Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive #4) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,551

you.”

“And you did. As I helped you.” He pulled Kaladin tight. “Why do we fight, Kal? Why do we keep going?”

“I don’t know,” Kaladin whispered. “I’ve forgotten.”

“It’s so we can be with each other.”

“They all die, Tien. Everyone dies.”

“So they do, don’t they?”

“That means it doesn’t matter,” Kaladin said. “None of it matters.”

“See, that’s the wrong way of looking at it.” Tien held him tighter. “Since we all go to the same place in the end, the moments we spent with each other are the only things that do matter. The times we helped each other.”

Kaladin trembled.

“Look at it, Kal,” Tien said softly. “See the colors. If you think letting Teft die is a failure—but all the times you supported him are meaningless—then no wonder it always hurts. Instead, if you think of how lucky you both were to be able to help each other when you were together, well, it looks a lot nicer, doesn’t it?”

“I’m not strong enough,” Kaladin whispered.

“You’re strong enough for me.”

“I’m not good enough.”

“You’re good enough for me.”

“I wasn’t there.”

Tien smiled. “You are here for me, Kal. You’re here for all of us.”

“And…” Kaladin said, tears on his cheeks, “if I fail again?”

“You can’t. So long as you understand.” He pulled Kaladin tight. Kaladin rested his head against Tien’s chest, blotting his tears with the cloth of his shirt. “Teft believes in you. The enemy thinks he’s won. But I want to see his face when he realizes the truth. Don’t you? It’s going to be delightful.”

Kaladin found himself smiling.

“If he kills us,” Tien said, “he’s simply dropped us off at a place we were going anyway. We shouldn’t hasten it, and it is sad. But see, he can’t take our moments, our Connection, Kaladin. And those are things that really matter.”

Kaladin closed his eyes, letting himself enjoy this moment. “Is it real?” he finally asked. “Are you real? Or is this something made by the Stormfather, or Wit, or someone else?”

Tien smiled, then pressed something into Kaladin’s hand. A small wooden horse. “Try to keep track of him this time, Kal. I worked hard on that.”

Then Kaladin dropped suddenly, the wooden horse evaporating in his hand as he fell.

He searched around in the endless blackness. “Syl?” he called.

A pinprick of light, weaving around him. But that wasn’t her.

“SYL!”

Another pinprick. And another.

But those weren’t her. That was. He reached into the darkness and seized her hand, pulling her to him. She grabbed him, physical in this place and his own size.

She held to him, and shook as she spoke. “I’ve forgotten the Words. I’m supposed to help you, but I can’t. I…”

“You are helping,” Kaladin said, “by being here.” He closed his eyes, feeling the storm as they broke through the moment between and entered the real world.

“Besides,” he whispered, “I know the Words.”

Say them, Tien whispered.

“I have always known these Words.”

Say it, lad! Do it!

“I accept it, Stormfather! I accept that there will be those I cannot protect!”

The storm rumbled, and he felt warmth surrounding him, Light infusing him. He heard Syl gasp, and a familiar voice, not the Stormfather’s.

THESE WORDS ARE ACCEPTED.

“We couldn’t save Teft, Syl,” Kaladin whispered. “We couldn’t save Tien. But we can save my father.”

And when he opened his eyes, the sky exploded with a thousand pure lights.

For ones so tarnished, they are somehow bright.

—Musings of El, on the first of the Final Ten Days

Leshwi fell to her knees before Venli, not flying, not hovering. On her knees. Venli knelt as well, as Leshwi still held to her face—but the grip softened.

A cool, beautiful light flooded in through the window behind. Like a frozen lightning bolt, brighter than any sphere. Bright as the sun.

“What have you done, Venli?” Leshwi said. “What have you done?”

“I … I swore the First Ideal of the Radiants,” Venli said. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry…” Leshwi said. A joyspren burst around her, beautiful, like a blue storm. “Sorry? Venli, they’ve come back to us! They’ve forgiven us.”

What?

“Please,” Leshwi said to Longing, “ask your spren. Do they know of an honorspren named Riah? She was my friend once. Precious to me.”

Leshwi … had friends? Among the spren?

Storms. Leshwi had lived before the war, when men and singers had been allies. Honor had been the god of the Dawnsingers.

Timbre pulsed.

“She … doesn’t know Riah,” Venli said. “But she doesn’t know a lot of honorspren. She … doesn’t think any of the old ones survived the human betrayal.”

Leshwi nodded, humming softly to … to one of the old rhythms.

“My spren though,”