Chapter 135

I can say this. I believe the fact that Ishu was bearing some of the pain of each and every Herald is an extremely relevant point in this analysis. For while he gave the darkness, he indeed held it in part.

I keep returning to this idea. As I feel it should be explored further.

—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 201

A dolin grinned within his helm, exulting in the shock not just of his friends—but that of the enemy forces, who roared at Abidi’s death.

Adolin? Maya’s voice said. Stormfists! What happened? I … She took a deep breath. I panicked when you vanished. I thought you’d died!

Aluminum around the room, he thought. But I handled it. Barely.

A few flitting Voidspren zipped over to explore what had occurred, then retreated to their armies fifty feet away on either side.

“Noura,” Adolin said. “Time until the deadline?”

The vizier started. “Ten minutes,” she said in a nervous voice.

Could they hold that long? He looked at his force.

“At least twelve Fused, Adolin,” Notum whispered. “One is taking charge now that Abidi is dead.”

Adolin had Plate and Blade, but his forces were exhausted, and half of them were wounded or undertrained. Though Hmask had an eager smile, the others seemed to understand. Adolin’s smile died. His friends would mostly fall in the first few minutes, slaughtered as he held, surrounded, until he was eventually dragged down and stabbed through the eyes.

Sir? the armor thought.

Transparent portions filled in his faceplate’s holes, and air began to flow up through his armor, refreshing him. With the whole helm transparent, he didn’t need an eyeslit. Well, that was convenient.

It wouldn’t make a difference though. The enemy could shatter his shell and kill him like a crab on the table for dinner. They began to form up and started singing one of their chants. The sound filled the hallway, and Adolin’s few defenders anxiously pulled together.

They had come all this way—they had fought for so long—and they’d still fail.

No. Maya’s voice. Adolin, I’m here. Maybe my friends can help!

I don’t think a few more honorspren will be relevant. I’m sorry. His heart broke as he said it, for he knew how hard she’d worked.

Honorspren? she asked, with a laugh. You think I went to find a group of stuffy honorspren?

They’re who I sent you for! Adolin replied.

No you didn’t, she replied. Look! See!

The scene of the ornate hallway faded around him, and for a moment he saw through her eyes in Shadesmar. This had nearly happened once before, at Lasting Integrity, when he’d sensed her emotions and almost seen what she did.

Maya stood on the bottom of the sphere sea, and with her were others.

Deadeyes.

Dozens of them. Moving through the beads, emerging like ancient deep-sea corpses dredged up by some ship that was casting nets into frozen waters. He probably shouldn’t have been able to see them among the spheres like this, but she didn’t see quite as a human did. To her vision the spheres faded, almost invisible.

Suddenly Adolin recognized his mistake. When he had asked Maya to go for the spren, he had meant the honorspren who had been leaving Lasting Integrity. But she’d assumed he was referencing a different group leaving at the same time: the deadeyes who had come to witness the trial.

That was why she hadn’t been able to leave them—for they required constant guidance and supervision.

“Who are they?” Adolin asked, baffled. He didn’t see how deadeyed spren, even this many of them, would help.

“They are those who have been forgotten,” Maya whispered. “Blades and Plate who are no longer thought of. Dropped into the sea, lost, buried in stone, discarded by time.”

“They … eventually fade back into Shadesmar,” Adolin said, remembering what she’d told him.

“To wander forever,” she said. “But I haven’t forgotten them. And they, like me, have not forgotten you. ”

A group of the figures stepped closer to him, lurching, eyes mere scratches. There were perhaps as many as fifty of them, of a variety of types, extending back in ranks. Cultivationspren like Maya. Peakspren. Even some honorspren, including one nearby, a man with a long beard and tattered old uniform. He stepped up to Adolin—as he saw through Maya’s eyes—and was accompanied by smaller spren riding on his shoulders like barnacles. Plate spren, Adolin realized.

