Oathbringer (The Stormlight Archive #3)

The short spren clasped his hands behind his back. Of all the spren they’d interacted with on this side, the honorspren seemed to share the most human mannerisms.

“I could lock you away again,” the captain said. “Or even have you tossed overboard.”

“Yeah? And what would that do to Syl? She told me that losing a bonded Radiant was hard on their spren.”

“True. But she would recover, and it might be for the best. Your relationship with the Ancient Daughter is … inappropriate.”

“It’s not like we eloped.”

“It is worse, as the Nahel bond is far more intimate a relationship. The linking of spirits. This is not a thing that should be done lightly, unsupervised. Besides, the Ancient Daughter is too young.”

“Young?” Kaladin said. “Didn’t you just call her ancient?”

“It would be difficult to explain to a human.”

“Try anyway.”

The captain sighed. “The honorspren were created by Honor himself, many thousands of years ago. You call him the Almighty, and … I’m afraid he’s dead.”

“Which makes sense, as it’s pretty much the only excuse I would have accepted.”

“That wasn’t levity, human,” Notum said. “Your god is dead.”

“Not my god. But please continue.”

“Well…” Notum frowned; he’d obviously thought the concept of Honor’s death would have been more difficult for Kaladin to accept. “Well, sometime before his death, Honor stopped creating honorspren. We don’t know why, but he asked the Stormfather to do it instead.”

“He was setting up an heir. I’ve heard that the Stormfather is a kind of image of the Almighty.”

“More like a weak shadow,” Notum said. “You … actually understand this?”

“Understand, no. Follow? Mostly.”

“The Stormfather created only a handful of children. All of these, save Sylphrena, were destroyed in the Recreance, becoming deadeyes. This loss stung the Stormfather, who didn’t create again for centuries. When he was finally moved to remake the honorspren, he created only ten more. My great-grandmother was among them; she created my grandfather, who created my father, who eventually created me.

“It was only recently, even by your reckoning, that the Ancient Daughter was rediscovered. Asleep. So, in answer to your question, yes, Sylphrena is both old and young. Old of form, but young of mind. She is not ready to deal with humans, and certainly not ready for a bond. I wouldn’t trust myself with one of those.”

“You think we’re too changeable, don’t you? That we can’t keep our oaths.”

“I’m no highspren,” the captain spat. “I can see that the variety of humankind is what gives you strength. Your ability to change your minds, to go against what you once thought, can be a great advantage. But your bond is dangerous, without Honor. There will not be enough checks upon your power—you risk disaster.”

“How?”

Notum shook his head, then looked away, off into the distance. “I cannot answer. You should not have bonded Sylphrena, either way. She is too precious to the Stormfather.”

“Regardless,” Kaladin said, “you’re about half a year too late. So you might as well accept it.”

“Not too late. Killing you would free her—though it would be painful for her. There are other ways, at least until the Final Ideal is sworn.”

“I can’t imagine you’d be willing to kill a man for this,” Kaladin said. “Tell me truthfully. Is there honor in that, Notum?”

He looked away, as if ashamed.

“You know Syl shouldn’t be locked away like this,” Kaladin said softly. “You’re an honorspren too, Notum. You must know how she feels.”

The captain didn’t speak.

Finally, Kaladin gritted his teeth and strode off. The captain didn’t demand that Kaladin go down below, so he took up a position at the very front of the high deck, hanging out over the bow.

With one hand on the flagpole, Kaladin rested a boot on the low railing, overlooking the sea of beads. He wore his uniform today, since he’d been able to wash it the previous night. Honor’s Path had good accommodations for humans, including a device that made a great deal of water. The design—if not the vessel itself—probably stretched back centuries to when Radiants traveled Shadesmar with their spren.

Beneath him, the ship creaked as sailors shifted her heading. To the left, he could see land. Longbrow’s Straits—on the other side of which they’d find Thaylen City. Tantalizingly close.

Technically, he was no longer Dalinar’s bodyguard. But storms, during the Weeping, Kaladin had nearly abandoned his duty. The thought of Dalinar needing him now—while Kaladin was trapped and unable to help—brought a pain that was almost physical. He’d failed so many people in his life.…

Life before death. Strength before weakness. Journey before destination. Together, these Words formed the First Ideal of the Windrunners. He’d said them, but he wasn’t certain he understood them.

The Second Ideal made more direct sense. I will protect those who cannot protect themselves. Straightforward, yes … but overwhelming. The world was a place of suffering. Was he really supposed to try to prevent it all?

I will protect even those I hate, so long as it is right. The Third Ideal meant standing up for anyone, if needed. But who decided what was “right”? Which side was he supposed to protect?

The Fourth Ideal was unknown to him, but the closer he drew to it, the more frightened he became. What would it demand of him?

Something crystallized in the air beside him, a line of light like a pinprick in the air that trailed a long, soft luminescence. A mistspren sailor near him gasped, then nudged his companion. She whispered something in awe, then both scrambled away.

What have I done now?

A second pinprick of light appeared near him, spinning, coordinated with the other. They made spiral trails in the air. He’d have called them spren, but they weren’t any he’d seen before. Besides, spren on this side didn’t seem to vanish and appear—they were always here, weren’t they?

K-Kaladin? a voice whispered in his head.

“Syl?” he whispered.

What are you doing? It was rare that he heard her directly in his mind.

“Standing on the deck. What’s happened?”

Nothing. I can just … feel your mind right now. Stronger than usual. They let you out?

“Yes. I’ve tried to get them to set you free.”

They’re stubborn. It’s an honorspren trait which I, fortunately, escaped.

“Syl. What is the Fourth Ideal?”

You know you have to figure that out on your own, silly.

“It’s going to be hard, isn’t it?”

Yes. You’re close.

He leaned forward, watching the mandras float beneath them. A small flock of gloryspren zipped past. They took a moment to fly up and spin about him before heading to the south, faster than the ship.

The strange pinpricks of light continued to whirl around him. Sailors gathered behind, making a ruckus until the captain pushed through and gaped.

“What are they?” Kaladin asked, nodding toward the pinpricks of light.

“Windspren.”