Hoid’s Worldsinger Symposium

The thing they never tell you about having your consciousness split in two is that it's very difficult to discern if the thought you're currently thinking is one you've already thought of, or simply a memory of a thought that you were about to think. If that sounds pedantic to you, that's probably because you only have one mind with which to judge it so. When you begin referring to yourself in first, second, and third-person at the same time, then perhaps I'll consider your opinion on the same level as our own.

Having two minds, we have discovered, does not make us twice as clever. It merely ensures that when something goes terribly wrong, we have someone nearby to argue with about whose fault it is. In this case, the debate was complicated by the fact that we were dangling upside down from a rope in a courtyard that had been, until moments before, enjoying a perfectly respectable level of order. Several uniformed individuals had gathered beneath us and were gesturing in that particular way people do when confronted with something they strongly suspect is both illegal and deeply idiotic. We attempted to explain that the current arrangement was temporary, theoretical, and possibly even educational, though the blood rushing to our head made the lecture less persuasive than we would have liked. We would like to clarify that the rope situation was not our fault. Well, not entirely our fault. In our defense, the sign had said “Do Not Touch the Cognitive Anchor,” which any reasonable person would interpret as a challenge.

One of these single-minded (in every sense) soldiers shoved us with his spear. For now he was, thankfully, using the blunt end. I’m not really sure what he expected to happen, but clearly unhappy with initial result he prodded us again. So there we swung gently back and forth, back and forth, having various internal arguments about the most exciting and elaborate escape method, when things became even more… well, let’s go with interesting. Interesting in that way that promises imminent death or exceptional levels of pain. Someone new had entered the courtyard. Someone I had not seen in years. And certainly never on this planet.

You'd think it would be horrifying to see Death himself striding toward you, eyeless and spiked, while you dangled helplessly at the end of a rope. If so, you've obviously never met Marsh. I have a soft spot for everyone who thinks the Survivor is the most irritating immortal calling himself a god currently running around the Cosmere. Anyway, he stalked forward, scattering screaming locals like chaff before the wind, with a distinctly long-suffering expression. I'm not sure how I could tell, given the previously mentioned spikes impeding the normal range of facial expressions. Maybe everyone looks at me that way. He stopped before me, and I tumbled to the ground in an undignified heap. I hadn't even seen the bit of metal he Pushed at the rope.

"If you leave now," he growled, "I might be able to fix this before my brother shows up."

Oh. Oh no.