Brandon Sanderson’s epic Stormlight Archive fantasy series will continue with Wind and Truth, the concluding volume of the first major arc of this ten-book series. A defining pillar of Sanderson’s “Cosmere” fantasy book universe, this newest installment of The Stormlight Archive promises huge developments for the world of Roshar, the struggles of the Knights Radiant (and friends!), and for the Cosmere at large.
Reactor is serializing the new book from now until its release date on December 6, 2024. A new installment will go live every Monday at 11 AM ET, along with read-along commentary from Stormlight beta readers and Cosmere experts Lyndsey Luther, Drew McCaffrey, and Paige Vest. You can find every chapter and commentary post published so far in the Wind and Truth index.
We’re thrilled to also include chapters from the audiobook edition of Wind and Truth, read by Michael Kramer and Kate Reading. Click here to jump straight to the audio excerpt!
Note: Title art is not final and will be updated as soon as the final cover is revealed.
Chapter 31: Experiment
So think, my dear reader. As a soldier retreats from a battle he cannot win. As a woman rejects a home that shows her only violence. As a family finds hope in walking away from dying fields during a season of too much rain.
—From The Way of Kings, fourth parable
Shallan had brought some of the Windrunners from the raiding party, so she, Renarin, and Rlain quickly reached the Oathgates. From there, Shallan sent one Windrunner to find Dalinar and Navani to explain, as she worried her spanreed message hadn’t been received.
She then brought the group into Shadesmar via Oathgate. Mraize and Iyatil were on the move; she needed to be too. On the other side—with Testament and Pattern appearing in full-sized form next to her—Shallan got her first sight of the tower there, after its awakening.
It was brilliant.
Before, the tower had manifested as a shimmer of light, but now that light had coalesced—like false dawn becoming true sunlight. It formed a tower that was a clone of the one in the Physical Realm, but as if created from glowing glass. A sphere infused, but on the scale of a mountain.
Though the light did not overpower her, her eyes watered, trying to take in the entire structure. It glowed with the fractured variety of a thousand colors—an artist’s bounty of effulgent shades. Changing, each moment a different hue, as if the tower were too exuberant, too joyous and alive to be confined to mere color.
It was magnetic, taking not only her breath and attention, but her soul and mind, which longed to just once create something so beautiful. It was the pinnacle of all artistry. This was the height to which creations could rise. This was what you could… could…
Do you need me to take control? Radiant asked.
Please! Shallan said, tears in her eyes.
Radiant took a deep breath, acknowledged the pretty tower, and moved on. Two Windrunners—Isasik and Breteh—waited in here with their spren and their squires. Together, the group was chatting with the Shadesmar guards. Though she’d left the bulk of her strike force to watch the captives, she’d sent these Windrunners on ahead to try to see if they could find Mraize and Iyatil while Shallan fetched Renarin.
They didn’t seem to have learned anything, judging by their postures as they talked with the three guards that were posted on this side just in case. Radiant looked around, hoping for some sign of the Ghostbloods. Here near the tower, the ten Oathgates manifested as tall pillars—each with its own set of lofty inkspren. Ramps ringed each pillar, spiraling down to the beads far below. With the restoration of the Sibling, glowing walkways had appeared connecting the pillars, as well as leading to the tower itself, which now stood upon a large glowing platform of its own.
Seeing nothing amiss, she trotted to the Windrunners on one of the walkways.
“Brightness,” Isasik the Windrunner said. This wasn’t the cartographer, but the other Isasik: a shorter man with an excitable demeanor. Both he and Breteh were former bridgemen from Bridge Thirteen, the group that had become Teft’s squires. She thought that was why they wore red glyphwards on their arms—something about a pact relating to Moash and vengeance.
Radiant appreciated their regard for a fallen companion. Over time, tower soldiers had moved away from wearing Kholin blue, and toward a uniform representing their new kingdom. It appeared white uniforms with gold trim had finally been settled upon, as it was one of the distinctive color combinations that wasn’t associated with an Alethi or Veden princedom.
“We did a sweep of the area and found no sign of the fugitives,” Breteh said, hovering a few feet off the ground. “The guards haven’t seen them either.”
“We’ve been posted here all day,” said a guard with a faint Bavland accent he was obviously trying to mask. “Nobody transferred in until these Windrunners arrived.”
Radiant folded her arms, thoughtful. Around her feet, a collection of beads gathered and bounced up and down. “Other Shallan!” they said. The Windrunners seemed to find that quite amusing.
Had she been wrong? Would Mraize and Iyatil flee, instead of trying to continue their plan? “They entered Shadesmar on the Shattered Plains, thousands of miles away,” she said. “They’d need to have found their way here via Oathgate.”
