Chapter 102
NINE AND A HALF YEARS AGO
S zeth landed at the Elsecaller monastery at night.
Pozen’s monastery, where Szeth had lived the longest. His eyes naturally sought out the hallway window where he’d stood many a time staring out into the night, holding a contraband woolen toy and longing for his mother.
He launched into the air, soaring up to the roof, and surveyed the lights of Mokdown beyond. A small, vibrant city, squashed between two rivers. Did any of the shamans who served beneath the Honorbearers know? Surely there couldn’t be hundreds of people involved in this conspiracy, could there?
His mind still reeled. It had been six weeks since he’d discovered the truth, and he’d spent them preparing his monastery for war. He’d ignored invitations to visit the other monasteries, but the letters he’d sent to Sivi and Moss—implying that they should join him—had gone unanswered.
The Return had come, right beneath their noses. How many Honorbearers had lived and died, fully in the grip of the very thing they were meant to protect against? How many Tukos had there been? Honorbearers who didn’t quite buy in—their questioning leading to their removal?
No more. He had begun gathering towns and cities to his cause. Before he unleashed civil war, however, Szeth wanted to try other options. He was exploring one tonight. He slunk across the rooftop, glad for all the times that Pozen had made him climb up here on his stupid quests. Szeth hated this place. Hated it deeply—for forcing him to leave his mother behind, for making Elid abandon him.
Here, Pozen had forged Szeth into a weapon. But a weapon could be turned on its masters, and Szeth was strong enough—because of their training—to do what needed to be done. For that, Szeth supposed, he should be grateful.
Pozen used you as an assassin, he thought. He deserves this more than any of them.
Szeth located the access hatch, and hesitated, thinking of his father, who had vanished. Szeth had come back a day after visiting the Voice, only to find the hidden camp empty, Neturo nowhere to be seen—with no signs or notes left behind.
He feared his father had been taken hostage. If so … what would the price be for Szeth’s decisions?
No, not a price, Szeth thought. You have to have a choice to pay a price. Today, I have no choice.
Today, he would assassinate Pozen as the first step in war.
Szeth sliced the lock off the access hatch with his Blade, then slipped in. This hatch was a weak point, and shouldn’t have existed. Even Pozen, despite his claims of orthodoxy, had grown soft. Stones Unhallowed … they all had.
Szeth dropped into the hallway, cold despite the Stormlight raging inside him. It was past curfew, when Pozen demanded his acolytes be in their quarters. But what would he do if he did meet some poor acolyte? He felt horrible, sneaking through these once-familiar hallways. This subterfuge was a similar tactic to what he’d done to those invading sailors years ago. Trickery, movement in darkness.
This wasn’t him, was it? He could win any fight directly, so why use stealth?
A mercy, Szeth told himself. A Blade in the night is a mercy. Just a quick excision of festering flesh, from the Blade of a surgeon. This proved it wasn’t about revenge for Szeth. It was only what had to be done. With Pozen’s blade, Szeth would have Soulcasting. With that to feed his armies, he could march on and overthrow the Bondsmith. With Pozen dead, the other Honorbearers might fold. He might not need to fight Sivi or Moss.
His head buzzing with such thoughts, he was glad when he reached one of the meditation chambers, found it empty, and slipped inside. There—by the light of a few amethysts—he tried to calm his rapid breathing, quiet his thundering heart. Luckily, he hadn’t been seen. He was fond of some of those who worked this monastery. He’d have hated to …
To what? Would he really kill one of his friends?
He breathed a soft prayer to the room’s stone, a raw chunk of shale with a sharp point toward the sky. Pozen liked to meditate in the night, after curfew, when it was quiet. He usually picked one of the chambers farther along the hallway. If Szeth was in luck, the man would come tonight. He would be alone, and Szeth could do the deed.
Unfortunately, Szeth soon heard a voice echoing in the hallway outside—but it didn’t belong to Pozen.
It was Sivi.
Szeth went alert, his breath catching.
“… can’t defeat him, Pozen,” she was saying. “None of us can.”
“There is time yet,” Pozen replied. “Many of us find the Truth difficult at first. He is an obedient sort, Sivi. Give him more time. It has been only six weeks—you refused to speak to us for three months once you were elevated. Szeth will return and do as he is told.”
“I think you underestimate him,” Sivi said.
“ Under estimate him? You think it is good he shows this rebellious streak? Sivi, you know better.”
She didn’t reply. Szeth could hear them in the hallway just outside, separated from him by a door woven of reeds and fronds. He summoned his Blade.
“You question too much, Sivi,” Pozen said sharply. “Your loyalty becomes suspect.”
“What?” she said right by the door, the proximity making Szeth sweat. “You’ll do to me what you did to Tuko?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Pozen said. “You wouldn’t push us to that, Sivi.”
