Oathbringer: Book Three of the Stormlight Archive

I am certain there are nine Unmade. There are many legends and names that I could have misinterpreted, conflating two Unmade into one. In the next section, I will discuss my theories on this.

—From Hessi’s Mythica, page 266

Kaladin remembered a woman’s kiss.

Tarah had been special. The darkeyed daughter of an assistant quartermaster, she had grown up helping with her father’s work. Though she was a hundred percent Alethi, she preferred dresses of an old-fashioned Thaylen style, which had an apronlike front with straps over the shoulders and skirts that ended right below the knee. She’d wear a buttoned shirt underneath, often in a bright color—brighter than most darkeyes could afford. Tarah knew how to squeeze the most out of her spheres.

That day, Kaladin had been sitting on a stump, shirt off, sweating. The evening was growing cold as the sun set, and he basked in the last warmth. His spear resting across his lap, he toyed with a rock of white, brown, and black. Alternating colors.

The warmth from the sun was mirrored as someone warm hugged him from behind, wrapping her arms across his chest. Kaladin rested a callused hand on Tarah’s smooth one, drinking in her scent—of starched uniforms, new leather, and other clean things.

“You’re done early,” he said. “I thought there were greenvines to outfit today.”

“I have the new girl doing the rest.”

“I’m surprised. I know how much you like this part.”

“Storms,” she said, slipping around in front of him. “They get so embarrassed when you measure them. ‘Hold on, kid. I’m not making a pass at you because I’m putting a measuring tape up against your chest, I swear.…’ ” She lifted his spear, looking it over with a critical eye, testing the balance. “I wish you’d let me requisition a new one for you.”

“I like that one. Took me forever to find one long enough.”

She peered along the length of the weapon, to make sure it was straight. She would never trust it, as she hadn’t personally requisitioned it for him. She wore green today, under a brown skirt, her black hair tied back in a tail. Slightly plump, with a round face and firm build, Tarah’s beauty was a subtle thing. Like an uncut gemstone. The more you saw of it—the more you discovered of its natural facets—the more you loved it. Until one day it struck you that you’d never known anything as wonderful.

“Any young boys among the greenvines?” Kaladin asked, standing up and pocketing Tien’s stone.

“I didn’t notice.”

He grunted, waving to Gol—one of the other squadleaders. “You know I like to watch for kids who might need a little extra looking out for.”

“I know, but I was busy. We got a caravan from Kholinar today.” She leaned close to him. “There was real flour in one of the packages. I traded in some favors. You know I’ve been wanting you to try some of my father’s Thaylen bread? I thought maybe we’d fix it tonight.”

“Your father hates me.”

“He’s coming around. Besides, he loves anyone who compliments his bread.”

“I have evening practice.”

“You just got done practicing.”

“I just got done warming up.” He looked to her, then grimaced. “I organized the evening practice, Tarah. I can’t just skip it. Besides, I thought you were going to be busy all evening. Maybe tomorrow, lunch?”

He kissed her on the cheek and reclaimed his spear. He’d taken only a step away when she spoke.

“I’m leaving, Kal,” she said from behind.

He stumbled over his own feet, then spun about. “What?”

“I’m transferring,” she said. “They offered me a scribe’s job in Mourn’s Vault, with the highprince’s house. It’s a good opportunity, particularly for someone like me.”

“But…” He gaped. “Leaving?”

“I wanted to tell you over dinner, not out here in the cold. It’s something I have to do. Father’s getting older; he’s worried he’ll end up being shipped to the Shattered Plains. If I can get work, he can join me.”

Kaladin put a hand to his head. She couldn’t just leave, could she?

Tarah walked over, stood on the tips of her toes, and kissed him lightly on the lips.

“Could you … not go?” he asked.

She shook her head.

“Maybe I could get a transfer?” he said. “To the highprince’s standing house guard?”

“Would you do that?”

“I…”

No. He wouldn’t.

Not while he carried that stone in his pocket, not while the memory of his brother dying was fresh in his mind. Not while lighteyed highlords got boys killed in petty fights.

“Oh, Kal,” she whispered, then squeezed his arm. “Maybe someday you’ll learn how to be there for the living, not just for the dead.”

After she left, he got two letters from her, talking about her life in Mourn’s Vault. He had paid someone to read them to him.

He never sent responses. Because he was stupid, because he didn’t understand. Because men make mistakes when they’re young and angry.

Because she had been right.

*

Kaladin shouldered his harpoon, leading his companions through the strange forest. They’d flown part of the way, but needed to conserve what little Stormlight they had left.

So, they’d spent the last two days hiking. Trees and more trees, lifespren floating among them, the occasional bobbing souls of fish. Syl kept saying that they were lucky they hadn’t encountered any angerspren or other predators. To her, this forest was strangely silent, strangely empty.

The jungle-style trees had given way to taller, more statuesque ones with deep crimson trunks and limbs like burnt-red crystals that, at the ends, burst into small collections of minerals. The rugged obsidian landscape was full of deep valleys and endless towering hills. Kaladin was beginning to worry that—despite the motionless sun to provide an unerring way to gauge their heading—they were going in the wrong direction.

“Storms, bridgeboy,” Adolin said, hiking up the incline after him. “Maybe a break?”

“At the top,” Kaladin said.

Without Stormlight, Shallan trailed farthest behind, Pattern at her side. Exhaustionspren circled in the air above, like large chickens. Though she tried to push herself, she wasn’t a soldier, and often was the biggest limitation to their pace. Of course, without her mapmaking skills and mem ory of Thaylen City’s exact location, they probably wouldn’t have any idea which way to go.

Fortunately, there was no sign of pursuit. Still, Kaladin couldn’t help worrying that they were moving too slowly.

Be there, Tarah had told him. For the living.

He urged them up this hillside, past a section of broken ground, where the obsidian had fractured like layers of crem that hadn’t hardened properly. Worry pulled him forward. Step after relentless step.

He had to get to the Oathgate. He would not fail like he had in Kholinar.

A single glowing windspren burst alight next to him as he reached the top of the hill. Cresting it, he found himself overlooking a sea of souls. Thousands upon thousands of candle flames bobbed about in the next valley over, moving above a grand ocean of glass beads.