Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

A CLASH OF GODS COULD BE A TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE THING. IN THAT MOMENT, I LEARNED SOMETHING INCREDIBLE. I KNEW WHY ADONALSIUM, AT THE END, HAD NOT FOUGHT US.

ONE COULD GRANT GREAT POWERS TO INDIVIDUALS, IF THEY WERE WILLING TO BEND TO DIVINE RULES AS WE DID. OR INSTEAD, LESSER POWER COULD BE GIVEN INDISCRIMINATELY TO MANY.

“Szeth-son-son-Vallano,” Pozen said, “for sins against Truth, you are banished. And may the Heralds protect those you are turned against.”

And so, Sigzil did the only thing he could think of to save Vienta. “I renounce my oaths!” he shouted. And he meant it. Something ripped inside him, but he screamed it again, meaning every word as fervently as he could. “I renounce them!” Sigzil screamed against the terrible pain. “I am no Radiant!” Vienta shrieked in agony, but vanished as the knife hit the stone. Sigzil’s soul suddenly echoed. For it was empty as a grand imperial hallway.

“Honor’s power refuses the touch of men,” Nale said, “and his perpendicularity moves. Cultivation’s power at the Peaks is carefully monitored by her spren, and cannot be accessed by mortals. But Odium’s power … it dislikes him, thinks him weak. Mishram found its hiding place, and gained the ability to Connect to all of the singers. Ishar knew this, and…” “Damnation,” Kaladin whispered, feeling cold. “The Bondsmith Herald took up the power of Odium?” “Only a fraction of it,” Nale said. “It let him Connect to this land and become a god to the people here … That is what the Honorbearers followed, Szeth. A true divinity, to their eyes, who could show them the future. Wars to come…”

RAYSE AND I HAD BEEN IN AN ARMS RACE. FIRST HIS FUSED, THEN MY HERALDS, THEN HIS UNMADE, THEN MY RADIANTS—WHICH WERE NOT MY CONSCIOUS CREATION, BUT FORMED BY PIECES OF ME WORKING INDEPENDENTLY.

TIME AND TIME AGAIN. GIGANTIC PROXY WARS. RAYSE WAS TRAPPED IN THE ROSHARAN SYSTEM, BUT IF HE COULD TAKE CONTROL, HE COULD SEND FORCES OUT INTO THE COSMERE TO DO AS HE WISHED. MY ARMIES RESISTED HIM. FOR HIS FUSED, LIKE MY HERALDS, WERE TRAPPED IN THIS SYSTEM BY OUR OATHS. ONLY WHEN ONE OF US FULLY RULED ROSHAR COULD WE USE IT AS A STEPPING STONE IN OUR GREATER COSMERE GOALS.

“Singer,” Mishram said, standing tall, calling after him. “This will not serve you. I stepped into God’s role. I took his pool, his perpendicularity, and am tied to every singer who holds a form. To every spren, to every fiber of Roshar.”

The ancient Radiants must have known this was possible, right? Their order was named for it. His society said that seeing the future was a terrible and evil thing, but maybe that was just because Odium influenced it so heavily. Surely there was a way to cut through it.

This was the future he wanted. It wasn’t the one that others might have chosen, and wasn’t one that many would have chosen for him. He wasn’t even certain it was right, but it was what he wanted. He would merely have to hope that those who cared for him would understand that the decision was his to make, not theirs.

“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,” he said.

OF COURSE, I WOULD NEED TO SEND THEM BACK TO BRAIZE ANYWAY. THE PLANET HAD ITS STRANGE PROPERTIES, ATTRACTING SOULS, BUT I NEEDED THEM TO … ACT AS A LOCK, SO TO SPEAK. THEIR SOULS WORKED AFTER THE FASHION OF MY OWN—WHICH TRAPPED ODIUM IN THIS SYSTEM—UPON THE FUSED. THIS WAS A WONDERFUL SOLUTION. IT LET THEM EXPERIENCE, IN A SMALL WAY, WHAT IT WAS TO BE DIVINE.