Could Mraize and Iyatil be waiting before arriving? Would they jump here at the moment Dalinar opened his portal? Making a break for it?
Renarin and Rlain joined her, having overcome their awe. “Radiant,” Renarin said, “could you please explain better what’s going on? I’m still confused.”
“Sorry,” Radiant said. “Shallan is inefficient with words at times. There is a secretive group known as the Ghostbloods, who are seeking to control the balance of power on Roshar.”
“Again?” Rlain asked. “Didn’t you round them up right before the invasion?”
“Those were the Sons of Honor,” Renarin said. “Amaram’s former cohort. You know, I wonder if we ask for this sort of thing. We create this air of Alethi propriety, promising that we’re up-front and honest. No one can say what they really think, because it would be ‘un-Alethi.’ Then our honesty becomes a lie as we turn to scheming…”
“It’s kind of how you all ended up with a kingdom in the first place,” Radiant agreed. “Dalinar, Gavilar, Navani, Sadeas, Ialai… frustrated that they were considered outsiders from the backwaters, they plotted to found an empire. Unfortunately for us, the Ghostbloods are supported by some very powerful individuals from offworld.”
“You mean the Fused?” Rlain asked.
“Further offworld,” Radiant said. “Shallan was recruited by them when she was new to her powers. She kept pretending to be a member, hoping to learn more. It came to a head recently, and she realized she had to stop them from reaching their goals.”
“Well, that’s a storming big secret,” Rlain said to a very pronounced rhythm, which Radiant couldn’t place.
Renarin just met her eyes, then nodded. Damnation. He understood. She now felt infinitely more guilty for finding him weird when they first met.
“They’ve been keenly interested in the Unmade,” Radiant said. “They’ve met with Sja-anat, and… Renarin, I think she’s given them spren to bond. Like she did to you and Rlain.”
Speaking of which… where were their spren? Shouldn’t they have appeared when Pattern, Testament, and her armor had?
“She… plays both sides,” Renarin admitted. “She’s told me as much.”
“Her spren accepted me,” Rlain said, “when none of the honorspren would.”
“That’s unfair,” Breteh’s honorspren said, glowing blue with hands on her hips. “Lots of humans weren’t chosen either, Rlain. It comes down to individual decisions.”
“And yet,” Rlain said, “every single member of Bridge Four now has an honorspren—except me. Curious, how people’s decisions are an individual matter when they’re confronted about them—but those decisions form blatant patterns.”
“Sja-anat,” Radiant said, drawing their attention back to the topic, “cannot be trusted—but she’s also not our enemy. She said her spren have an affinity for the Spiritual Realm. I think the Ghostbloods are planning to use those spren to help them navigate it. I determined I’d have a much better chance of figuring out how they’d do that, or even what the Ghostbloods plan to do, with your help.”
“Spiritual Realm,” Renarin said. “Where you said…”
“A certain thing is hidden,” Radiant continued, not wanting to say too much in front of the guards. Shallan had given this explanation earlier.
Renarin nodded.
“So… your spren,” Radiant said. “Do they have any insights? I’m certain the Ghostbloods are going to show up here, likely right when Dalinar opens the portal. The fugitives might make a dash for it.”
“It would help,” Renarin said, “to know where this portal will be.” He narrowed his eyes, then pointed at the tower.
Radiant had the strangest impression as he did so—that his arm and hand were outlined by a soft red glow while in motion, as if he was overlapping some second version of himself. This light, possibly his spren, moved just before he did. It was an afterimage, in reverse.
“There,” Renarin said. “Can you see them?”
“I can,” Rlain said, pointing as well—and his body had exactly the same precursor image. “They’re in the tower. Both Bondsmiths. Their souls glow powerfully.”
“Spren revolve around Aunt Navani,” Renarin said, “the way winds move through a chasm, sculpted by it. They’re coming down in a lift.”
“So we go to them,” Radiant said. “Because that’s where Mraize and his team will need to be, once the portal opens.”
* * *
It was starting to grow dark outside as Navani finally led the group down a lift, through Urithiru, to find an appropriate place to perform their experiment. Storms. The entire second day had passed that quickly? She didn’t feel tired, a blessing from the Sibling, though she did see some signs of fatigue in Dalinar. The way he clasped his hands behind him, forcing himself to stand tall.
They reached the ground floor, light fading in the sky outside the great atrium window as the sun set on the opposite side of Urithiru. She led them through a swarm of gloryspren to a stairwell, holding Gav’s hand all the way. The boy needed more attention from both of them—and fortunately, he had managed a nap during the many meetings. As they reached the bottom of the steps, entering a long hallway, she trailed her other hand along the wall, layered with strata in lines and patterns.
