A YEAR AND A HALF AGO

As the war with the humans progressed, Venli became increasingly certain she’d made the correct decision.

How could her people, after generations of stagnation, hope to stand by themselves in the world? If recent reports were true, the humans had Surgebinders again, like those spoken of in the songs. Ulim was right. A bigger war than this was coming. Venli’s people needed to be prepared.

Venli stood with folded arms, attuned to Confidence as she watched a listener warband return from a raid. Eshonai and her soldiers had won the day, and they brought a large gemheart with them. Eshonai herself delivered it up to Denshil, their head of farming.

Her warriors didn’t look like victors. Bloody, wounded, their ancient weapons sagging in their grips as if weighted by groundspren. More than a few of the soldiers walked alone. Warpairs who had lost a member.

Venli watched with hidden glee. Surely they were close to breaking. If she could bring them a form of power … would they accept it? Venli remembered her hesitance, and weakness, when she’d started along this path years ago. She’d been technically a youth then, though fully grown. Now she was an adult. She saw as an adult did.

She turned and cut through a side street of the ancient city, passing large crem-covered walls like tall ridges of natural stone. You’d have to cut deep with a Shardblade to find the worked stone at the heart.

This was the more direct way, so she was waiting as Denshil walked past with the gemstone. He was scrawny even when wearing workform, and had a pattern of black and red skin that looked like true marblework, all rough and coarse. He jumped as he saw Venli.

“What are you doing,” he hissed to Anxiety as she walked along beside him.

“Acting naturally,” she said. “I’m head of our scholars. It’s normal for me to visit our farmers and see how their work is progressing.”

He still acted nervous, but at least he attuned Peace as they walked. It didn’t matter. They passed few listeners on the streets. All who weren’t absolutely needed as farmers, caretakers, or other essential workers had joined Eshonai.

In a perfect bit of poetry, this ensured that the bravest of the listeners—those most likely to resist Venli when she brought them stormform—fought on the front lines each day, dying. Each corpse brought Venli one step closer to her goal.

She’d stopped pretending this was only about protecting her people. As she’d grown into herself and become more confident, she’d decided what she truly wanted. True freedom—with the power to make certain she’d never have to be dependent upon anyone else, listener or spren. True freedom couldn’t exist while someone else had power over you.

So yes, her work was about helping her people, in part. But deep within her—where the rhythms began—Venli promised herself that she would be the one who obtained the most freedom.

“How goes your work?” Venli asked to Confidence.

Denshil’s rhythm slipped to Anxiety again. Foolish farmer. He’d better not give them away.

“The others believe me,” he said softly, “and they should. I’m not saying anything that’s a lie, really. If we cut these gemhearts like the humans do, they hold more Stormlight. But I don’t mention the extra bits I cut off before delivering the faceted stone to the fields.…”

“How much have you saved?”

“Several hundred gemstones.”

“I need more,” Venli said.

He blatantly attuned Irritation. “More? What crazy rhythm are you listening to?”

“We need one for every listener in the city.”

“I can’t,” he said. “If you—”

“You can,” Venli said to Reprimand. “And you will. Cut the gemstones smaller. Give less to the fields.”

“And if we end up starving because of it? Gemstones break, you know, when you sing to them. We will run out.”

“We won’t live long enough to starve, Denshil. Not if the humans get here. Not if they find your children and take away their songs…”

The malen attuned Longing immediately. The listeners had few children these days. Most had stopped taking mateform years ago, and they had never been as fecund a people as the humans apparently were.

“Think how you could improve,” Venli said. “For them, Denshil. For your daughter.”

“We should bring this to the Five,” he said.

“We will. You can watch me bring the proposal to them. This will be done properly—you and I are simply preparing the way.”

He nodded, and Venli let him rush on ahead to the ancient building where he practiced gem cutting—an art Ulim had taught him.

Say a name on the breeze and it will return, she thought, noting a red light glowing from within an old abandoned building. They’d had to cut the window out to get to the structure inside. She strolled over, and Ulim stepped out onto the windowsill—invisible to everyone but those he chose.

“You’ve learned to lie very well,” he said to Subservience.

“I have,” she said. “Are we ready?”

“Close,” he said. “I feel the storm on the other side. I think it’s nearly here.”

“You think?” Venli demanded.

“I can’t see into Shadesmar,” he snapped to Derision.

She didn’t quite understand his explanations of what was happening. But she knew a storm was mounting in Shadesmar. In fact, the storm had been building for generations—growing in fury, intensity. It barred the way to Damnation.

That storm was where Ulim had originally come from. There were also thousands of another kind of spren in the storm: stormspren. Mindless things like windspren or flamespren.

Venli had to find a way to pull those stormspren across and capture them. To that end, a large portion of the roiling storm had been broken off by the god of gods, the ancient one called Odium. This storm was his strength, his essence. Over painful months, he’d moved the storm across the landscape—unseen—until it arrived here. Kind of. Almost.

“What will happen,” Venli asked to Curiosity, “when my storm comes to this world?”

“Your storm?”

“I am the one who summons it, spren,” she said. “It is mine.”