“Don’t be dramatic?” she said, her voice rising. “We killed Tuko and replaced him with someone far, far more skilled. He wrote to me, suggesting I visit to speak with him about an important item—and the implication was clear. He’s been talking to the garrisons of the cities nearest him. This could become very, very bad.”
“I will handle it,” Pozen said. “The Voice assures me that all is under control—particularly with the specific leverage you made sure to get for us. Here. You wanted to meditate with amethyst light? These chambers will do.”
Szeth held in a curse. In a panic, he drew in the room’s Stormlight—a bad idea, as it could reveal he was here, but he couldn’t help himself. He Lashed himself upward in the small chamber, toward the ceiling. Sivi, however, didn’t enter his meditation chamber—she entered the one next to his.
Pozen retreated. Szeth heard his footsteps along the hallway. That worried Szeth, until he realized that he’d been handed a gift. He could kill Sivi and claim the Willshaper Blade, then strike against Pozen. When he had both of their weapons, his armies would be that much better protected. He wouldn’t have to worry about Honorbearers using Shadesmar to pop in unexpectedly, nor would there be any who could sculpt stone.
He’d be far from safe—there would be those who could Lightweave to worry about, not to mention the armies serving the others. But with three Blades …
He raised his weapon, preparing to break through the thin wall between alcoves. She’d be dead before she realized what was happening. Except …
Sivi?
His father genuinely seemed to love her, and had cried when it was time to part and continue the pilgrimage. It might have been a fling to her, but not to Neturo. Plus, she’d treated Szeth so well.
She serves the Unmade, Szeth thought. She violates Truth, even while she pretends to preach it.
But if he was wrong? This was all happening so quickly. Szeth looked down at the stone in his room, wavering.
A boy with a rock in his hand, blood dripping from it.
Burning ships.
A dying holy man in his arms, holding his shoulder as his life bled away.
Yes, Szeth could kill. They’d made sure of that.
Today, he dismissed his Blade. He left the meditation chamber, walked to the adjacent one he’d heard Sivi enter, then strode in. He owed it to his own conscience to at least talk to her first. Szeth was not the man Pozen had crafted him to be—he was more than that. He was a child of Neturo. Children of Neturo asked questions.
Sivi turned. Her eyes went wide and she rose and backed against the wall, holding her hand out to the side. But she did not summon her Blade. She did not scream for help.
“Szeth,” she said. “We’ve … been worried about you. Are you here to talk to Pozen? I assume you have … questions. It’s been a hard few weeks, eh?”
“Questions,” he said, stepping closer to her in the small room of prayer. “Yes, I have questions. One in particular. How, Sivi? How could you serve one of the Unmade ?”
She sighed. “You saw the captive spren, then?”
“Captive and being tortured. ”
“I had hoped he’d come to you outside the cavern,” she said. “That was how he spoke to me at first.”
“I demanded the full truth.”
“Then you got angry when he gave it to you?”
“Sivi, this is what we trained to fight. The Unmade’s presence means the Desolation has begun. The world is in danger, and we’re not ready to fight it!”
“Wait,” Sivi said. “What did you see, Szeth?” She frowned, her eyes distant. “Could I … Could that be right? Could I have been deceived? That’s the form I’d have chosen for a deception … but Szeth, it’s not—”
“What is this ?” a voice demanded from behind.
Szeth spun, immediately beginning the process of summoning his Blade. Pozen stood in the hallway, as Szeth had foolishly left the door open. The older Honorbearer carried a small tray of fruit.
Had he … gone to fetch a snack for his meditation?
Regardless, Szeth had been thinking about how easy it had been to sneak up on Sivi. Now he ate those words as he himself left his back exposed.
“Szeth?” Pozen demanded. “Have you come to apologize? After all I did for you, to have you pout like a child? You’ve embarrassed me.” Pozen looked to Szeth’s hand, then his face. “No. You’re here for something far worse, aren’t you, Szeth?”
To his credit, Pozen didn’t run. He likely knew that the best chance he had was in that moment—with Szeth trapped in a small room, a potential enemy to his rear. Pozen stretched his hand out for his Blade.
Szeth didn’t wait for his weapon. He lunged forward into the hallway and grappled Pozen, who deflected his hands, Stormlight rising around him. Szeth Lashed himself away, soaring some distance down the hallway. It wouldn’t do for Pozen to transfer both of them to Shadesmar.
“The ultimate betrayal,” Pozen said, then spat to the side. “You are a disgrace, Szeth.”
“I choose Truth, ” Szeth said.
Pozen’s Blade appeared in his hand. And Szeth …
Szeth retreated.
He would not be a killer who came in the night. If Szeth murdered Pozen here, he knew he would never recruit Sivi or any of the others.
“I have already told the Windrunner acolytes what I saw,” Szeth called through the hallway to them. “I have begun raising the banner of Truth, since you will not. I will let it be known to any who will hear: It is time. The Voidbringers have returned. If you would join me, I would welcome you. If you will not … then I will fight you, Pozen. Sivi—even you.”
With that, Szeth fled.