“Just Kaladin now,” Kaladin replied as Syl flew up to settle onto his shoulder.
“You might not be in command anymore,” Rlain said with a slight cadence to his words, “but you’re still the captain of Bridge Four.”
“What did you think all that time, Rlain?” Teft asked. “Carrying bridges against your own kind?”
“Didn’t think a ton at first,” Rlain said, trying to flag down a passing server. She jumped, then quickly moved in the other direction to tug on the arm of a more experienced server. Rlain sighed, then turned back to Teft. “I was in Damnation, same as the rest of you. I wasn’t thinking about spying; I was thinking about surviving. Or about how to get a message to Eshonai—she was our general.”
His demeanor changed, as did his tone, the cadence to his words becoming slower. “The first time I almost died,” he said, “I realized that the archers would have no idea—from a distance—who I was. They couldn’t see my pattern. It had been discussed what we’d do if the humans ever started using parshmen for runs, and we’d decided we had to drop them, same as humans. Then there I was, staring at my friends, knowing they would do their best to kill me.…”
“That’s terrible,” Syl said, causing Teft and Rlain to glance at her. Apparently she’d decided to let them see her. “That’s so terrible.…”
“It was war,” Rlain said.
“Is that an excuse?” she asked.
“An explanation,” Teft said.
“One used to explain too much,” Syl said, wrapping her arms around herself and growing smaller than usual. “It’s war, you say. Nothing to be done about it. You act like it’s as inevitable as the sun and storms. But it’s not. You don’t have to kill each other.”
Kaladin shared a glance with Teft and Rlain, the latter humming to a mournful cadence. She wasn’t wrong. Most everyone would agree. Unfortunately, when you got down to the bloody details, it wasn’t so simple.
It was the same problem Kaladin had always had with his father. Lirin said you couldn’t fight without perpetuating the system, eventually causing the common people to suffer more than if you’d refused. Kaladin found fault in that reasoning, but hadn’t been able to explain it to Lirin. And so he doubted he could explain it to a piece of divinity—a literal embodiment of hope and honor.
He could just do his best to change what he could. That started with himself. “Rlain,” Kaladin said. “I don’t think I’ve ever apologized for what we did in desecrating the bodies of the fallen listeners to make armor.”
“No,” Rlain said. “I don’t think you ever did, sir.”
“I apologize now. For the pain we caused you. I don’t know if there was anything else we could have done, but…”
“The sentiment means a lot to me, Kal,” Rlain said. “It does.” They sat in silence for a short time.
“So…” Teft eventually said. “Dabbid.”
“I saw him yesterday,” Rlain said. “He stopped by the fields, but didn’t do much work. Wandered around a bit, helped when I asked him to run an errand. Then he faded away.”
“And you couldn’t find him today?” Teft asked.
“No, but the tower is a big place.” Rlain turned around, glancing toward something Kaladin couldn’t see. “Bad day to get lost though…”
“What do you mean?” Teft asked, frowning.
“The Everstorm?” Rlain said. “Right. You can’t hear the rhythms. You can’t feel when it passes.”
Kaladin had forgotten again. Storms, being up here in the tower felt like being blind. Losing a sense you’d always had—in this case the ability to glance at the sky and know if a storm was happening.
Teft grunted, finally getting one of the servers to come over so he could order some red for Rlain.
“How worried should we be about Dabbid?” Rlain asked.
“I don’t know,” Kaladin said. “Lopen always looked after him. I want Dabbid to join the program Teft and I are setting up. To help people like him. Like us.”
“You think it will get him talking?” Rlain asked.
“At any rate, I think listening to the others could help him.”
“Don’t take this wrong, sir,” Rlain said. “But … has it helped you?”
“Well, I don’t know that…” Kaladin looked down at the table. Had it? Had talking to Noril helped?
“He’s been avoiding joining in,” Teft said.
“I haven’t,” Kaladin snapped. “I’ve been busy.”
Teft gave him a flat stare. Storming sergeants. They always heard the things you weren’t saying.
