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November 21 - November 27, 2020
In my fevered state, I worry I’m unable to focus on what is important. —From Rhythm of War, page 3
When in such a state, detachment is enviable. I have learned that my greatest discoveries come when I abandon lesser connections. —From Rhythm of War, page 3 undertext
“Not willing to wipe the blood off first, Brightness? I suppose this is the sword’s first kill. Adonalsium knows, I could never give her that myself. Still.”
“How remarkable,” he said. “If you spend your life knocking people down, you eventually find they won’t stand up for you. There’s poetry in that, don’t you think, you storming personification of a cancerous anal discharge?”
This song—this tone, this rhythm—sounds so familiar, in ways I cannot explain or express. —From Rhythm of War, page 5
people can lose themselves to the world.”
I am led to wonder, from experiences such as this, if we have been wrong. We call humans alien to Roshar, yet they have lived here for thousands of years now. Perhaps it is time to acknowledge there are no aliens or interlopers. Only cousins. —From Rhythm of War, page 5 undertext
It would have been so easy if Voidlight and Stormlight destroyed one another. Such a simple answer. —From Rhythm of War, page 6
When good men disobeyed, it was time to look at your orders.
We must not let our desires for a specific result cloud our perceptions. —From Rhythm of War, page 6 undertext
“If there is a god, then I think we could find him in the way we care about one another.
“I guess we both need to remember that whatever’s happening in our heads, whatever it was that created us, we get to choose. That’s what makes us people, Syl.”
But how can we not, in searching, wish for a specific result? What scientist goes into a project without a hope for what they will find? —From Rhythm of War, page 6 undertext
I find this experience so odd. I work with a scholar from the ancient days, before modern scientific theory was developed. I keep forgetting all the thousands of years of tradition you completely missed. —From Rhythm of War, page 6 undertext
This point regarding the Rhythm of War’s emotional influence will be of particular interest to El. —From Rhythm of War, page 10
Who is this person? You used no title, so I assume they are not a Fused. Who, then, is El? —From Rhythm of War, page 10 undertext
In other circumstances, I would be fascinated by this sand to the point of abandoning all other rational pursuits. What is it? Where did it come from? —From Rhythm of War, page 13
home,” Eshonai
I am told that it is not the sand itself, but something that grows upon it, that exhibits the strange properties. One can make more, with proper materials and a seed of the original. —From Rhythm of War, page 13 undertext
“If we can choose, we can change. If we can’t change, then choice means nothing.
The sand originated offworld. It is only one of such amazing wonders that come from other lands—I have recently obtained a chain from the lands of the dead, said to be able to anchor a person through Cognitive anomalies. I fail to see what use it could be to me, as I am unable to leave the Rosharan system. But it is a priceless object nonetheless. —From Rhythm of War, page 13 undertext
“What is this?” she asked. “Valet service.” “On the battlefield?” “A place without much Wit, I agree. Or, I should say, a place that only exists when Wit has failed.
As we dig further into this project, I am left questioning the very nature of God. How can a God exist in all things, yet have a substance that can be destroyed? —From Rhythm of War, page 21
I am not convinced any of the gods can be destroyed, so perhaps I misspoke. They can change state however, like a spren—or like the various Lights. This is what we seek. —From Rhythm of War, page 21 undertext
Do not mourn for what has happened. This notebook was a dream we shared, which is itself a beautiful thing. Proof of the truth of my intent, even if the project was ultimately doomed. —From Rhythm of War, page 27
vibrant without one—but if they didn’t
I leave you now to your own company. —From Rhythm of War, page 27
Opposites. Opposites of sounds. Sound has no opposite. It’s merely overlapped vibration, the same sound, but sound has meaning. This sound does, at least. These sounds. The voices of gods. —From Rhythm of War, final page
Voice of Lights. Voice for Lights. If I speak for the Lights, then I must express their desires. If Light is Investiture, and all Investiture is deity, and deity has Intent, then Light must have Intent. —From Rhythm of War, final page
Intent matters. Intent is king. You cannot do what I attempt by accident. You must mean it. This seems a much greater law than we’ve ever before understood. —From Rhythm of War, endnotes
Communication should be about moods, desires, needs. Not all these flapping, flapping, sloppy wet noises.