She could feel the tower thrumming. A thousand different mechanisms working in concert, like the organs of a human body. Dalinar and Wit strode behind her. Behind them were the characteristic host of attendants and guards. Navani could almost ignore them as she walked.
“Gram?” Gav asked softly. “I’m scared.”
She stopped and knelt, letting several of the others pass by. “Why, Gav?”
He looked up toward the gloryspren bobbing around her. Then he cringed.
“Could you back away, please,” Navani said, lifting her head and speaking to the spren.
They did, many of them vanishing and the others moving to the very top of the corridor. Gav relaxed. The spren that had tormented him in the Kholinar palace had been of a completely different variety, but that didn’t matter in the face of trauma.
“Was that it?” she asked.
“Not just that,” he whispered. “The tower… I saw it earlier… and Gram, it’s a spren? The whole thing?”
“The tower is good, Gav,” she said. “It cares for us.”
He nodded, but didn’t seem convinced. So she gently took his hand and held it to the wall.
“Can you feel that?” she asked him.
“I’m not sure,” he said, scrunching up his face.
“Close your eyes,” she said, “and listen.”
He did so. “It’s… humming?”
“That’s right,” she said. “There’s a tunnel nearby where boxes flow along on a belt. They’re carrying laundry from all through the tower down here, where it can be washed. It’s not fully up and running yet—we need many more boxes—but this is one of the ways we know the tower is good.”
“Because… it has boxes?”
“Because it makes everyone’s lives better,” Navani said. “With this mechanism, no one will need to climb stairs with heavy bags of clothing. Beyond this are vast rooms where fresh water is cycled and cleaned, so no one has to carry water. The tower is doing that for us all, not only for kings and queens. It is good, Gav. I promise.”
“I feel it, Gram!” Gav said, his hand beside hers. “I really feel it. The tower is alive…”
“All things are,” she said. “Whether it’s the cup you drink from, the home you live in, or the air you breathe. All of it is part of this world given us by the Almighty, and everything in this world is alive. It is one of the ways we know God loves us.”
And surely He did. Even if the person who had held the power was dead, that was merely an avatar, a Vessel—not God. It was that Vessel Dalinar hoped to replace. If he did, would he then return to conventional belief as she hoped? His new ways, new teachings, weren’t strictly blasphemous, but things about them did make her uncomfortable.
Dalinar and Wit had reached a door at the end of the hallway. They stepped in, then a moment later Dalinar looked out and waved for her. She rose and joined him, and he lifted Gav and handed the boy to his governess, who stood with the guards.
“Nobody enters,” Dalinar said.
“Pardon, Brightlord,” one of the guards asked, “but why are we here? What are we doing?”
“It’s an experiment that could be dangerous,” Dalinar said. “It could take us as long as an hour or so.”
They nodded. Dalinar and Navani shut the thick door behind them, standing in one of the tower’s water cistern rooms. Wit strolled through the room, noting where water poured out of pipes in the walls to crash down into the cistern. He said something, but she couldn’t make it out over the cascading water.
“What was that?” Navani said.
“You didn’t hear?” Wit said, strolling closer. “Excellent. We are unlikely to be overheard, and this place is acceptably remote and secure.”
“Yes, but what did you say?” Navani asked.
Wit smiled, then turned to Dalinar. “You’re certain you want to try this?”
“I am,” Dalinar said.
Wit turned to Navani.
“As am I,” she said.
“Very well,” Wit said, fishing in his pocket. “I’ve thought of the perfect vision for your experiment.” He tossed Navani a small rock, which she caught, frowning.
It wasn’t cremstone, but perhaps a kind of granite. The type you either had to quarry for, or had to Soulcast. She held up the rock for Dalinar.
“And this is?” Dalinar asked.
“Rock from Ashyn,” Wit said lightly. “Like those carried by your ancestors to this world during their migration. They were fragments of a holy site on your homeworld, but stones themselves took on a kind of mystical lore by association. That sort of thing happens when the world undergoes repeated cataclysms and society gets knocked back to the stone age a few dozen times. Some seven thousand years later, everyone in Shinovar worships rocks, and has no idea why.”
Navani gaped at him.
“What?” he asked.
“Have you told them?” she asked. “Shared their heritage, their history with them? Have you written this down?”
“I keep meaning to…” Wit said, and shrugged.
Dalinar turned the rock over in his fingers. “You just have one of these? Did you steal it?”
“Hmm?” Wit said. “No, I picked it out myself, right before the migration.”
“To Roshar,” Navani said.
“Yes.”
“You were there?”
Again Wit shrugged. “Look, I can’t be expected to tell you everything that has happened in the last ten thousand years, all right? Yes, I was there. Can we focus on the experiment?” He pointed at the rock. “We want an easy vision as a test. A particular event chosen by us, not preselected by Honor or the Stormfather.”
