He leaned against a section of the chasm wall, spear in the crook of his arm, light shining from the spheres tied tightly at its head. He had made invalid assumptions about her, as she had so poignantly noted. Again and again. It was like a part of him frantically wanted to dislike her.

If only he could find Syl. Everything would be better if he could see her again, if he could know that she was all right. That scream . . .

To distract himself, he moved over to Shallan, then leaned down to see her sketch. Her map was more of a picture, one that looked eerily like the view Kaladin had had, nights ago, when flying above the Shattered Plains.

“Is all that necessary?” he asked as she shaded in the sides of a plateau.

“Yes.”

“But—”

“Yes.”

It took longer than he’d have preferred. The sun passed through the crack overhead, vanishing from sight. Already past noon. They had seven hours until the highstorm, assuming the timing prediction was right—even the best stormwardens got the calculations wrong sometimes.

Seven hours. The hike out here, he thought, took about that long. But surely they’d made some progress toward the warcamps. They’d been walking all morning.

Well, no use rushing Shallan. He left her to it, walking back along the chasm, looking up at the shape of the rift up above and comparing it to her drawing. From what he could see, her map was dead on. She was drawing, from memory, their entire path as if seen from above—and she did it perfectly, every little knob and ledge accounted for.

“Stormfather,” he whispered, jogging back. He’d known she had skill in drawing, but this was something entirely different.

Who was this woman?

She was still drawing when he arrived. “Your picture is amazingly accurate,” he said.

“I may have . . . underplayed my skill a little last night,” Shallan said. “I can remember things pretty well, though to be honest, I didn’t realize how far off our path was until I drew it. A lot of these plateau shapes are unfamiliar to me; we might be into the areas that haven’t been mapped yet.”

He looked to her. “You remember the shapes of all of the plateaus on the maps?”

“Uh . . . yes?”

“That’s incredible.”

She sat back on her knees, holding up her sketch. She brushed aside an unruly lock of red hair. “Maybe not. Something’s very odd here.”

“What?”

“I think my sketch must be off.” She stood up, looking troubled. “I need more information. I’m going to walk around one of the plateaus here.”

“All right . . .”

She started walking, still focused on her sketch, barely paying attention to where she was going as she stumbled over rocks and sticks. He kept up with ease, but didn’t bother her as she turned her eyes toward the rift ahead. She walked them all the way around the base of the plateau to their right.

It took a painfully long time, even walking quickly. They were losing minutes. Did she know where they were or not?

“Now that plateau,” she said, pointing to the next wall. She began walking around the base of that plateau.

“Shallan,” Kaladin said. “We don’t have—”

“This is important.”

“So is not getting crushed in a highstorm.”

“If we don’t find out where we are, we won’t ever escape,” she said, handing him the sheet of paper. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.” She jogged off, skirt swishing.

Kaladin stared at the paper, inspecting the path she’d drawn. Though they’d started the morning going the right way, it was as he’d feared—Kaladin had eventually wound them around until they were going directly south again. He’d even somehow turned them back going east for a while!

That put them even farther from Dalinar’s camp than when they’d begun the night before.

Please let her be wrong, he thought, going around the plateau the other direction to meet her halfway.

But if she was wrong, they wouldn’t know where they were at all. Which option was worse?

He got a short distance down the chasm before freezing. The walls here were scraped free of moss, the debris on the floor pushed around and scratched. Storms, this was fresh. Since the last highstorm at least. The chasmfiend had come this way.

Maybe . . . maybe it had gone past on its way farther out into the chasms.

Shallan, distracted and muttering to herself, appeared around the other side of the plateau. She walked, still staring at the sky, muttering to herself. “. . . I know I said that I saw these patterns, but this is too grand a scale for me to know instinctively. You should have said something. I—”

She cut off abruptly, jumping as she saw Kaladin. He found himself narrowing his eyes. That had sounded like . . .

Don’t be silly. She’s no warrior. The Knights Radiant had been soldiers, hadn’t they? He didn’t really know much about them.

Still, Syl had seen several strange spren about.

Shallan gave a glance to the wall of the chasm and the scrapes. “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yeah,” he said.

“Delightful. Here, give me that paper.”

He handed it back and she slipped a pencil out of her sleeve. He gave her the satchel, which she set on the floor, using the stiff side as a place to sketch. She filled in the two plateaus closest to them, the ones she’d walked around to get a full view.

“So is your drawing off or not?” Kaladin asked.

