Chapter 22

After we parted with affection the next day, I watched their cart roll into the distance, pulled by the father with two children riding in the rear, the mother striding with a pack on her back. Dust blew with them, for dust goes where it wishes, ignoring all borders.

—From The Way of Kings , fourth parable

K aladin had entered a world frozen in time.

The first part of Shinovar—on the slope below the pass—was forested. He walked, silent, with Syl. Passing trees that didn’t so much as quiver. Vines that let him step on them. Grass that lay like corpses.

Yet it didn’t feel dead. It was vibrant, green. But docile. Kaladin crouched down to touch a clump of grass, which trustingly let him. He stood and ran his hands along a branch, which didn’t tremble. He tapped several of the diamond leaves, each thick with water.

It all seemed … frozen. Like he had access to some strange Surge that let him freeze a moment and wander around in it. He felt he could turn back and it would all burst into motion, withdrawing from him in an instant, like lounging troops snapping to attention when Dalinar entered the room.

There were also no lifespren, despite the many plants. What a bizarre place. Bizarre and somehow … wonderful?

He should be unnerved. A land where the plants weren’t afraid of you? Where storms didn’t blow? Where you walked on soil springy beneath the foot, which made a dull thump when you stomped instead of a proper scrape or soft smack.

He found it oddly peaceful. Comforting. Did a deep part of him know humans had once lived on a world full of these plants? Or perhaps … perhaps they weren’t timid or stupid. Perhaps these plants were brave. At the very least, they had never known the tyranny of the storm—and so had never been forced to hide. He found beauty in that.

It helped that Syl was delighted by the place.

She zipped from tree to reed, to vine, to grass, to bush—a ribbon of light, twirling and twisting while she laughed. Anytime she was a ribbon, she shrank back to her tiny size, but she shimmered with a variety of colors.

Szeth moved up alongside Kaladin as they walked, preserving their Stormlight. The next highstorm was days away, and Kaladin didn’t trust Szeth’s promises that the spheres would recharge as usual in Shinovar. After all, he admitted that during his youth, they’d almost never used them—instead relying on dangerous things like candles.

Why in the world hadn’t Shinovar burned down? So many plants would surely provide tinder. Kaladin’s people used candles only during the Weeping.

Syl zipped past, doing a series of loops before going to streak through some of the tinkling leaves. The trees here were bone white with knots of dark brown, and Szeth had seemed amused when Kaladin asked how many trees in his land were strange colors. Most, it appeared, were the ordinary brown and green.

“I’d have thought,” Szeth said as Syl zipped past in the other direction, “that she would find this place dull. Wouldn’t it be less fun to inspect plants that do not respond?”

“Syl loves novelty,” Kaladin said. “And she’s probably having all kinds of fun with plants that are too slow to dodge her pranks.”

“Curious,” Szeth said. “Here, we don’t ascribe to plants volition, or thoughts, or intentions as is common to your speech. I’m only now remembering how odd it was to go east and hear people speaking of plants as if they were animate objects with feelings.”

As an inanimate object with feelings, the sword said from Szeth’s back, I think I should be offended.

“No offense was implied, sword-nimi,” Szeth said.

Oh, good! I won’t kill you then. Ha ha.

Both of them froze, listening to the sword chuckle to itself. Finally they started forward again, along a path through the forest. It wasn’t too overgrown, fortunately. Kaladin tried to imagine how hard it would be to get through here if the plants grew all together and refused to move when prodded.

So far, there hadn’t been much of a chance to talk to Szeth, what with the flying. Or perhaps Kaladin merely told himself that to delay the awkwardness. What was the best way to start a conversation? “Hey, sorry to hear that you’re crazy” didn’t seem appropriate.

Instead he tried, “Dalinar says you’ve had a rough time lately.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Szeth replied.

“What do you mean by that?”

“I do not consider a time ‘rough’ or ‘not rough.’ I simply do as my master commands.”

“And … you don’t wish it were another way?”

Szeth eyed him. Kaladin approached a tree branch hanging low over the path, then rapped it with his hand, feeling foolish when it didn’t pull back. He ducked underneath.

“I am here,” Szeth said, “because this is the next step in my progress as a Skybreaker. My people, and my land, need me.”

“So you’re making a choice,” Kaladin said. “Not just doing as commanded. That seems good.”

“I was commanded to find a quest of relevance,” Szeth said, “and this presented itself.” He followed Kaladin under the branch, his shorter stature meaning he didn’t need to duck nearly as far. He moved on ahead faster, as if finished with the conversation.

Storming man. Kaladin caught up. “So, do you want to talk about it?”

“It?”

“Life.” Storms, shouldn’t this be easier? “Dalinar says that things you’ve done have left you scarred. Not only physically, but mentally.”