“Yes,” Navani said. “That’s correct. We need to observe historical events as they truly happened.”
“Specifically,” Wit said, “you will eventually need to be able to find the history I missed in order to determine what led to Honor’s demise, and see if you can find why the power refuses Vessels now. First, we should start with something familiar to me. Hence the rock.”
“The… rock,” Dalinar said. “Wit, I still don’t follow.”
“I explained this,” he said. “If you go into the Spiritual Realm without some kind of anchor or guide, there’s no telling what you will see. Events that you think about, that are a focus of individual or collective trauma or passion, are most likely—but really it could be anything. You could dip in there and end up being shown an extended vision of a kindly old man feeding his axehounds. For hours.”
Wit pointed at the rock again.
“So…” Navani said, sorting through the flood of information he’d given her. “This rock is an anchor to Connect us to a specific moment, and draw us to that specific vision?”
“That’s correct,” Wit said. “Namely: the arrival of humankind upon Roshar.”
“That’s what we’re going to see?” Dalinar asked softly. “Storms.”
“If it works, yes,” Wit said. “Ideally, only your minds will be taken, your bodies staying here. You’ll witness the migration, then return and tell me about it. Since I was there, I can authenticate that this has worked.”
“A control for the experiment,” Navani said.
“Exactly,” Wit said. “And with Dalinar’s clock already attuned, you shouldn’t get too wildly affected by time dilation. You should avoid coming out having aged twenty years—though be careful, it still might be easy to lose track of the days. With that, you can see how much time is passing here, so keep an eye on it. Enjoy the vision for an hour or so, then I’ll call you back.”
Dalinar nodded firmly.
“Wait,” Navani said. “How do we come back? How do we even initiate this? What are the mechanics?”
“Tether yourselves here with a line of power,” Wit said. “Dalinar, you’ve done it before.”
Navani observed as he drew in Stormlight, then knelt and infused the ground with it. When he stood, a line of light anchored him there. With his coaching she was able to draw strength from the tower, then press it into the ground. Like an experiment with osmosis and diffusion.
“That line of light will act like a rope,” Wit explained. “So you can be pulled back should you slip in too deep. You should be able to see those lines of light in the vision, and pull on them to come back yourselves. In an emergency, I can contact you through them.”
“All right…” Navani said, shivering. “Now what?”
“Now,” Wit said, “you open a perpendicularity, and combine all three realms in a single point. You pass through, sending only your mind.”
“How though?” Dalinar asked.
Wit folded his arms, standing at the edge of the rippling reservoir. Light danced on the ceiling, reflected from the glowing gemstones set in the walls, just beneath the surface. Looking at him, she sensed something primordial about the man. His smile faded, his eyes profound, as if holding the darkness of the cosmere before light sparked.
“I don’t know,” Wit said softly.
“You don’t know?” Dalinar said. “You said—”
Navani laid a hand on his arm, quieting him, and looked to Wit. The deity who insisted he was not.
“Every time I’ve done this,” Wit said, “I’ve been at one of the pools. Wells of power that grow around the presence of gods, a kind of… natural spring, grown of their power. When you step into such a well, you can feel the bond that gods have to the Spiritual Realm. You can see a little into the plane where they exist—where their thoughts move at many times the speed of mortals’. I can feel that place calling me. Perhaps it knows I rejected it once; I am the fish that escaped the hook.
“I can share that feeling, rather than a specific list of instructions, Dalinar. At times I have stepped into that power and have followed the call—emerging into a realm where gods dwell. I do it by instinct, as should work for you. It is not much, but you’ve asked for my help, and I give what I have.” He met their eyes. “I warned you of the danger. There are few paths in this universe I fear to walk. This is one of them.”
Navani met Dalinar’s eyes. He sighed, but then nodded. “Let’s open the perpendicularity,” he said, “and feel it out.”
* * *
At Radiant’s urging, the group flew toward the Bondsmiths. They left Breteh’s three squires behind to watch and give warning if someone came through one of the gateways.
They soared through the halls of Urithiru, and as they did, Radiant reached out to brush the wall. It felt solid. This corridor was populated by hundreds of tiny candle flames hovering in the air: the souls of the people living and working in Urithiru. There were also a great number of spren, which on this side were like wildlife—the fauna that populated Shadesmar, attracted to, perhaps feeding on, the emotions and experiences of the humans on the other side. They were only visible in the Physical Realm when something intense let them manifest.
Perhaps it was the bond that drew them. The bond to people—like Radiant spren, or the spren of her armor, which kept up with them somehow, rolling across the ground and sometimes flying between gaps. There was something to the bond that drew spren, invigorated them. Like cremlings hiding in shalebark, Shallan thought, smiling, remembering drawings she’d done during a more innocent time.