WITHOUT WHAT YOU HAVE BECOME, THE WIND WHISPERED. HAVING NO GOD IS FAR PREFERABLE TO HAVING A HEARTLESS ONE. AND A GOD WHO CARES? YOU KILLED THAT GOD.

“That’s the sole originality we need. A story might have been told before, but you haven’t told it. Every idea might have been thought, but each is new again when you think them. And that lumberman’s son? He couldn’t fail. Because I was to be the judge of his poem, and I deeply, sincerely believe that every person is unique. The contest wasn’t about whether his poem was good, merely if it was unique. He could have stood up, released an odoriferous belch, then sat down, and I’d have considered that acceptable. He was destined to win.” “But he failed.” “He ran,” Wit whispered. “He … what?” “He ran away,” Wit said. “Off to war. He was cajoled into it, convinced to run. The lumberman’s son found the only way to lose an unlosable contest. He didn’t show up.”

When Kaladin needed help, you were there. Sure, he’s my friend. When Shallan had secrets, you didn’t pry. Just trying to be a good husband, he said as they reached a section of the wall obscured by some planters and trees. That’s always how you are, Maya said. I’ve been watching a long time now, Adolin. Watching you give everyone whatever they need. What about what you need?

Curiously, the closest I came to the Knight of Wind and the Knight of Truth during their quest happened during the last hours before Stormfall. When they visited my parents’ house, while I was asleep, and purchased their wagon.

He’d been complaining since the fall of Kholinar—maybe longer—about how the world had changed, outgrown people like him. However, last night, he’d been a common spearman. Adolin realized right then that the world hadn’t changed that much. The darkeyes had always felt small in this world of Shardbearers. Adolin’s place had changed. He’d been complaining about suddenly being one of the small ones—a reality the vast majority of soldiers lived with every day.

There were no symbols on the breastplate, because he was not Radiant. Adolin had no idea what he was, other than the son of both Dalinar and Evi Kholin. The product of both of their hopes. He was Adolin Kholin. A man with very good friends.

Sometimes you had to press forward anyway. The ashspren opened her mouth and forced out a few sounds. “Wa … wa … tch…” “Watchers,” Adolin said, “at the rim.” She nodded, and he felt her thoughts. Oaths had fallen, but she would not let him fight alone. “Because in this case,” Adolin said quietly, “a promise is something deeper than an oath.”

Life before death, she replied. Or maybe life after death this time? I never really understood that motto anyway. Let’s kick some Fused ass.

“The power of Odium and I,” Taravangian said, “have found one another. Its ambitions. My convictions. One god, for all the cosmere. Putting right what was broken thousands of years ago by a group of fools. It begins here, Dalinar, with your decision.”

Most didn’t know what he was doing, nor could they really care. Other needs were too pressing, too immediate. He knew in that moment the deepest lie that Taravangian told: that only “great” men had difficult choices to make. That only kings carried burdens of guilt. That he was somehow special in needing to make painful decisions.

And the existence of those several key people is the one thing that I myself have heard from the Wind. This singular truth, a nugget that I cannot yet explain. “One is not enough. The change must come from many.”

“I will protect myself, so that I may continue to protect others.”

“You said no more storms, Ishar!” “I said no more highstorm,” Ishar whispered. “But there is another storm. Now the only storm. The Night of Sorrows has come, Nale. The True Desolation is here.”

The original one worked because most of the Heralds had once been chosen by Odium, and could leverage that Connection to bind him, the Wind said, blowing across him. An oath here, now that he’s Retribution, should do the same. Maybe. Please. Don’t hate me.

“Are you sure, Kaladin?” Syl whispered. “You know what it will mean? For you to…” Storms. Was she saying…? Yes. He had known it the moment he stood up. “We cannot ask this of you,” Syl whispered. Kaladin steeled himself. “But I can offer.”

