“Honor cared only for bonds. Not the meaning of bonds and oaths, merely that they were kept. Cultivation only wants to see transformation. Growth. It can be good or bad, for all she cares. The pain of men is nothing to her. Only I understand it. Only I care, Dalinar.”
I don’t believe that, Dalinar thought. I can’t believe that.
The old man sighed, then heaved himself to his feet. “If you could see the result of Honor’s influence, you would not be so quick to name me a god of anger. Separate the emotion from men, and you have creatures like Nale and his Skybreakers. That is what Honor would have given you.”
Dalinar nodded toward the terrible fray on the field before them. “You said I was wrong about what caused the Radiants to abandon their oaths. What was it really?”
Odium smiled. “Passion, son. Glorious, wondrous passion. Emotion. It is what defines men—though ironically you are poor vessels for it. It fills you up and breaks you, unless you find someone to share the burden.” He looked toward the dying men. “But can you imagine a world without it? No. Not one I’d want to live in. Ask that of Cultivation, next time you see her. Ask what she’d want for Roshar. I think you’ll find me to be the better choice.”
“Next time?” Dalinar said. “I’ve never seen her.”
“Of course you have,” Odium said, turning and walking away. “She simply robbed you of that memory. Her touch is not how I would have helped you. It stole a part of you away, and left you like a blind man who can’t remember that he once had sight.”
Dalinar stood up. “I offer you a challenge of champions. With terms to be discussed. Will you accept it?”
Odium stopped, then turned slowly. “Do you speak for the world, Dalinar Kholin? Will you offer this for all Roshar?”
Storms. Would he? “I…”
“Either way, I don’t accept.” Odium stood taller, smiling in an unnervingly understanding way. “I need not take on such a risk, for I know, Dalinar Kholin, that you will make the right decision. You will free me.”
“No.” Dalinar stood. “You shouldn’t have revealed yourself, Odium. I once feared you, but it is easier to fear what you don’t understand. I’ve seen you now, and I can fight you.”
“You’ve seen me, have you? Curious.”
Odium smiled again.
Then everything went white. Dalinar found himself standing on a speck of nothingness that was the entire world, looking up at an eternal, all-embracing flame. It stretched in every direction, starting as red, moving to orange, then changing to blazing white.
Then somehow, the flames seemed to burn into a deep blackness, violet and angry.
This was something so terrible that it consumed light itself. It was hot. A radiance indescribable, intense heat and black fire, colored violet at the outside.
Burning.
Overwhelming.
Power.
It was the scream of a thousand warriors on the battlefield.
It was the moment of most sensual touch and ecstasy.
It was the sorrow of loss, the joy of victory.
And it was hatred. Deep, pulsing hatred with a pressure to turn all things molten. It was the heat of a thousand suns, it was the bliss of every kiss, it was the lives of all men wrapped up in one, defined by everything they felt.
Even taking in the smallest fraction of it terrified Dalinar. It left him tiny and frail. He knew if he drank of that raw, concentrated, liquid black fire, he’d be nothing in a moment. The entire planet of Roshar would puff away, no more consequential than the curling smoke of a snuffed-out candle.
It faded, and Dalinar found himself lying on the rock outside Feverstone Keep, staring upward. Above him, the sun seemed dim and cold. Everything felt frozen by contrast.
Odium knelt down beside him, then helped him rise to a seated position. “There, there. That was a smidge too much, wasn’t it? I had forgotten how overwhelming that could be. Here, take a drink.” He handed Dalinar a waterskin.
Dalinar looked at it, baffled, then up at the old man. In Odium’s eyes, he could see that violet-black fire. Deep, deep within. The figure with whom Dalinar spoke was not the god, it was merely a face, a mask.
Because if Dalinar had to confront the true force behind those smiling eyes, he would go mad.
Odium patted him on the shoulder. “Take a minute, Dalinar. I’ll leave you here. Relax. It—” He cut off, then frowned, spinning. He searched the rocks.
“What?” Dalinar asked.