There was so much to be studied about the symbiosis between spren and human. Someday when all this was done, that would be her project. Jasnah thought her a whimsical artist, and that was part of her. But so was the scientist. She dreamed of creating a grand illustrated tome explaining the intricate details of the bond. Shallan’s ultimate triumph in proving that art and science were actually one.
The Windrunners landed them at a stairwell heading down. The Bondsmiths had gone this way—indeed, they shone through the glass floor up ahead. The three guards and one of the Windrunners went first to check the way, leaving Renarin to step over to her and whisper.
“I saw a vision,” he said, “right before you arrived. Rlain thinks it’s Ba-Ado-Mishram. What we’re doing here is dangerous, and I need to talk to Shallan about it.”
So, reluctantly, Radiant stepped back. And hoped they wouldn’t get too distracted by whatever he had to say.
* * *
The tower on this side was overwhelming to Renarin. While Rlain hummed to the place’s beauty, Renarin kept focusing on how many things were moving all at once. The walls of shimmering crystal, light catching on corners like it did on a prism. Then there were the spren. Flocks of them, many the size of minks or even axehounds, scurrying down every hallway, hanging from the ceiling, making shadows that reflected through walls, adding to the visual cacophony.
Though spren looked different on this side, he was pretty sure those many-legged ones were fearspren, like eels with feet and one big bulging eye on the front. Gloryspren flitted around on wings, with glowing spheres for heads. But what were the ones that had six arms and gripped the walls, watching with a large drooping mouth that seemed to have eyes in it? The things that were shaped like anemones? The darker shadows, hulking and threatening, that he kept glimpsing through the glass walls?
Storms. As he pulled Shallan aside, he searched his pockets for something to fiddle with. He came out with a couple of spheres, which he spun in his palm, and he tried to focus on the clicking sound the glass made.
Shallan undid her hair band and fanned out her hair before replacing her hat. Her lips parted as she glanced one way, then the other. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one to find this terrible and overwhelming…
She grinned like a madwoman. “This is amazing,” she said. “I can’t believe I haven’t come in here before!”
“Didn’t you just get back yesterday?”
“I should have made time,” she said, pointing. “Storms! What are those! I should sketch those. The ones with the spines? They don’t look like any spren on our side. Usually there’s some physical clue to what they are.”
Despite her words, she didn’t get out a sketchbook. They started down the steps, a Windrunner and Rlain ahead of them. Renarin kept the spheres in his hand, clicking them together, and went over what he wanted to say. Spelling it out in his mind.
“So, you wanted to talk?” Shallan asked, eyeing another spren above them, through the transparent ceiling.
“Yes,” he said, deliberate. “Ba-Ado-Mishram. Rlain thinks we saw her in a vision.”
“I think I did too,” Shallan said.
“What?”
“Odd things happen with Lightweaving,” she said. “Particularly if you’ve bonded two spren at the same time.”
Two spren. “Wait. That’s not just some… friend of Pattern’s?”
“The deadeye?”
Deadeye? He peered ahead at the other Cryptic. Was that what the bent tines in the head meant? He hadn’t looked closely, as… well… this place was so demanding and exhausting. He simply couldn’t help but see everything.
“Two spren,” he said, fixating on that. “You have two spren. I didn’t even know it was possible. Why would you bond a second on your trip?”
“It’s a long story,” Shallan said.
That seemed like a promise of more, but then she didn’t continue.
“Anyway,” Renarin said eventually—again organizing and focusing his thoughts as a group of strange purple spren rolled down the steps next to them. “You said this Unmade was in the Spiritual Realm. And you said my father is opening a perpendicularity to travel there.”
“Which the Ghostbloods know about,” she said.
“So we tell him not to!”
“I sent messages,” she said, “but it’s a busy day, and he’s been on the move. Besides, Renarin, when has your father ever reconsidered because any of us made an objection?” She focused on the lights ahead. It appeared that his father and Aunt Navani had entered a large chamber at the end of the corridor. “I can finally stop Mraize—for once I know exactly where he’s going to be. I just have to be there watching for him.”
“But this spren,” Renarin said. “Shallan, I think she’s something terrible. Worse than the Unmade that caused the Alethi to hunger to kill each other in battle for centuries. Worse than the one that killed Aesudan and consumed Amaram. Worse than… anything.”
“So we absolutely need to stop the Ghostbloods from getting to her.”
“Or maybe we shouldn’t be involved at all,” Renarin said. “What if by meddling, we lead to her being freed. All the effort we took to lock away the Thrill? Someone took that effort and more to lock Mishram away. If she’s in the Spiritual Realm… maybe your enemies can’t find her, Shallan. Maybe the prison is strong enough.”
“I can’t simply let Mraize do whatever he wants, Renarin.”
