The Burning White (Lightbringer #5) - Brent Weeks Page 0,179

stone?” Gavin asked.

“No, but it’s written,” Orholam said, “that you will find the correct stone to be the lightest burden.”

“So the stones know somehow?” Gavin asked. “Clever, for stones.”

“You’ve seen greater magic. Done greater yourself.”

“No, I believe it. But, well, if you have stones here that weigh a man’s sins, I should like to take some home. Come in right handy when adjudicating disputes.”

“You could ask Orholam for that favor, if you wish.”

Gavin moved toward one of the smaller stones. “So can I try a few . . .”

“The first stone you touch is the stone you take, for good or ill.” He put his hands on his hips. “Are you really going to try to cheat a pilgrimage?”

“No!” Gavin said. He didn’t sound convincing even to his own ears.

“Consider carefully, please.”

“Consider what? The stones?” Gavin asked.

“Yes, those, in a moment, but no. Consider how you wish to start on this path. Start as you intend to go. You’ll reap what you’re planting.”

“What’s this thing?” Gavin asked, spotting an odd depression carved in the inner wall. He poked his head in. It looked like a chute, such as certain waterfalls carve. But—unfortunately—it was far too steep, slippery, and wide for him to climb directly. If he were hoping for a shortcut, he might as well simply scale the sheer walls of the tower instead.

“Lest you fear that hiking so burdened will slow you too much, know that this is where the celestial realms overlap the mundane. Time works differently here. Your first attempt will take less than two weeks, though here it will feel like only days have passed, so you’ll finish by Sun Day, if you aren’t too much of a sluggard. That’s considered the most blessed day possible, naturally. You’re highly favored to even have the chance.”

“I feel real lucky,” Gavin said.

“Your second attempt will feel like it takes the same amount of time, but during the attempt a year will pass. During the third, a decade.”

“You get multiple chances?”

“Some people refuse to learn easy lessons, even repeated ones, yet still don’t give up.”

“Fools, you mean,” Gavin said.

Orholam raised his eyebrows as if Gavin saying this was a bit rich. But instead of the stern rebuke Gavin had expected, Orholam said, “Gentleness suits you better. I know you’re not without it.”

For some reason, it quieted Gavin. He wanted to mock all this, all this holiness that had spilled rivers of blood. He wanted to punish Orholam for all the bitterness in his own heart. But Gavin had to climb regardless.

What if he climbed and failed, then had to worry that it had been his failure, not anyone else’s? Taking it seriously wouldn’t cost him much of anything except his own sanctimonious attitude—and it might gain Karris her life.

Whether Orholam Himself or a nexus of magic awaited Gavin at the top of this climb, he had to get there in order to find out. Everything might depend on him taking this seriously.

Grinwoody had said Gavin had to kill the magical nexus called Orholam by Sun Day or Karris would die. How would the Old Man of the Desert even know?

But actually, if Gavin killed all magic in the world, then everyone everywhere would know it right away.

“Woo!” he said. “Let’s expiate us some sins!” But though his tone was light, his heart was not.

Orholam didn’t reprimand him.

Gavin moved to the biggest stone. He was pretty much filled to the brim with Pride.

The rock, though, was nearly as big as his own torso. There was no way he could carry that thing. He itched at his eye patch.

Well, I’m not the most arrogant person I know. Maybe I should grade myself against the people in my set. After all, my father is far more arrogant than I am. So . . .

He picked up the second largest stone. It was heavy as death. He grunted.

“You have to be kidding!” he said, straining.

“Let’s go,” Orholam said.

“One moment,” Gavin said. He nudged the biggest stone to test its weight.

It rolled easily under his foot.

Shit.

Chapter 50

“Lord Luíseach,” one of the new Mighty, Einin, said with a heavy accent as she entered Kip’s dusty command tent. “The Cwn y Wawr captured a man on the road. Claims to be a messenger.” Every one of the Mighty was extraordinary, but Einin stood out.

A huntress married to a farmer from some close-knit community far in the highlands, she was thirty years old (ancient compared to the rest of the Mighty), had borne ten children in her