Colors, many of heroism, yield envy and fear. Time passes over passing time. Fear and envy yield, Hero of Many Colors.
Sarus has been running Bridge Four longer than anyone. He has trouble remembering the world before the Plains, and doesn't bother to imagine one after. But when a new bridgeman comes and offers the crew a chance at hope and freedom, Sarus can't help but take it.
Look to the sky, Curumo. All the old prophecies are being fulfilled. The Doors of Night are open, and Odium comes.
Colors, many of heroism, yield envy and fear. Time passes over passing time. Fear and envy yield, Hero of Many Colors.
As with Ring-Maker, I've decided I want to have a chunky introduction post. But I haven't spent the time I need to figure out what I want in that post. I'm sure it'll fill up over time, like Ring-Maker's did, so I thought it best to reserve it.
To anyone coming into this story fresh, welcome! This story is set within a shared multiverse with Ring-Maker and The Seventh Coming, but reading those stories is neither required nor strongly recommended. This story is intended to work as a standalone.
As a crossover—and part of a wider series—I recognize that some readers may not be familiar with the Stormlight Archive. I do highly recommend it, but if you'd rather dive right into this story, here is a brief primer on what you should know coming into the first few chapters. For those craving a slightly deeper look at the background lore, and one without spoilers for canon, see this video.
The world of Roshar is routinely (as in, once every couple weeks) buffeted by cyclic hurricanes which blow from east to west, called highstorms. These highstorms grow weaker as they get further west, so naturally the lands farther to the east are less hospitable. The kingdom of Alethkar, where the action so far has taken place, is the farthest eastward of the human kingdoms.
Alethkar was only unified a few short decades ago by King Gavilar Kholin, a conqueror who unified the ten independent highprincedoms as vassals beneath him. Then, five years ago, King Gavilar was assassinated by a man who has come to be known as the Assassin in White. On that night, his brother was blackout-drunk and unable to assist, and as such Highprince Sadeas took on the role of decoy, to try and draw the assassin after him and away from the king. This ploy failed, and Gavilar was killed.
Credit for the assassination was taken by a race which the Alethi people had only discovered a couple of years prior, known as the Parshendi. They had been present in the capitol city of Kholinar that very night to celebrate the signing of a peace treaty between themselves and the Alethi, and for reasons which the Alethi do not yet understand, they decided that very night to send the human Assassin in White to kill the king. In response to this assassination, the Gavilar's son, the new King Elhokar Kholin, declared the War of Reckoning and called all ten of his vassal highprinces to aid him in conquering the Parshendi in their territory on the Shattered Plains to the south of Alethkar.
It is now five years later. The Shattered Plains, in addition to being the final known stronghold of the Parshendi, are also the habitat of a type of massive crustacean known as a chasmfiend. Chasmfiends have an organ known as a gemheart, which is a very large gemstone capable of being infused with Stormlight, and therefore highly useful both as a source of wealth and for use in Soulcasting, the most common widely-used form of magic among the humans of Roshar. The Vengeance Pact between the ten highprinces has devolved into a contest over these gemhearts rather than a sincere attempt to press inwards towards the heart of the Shattered Plains and the Parshendi stronghold hidden deep within.
Highprince Torol of House Sadeas, a longtime ally of King Gavilar, has pioneered a means of deploying soldiers to seize chasmfiend gemhearts much faster than was previously possible. Since the Shattered Plains are an intraversible landscape of wide chasms between uneven plateaus, bridges are necessary to move soldiers any relevant distance across the Plains. Originally, these bridges were pulled by large beasts of burden known as chulls, or were carried by armored and defended phalanxes of soldiers. Highprince Sadeas theorized that unarmored slaves would be able to carry bridges much faster, albeit with much heavier losses. He was correct, and has achieved significantly more success than many of his rivals in the hunt for chasmfiend gemhearts. Many of the other highprinces have now copied his strategy.
The primary exception to this rule is Highprince Dalinar Kholin, brother to the deceased King Gavilar and uncle to the current King Elhokar. Highprince Dalinar has refused to spend the lives of men in this way, and continues to use slow, armored, chull-pulled bridges. Additionally, he commits a large portion of his army to defensive patrolling and other measures to keep the warcamps relatively civilized and safe for their civilian occupants. As a result, Highprince Dalinar is accruing a reputation for weakness, since despite his close connection to the assassinated king, he is not demonstrating the same level of commitment to the war as the other highprinces. Highprince Sadeas is deliberately fueling these rumors, both because he is still bitter that Dalinar was not present to assist on the night of Gavilar's assassination, and because he knows that he is Dalinar's most relevant rival and that weakening the position of House Kholin can only strengthen him among the other highprincedoms.
This has come to a head in this most recent chapter. King Elhokar recently fell from his horse in the midst of a battle with a chasmfiend as a strap on his saddle snapped, sending the entire thing from the beast's back. He claims this was an assassination attempt on his life. Highprince Dalinar has expressed doubts on the matter. As a result, Highprince Sadeas is in a position to curry favor with the king by taking the investigation over.
