Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

Shallan had killed her and sent her to Braize, where she had broken and come back to Roshar. Initiating the Return, unleashing the Voidbringers, and starting all of this.

“I didn’t want to hurt you,” she said, “but Ishar said I would. I wanted a family. I wanted … Selfish. So selfish. I…” She moaned, the sound becoming a soft wail of agony as she clawed at her face, trembling and weeping.

“Mother,” Shallan said, “I forgive you.” Chana hesitated, then glanced toward Shallan. “I don’t deserve that.” “I give it anyway,” Shallan whispered. “What you did was terrible. You will need to be watched, helped, and prevented from hurting others. But I am safe now, so I can forgive you.”

“The Blackthorn?” the man said, yawning. “He doesn’t care if we rot.” “No,” Evi said. “My husband is a good man.” Not this, Dalinar thought. Anything but this.

Dalinar strode through the fire, and it could not touch him, for he was the thing shadows and flames feared. He was a man who did not care what they revealed.

“It’s never too late,” Dalinar said, “to try to be a better man. Do what you can.”

“You feign strength,” Odium said, “but you still hurt from that day. And you always will. Because that part of you knows it was necessary. You took those pains deliberately.”

“Show me,” Dalinar said. “You’ll hate me,” the Stormfather whispered, his voice raw, ragged. “I’ve failed you. I … I…” “Show me,” Dalinar said softly. “So that I can understand.”

“Maybe that’s the point. Maybe emotions don’t make us weak. Maybe they teach us. Like the pain of touching a hot stove. They show us what we should do, and remind us what we should not.”

I cannot take your pain, but I can help you carry it.”

UNTIL SHE ARRIVED. THE ONE I’D ALWAYS LOVED IN SECRET—OUR UNION FORBIDDEN AS MORTALS—EMERGED FROM THE DARKNESS OF THE VOID BETWEEN WORLDS. CULTIVATION, SHE WAS NOW CALLED, THOUGH I KNEW HER AS KORAVELLIUM AVAST—THE BEAUTIFUL DRAGON HERETIC OF YOLEN. SHE SWEPT UP FROM BEHIND, EMBRACED ME WITH ARMS LIKE THE SKY. I SIGHED, TOUCHED HER, AND ALL FELT RIGHT.

Honor abandoned them to the weathering of time—but in some ways they are the best that remains of him. A piece of an infinite god is still infinite, and the power within these nine … I think we will need it, in days to come. Try to see their potential, not their faults.”

THEY NAMED THEMSELVES THE SINGERS, BECAUSE THEY COULD USE THE SONGS OF GODS. THEY RESPECTED ME. AND I LOVED THEM.

Life before death. Gav was alive. Behind her was only death.

Kaladin was a killer, one of the best Szeth knew. But somehow he expressed the same wisdom as the most peaceful man Szeth had ever met.

Szeth met his eyes, and said them. “I,” he whispered, “am not a thing.”

“I,” Szeth repeated, “am not a thing, Nin. I’m not a rock to be handed between people, exchanged like money. I’m a person. You ask me to be a Herald. A Herald! A demigod, an immortal leader of humankind. Yet you want me to do as I’m told?”

“I was broken before!” Szeth shrieked. “I was ripped away from my perfect life and pounded and forged and beaten into a weapon! I can’t be what you want! At least not unless I know what it will cost me. I get to choose. I … I deserve to be able to decide. If I can’t have the life I want, I at least deserve to choose what I’m walking toward instead!”

“I will be your death, Stormblessed,” Nale said. “If you are certain you accept this charge and duty.”

“I accept your challenge, Nale. I will protect the one who cannot right now protect himself.”

This guy, Syl said in Kaladin’s head. Have we ever fought someone so annoying? “Amaram,” Kaladin whispered. Oh yeah. He was an absolute tool, wasn’t he? And that’s coming from a girl who is currently a spear.

“Do you know a young Radiant named Lift?” Nale asked. “I do,” Kaladin said. “Why?” “She is the only one to have ever defeated me in single combat,” Nale said softly.

“I do not pay attention to made-up stories.” “Pity,” Kaladin said. “They have proven to be some of the most real things in my life.”

