Chapter Text
Part 1: Songs Begin
Danahui, Kaladin, Shallan, Hesina
-1-
Humming to Herself
“Despite your words of understanding, I am well aware that our parting pains you. Please know that it wounds me just as deeply. I shall miss our walks in the garden, our stolen moments in your father’s halls, your breathless whispers in the throws of passion. I will return for you, but I know not when. Believe in me, dear one. Believe in us.”
—Excerpt from a correspondence, marked as being from Ana Kevanar to Ramora Toma, daughter to Citylord Toma. Sent Tanatashev 1173, collected and copied in-transit
As Salas crept higher and higher into the night sky, setting the scene in a somber violet hue, Danahui strolled into the small town of Hearthstone, passing by home after home with a skip in her step.
It would have been nice to whistle, to provide herself some minor musical accompaniment, but that would rather defeat the purpose of sneaking into the community in the dead of night, would it not?
A few deep bass notes rumbled from the corner of her mind, confirming that yes, it would defeat the purpose, that this was a serious task, and that she should damn well treat it that way.
The familial grumpiness did nothing to wipe the wide, toothy grin from Danahui’s face or the sparkle from her dark amber eyes.
Now, let me see... She pulled out a note from one of the pockets of her purple vest. Looking over the instructions sent to her, she confirmed to herself she’d remembered correctly. The home in question is wide, with two entrances... it should be... around... here!
Passing by the donation box set outside what Danahui assumed was the surgical suite, she approached the front door of the abode and rapped her knuckles against it firmly, but hopefully not so much that the sound would carry to the neighbors. This was a thing Danahui had to worry about often, considering her strength in arm.
There were sounds of confusion and alarm from inside, barely audible through the walls. Ah, they had been sleeping. I shall wait. Tapping her fingers to a beat on her thigh, Danahui stood there as patiently as she could, until finally the door opened and she met the first of her charges.
A man stood just inside, a short one with a balding pate and suspicious eyes. “Is there an emergency?” His looked around, searching for a patient. Yes, this is right place. 'Excellent work, Danahui'. Oh please, Danahui, it was nothing.
It made sense for the small man to be worried. A knock on the door in the middle of the night, revealing a woman nearly six and a half feet tall, with long flowing red hair unconstrained by tail or bun or braid and an obvious strength in her bare arms? Even with her deliberately friendly expression, Danahui was an intimidating woman.
Also, quite the odd woman. To be walking around in the chill of an autumn night in only a vest and trousers, the top a dark shade of purple, embroidered with black stitching and short enough to expose her midriff as much as it did her arms. The glove on her left hand, a silly acknowledgement of lowlander customs, matched the vest in color, and the black pants she wore were tailored tight enough to reveal rather than to conceal all that they contained.
She saw Lirin’s dark eyes settle for a moment on the wooden case Danahui carried on her back, one strap slung around her shoulder, before moving his attention back to her face. He had no clue that within that box contained the most precious item on all of Roshar, at least by Danahui’s personal estimations.
“Hmm,” Danahui considered the question, tapping a calloused finger to her chin. “This situation, yes, you could call her such a thing, though not in way you are thinking.” She spoke with her usual accent, the same one people would expect from an obviously Unkalaki woman, playing with the structure of her sentences to properly capture the right grammatical errors in Alethi. “May this conversation be continuing inside your home?”
She watched the man, Lirin, chew on the idea before nodding and stepping aside, allowing Danahui to move past him into his abode.
It was a small residence, but a comfortable one. Rich in the sort of small touches that came from lifetimes lived inside of it. Chalk markings on one wall, horizontal lines marking up and up, at first in pairs, then alone. Impressions in chairs worn down by use, arranged around a table, two of which were gathering dust.
“Lirin, who is it?” The voice came from the bedroom, dulcet and intoxicating as violet wine. A woman emerged, hair tousled from sleep, and Danahui felt her smile grow by degrees. This, she knew, must be the mother, Hesina.
Suddenly, the task she and her sisters had taken on became much more enjoyable. Hesina was a woman of rugged beauty, like a cliff weathered by time and storms into a landscape worthy of a great artist’s attention. Those full lips, thin face, and sharp chin were all perfect pieces in and of themselves, but when assembled as they were, they made a visage so utterly gorgeous that Danahui knew she’d be dreaming of it until the day she died.