That is the plot currently being experienced by Torol and Renarin, although Renarin is also currently involved in the other ongoing plot. That second narrative is regarding the return of the Knights Radiant.
The Knights Radiant were an order of magically-empowered warriors and scholars who defended mankind against a series of cyclic apocalypses known as the Desolations. During the Desolations (at least, according to religious tradition), a race of beings known as the Voidbringers would return to Roshar from Damnation (hell) to destroy humanity. Each time, they were repelled by the ten Heralds chosen by the Almighty and the Knights Radiant who served them. However, about 4500 years ago, the Desolations came to a permanent end with Aharietiam, the Last Desolation. Roughly 2000 years later, on a day known as the Recreance, the Knights Radiant abandoned their calling for reasons lost to history. Since then, they have been condemned by the ardentia (the priesthood of the Vorin religion) as traitors. None are known by the common people or most scholars to have existed in the intervening two millennia.
However, according to Glys, Renarin's bond with him makes Renarin one of the first of at least a few Knights Radiant returning to the world now. Glys also claims that King Elhokar is being scouted by a different type of spren known as a Cryptic for the same purpose. Though the characters themselves do not yet know this explicitly, Sarus' bond with Archive and Kaladin's bond with Syl are also markers that they are beginning to be initiated as Knights Radiant.
Below are more significant spoilers for canon. Most of this will be explained in this story in one capacity or another, but if you want more clarity on what's happening right now, read on.
Why the Knights Radiant are returning now is not yet clear to the characters. However, the prologue shows that the evil god Odium, who rules over the creatures that humans know as Voidbringers (who call themselves the Fused) has been overtaken by Melkor. In canon (and also here) Odium and the Fused are imprisoned on Braize (the planet which the humans remember as Damnation) by a work of incredible magic called the Oathpact, which requires that the ten Heralds return to Damnation with them after every Desolation. If any of the Heralds allows the Voidbringers to pass into Roshar, a new Desolation begins. As such, the Fused tortured the Heralds to force them to break and allow them passage.
Heralds killed on Roshar automatically return to Braize. At Aharietiam, the Last Desolation, only one herald was killed—Talenel, nicknamed Taln. Taln was also, coincidentally, the only herald who had never once broken to allow the Voidbringers and Odium back into Roshar. It was theorized by the other Heralds that if they didn't return to Braize, Taln might be able to hold back Odium for a long time on his own, whereas any of them was at risk of breaking in a matter of years if not months. As such, the other nine Heralds abandoned the weapons which symbolized their office, the Honorblades, and went their separate ways, abandoning Taln to torture and solitude.
Despite this, Taln has never broken. 4500 years have passed since Aharietiam, and he has held back Odium all this time. However, the prologue ended with two events. First, Odium's previous Vessel, Rayse, had his consciousness overtaken by Melkor Bauglimar. Second, the Herald Chanarach finally died and was summoned back to Braize. Whether she has broken, or will break, remains to be seen—but in canon, a new Desolation began at the end of Book 2; and, by Word of God, we know that Talenel did not break to cause it.
There are more details that are relevant, but I think this is enough to get the gist of what's happening so far. Apologies for pinging anyone who knew all this already!
So there's been some non-Cosmere readers very confused on the SpaceBattles thread. To alleviate their confusion, I've posted a big primer on the story-so-far and linked it in the introduction there. I've also added the Roshar Lore Primer video to the introduction. Since I want to keep the introductions synchronized, I'm going to post both of those things here, starting with the video in this post.
The following video is a fairly comprehensive guide to the background lore of the world of Roshar, which manages not to spoil any part of the canon story.
I want to quickly go over a couple of things now that I have a free minute away from work for the morning. This story is structurally based on the Stormlight Archive in the same way that Ring-Maker was based on Worm. Just as Ring-Maker used arcs with subchapters interspersed with interludes, so Of Many Colors will have five parts with three or four interludes between them. Each chapter will have an icon associated with its primary narrator, and an epigraph derived from an in-universe document. Each part will open with a single page where I tell you who the narrators for that part will be. The prologue, as you have seen, is set on the night of King Gavilar's assassination, just like all of the prologues for the first five Stormlight novels. The five part titles are derived from a symmetrical ketek. Etc., etc.
As with the canonical Stormlight books, there are flashbacks interspersed variously throughout the current-event chapters. As with Rhythm of War, while there is one character who has the primary focus in these flashbacks, there are two who may have them in their perspective. The focus character for these flashbacks in Sarus, AKA Curumo, AKA Saruman. The secondary narrator... well, you'll see.
As with the Stormlight books, there is one character whose perspective will appear in at least one chapter in each set of interludes. In Of Many Colors, that character is Melkor.
The five parts of this story are titled thus:
Part 1: The Color of Heroism
Part 2: Yield to Envy
Part 3: Time Over Time
Part 4: Fear Yields
Part 5: Hero of Many Colors
There is one more thing that you should all be aware of up front, and it's something I'm a little nervous about.
