Chapter Text
95
Spiritual Scarring
I suspect you might know how that feels, Ceph.
Sarus surfaced slowly from a lake of pain. His entire body burned, the wound in his chest worst of all, a fiery plane cutting through the center of his torso. His eyes blinked away tears as he came to. A sudden jolt had him hissing in agony.
“Careful!” snapped a voice by his head. Sarus blinked to clear his vision, trying to see who had spoken. It was one of Yevar’s soldiers, carrying one side of the stretcher on which Sarus was laid out.
“Shallan…?” Sarus croaked, though exhaling the breath to fuel even one word felt like agony.
“She fled after striking you,” Archive said stiffly. She was seated on his shoulder—he could just see her out of the corner of his eye without turning, and he did not think he had the strength to turn and face her more fully. “Try and rest, Sarus.”
“Can’t,” Sarus hissed. “Cultivation.”
“Yes, I saw,” Archive said. “She told me to find the soldiers and where a stretcher was. I did not stay to hear her words to Shallan.”
“Not Shallan,” Sarus rasped. “Something else. Someone else.”
“Perhaps,” Archive said. “Will you not rest?”
“Can’t. Dalinar.”
“What about him?”
“Talk. Need.” Sarus gritted his teeth against the pain. Sweat beaded on his brow. “No time.”
“He should be near the Oathgate, Shardbreaker,” came a voice from near Sarus’ feet. It took Sarus a moment to place it, though he’d heard it only a few minutes before the attack—Yevar, the captain in charge of the squad he’d met in the palace. “We’ll get you to him, don’t worry.”
“Tarava—?” Sarus rasped before breaking off into a coughing fit.
“Already on his way,” Yevar said. “Your spren found us just as we were escorting him out of the palace.”
“Good,” Sarus sighed, squeezing his eyes shut.
It would have been a mercy if Sarus could have drifted in and out of consciousness. He was not so fortunate. Every step the men carrying him took, he felt. Sweat soaked through his clothes, plastering his hair to his head. Tears leaked out of the corners of his eyes.
After an eternity of hazy travel, he heard Yevar call out. “Highprince Dalinar!”
Sarus opened his eyes just in time to see the highprince jog up to the side of his stretcher. “Sarus,” he said. “What on earth—”
“Shardblade,” Sarus said. “Shallan’s. She’s… compromised. Somehow.”
“Damnation,” Dalinar cursed. “At least you’re still alive. Get him back to Urithiru, the surgeons will do what they can for him.”
“No,” Sarus growled, baring his teeth. He clenched his fists and, with monumental effort, sat up. Every muscle in his abdomen screamed at the effort. His head swam, nearly allowing him to slip into merciful unconsciousness, but he held himself in the present. “There is no time,” he hissed through the pain. “Dalinar—they weren’t trying to kill me. They knew what happened last time—with the giant who took my place. They used this to track Cultivation.”
Dalinar stared at him. “You know this? How?”
“The Nightwatcher told me,” Sarus said. “She was there—in the place where I went. She told me to come to them. To hurry.”
“The Nightwatcher?” Dalinar demanded. “But then—”
“Yes,” Sarus said. “In the Valley, she said—south of the Tower. You’ve been there. I have to go. At once.”
“Travel must not be,” Archive snapped. “You are wounded! Terribly so! You must rest!”
“I would like nothing more than to rest,” Sarus growled, “but there is no time. The enemy will reach Cultivation in a matter of days—at most.”
“We can send another team,” Dalinar said. “Some of Bridge Four, perhaps Kaladin himself if he returns soon—”
“No,” Sarus said. “Not this time. It is my instinct to delegate, to strategize, to lead from behind. I cannot do that today. I am the one with a connection to the divine. I am the one who knows Melkor’s true name. I am the one with secrets buried so deep even I have no idea where to find them. This is not something another team can do, Dalinar.”
Dalinar looked pained. “I need you alive, Sarus.”
“You will have me alive,” Sarus said. “Give me a small team and a dozen broams worth of Stormlight, and I’ll see this done in under a week.”