“Sure, sure,” he said. A little too quickly, and with too many hand gestures. He had grown obsequious over the last few years—and liked to pretend that his betrayal of her in the Kholinar palace had never happened.

“When this storm comes, you will serve me,” Venli said.

“I serve you now.”

“Barely. Promise it. You’ll serve me.”

“I will serve,” he said. “I promise it, Venli. But we have to bring the stormspren to this side first. And persuade the listeners to take the forms.”

“The second will not be a problem.”

“You’re too certain about that,” he said. “Remember, they killed the Alethi king to prevent this from happening. Traitors.”

He got hung up on that idea. Though he’d been the one to whisper about the location of the slave with the Honorblade—and he’d agreed to help start a war to make her people desperate—he could not get over the reasoning her people had used. Ulim hadn’t found out about Eshonai’s experience with King Gavilar until weeks later, and he’d been livid. How dare the listeners do exactly what he wanted, but for the wrong reason!

Foolish little spren. Venli attuned Skepticism—and almost felt something different, something more. A better rhythm. Right outside her reach.

“Focus less on that,” Venli said. “And more on your duties.”

“Yes, Venli,” he said, voice cooing as he spoke to Subservience. “You’re going to be amazed by the power you get from stormform. And the massive storm you’ll bring through? It will be unlike anything the world has ever seen. Odium’s raw power, blowing across the world in the wrong direction. It will devastate the humans, leave them broken and easily conquered. Ripe for your domination, Venli.”

“Enough,” she said. “Don’t sell it so hard, Ulim. I’m not the child you found when you first arrived here. Do your job, and get the storm into position. I’ll capture the stormspren.”

“How, though?”

How. “They are the spren of storms, right?”

“Well, a storm,” Ulim said. “In the past, they mostly spent their time inside gemhearts. Odium would directly bless the singer, making them a kind of royalty. They didn’t really wander about much.”

Royalty? She liked the sound of that. She smiled, imagining how Eshonai would act toward her then.

“My scholars are confident,” Venli said. “From what you’ve told them, and the experiments we’ve done with other kinds of spren, we think if we can gather a small collection of stormspren in gemstones, others will get pulled through more easily.”

“But we need that initial seed!” Ulim said. “How?”

She nodded to the sky, where her imaginings had brought forth a gloryspren. An enormous brilliant sphere, with wings along the sides. “Those pop in when we think the proper thoughts. Feel the right things. So, what brings stormspren?”

“A storm…” Ulim said. “It might work. Worth trying.”

They’d have to experiment. Even with his help, it had taken several tries to figure out nimbleform—and that was a relatively easy form. Still, she was pleased with their progress. Yes, it had taken far, far longer than she’d anticipated. But over those many years, she’d become the person she was now. Confident, like her younger self had never been.

She turned to make her way toward where her scholars studied the songs, written in the script she’d devised. Unfortunately, she soon spotted a tall, armored figure heading her direction. Venli immediately turned down a side road, but Eshonai called to her. Venli attuned Irritation. Eshonai would follow her if she hurried on, so she slowed and turned.

Venli’s sister looked so strange in Shardplate. It … well, it fit her. It supernaturally molded to her form, making space for her carapace, shaping itself to her figure, but it was more than that. To Venli, some of the warforms seemed like they were playing pretend—their faces didn’t match their new shape. Not Eshonai. Eshonai looked like a soldier, with a wider neck, powerful jaw and head, and enormous hands.

Venli regretted encouraging Eshonai to visit the former Shardbearer. She hadn’t expected that years later, she’d feel dwarfed by her sister. Though much about Venli’s life was enviable now—she had position, friends, and responsibility—there was a part of her that wished she’d been able to obtain this without Eshonai also gaining high station.

“What?” Venli asked to Irritation. “I have work to do today, Eshonai, and—”

“It’s Mother,” Eshonai said.

Venli immediately attuned the Terrors. “What about her? What’s wrong?”

Eshonai attuned Resolve and led Venli quietly to their mother’s home on the outskirts of town. A small structure, but solitary, with plenty of room for gardening projects.

Their mother wasn’t in the garden, working on her shalebark. She was inside lying on a hard cot, her head wrapped in a bandage. One of Venli’s scholars—Mikaim, who was their surgeon—stepped away from the cot. “It’s not bad,” she said. “Head wounds can be frightful, but it was little more than a scrape. The bigger worry is how afraid she was. I gave her something to help her sleep.”

Venli hummed to Appreciation and Mikaim withdrew. Eshonai stood opposite Venli over the cot, her helmet under her arm, and for a time the two of them hummed together to the Lost. A rare moment when they both heard the same rhythm.

“Do you know what happened?” Venli finally asked.

“She was found wandering one of the outer plateaus. Frightened, acting like a little child. She didn’t respond to her own name at first, though by the time she got here she had recovered enough to begin answering questions about her childhood. She didn’t remember how she hurt herself.”

Venli breathed deeply, and listened to the haunting Rhythm of the Lost, a violent beat with staccato notes.

“We might need to confine her to her house,” Eshonai said.

“No!” Venli said. “Never. We can’t do that to her, Eshonai. Imprisonment on top of her ailment?”