“You will not have them,” Nale whispered. He looked to Kaladin, and there were tears at the corners of his eyes. “I woke one day … this must have been a thousand years ago or more … and I realized I’d hurt someone by accident. Out of irritation. I thought … I’m losing it. Losing myself.” “So you sought a way to control your actions.” “I turned to the law,” Nale whispered. “To force myself to hold on to the person I wanted to be. Because … I couldn’t trust my mind anymore…”

“I can’t go back!” Nale shouted. But he seemed … afraid of Kaladin. He retreated as he spoke, his words and tone defiant. “I can’t trust you, or what I see, or what I think! There is only one ANSWER. I must follow the law!”

“WHAT WAS IN THE TOWER?” Kaladin bellowed. “NOTHING!”

“Honor is … is dead,” Nale whispered. “Jezrien is … is gone. Ishar is … as good … as good as dead too…”

“My core,” she said, “is rationality. It is not hatred. I am not defined by my heresy, no matter how much people have tried to do so.”

Jasnah trembled, and inwardly marveled at what Taravangian had done. He’d made her stay up all night, preparing political arguments so she now buzzed with exhaustionspren. Then he’d cornered her and besmirched her character and turned her very moral framework against her. He had come armed not merely with politics, but with the truth.

It suddenly seemed that she’d always been two women. One who pretended to be cold, calculating, and willing to do anything in the name of her philosophical morality. Another who knew that there had always been something wrong with the morals she claimed to follow.

“I can’t go with you this time, son.” It seemed to be breaking him. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I’ve failed you. I’m so, so sorry … my little boy…”

Relief never came. Painspren crawled all over him. For no amount of Radiant healing could fix the pain that he felt deep within.

“No!” she screamed. She knew this wasn’t real. She’d walked into this intentionally, but that didn’t matter anymore. Her will faltered as she was forced to watch, time and time again, as someone she loved died at her own hands.

“No,” Renarin said. “I spent my life being told I had to become an ardent, Glys. Because people couldn’t think of anything else to do with a highborn boy who couldn’t fight.”

“So much better to feel,” Renarin said, “than to take the path that leads to only greyness and safe solitude.

“That was … nicer than I expected,” Rlain said to the Rhythm of Anxiety. “Are you sure, Renarin? I don’t think that the world is going to take kindly to us being together. I don’t want you to get hurt.” “Will you be the one to hurt me?” “No,” Rlain said to Confidence. “Never.” “Then I will risk it,”

I LET THEM CHOOSE, AND I WITHDREW, BECOMING THE STORM AND BLOWING ACROSS THE LANDSCAPE, FLEEING FROM THE HURT I HAD CREATED.

“ADONALSIUM?” I WHISPERED. NOT ENTIRELY, THE BREEZE ANSWERED. “WIND,” I SAID. “CAN YOU HELP ME?” NO, THE BREEZE SAID. “WHAT DO I DO?” LISTEN, IT REPLIED, THEN FADED.

There, Adolin realized he was smiling. Stupid bridgeboy. Where did he get off, being so inspiring? A moment of brightness. Then back to Damnation.

The greatest good … but how could she claim to know what was right, when she could not see the scope of the cosmere?

“If you were God,” she said, “you would be all powerful, and would not need to outmatch a woman like me. If you were God, then you would know everything, and could speak exactly to me the number I am thinking in my head.” She met his gaze.

In that moment, Adolin remembered he wasn’t a shining hero. Today he was a crippled spearman with barely enough strength to lift his shield.

Adolin had stood trial for all of humankind at Lasting Integrity. For what? No help, no answers. Moral victories didn’t matter when cities fell anyway. He’d always tried to fight for his kingdom and his family, while others played games and murdered in the night—but when he stood up for those he loved, he became a villain? For killing a man who had tried to do the same to him?

If Dalinar Kholin wasn’t worthy of Adolin’s reverence, where was the sense in any of this? Maybe there wasn’t any. Maybe it didn’t mean anything. Maybe nothing did.

Adolin … Maya. No. He did not summon her. Why? He did not want her to see him fall. The city was lost, and he … he felt ashamed. No shame in loss … she whispered. I failed Kholinar. Never shame in loss … I failed you. Father. Everyone. Never. I AM COMING.

The city had fallen. And with it the empire. Azir was no more.

He’d given Herdaz his all, but how many times could your heart break for a kingdom before your soul bled out?

“Why?” Dalinar asked, his hands spread. “I am no better than Tanavast. I burned cities, I murdered.”

“Perhaps,” the Stormfather said. “But you took the next step, Dalinar, when I hid.” His eyes became distant. “I hid. I wept. I pretended I didn’t care, because that was the path that seemed the least painful…”

If Evi could forgive Dalinar … “I forgive you,” Dalinar forced himself to say.