“Scars exist,” Szeth said. “They are permanent once you bear them. So you endure. Not only physically, but mentally.”

“What if they aren’t permanent?” Kaladin said. “Stormlight can heal physical scars. What if mental scars can heal too? If not remove them, then make them more limber, easier to bear—”

“That is irrelevant,” Szeth said. “I do not need to be healed, as I do not deserve anything of the sort. I have killed, and I bear the weight of those killings. To wish otherwise would be to minimize the damage I have done—an insult to those who whisper at me from the shadows, calling for my soul to burn in recompense for the blood I’ve spilled.”

Storms. “Szeth,” Kaladin said, “you can’t live like that.”

“I exist. I do what is needed. Eventually, I will no longer exist. That is enough.”

“But—”

“I will not speak of this further,” Szeth said, eyes forward. “I know what Dalinar intends you to do with me, as I am not deaf. It is not needed.”

“He wants you to listen to me though.”

“All he asked of me was to bring you,” Szeth said. “Therefore, you are here. You. The one who nearly killed me. Here. In my land, on my quest.” Szeth looked at him in the overcast forest, those oddly shaped eyes of his seeming at home in dimmer light.

“I trust Dalinar because I must,” Szeth continued. “So I am not allowed to resent you. Nevertheless, do not assume I will endure you trying to ‘save’ me, Kaladin Stormblessed. Not all beneath your judging gaze are in need of your protection. Keep your attention on finding the Herald.”

Szeth turned and continued on, purposeful.

Syl landed beside Kaladin and whistled softly, growing to full size. “Well, he’s something,” she whispered.

Kaladin gritted his teeth and stalked forward, and Syl walked alongside—not flying, instead imitating his posture. She seemed to think he should try talking to Szeth more, but storms, Kaladin understood the frustration of someone trying to force you to feel better. The sole person who’d ever managed it had been Adolin—and he had done so without pandering or trying to cheer Kaladin up. Somehow. Maybe Adolin should have come on this mission instead. Storming man.

Regardless, Kaladin needed another tactic. He refused to manipulate Szeth into accepting help.

“All right then,” Kaladin said, joining Szeth again. “Dalinar wants me to recruit Ishar the Herald. Any ideas on that?”

“It is a wise mission, given by a wise man,” Szeth said. “But we do not know where Ishar, or Ishu-son-God as we know him, is hiding. Plus, there is something dangerous in this land. My mission here involves a … cleansing and retribution owed to the people of Shinovar.”

“Can you tell me what you mean by that?”

“One of the Unmade is here,” Szeth said. “Awakened years before you became a Radiant, before the first oaths were sworn. My people have embraced it for some reason, and welcomed in its darkness and its manipulations.”

“How can you be sure it’s an Unmade?” Kaladin said. “It took Dalinar ages to recognize the Thrill as an Unmade.”

“Because,” Szeth said, “before my exile, I met it.” He paused for an instant. “It began during my youth. With … a rock.”

The others left, allowing Dalinar to confront the Stormfather alone in that garden room.

He had grown accustomed to having the Stormfather in the back of his mind. Like a thought; the kind of nagging, persistent one that hovered at the perimeter of your consciousness. The awful feeling as you waited for a battle report, already seeing that your side was faring poorly.

Dalinar wished that his metaphor for the sensation weren’t so negative, that his relationship with his spren was more like others’. Some of that was Dalinar’s fault, because of events like when he’d forced the Stormfather to operate an Oathgate as if he were a common Blade. It was partly the spren’s fault, like when the Stormfather had refused to help Kaladin at Urithiru a few weeks ago, and Dalinar had been forced to step in.

They had their peaceful moments, but just as many disagreements. More, really. And often Dalinar could feel the Stormfather’s rage flooding through him, as if he were a chasm during a flash flood. Like today. When the Stormfather spoke, the force of it made Dalinar’s fingers tremble.

What are you doing ? the Stormfather demanded, his voice like thunderheads crashing against one another. What are you contemplating ?

“I am exploring every option I have,” Dalinar said, keeping his voice calm as he stood among the writhing plants. “Like any good general.”

I heard you discussing Honor’s power, the Stormfather thundered. Why, Dalinar ? Must you think so highly of yourself ? You’re ruining everything !

Dalinar braced himself against the force of the words. “Cultivation implied this was my next step,” Dalinar said. “And I agree. I fear that by myself, I can’t defeat Odium.”

A sudden gale washed over him: a completely impossible wind, considering he was in a small enclosed space. The wind seemed to blow away the room, turning it to Stormlight—the walls, plants, spare tables all weathering away like sand caught up in a tempest.

In a moment Dalinar was standing in an empty, open blue—hanging as if in the air far above the world. It was … it was a vision. Like the ones that had propelled him on this course in life. His body would still be in that room, perhaps collapsed upon the floor, while his mind saw what the Stormfather wanted.

