than in other cities—three-story rows of multifamily homes, made of stone. The front room was empty, thankfully; the family had fled out the rear door, leaving a trail of fearspren.

Storms, they were lucky thunderclasts had trouble forming out of covered or worked stone. Otherwise it could have emerged straight under the palace, rather than approaching from outside the city. Adolin watched through the doorway, the end of the chain in his hands—each link as wide as his palm. In the street, Neziham distracted the thing by running past with his Blade out, trying to cut at the ankle, and forcing it to dodge with a lumbering gait.

That gave Adolin a chance to duck out again, towing the chain. He slipped on the oil, righted himself, then scrambled toward the closest massive stone foot. It was thicker than a man was tall, and looked like a hoof. Adolin hauled his chain around the leg—but the thunderclast moved and yanked the chain right out of Adolin’s grip. His end, with the hook, flipped away from him and crashed into a building.

Adolin skidded on oiled ground, then went running for the chain end. The thunderclast eyed him; but before it could attack, Adolin’s soldiers made a desperate play, getting in its way and shouting, making it pause.

Adolin pulled the chain out of the crumbling facade of the building, then spun to see a terrifying sight: a hand, large enough to blot out the sky, swinging for him. Adolin dove, but got hit anyway, and was flung like a slapped cremling. The world spiraled around him as he tumbled down the roadway amid sounds of clanging metal and grinding rock.

He landed and groaned, lifting a dazed head. His Plate leaked Light from nearly every armor piece. He felt terribly dizzy as he stood up on wobbly feet.

Was the Plate … worried?

“Not your fault,” Adolin mumbled, getting his bearings. He’d dropped the chain again. Storms. He forced himself to go running for it, trailing Stormlight. Fortunately, Neziham had distracted the thunderclast before it could finish Adolin off.

Adolin grabbed the chain and dashed to the thing’s right foot as it kicked with the other, toppling a building toward Adolin’s troops. With a grunt, Adolin let himself slide across the oiled ground straight past the leg. Then he heaved to the side, scrambling around the ankle as it slammed its other foot down on the roadway ahead.

Again the thunderclast noticed him and swung, but Adolin ducked—skidding on the oil. Wind from the miss rippled pools of oil nearby, then they shook violently as the hand hit the ground. Adolin managed to scuttle back around the thing’s heel. Here, with a heave, he slammed the hook through two of the links on the other side.

When the thunderclast raised that foot to step, it towed the chain behind it—the other end, also with a hook, coming out of the box at the end of the street and clanging against cobbles.

Adolin backed away, breathing hard. First part done. Now he had to link that other end of the chain to something. Ideally he would wrap it around the other foot, to best trip it. As he contemplated his options, he checked over his shoulder and saw another daunting sight.

Heavenly Ones were buzzing high above the city, dropping boulders—artillery that, after millennia of practice, they knew how to make as dangerous as any siege weapon.

Zarb Kushkam looked up in confusion, his vision swimming, his arm bloodied. What … what had …

Around him, soldiers lay dead in a blast pattern. Others continued to fight and shout as hands came up through the ground and seized them, stabbing them in the thighs. He shouted for reinforcements, but storms, who could form battle lines out of a situation like this? The very ground was against them and—

CRASH.

Another rock slammed to the ground nearby, crushing soldiers, throwing chips that dropped others with the force of the debris. The horns … the horns were sounding for all reinforcements. Every troop committed … even the exhausted. He barely remembered giving that order before falling. His mind was …

A shock ran through him, a sharp wave of coldness, and his mind cleared, confusionspren vanishing. He shook himself, and found the young Alethi healer at his side, holding his hand—Stormlight glowing from her. She wore a dress in the middle of this chaos, bright green.

Zarb grabbed a nearby soldier. “Get her a storming helmet!” he shouted, pointing. “And keep her alive as she heals people!” He seized another. “See that he stays alive!”

Then he pulled a pike from the hands of one of the dead and shouted the rallying cry. Just in time for the wall of the dome to explode outward in a shower of broken stone.

Beyond it stood the hulking forms of ten beings with glowing red eyes. Including a variety he’d never seen—tall, with skin that seemed made from tightly wrapped belts.

The Fused were here. If there had ever been a time, it was now. “Tell those inside the dome,” he ordered one of his beleaguered messengers, “to prepare to drop the firebombs.”

Adolin’s honor guard did what they could to stall the thunderclast, but it had largely broken them. Of Adolin’s forty, maybe ten remained on their feet. They waved nets and shot arrows, but the thing had decided they weren’t a threat. It instead slammed its hand down near Neziham.

That was Adolin’s cue. He ducked out of the building where he’d been hiding—after breaking through several walls inside, dodging attacks from the thunderclast until it lost him. He ran for the loose end of the chain and seized it, his armor leaking Stormlight—but not so furiously that he was worried. It should hold for now.

After seeing this thing kick down buildings, he’d decided his only hope was to lock its legs together. Nothing else would have any real chance of tripping it. He winced as a giant hand slapped Neziham into a wall. His Plate was in even worse shape than Adolin’s.

Keep moving, Adolin told himself, charging across the ground with chain in hand.

The thunderclast turned and tried to step on him, but blessedly it didn’t have a good line of sight straight down. Adolin threw himself to the side to dodge, the chain rattling. He sprang to his feet and tried to wrap it around the free ankle. This time the creature simply kicked the other leg forward—the one with the chain already locked around it.

Damnation.

The chain pulled taut, yanking Adolin—who clung tight—away from the leg he’d been targeting. The thing kicked again, whipping him through the air until—with horror—he felt his oily armored hands slip.

Adolin hit the street in a crumple, groaning again. He flopped over, and though his armor was still in one piece, his legs had taken the brunt of the fall. They were covered in a spiderweb of fissures, the kind that, if this were a duel, would prompt the judge to call a halt. Too much of a risk of the Plate breaking, leading to injury.

He looked up to get his bearings, and found himself far along the street—ahead of Neziham, when he’d previously been behind the man. The other Shardbearer glanced at Adolin, distracted at just the wrong time.

No!

A colossal stone fist smashed down on Neziham, crushing him against the ground. Plate exploded and popped in a sequence of spraying molten bits, and the thunderclast’s knuckles slammed into the street. Neziham’s Shardblade clanged free, rolling across the street, and didn’t vanish.

When the thunderclast pulled its hand up, the knuckles were covered in gore—with tiny bits of Plate sticking to it. What was left of Neziham was a mash of bones, blood, and steel.

The thunderclast reached down and grabbed the chain in its fists. Then, straining for a moment, snapped the chain with a sharp peal of breaking metal. It threw the remnants to the street, then continued on, relentless, toward the dome.

Leaving Adolin lying there, exhausted, dazed, and defeated.