“I need to get the program up and running first,” Kaladin said. “Find all the men who’ve been tucked away in dark rooms, and get them help. Then I can rest.”
“Pardon, sir,” Rlain said, “but don’t you need it as much as they do? Maybe it would be restful to participate.”
Kaladin turned away, and found Syl—on his shoulder—glaring as hard as Teft. She’d even given herself a little Bridge Four uniform … and was he wrong, or was it more blue than the rest of her body? As their bond deepened and she entered this realm more strongly, the variety, detail, and hues of her forms were improving.
Maybe they were right. Maybe he should take part more in the meetings with the battle-shocked men. He just wasn’t sure he deserved to divert resources or time from them. Kaladin still had a family. He had support. He wasn’t locked away in darkness. How could he worry about himself when others needed him?
His friends weren’t going to relent on this, he could tell. All three of them, bullying him together. “Fine,” Kaladin said. “I’ll join the next meeting. I was thinking about it anyway.”
They acted like he was avoiding getting help. But he’d stepped down as Dalinar demanded. He’d started working as a surgeon. And he had to admit it was helping. Being with his family, talking to his parents, knowing he was wanted and needed … that helped more.
This project though, finding those who were like him, alleviating their suffering … that would help the most. Strength before weakness. He was coming to understand that part of his first oath. He had discovered weakness in himself, but that wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Because of that weakness, he could help in ways nobody else could.
Syl glowed a little brighter on his shoulder as he acknowledged that, and he felt a warmth within. His own darkness hadn’t gone away, of course. He continued to have nightmares. And the other day when a soldier had handed Kaladin his spear, it had … Well, it had made him panic. That reaction reminded him of how he’d refused to hold a spear when first training Bridge Four in the chasms.
His illness stretched all the way back to before that time. He’d never treated it—he’d merely kept heaping on the stress, the pain, the problems.
If this went well, maybe he wouldn’t ever have to pick up the spear again. And maybe he’d be fine with that. He smiled at Rlain. “It has been helping,” he said. “I think … I think I might be putting myself back together, for the first time in my life.”
* * *
Venli could see the exact moment when the tower broke. Raboniel stood, her hands on the pillar, glowing fiercely with Voidlight. The pillar, in turn, began glowing with its own light: a vivid white, tinged faintly green-blue. This light that seemed to transcend the type of gemstones in the pillar. The tower was resisting.
An alarm sounded from the corridor; the invasion had been noticed. Raboniel didn’t move, though Venli pulled back against the wall—trying not to step on corpses—as a hundred stormforms pushed out into the corridor.
Shouting humans, clashes of metal, cracks of sound. Any moment now, the Radiants would arrive and shear through the Regals and Deepest Ones like a flash of lightning on a dark night. Still Raboniel worked, calmly humming to a rhythm that Venli did not know.
Then finally it happened: the Voidlight moved from Raboniel into the pillar. It infused a small section of the majestic construction, crawling into an embedded grouping of garnets.
Raboniel s
tumbled away and Venli managed to dash over and catch her, keeping her from tumbling to the ground. Raboniel sagged, her eyes drooping, and Venli held her tight, attuned to the Rhythm of the Terrors.
Cries continued in the hallway outside.
“Is it done?” Venli asked softly.
Raboniel nodded, then righted herself and spoke to the rest of the singers gathered in the tunnel leading to the caverns. “The tower is not fully corrupted, but I have achieved my initial goal. The tower’s defenses have been activated and inverted to our favor. The Radiants will be unable to fight. Go. Give the signal to the shanay-im. Seize the city.”
However, though you think not as a mortal, you are their kin. The power of Odium’s Shard is more dangerous than the mind behind it. Particularly since any Investiture seems to gain a will of its own when not controlled.
Teft dropped limp, as if he’d suddenly lost motor functions, his head thumping against the table and his arm flopping to the side, pushing his empty mug off it to crash to the floor.
Kaladin felt a striking moment of disorientation. A feeling of oppression on his mind, like a dark force trying to smother him. He gasped, then gritted his teeth. Not now. He would not let his treasonous mind overwhelm him now! His friend was in trouble.