While I was writing Ring-Maker, among the many, many criticisms I received was one that I was cleaving too close, at least up to about Arc 6, to canon. "Stations of canon" is the common phrasing. In the case if Ring-Maker, I do not think this criticism held much water. Things diverged in various ways from canon almost immediately—while, yes, certain events outside the main characters' direct control did still happen, the way those events shook out was markedly different.
Of Many Colors is a little different.
The first two whole parts of this story, according to my current outlines, are going to be surprisingly close to canon in terms of what happens when. Part 1 especially. I still intend to keep things fresh by focusing on different characters and making the story primarily about how the things I am changing are affecting the characters involved, but you should not expect things to go off the rails within the first five chapters the way they did in Ring-Maker. There is a reason for this. It is a feature, not a bug. But it is a feature that will take on the order of fifty chapters to fully materialize. I apologize for that, and I wanted to make sure you all went into it with open eyes. After part 2, of course, things will go nuts; and they will go nuts in ways that make the events of the previous two parts pay off in interesting ways. But it will require patience. A lot of patience.
My rule of thumb for canon divergence is that there are two things that can cause canon to diverge. The first is random chance. If an event is a result of the roll of the cosmic dice, I see it as well within my rights to have those dice turn up a different result. This type of divergence starts to happen immediately, but there is very little in the Cosmere that is truly random, especially on the worlds of actively-intervening Shards like Odium and Cultivation.
The other type of divergence is when a character who is changed in one way or another makes choices that were not made in canon. This type of divergence does not start to occur immediately. Again, feature. Not bug.
I thought it necessary to say all this up front because I know I generally hate stations of canon when the story follows rails for no clear reason. In this case, there is a reason. But I struggled a lot with myself before committing to these current plans.
I will post some of this information in the introduction.
(Will be updated with each chapter, to collect the whole epigraph in one place for ease of reading.)
Part One: The Color of Heroism
Something is very, very wrong. Have I gotten your attention yet? No jokes. You know I wouldn't write a letter at all if things weren't dire. I hope my tone can get it through to you just how dire they are. I realize you're still angry. I understand. I'd say I was sorry, but you know I abhor lying to friends. Your policy of nonintervention must come to an end. You may find issue with my tone of certainty. I ask that you read on to see why I take it.
I write to you now from Roshar, as you may know depending on how this letter found its way to you. However, quite recently I was on Ashyn, and there I saw things that, if I may be frank, I found utterly terrifying. Something has taken up residence there. Something terrible. Something I do not—perhaps cannot—understand. The surviving humans on Ashyn have started using its power, much as humans on shardworlds use Investiture. However, this power does not derive from a Shard. It does not appear to be Investiture at all. You may say this is impossible. Until I saw it for myself, I would have said the same. The word Investiture is, by design, a catch-all term. Yet what I saw on Ashyn breaks all the rules. The people of Ashyn are doomed, by the way. More so than they were already. These new powers have them killing one another in droves. Ashyn's lingering civilization will not survive the next few decades.
The thing giving them their power does not show itself directly. Even the most private of Shards, such as Endowment, are at least willing to allow themselves to be discovered. Whereas this creature seems to have countermeasures in place to actively prevent it from being noticed or observed by the humans it empowers. I only managed to see it because it allowed itself to be seen. I also appear to have had all but the vaguest impressions of that meeting wiped from my memory. The most disturbing facet of this is that I believe I wiped the recollection away myself in order to preserve my sanity. I suspect that, had I not done so, this letter would be mere gibberish. Or, more likely, I would be dead.
I can report only impressions of what I saw. I remember being awed and terrified by the sheer scale of the thing. I can only remember experiencing that feeling once before. You know where. Whatever it was, it was ravenous. I remember that: its intense hunger. Other than that, I can recall only a comparison I made at the time. It reminded me of an immense, terrible spider. Whatever this thing is, it is a threat to the whole cosmere. I see no indication that it intends to remain confined to Ashyn. It is a terror that will make Rayse and Ati look like children playing with masks. In the worst case, it may even work with Rayse to the ruin of us all. I am deathly afraid. I feel no shame in saying so. Had you seen this thing, you would be too. Please. I understand your reasons for neutrality, though I disagree with them, but they do not apply here. This is not Adonalsium's various aspects vying for dominance. This is something from outside Adonalsium's power entirely, and it will not stop until we are all dead.
Help me, old friend. I beg you. Part Two: Yield to Envy
I record these words because, should we fail tomorrow, there will be none left to remember them.
