The Way of Kings

Kaladin paused. Then, hesitantly, he reached out a finger and touched the sphere. He inhaled sharply; drawing in the Light was becoming more and more natural. The sphere faded. Stormlight began to trickle from Kaladin’s skin, and he breathed normally to make it leak faster, making it more visible. Rock pulled out a ragged old blanket – used for kindling – and tossed it over the fire, disturbing the flamespren and making a few moments of darkness before the flames chewed through.

In that darkness, Kaladin glowed, pure white Light rising from his skin.

“Storms…” Drehy breathed.

“So, what can you do with it?” Skar asked, eager. “You didn’t answer.”

“I’m not entirely certain what I can do,” Kaladin said, holding his hand up in front of him. It faded in a moment, and the fire burned through the blanket, lighting them all again. “I’ve only known about it for sure for a few weeks. I can draw arrows toward me and can make rocks stick together. The Light makes me stronger and faster, and it heals my wounds.”

“How much stronger does it make you?” Sigzil said. “How much weight can the rocks bear after you stick them together, and how long do they remain bonded? How much faster do you get? Twice as fast? A quarter again as fast? How far away can an arrow be when you draw it toward you, and can you draw other things as well?”

Kaladin blinked. “I… I don’t know.”

“Well, it seems pretty important to know that kind of stuff,” Skar said, rubbing his chin.

“We can do tests,” Rock folded his arms, smiling. “Is good idea.”

“Maybe it will help us figure out how we can do it too,” Moash noted.

“Is not thing to learn.” Rock shook his head. “Is of the holetental. For him only.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” Teft said.

“You don’t know for certain I don’t know for certain.” Rock wagged a spoon at him. “Eat your stew.”

Kaladin held up his hands. “You can’t tell anyone about this, men. They’ll be frightened of me, maybe think I’m related to the Voidbringers or the Radiants. I need your oaths on this.”

He looked at them, and they nodded, one by one.

“But we want to help,” Skar said. “Even if we can’t learn it. This thing is part of you, and you’re one of us. Bridge Four. Right?”

Kaladin looked at their eager faces and couldn’t stop himself from nodding. “Yes. Yes, you can help.”

“Excellent,” Sigzil said. “I’ll prepare a list of tests to gauge speed, accuracy, and the strength of these bonds you can create. We’ll have to find a way to determine if there’s anything else you can do.”

“Throw him off cliff,” Rock said.

“What good will that do?” Peet asked.

Rock shrugged. “If he has other abilities, this thing will make them come out, eh? Nothing like falling from cliff to make a man out of a boy!”

Kaladin regarded him with a sour expression, and Rock laughed. “It will be small cliff.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to indicate a tiny amount. “I like you too much for large one.”

“I think you’re joking,” Kaladin said, taking a bite of his stew. “But just to be safe, I’m sticking you to the ceiling tonight to keep you from trying any experiments while I’m asleep.”

The bridgemen chuckled.

“Just don’t glow too brightly while we’re trying to sleep, eh, gancho?” Lopen said.

“I’ll do my best.” He took another spoonful of stew. It tasted better than usual. Had Rock changed the recipe?

Or was it something else? As he settled back to eat, the other bridgemen began chatting, speaking of home and their pasts, things that had once been taboo. Several of the men from other crews – wounded whom Kaladin had helped, even just a few lonely souls who were still awake – wandered over. The men of Bridge Four welcomed them, handing over stew and making room.

Everyone looked as exhausted as Kaladin felt, but nobody spoke of turning in. He could see why, now. Being together, eating Rock’s stew, listening to the quiet chatter while the fire crackled and popped, sending dancing flakes of yellow light into the air…

This was more relaxing than sleep could be. Kaladin smiled, leaning back, looking upward toward the dark sky and the large sapphire moon. Then he closed his eyes, listening.

Three more men were dead. Malop, Earless Jaks, and Narm. Kaladin had failed them. But he and Bridge Four had protected hundreds of others. Hundreds who would never have to run a bridge again, would never have to face Parshendi arrows, would never have to fight again if they didn’t want to. More personally, twenty-seven of his friends lived. Partially because of what he’d done, partially because of their own heroism.

Twenty-seven men lived. He’d finally managed to save someone.

For now, that was enough.

74 Ghostblood

Shallan rubbed her eyes. She’d read through Jasnah’s notes – at least the most important ones. Those alone had made a large stack. She still sat in the alcove, though they’d sent a parshman to get her a blanket to wrap around herself, covering up the hospital robe.

Her eyes burned from the night spent crying, then reading. She was exhausted. And yet she also felt alive.