“Nothing. Just an old man’s mind playing tricks on him.” He patted Dalinar on the arm. “We’ll speak again, I promise.”
He vanished in an eyeblink.
Dalinar collapsed backward, completely drained. Storms. Just …
Storms.
“That guy,” a girl’s voice said, “is creepy.”
Dalinar shifted, sitting up with difficulty. A head popped up from behind some nearby rocks. Tan skin, pale eyes, long dark hair, lean, girlish features.
“I mean, old men are all creepy,” Lift said. “Seriously. All wrinkly and ‘Hey, want some sweets?’ and ‘Oh, listen to this boring story.’ I’m on to them. They can act nice all they want, but nobody gets old without ruining a whole buncha lives.”
She climbed over the rocks. She wore fine Azish clothing now, compared to the simple trousers and shirt from last time. Colorful patterns on robes, a thick overcoat and cap. “Even as old people go, that one was extra creepy,” she said softly. “What was that thing, tight-butt? Didn’t smell like a real person.”
“They call it Odium,” Dalinar said, exhausted. “And it is what we fight.”
“Huh. Compared to that, you’re nothing.”
“Thank you?”
She nodded, as if it were a compliment. “I’ll talk to Gawx. You got good food at that tower city of yours?”
“We can prepare some for you.”
“Yeah, I don’t care what you prepare. What do you eat? Is it good?”
“… Yes?”
“Not military rations or some such nonsense, right?”
“Not usually.”
“Great.” She looked at the place where Odium had vanished, then shivered visibly. “We’ll visit.” She paused, then poked him in the arm. “Don’t tell Gawx about that Odium thing, okay? He’s got too many old people to worry about already.”
Dalinar nodded.
The bizarre girl vanished and, moments later, the vision finally faded.
THE END OF
Part Two
The ship First Dreams crashed through a wave, prompting Kaza to cling tightly to the rigging. Her gloved hands already ached, and she was certain each new wave would toss her overboard.
She refused to go down below. This was her destiny. She was not a thing to be carted from place to place, not any longer. Besides, that dark sky—suddenly stormy, even though the sailing had been easy up until an hour ago—was no more disconcerting than her visions.
Another wave sent water crashing across the deck. Sailors scrambled and screamed, mostly hirelings out of Steen, as no rational crew would make this trip. Captain Vazrmeb stalked among them, shouting orders, while Droz—the helmsman—kept them on a steady heading. Into the storm. Straight. Into. The storm.
Kaza held tight, feeling her age as her arms started to weaken. Icy water washed over her, pushing back the hood of her robe, exposing her face—and its twisted nature. Most sailors weren’t paying attention, though her cry did bring Vazrmeb’s attention.
The only Thaylen on board, the captain didn’t much match her image of the people. Thaylens, to her, were portly little men in vests—merchants with styled hair who haggled for every last sphere. Vazrmeb, however, was as tall as an Alethi, with hands wide enough to palm boulders and forearms large enough to lift them.
Over the crashing of waves, he yelled, “Someone get that Soulcaster below deck!”
“No,” she shouted back at him. “I stay.”
“I didn’t pay a prince’s ransom to bring you,” he said, stalking
up to her, “only to lose you over the side!”
“I’m not a thing to—”
“Captain!” a sailor shouted. “Captain!”
They both looked as the ship tipped over the peak of a huge wave, then teetered, before just kind of falling over the other side. Storms! Kaza’s stomach practically squeezed up into her throat, and she felt her fingers sliding on the ropes.
Vazrmeb seized her by the side of her robe, holding her tight as they plunged into the water beyond the wave. For a brief terrifying moment, they seemed entombed in the chill water. As if the entire ship had sunk.
The wave passed, and Kaza found herself lying in a sodden heap on the deck, held by the captain. “Storming fool,” he said to her. “You’re my secret weapon. You drown yourself when you’re not in my pay, understand?”
She nodded limply. And then realized, with a shock, she’d been able to hear him easily. The storm …
Was gone?