An open sky, and a figure building before him in the shape of dark clouds extending in both directions to the horizon. A face manifesting in the natural shapes of the billowing clouds—features he knew as the Stormfather’s. Bearded, though the hair vanished into the mixing and churning clouds. Inhuman eyes glowing with crackling lightning. A daunting, oppressive sight for one who hovered—tiny—before it.

But Dalinar had been the imperious general staring down a subordinate. He knew these tricks.

“Is it possible for me to take up Honor?” Dalinar demanded.

No.

“Wit says otherwise.”

Wit is a liar.

“He has offered us more help than you have.”

He cares only for his own plans, Dalinar. Not for this land or its people.

Unfortunately, Wit had said as much to Dalinar in the past. So he considered, and he tried to modulate his tone.

“Why hasn’t the power of Honor taken another Vessel in all this time?” he finally asked.

I will not give you answers, Dalinar. The Stormfather’s voice grew softer, smaller. You were supposed to be better than this. You were supposed to be better than your brother.

“My brother?” Dalinar said, frowning.

He was arrogant. I knew it. I’ve watched both of you for a long time. Even at his worst though, Gavilar didn’t strive for godhood. Why, Dalinar? Why must you seek this?

“Because I’m overwhelmed, Stormfather,” Dalinar said, letting his exhaustion show. “Because I have to somehow save everyone, but I’m just one man, confused and outmatched. Because the only time I’ve ever felt like I had any hint of control was when I stood up before Odium and touched the Spiritual Realm.”

Unity, the Stormfather said.

“Yes.”

This is not for you to seek or decide. The power cannot go to one who wants it, Dalinar.

“You said it was impossible earlier,” Dalinar said.

Impossible the way you want it to happen.

“And Cultivation, who brought this plan to me in the first place?”

Traitor. She should know the implausibility of what she suggests.

“So which is it, Stormfather?” Dalinar demanded. “Is it impossible, or merely implausible? Is it wrong, or is it the only way to unite people, as I’ve been trying all along?”

It … This is not my plan.

“Your plan?” Dalinar pushed. “I thought this was Honor’s plan. You said he charged you to find people for the visions—so they could prepare for the coming dangers. You’re filling a role, just like me.”

You have no idea what you’re talking about.

“I only know what you’ve told me,” Dalinar said, feeling his anger mount. “I know that I’ve been stymied and cut off every time I’ve tried to make progress! I’ve had to fight you almost as much as I fight our enemy!”

Honor’s plan—

“Honor abandoned us!” Dalinar shouted. “We don’t even know why or how! All you’ll say is that he died, he faded away, he left visions and some plan for us to force Odium into a contest of champions. Vague, without real instructions.”

It’s working though.

“Is it?” Dalinar said, gesturing toward the continent far below. “You’ve seen what the enemy is doing.”

I … know now.

“They’ve outmaneuvered us already,” Dalinar said. “And they will do so again!” He heard thunder, and found he was growing. When he spoke, his own words were punctuated by rumblings. “The enemy has changed, Stormfather, but whoever they are, they’re a god—and can match whatever I try! You don’t think he can? What if he brings a Fused to fight me? An Unmade? A thunderclast? Some being from offworld with the power to tear down cities and lay waste to thousands?

“You think I can defeat that in some contest? I’m going to lose unless I find some kind of edge! All along, we were so focused on getting the agreement from him that we didn’t consider how to win! Is it any real surprise that I’m looking for a third option ! So are you going to help me for once, or keep standing in my storming way ?”

He cut off, a hundred more thoughts running through his head, each with an attached frustration. He stopped the tide, breathing heavily, and found that—strangely—he was now the same size as the Stormfather. That was an impossibility, since the Stormfather extended to infinity. But in this place, reality bent, and he could look the spren straight in the eyes.

What you want … is dangerous.

“It’s not what I want, Stormfather,” Dalinar said. “But it might be the only way.”

The Stormfather rumbled softly, and he glanced down, away from Dalinar. What of the Heralds? Perhaps the Heralds can help.

“I sent Szeth and Kaladin to try to retrieve one,” Dalinar said. “But what do you think? Can they solve this?”

Maybe. But … they are not reliable anymore, are they? Time has broken them … I’ve broken them. He looked back at Dalinar. I cannot say if the power would accept someone like you as a host, after what happened with Tanavast.

“And what happened with Tanavast?” Dalinar said.

It’s … worse than I told you, Dalinar.

“So you lied.”

Yes. Does that surprise you? Anger you?

Dalinar took a deep breath, and found that he was relieved to finally get an admission.

“Yes,” Dalinar said. “But I can move beyond that.”

