Rhythm of War (9781429952040)

by Sanderson, Brandon

  She started along the stream, attuned to Joy, accompanied by swimming riverspren. Everyone had been so worried about her being out in the storms alone. Well, she had been out in storms a dozen times in her life, and had survived with no trouble. Plus, she’d been able to move in among the trees for shelter.

  Her family and friends were concerned nonetheless. They spent their lives living in a very small region, dreaming of the day they could conquer one of the ten ancient cities at the perimeter of the Shattered Plains. Such a small-minded goal. Why not strike out, see what else there was to the world?

  But no. Only one possible goal existed: win one of the cities. Seek shelter behind crumbling walls, ignoring the barrier the woods provided. Eshonai considered it proof that nature was stronger than the creations of listeners. This forest had likely stood when the ancient cities had been new. Yet this forest still thrived, and those were ruins.

  You couldn’t steal the secrets from something so strong just by exploring it. You could merely learn.

  She settled down near a rock and unrolled her map, made from precious paper. Her mother was one of the few among all the families who knew the Song of Making Paper, and with her help, Eshonai had perfected the process. She used a pen and ink to sketch the path of the river as it entered the forest, then dabbed the ink until it was dry before rerolling the map.

  Though she was confident, Resolve attuned, the others’ complaints had been particularly bothersome lately.

  We know where the forest is and how to reach it. Why map its size? What will that help?

  The river flows this direction. Everyone knows where to find it. Why bother putting it on paper?

  Too many of her family wanted to pretend the world was smaller than it was. Eshonai was convinced that was why they continued to squabble with the other listener families. If the world consisted only of the land around the ten cities, then fighting over that land made sense.

  But their ancestors hadn’t fought one another. Their ancestors had turned their faces to the storm and marched away, abandoning their very gods in the name of freedom. Eshonai would use that freedom. Instead of sitting by the fire and complaining, she would experience the beauties Cultivation offered. And she would ask the best question of them all.

  What will I discover next?

  Eshonai continued walking, judging the river’s course. She used her own methods of counting the distance, then rechecked her work by surveying sights from multiple angles. The river continued flowing for days once a storm passed. How? When all other water had drained away or been lapped up, why did this river keep going? Where did it start?

  Rivers and their carapace-covered spren excited her. Rivers were markers, guideposts, roadways. You could never get lost if you knew where the river was. She stopped for lunch near one of the bends, and discovered a type of cremling that was green, like the trees. She’d never seen one that shade before. She’d have to tell Venli.

  “Stealing nature’s secrets,” Eshonai said to Annoyance. “What is a secret but a surprise to be discovered?”

  Finishing her steamed haspers, she put out her fire and scattered the flamespren before continuing on her way. By her guess, it would take her a day and a half to reach her family. Then, if she left them again and rounded the other side of the forest, she’d have a finished picture of how it looked.

  There was so much to see, so much to know, so much to do. And she was going to discover it all. She was going to …

  What was that?

  She frowned, halting in her tracks. The river wasn’t strong now; it would likely slow to a trickle by tomorrow. Over its gurgling, she heard shouts in the distance. Had the others come to find her? She hurried forward, attuning Excitement. Perhaps they were growing more willing to explore.

  It wasn’t until she was almost to the sounds that she realized something was very wrong with them. They were flat, no hint of a rhythm. As if they were made by the dead.

  A moment later she rounded a bend and found herself confronted by something more wondrous—and more terrible—than she’d ever dared imagine.

  Humans.

  * * *

  “‘… dullform dread, with the mind most lost,’” Venli quoted. “‘The lowest, and one not bright. To find this form, one need banish the cost. It finds you and brings you to blight.’”

  She drew in a deep breath and sat back in their tent, proud. All ninety-one stanzas, recited perfectly.

  Her mother, Jaxlim, nodded as she worked the loom. “That was one of your better recitations,” she said to Praise. “A little more practice, and we can move to the next song.”

  “But … I got it right.”

  “You mixed up the seventh and fifteenth stanzas,” her mother said.

  “The order doesn’t matter.”

  “You also forgot the nineteenth.”

  “No I didn’t,” Venli said, counting them in her head. Workform? “… Did I?”

  “You did,” her mother said. “But you needn’t be embarrassed. You are doing fine.”

  Fine? Venli had spent years memorizing the songs, while Eshonai barely did anything useful. Venli was better than fine. She was excellent.

  Except … she’d forgotten an entire stanza? She looked at her mother, who was humming softly as she worked the loom.

  “The nineteenth stanza isn’t that important,” Venli said. “Nobody is going to forget how to become a worker. And dullform. Why do we have a stanza about that? Nobody would willingly choose it.”

  “We need to remember the past,” her mother said to the Rhythm of the Lost. “We need to remember what we passed through to get here. We need to take care not to forget ourselves.”

  Venli attuned Annoyance. And then, Jaxlim began to sing to the rhythms in a beautiful voice. There was something amazing about her mother’s voice. It wasn’t powerful or bold, but it was like a knife—thin, sharp, almost liquid. It cut Venli to the soul, and Awe replaced her Annoyance.