The mouths of several deadeyes worked, but as Maya had once been, finding words proved impossible for them. However, Adolin sensed their feelings somehow. Their thoughts. One at a time, each raised their right fist overhead, elbow bent in an ancient salute he had seen in old dueling fectbooks. He felt, more than heard, what they said.

You need allies.

We have come.

“But you’ve given so much …” Adolin whispered. “I … I can’t take more.”

One of them—an ashspren that was nearly a skeleton—pointed at his leg. His missing one, which they seemed able to recognize across realms. Adolin didn’t need an explanation. They were wounded. So was he.

Sometimes you had to press forward anyway.

The ashspren opened her mouth and forced out a few sounds. “Wa … wa … tch …”

“Watchers,” Adolin said, “at the rim.”

She nodded, and he felt her thoughts. Oaths had fallen, but she would not let him fight alone.

“Because in this case,” Adolin said quietly, “a promise is something deeper than an oath.”

The group of them nodded, appearing relieved that he understood. Maybe they wouldn’t have phrased it in those exact words, the ones Adolin had been pondering. Maybe it was just semantics and he was a fool; he suspected Kaladin, Shallan, and the other Radiants would disagree with his distinction.

He felt it an important one, for him. An oath could be broken, but a promise? A promise stood as long as you were still trying. A promise understood that sometimes your best wasn’t enough. A promise cried with you when all went to Damnation. A promise came to help when you could barely stand. Because a promise knew that sometimes, being there was all you could offer.

“Once,” Maya said, “we stood against all that was dark. Adolin, we stand again. We. Stand. AGAIN. ”

Tears in his eyes, Adolin nodded. Then he raised his arm to salute the fallen warriors who had come to fight when others hid in their fortresses.

In that moment, Adolin saw Honor. Alive and well.

In a flash, Adolin was back in the Azimir palace. Only seconds had passed, as no one had moved. And he was crying. He felt Maya and the others there, ready.

I need nine of them, he sent to her. Blades and Plate.

The enemy began to advance from both sides, their songs echoing down the hallway. But Adolin, above the noise, shouted three words.

“Unoathed! Arm up!”

His group of worried soldiers, scouts, and one scribe looked to him. “What?” Yanagawn asked, his voice trembling.

Adolin thrust his hands to the sides, and a ring of Shardblades appeared around him in a wide circle, point first into the floor, each with a Plate helmet appearing from white mist, hanging from the pommel.

“I said,” Adolin commanded, “ ARM UP! ”

Renarin glanced out from where he knelt by the gemstone, hoping Shallan would return. He couldn’t see much, but she seemed to be fighting the Ghostbloods. Quick motions. Figures struggling in silhouette.

“This is our fault,” Renarin whispered to Rlain beside him. “Humankind’s. Peace was possible, but we didn’t want peace. We wanted to win.”

“We have to let Mishram go,” Rlain whispered. “I … Renarin, I think we have to let her go. ”

“I know,” Renarin said. “We should be able to shatter the gem, with that crack in it.” He hesitated. “It should be your call, Rlain. A singer’s decision.”

Rlain considered. “She might destroy us the moment she gets out.” His rhythm changed to Determination, which he hummed a moment. “But … we have to set this right, Renarin. I decide to free her, but I want us to do it together. So she can see a human and singer working together.”

Renarin looked to him, so tall and confident. The listener who had been brave enough to infiltrate his enemies—and then the listener who had been kindly enough to see the good in them.

“Let’s do it,” Renarin said.

Together, they picked up the gemstone and raised it high.

Szeth took a long, calming breath.

He stood in a column of light, surrounded by the Honorbearers—each of whom had fallen before him, arms raised to shade their eyes against the light.

He felt whole. How long had it been? Whole of body—though he’d been out of Stormlight, this moment had restored him. Whole of mind, with clear thoughts for once.

Whole of heart. Having made his own decisions.

As the light faded, he looked to his spren, who stood nearby—human shaped, full of stars.

“Thank you,” Szeth said. “For at least trying to help me.”

