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Today, both sides stopped as the warforms emerged—accompanied by a full Shardbearer in glistening Plate. Eshonai’s family parted, humming to Awe or Excitement.
Eshonai picked up a spear, as did several of the others. They came to a halt in the center of the field. The opposing family scrambled back, their warriors brandishing spears. Their postures—and the few sounds of humming Eshonai could make out—were terrified.
“We have found warform,” Eshonai shouted to Joy. An inviting rhythm, not an angry one. “Come, join us. Enter our city, live with us. We will share our knowledge with you.”
The others shied away further. One of them shouted, to Reprimand, “You’ll consume us! Make us slaves. We won’t be our own family any longer.”
“We are all one family!” Eshonai said. “You fear being made slaves? Did you see the poor slaveforms the humans had? Did you see the armor of the humans, their weapons? Did you see the fineness of their clothing, the wagons they created?
“You cannot fight that. I cannot fight that. But together, we could fight that. There are tens of thousands of listeners around the Plains. When the humans return, let us show them a united nation, not a bunch of squabbling tribes.” She gestured to the other warforms, then let her gaze linger on Sharefel in his Shardplate.
“We won’t fight you today,” Eshonai said, turning back to the enemy family. “None of this family will fight you today. But if any of you persist, you will personally discover the true might of this form. We are going to approach the Living-Songs family next. You may choose to be the first to join with our new nation, and be recognized for your wisdom for generations. Or you can be left until the end, to come groveling for membership, once our union is nearly complete.”
She hefted her spear and threw it—shocking herself with the power behind that throw. It soared over the enemy family and disappeared far into the distance. She heard more than one of them humming to the Rhythm of the Terrors.
She nodded to the others, and they joined her, marching into the city. A few seemed annoyed. They wanted a battle to test their abilities. She’d never known listeners to be bloodthirsty, and she didn’t feel this form had changed her that much—but she did admit she felt a certain eagerness.
“We should train,” she said to the others. “Work out some of our aggression.”
“That sounds wonderful,” Thude said.
“As long as we can do it in front of everyone else,” Melu said to Irritation. “I’d like them to understand how easily I could have cracked their skulls.” She looked to Eshonai. “But … that was well done. I guess I’m glad I didn’t have to rip anyone apart.”
“How did you learn to give speeches?” one of the others asked from behind. “Did you learn that talking to those trees, out in the wilderness?”
“I’m not a hermit, Dolimid,” she said to Irritation. “I just like the idea of being free. Of not being locked into one location. As long as we don’t know what is out there, we’re likely to be surprised. Tell me, would we be scrambling now to get our people in order if we’d simply explored our surroundings? We could have been preparing to face the humans for generations, if we hadn’t been so afraid.”
The others hummed to Consolation, understanding. Why had Eshonai had so much trouble persuading people before? Was her present ease because of the connection she felt with these listeners, the first warforms?
There was so much to learn from this form, so much to experiment with. She felt a spring in her step. Perhaps this would be a better form for exploration—she could leap obstacles, run faster. There was so much possibility.
They entered the city, her family’s warriors—those who had been throwing their spears outside—trotting in with them, immediately accepting the authority of the warforms. As they passed Sharefel’s hut, she saw Venli again, lurking in the shadows. This was her victory, after a fashion.
Eshonai probably should have gone to congratulate her, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Venli didn’t need more songs praising her. She already had a big enough ego.
Instead, Eshonai led the group to the stormshelter, where the rest of their family was emerging. Each and every one deserved to see the new form up close.
I leave you now to your own company.
—From Rhythm of War, page 27
Navani hit the tuning fork and touched it to a glowing diamond. When she pulled it away from the gemstone, a tiny line of Stormlight followed behind it—and when she touched the fork to an empty diamond, the Stormlight flowed into it. The transfer would continue as long as the fork made the second diamond vibrate.
Sometimes I think of it like a gas, she thought, taking notes on the speed of the flow. And sometimes a liquid. I keep wavering between the two, trying to define it, but it must be neither one. Stormlight is something else, with some of the properties of both a liquid and a gas.
After completing this control experiment—and timing how quickly the Stormlight flowed—she set up the real experiment. She did this inside a large steel box her scholars had created for dangerous experiments, Soulcast into shape with a thick glass window at one end. She’d forced the enemy to drag it in from the hallway outside, then place it on top of her desk.
She wasn’t certain if this would save her from a potential explosion, but since the box didn’t have a top, the force of the destruction should go upward—and as long as she stayed low and watched through the window, it should shield her.
It was the best she could do in these difficult circumstances. She told the singers she was taking normal precautions, and tried not to indicate to them that she expected an explosion. And indeed she didn’t—the sphere that had killed her scholars had not been Voidlight, but something else. Something Navani didn’t yet understand. She was convinced that mixing Voidlight and Stormlight wouldn’t create an explosion, but a new kind of Light. Like Towerlight.
She began this next experiment the same way as the previous one, drawing out Stormlight and sending it toward another diamond. Then she reached into the box with tongs and placed a Voidlight diamond in the center of the flow, between the Stormlight diamond and the tuning fork.
The Stormlight didn’t react to the Voidlight diamond at all. It simply streamed around the dark gemstone and continued to the vessel diamond. As the tuning fork’s tone quieted, the stream weakened. When the fork fell silent, the Stormlight hanging in the air between the two diamonds puffed away and vanished.
Well, she hadn’t expected that to do anything. Now for a better test. She’d spent several days working under a singular hypothesis: that if Stormlight reacted to a tone, Voidlight and Towerlight would as well. She’d needed to take a crash course in music theory to properly test the idea.
The Alethi traditionally used a ten-note scale—though it was more accurately two five-note quintaves. This was right and orderly, and the greatest and most famous compositions were all in this scale. However, it wasn’t the only scale in use around the world. There were dozens. The Thaylens, for example, preferred a twelve-note scale. A strange number, but the twelve steps were mathematically pleasing.
In researching the tone the tuning fork created, she’d discovered something incredible. Anciently, people had used a three-note scale, and a few of the compositions remained. The tone that drew Stormlight was the first of the three notes from this ancient scale. With some effort—it had required sending Fused to Kholinar through the Oathgate to raid the royal music conservatory—she’d obtained tuning forks for the other two notes in this scale. To her delight, Voidlight responded to the third of the three notes.
