their spies would suffer. Trying to force concepts through her brain had been like trying to think rationally while in a dream.
“Did someone ask you to adopt this form?” Eshonai said, speaking slowly and clearly.
“Nobody asked it,” the malen said to no rhythm at all. His voice sounded dead. “We did it.”
“Why?” Eshonai said. “Why would you do this?”
“Humans won’t kill us when they come,” the malen said, hefting his rockbud and continuing on his way. The others joined him without a word.
Eshonai gaped, the Rhythm of Anxiety strong in her mind. A few fearspren, like long purple worms, dove in and out of the rock nearby, collecting toward her until they crawled up out of the ground around her.
Forms could not be commanded; every person was free to choose for themselves. Transformations could be cajoled and requested, but they could not be forced. Their gods had not allowed this freedom, so the listeners would have it, no matter what. These people could choose dullform if they wished. Eshonai could do nothing about it. Not directly.
She hastened her pace. Her leg still ached from her wound, but was healing quickly. One of the benefits of warform. She could almost ignore the damage at this point.
A city full of empty buildings, and Eshonai’s mother chose a shack on the very edge of the city, almost fully exposed to the storms. Mother worked her shalebark rows outside, humming softly to herself to the Rhythm of Peace. She wore workform; she’d always preferred it. Even after nimbleform had been discovered, Mother had not changed. She had said she didn’t want to encourage people to see one form as more valuable than another, that such stratification could destroy them.
Wise words. The type Eshonai hadn’t heard out of her mother in years.
“Child!” Mother said as Eshonai approached. Solid despite her years, Mother had a neat round face and wore her hairstrands in a braid, tied with a ribbon. Eshonai had brought her that ribbon from a meeting with the Alethi years ago. “Child, have you seen your sister? It is her day of first transformation! We need to prepare her.”
“It is attended to, Mother,” Eshonai said to the Rhythm of Peace, kneeling down beside the woman. “How goes the pruning?”
“I should be finishing soon,” Mother said. “I need to leave before the people who own this house return.”
“You own it, Mother.”
“No, no. It belongs to two others. They were in the house last night, and told me I needed to leave. I’ll just finish with this shalebark before I go.” She got out her file, smoothing one side of a ridge, then painting it with sap to encourage growth in that direction.
Eshonai sat back, attuning Mourning, and Peace left her. Perhaps she should have chosen the Rhythm of the Lost instead. It changed in her head.
She forced it back. No. No, her mother was not dead.
She wasn’t fully alive, either.
“Here, take this,” Mother said to Peace, handing Eshonai a file. At least Mother recognized her today. “Work on that outcropping there. I don’t want it to keep growing downward. We need to send it up, up toward the light.”
“The storms are too strong on this side of the city.”
“Storms? Nonsense. No storms here.” Mother paused. “I wonder where we’ll be taking your sister. She’ll need a storm for her transformation.”
“Don’t worry about that, Mother,” Eshonai said, forcing herself to speak to Peace. “I will care for it.”
“You are so good, Venli,” Mother said. “So helpful. Staying home, not running off, like your sister. That girl . . . She’s never where she should be.”
“She is now,” Eshonai whispered. “She’s trying to be.”
Mother hummed to herself, continuing working. Once, this woman had one of the best memories in the city. She still did, in a way.
“Mother,” Eshonai said, “I need help. I think something terrible is going to happen. I can’t decide if it is less terrible than what is already happening.”
Mother filed at a section of shalebark, then blew off the dust.
“Our people are crumbling,” Eshonai said. “We’re being weathered away. We moved to Narak and chose a war of attrition. That has meant six years with steady losses. People are giving up.”
“That’s not good,” Mother said.
“But the alternative? Dabbling in things we shouldn’t, things that might bring the eyes of the Unmade upon us.”
“You’re not working,” Mother said, pointing. “Don’t be like your sister.”
Eshonai placed her hands in her lap. This wasn’t helping. Seeing Mother like this . . .
“Mother,” Eshonai said to Supplication,