Gostir is dead. Even if he were not, his memory of that time would be markedly different from Koravellium's or my own. He remained loyal. Koravellium did not. I was born too late to have any loyalty in the first place, and Xisis is too young even to remember. If Koravellium and I fail tomorrow, we will surely be consumed by the fain and die. If that happens, not a soul will remain in the cosmere who remembers the world that came before. Unless, of course, one counts Adonalsium itself. And Adonalsium should not be counted. There is a consciousness behind it, but that consciousness does not reside within the hollow shell buried in the Well of Crystal. That consciousness remembers, as it remembers all things, but Adonalsium itself is no more conscious than my flame is once it leaves my lips. That leaves only Koravellium and myself. The last two dragons to remember what that means. A race once so terrible that our wingbeats heralded the endings of civilizations. The greatest experiment and success of the king of power.
I was born in the year 3128 of the Second Age of Arda. I was born under the name Krimfas. In those days, the dragons of the Withered Heath—where I was born—primarily communicated and gave their hatchlings names in the Black Speech as codified by Sauron, first lieutenant of our fell god. My own name translates, roughly, to 'the cold that binds.' More specifically, it refers to the bitter cold that makes flesh stick painfully to steel after a winter night. I have long since forgotten most of the Black Speech. It fell into disuse among the dragons during the early Third Age, and I rarely heard more than a few words of it after the Withered Heath was emptied in the early years of the Fourth Age, when the full might of Gondor renewed fell upon us.
Not many of us survived those purges. Most who did crept into tunnels deep beneath the mountains, hiding like the worms for which Men named us. For myself, I fled south. That was a dangerous road, for it took me nearer to Gondor. I traveled by night, first following the Anduin with the Misty Mountain beneath my right wing. I then turned left, crossing over the vastness of the Greenwood in a single long flight, six days without landing. When at last I reached the Celduin, the River Running, on the far side of that dire forest, I collapsed in exhaustion. I consider it a stroke of incredible fortune that I was not killed there while I slept. The Dwarves of Erebor, the Men of Dale, and the Avari of the reclaimed Greenwood were all hunting me, though I was at least safe from Gondor this far from their hunting bands. But somehow none happened upon me, though I slept for three days uninterrupted. Then I turned south and east, following the Celduin towards the Sea of Rhûn and the Ered Rhûn upon its western shores. And there I, like the rest of my surviving kin, crept into the dark and did my best to survive.
Over the next three millennia, my kind were hunted near to extinction. I, of course, knew little of this. For I had no contact with the outside world. I lived inside those caves, emerging only once every few decades when I could not find subterranean food to eat. No hoard had this dragon, save his own life. The few times I was happened upon by a roving band of orcs or an adventurer from Rhûn, I killed them or fled to a different mountain. What choice did I have? For if any found me and reported my location to their people, I was sure that I would be hunted and killed. Until, one day, I heard a thrumming deep within the mountain I had made my home. It was as though the very stones had come to life, complete with a sonorous heartbeat. I crept down into the very deepest caverns beneath the mountain. It was not curiosity, but caution which drove me. For I knew that while I might be seen as I explored, anything that would be dangerous to me as I investigated would be doubly so if it took me by surprise.
Nothing could have prepared me for what I saw down there in the dark. For one thing, it was not dark at all. A figure stood upon a platform of stone which seemed to have been Sung from the bedrock itself. He was humming a melody, soft as a summer breeze, yet loud as a thunderclap. His hands were upraised, and between his palms a heart of blue crystal was forming, sending twining veins of musical light creeping through the mountain. I fled. Of course I did. For this was no Man, nor Avari, nor Dwarf, Orc, or Goblin. This was an Ainu—and, more than that, I believe it was one of the Valar themselves. I still do not know what he was doing with the mountain, for I dared not stay to find out. I clambered from those deep caverns, climbing up through the narrow tunnels until I emerged out into the open sky for the first time in centuries.
What I saw remains burned in my memory. Great stone structures hung in the sky, with dark clouds drifting between them. They were perfectly silent and still, as if waiting for some sign that the time had come to fall. They were innumerable—they stretched from horizon to horizon, blanketing the world in their shadows. There was nowhere to run from this. The caves now hosted a Vala, and the sky was filled with terror. And so I, believing myself the last of Middle-earth's dragons, laid down on the shores of the Sea of Rhûn and closed my eyes, waiting for death. Death came. But it did not touch me.
I cannot describe what followed. It defies word or logic. A power came out of the West. The very power that, before my birth, had sunk Númenor beneath the waves and twisted the very shape of the earth, bending the world and the sky around one another. If anyone reads this, they will be used to a spherical world. But before Númenor was destroyed, Arda was a flat plane. Then the one the Elves called Ilúvatar struck out in terrible vengeance and destroyed Númenor. Where it sank, He bent the paths. Thereafter, only His chosen people could return to His lands in the Utter West. That power struck out again, and once again it Sundered the world. The earth beneath my feet shattered, and I found myself lingering on a single piece of what was once the only world. I saw thousands, millions, perhaps billions of other scintillae scattering out into the Void, leaving those terrible stone monoliths far behind. Then, beneath my feet, the shard on which I rode twisted. It transformed. What had been a stretch of shoreline and a few shattered mountains grew into a world in its own right. Then many worlds. A whole cosmere blossomed forth from the seed on which I had laid down to die. When at last the sound and terror ended, I was standing on this very ground. The world that would, one day, come to be known as Yolen.
