Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,319

three of those dull-minded, stupid “parshmen” who didn’t have songs. Seeing them made Venli uncomfortable.

Was that what the humans thought she was like? Some simpleton? Some of her family tried to talk to the parshmen, but Venli stayed away. She didn’t like how they made her feel. They weren’t her people, any more than the humans were.

She scanned the bustling city, noting the crowds of listeners nearby. The humans drew so many gawkers. Listeners from many families—even lowly ones who didn’t have a city—came to catch a glimpse. Lines of people of all varieties of skin patterns stuffed the streets, meaning that Venli was crowded as she pushed through them.

“They probably won’t come out for a while yet,” she said to Reprimand to a group of listeners she didn’t recognize.

“You are the apprentice keeper of songs,” one of them said, “of the family who discovered the humans.” He said it to Awe, which made Venli pause. So he knew of her, did he?

“I am no apprentice,” she said. “I am simply waiting, as is respectful, upon my mother’s word before I take my place.”

She glanced back toward the building she’d left. Like many in the city, it was made of ancient walls covered in crem, with a roof of carapace. The humans had been allowed to make camp here, inside the walls, with their tents and their strange wooden vehicles that could withstand a storm. It seemed unfair that their moving structures should last better than the buildings the listeners built.

“I’ve spent many hours with them so far,” Venli said to Consideration. “What would you know of them? I can tell you.”

“Do they really lack souls?” asked a female in mateform. Silly things. Venli intended to never adopt that form.

“That’s one theory,” Venli said. “They can’t hear the rhythms, and they seem dull of speech and mind. Makes me wonder why they were so difficult for our ancestors to fight.”

“They work metal as if it were wax,” another said. “Look at that armor.”

“Far less practical than carapace would be,” Venli said.

“We don’t have carapace armor anymore,” another said.

That was true, of course; their current forms didn’t have much carapace. Most of what they knew about grander forms such as warform came from the songs. And Venli, infuriatingly, hadn’t made progress in discovering that one.

Still, wouldn’t growing your own armor be much better than what the humans did? Well, she answered a few more questions, though she wished for the listeners to notice how tired she was from reciting songs all day. Couldn’t they at least have fetched her something to drink?

Eventually she moved on, and tried to push through her bad mood. She should probably enjoy reciting songs for the humans—she did enjoy the music. But she didn’t miss that Jaxlim always had them come to Venli. Her mother didn’t want to be seen making a mistake by anyone, particularly not these humans.

Deep down, that was probably the real source of Venli’s irritation. The knot of worry that festered in her gut, making her feel helpless. And alone.

Nearby, on the street, listeners changed their rhythms. Venli suspected what it was before she turned and saw Eshonai striding down the street. Everyone knew her, of course. The one who had discovered the humans.

Venli almost went to her. But why? There was never any comfort to be found in her presence. Only more talk of the human world, their cities and their mystery. And no talk of the real problems at home Eshonai continued to ignore.

So instead, Venli slipped between two small buildings and emerged onto a street on the other side. Maybe she could go to the fields and see Demid. She started that way … then stopped. No, they had decided not to show the humans how they used Stormlight to grow plants. The songs cautioned that this secret should not be shared. So they weren’t working the fields, and Demid wouldn’t be there.

Instead Venli made her way down to the plateaus, where she could be alone. Just her and the lifespren. She attuned Peace to check the time, then settled down and stared over the broken plateaus, trying to soothe her worry about her mother. Worry that she would have to take over being keeper of songs, as she’d claimed she was to those listeners—a boast that now seemed far too puffed up.

Venli didn’t want to replace Jaxlim. She wanted to go back to the way things had been before the humans arrived.

The moment she thought that, she saw