Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,415

Not here, not with her mother. She instead settled down on the floor, cross-legged, like she’d sat as a child when learning the songs.

“Mother?” Venli asked to Praise. “Everyone makes mistakes.”

“Why can’t I do anything right anymore?”

“Mother, can you tell me the first song?” Venli whispered.

Jaxlim kept picking at the rug.

“You know it,” Venli said. “Days we sing. Days we once knew? Days of—”

“Days of pain,” Jaxlim said, to the Rhythm of Memories. “Days of loss. Days of glory.”

Venli nodded as Jaxlim continued. This song was more of a chant, the original recitation of her people leaving the war. Leaving their gods. Striking out on their own.

This is painful to hear, Ulim noted. Your people had no idea what they were doing.

Venli ignored him, listening, feeling the Rhythm of Memories. Feeling … like herself. This had all been about finding a way to help her mother, hadn’t it? At the start?

No, she admitted. That’s what you told yourself. But you want more. You’ve always wanted more.

She knew forms changed the way a person thought. But was she in a new form now? Ulim had been dodgy in explaining it. Evidently she had a normal spren in her gemheart to give her workform—but Ulim was there too, crowding in. And he could speak to her, even hear what she was thinking.

You single-handedly delivered warform to your people, Ulim whispered. Once you give them additional forms, they will revere you. Worship you.

She wanted that respect. She wanted it so badly. But she forced herself to listen to what her ancestors had done, four hundred of them striking out alone, wearing dullform.

The fools were inbred, then, Ulim said. No wonder …

“These people created us,” she whispered. Her mother continued singing, and didn’t seem to have heard the interruption. “They were not fools. They were heroes. Their primary teaching, preserved in everything we do, is to never let our gods rule us again. To never take up forms of power. To never serve Odium.”

Then don’t serve him, Ulim said. Deal with him. You have something he needs—you can approach him from a place of power. Your ancestors were lowly things; that was why they wanted to leave. If they’d been at the top, like your people will be, they’d have never wanted such a thing.

Venli nodded. But she was more persuaded by other arguments. War was coming with the humans. She could feel it in the way their soldiers eyed her people’s weapons. They had enslaved those parshmen. They’d do the same to Venli’s people.

The ancient songs had become irrelevant the moment Eshonai had led the humans to the Shattered Plains. The listeners could no longer hide. Conflict would find them. It was no longer a choice between their gods or freedom. It was a choice between their gods and human slaving brands.

How do we proceed? Ulim asked.

Venli closed her eyes, listening to her mother’s words. Her ancestors had been desperate. “We will need to be equally desperate,” Venli whispered. “My people need to see what I have seen: that we can no longer remain as we have been.”

The humans will destroy them.

“Yes. Help me prove it.”

I am your servant in this, Ulim said to Subservience. What do you propose?

Venli listened. Jaxlim’s voice cracked and she trailed off. Jaxlim had forgotten the song again. The older femalen turned away and cried softly.

It broke Venli’s heart.

“You have agents among the humans, Ulim?” Venli whispered.

We do.

“Can you communicate with them?”

I have ways of doing so.

“Have your agents influence those at the palace,” Venli said. “Get the Alethi to invite us to visit. Their king spoke of it before he left; he’s considering it already. We must bring our people there, then show them how powerful the humans are. We must overwhelm my people with our own insignificance.”

She stood up, then went to comfort her mother.

We must make them afraid, Ulim, Venli thought. We must make them sing to the Terrors long into the night. Only then will they listen to our promises.

It shall be done, he replied.

Words.

I used to be good with words.

I used to be good at a lot of things.

Venli tried to attune the Rhythm of Conceit as she walked the halls of Urithiru. She kept finding the Rhythm of Anxiety instead. It was difficult to attune an emotion she didn’t feel; doing so felt like a worse kind of lie than she normally told. Not a lie to others, or to herself. A lie to Roshar.

Timbre pulsed comfortingly. These were dangerous times, requiring