Vazrmeb stood up straight, grinning broadly, his white eyebrows combed back into his long mane of dripping hair. All across the deck, the sailors who had survived were climbing to their feet, sopping wet and staring at the sky. It maintained its overcast gloom—but the winds had fallen completely still.
Vazrmeb bellowed out a laugh, sweeping back his long, curling hair. “What did I tell you, men! That new storm came from Aimia! Now it has gone and escaped, leaving the riches of its homeland to be plundered!”
Everyone knew you didn’t linger around Aimia, though everyone had different explanations why. Some rumors told of a vengeful storm here, one that sought out and destroyed approaching ships. The strange wind they’d encountered—which didn’t match the timing of highstorm or Everstorm—seemed to support that.
The captain started shouting orders, getting the men back into position. They hadn’t been sailing long, only a short distance out of Liafor, along the Shin coast, then westward toward this northern section of Aimia. They’d soon spotted the large main island, but had not visited it. Everyone knew that was barren, lifeless. The treasures were on the hidden islands, supposedly lying in wait to enrich those willing to brave the winds and treacherous straits.
She cared less for that—what were riches to her? She had come because of another rumor, one spoken of only among her kind. Perhaps here, at last, she could find a cure for her condition.
Even as she righted herself, she felt in her pouch, seeking the comforting touch of her Soulcaster. Hers, no matter what the rulers of Liafor claimed. Had they spent their youths caressing it, learning its secrets? Had they spent their middle years in service, stepping—with each use—closer and closer to oblivion?
The common sailors gave Kaza space, refusing to look her in the eyes. She pulled her hood up, unaccustomed to the gaze of ordinary people. She’d entered the stage where her … disfigurements were starkly obvious.
Kaza was, slowly, becoming smoke.
Vazrmeb took the helm himself, giving Droz a break. The lanky man stepped down from the poop deck, noting her by the side of the ship. He grinned at her, which she found curious. She hadn’t ever spoken to him. Now he sauntered over, as if intending to make small talk.
“So…” he said. “Up on deck? Through that? You’ve got guts.”
She hesitated, considering this strange creature, then lowered her hood.
He didn’t flinch, even though her hair, her ears, and now parts of her face were disintegrating. There was a hole in her cheek through which you could see her jaw and teeth. Lines of smoke rimmed the hole; the flesh seemed to be burning away. Air passed through it when she spoke, altering her voice, and she had to tip her head all the way back to drink anything. Even then, it dribbled out.
The process was slow. She had a few years left until the Soulcasting killed her.
Droz seemed intent on pretending nothing was wrong. “I can’t believe we got through that storm. You think it hunts ships, like the stories say?”
He was Liaforan like herself, with deep brown skin and dark brown eyes. What did he want? She tried to remember the ordinary passions of human life, which she’d begun to forget. “Is it sex you want?… No, you are much younger than I am. Hmmm…” Curious. “Are you frightened, and wishing for comfort?”
He started to fidget, playing with the end of a tied-off rope. “Um … So, I mean, the prince sent you, right?”
“Ah.” So he knew that she was the prince’s cousin. “You wish to connect yourself to royalty. Well, I came on my own.”
“Surely he let you go.”
“Of course he didn’t. If not for my safety, then for that of my device.” It was hers. She looked off across the too-still ocean. “They locked me up each day, gave me comforts they assumed would keep me happy. They realized that at any moment, I could literally make walls and bonds turn to smoke.”
“Does … does it hurt?”
“It is blissful. I slowly connect to the device, and through it to Roshar. Until the day it will take me fully into its embrace.” She lifted a hand and pulled her black glove off, one finger at a time, revealing a hand that was disintegrating. Five lines of darkness, one rising from the tip of each finger. She turned it, palm toward him. “I could show you. Feel my touch, and you can know. One moment, and then you will mingle with the air itself.”
He fled. Excellent.
The captain steered them toward a small island, poking from the placid ocean right where the captain’s map had claimed it would be. It had dozens of names. The Rock of Secrets. The Void’s Playground. So melodramatic. She preferred the old name for the place: Akinah.