“I,” Kaladin whispered, walking through that version, “accept this journey.” The air split with a crack of thunder. When the reply came, it was Syl’s voice. These Words are accepted. “That isn’t what we said,” Nale said. “The important part is not the Words themselves,” Kaladin said. “It is, again, the heart. Thousands of years, and I’d think you would know this.”

Taravangian, Retribution, reveled in his new strength. He was more powerful than anything. Only one other came close, but those powers were misaligned, while Honor and Odium wanted nearly the same things. They would work together.

They are protected, his powers said. “By what?” Retribution demanded. By an oath and a circle, the powers said. By Adonalsium’s strength. Ten stand against you, using the piece of us within them. Honor demands their oaths be followed.

It was true. The power acknowledged it. That should be that. It calmed while Taravangian pondered. He would have to let Azir keep its land, as they had won, wouldn’t he? Dalinar had broken the contract, but Honor … Honor wanted desperately to follow it—and Taravangian had to be careful lest the power rebel against him. As he determined to do so, Honor swelled inside him, and more fully bonded into Retribution.

The Reshi Isles … he had the land, all of it, though those who rode the beasts had largely rejected his offers. They weren’t worth the effort.

Retribution would keep his promises. Oaths were important. And Retribution would destroy anyone who believed differently.

Rippling through the soul of his rival, a question. What is my life worth? NOTHING, ANYMORE. DALINAR, YOU ARE NOTHING. If so, then I trade it for everything. Taravangian … I call that a bargain.

Dalinar’s soul slipped away from him. Stretched. And vanished into the Beyond. Taravangian scrambled to hold it, but like water through fingers, he could not. You cannot have him, the powers said, for he is claimed by another.

But it was not a complete success, as I have not heard the Wind—neither has Szeth—in years. Save that one whisper. Regardless, she lives, so perhaps the Oathpact, as it was, held well enough? Even without Szeth to fill the hole? Or perhaps, as champion of the Wind, Kaladin was able to do something in the end right before he died, which turned Retribution’s ire from the spren.

Being strong didn’t mean that you didn’t need anyone. Those around you were the source of your strength.

“I need a seon right away,” Hoid said, standing again. “I need to find out what’s happening.” “We’re already trying!” Ulaam said. “But time appears to be passing far slower on Roshar than it is here, which is making communication unreliable. Quite the slowness bubble around the planet, yes indeed, hmmmm? Why, I bet it will be months before we have the full story! Months for us. Hours for them.” Months? When Shards died, combined, or otherwise distorted, strange events could follow. Harmony’s creation had involved the remaking of a world, while Ambition’s death had destroyed several. The formation of Retribution … caused time dilation?

He’d told himself he would sacrifice Roshar for the good of the cosmere, but at the end he hadn’t been so certain. And now it seemed it was going to be sacrificed anyway, just not for the good of anyone or anything.

Sigzil considered, rocking in place, numb. “Spren can’t leave Roshar. Why are you here on this caravan?” “Ah, well, you see,” the highspren said—having far more familiar a tone than Sigzil had expected—“I can leave now! Any of us can. There are some in the caravan, even some windspren and other smaller ones. Cultivation fled, and it was her bond with Honor, and their agreement with Odium, that locked us here.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Hoid said, then leaned down farther across the table. “I didn’t know what to do. Thing is, that’s wonderful. That’s the point. Because when the predetermined answers flee, then the solution comes down to who you are. That’s when we see the mettle of a person. That is art: when untested skill meets unplanned catastrophe.” The woman looked up at him, then blinked. “I think I understand.” “Wait. Really. You do?” “Of course I do,” the woman said. “You’re here for this job because absolutely nobody else will hire you. Good thing you can get a person where they’re going.” “Ma’am,” Hoid said, putting on his hat, “you have no idea.”