“You …” the spren said. “You spoke the Fifth Ideal. Szeth, you’ve become the law!”

“Yes,” Szeth said. “I see it now. All men should be the law, spren. All men should follow it not because it is the law, but because they have decided to do so. We should fight it when it is wrong. That is … dangerous, because men can be right and wrong too. I can be. I will be.”

“Yes,” the spren said as a certain peace fell over the stone field, sprinkled with grass that peeked out of holes. “Yes, I see. I understand.”

Szeth nodded. “You are the wrong spren for me, I’m afraid.”

“ What? ”

“If I am to choose, I do not choose you. The Skybreakers under Nin are wrong and as corrupted as Ishu’s touch on this land. You care not for people, only for rules. I do not care for your training styles, your philosophies, or the ‘truths’ you tell yourselves.” He paused, considering the next action, and decided it was right. “I will seek out the dissenters who live the old ways of the Skybreakers. There, I will find another spren. I release you from your bond. I wish we could have been friends.”

Immediately, Szeth felt a ripping sensation. Like when a crusted-over bandage is pulled off a wound, pieces of flesh going with it. He gasped and dropped to his knees—for while he’d been beaten bloody moments before, those wounds had been physical. This was different.

It was also, he determined, still the right thing to do. He did not think this would make his spren a deadeye, as he’d been told the highspren would not allow the bond to be strong enough to hurt them. But either way, this was Szeth’s choice. He would not continue to be used by Nin’s Skybreakers. He would find those who did it a better way, or he would make one himself.

“No,” his spren said, beginning to fade. “No, Szeth!”

Nin’s spren appeared nearby, and Szeth’s spren reached out as if for help. The Herald’s spren shook its head. “How fitting, 12124. This is what happens when you give them too much power. Learn your lesson here, if you are ever allowed to speak oaths again. You have let yourself become an attendant to your human, an auxiliary to his will.”

“Is that …” the shrinking spren said. “Is that so bad?”

“Your failure proves that it is.”

Szeth’s spren vanished into the Cognitive Realm. He hoped it would be well in Shadesmar. Their pairing had never been a good one for either of them. Szeth forced himself to his feet, feeling suddenly frail. For although in his mind he was a Skybreaker still, he was now powerless. As his awareness of his surroundings returned fully, he found Ishu standing a short distance away, Kaladin and Syl behind him.

“That was,” Ishu said, each word clipped, “among the most idiotic things I have ever seen a mortal do. Abandoning your oaths just after the Fifth Ideal? You could have been immortal.”

“I can barely struggle through the life I have been given,” Szeth said. “I wish no more of it than that.” He glanced around, seeing his father collapsed on the ground. His sister groaning. They would soon return to Ishu’s control.

So, Szeth strode past them to where Kaladin’s pack had been deposited. Nearby grass pulled away again as he knelt, leaving a few patches that were Shin and didn’t move.

Resting on them was a black sword in a silvery sheath.

“Sword-nimi,” Szeth said, “what do you do with those you eat? Do you destroy their souls forever?”

What, no! Do you destroy things forever when you eat them? No, you just change them.

“What happens to people, when you … touch them?”

They go wherever people go when they die. I eat their Investiture, which drips out of me eventu ally.

Szeth nodded. That would do. “I have found that I must destroy one last time. It turns out I have need of a sword.”

Oh. Oh, pick me please, Szeth. Pick me! I’m a great sword. I promise!

Szeth smiled, then reached for the blade.

A hand seized him on the shoulder. He turned to find Ishu looming over him.

“Fool man,” Ishu said. “Without Stormlight for you to feed it, that monstrosity will consume you in a heartbeat. I cannot let you try. This has gone far out of control.”

Ishu pulled back his hand, leaving a glowing light Connecting him to Szeth. What did that—

A deep, terrible darkness struck Szeth.

“See the darkness I hold at bay,” Ishu said. “The sorrow inside the hearts of the Heralds, which I have taken upon myself. See our burden.”