While Danahui was appreciating her, Lirin answered the question as best he could. “I’m not sure, but she seems to think it was worth waking us up.” The surgeon fixed Danahui with a stare, eyes soft but intense. “Well?”
“My name is Una’abatosaia’danahui, but you may call me ‘Danahui’, though many uncultured Vorin lowlanders take the shortening of the name further, to simply ‘Dana’.” She gave an extravagant half-bow with her introduction, which had little effect on Lirin but won a smile from his wife. “I am here because I was commanded to be.”
“By who?” Hesina pushed.
“What for?” Lirin followed.
Danahui pursed her lips, doing her best to recall exactly how much she was supposed to share, and which lies she was supposed to tell. “You two... are having child, yes? Surgeon, sent to Kharbranth?” It had been explicit in Jasnah’s instructions not to gender this ‘Kaladin’ as a woman before her parents, something about how the woman preferred to do it herself when the time came.
This was a thing Danahui respected. That song was Kaladin’s to perform, it had no business in Danahui’s mouth.
Speaking of their daughter made both parents relax visibly, though Lirin looked to be doing his best to hide that relief. Quite the guarded little man. “Kaladin sent you?” Hesina asked, taking a step closer as she did.
“That is case, yes. I am having a letter from this Kaladin, one that is meant for you.” Reaching into a pocket, Danahui removed and unfolded the paper, proffering it towards Hesina. “I was given understanding of situation broadly, but did not try reading of the letter myself. If you would like, I can be stepping out while you are looking over letter.”
“If you wouldn’t mind, please step into the surgery room,” Lirin said.
Bowing her head, Danahui followed where he’d gestured, entering the dark room and giving the couple space to learn exactly how dire things had gotten.
Danahui was an inveterate liar, but it was true that she hadn’t read the letter.
Her sisters, however? Oh, they could be greedy creatures. Not a scrap of paper could pass through the hands of the Lady or the Mercenary without them wanting to peek. Curiosity, that could be a virtue, but Danahui was quite content with not knowing everything she possibly could. Her brain, it would burst! What a tragedy for the world, so many songs never sung! Danahui could not allow it.
Rather than calling her back into the main living quarters, Lirin and Hesina joined Danahui in the darkened surgery suite, both of their expressions clouded with internal strife.
I have to wonder, which is causing them more worry: That they must leave their home, or that their lives are in unspeakable danger? From her own experience, the former could be just as traumatic, if not more so, than the latter.
Hesina opened a drawer, retrieving a bowl of spheres to provide some light while they spoke. Loose change to some, bodily needs sated for a week to others.
“Even if this letter is really from Kaladin,” Lirin began, but before he could say more, his wife gave him a pointed look. He sighed. “Considering that this letter is definitely from Kaladin, it doesn't say anything about who you are. How do we know you're really the one he sent to help us?”
Reverberations pulsed in a curious beat through the web of Danahui’s mind, an impossible sound no instrument could make. The Lady was appreciative of this man’s skepticism, she saw it as a good sign of his ability to survive this journey.
Once, years ago, the Lady would have spoken her thoughts in a sound of bow on strings, so similar to Danahui’s own mental musicality. But time had changed her.
Time changes them all.
Danahui faced down this pessimism with her wide grin still firmly entrenched, gesturing with one hand. “You do not. I could be handing over every letter I am carrying, a stack of evidence as high as Danahui's knee, but even these would not be enough, yes? For what are paper words compared to the risk before you? Reasons unknown, your lives sit on the edge of a cliff.
“Am I a helping hand, or the push towards a messy end?” She laughed from the diaphragm, the sound echoing through the home. “You cannot know! So, will you trust Danahui? Or will Danahui have to fulfill her obligation by more rude means? Deliver you to safety bound and unwilling? She would not savor this task, but she would do it.”
The ultimatum sat before the married couple, and Danahui knew immediately what they had chosen.
Yet, before either could say it out loud, a cry rang out from deeper in the home, from the bedroom.
In an instant, Danahui stepped back, letting the Mercenary take the lead with a scowl settling on their face. Her entire posture shifted, muscles tensed and ready for violence, hand reaching back to the pocket where a weapon lay ready to use.
“It must have been your laugh,” Hesina said, turning away, having missed the change in the body's stance. “I’ll get him... at this point, he’ll have to wake up anyway, won’t he?” Then she retreated, and it occurred to the Mercenary exactly what she had just heard.