That is the secret. The mystery that Men and Sho Del alike have tried in vain to uncover. The mythical birth of the cosmere. Ilúvatar destroyed one world to create many more. And, if we do not act before the fain can consume the Well of Crystal, Adonalsium will end what the God behind it began. Perhaps no one will read this. It seems all too probable, given that if we fail, Yolen is unlikely to survive. But I joined this company because I had hope. Hope that this cosmere, this fragment of the world-that-was, would see many more sunrises. I helped gather the Dawnshards. I provided the dragonsteel to house them. I helped forge them into the Shatterer. I did not do this because I crave the power that Adonalsium's fragments will offer. Others may take up those mantles, if we succeed. Indeed, if we do succeed, I would rather stay as far from Adonalsium's shards as possible. Koravellium may believe herself the equal of an Ainu, to wield the Song so directly, but I am humbler. No, I did all of this because I prefer life over death. Better an uncertain death tomorrow than a certain one once the Well of Crystal is corrupted, and the Cosmere is consumed by Silence. And also because I choose to have hope. Not faith—faith is for those who are not despised by God. Even if I die, even if all of us die, I have hope. Hope that, somehow, we will succeed. And that one day, someone will return to read these words. Part Three: Time Over Time
I don't think it would be wise for me to act directly and personally against Rayse. I maintain that we Shards must remain separate whenever possible. Even if I was willing to leave the Nalthian system, I don't think I should come to Roshar personally. But that doesn't mean I can't help you.
You've probably found him already, but there is a Returned on Roshar right now. He's had a few names—the last one he used before leaving Nalthis was Vasher. He has a weapon that could be useful in fighting a Shard, if you can use it safely. You probably can't. I don't think even he can. But it's something to consider. I have no idea what a Dawnshard would be doing on Ashyn either. I can confirm that Endure was still contained as of my last correspondence with its keeper. That was less than a year ago. I can't see how it could have gotten all the way to the Rosharan system that quickly. I don't know—nor do I want to know—where the others are. I assume you've kept track of Live, given you held it for some time. But you'd know better than me whether Unite or Change could have caused whatever you're seeing on Ashyn. Let me know what you find there.
I know you have contentious relationships with… well, just about all of our mutual acquaintances. Your own damn fault, for the record. I may not have done much to maintain my friendships, but you've actively burned every bridge you can get your hands on. Not a winning strategy if you ever want to get people's help in the future, although I assume you never intended on asking for it. They're less likely to want Rayse to tear me to pieces than they are you. Bavadin in particular has good reason to stop Rayse, given that if he gets free of Roshar, she's bound to be right at the top of his hit list. The new hybrid shard on Scadrial—what is he calling himself, Harmony?—might also have an enlightened self-interest in helping you, given Rayse's history coming after both of the other Shards who paired up rather than going our separate ways as we agreed. Then again, since that Vessel isn't one of the people you've spent ten thousand years antagonizing, you can probably talk to him yourself. Consider it your homework: talk to someone who knows what you are without making them want to strangle you.
Ceph… by now, you're probably wondering why I'm taking this tone. Why I'm acting as though I'm not one of the people you've done your level best to alienate. Honestly, I'm not completely sure either. When I started writing, I intended only to tell you I shared your concerns about Rayse. Which I do—Tanavast was a friend, once. And the thing is, so were you.
After some conversation on the SB mirror, I decided to go back and make minor edits to the chapter to convert it to a duel with side-swords. Multiple readers made compelling cases for why jousting, even if it might have appeared by the time of The Way Of Kings, would probably not be commonplace in Alethkar fifteen years earlier. I do not promise to do this sort of thing again, I just happened to have time this week. Mostly I wanted to see how hard it would be to convert. The changes were not difficult, but there were enough of them that rather than a full changelog I decided to just put the original here for posterity.
Thanks to Elran and BeaconHill for betareading, and to Phinnia for the commissioned icon.
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13
Always
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Whereas this creature seems to have countermeasures in place to actively prevent it from being noticed or observed by the humans it empowers.
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Fifteen Years Ago
"Don't run, Sarus," chided his mother gently.
Sarus forced himself to slow, falling back into step just a few paces ahead of her. "Well, hurry up then!" he demanded, looking back at her.
"The fair will still be there when we arrive, even if we take our time and don't get there sweaty and mussed."
"Fine…" He fell into step beside her, reaching up and taking her hand in his. She squeezed his fingers.
"That's a good boy," she said. "If you behave, we can stay for the joust."
Sarus brightened. There were jousts a few times a year in the lists outside the castle, but he usually wasn't allowed to go see them. "Really?"
"I promise. But only if you behave. Will you be good?"
"I'll be good!"
His mother smiled down at him. "I know you will."
