other honorspren, they talk about what we were made to be, what we must do. I talked like that once. I was wrong.”
“A lot of humans are the same,” he said, leaning down so he was eye level with her. “I guess we both need to remember that whatever’s happening in our heads, whatever it was that created us, we get to choose. That’s what makes us people, Syl.”
She smiled, then her havah bled from a light white-blue to a deeper blue color, striking and distinct, like it was made of real cloth.
“You’re getting better at that,” he said. “The colors are more vibrant this time.”
She held up her arms. “I think the closer I get to your world, the more I can become, the more I can change.”
She seemed to like that idea and sat, making her dress fade from one shade of blue to another, and then to a green. Kaladin finished giving Teft the syringe of water, then held it up. The sides of the metal had fingerprints in them, sunken into the surface. This device had been Soulcast into metal after first being formed from wax—the fingerprints were a telltale sign.
“You can become more things,” he said. “Like a syringe maybe? We talked about you becoming other tools.”
“I think I could do it,” she said. “If I could manifest as a Blade right now, I could change shape to be like that. I think … you imagining it, me believing it, we could do even more. It—”
She cut off as a faint scraping sounded outside, from near the doorway. Immediately Kaladin reached for his scalpel. Syl came alert, zipping up into the air around him as a ribbon of light. Kaladin crept toward the door. He’d covered up the gemstone in the wall on this side with a piece of cloth. He didn’t know if his light would shine out or not, but wasn’t taking any chances.
But he could hear. Someone was out there, their boots scraping stone. Were they inspecting the door?
He made a snap decision, slipping his hand under the cloth and pressing it against the stone, commanding it to open. The rocks began to split. Kaladin prepared to leap out and attack the singer on the other side.
But it wasn’t a singer.
It was Dabbid.
The unassuming bridgeman wore street clothing, and he stepped away from the door as it opened. He saw Kaladin and nodded to him, as if this were all completely expected.
“Dabbid?” Kaladin said. Other than Rlain, Dabbid was the only original bridgeman who hadn’t manifested Windrunner powers. So it made sense he was awake. But how had he found his way here?
Dabbid held up a pot with something liquid inside. Kaladin gave it a sniff. “Broth?” he asked. “How did you know?”
Dabbid pointed at the line of crystal on the wall, where the tower spren’s light began to twinkle. Surprising; along with being mute, the man didn’t often volunteer information.
Holding the pot awkwardly, Dabbid tapped his wrists together. Bridge Four.
“I am so glad to see you,” Kaladin said, leading him into the room. “How did you get broth? Never mind. Here, come sit by Teft.” Dabbid was one of the first men Kaladin had saved when he’d started administering medical aid to the bridgemen. While Dabbid’s physical wounds had healed, his battle shock was the strongest Kaladin had ever seen.
Regardless, he was a wonderful sight. Kaladin had been worrying about leaving Teft. If Kaladin died on a mission, that would be a death sentence for Teft too. Unless someone else knew about him.
He got Dabbid situated, then showed him the use of the syringe and had him start feeding Teft. Kaladin felt bad, putting the mute bridgeman to work as soon as he arrived, but—by Syl’s internal clock—night would soon arrive. Kaladin needed to get moving.
“I’ll explain more when I return,” Kaladin promised. “Dabbid, can you get this door open? In case you need to fetch more food and water.”
Dabbid walked over and put his hand on the door’s gemstone; it opened for him as easily as it did for Kaladin. That was somewhat worrisome. Kaladin touched the wall garnet. “Tower spren?” he asked.
Yes.
“Is there a way I can lock these doors, so they can’t be opened by just anyone?”
It was once possible to attune them to individuals. These days, I must simply leave a given door so it can be opened by anyone, or lock it so none can open it.
Well, it was good to know that—in a pinch—he should