The Stormfather rumbled, and the dark thunderheads calmed. I’m supposed to be better than lies, Dalinar. I should be constant. I am the winds. I do not lie.

“You are a person,” Dalinar said, “capable of growth. Capable of learning. If that is the case, then you are capable of mistakes.”

The Stormfather at last met his eyes again. I don’t know what would happen if you became Honor before the contest. I do not like even thinking about it. However, you might find answers that will … change your perspective. In the Spiritual Realm, as Cultivation said. You can take that step, and see the past, but do not seek the power of Honor.

Be warned. I will not be able to control what happens to you, or where you are taken. It is a process that is confusing to any who is not themself a Shard of Adonalsium. Even your Wit, for all his boasting and self-importance, can barely fathom the Spiritual Realm. Regardless, if you look into the Spiritual Realm … you will see. Perhaps you will see.

“See what, exactly?”

Our shame.

The vision vanished in the blink of an eye, and Dalinar found himself back in the tower. Standing up, remarkably, rather than having collapsed.

Wit was there. Sitting on a table with one leg up, next to a fern growing from the floor.

“Could you see that?” Dalinar asked him.

“I could hear it,” Wit said. “He’s both right and wrong. I do care about all of you, Dalinar.”

“But Odium remaining captive on our planet is more important to you than any of our lives.”

Wit nodded. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not apologize,” Dalinar said, stretching, exhaustionspren buzzing around him like insects. “I appreciate the honesty.”

“People think I detest honesty,” Wit said, “because they don’t often like to hear what I have to say, and so must assume I speak only lies.”

“They’d probably enjoy it more,” Dalinar said, “if you didn’t present both truth and lies in a way that belittles the listener.”

“Fair enough,” Wit said, hopping off the table. “I assume you’ve decided to go forward with this plan?”

“Yes,” Dalinar said, realizing it was true. “I want to start as soon as possible.”

“You’ll need a way to track time in there,” Wit said. “Even if we do this the smart way—which means sending your mind, but not your body—it would be easy for you to let months pass. That obviously won’t do. You have an appointment to keep, after all.”

“… Months?” Dalinar said.

“If not years. Decades. Time is entirely different in the Spiritual Realm. Storms, in some corner cases, you could vanish for what feels to you like a few hours—while decades of time pass out here. The visions so far were carefully curated and monitored by your spren, preventing you from being lost.”

“Is there a way for you to monitor for us?”

Wit fished in his pocket. He brought out a little clock, with two straps on the sides. The symbols on the face were unfamiliar to Dalinar. “Silverlight Mercantile,” Wit said to his questioning glance. “Adjustable to local time on different planets, if you swap out the face. Here, let me see that thing on your forearm.”

Dalinar held up his arm, where he still wore Navani’s fabrial bracer—it had a mechanism that kept the time and the date for him.

“All right,” Wit said, “this should work. You know how you do that thing where you teach yourself languages by bonding to a region? Do that, but with the clocks.”

“Could you be clearer? ‘Do that’ isn’t much to go on.”

“Take my clock’s soul,” Wit said, holding up his, “and Connect it by a thread of power to your own clock, grounding yours in the Physical Realm while you travel.” Wit looked at him. “Poke this with Stormlight, then poke that. Try it.”

Dalinar drew in Stormlight, then touched Wit’s clock, Infusing it with power. When he took his finger away, a line of light followed. He touched his clock, and something seemed to snap. The dial quivered for a moment, then continued as if nothing had happened.

“Excellent,” Wit said.

“So …”

“So the clock on your arm will show the same time that mine does,” Wit explained. “The date as well. Without this, your clock could adapt to your perception of time in the Spiritual Realm. Meaning it might feel and read like an hour has passed—but in reality you could return here and find all of us dead and gone. Well, everyone else. I tend to linger. Rather like a winter cough.”

“What about winter makes one cough?” Dalinar asked.

“Oh, right,” Wit said. “Roshar. No common cold. You have no idea how wonderful life is here, do you?”

“Are there places worse than the one being threatened with utter domination by a dark, destructive god?”

“You’d be surprised,” Wit said. “A few have political fundraisers. ” He strapped on his clock. “We’ll try a quick test. So long as we keep you tethered, time shouldn’t pass too outrageously for you compared to us, and you should be able to send your mind into a vision, then return as you wish.”

“ Should be able?”

“Should be able,” Wit admitted.

No quip. That was always a bad sign.

“You’ll need to open a perpendicularity,” Wit said, “step into it, then let the light take you. But not all of you. Push all the way through—but only with your mind, or you’ll end up in Shadesmar.”

Storms. That sounded difficult. And confusing.

But what else was he to do? “Let’s get Navani and Jasnah in here to monitor me, then we’ll give it a try.”