A child’s cry.
Feeling frustrated and foolish, the Mercenary stepped back, letting Danahui return. The body loosened, the grin returned, and she was left to ponder just what exactly this sound meant. “You two are having infant child?” she asked Lirin.
It was obvious from the way he looked at her, the silent judgment in his eyes, that he’d seen what his wife had missed. “...yes. We sent word to Kaladin, but I suppose that letter didn’t make it in time.” Then he sighed, and Danahui could see the way time and trauma had bent this man low before his time.
At best, he was in his forties, and yet he looked at least a decade older. Thin and worn.
Danahui knelt down, lowering herself until she and the man were level, eye-to-eye. “Your child, he is going to be safe.” As a performer, Danahui had developed a wide vocal range, and for this, she settled into something lower, yet warmer. The kind of voice that would display confidence, a thing the woman was always having in abundance. “You do not know me, surgeon, but I am first daughter of first daughter of the Lowest Peak, and I swear to you on everything I cherish that your family shall not perish while I draw breath. It is not mattering if Danahui's body is crushed, her spirit broken, so long as you persist.”
“That isn’t how this works.” Lirin shook his head, frowning at her. “If we’re entrusting our lives to you, then you can’t die either.”
“I’ll second that opinion,” Hesina said as she re-entered the room, carrying her child in her arms. It was a tiny thing, already with a full head of dark hair, and such curious eyes. The high notes of a pick on taught strings came in a rush, a flurry of delighted sound, as the Master-servant made obvious her appreciation for this tiny child. Yes, well, when it is being your turn, dear sister, you can spoil him as much as you are wanting. A few more strums, a sign of elated agreement.
Standing with a stretch, Danahui leaned close to the baby, speaking softly. “Hello, tiny person. You are having the pleasure to meet Danahui, greatest musician in history of Jah Keved. I am sure you will be remembering this day for the rest of your life.” Her words got a laugh out of Hesina, while the recipient leaned closer before snatching a lock of her thick red hair and pulling as hard as he could.
This was not very hard, but it still hurt. “That’s what you get for getting too close, wordweaver,” Hesina chided her. She helped retrieve the hair out of the beast’s grasp, before smiling at Danahui in a way that made her consider if, perhaps, misbehaving was worth it if it meant being scolded by this woman.
“So, you two can be packing up, then we shall depart under cover of night?” Danahui suggested, stepping outside of hair-pulling range and resting her arms akimbo once more.
Lirin cleared his throat. “I can handle the packing, but there’s more to be done than that. We’ll need to inform at least some of the town that we’re leaving.” He responded to Danahui’s blank stare with a heated retort. “These people rely on me. I cannot simply disappear.”
“Hmm, this is not so true. You certainly can, and it would be safer for all involved, yes?” Her suggestion hit a wall, not only with Lirin, but with his wife as well.
“He’s right. Tell me where it is exactly that we’re going, and I’ll spread the word.”
Danahui sighed, but accepted this was simply the way things were going to have to go. It was out of her control. “We will be heading to Kevanar estate, in Jah Keved.” She could tell they had questions about where exactly that was and why it would be their destination, but it was not the time for such queries.
“Good. Hesina can tell our neighbors, then when we’re ready to leave, we can stop by the citylord’s manor, and tell him too.”
Under her breath, Danahui muttered a string of epithets in Unkalaki, cursing the Lady and the princess who'd reached out to her for getting them into this ana’kai mess. As wondrously beautiful as Hesina was, would her presence even out this kind of dangerous stupidity? “No, you will not do this thing. I shall.” She pointed off towards the hills outside of town. “There is a wagon with a chull, he is mine. We all meet there, and we leave as soon as we are able.”
There were no arguments on that point, at least. The three adults separated, Hesina handing off the baby to his father while she spread word of their departure.
Leaving Danahui to stroll out of the town towards the citylord who could tear this entire plan to shreds with a word.
Over her years as a traveling musician, Danahui had been to a fair number of lighteyed estates.
She’d found that one could intuit much from the decor such people surrounded themselves with. Bare-bones approaches often spoke to a military mindset, the kind of man who would rather be out on the field than back in his own home. Too lavish an interior allowed one to infer an obsession with status, a desire to be seen as more than one was. Something more personal, though? With hand-carved statues and well-tended shalebark and...
