Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,414

my ancestors were wise in leaving.”

Yeah, please don’t say that around any of my friends, Ulim said. You’ll make me look bad. Your ancestors were traitors. And no matter what you do, the humans will make you fight. Trust me. It’s what they always do.

Your primitive little paradise here is doomed. Best you can do is train some soldiers, practice using the terrain to your advantage, and prepare to get some actual forms. You don’t get to choose to be free, Venli. Just which master to follow.

Venli pushed off from the wall and began walking through the city. Something was wrong about Ulim. About her. About the way she thought now …

You have no idea the power that awaits you, Venli, Ulim said to the Rhythm of Craving. In the old days, forms of power were reserved for the most special. The most valuable. They were strong, capable of amazing feats.

“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.

“I … don’t understand.”

I’ll bet you don’t. Basically, everyone relied way too much on an oversized spren. 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 flavorful dismemberment.

Venli nodded to some listeners passing by. Members of another family; she could tell by the colors of the bands on their braids and the type of gemstone bits in the men’s beards. Venli deliberately hummed one of the weak old rhythms for them to hear, but these newcomers didn’t give her a second glance despite her importance.

Patience, Ulim said. Once the Return arrives, you will be proclaimed as the one who initiated it—and you will be given everything you deserve as the most important of all listeners.

“You say my ancestors were traitors,” Venli whispered. “But you need us. If they hadn’t split off, you wouldn’t have us to use in your plot. You should bless what they did.”

They got lucky. Doesn’t mean they weren’t traitors.

“Perhaps they knew what Ba-Ado-Mishram was going to do, and so they attuned Wisdom, not Betrayal, in their actions.”

She knew the name, of course. As a keeper of songs, she knew the names of all nine Unmade—who were among the gods her people swore to never follow again. But the more she talked with Ulim, the less regard she gave the songs. The old listeners had memorized the wrong things. How could they retain the names of the Unmade, but forget something as simple as how to adopt workform?

Anyway, who cares what your ancestors did? Ulim said. We need to prepare your people for forms of power, then get them to summon Odium’s storm. Everything will take care of itself after that.

“That might be harder than you think, spren,” Venli said to Derision. She quieted her voice as another group of listeners passed. The city was so packed these days, you could barely find any peace to think.

Forms of power, Venli. The ability to reshape the world. Strength beyond anything you’ve ever dreamed of having.

She stuffed her hands into the pockets of her robe as she reached the heart of the city. She hadn’t realized she was coming this way, to her family’s home. She stepped inside, and found her mother picking apart a rug she had woven. Jaxlim glanced up at Venli, jumping.

“It’s only me,” Venli said to Peace.

“I got it wrong again,” Jaxlim said, huddling over her rug. “Wrong every time…”

Venli tried to attune Indifference, one of the new rhythms, but she couldn’t find it.