“And me?” Renarin said, feeling Glys thrum within him. “Shallan, you specifically fetched me.”
“Because you might be able to spot others who have bonded corrupt… um… reborn? Remade? Sja-anat’s spren.”
“I think you can do that as well as anyone could,” Renarin said. “You told me Mraize had bonded one of Sja-anat’s Enlightened spren because they could guide him in the Spiritual Realm. Then you came to find me. Why, Shallan? Why really?”
She kept her eyes forward. “Mishram’s prison is compromised. The Ghostbloods knew precisely where to send agents to get the information, and have intel on how to reach the Spiritual Realm. And their spren… their Enlightened spren… can lead them through that realm.”
“So you are going to try to find the prison,” Renarin said. “That’s why I’m here. You hope Glys can guide you!”
“I don’t think I thought it through that much,” Shallan said. “I’m working on instinct. Look, we should catch up to the others.”
She quickened her step. Renarin forced himself to keep moving along the short hallway, trying so hard to ignore all the lights, the motion. It was… it was loud. Not loud to the ears, loud to every sense. It made him want to put his hands around his eyes and block out most of the stimuli, to cut down on how much was reaching him.
I will help? Glys said. I will try?
The spren… darkened things. Dampening the lights at the perimeter of Renarin’s sight, like what happened in a vision, where everything went black.
It did help, and he was able to pull himself together and make his way forward after Shallan and the others. But storms. What was he letting her pull him into? Shallan could be a little like a sudden river after a highstorm. A flood that could carry you until it ran out, leaving you stranded. Adolin just went along with it.
Is she right? Renarin asked Glys. Could you help us on the other side, in the Spiritual Realm?
…Yes, Glys said, sounding hesitant as he pulsed. Yes. I think I could. I will.
That was a small comfort, but Shallan did seem frightened of these Ghostbloods. Renarin didn’t think they could do anything to his father—human souls appeared as glowing flames on this side, but there was no way to interact with them. But they didn’t know all the permutations of what anti-Light could do, and…
…and he kept going, despite knowing he was trapped in a Shallan flood. Because if he turned back, then Rlain probably would too, which would mean leaving Shallan completely without access to common sense.
Don’t be unfair, he told himself. She’s done a lot of good for your family. A year of having her as a sister-in-law had shown him she could be a deeply sensitive and caring person, and she loved Adolin with an enthusiasm that none of the other women ever had. Beyond that, she had a remarkable handle on life, considering the way her fragmented mind sometimes presented challenges.
In short, despite first impressions, he had grown fond of her. However, that didn’t mean he liked the way that she worked by instinct. Accidentally joining a secret organization bent on ruling Roshar, then never finding a time to mention it to anyone until it became a crisis? In his experience, that was the most Shallan thing she could have done.
Unfortunately, a glow was building ahead of them at the end of the hallway; his father was preparing the perpendicularity. But… there wasn’t anyone here. The room they reached was a perfect replica of the one in the Physical Realm, only made of the same shimmering glass as everything else. He could make out the souls of Aunt Navani and his father, glowing brightly from their Connections to powerful spren—and another soul, which had to be Wit, shimmering with a great number of odd colors. Glys confirmed it.
Otherwise, the room was empty… Wait. What were those two souls over at the side, in the walls?
Shallan set the three guards at the door and stepped in with the spren, Rlain, and the Windrunners. There, she stood with her hands on her hips. “It seems impregnable. A hallway ending here? Walls we can see through, and no other humans in sight? Did I misjudge?”
“Those two souls over there might be spying on Father and Navani,” Renarin said. “Could that be them?”
Shallan spun to follow his gesture. “Storms, maybe the Ghostbloods slipped past in the Physical Realm? It’s possible they transferred with a group of soldiers on the Shattered Plains.”
“What do these Ghostbloods look like?” Rlain said, inspecting the souls. “Maybe we can identify them.”
“We were expecting three people,” Shallan said. “Two short, one tall. One woman, two men. Two wear strange masks most of the time, and are foreigners. The third is Thaylen, though he dyes his eyebrows and keeps them short. He has scars across his face, and…” She paused, then glanced at Renarin. “They would have spren with them. Maybe hiding within their hosts, as yours do?”
“Tumi says that is likely,” Rlain told her. “Any spren can learn to do it, even on this side.”
“And their powers?” Renarin pushed. “Sja-anat can make any order of Radiant save Bondsmith, assuming the spren are willing. And a lot of them are, Shallan. She offers a different option, a third option. So what powers should we be watching for?”
“Well, one can transfer between Shadesmar and the Physical Realm,” Shallan said. “So they might be waiting on the other side for the perpendicularity to open, then plan to pop in here and enter it from this side.”