It was easy to say he'd behave in the moment. It was harder to stay at pace with her leisurely stroll for the whole mile-long walk down the lane to the city. The castle was built into the west side of a mountain, high enough on the foothills that it still looked over the city in the valley below. The road zig-zagged down the slope. If Sarus had been alone, running freely without regard for the path, he could have made the journey in just a few short minutes. But his mother always insisted on taking the paths. "We are direct servants of Brightlord Sadeas," she would tell him. "We must behave the part."
Still, despite feeling like his body might burst with excitement, he managed to stay at pace with his mother. He did let go of her hand and dart away once or twice to check the vinebud clusters that grew alongside the cobblestone road. The variety that grew here in northwestern Alethkar produced succulent, violet berries in the autumn. Unfortunately, it seemed he was too early. The vinebuds had lost most of their conical, yellow flowers, but what few fruits had taken their places were still hard and gray, more like pebbles than berries.
"No vineberries yet?" his mother asked as she caught up with him.
"No. When will they grow, Mother?"
"Within a month, most likely. You're getting too old for sweets, you know."
Sarus frowned. "I don't want to stop eating vineberries. I don't care if they're sweet."
"I didn't say you have to stop eating them," she said. "I learned a recipe for a men's pie that uses vineberries last winter, but you were too young to start eating men's food then. I'll make it for you this Weeping."
"Will it be spicy?"
"Of course," she said. "It's men's food."
"I don't like spicy," he complained.
"You've hardly had spicy food yet," she pointed out. "You only started eating men's food three weeks ago. It will grow on you."
"What if I don't want it to grow on me?"
"Then I suppose you had best join the ardentia," she said dryly. "Where instead of learning to use the spear you can learn to read and write and eat sweets like a woman."
He stuck out his tongue. "Ew."
She laughed.
Truthfully, it didn't sound so terrible. His mother sometimes read him stories from the books in the castle library. She'd read him the history of Sunmaker's siege of Vedenar and his duel with King Renchilo of Herdaz. She'd read him the fable of Ishi'Elin on the Shore of Origins, how the cleverest of the Heralds had fooled a hundred Voidbringers into being crushed on the rocks by a newborn highstorm. She'd read him the tale of Pathas, a thief who had pilfered treasures from a hundred kings only to fall at the hands of the Highprince of Sadeas.
Some of the stories weren't true, he knew that. But even those that weren't had the seed of truth in them, or so his mother said. The Sunmaker really had united Alethkar, had really conquered all of Herdaz and even ridden as far as Azir. Pathas really had been a legendary thief who had been captured by a prince who had lived in the same castle where Sarus now lived with his mother.
And Ishi'Elin really had been a Herald who fought the Voidbringers long ago. According to the ardents, at least.
Sarus knew that, as a boy, he would one day have to put away those stories. He might be second nahn, but once he grew old enough to work, he would have to dedicate himself to his Calling. He didn't know what that Calling would be, but it wouldn't be history or fiction. Those were feminine arts. Perhaps when he was old enough to marry, his wife would read to him as his mother did now, but that was so far in the distant future as to be meaningless.
After an interminably long time, they did finally reach the gates of the city. Sadear was a blur of color, resplendent in flapping banners of green, red, and gold. Shopkeepers had flung the doors of their stores wide, and those who had dedicated assistants or apprentices had turned them outside to attract the attention of anyone who might have money to spend. In front of the stores were stalls for those who did not do business in the city year-round or who had come in with the fair's traveling performers.
Many tried to call out to his mother, but one called out to him. "Ho there, little one!" called a man at one stall, gesturing to a table of small wooden figurines painted in vibrant colors. "Wouldn't you like a new toy? A Sadeas heavy cavalryman, or a Kholin Shardbearer? I have a whole army for you to browse like a general surveying the troops!"
"Oh, Mother, may I?" he asked, looking up at her. "Just one?"
She glanced over at the display. "Do you think you'll play with it?" she asked. "Or will you forget it after only a few days?"
"I'll play with it! Please, Mother, may I have some spheres?"
"Now, now," she chided, glancing down at him. "You know you're not to carry spheres around. But I'll come and buy you one, so long as they're not too expensive." His mother never let him carry his own spheres. She always said there was no need for a child of barely five years to have his own purse.
A few minutes later, Sarus happily followed his mother away from the stall, a wooden cavalryman in green and silver armor aside a black charger clutched in his fingers. "Thank you!"
"You're welcome, Sarus," said his mother. "Now, don't lose that toy before we return home."
"I won't!"
They stopped for lunch at an outdoor pavilion serving foods he had never heard of. His mother ordered from the serving man who bustled between the circular tables. "Thaylen sweetfish for me," she said. "And the Azish flatbread for the little one. Moderately spiced, please."
As the man bustled away, Sarus grimaced at his mother. "Does it have to be moderately spiced?"
"You must grow used to spicier foods, little one," she said. "It would be a shame to join the ardentia just because you never got used to men's food."
That was fair, he supposed. If he did join the ardentia, it should at least be because he wanted to, not because he was a picky eater.
And when the food arrived, it was surprisingly good. Spicy, but maybe he really was getting used to that. "When is the joust?" he asked between bites.