“You will rest tonight,” Dalinar said. “That’s not negotiable. If you’re physically capable of walking tomorrow… fine. It’s storming madness, but there’s not exactly much precedent for how much recovery someone should need after a Shardblade wound.”
Sarus nodded. The motion made him slightly dizzy. “Fine,” he said. “Tomorrow. I… tomorrow.” He fell back into the cot, suddenly drained of all energy, and knew no more for some time.
“He can’t possibly be fit for this kind of travel today! He was out for weeks after the last time—”
“Yes, he was. And I’m inclined to let him sleep again this time. But he is the only person who knows what the Nightwatcher said to him. He was half-delirious, but he certainly seemed to consider this errand urgent.”
“I do not like this. Cultivation should know better than to ask this of him, in his condition.”
“I can only assume she is as desperate as we are. I may have doubts as to whether she is a god, but she has power and, by all accounts, foresight. Surely she would not do this unless it were necessary.”
“Necessity is, yes. But her necessity may not be ours. Beware, Highprince, of ascribing human priorities to a god.”
“…Then what do you suggest, Brightness Archive? Do we let him sleep? Abandon the mission Cultivation gave him?”
“…I do not know.”
“Whether or not she’s a god, surely if Cultivation was really in such a rush she could send a message to someone who wasn’t comatose?”
“It’s clear to me that the so-called gods—Honor, Cultivation, and Odium—are far from omnipotent. Incredibly powerful, certainly. But they have limitations, and we don’t yet fully understand what those limitations are. We can’t make assumptions about what they can and can’t do—not safely.”
“This is. But Sarus is not well. This also is.”
“So we send another team. Let Sarus rest. He doesn’t have to be in front of this one.”
“Yes,” Sarus mumbled, forcing his eyes open. “I do.”
Moash and Dalinar startled from where they stood over his bed, staring down at him, their faces framed by the strata-streaked stone ceiling of his room in Urithiru. Archive did not look so surprised. She sat in full human size, in a chair beside him. “You wake,” she said softly.
“I wake,” he grunted. “I’m sore, but not in agony. I assume I’ve been given a lot of Stormlight to get that far?”
“Dozens of broams worth,” Moash said. “You really can’t make a habit of this, Sarus.”
“Believe me, I would rather not. Has Shallan been found?”
“No,” Dalinar said. “We evacuated all we could of Vedenar, but once the enemy lines drew near to Jasnah’s position, we had to withdraw. Shallan did not reappear.” He momentarily clenched his jaw in a complicated mixture of frustration and grief. “I still find it hard to believe that she would betray us. Adolin is devastated.”
“She didn’t betray us,” Sarus said. “At least, I don’t believe so. Her eyes glowed red. I suspect she was being compelled in some way, not unlike the effect stormform had on Eshonai.”
Dalinar’s shoulders relaxed—but only minutely. “That’s cold comfort,” he said. “Given that, even compelled, she still may be able to give a great deal of information to our enemies. Her ability to help me visualize maps of all Roshar meant she was present for almost all of my military planning. But… cold or not, it is a comfort nonetheless.”
“It should be,” Sarus said. “Eshonai was retrieved from the clutches of the enemy. Shallan may yet be too.”
“True.”
“Shallan can go boil her head,” Moash said. “Sarus, you can’t possibly climb all the way down to the Valley in your condition!”
“Have we determined where the Valley is?” Sarus asked.
“Yes,” Dalinar said. “Not too far south of here—a little over a hundred miles. But that’s a hundred miles of essentially impassable mountains. An impossible hike even for the most fit caravan of explorers, let alone a man recovering from a lethal injury.”
“And yet, I must make the journey,” Sarus said. “Believe me, I would rather not. But I must.”
“We could send literally anyone else,” Moash said.
