breathing.
Motes of lifespren drifted around a patch of shalebark that grew in knobby patterns like fingers. You almost never saw that formation above. The tiny glowing specks of green light drifted through the chasm toward an entire wall of fist-size tube plants with little feelers wiggling out the top. As Shallan passed, the feelers retracted in a wave running up the wall. She gasped softly and took a Memory.
The bridgeman stopped ahead of her, turning. “Well?”
“Don’t you even notice how beautiful it is?”
He looked up at the wall of tube plants. She was certain she’d read about those somewhere, but the name escaped her.
The bridgeman continued on his way.
Shallan jogged after him, pack thumping against her back. She almost tripped over a snarled pile of dead vines and sticks as she reached him. She cursed, hopping on one foot to stay upright before steadying herself.
He reached out and took the pack from her.
Finally, she thought. “Thank you.”
He grunted, slipping it over his shoulder before continuing on without another word. They reached a crossroads in the chasms, a path going right and another going left. They’d have to weave around the next plateau before them to continue westward. Shallan looked up at the rift—getting a good picture in her mind of how this side of the plateau looked—as Kaladin chose one of the paths.
“This is going to take a while,” he said. “Even longer than it took to get out here. We had to wait upon the whole army then, but we could also cut through the centers of the plateaus. Having to go around every one of them will add a lot to the trip.”
“Well, at least the companionship is pleasant.”
He eyed her.
“For you, I mean,” she added.
“Am I going to have to listen to you prattle all the way back?”
“Of course not,” she said. “I also intend to do some blathering, a little nattering, and the occasional gibber. But not too much, lest I overdo a good thing.”
“Great.”
“I’ve been practicing my burble,” she added.
“I just can’t wait to hear.”
“Oh, well, that was it, actually.”
He studied her, those severe eyes of his boring into her own. She turned away from him. He didn’t trust her, obviously. He was a bodyguard; she doubted that he trusted many people.
They reached another intersection, and Kaladin took longer to make this decision. She could see why—down here, it was difficult to determine which way was which. The plateau formations were varied and erratic. Some were long and thin, others almost perfectly round. They had knobs and peninsulas off to their sides, and that made a maze of the twisted paths between them. It should have been easy—there were few dead ends, after all, and so they really just had to keep moving westward.
But which direction was westward? It would be very, very easy to get lost down here.
“You’re not picking our course at random, are you?” she asked.
“No.”
“You seem to know a lot about these chasms.”
“I do.”
“Because the gloomy atmosphere matches your disposition, I assume.”
He kept his eyes forward, walking without comment.
“Storms,” she said, hurrying to catch up. “That was supposed to be lighthearted. What would it take to make you relax, bridgeboy?”
“I guess I’m just a . . . what was it again? A ‘hateful man’?”
“I haven’t seen any proof to the contrary.”
“That’s because you don’t care to look, lighteyes. Everyone beneath you is just a plaything.”
“What?” she said, taking it like a slap to the face. “Where would you get that idea?”
“It’s obvious.”
“To whom? To you only? When have you seen me treat someone of a lesser station like a plaything? Give me one example.”
“When I was imprisoned,” he said immediately, “for doing what any lighteyes would have been applauded for doing.”
“And that was my fault?” she demanded.
“It’s the fault of your entire class. Each time one of us is defrauded, enslaved, beaten, or broken, the blame rests upon all of you who support it. Even indirectly.”
“Oh please,” she said. “The world isn’t fair? What a huge revelation! Some people in power abuse those they have power over? Amazing! When did this start happening?”
He gave no reply. He’d tied his spheres to the top of his spear with a pouch formed from the white handkerchief he’d found on one of the scribes. Held high, it lit the chasm nicely for them.
“I think,” she said, tucking away her own sphere for convenience, “that you’re just looking for excuses. Yes, you’ve been mistreated. I admit it. But I think you’re the one who cares