"A few hours before sunset," said his mother. "We have just long enough for me to go to the produce market before then. I want to see if they have anything from Thaylenah."
"Why?"
"I tried a Thaylen cake a few weeks ago when I was waiting on Brightness Ialai. They were good, and I'd like to see if I can make them." Sarus' mother often did that. It was why they had stopped at this pavilion for lunch, rather than packing something from home. She frequently sought out foods from elsewhere on Roshar, places neither of them would ever go.
As it turned out, the market didn't have Thaylen cakes. But they did have some Thaylen bread—an odd, puffy loaf which yielded to the merchant's fingers, then bounced back as if he hadn't even touched it. His mother bought it along with a jar of Azish truthberry jam. She slipped both into her purse, then offered to put Sarus' cavalryman in with them.
"No," he said, clutching the wooden toy in both hands. "I want him out when I see the joust. To compare."
As if his words had been a cue, a trumpet rang out from the fields outside the city. He jumped in excitement. "Mother, is that—"
"That will be the joust," she said, smiling at him. "And you have been very good, so we'll stay to see it."
They weren't the only ones moving in that direction. Sarus' mother kept a tight grip on his hand as they followed the crowd walking down the thoroughfare in the direction of the city's western gate.
The lists were marked by a rope, suspended by metal stakes which had been driven into the rock. A stable along the city wall had been repurposed for the contestants' horses. There were wooden stands for the lighteyed spectators to sit in, but darkeyes like Sarus and his mother had to stand further back, behind a second rope barrier.
Still, they had been fairly close to the lists when the trumpets rang out, so they managed to find a good place. It was fairly near to the gate where lighteyes entered the lists and stands, and gave a good view of the arena itself. Sarus clutched the rope in front of him with one hand, the other holding his cavalryman, eagerly waiting for the show to start. It couldn't start yet, of course. The best spectator's box wasn't yet filled. No one would start before the Highprince arrived.
Suddenly, Sarus' mother breathed in sharply. Sensing the change in her mood, Sarus looked up, then followed her gaze towards the path leading to the lighteyes' gate.
Three familiar people walked up the lane. Highprince Sadeas wore a dark green uniform, with silver buttons in two columns running up the sides of his breast. Beside him, Brightness Ialai wore a glittering silvery dress with green trim, perfectly complementing his outfit.
Between them was a girl Sarus knew. Tailiah's hair was done in a braid, and she wore a frilly dress in a pale green. She was young enough that her safehand was not yet covered by the sleeve of a havah, but she carried it daintily behind her back, already practicing for the day when she would have to begin hiding it in public.
Her eyes found Sarus'. Her face brightened. She started moving, passing her parents and coming in his direction.
Sarus' mother grabbed for his hand. He dropped his cavalryman as she tugged him, back into the crowd and away from the joust. He tried to reach down with his free hand, but by the time he knew what was happening, they had left the toy far behind. He glanced up, catching Tailiah's confused, hurt eyes until she vanished behind a man's broad back.
Sarus resisted the urge to throw a tantrum. He was better than that—and he understood why they had left so suddenly. Tailiah should have known, too. But it was probably much easier to forget these things as the highprince's daughter than as the son of one of his maids. He swallowed that bitterness down.
Instead of complaining, he turned and jogged a little to keep up with his mother, so that she wasn't pulling him along like a cart behind a chull. "We're out of sight," he told her.
She slowed. "Are you sure?" She glanced back. "Oh, good, so we are."
He swallowed. "I lost my cavalryman."
"Oh, darling, I'm so sorry," she said, looking down at him with sad eyes. "I'll buy you a new one, if you'd like."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, it's okay. But can we go back to see the joust, once Brightlord Sadeas and his family have sat down?"
There was an odd expression on his mother's face. "I told you we could see the joust if you were good," she said. "And you have been very, very good. Yes, we can go back. In just a few minutes."
The view wasn't as good anymore. But Sarus could still see the warriors clashing, lances striking shields as they unhorsed one another. It was good enough.
That night, after they had returned home, Sarus' mother spread the Azish jam over the Thaylen bread. It was very sweet. "You were very good today, Sarus," she said, smiling at him over their small table. "You've earned a meal without having to worry about eating proper men's food."
"Thank you," he said, looking down at the green jam spread over the puffy, almost cakey bread. Then he looked up and met her eyes. "Should I not be friends with Tailiah?" he asked.
Her face fell. "Oh, darling… it's not that simple."
"I know." And he did. "She's second dahn. We're second nahn."
"Yes. But that's—it's Tailiah's choice, and her family's choice, if she wants to interact with you. But her parents don't want her to interact with you out in public, especially not in front of other lighteyes. It's not that you can't be friends, dear one. It's just that, right now, you probably shouldn't be friends out in the city."
He nodded. "I'll be careful."