“Good,” Rlain said. “That gives us something to prepare for.” He knelt beside the wall. “These two souls… they seem to be hiding in an air duct. And what is that green spot…”
“Mmm…” Pattern said. “Cultivationspren. That is Lift.”
“Spying as usual,” Shallan said, folding her arms. “So maybe that’s not them.”
“What else should we be looking for?” Renarin asked. “Could one of them be a Lightweaver? Could they be disguised?” She glanced at him, then her eyes widened and she looked back through the clear crystalline door. At the three soldiers—two short, one tall—who they’d brought here and posted out front.
Chapter 32: Cords of Light
As a king leaves a people with the gift of his absence, so that they may grow and solve their own problems, without his hand to always guide them.
—From The Way of Kings, fourth parable
A glowing rift tore reality apart before Dalinar, a melding of three realms.
It took the form of a pillar of light emerging from his clasped hands, gloryspren exploding into existence around him. The light soon washed out everything else, and power flowed like water in a mighty river—forming a puncture in reality that defied natural laws… or no, this was an expression of natural laws too. Simply ones that were higher, more fundamental.
“All right,” Dalinar said. “It’s open.”
“Step in,” Wit said, though Dalinar had lost track of him in the omnipresent light. “Both of you. Let the light bathe you, then seek the Spiritual Realm.”
Dalinar moved forward, holding the portal open as one might part drapes at a window.
“Dalinar,” Navani said, joining him, “I can hear the tones of Roshar… They’re familiar to me now. This place… it’s been calling to me for weeks.”
She took Dalinar’s hand in her safehand, then reached out toward the sound with her fingers, which he could see making streaks in the light. He could feel that realm too. Could feel her welcoming it… as they stretched toward another place.
* * *
Panic speared Shallan. Those people outside…
Oh no, Veil thought. Remind me, what do you do when there’s a guard watching for you?
Storms. You became the guard.
Unfortunately, Mraize saw her looking through the wall at him, and knew they’d been spotted. A second later the three Ghostbloods burst through the door, still wearing their false faces—though Mraize had pulled a dagger out. One that glowed and warped the air.
“Protect the spren!” Shallan shouted, pointing. “Those three guards are the enemy!”
The room became chaos. Three Ghostbloods pretending to be common Alethi guards faced two Windrunners and their spren, along with Renarin, Rlain, Radiant, Pattern, and Testament. So many figures suddenly moving, responding, or panicking.
Mraize raised his dagger and stayed back, though when the dagger got too close to his side, it made the Lightweaving spark and rip apart. Iyatil and Lieke leaped for Breteh, perhaps identifying the Windrunner as the strongest.
Radiant moved, shoving past Pattern and trying to get to Breteh, who clashed with Lieke, holding back his dagger. Nearby, Isasik—the other Windrunner—tackled Iyatil.
Storms, no, Radiant thought, pulling to a stop. There was no way Isasik could handle Iyatil. Indeed, the woman spun expertly and grabbed the younger Windrunner by the arm, slashing in a single smooth motion. She tossed him aside, blood spraying from a slit across his neck.
Right then, Dalinar’s perpendicularity opened.
Power thrummed through the room, pulsing with the energy of storms, and Shallan felt it surge through her like hot water in her veins. She gasped in awe, and outside the room spren began to scramble and scratch at the door.
Iyatil jumped for her, knife—fortunately a conventional one—bloody. Radiant separated from Shallan then, fully armored despite being in Shadesmar—formed of Lightweaving given physical weight. Radiant snatched Iyatil straight from the air, then slammed her to the glowing crystalline ground.
Iyatil grunted and slashed at Radiant, the weapon bouncing ineffectively off the Shardplate. It wasn’t real, but was anything real on this side? What had made this entire tower, if not raw Investiture from the Sibling?
Radiant pinned Iyatil down by one arm—but the Ghostblood performed an expert wrestling twist and slipped away. She spun around Radiant—who tried and failed to grab her. The woman’s Lightweaving began to evaporate, letting her mask show through, and her eyes—rimmed by wood—fixated on Shallan.
If she has an anti-Stormlight dagger, Shallan realized, dancing backward by instinct, she’ll use it against me. That kills both me and Radiant, and likely negates Pattern and Testament.
Not that either were very useful. Testament hid behind Pattern, who stood with one hand to his chest, pattern spinning, like a woman whose garden party had just been spoiled by unexpected rain.
As Iyatil struck, Shallan dodged backward, blessing Adolin for his insistence on training her in knife combat. As she had expected though, this was a feint—Iyatil slid another knife from her sheath and kept her hand back as if to hide it. This one warped the air.