The music that followed Danahui everywhere, that only she could hear, quieted at the thought. That home was gone. Nothing she did, nothing any of them did, would bring it back.
Danahui let out a breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding, and went back to studying the furnishings as she waited for this excursion to be over. Trophies of hunts, all old, hung on the wall near maps of Alethkar. A longing for something lost, perhaps?
The idea made her laugh. That, at least, was something she could relate to.
“Welcome to my home. What matter is so pressing that it requires my attention at this late hour?” A soft voice, from behind. Danahui turned around to see she’d been so rapt up in the decor, she’d missed the entrance of her host.
Laral Roshone was a striking woman.
She was at least a head and a half shorter than Danahui, her dark hair mixed with streaks of blonde, her pale green eyes keen. Laral did her best to square her narrow shoulders, to stand beyond her height, back straight and hands folded before her. It was as though she was ashamed of her own youth, and considering what Danahui knew of her marriage, it was a sensible strategy.
Perhaps, in another life, I could sing sweet songs to this lady, ones to calm her heart and ease her burdens. But that was not this life, alas.
Giving the young woman a full bow, flourishing her arms and inclining her head with the motion, Danahui answered the question. “It is a matter of life and death.” Then she rose back up to her full height, looking around at the room, empty of any save her and Laral, and asked, “Is your husband not joining us, brightlady?”
“No, he is not.” There was a heat to her words, as though offended at the question. Considering the man’s age, perhaps he is not entirely able of making an appearance, not without displaying weakness. “Whose life and death, exactly?”
“The surgeon and his wife, down in your town,” Danahui answered, beginning to circle the table in the center of the room to properly approach the woman to whom she spoke. “Problems caused by their eldest born, which have blown back towards them like wall of storm.” She was unhappy with the metaphor. It served well enough for an off-the-cuff turn of phrase, but were she composing a ballad, it would be discarded. Highstorms did not blow south to north.
For just a moment, Laral’s eyes softened, and Danahui swore she saw sympathy color her features. But then it was gone, and she was the brightlady of the estate once more. “Kaladin never was good at holding his tongue.”
“Her tongue,” Danahui corrected, a practice born of time and repetition.
Laral blinked. “Her?”
With a sigh of defeat, Danahui nodded. “Yes, her. I was not to be telling her parents, but it seems my lips have been loosened by the presence of your immaculate beauty, brightlady.” The compliment briefly baffled Laral, her eyes fluttering in a way that only made her prettier. “Do not spread word of this thing I have shared?”
“There’s little need to worry about that.” She seemed amused by this news, though her words were burnt bittersweet at the edges. “With Tien gone...” She shook her head. “We’ll send for a new surgeon, then, once it is clear to all that Lirin has departed. If any ask, where shall I point them?” Danahui gave her the same answer she’d given her charges, and on hearing it, Laral’s eyes glittered with obvious interest. “But that’s not your destination, is it?”
“No, it is not.” Danahui was pleased to see the woman was intelligent enough to see the ruse, at least. “Thank you for your time, Brightlady Roshone, for every second spent in your presence has been an eternity of bliss. However, unless you are having further need of this humble songstress, I must be away.”
Laral gestured with one hand, and Danahui began to walk away. Yet, it seemed the woman did have more to say. “I’ve heard tell of you before this night, Dana the Mad.”
The words caused her to turn around, so she walked backwards towards the door while grinning from ear to ear at the brightlady. “Ah, so even your fine ears have caught Danahui’s name on the winds? What do you think? How do I fare, compared to the myth I have made?” She was almost out the door, but she had to know.
What was the point of building a reputation if she didn’t check up on it, every chance you could?
“You’re not quite as tall as the stories say, but you’re twice as charming,” Laral said, a light blush dusting her cheeks.
Danahui wanted to laugh, loud and full, but this was not the time nor place for such a thing. So instead, she simply winked. “Well then, I will leave the task of updating my legend to you. Live well, Laral Roshone.”
Then Danahui left the woman behind in her remote manor, ready to truly start her task.
There was much ground to cover between Heartstone and the Shattered Plains, and every day that passed would only further the danger that chased them.
The four sisters walked as one to Lirin, to Hesina, to Oroden.
To the future.