“No. We could not.” Sarus sighed. “It’s… as a rule, I do not trust instinct. I prefer my decisions to be founded in logic. In reason. But it’s an inescapable fact that my instincts are a unique resource. I know Melkor’s name. And he knows that the name Curumo applies to me. These are facts—facts which do not conform to our fundamental assumptions about the world and cosmere we live in. It does not make sense that I, a foundling named by a maid barely twenty years ago, should have a name so ancient that a god who was old before our history began would know it. It does not make sense that that foundling should know a name of that god so old that even the oldest myths do not record it. But these things are true. We need to understand why. Cultivation is Melkor’s only peer we know of. We need to take advantage of that opportunity. This is our only invitation, and I am the person most likely to know, in the moment, which questions need to be asked.”
Moash’s face had gradually twisted into a grimace as Sarus spoke. “Damnation,” he said.
Dalinar looked grim. “Then you are determined, in spite of your condition?”
“I am.”
“Fine. There’s a highstorm this afternoon. You leave as soon as it passes, with a hundred broams of Stormlight and three companions.”
Sarus raised an eyebrow. “You’ve already assigned me a team?”
“Yes—Renarin, Rlain, and Moash. Renarin is our most accomplished healer, Rlain’s Stoneward abilities will enable travel over the mountains, and Moash is a skilled Shardbearer. All three have worked with you before and can be trusted to keep this mission secret. I could spare a few more men, but a large team would only slow you down.”
“Agreed,” Sarus said. “But—Rlain is the Listeners’ General, their warform representative on the Council of Five. This mission shouldn’t take more than a few weeks at most, but that’s a long time for the Listeners to be without one of their leaders.”
“Rlain’s going to delegate the job to Thude for a while,” Moash said. “That’s why he’s not here now, actually—he’s getting everything straightened out in advance.”
Sarus sighed. “If Rlain believes he can be spared for this operation, far be it from me to suggest otherwise. And thank you, Brightlord—I know sending Renarin can’t be easy for you, either.”
“It isn’t,” Dalinar said, his stern face set. In his eyes, Sarus could see a complicated mixture of worry and pride. “But Renarin volunteered, and you’re right—this mission may be of vital importance. I’ll say it again, however: I need you alive, Captain. Not just because my son is accompanying you on this mission. Even disregarding the importance you have to the command structure of the Radiants and of Bridge Four, Vedenar made it abundantly clear just how essential a skilled Elsecaller can be in countering the actions of the Fused Pact-Bearers. Jasnah can only be in one place at a time, and if she ever falls… we will be helpless to another, similar attack.”
“I know,” Sarus said. “I will return. You have my word.”
“Good. Rest while you can—I’ll have food and orange wine sent up to you. Renarin will be here soon, and I’m sure Rlain will join you when he finishes his business. The highstorm is due in three hours. You depart after that.”
Sarus nodded. “Understood.”
Sarus had managed to sit up, and was halfway through a sip of his orange wine, when the door to his room burst open. “Is it true?” demanded Prince Adolin, striding towards his bed.
Sarus finished swallowing and set the glass down on the table beside him. “Yes,” he said, turning and looking Adolin in the eye. “It is.”
Adolin looked a wreck. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair unkempt, his uniform rumpled. “She wasn’t…” he said, struggling with his words. “She didn’t betray us.”
“Not willingly, I suspect,” Sarus said. “We do not know the limits of the abilities of the Fused, particularly not with the introduction of their Pact-Bearers. But we’ve already seen voidspren exert mental influence—ask Eshonai or Rlain.”
“That was different, though,” Renarin said quietly, stepping up beside Adolin. “Eshonai and Rlain accepted the stormspren into their gemhearts—and the moment Eshonai swore the First Ideal, her lightspren banished it. Shallan is already a Radiant of at least the Second Ideal.”
“The mechanics were different, certainly,” Sarus agreed. “We don’t know the details—and, quite apart from the dreadful circumstance of losing Shallan, that means we need to be very careful of future manipulation and infiltration. I suspect what was done to Shallan was not permanent—I remember the moment before I collapsed, she looked horrified by what had happened. But we do not know how long she had been subverted before that point, nor whether she was subverted again afterward.”
“But it isn’t permanent,” Adolin said desperately. “I can—we can get her back.”