Shallan had been wrong about them only having a little bit of anti-Light—there had been one bolt, but at least two daggers. Shallan continued to dodge, passing Isasik, whom Renarin was helping sit up after healing. A second later, Breteh—careening in an uncontrolled Lashing—came crashing past. Iyatil dodged, and Shallan saw her chance, bringing Radiant in to tackle the woman, forcing her to drop the dagger—which went skidding across the floor.
While Iyatil quickly slipped out of Radiant’s grip again, Shallan was able to scoop up the dagger. She glanced up, met Iyatil’s furious gaze, then smiled in triumph.
A second later, Shallan took a blowgun dart to the eye. She stumbled back and barely managed to dodge—through the pain—as Iyatil sent more darts after her. When had the woman gotten out that blowgun? Shallan scrambled away, making illusions of herself to distract, and pulled the dart free.
Puffing, she assessed the situation. Isasik had been healed but still sat on the floor, right hand to his bloodied neck. Lieke was facing Rlain and one of the Windrunner honorspren. The female who had spoken earlier, wearing a uniform and carrying a light dueling sword—which she wielded effectively to force the outsider up against the wall, then run him through.
Shallan nodded in appreciation—so far, Maya and Notum were the sole spren she’d known with the air of soldiers. But it stood to reason there would be others, particularly among the honorspren who had chosen to come and form bonds rather than hide in Lasting Integrity.
The Ghostbloods were losing this fight. They might be better individual warriors, but they faced five Radiants, plus the spren and Shallan’s illusions. Radiant backed Iyatil into a corner, and Lieke—who didn’t appear to have a spren—died in the attack, falling limp and covered in blood. As quickly as the ruckus had begun, it was over.
As Adolin had warned her so many months ago, combat was often short, brutal, and overwhelming. Years of training came down to a few key clashes. Shallan had even missed important parts while fixated on Iyatil; she only now noticed that Mraize was on the ceiling, having apparently been Lashed there by Breteh. The honorspren and Rlain joined Radiant in holding Iyatil at bay, while Shallan and Isasik—regaining his feet—turned weapons on Mraize, trapped on the ceiling.
“Wait,” Isasik said. “Where did that other Knight Radiant come from? And… how did she get Shardplate in Shadesmar?”
Breteh looked at Radiant, then frowned. “Another Lightweaver?” he guessed. “Shallan?”
“Well,” she said. “It’s kind of complicated—”
“You haven’t asked,” Iyatil whispered from the corner, “what happened to the guards whose places we took.”
Isasik turned toward her. “What did you do to them?”
“They’re being held at the base of the pillar where you arrived,” Iyatil said. “As insurance. They will be executed unless I give a signal. Or you get to them first.”
“She’s toying with you, Isasik,” Shallan said. “Don’t let her get inside your head.”
“It’s true,” Mraize said from the ceiling. “You know I wouldn’t lie about this, little knife. You can save them, but you only have a few minutes.”
“Is he lying?” Isasik demanded. “Shallan?”
She gazed up at Mraize. Who smiled. Confident.
Damnation.
“He’s probably not,” she admitted. “But—”
Both Windrunners dashed away, their spren following.
“Windrunners,” Iyatil said dismissively. “So easy to play with.”
“We still have you all,” Shallan said. Mraize on the ceiling, Lieke down, Iyatil trapped in the corner, holding her blowgun but apparently out of darts. “You’re captured. We win.”
“Ah,” Iyatil said softly, “but Mraize still has his dagger.”
Shallan looked up at him, her eyes locking on to the dagger. It was difficult to make anything out as the perpendicularity raged—washing out the room with brilliant white light. Spren in the distance were going haywire, a thousand shadows dancing up on the ground floor. But she could make out that warping. That light that somehow repelled natural light—including that of the perpendicularity—in a bubble around Mraize’s hand. It stood out like a single dot on an otherwise white canvas.
“Mraize,” Shallan said, suddenly filled with dread. “Mraize, what are you doing?”
“Have you ever seen a perpendicularity collapse on itself, little knife?” he asked.
“Mraize…”
“I haven’t either,” he said. “But it’s reportedly spectacular.” He threw the dagger.
Shallan leaped for it, but she was in the wrong position. The anti-Light struck the center of the portal.
The blast that followed shattered the room.
* * *
It was working.
Dalinar could feel the vision begin to form, slowly at first, as if the Spiritual Realm was resisting. He and Navani pushed forward, as through a thick tar, holding hands—trailing cords of light to Connect to the Physical Realm.
Images began to form around him from swirling light. Visions of places, people—ephemeral, winking away in seconds. The tones thrummed through him.
It was working.
He looked at Navani, grinning. Then, behind them, something snapped.
Their Connection to the Physical Realm vanished, and something came rushing toward them: power, wind, and screams.
Excerpted from Wind and Truth, copyright © 2024 Dragonsteel Entertainment.
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