Dawnshard (The Stormlight Archive, #3.5)(21)

At the same time, Nikli closed the body’s most obvious set of eyes—its human eyes, which were actually functional, something Nikli was proud of. Most Sleepless used prop eyes. That caused their sight lines to be off, easier to notice.

With the body’s eyes closed, it was easier to feel the distant pieces of the self. Spread all across Roshar. And Nikli could make them buzz, communicating with the others, speaking directly from mind to mind as its buzzes were interpreted by hordelings bred specifically for the purpose.

We, Nikli sent to the others, have a problem.

Indeed we do, Nikliasorm, sent Alalhawithador, who had a low, angry buzz. They aren’t responding to your encouragements to turn back. You have failed. Other measures will be required.

The problem is not that, Nikli sent. The problem is that I am coming to like them.

This is not unexpected, Yelamaiszin sent. It had a smooth, calming buzz. It was First, the oldest of the swarms on Roshar. Nikli was the Twenty-Fourth, youngest of them. I like the Bondsmith, for example, though I know he will destroy us.

He will not, Zyardil sent. Its buzz was punctuated and sharp. He has made the decision of Honor.

That is why he will destroy us, Yelamaiszin replied. He is more dangerous now, not less.

This is a different argument, said Alalhawithador, who was Third—a swarm almost as old as Yelamaiszin. You like these humans, Nikliasorm. That is good. We are so bad at imitating them, and you learn well from your travels. More of us should spend time studying humans, to become like them.

Plus, Yelamaiszin said, we should have compassion for those we must cull. It is good you like the humans.

Must we cull them though? Nikli replied.

Humans are a fire that must be contained, Yelamaiszin said with its calm buzz. You are young. You were not yet Separated during the scouring.

I would like to try again to ward them away, Nikli sent.

This is a mess, said Alalhawithador, the angriest of the swarms. It should not have gone this far. You should have killed them before this.

They should not have found the ship, Zyardil sent. This would all be contained if it hadn’t been discovered.

It was sent to sink, Alalhawithador replied. It could not have survived storms without help. Its discovery is no coincidence.

Arclomedarian crosses us again, said Yelamaiszin, the First. It meddles more and more. It has met with these new Radiants.

Are we certain it was wrong to do so? Nikli asked. Perhaps that was the wise move.

You are young, Yelamaiszin sent, calm and sure. Youth is beneficial in some ways. You learn faster than us, for example. Nikli could imitate humans better than the others. When the swarm that had become Nikli had been Separated, it had already contained hordelings evolved for this subterfuge. Nikli had further evolved them, and was now certain that the body didn’t need the tattoos to cover the seams in its skin.

Arclomedarian is dangerous, Nikli sent. I can see this. But it is not as dangerous as the true traitors.

Both are equally dangerous, Yelamaiszin sent. Trust us. You do not bear the scars of memory older swarms do.

We must listen to the youthful, Zyardil snapped. They are not set in their ways! The humans that come this time are not pirates, First, looking only for lucre. They are more persistent. If we kill them, there will be more.

My plan is the best, Alalhawithador sent with a feisty set of buzzing noises. Let them breach the storm.

No, Yelamaiszin said. No, we must prevent that.

At this point of conflict, the question was sent to all of the swarms—all twenty that still accepted the leadership of the First—to ask. Was it time to sink the human ship?

The responses were tallied. It was a stalemate, they decided. Half wanted to let the humans reach the storm—where they would either fall to the winds or enter the realm of the Sleepless. Half wanted to kill them immediately, before the storm. Several, like Nikli, abstained from the vote.

Nikli’s own swarm buzzed with relief and satisfaction at the uncertainty in the others. This was an opening.

I would like to try one more time to ward them off, Nikli repeated. I have an idea that I believe will work, but I will need help.

This was sent to another vote, and Nikli’s bodies—the distant ones, not on the ship—all vibrated with anticipation.

Yes, the vote came. Yes, Nikli should be allowed to try again.

It hurts us to kill Radiants, let alone one of the Sighted, said Yelamaiszin, the First. You may try this plan. If it fails, however, I will hold another vote—and you must be willing to take more drastic measures.





7





“Does something about the crew seem strange to you?” Lopen asked as he lounged in the air about three feet off the deck, hands behind his head, floating beside Cord.

The sturdy Horneater was mixing something that smelled good. It was pungent with the spices that he associated with Rock’s cooking—which wasn’t spicy hot, just . . . full of other flavors. Interesting ones. This dish, though, also had an oceany scent she said came from seaweed. Who ate weeds? Weren’t her people supposed to eat shells?

“Strange?” she asked Lopen. “Crew?”

“Yeah. Strange.” He watched several of the sailors go tromping past, and they kept shooting him looks. Rua trailed after them in the air, invisible to everyone but Lopen and Cord, who, like her father, could see all spren.

“You all strange,” she admitted. Each word was hesitant, but her Alethi was progressing well.