“Follow him, and you’ll be able to justify anything. Lying to your soldiers? Necessary, to get them to do their work. Gathering wealth? You need it to further your important goals. Killing innocents? All to forge a stronger nation.” He eyed Adolin. “Murdering a man in a back alley, then lying about it? Well, the world is better off without him. In fact, there are a lot of people this world could do without. Let’s start removing them quietly.…”
Maybe I murdered Sadeas, Adolin thought. But at least I never killed anyone innocent. At least I didn’t burn my own wife to death.
There it was. The seething knot deep inside him, the one Adolin didn’t dare touch lest it burn him. He knew Dalinar had been a different man then. A man not in his right mind, betrayed, consumed by the power of one of the Unmade. Besides, Dalinar hadn’t killed Adolin’s mother on purpose.
One could know these things without feeling them. And this. Wasn’t. Something. You. Forgave.
Adolin shoved that furious knot down and didn’t let it rule him, ignoring the angerspren at his feet. He said nothing to his father. He didn’t trust the anger, the frustration, and—yes—the shame churning within. If he opened his mouth, one of the three might come out, but he couldn’t say which.
“You either believe as Taravangian does,” Dalinar said, “or you accept the better path: that your actions define you more than your intentions. That your goals and the journey used to attain them must align. I’m trying to stop you before you do some things you will truly, sincerely regret.”
“And if I think the actions I’ve taken are worthy?” Adolin said.
“Then perhaps we need to consider that my training of you in your youth was faulty. That is not surprising. I was not exactly the best of examples.”
It’s about you again, Adolin thought. I can’t have an opinion or make choices—I’m only acting like this because of your influence.
Kelek, Jezerezeh, and Heralds above! Adolin loved his father. Even now, with everything he’d learned about what Dalinar had done. Even with … that event. He loved his father. He loved that Dalinar tried so hard, and he had become someone far better than he’d once been.
But Damnation. This last year, Adolin had begun to realize how difficult it could be to live around the man.
“Maybe,” Adolin said, calming himself with effort. “Maybe—incredible though it may seem—there are more than two choices in life. I’m not you, but that doesn’t mean I’m Taravangian. Maybe I’m my own brand of wrong.”
Dalinar rested his hand on Adolin’s shoulder. It should have been comforting, but Adolin couldn’t help but see it as a way to control the conversation. To put himself in the position of father, and Adolin squarely into his role as whining child.
“Son,” Dalinar said, “I believe in you. Go, succeed on this mission. Convince the honorspren that we’re worthy of them. Prove to them that we have men waiting to take up the oaths and soar.”
Adolin glanced at his father’s hand on his shoulder, then met the man’s eyes. There was something in those words …
“You want me to become one of them, don’t you?” Adolin said. “Part of the purpose of this trip, in your eyes, is for me to become a Radiant!”
“Your brother is worthy,” Dalinar said, “and your father—against his best efforts—has proven worthy. I’m sure you will prove yourself too.”
As if I didn’t have enough burdens.
Complaints died on Adolin’s lips—complaints that there were likely thousands of worthy people in the world and not all of them would be chosen. Complaints that he was fine with his life and didn’t need to live up to some spren’s ideals.
Instead, Adolin simply bowed his head and nodded. Dalinar won the argument. The Blackthorn was unaccustomed to anything else. It wasn’t that Adolin agreed, but more that he didn’t know what to think, and that was the real problem. He couldn’t stand up to his father with maybes.
Dalinar clapped him on the shoulder with his other hand and wished him farewell. Adolin walked Gallant into the chamber—highprince, leader of the expedition, and somehow still a little boy.
It was crowded inside with the horses. These circular control buildings had a rotating inner wall, along with murals on the floor indicating various locations. Normally in order to initiate a swap, a Radiant used their Shardblade as a key to rotate the inner wall to the proper point.
Today, Shallan did something different. At a nod from him, she summoned her Shardblade and fit it into the keyhole on the wall. Then she kept pushing, her sword melting out like a silvery puddle on the wall, the hilt flowing like liquid around her hand.
She lifted her hand upward, moving the entire locking mechanism straight up. In a flash, they were thrown into Shadesmar.
I have reached out to the others as you requested, and have received a variety of responses.
Over the last week, Adolin had tasked his soldiers with making the transfer to Shadesmar several times. He’d even sent the horses in and out to make certain they wouldn’t panic. So most everyone was ready for what they saw. Nevertheless, they all—Adolin included—fell silent, struck by the incredible sights.
The sky was black as midnight, only without stars. The sun seemed too distant, too frail, to properly light the place, though he wasn’t in darkness. He could easily see the small platform around them, which was the size of the control room. The sunlight illuminated the landscape, but strangely didn’t light the sky.
The control room hadn’t come with them. Instead, two enormous spren stood in the air nearby: the attendants of this gateway, thirty or forty feet tall, one marble white and the other onyx.
Adolin raised a hand toward them as he stepped across the platform. “Thank you, Ancient Ones!” he called.
“It is done as the Stormfather requires,” the marble one replied, voice booming. “Our parent, the Sibling, has died. We will obey him instead.”
Long ago, a mysterious spren named the Sibling had lived in Urithiru. It was now dead. Or sleeping. Or maybe that was the same thing. Spren answers about the Sibling contradicted one another. In any case, before dying, the Sibling had commanded these sentries to stop allowing people into Shadesmar.
Many of the gatekeepers maintained this rule. However, a few had listened to the Stormfather’s request. They said that in the absence of other Bondsmiths, Dalinar and the Stormfather were worthy of obedience—even in contradiction of ancient orders.
That was fortunate, for while Shallan could slip into Shadesmar using her powers, she couldn’t take anyone with her—and she couldn’t return on her own. Even Jasnah, whose powers supposedly allowed it, had trouble bringing herself back from Shadesmar.
This platform was one of ten set upon tall pillars here, rising in a pattern similar to the one the Oathgates made in front of Urithiru. Adolin could see the other sentries hanging above them.
Each pillar had a long spiraling ramp around it, leading down to the bead ocean far below. But the tower itself was far more majestic than any other sight. Adolin turned around, gazing up at the shimmering mountain of light and colors. The mother-of-pearl radiance didn’t exactly mimic the shape of the tower, but had a more crystalline feel to it. Except it wasn’t physical, but light. Radiant, resplendent, and brilliant.