  No, Venli wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But her mother was.

  Jaxlim sang on, and Venli watched, transfixed, feeling ashamed of her earlier petulance. It was just so hard sometimes. Sitting in here day after day, memorizing while Eshonai played. The two of them were nearly adults, only a year off for Eshonai and a little more than two for Venli. They were supposed to be responsible.

  Her mother eventually trailed off, after the tenth stanza.

  “Thank you,” Venli said.

  “For singing something you’ve heard a thousand times?”

  “For reminding me,” Venli said to Praise, “of what I am practicing to become.”

  Her mother attuned Joy and continued working. Venli strolled to the doorway of the tent and peered out, where family members worked at various activities, like chopping wood and felling trees. Her people were the First-Rhythm family, and had a noble heritage. They were thousands strong, but it had been many years since they’d controlled a city.

  They kept talking of winning one back soon. Of how they’d strike out of the forest and attack before a storm, claiming their rightful seat. It was an excellent and worthy goal, yet Venli found herself dissatisfied as she watched warriors making arrows and sharpening ancient metal spears. Was this really what life amounted to? Fighting back and forth over the same ten cities?

  Surely there was more for them. Surely there was more for her. She had come to love the songs, but she wanted to use them. Find the secrets they promised. Would Roshar create someone like Venli, only to have her sit in a hogshide tent and memorize words until she could pass them on, then die?

  No. She had to have some kind of destiny. Something grand. “Eshonai thinks we should draw pictures to represent the verses of the songs,” Venli said. “Make stacks of papers full of pictures, so we won’t forget.”

  “Your sister has a wisdom to her at times,” her mother said.

  Venli attuned Betrayal. “She shouldn’t be off away from the family so much, being selfish with her time. She should be learning the songs like me.
It’s her duty too, as your daughter.”

  “Yes, you are correct,” Jaxlim said. “But Eshonai has a bold heart. She merely needs to learn that her family is more important than counting the number of hills outside the camp.”

  “I have a bold heart!” Venli said.

  “You have a keen and crafty mind,” her mother said. “Like your mother. Do not dismiss your own talents because you envy those of another.”

  “Envy? Her?”

  Venli’s mother continued weaving. She wasn’t required to do such work—her position as keeper of songs was lofty, perhaps the most important in the family. Yet her mother always sought to keep busy. She said working her hands kept her body strong, while going over songs worked her mind.

  Venli attuned Anxiety, then Confidence, then Anxiety again. She walked to her mother and sat on the stool next to her. Jaxlim projected Confidence, even when doing something as simple as weaving. Her complex skin pattern of wavy red and black lines was among the most beautiful in the camp—like true marbled stone. Eshonai took after their mother’s colorings.

  Venli, of course, took after her father—primarily white and red, her own pattern more like swirls. In truth, Venli’s pattern had all three shades. Many people claimed they couldn’t see the small patches of black at her neck, but she could pick them out. Having all three colors was very, very rare.

  “Mother,” she said to Excitement, “I think I’ve discovered something.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “I’ve been experimenting with different spren again. Taking them into the storms.”

  “You were cautioned about this.”

  “You didn’t forbid me, so I continued. Should we only ever do as we are told?”

  “Many say we need no more than workform and mateform,” her mother said to Consideration. “They say that courting other forms is to take steps toward forms of power.”

  “What do you say?” Venli asked.

  “You are always so concerned for my opinions. Most children, when they reach your age, start to defy and ignore their parents.”

  “Most children don’t have you as a mother.”

  “Flattery?” Jaxlim said to Amusement.

  “Not … entirely,” Venli said. She attuned Resignation. “Mother, I want to use what I’ve learned. I have a head full of songs about forms. How can I help wanting to try to discover them? For the good of our people.”

  Jaxlim finally stopped her weaving. She turned on her stool and scooted closer to Venli, taking her hands. She hummed, then sang softly to Praise—just a melody, no words. Venli closed her eyes and let the song wash over her, and thought she could feel her mother’s skin vibrating. Feel her soul.

  Venli had done this as long as she could remember. Relying on her, and her songs. Ever since her father had left, seeking the eastern sea.

  “You make me proud, Venli,” Jaxlim said. “You’ve done well these last few years, memorizing after Eshonai gave up. I encourage you to seek to improve yourself, but remember, you must not become distracted. I need you. We need you.”

  Venli nodded, then hummed the same rhythm, attuning Praise to be in sync with her mother. She felt love, warmth, acceptance from those fingers. And knew whatever else happened, her mother would be there to guide her. Steady her. With a song that pierced even storms.

  Her mother returned to her weaving, and Venli began to recite again. She went through the entire thing, and this time did not miss a stanza.

  When she was done, she waited, taking a drink of water and hoping for her mother’s praise. Instead, Jaxlim gave her something better. “Tell me,” she said, “of these experiments with spren you’ve been doing.”

  “I’m trying to find warform!” Venli said to Anticipation. “I’ve been staying near the edge of the shelter during storms, and trying to attract the right spren. It is difficult, as most spren flee from me once the winds pick up.

