Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,444

… I think he’s dying.”

The singers first put Jezrien into a gemstone. They think they are clever, discovering they can trap us in those. It only took them seven thousand years.

Kaladin existed in a place where the wind hated him.

He remembered fighting in the market, then swimming through the well. He vaguely remembered running out into the storm—wanting to let go and drop away.

But no, he couldn’t give up. He’d climbed the outside of the tower. Because he’d known that if he fled, he’d leave Dabbid and Teft alone. If he fled, he’d leave Syl—maybe forever. So he’d climbed and …

And the Stormfather’s voice?

No, Dalinar’s voice.

That had been … days ago? Weeks? He didn’t know what had happened to him. He walked a place of constant winds. The faces of those he loved appeared in haunting shadows, each one begging for help. Flashes of light burned his skin, blinded him. The light was angry. And though Kaladin longed to escape the darkness, each new flash trained him to be more afraid of the light.

The worst part was the wind. The wind that hated him. It flayed him, slamming him against the rocks as he tried to find a hiding place to escape it.

Hate, it whispered. Hate. Hate hate.

Each time the wind spoke, it broke something inside Kal. Ever since he could remember—since childhood—he had loved the wind. The feel of it on his skin meant he was free. Meant he was alive. It brought new scents, clean and fresh. The wind had always been there, his friend, his companion, his ally. Until one day it had come to life and started talking to him.

Its hatred crushed him. Left him trembling. He screamed for Syl, then remembered that he’d abandoned her. He couldn’t remember how he’d come to this terrible place, but he remembered that. Plain as a dagger in his chest.

He’d left Syl alone, to lose herself because he’d gotten too far away. He’d abandoned the wind.

The wind crashed into him, pressing him against something hard. A rock formation? He was … somewhere barren. No sign of rockbuds or vines in the flashes of terrifying light. Only endless windswept, rocky crags. It reminded him of the Shattered Plains, but with far more variation to the elevations. Peaks and precipices, red and grey.

So many holes and tunnels. Surely there was a place to hide. Please. Just let me rest. For a minute.

He pushed forward, holding to the rock wall, trying not to stumble. He had to fight the wind. The terrible wind.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

Lightning flashed, blinding him. He huddled beside the rock as the wind blew stronger. When he started moving, he could see a bit better. Sometimes it was pure darkness. Sometimes he could see a little, though there was no light source he could locate. Merely a persistent directionless illumination. Like … like another place he couldn’t remember.

Hide. He had to hide.

Kal pushed off the wall, struggling against the wind. Figures appeared. Teft begging to know why Kal hadn’t rescued him. Moash pleading for help protecting his grandparents. Lirin dying as Roshone executed him.

Kal tried to ignore them, but if he squeezed his eyes shut, their cries became louder. So he forced himself forward, searching for shelter. He struggled up a short incline—but as soon as he reached the top, the wind reversed and blew him from behind, casting him down the other side. He landed on his shoulder, scraping up his arm as he slid across the stone.

Hate. Hate. Hate.

Kal forced himself to his knees. He … he didn’t give up. He … wasn’t a person who was allowed to give up. Was that right? It was hard … hard to remember.

He got to his feet, his arm hanging limp at his side, and kept walking. Against the wind again. Keep moving. Don’t let it stop you. Find a place. A place to hide.

He staggered forward, exhausted. How long had it been since he’d slept? Truly slept? For years, Kal had stumbled from one nightmare to another. He lived on willpower alone. But what would happen when he ran out of strength? What would happen when he simply … couldn’t?

“Syl?” he croaked. “Syl?”

The wind slammed into him and knocked him off balance, shoving him right up to the rim of a chasm. He teetered on the edge, terrified of the darkness below—but the wind didn’t give him a choice. It pushed him straight into the void.

He tumbled and fell, slamming into rocks along the chasm wall, denied peace