Kaladin pushed through the melancholy and was on Teft in a second, loosening the man’s collar, pressing fingers to his carotid artery. Good pulse, Kaladin thought. No arrhythmia I can sense, and no obvious signs of abrasion on the body. He pulled back an eyelid with his thumb. Dilated eyes. Trembling, shaking, sightless.
“Storms!” Rlain said, scrambling out of the booth and standing up. People from nearby tables leaped up in shock, then began crowding to see what was happening, shockspren like breaking triangles appearing around them.
“Kaladin?” Rlain asked. “What’s wrong with him?”
Kaladin felt it again, the oppressive sense of gloom and darkness. It felt more external than normal, but he’d learned—these last few months—that his battle shock could take many forms. He was getting to where he could confront it. But later. Not now.
“Have the people stand back,” Kaladin said to Rlain, his voice calm. Not because he felt calm, but because of his father’s training. A calm surgeon inspired trust. “Give us some air. He’s breathing and his pulse is good.”
“Is he going to be all right?” Rlain held out his hands to get the people to back away. His voice had fallen into a thick Parshendi accent—which in this case meant a heavy rhythm as if he were singing.
Kaladin held Teft’s hand, watching for signs of epileptic motion. “I think it might be a seizure,” Kaladin said, feeling inside Teft’s mouth. “Some firemoss addicts have them during withdrawal.”
“He hasn’t touched the stuff in months.”
So he says, Kaladin thought. Teft had lied before. He had tells, though, and he usually came clean to Kaladin. He’s not clamping his jaw. No danger to his tongue. Still best to keep him facing sideways, in case of vomit. And he was trembling, the muscles of his arms spasming faintly.
“Might be a kind of aftereffect,” Kaladin said. “Some addicts feel them for years.” Not seizures though. “If it’s not that, then…”
“What?” Rlain asked as the winehouse owner pushed through the crowd to see what was happening.
“Stroke,” Kaladin said, making the decision. He got underneath Teft and rolled his limp form up onto his shoulders, then stood with a grunt. “There isn’t much I can do here, but we have some anticoagulants at the clinic. If it is a stroke, those sometimes help.”
Rlain moved to take one of Teft’s arms. “The Edgedancers maybe? They have that clinic in the market nearby.”
Kaladin felt stupid. Of course. That was a far better option. He nodded.
“I’ll help you carry,” Rlain said.
“I can Lash him,” Kaladin said, reaching for Stormlight. The Light oddly resisted for a moment, then streamed into him from the spheres in his pocket. He came alive with power. It churned in his veins, urging him to use it. To act. To run.
“I’ll make a hole,” Rlain said. He shoved his way through the crowd, opening up a path for Kaladin.
Kaladin commanded the Light into Teft, to Lash him upward in order to make him lighter.
And it didn’t work.
* * *
“Yes, I recognize him,” Red said.
Navani nodded in thanks, encouraging the tall Lightweaver to continue. He wore darkeyed worker’s clothing—brown trousers, a buttoned shirt with the sleeves rolled to the elbows, and some bright suspenders. Thaylen sailor fashion had been making its mark on Urithiru.
She was holding her interrogation on the fifth floor, not far from where the laboratory had been destroyed. She’d ordered the prisoner placed in an adjoining small room, accompanied by several guards.
Red had been the first to respond among the Radiants she’d sent for. “His name’s Dabbid,” Red explained, peeking into the room with the prisoner. “Doesn’t talk. I don’t think he’s right in the head. Well, pardon, most Windrunners ain’t right in the head. They act like some kind of cult to Stormblessed, Brightness, pardon that, but they do that. This one’s extra odd though. I think he was one of the old ones, from Bridge Four. Gaz could tell you. He’s got a history with them.”
“Do you see a spren?” Navani asked.
Red’s eyes unfocused, and he seemed to be staring into the distance. He had light violet eyes now, though he’d been a darkeyes before joining the Lightweavers. Like others of his order, he could peer into Shadesmar.