“I suspect so.”
Adolin slumped. “Almighty,” he whispered. “She’s… I hope she’s okay.”
“As do I, Brightlord,” Sarus said. “While I have you here, I have some thoughts on whatever was done to her. Measures to, hopefully, mitigate the dangers in future.”
Adolin’s gaze sharpened. “I’m listening.”
“I suspect that, whatever ability this was, it can only be done to one person at a time,” Sarus said, remembering the sudden exclamation he’d heard just before rounding the corner and seeing Shallan standing over two corpses. “If they could target multiple people, they would have ensured I was surrounded—or just targeted me directly. We should avoid sending out solitary operatives in future. While Shallan was under the enemy’s control, her eyes were red—when she pulled her Blade out, just before I fell unconscious, they were blue again. That seems to be a visible indicator of enemy control. If we are careful, we can likely avoid such unpleasant surprises in future.”
Adolin nodded. “Red eyes, send no one out alone. Got it. Do you have… any idea where Shallan might have gone?”
“I’m not familiar with the Veden countryside, I’m afraid,” Sarus said. “I assume she thought we would believe her a traitor—which, had I been unconscious for weeks as I was after Szeth’s attack, we might. So I suspect she fled Vedenar, but where she might have gone, I could not say. She is Veden, however—perhaps you could locate her family estates?”
“Oh,” Adolin said, blinking. “That’s—of course. I… right. Her family. Obviously.” His cheeks went red, his eyes turned down. “I didn’t even think about her family. Storms.”
“You’ve been distracted,” Renarin said softly. “And it’s not even been a day. It’s all right, Adolin. She’ll be all right.”
Adolin sighed. “I hope you’re right.” He glanced at the shuttered window over Sarus’ shoulder. “Storm’s due in less than an hour. Mind if I wait with you?”
“Not at all,” Sarus said. “Pull up a chair. Renarin, I hope this sudden mission hasn’t pulled you away from anything vital?”
Renarin grinned wryly. “Me? Vital? Imagine that.”
“Well, it is pulling you away from your Shardblade training,” Adolin said. “Moash, can you spar with him a couple of times while you’re on the road?”
“Sure,” Moash said. “If we have time. I don’t know what kind of pace Sarus is going to set.”
“Nor do I,” Sarus admitted. “We’ll see what I can manage.”
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Renarin asked, studying Sarus. “I saw you when they pulled you back through the Oathgate. You looked… well, you look better now, but it’s only been a day.”
“That’s what I said,” Moash grumbled.
“Unfortunately,” Sarus said, “much as I would rather not, this is something that can neither be delayed nor delegated.”
Renarin signed. “Fine. Once we leave the Tower, it’ll be hard to breathe until we get at least a little further down. I can use Regrowth to keep Moash healthy, and you and I can both use our own Stormlight, but that’ll probably set back your recovery.”
“I’ve already been infused with as much Light as can effectively fuel my healing from this injury, I think,” Sarus said. “I suspect the, ah, Spiritual scarring is not something any amount of Stormlight will accelerate further.”
“Spiritual scarring really doesn’t sound like you’re fit to travel.”
“Alas, Melkor did not ask if I was fit when he decided to make war on Roshar,” Sarus said. “Rather inconsiderate of him.”
The door opened. Rlain stepped inside, followed by Thude. “Sarus,” Rlain said with a nod, humming to a gentle Rhythm. Peace, maybe? Sarus was starting to recognize a few of the more common ones now. “I’m glad to see you’re sitting up. Are you fit to walk?”
Sarus glanced at Archive. “I suppose it’s time to find out. We should likely begin making our way down towards the Tower’s base.”
Without a word, Archive stood and stepped forward, transforming as she went. Sarus caught her in his hand as she coalesced into a black metal rod. Grunting, he forced himself to his feet, leaning heavily on her.
“Storms,” Moash said. “You look like you might faint, Sarus.”
“Well, if I do, I hope you’ll catch me before I fall off a mountain,” Sarus said.