Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

“Smaller,” Leyten said, “because we can cross them so fast. I remember plateaus that felt like they took years to cross. We zip past those in an eyeblink.”

“But then you get up high,” Lopen added, “and you realize how wide this place is—sure, how much of it we never even explored—and it just seems … big.”

The others nodded, eager. You had to read their emotion in their expressions and the way they moved, not in their voices. Maybe that was why emotion spren came so often to humans, more often than to listeners. Without the rhythms, men needed help understanding one another.

“Who’s on the next patrol?” Skar asked.

“None for today,” Kaladin said. “I have a meeting with Dalinar. We’ll leave a squad in Narak, but…”

Soon after he left through the Oathgate, everyone would slowly start to lose their powers. They’d be gone in an hour or two. Kaladin had to be relatively near—Sigzil had placed their maximum distance from him at around fifty miles, though their abilities started to fade somewhere around thirty miles.

“Fine,” Skar said. “I was looking forward to drinking more of Rock’s cremling juice anyway.”

“Cremling juice?” Sigzil said, drink halfway to his lips. Other than Rlain, Sigzil’s dark brown skin was the most different from the rest of the crew—though the bridgemen didn’t seem to care much about skin color. To them, only eyes mattered. Rlain had always found that strange, as among listeners, your skin patterns had at times been a matter of some import.

“So…” Skar said. “Are we going to talk about Renarin?”

The twenty-eight men shared looks, many settling down around the barrel of Rock’s drink as they once had around the cookfire. There were certainly a suspicious number of buckets to use as stools, as if Rock had planned for this. The Horneater himself leaned against the table he’d brought out for holding cups, a cleaning rag thrown over his shoulder.

“What about him?” Kaladin asked, frowning and looking around at the group.

“He’s been spending a lot of time with the scribes studying the tower city,” Natam said.

“The other day,” Skar added, “he was talking about what he’s doing there. It sounded an awful lot like he was learning how to read.”

The men shifted uncomfortably.

“So?” Kaladin asked. “What’s the problem? Sigzil can read his own language. Storms, I can read glyphs.”

“It’s not the same,” Skar said.

“It’s feminine,” Drehy added.

“Drehy,” Kaladin said, “you are literally courting a man.”

“So?” Drehy said.

“Yeah, what are you saying, Kal?” Skar snapped.

“Nothing! I just thought Drehy might empathize.…”

“That’s hardly fair,” Drehy said.

“Yeah,” Lopen added. “Drehy likes other guys. That’s like … he wants to be even less around women than the rest of us. It’s the opposite of feminine. He is, you could say, extra manly.”

“Yeah,” Drehy said.

Kaladin rubbed his forehead, and Rlain empathized. It was sad that humans were so burdened by always being in mateform. They were always distracted by the emotions and passions of mating, and had not yet reached a place where they could put that aside.

He felt embarrassed for them—they were simply too concerned about what a person should and shouldn’t be doing. It was because they didn’t have forms to change into. If Renarin wanted to be a scholar, let him be a scholar.

“I’m sorry,” Kaladin said, holding out his hand to calm the men. “I wasn’t trying to insult Drehy. But storms, men. We know that things are changing. Look at the lot of us. We’re halfway to being lighteyes! We’ve already let five women into Bridge Four, and they’ll be fighting with spears. Expectations are being upended—and we’re the cause of it. So let’s give Renarin a little leeway, shall we?”

Rlain nodded. Kaladin was a good man. For all his faults, he tried even more than the rest of them.

“I have thing to say,” Rock added. “During last few weeks, how many of you have come to me, saying you feel you don’t fit in with Bridge Four now?”

The plateau fell silent. Finally, Sigzil raised his hand. Followed by Skar. And several others, including Hobber.

“Hobber, you did not come to me,” Rock noted.

“Oh. Yeah, but I felt like it, Rock.” He glanced down. “Everything’s changing. I don’t know if I can keep up.”

“I still have nightmares,” Leyten said softly, “about what we saw in the bowels of Urithiru. Anyone else?”

“I have trouble Alethi,” Huio said. “It makes me … embarrassing. Alone.”

“I’m scared of heights,” Torfin added. “Flying up there is terrifying to me.”

A few glanced at Teft.

“What?” Teft demanded. “You expect this to be a feeling-sharing party because the storming Horneater gave you a sour eye? Storm off. It’s a miracle I’m not burning moss every moment of the day, having to deal with you lot.”

Natam patted him on the shoulder.

“And I will not fight,” Rock said. “I know some of you do not like this. He makes me feel different. Not only because I am only one with proper beard in crew.” He leaned forward. “Life is changing. We will all feel alone because of this, yes? Ha! Perhaps we can feel alone together.”

They all seemed to find this comforting. Well, except Lopen, who had snuck away from the group and for some reason was lifting up rocks on the other side of the plateau and looking underneath them. Even among humans, he was a strange one.

The men relaxed and started to chat. Though Hobber slapped Rlain on the back, it was the closest any of them came to asking how he felt. Was it childish of him to feel frustrated? They all thought they were alone, did they? Felt that they were outsiders? Did they know what it was like to be of an entirely different species? A species they were currently at war with—a species whose people had all been either murdered or corrupted?

People in the tower watched him with outright hatred. His friends didn’t, but they sure did like to pat themselves on the back for that fact. We understand that you’re not like the others, Rlain. You can’t help what you look like.

He attuned Annoyance and sat there until Kaladin sent the rest of them off to train the aspiring Windrunners. Kaladin spoke softly with Rock, then turned and paused, seeing Rlain sitting there on his bucket.

“Rlain,” Kaladin said, “why don’t you take the rest of the day off?”

What if I don’t want special accommodation because you feel sorry for me?

Kaladin squatted down beside Rlain. “Hey. You heard what Rock said. I know how you feel. We can help you shoulder this.”

“Do you really?” Rlain said. “Do you actually know how I feel, Kaladin Stormblessed? Or is that simply a thing that men say?”

“I guess it’s a thing men say,” Kaladin admitted, then pulled over an upside-down bucket for himself. “Can you tell me how it feels?”

Did he really want to know? Rlain considered, then attuned Resolve. “I can try.”