Szeth screamed.

Yanagawn was the first to move. He snatched the helmet from the closest pommel and threw it on. For a moment Adolin thought he looked comical—a youth with only a large, heavy helmet.

Then it resized to him, and the other pieces formed in the air around him—hanging for a fraction of a second before slamming together and encasing him. The same flickering glow of firelight emanated from the helmet and joints, and again there was no symbol.

Yanagawn seized the Blade from the ground and pulled it free, turning to meet the tide of enemies. Others scrambled to do as Adolin had said, grabbing helms and suiting up.

Adolin snagged Jaskkeem, the guard from the smuggler’s port, and hauled him over to Noura and Rahel. Behind him, Colot and May—each gleaming in their new Plate—clashed with oncoming enemies. Adolin seized Noura delicately with one hand and gave her the Blade of Memories, the Azish Shardblade.

“You three go inside this room,” he told them. “Noura, sit on the throne. Jaskkeem, and Rahel, make sure no one sneaks in while we fight.”

Noura accepted the Blade and did as he instructed, Rahel and the guard following behind. He would check on them soon. For now, he turned to join the eight others …

Nine others?

Wait. He did the math, and realized he’d … Never mind. He needed to fight. The enemy had pulled back, shocked by the new development, some of them fallen dead with burning eyes. Adolin raised his hand in salute, then summoned Maya as a Blade.

Thank you, he thought.

Life before death, she replied. Or maybe life after death this time? I never really understood that motto anyway. Let’s kick some Fused ass.

Adolin joined his nine and thrust out his Blade. As the Fused called for the attack to resume, Adolin stood.

And held.

Kaladin pulled Ishar away from Szeth. “What are you doing? Leave him—”

He cut off as he saw his hands, which now trailed that same glowing line of light. Some kind of Bondsmith trick? Emotion pulsed through that light.

Kaladin saw darkness.

Kaladin was darkness.

It felt like the worst of the days when the shadow had taken over his mind. Times when nothing felt light, or good, or even possible. Like that dark nightmare where Wit had once found him. Seeing his friends die over and over.

The thoughts intruded like knives. Kaladin was useless. Worse than useless. He hurt everyone he helped. Where he went, his friends died. He survived only to be a harbinger of death.

Everyone he ever tried to save was dead. From Teft to Tien. Dozens of faces and more. Bridgemen whose names he’d forgotten, or never known.

Dalinar had sent him to Shinovar to get him out of the way. Nobody ever wanted to be with or around Kaladin. Why would they? He hated himself enough to recognize the truth.

He was worthless. He always had been.

“Feel it,” Ishar whispered.

Kaladin dropped to the stones, a strangled sound escaping his lips, trying to force breath into his lungs—his body taut, rigid. When he felt like this, he just wanted to give up and not move. Today it hit him like a physical force, a suffocating darkness that would crush him. Not out of existence—he’d have blessed that—but into a ball of pain and self-loathing that would never end.

“ Feel it, ” Ishar repeated. “This is what the Heralds would all feel, if I did not hold it back. I am why they can function.”

Ishar touched Syl on the forehead and left a line of light as she tried to kneel by Kaladin. She gasped and dropped, trembling, huddling into a ball, weeping. Nearby, Szeth lay wide-eyed, his lips parted. Immobile.

“Feel,” Ishar said, “what it is to be me. Feel the pains of a Herald.”

“Ishar,” Nale said, approaching. “We need to change our plans, Ishar. We—”

Ishar touched him on the arm, and Nale dropped, wheezing, trembling. Kaladin watched it through a daze.

“You must bear your own madness now, Nale,” Ishar said softly. “But I stand at the crux of the Oathpact. I can feel them all. What do you say to my darkness?”

Nale whimpered.

Ishar turned and waved a hand, sending all six Honorbearers to the ground, moaning—apparently not needing to touch them to push this darkness through their bond.

“Feel it,” he repeated softly. “ Then question me.”