Supposedly, there had once been a grand city here. But who would put a city on an island you couldn’t approach? For, jutting from the ocean here were a set of strange rock formations. They ringed the entire island like a wall, each some forty feet tall, resembling spearheads. As the ship drew closer, the sea grew choppy again, and she felt a bout of nausea. She liked that. It was a human feeling.
Her hand again sought her Soulcaster.
That nausea mixed with a faint sense of hunger. Food was something she often forgot about these days, as her body needed less of it now. Chewing was annoying, with the hole in her cheek. Still, she liked the scents from whatever the cook was stirring up below. Perhaps the meal would calm the men, who seemed agitated about approaching the island.
Kaza moved to the poop deck, near the captain.
“Now you earn your keep, Soulcaster,” he said. “And I’m justified in hauling you all the way out here.”
“I’m not a thing,” she said absently, “to be used. I am a person. Those spikes of stone … they were Soulcast there.” The enormous stone spearheads were too even in a ring about the island. Judging by the currents ahead, some lurked beneath the waters as well, to rip up the hulls of approaching vessels.
“Can you destroy one?” the captain asked her.
“No. They are much larger than you indicated.”
“But—”
“I can make a hole in them, Captain. It is easier to Soulcast an entire object, but I am no ordinary Soulcaster. I have begun to see the dark sky and the second sun, the creatures that lurk, hidden, around the cities of men.”
He shivered visibly. Why should that have frightened him? She’d merely stated facts.
“We need you to transform the tips of a few under the waves,” he said. “Then make a hole at least large enough for the dinghies to get in to the island beyond.”
“I will keep my word, but you must remember. I do not serve you. I am here for my own purposes.”
They dropped anchor as close to the spikes as they dared get. The spikes were even more daunting—and more obviously Soulcast—from here. Each would have required several Soulcasters in concert, she thought, standing at the prow of the ship as the men ate a hasty meal of stew.
The cook was a woman, Reshi from the looks of her, with tattoos all across her face. She pushed the captain to eat, claiming that if he went in hungry, he’d be distracted. Even Kaza took some, though h
er tongue no longer tasted food. It all felt like the same mush to her, and she ate with a napkin pressed to her cheek.
The captain drew anticipationspren as he waited—ribbons that waved in the wind—and Kaza could see the beasts beyond, the creatures that accompanied the spren.
The ship’s four dinghies were cramped, with rowers and officers all together, but they made space for her at the front of one. She pulled up her hood, which still hadn’t dried, and sat on her bench. What had the captain been planning to do if the storm hadn’t stopped? Would he seriously have tried to use her and a dinghy to remove these spears in the middle of a tempest?
They reached the first spike, and Kaza carefully unwrapped her Soulcaster, releasing a flood of light. Three large gemstones connected by chains, with loops for her fingers. She put it on, with the gemstones on the back of her hand. She sighed softly to feel the metal against her skin again. Warm, welcoming, a part of her.
She reached over the side into the chill water and pressed her hand against the tip of the stone spear—smoothed from years in the ocean. Light from the gemstones lit the water, reflections dancing across her robe.
She closed her eyes, and felt the familiar sensation of being drawn into the other world. Of another will reinforcing her own, something commanding and powerful, attracted by her request for aid.
The stone did not wish to change. It was content with its long slumber in the ocean. But … yes, yes, it remembered. It had once been air, until someone had locked it into this shape. She could not make it air again; her Soulcaster had only one mode, not the full three. She did not know why.
Smoke, she whispered to the stone. Freedom in the air. Remember? She tempted it, picking at its memories of dancing free.
Yes … freedom.
She nearly gave in herself. How wonderful would it be to no longer fear? To soar into infinity on the air? To be free of mortal pains?
The tip of the stone burst into smoke, sending an explosion of bubbles up around the dinghy. Kaza was shocked back into the real world, and a piece deep within her trembled. Terrified. She’d almost gone that time.
Smoke bubbles rattled the dinghy, which nearly upended. She should have warned them. Sailors muttered, but in the next dinghy over, the captain praised her.