“Then how did we ever lose?” she asked. Bah, it was a fluke. We couldn’t break the last Herald, and the humans found some way to pin the whole Oathpact on him. So we got stuck on Braize. Eventually the Unmade decided to start a war without us. That turned out to be exceedingly stupid. In the past, Odium granted forms of power, but Ba-Ado-Mishram thought she could do it. Ended up handing out forms of power as easily as Fused give each other titles, Connected herself to the entire singer species. Became a little god. Too little.
Trouble is, spren can get stuck in gemstones, and the humans figured this out. End result: Ba-Ado-Mishram got a really cramped prison, and everyone’s souls got seriously messed up. It will take something big to restore the minds of the singers around the world. So we’re going to prime the pump, so to speak, with your people. Get them into stormform and pull the big storm over from Shadesmar. Odium thinks it will work, and considering he’s anything but a little god, we are going to do what he says. It’s better than the alternative, which generally involves a lot of pain and the occasional
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Words. I used to be good with words. I used to be good at a lot of things.
There was a time when others would approach me for help with a problem. A time when I was decisive. Capable. Even authoritative.
They’d blink in rippling waves, synchronized. As if to a beat.
“Why. So many answers to a why. You want the truest one, but any such truth is also a lie, as it pretends to be the only answer.”
Such skills, like my honor itself, are now lost to time. Weathered away, crushed to dust, and scattered to the ends of the cosmere. I am a barren tree of a human being. I am the hollow that once was a mighty peak.
So, words. Why words, now? Why do I write?
Jezrien is gone. Despite being all the way out here in Lasting Integrity, I felt him being ripped away. The Oathpact was broken already, but the Connection remained. Each of us can sense the others, to an extent. And with further investigation, I know the truth of what happened to him. It felt like death at first, and I think that is what it ultimately became.
The singers first put Jezrien into a gemstone. They think they are clever, discovering they can trap us in those. It only took them seven thousand years.
“But it’s not real. You just told me.” “Nothing is real,” Wit said. “At least by one measure of philosophy. So enjoy what you seem to be able to eat and don’t complain.”
“And if all of this is too much for me?” Kaladin asked. “If I can’t keep fighting? If I just … stop? Give up?” “Are you close to that?” “Yes,” Kaladin whispered. “Then best eat your stew,” Wit said, pointing with his spoon. “A man shouldn’t lie down and die on an empty stomach.”
“Wit?” Kaladin finally said. “Do you … maybe have a story you could tell me?” Wit froze, spoon in his mouth. He stared at Kaladin, lowering his hand, leaving the spoon between his lips—before eventually opening his mouth to stare slack-jawed, the spoon falling into his waiting hand. “What?” Kaladin asked. “Why are you so surprised?” “Well,” Wit said, recovering. “It’s simply that … I’ve been waiting for someone to actually ask. They never seem to.”
“It is funny, you can’t realize,” Wit said. “Humans will selectively breed for the same traits regardless of the planet they’re on. But you can’t be amazed at the convergent examples of domestication across the cosmere. You can’t know any of this, because you live on a giant ball of rock full of slime where everything is wet and cold all the time. This is a dog, Kaladin. They’re fluffy and loyal and wonderful. This, on the other hand, is a dragon.”
“I know of just one on Roshar,” Wit noted, “and she prefers to hide her true form. This story isn’t about her, however, or any of the dragons I’ve met.
“For years, I’ve had to make do with hints of illusions. Suggesting scenes. Leaving most to the imagination. Now, having the power to do more, I find it less satisfying.
“I am an artist,” Wit said. “I should thank you not to demean me by insisting my art must be trying to accomplish something. In fact, you shouldn’t enjoy art. You should simply admit that it exists, then move on. Anything else is patronizing.”
“It won’t be like that for me,” Kaladin said. “You told me it would get worse.” “It will,” Wit said, “but then it will get better. Then it will get worse again. Then better. This is life, and I will not lie by saying every day will be sunshine. But there will be sunshine again, and that is a very different thing to say. That is truth. I promise you, Kaladin: You will be warm again.”
Oh … Father … Seven thousand years.