Eshonai attuned Reconciliation, settling down on the floor, her Shardplate scraping softly. “You’re right, of course. She must be allowed to see the sky, look to the horizon. We can get her a servant perhaps. Someone to keep watch over her.”

“An acceptable accommodation,” Venli said, lingering beside the cot. She really should check on her scholars.

Eshonai leaned—gingerly, because her Plate was so heavy—against the wall. She closed her eyes, humming to Peace. It was forced, a little loud. She was trying to override other rhythms.

She looks more like herself sitting like that, Venli thought idly, remembering Eshonai as a child. The sister who would pick Venli up when she scraped her knee, or who would chase cremlings with her. Eshonai had always seemed so vibrant—so alive. As if she’d been trying to burst out, her soul straining against the confines of a flawed body.

“You always led me toward the horizon,” Venli found herself saying. “Even as children. Always running to the next hill to see what was on the other side…”

“Would that we could return,” Eshonai said to the Lost.

“To those ignorant days?”

“To that joy. That innocence.”

“Innocence is more false a god than the ones in our songs,” Venli said, sitting beside her sister. “People who chase it will find themselves enslaved.”

Venli felt tired, she realized. She’d been spending far too many nights thinking of plans. And it would only get worse, as she needed to start going out into storms to trap stormspren.

“I’m sorry I brought us to this,” Eshonai whispered to Reconciliation. “We’ve lost so many. How far will it go? All because I made a snap decision in a moment of tension.”

“That sphere,” Venli said. “The one King Gavilar gave you…” They’d all seen it, though it had faded several months later.

“Yes. A dark power. And he claimed to be seeking to return our gods.”

Ulim had been nervous about Gavilar’s sphere. The little spren said Gavilar hadn’t been working with him, or any of Odium’s agents—indeed, he’d been hostile to them. So Ulim had no idea how he’d obtained Odium’s Light.

“Maybe,” Venli said, “if the humans are seeking to contact our gods, perhaps we should explore the option too. Perhaps the things from our songs are—”

“Stop,” Eshonai said to Reprimand. “Venli, what are you saying? You better than most should know the foolishness of what you say.”

I’m always a fool to you, aren’t I? Venli attuned Irritation. Unfortunately, this was the Eshonai she’d come to know. Not the child who encouraged her. The adult who held her back, ridiculed her.

“Sing the song with me,” Eshonai said. “‘Terrible and great they were, but—’”

“Please don’t turn this into another lecture, Eshonai,” Venli said. “Just … stop, all right?”

Eshonai trailed off, then hummed to Reconciliation. The two of them sat for a time, the light outside dimming as the sun drifted toward the horizon. Venli found herself humming to Reconciliation as well. She explored the rhythm, finding a complementary tone to Eshonai’s, seeking again—for a brief moment—to be in tune with her sister.

Eshonai quietly changed to Longing, and Venli followed. And then, cautiously, Venli switched to Joy. Eshonai followed her this time. Together they made a song, and Venli began singing. It had been … well, years since she’d practiced the songs. She’d long ago stopped thinking of herself as the apprentice song keeper; they had plenty of others to uphold their traditions, now that they’d united the families.

She still remembered the songs though. This was the Song of Mornings. A teaching song, meant to train a young child for more complex rhythms and songs. There was something satisfying about a simple song you could sing well. You could add your own complexity. And you could sing the song’s soul—rather than struggle with missed lyrics or failed notes.

She let her voice drift off at the end, and Eshonai’s humming quieted. Dusk fell outside. The perfectly wrong time for the Song of Mornings. She loved that it had worked so well anyway.

“Thank you, Venli,” Eshonai said. “For all that you do. You don’t get enough credit for having brought us these forms. Without warform, we wouldn’t stand a chance of resisting the humans. We’d probably be their slaves.”

“I…” Venli tried to attune Confidence, but it slipped away from her. “As long as you and Demid know what I did, I suppose it doesn’t sting so much when others pass me over.”

“Do you think you could find me a different form?” Eshonai said. “A form that would let me talk better, more diplomatically? I could go to the humans and explain what happened. Maybe I could speak with Dalinar Kholin. I feel like … like he might listen, if I could find him. If I could make my tongue work. They don’t hear the rhythms, and it’s so difficult to explain to them.…”

“I can try,” Venli said, Pleading sounding in her ears. Why Pleading? She hadn’t attuned that.

“Then maybe I could talk to you,” Eshonai said quietly, drooping from fatigue. “Without sounding like I’m trying to lecture. You’d know how I really feel. Mother would understand that I don’t try to run away. I just want to see…”

“You’ll see it someday,” Venli promised. “You’ll see the whole world. Every vibrant color. Every singing wind. Every land and people.”

Eshonai didn’t respond.

“I … I’ve been doing things you might not like,” Venli whispered. “I should tell you. You’ll explain that what I’m doing is wrong though, and you’re always right. That’s part of what I hate about you.”

But her sister had already drifted off. The stiff Shardplate kept her in a seated position, slumped against the wall, breathing softly. Venli climbed to her feet and left.

That night, she went into the storm to hunt stormspren for the first time.