said. “The first column is the name of a spren, the second column a date. The third is a time … maybe how long they lived? None seem to have survived longer than a few minutes.”
“Blood of my fathers,” Dalinar said, his hands trembling. “And this last column?”
“Notes, sir,” Sigzil said. “Here, the last entry. ‘Our first honorspren lived nearly fifteen minutes. A new record, and orders of magnitude longer than all previous attempts. Honorspren seem to have the most humanlike essences. When transferred, the organs and muscles form most naturally. We must capture more of them.
“‘Cryptics and ashspren are impossible to bring over properly with our current knowledge. The process of creating bodies for them results in a physical form that collapses upon itself immediately. It appears their physiology works against the fundamental laws of the Physical Realm.’”
“Storms,” Leyten said, running a hand through his short hair. “What does it mean?”
Leave this place immediately, the Stormfather said. We must warn my children.
“Agreed,” Dalinar said. “Grab anything you think might be useful and meet me outside. We’re leaving.”
* * *
Moash fled through the tower, using Lashing after Lashing, as he felt the structure rumble. Felt it come alive. Felt light begin to surround him.
Her light. The queen’s light.
And before that, a terrible sound. It had pushed away his Connection to Odium, forcing Moash to feel pain for the things he’d done—pain he didn’t want. Pain he’d given away.
That pain seethed and spread inside him. He’d killed Teft.
He’d. Killed. TEFT.
Get out, get out, get out! he thought as he tore through a hallway, uncaring whether he hit people with his Shardblade as he passed over their heads. He needed it ready. In case Kaladin found him. In case he hadn’t broken.
The walls were glowing, and the light seemed brighter to Moash than it should have. He wasn’t supposed to feel afraid! He’d given that away! He couldn’t be the man he needed to be if he was afraid, or … Or.
The pain, the shame, the anger at himself was worse than the fear.
Get out. Go. Go!
The suffocating light surrounded him, burned him as he burst out the front gates of the tower. He felt more than saw what happened behind. Each level of the tower came alive, one at a time. The air warped with sudden warmth and pressure. So much light.
So much light!
Moash Lashed himself into the sky, darting out away from the tower. Soon after, however, he slammed into a hard surface. He dropped into something soft but cold, pained as his Stormlight kept him alive—barely. It ran out before it could fully heal him, so he lay there in the cold. Waiting for the numbness.
He wasn’t supposed to have to feel anymore. That was what he’d been promised.
He couldn’t blink. He didn’t seem to have eyelids anymore. He couldn’t see either—his vision had been burned away. He listened to distant cheers, distant sounds of exultation and joy, as he lay in the cold on the mountainside. The snow numbed his skin.
But not his soul. Not his wretched soul.
“Teft, I…” He couldn’t say it. The words wouldn’t form. He wasn’t sorry for what he’d done. He was only sorry for how his actions made him feel.
He didn’t want this pain. He deserved it, yes, but he didn’t want it.
He should have died, but they found him. A few Heavenly Ones who had been in the air when the tower was restored. They’d awoken, it seemed, after falling from the sky and leaving the tower’s protections. They gave him Stormlight, then lifted him, carrying him away.
Odium’s gift returned, and Moash breathed easier. Blissfully without his guilt. His spine healed. He could walk by the time they dropped him among a camp of a few others who had managed to flee the tower.
But he couldn’t see them. No matter how much Stormlight he was given, his eyes didn’t recover. He was blind.
Roshar will be united in its service of the greater war.
—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days
Exhausted and confused, Dalinar and the Windrunners eventually landed back at their Emuli warcamp, mere minutes before a highstorm was scheduled to arrive. He felt the weight of failure pulling him down, strong as gravity. He sagged as he dismissed the Windrunners to go rest.
He’d gone all that way for nothing. He was no closer to understanding his powers. No closer to doing something about the capture of Urithiru. No closer to rescuing Navani.
He probably should have gone to Jasnah