the souls of dreams.
A form of gods to avoid, it seems.
Seek not its touch, nor beckon its screams, deny it.
Watch where you walk, your toes to tread,
O’er hill or rocky riverbed
Hold dear the fears that fill your head, defy it.
—From the Listener Song of Secrets, 27th stanza
“Well, you see,” Gaz said as he sanded the wood on Shallan’s wagon. She sat nearby, listening as she worked. “Most of us, we joined the fight at the Shattered Plains for revenge, you know? Those marbles killed the king. It was gonna be this grand thing and such. A fight for vengeance, a way to show the world that the Alethi don’t stand for betrayal.”
“Yeah,” Red agreed. The lanky, bearded soldier pulled free a bar from her wagon. With this one removed, it left only three at each corner to hold up the roof. He dropped the bar with satisfaction, then dusted off his work gloves. This would help transform the vehicle from a rolling cage into a conveyance more suitable for a lighteyed lady.
“I remember it,” Red continued, sitting down on the wagon’s bed, legs dangling. “The call to arms came to us from Highprince Vamah himself, and it moved through Farcoast like a bad stench. Every second man of age joined the cause. People wondered if you were a coward if you went to the pub for a drink but didn’t wear a recruit’s patch. I joined up with five of my buddies. They’re all dead now, rotting in those storm-cursed chasms.”
“So you just . . . got tired of fighting?” Shallan asked. She had a desk now. Well, a table—a small piece of travel furniture that could be taken apart easily. They’d moved it out of the wagon, and she was using it to review some of Jasnah’s notes.
The caravan was making camp as the day waned; they’d traveled well today, but Shallan wasn’t pushing them hard, after what they’d all been through. After four days of travel, they were approaching the section of the corridor where bandit strikes were much less likely. They were getting close to the Shattered Plains, and the safety they offered.
“Tired of fighting?” Gaz said, chuckling as he took a hinge and began nailing it in place. Occasionally, he would glance to the side, a kind of nervous tic. “Damnation, no. It wasn’t us, it was the storming lighteyes! No offense intended, Brightness. But storm them, and storm them good!”
“They stopped fighting to win,” Red softly added. “And they started fighting for spheres.”
“Every day,” Gaz said. “Every storming day, we’d get up and fight on those plateaus. And we wouldn’t make any progress. Who cared if we made progress? It was the gemhearts the highprinces were after. And there we were, locked into virtual slavery by our military oaths. No right of travel as good citizens should have, since we’d enlisted. We were dying, bleeding, and suffering so they could get rich! That was all. So we left. A bunch of us who drank together, though we served different highprinces. We left them and their war behind.”
“Now, Gaz,” Red said. “That isn’t everything. Be honest with the lady. Didn’t you owe some spheres to the debtmongers too? What was that you told us about being one step from being turned into a bridgeman—”
“Here now,” Gaz said. “That’s my old life. Ain’t nothing in that old life that matters anymore.” He finished with the hammer. “Besides. Brightness Shallan said our debts would be taken care of.”
“Everything will be forgiven,” Shallan said.
“See?”
“Except your breath,” she added.
Gaz looked up, a blush rising on his scarred face, but Red just laughed. After a moment, Gaz gave in to chuckling. There was something desperately affable about these soldiers. They had seized the chance to live a normal life again and were determined to hold to it. There hadn’t been a single problem with discipline in the days they’d been together, and they were quick, even eager, to be of service to her.
Evidence of that came as Gaz folded the side of her wagon back up—then opened a latch and lowered a small window to let the light in. He gestured with a smile at his new window. “Maybe not nice enough to befit a lighteyed lady, but at least you’ll be able to see out now.”
“Not bad,” Red said, clapping slowly. “Why didn’t you tell us you’d trained as a carpenter?”
“I haven’t trained as one,” Gaz said, expression turning oddly solemn. “I spent some time around a lumberyard, that’s all.