“It’s accurate,” Shallan said as she drew, “it’s just strange. From my memory of the maps, this set of plateaus nearest to us should be farther to the north. There is another group of them up there that are exactly the same shape, only mirrored.”

“You can remember the maps that well?”

“Yes.”

He didn’t press further. From what he’d seen, maybe she could do just that.

She shook her head. “What are the chances that a series of plateaus would take the exact same shape as those on another part of the Plains? Not just one, but an entire sequence . . .”

“The Plains are symmetrical,” Kaladin said.

She froze. “How do you know that?”

“I . . . it was a dream. I saw the plateaus arrayed in a wide symmetrical formation.”

She looked back at her map, then gasped. She began scribbling notes on the side. “Cymatics.”

“What?”

“I know where the Parshendi are.” Her eyes widened. “And the Oathgate. The center of the Shattered Plains. I can see it all—I can map almost the entire thing.”

He shivered. “You . . . what?”

She looked up sharply, meeting his eyes. “We have to get back.”

“Yes, I know. The highstorm.”

“More than that,” she said, standing. “I know too much now to die out here. The Shattered Plains are a pattern. This isn’t a natural rock formation.” Her eyes widened further. “At the center of these Plains was a city. Something broke it apart. A weapon . . . Vibrations? Like sand on a plate? An earthquake that could break rock . . . Stone became sand, and at the blowing of the highstorms, the cracks full of sand were hollowed out.”

Her eyes seemed eerily distant, and Kaladin didn’t understand half of what she’d said.

“We need to reach the center,” Shallan said. “I can find it, the heart of these Plains, by following the pattern. And there will be . . . things there . . .”

“The secret you’re searching for,” Kaladin said. What had she said just earlier? “Oathgate?”

She blushed deeply. “Let’s keep moving. Didn’t you mention how little time we had? Honestly, if one of us weren’t chatting away all the time and distracting everyone, I’m half certain we’d be back already.”

He cocked an eyebrow at her, and she grinned, then pointed the direction for them to go. “I’m leading now, by the way.”

“Probably for the best.”

“Though,” she said, “as I consider, it might be better to let you lead. That way, we might find our way to the center by accident. Assuming we don’t end up in Azir.”

He gave her a chuckle at that because it seemed the right thing to do. Inside, however, it ripped him apart. He’d failed.

The next few hours were excruciating. After walking the length of two plateaus, Shallan had to stop and update her map. It was correct to do so—they couldn’t risk getting off track again.

It just took so much time. Even moving as quickly as they could between drawing sessions, practically running the entire way, their progress was too slow.

Kaladin shuffled from foot to foot, watching the sky as Shallan filled in her map again. She cursed and grumbled, and he noticed her brushing away a drop of sweat that had fallen from her brow onto the increasingly crumpled paper.

Maybe four hours left until the storm, Kaladin thought. We aren’t going to make it.

“I’ll try for scouts again,” he said.

Shallan nodded. They had entered the territory where Dalinar’s pole-wielding scouts watched for new chrysalises. Shouting to them was a slim hope—even if they were lucky enough to find one of those groups, he doubted they had enough rope handy to reach to the bottom of the chasm.

But it was a chance. So he moved away—so as to not disturb her drawing—cupped his mouth, and began shouting. “Hello! Please reply! We’re trapped in the chasms! Please reply!”

He walked for a time, shouting, then stopped to listen. Nothing came back. No questioning shouts echoing down from above, no signs of life.

They’ve probably all withdrawn into their cubbies by now, Kaladin thought. They’ve broken down their watchposts and are waiting for the highstorm.

He stared up with frustration at that slot of attenuated sky. So distant. He remembered this feeling, being down here with Teft and the others, longing to climb out and escape the horrible life of a bridgeman.

For the hundredth time, he tried drawing in the Stormlight of those spheres. He clutched the sphere until his hand and the glass were sweaty, but the Stormlight—the power within—did not flow to him. He couldn’t feel the Light anymore.

“Syl!” he yelled, tucking away the sphere, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Syl! Please! Are you there, anywhere . . . ?” He trailed off. “I still don’t know,” he said more softly. “Is this a punishment? Or is it something more? What is wrong?”

No reply. Surely if she were watching him, she wouldn’t let him die down here. Assuming she could think to notice. He had a horrible image of her riding the winds, mingling with the windspren, having forgotten herself and him—becoming terribly, blissfully ignorant of what she truly was.

She’d feared that. She’d been terrified of it.

Shallan’s boots scratched the ground as she walked up. “No luck?”