“Don’t think so,” he said.
“That’s not a terribly encouraging answer, Radiant.”
“This tower makes things hard,” he said. “In Shadesmar, this place glows like Nomon’s own backside. That interferes. But I’m pretty sure I’d be able to see an honorspren. Same for one of the other Radiant spren.”
She peeked into the interrogation room. This Windrunner—or whatever he was—sat at a small table, legs in chains, watched over by two of Navani’s soldiers. When he glanced at Navani, he had that same wild cast as before. His hands were free, so he raised them toward her. One of the soldiers reached to stop him, but wasn’t fast enough to prevent the captive from tapping his wrists together.
The Windrunner salute. He made the gesture again and again as the soldiers tried to settle him.
“Leave him alone,” Navani said, stepping into the room.
The soldiers backed off, and the young man continued tapping his wrists together, frantic. Then he pointed at the wall. What? Was he actually mute?
He pointed more fervently. Navani turned. No, he wasn’t pointing at the wall, but at the sphere in the lantern hanging there, lighting the room. Next, he made a writing motion, frantic.
I think he wants me to contact the spren, she thought.
He’d been delivering a new ruby when they’d caught him. Navani fished it out of her glove, and the prisoner grew more animated, pointing at it.
“Kalami?” Navani said into the other room.
The scribe poked her head in, and Navani handed her the ruby. The woman took it and retreated to set up the spanreed equipment.
“Red says you don’t speak,” Navani said to the man.
He looked down. Then he shook his head.
“Perhaps you should reconsider,” Navani said. “Do you realize the trouble you’re in? It’s a spren that has been talking to you, is that right?”
The man hung his head farther. Then he nodded.
“You realize it could be one of the Unmade,” Navani said. “A Voidspren. The enemy.”
The man looked up sharply. Then he shook his head.
“Brightness!” Kalami shouted from the other room. “Brightness, you need to see this!”
Frowning, Navani strode into the larger chamber outside the interrogation room where Kalami—along with several of her wards—had set up the spanreed. It was scribbling on its own as Navani glanced at the text.
Fool human. We
are under attack. The enemy is already inside the tower. Quickly! You must do exactly as I say, or we are all doomed.
It stopped writing, and Navani seized the pen, turned the ruby, and wrote back.
Who are you? she demanded.
I am the Sibling, the pen wrote in a quick script. I am the spren of this tower The enemy They are They are doing something to me This is bad You need to infuse—
Red the Lightweaver—who had been standing near the door—suddenly collapsed to the floor.
* * *
The failure of his powers was so unexpected that Kaladin stumbled. He’d started to take a step, fully anticipating Teft’s limp body would grow lighter. When it didn’t, he was thrown off balance.
He tried again, focusing. Again nothing.
Storms, Kaladin thought. Something was deeply wrong with him. The last time something like this had happened, he’d been dangerously close to violating his oaths and killing Syl.
“Syl?” he asked, scanning the room. She’d been flying around over near the bar, hadn’t she? “Syl!”
No response.
“Phendorana?” Kaladin asked, naming Teft’s honorspren. “This would be a great time to show yourself to me!”
Nothing. The winehouse had grown quiet, many of them staring at Kaladin as he steamed with Stormlight.
“Kal?” Rlain called from the doorway.
Kaladin shifted Teft on his shoulders, then strode after Rlain. Stormlight didn’t seem to give one much additional raw strength, but it did steady the limbs, repairing the muscles if they began to tear beneath strain. So he could bear Teft at a brisk jog, even without Lashing him. He gripped the body in a secure medic’s carry—a skill he’d learned on the battlefield.
“Something’s wrong,” Kaladin said to Rlain as they reached the door. “More than whatever happened to Teft.”
“I know,” Rlain said. “I didn’t notice it at first, but the rhythms are going crazy. I can faintly hear new ones in the distance. I don’t much like them. They sound like the rhythms I hear during an Everstorm.”
“Is that one still blowing outside?”
“It just ended,” Rlain said.
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