His mother didn't really understand what he'd been asking. He understood why they'd had to leave the joust, abandoning their prime view of the lists, just to avoid being seen as familiar with the highprince's daughter. His question, rather, was a strategic one. Is it too dangerous for me to remain friends with Tailiah? Do I need to tell her we mustn't be seen together anymore, even within the castle?
But though his mother hadn't given him the question, he understood the answer well enough. Yes. It was too dangerous. The wise thing to do was to break away from Tailiah now, when she was still too young to enact vengeance for hurt feelings and while she still had parents to help her understand the situation.
But it also wasn't Sarus' choice. It was Tailiah's. Because she was the lighteyes, and he was the darkeyes, and that was simply the way of the world.
Soon after, his mother sent him to bed. The only light in his small bedroom was the moonlight which streamed in through the window out into the courtyard. His mother always took the spherelamp out of his room when it was time for him to sleep.
He lay awake, staring up at the stone ceiling, thinking. It was just another part of growing up, really. He had to start eating men's food. He had to stop demanding stories from his mother. And, yes, he had to stop playing with Tailiah. He understood why.
That didn't mean it didn't hurt.
There was a sudden tapping on his window. He blinked and sat up.
There was a small figure outside in the courtyard. Her head barely cleared the windowsill. Her eyes caught Mishim's light and sparkled green.
He couldn't help but smile wryly as he stood and opened the window. "You shouldn't be here," he said.
"Don't care," said Tailiah in a whisper. She reached up, holding something out to him. In the moonlight he could see that its paint was a little chipped, but it was unmistakably his little Sadeas cavalryman. "I think I made you drop this."
His mouth quivered. Bizarrely, he suddenly felt like crying. "Thanks," he said, taking the figurine.
"It was my fault you lost it in the first place," she said. "I'm sorry you didn't get to see the joust."
"I did, actually. We came back once you'd sat down."
"Oh, that's good." She smiled at him. The greenish moonlight glistened in her hair, no longer in its tight braid, and shimmered on the shoulders of her pale nightgown. "Mom was mad that I went over to you. I know I shouldn't have. I just forgot. You don't usually go out to the city."
"I convinced Mother to take me to the fair this year. It was nice."
"I imagine it was different for you than for me," said Tailiah, grimacing. "I had the privilege of joining Brightness Palinal for tea. She's the only person I know who can be boring after two whole glasses of sapphire wine."
Sarus laughed quietly. "Is she still boring after three?"
"After two, Mom usually decides she's been enough of a bad influence on me for one day," Tailiah said. She glanced over her shoulder. "I should get back to my rooms before someone notices I'm gone."
"Yes, you should."
She looked up at him. "I'll be more careful, I promise," she said. "But we'll still be friends, Sarus. We'll always be friends."
Sarus' hand shook on his wooden cavalryman. "Always," he promised.
Tailiah smiled at him again, then turned and darted back into the night.
It had no eyes, but he felt its gaze on him nonetheless. "I don't believe you," it said simply. "You sssspeak the words in desperation, but you don't mean them. You can't. I am ssssorry."
It had no eyes, but he felt its gaze on him nonetheless. "I don't believe you," it said simply. "You sssspeak the words in desperation, but you don't mean them. You can't. And I will not consign myself to die on vain hope alone. I am ssssorry."
I've been having a lot of trouble keeping up on both this story and Empyrean for quite a while now. More, though not all, of the interruptions have been on Empyrean, but it's been a problem for both. And as of right now I have no chapters written for either story, and not even a clear outline for what to write next. I have only a very basic sketch of the first chunk of Part 3 of Of Many Colors, and only a handful of scattered notes for the next couple chapters of Empyrean. I'm simply not able to outline properly when I'm scrambling to get my chapters written by the deadlines.
So I'm going on hiatus—for both stories. I realize those words are filled with dread for anyone who has been reading fanfiction for more than a few weeks. We've all seen stories 'go on hiatus' and then end up abandoned without even the courtesy of a clear announcement. This is not one of those cases. I hope the fact that I've been updating on a moderately regular schedule for years now is enough to earn me at least some trust on that score. I do not think this will be a long break. I expect to be back before the end of June, actually, but I don't want to commit to that just yet.
I have three things I want to have done before I come back:
A complete outline of the rest of Empyrean. I believe I'm more than halfway through the story, probably 60-65%, and it's high time I had a full outline.
An outline of Part 3 of Of Many Colors. I still don't know what's happening in Part 3 beyond the first few chapters. I have a lot of specific ideas for things to happen later on, but they haven't crystallized into a clear thread.
At least three chapters of each story drafted and in the pipeline.
If I was at my best, I could theoretically have all of that done in less than two weeks. More realistically, it'll take me a few. But I have clear goals, and a clear roadmap, and these will set me up for success with (hopefully) minimal interruptions after I return.
Sorry to have to do this. It sucks for me as much as for all of you. Hopefully it won't be long.
![Of Many Colors [Stormlight Archive/Lord of the Rings]](/data/threadmark-index-icons/l/65/65022.jpg?1661803183){kind=icon}