  “However, this last time I feel I was close. A painspren is the key. They’re always around during storms. If I can keep one close to me, I think I can adopt the form.”

  If she managed it, she’d become the first listener to hold warform in many generations. Ever since the humans and the singers of old destroyed one another in their final battle. This was something she could bring her people, something that would be remembered!

  “Let’s go speak with the Five,” Jaxlim said, standing up from beside the loom.

  “Wait,” Venli said, taking her arm and attuning Tension. “You are going to tell them what I said? About warform?”

  “Naturally. If you are going to continue on this path, we will want their blessing.”

  “Maybe I should practice more,” Venli said. “Before we tell anyone.”

  Jaxlim hummed to Reprimand. “This is like your refusal to perform the songs in public. You are afraid of exposing yourself to failure again, Venli.”

  “No,” she said. “No, of course not. Mother, I just think this would be better if I knew for certain it worked. Before causing trouble.”

  Why wouldn’t someone want to be certain before inviting ridicule by failing? That did not make Venli a coward. She’d adopt a new form when nobody else had. That was bold. She wanted to control the circumstances, that was all.

  “Come with me,” Jaxlim said to Peace. “The others have been discussing this—I approached them after you asked me before. I hinted to the elders that I thought adopting new forms might be possible, and I believe they are willing to try.”

  “Really?” Venli asked.

  “Yes. Come. They will celebrate your initiative. That is too rare for us, in this form. It is far better than dullform, but it does affect our minds. We need other forms, despite what some may say.”

  Venli felt herself attuning Excitement as she followed her mother out of the tent. If she did obtain warform, would it open her mind? Make her even more bold? Quiet the fears and worries she often felt? She hungered for accomplishments. Hungered to make their world better, less dull, more vibrant. Hungered to be the one who carried her people to greatness. Out of the crem and toward the skies.

  The Five were gathered around the firepit amid the trees, discussing offensive tactics for the upcoming battle. That mostly equated to which boasts to make, and which warriors to let cast their spears first.

  Jaxlim stepped up to the elders and sang a full song to Excitement. A rare delivery from the keeper of songs, and each stanza made Venli stand taller.

  Once the song was finished, Jaxlim explained what Venli had told her. Indeed, the elders were interested. They realized that new forms were worth the risk. Confident that she would not be rejected, Venli stepped forward and attuned Victory.

  As she began, however, something sounded outside of town. The warning drums? The Five hastened to grab their weapons—ancient axes, spears, and swords, each one precious and passed down for generations, for the listeners had no means of creating new metal weapons.

  But what could this be? No other family would attack them out here in the wilderness. It hadn’t happened in generations, since the Pure-Song family had raided the Fourth-Movement family in an attempt to steal their weapons. The Pure-Songers had been thoroughly shunned for that action.

  Venli stayed back as the elders left. She didn’t wish to be involved in a skirmish—if indeed that was happening. She was an apprentice keeper of songs, and was far too valuable to risk in battle. Hopefully whatever this was, it would be over soon and she could return to basking in the respect of the elders.

  So it was that she was one of the last to hear about Eshonai’s incredible discovery. Among the last to learn that their world had forever been changed. And among the last to learn that her grand announcement had been utterly overshadowed by the actions of her reckless sister.

  I approach this project with an equal mixture of trepidation and hope. And I know not which should rule.

  —From Rhythm of War, page 1

  Raboniel denied Navani servants. The Fused apparently thought it would
be a hardship for Navani to live without them. So Navani allowed herself a small moment of pride when she stepped out of her rooms on the first full day of Urithiru’s occupation. Her hair was clean and braided, her simple havah pressed and neat, her makeup done. Washing in cold water hadn’t been pleasant, but the fabrials weren’t working, so it wasn’t as if she could expect warm water even if she had servants.

  Navani was led down to the library rooms in the basement of Urithiru. Raboniel sat at Navani’s own desk, going through her notes. Upon arriving, Navani bowed precisely, just low enough to indicate obedience—but not low enough to imply subservience.

  The Fused pushed back the chair and leaned an elbow on the desktop, then made a shooing motion with a hummed sound to dismiss the guards.

  “What is your decision?” the Fused asked.

  “I will organize my scholars, Ancient One,” Navani said, “and continue their research under your observation.”

  “The wiser choice, and the more dangerous one, Navani Kholin.” Raboniel hummed a different tone. “I do not find the schematics for your flying machine in these notes.”

  Navani made a show of debating it, but she’d already considered this issue. The secrets of the flying platform would be impossible to keep; too many of Navani’s scholars knew them. Beyond that, many of the new style of conjoined fabrials—which allowed lateral motion while maintaining elevation—were already in use around the tower. Though fabrials didn’t work, Raboniel’s people could surely discern their operation.

  After a long debate with herself, she’d come to the conclusion that she needed to give up this secret. Her best hope in escaping the current predicament was to appear to be willing to work with Raboniel, while also stalling.

  “I intentionally don’t keep priority schematics anywhere but in my own head,” Navani lied. “Instead I explain each piece I need built to my scholars as I need them. Given time, I can draw for you the mechanism that makes the machine work.”