Chapter 92

NINE AND A HALF YEARS AGO

S zeth sought the sky.

He’d been invited to meet the Voice. But first …

Wind embraced him. A powerful, high wind that churned and buffeted. A wind born of angrier places, beyond the mountains. Today, he loved the way it enveloped him, reminding him how small he was. He’d begun to think himself grand. But the wind needed no Stormlight to blow. The wind was its own Surge, monarch of a realm that Szeth visited only with its permission.

There was a liberation in being small. Whatever he did, no matter what he broke or ruined, Szeth was insignificant compared to the wind. He soared high. No. Tuko had spoken of the need to keep proper perspective. Szeth didn’t soar, he Lashed. The sky became down for him, and he fell with increasing speed upward, into the heavens. Dropping, not flying, like a stone. Sent spinning, twirling, cast into the wind to fall.

Fall …

Fall …

Almost he could imagine falling forever, away from this land with its complicated questions, up through an infinite invisible embrace. It got colder the higher you went, and the air grew thin. But what was air to Szeth? He didn’t need to breathe any longer.

Falling …

Falling …

Through clouds. Drawing in more Stormlight. Bursting into the expanse beyond, mysterious as the greatest depths of the ocean. Still Szeth fell into the blue. Which darkened.

The air failed. Still Szeth fell.

Until …

He would run out of Stormlight, and would never have his answers. With an inward sigh—lingering just a second longer—Szeth canceled his Lashing. His momentum ran out more slowly than he’d expected, though it did soon falter. He hadn’t risen so high that the ground let go of him, not by far. He hung for a moment, twisting in that all-dominating blue that faded to black. The land below was covered in a veil of white clouds. Lit by the sun, so distant yet.

Szeth fell back down. Dropping in the other direction, the wind building. When he used his powers, that buffeting was lessened—but he didn’t use them now. Soon the wind was a roar, shouting in glee at his return.

Down Szeth fell, until the city became visible. Ayabiza, the place of landing, the name suddenly appropriate. The Bondsmith monastery was half a day’s walk beyond it, in the rocky portions of the highlands. Reluctantly, he Lashed himself upward—slowing his fall until he landed in the central square of the city with a crash of expanding Stormlight. Wooden paving boards rattled underfoot, then he stood up among startled marketgoers.

A true city, the most ancient on Roshar. Built by both those who touched stone and those who didn’t. Both were needed, like shepherd and sheep. Tall buildings, mostly of clay, reinforced by wood. Painted in bright colors, murals on every wall, for in Ayabiza buildings could have as much a splash as anyone gave them.

He’d always wanted to visit this city, but the Bondsmith monastery wasn’t part of the pilgrimage. You didn’t fight that Honorbearer, or train with their strange powers. So he’d never had the time.

Today, he strolled down the boarded walkway, nodding to locals who bowed in deference. He should have gone straight to meet the Voice, yet he delayed. He knew that once he took that step, his life would change again. First, this Voice had stolen the grasslands from him, then it had stolen his innocence, then finally it had ascended him to master of wind and Truth.

The next step … Szeth dared not guess.

The city was enormous. So many wonderful murals, each brightly colored. So many people, swathed in brilliant splashes. The famous sewer system, built following an ancient Herald’s design. Hanging gardens on each building so vines could grow down, letting the land add its splash to the paintings. It was more brilliant than he’d even imagined. Yes, this was worth fighting for. For this, he prepared for the coming of the End of All Things.

He traded empty gemstones with a local foreign merchant for full ones, then took to the sky once more.

It was time.