Chapter 140

The Wind itself accepted his Words.

—From Knights of Wind and Truth, page 249

T hese Words, the Wind whispered to Kaladin, are accepted.

Kaladin came alight with an explosion of power.

And Ishar, poor Ishar, was still Connected to him by that Bondsmith’s tether. In the moment the final Words were spoken, power surged through that very tether, along with a wave of Light from Kaladin, which threw Ishar back with a physical force. He slammed against a natural rock pillar, washed in pure light from the Spiritual Realm.

Kaladin felt he could see the power of the Fifth Ideal pushing back the blackness through that tether, like a drain being flooded in the wrong direction, until it reached Ishar and he gasped again. Black smoke exploded out of the Herald, pushed from his pores like Stormlight.

Kaladin distinctly thought he heard, echoing through that failing bond, the gasps of eight other people as an unacknowledged darkness left them. An oppressive cloud that Ishar thought he’d been holding back, but had in reality been infecting every Herald. The blackness he’d absorbed from Odium centuries ago, by finding his pool of power.

It wouldn’t heal them, lifting this dark cloud. Their wounds stretched back millennia before Ishar’s terrible decision. However, this might help open a path to healing.

Ishar, with one final gasp, slumped against the ground, dazed and perhaps unconscious. Kaladin, still glowing, noticed that the tethers were still there. So he knelt and seized Nightblood by the hilt, whipping the sword from its sheath. Power began to be pulled from Kaladin, but he held so much from the Fifth Ideal that it seemed trivial.

Using the sword, Kaladin carefully severed the cords coming from Ishar, freeing Syl, Nale, and Szeth. The last vestiges of that darkness faded, leaving only a memory. Szeth let out a sigh of relief. Syl laughed.

Nearby, Ishar’s Honorbearers stirred, and started to rise. And storms … that darkness continued to hang over them. That shadow upon the land … Kaladin could see it manifest in all six, whose faces became masks of rage and anger as they gathered. They’d been created from that darkness, so this wasn’t over.

Kaladin set down the black sword—but noticed, as he did, that a line of darkness remained attached to his hand. His Stormlight continued to drain, vanishing, as if he were expending it on some great task.

I have learned from the other swords, Nightblood said in his mind. I know the Surges. I will Connect to you. You will feed me!

“Nightblood,” Kaladin whispered, “let go.”

It is time. We will destroy. Wield me!

Storms. Well, he’d heard he had to put the sword back in its sheath. As he reached for the silvery scabbard, the sword spoke again in his mind—the tone possessing an uncharacteristic forcefulness.

No. It is time. Give me to Szeth. I will draw from you, not him, but he needs me and we must DESTROY!

Kaladin glanced toward the rising Honorbearers. If there was fighting to be finished today, Szeth needed to do it. So Kaladin tossed the black sword to him—and that line of darkness connecting him to the weapon stretched. Feeding from Kaladin’s Stormlight, and not from Szeth’s soul.

Szeth lifted the weapon high.

Kaladin, in turn, helped Syl rise.

“Kaladin,” she whispered, “what have you done?”

“Figured myself out, finally,” he said, with a smile. He looked toward Szeth. “We need to leave this next part to him.”

Szeth held up the black sword, using Kaladin’s Stormlight to sustain them both.

Destroy evil! Nightblood cried, inky black liquid dripping from the blade—but almost all of it evaporating before it hit the ground.

“No, sword-nimi,” Szeth said. “Today, we simply restore what is right.”

The six Honorbearers surrounded him, each with a Blade of their own. Ishu was down, but his anger raged in them. These things that had been made from Szeth’s family and mentors … they were abominations. Yet as he regarded them—Nightblood boiling in front of him—he read something new in their expressions. He’d once seen anger: teeth gritted in fury, eyes wide with contempt. Now he saw pain. Teeth gritted at being made puppets, eyes wide at the horror of what they were forced to do.

“Oh, Father,” he whispered. “I’ve been there. I have walked that road. I understand.”

Neturo wept openly as he gripped his Blade. “I’m sorry,” he said through gritted teeth. “Szeth, I’m so sorry.”

He seemed to think that six against one was unfair odds. The one, however, was Szeth. “Sword-nimi,” he whispered. “You have created a bond to Kaladin. Does this mean you have been learning Surges from the Honorblades? Can you return to me my Lashings?”

Yes, the sword said. I can restore your Lashings. Those are easy. Even a spren can give those. Now we fight? We finally FIGHT?

Szeth felt a distinct chill in his right palm. Hopefully Kaladin’s Stormlight would hold, for otherwise the sword would consume them both. For now, Szeth had what he needed. His Lashings, and more. How long had it been since he’d been able to give his heart entirely to a fight? Not with the Skybreakers, not while puppeted by Taravangian’s strings, not even at the Battle of Thaylen Field.

It had been since he’d first picked up a Blade, and found it a dance. “Yes,” he whispered to Nightblood. “Now we fight. ”

The perpendicularity glowed with an awesome power, a star atop Urithiru, making everything white.

“Dalinar?” Taravangian said, his voice calm as he spoke from within his storm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“I cannot face you as a man and win, Taravangian,” Dalinar said. “It is time for Honor to return.”

“It cannot return to you, ” Taravangian said. “The power rejects humankind. It will reject you in particular, because you are an oathbreaker.”

“Then explain what is happening,” Dalinar said, expanding that column of Light.

For once, in all the time they’d known each other, Taravangian apparently had no idea how to reply.

Dalinar reached through that perpendicularity. Come on! he said to the power. You are needed!

It flooded around him, but did not enter him. He felt he was in a vision, but there was nothing to see. Greyness, and an infinite expanse of nothing, formless. But with glistening power in the sky, infinite and wonderful.

“Why?” Dalinar said. “Why do you hesitate?”

I … Humankind … The pain … Except …

In a flash, Dalinar saw a revelation: two people holding a gemstone prison. The Bridger of Minds. The Son of Thorns.

On the edge of a proverbial cliff, and a future no one—not even the gods—could see.

Renarin and Rlain held the gemstone high.

Rlain attuned Determination, his hand next to Renarin’s, glad to be here with this man at his side.

Shallan called for them to stop. They both glanced at her, then at each other. Ignoring her cries.

“You sure?” Renarin asked.

“Yes. You?”

“Yes,” Renarin said to Determination.

Together they slammed the gemstone down against the ground, where it shattered completely, and a dark storm escaped it.