Kaladin hoisted a rock, setting it on the bed of the wagon and rolling it beside some others. The rock’s bottom was wet with lichen and crem.
Knobweed wasn’t rare, but neither was it as common as other weeds. A quick description had been enough to send Rock and Teft searching with some success. The breakthrough, however, had happened when Syl had joined the hunt. Kaladin glanced to the side as he stepped down for another stone. She zipped around, a faint, nearly invisible form leading Rock from one stand of reeds to another. Teft didn’t understand how the large Horn eater could consistently find so many more than he did, but Kaladin didn’t feel inclined to explain. He still didn’t understand why Rock could see Syl in the first place. The Horneater said it was something he’d been born with.
A pair of bridgemen approached, youthful Dunny and Earless Jaks towing a wooden sled bearing a large stone. Sweat trickled down the sides of their faces. As they reached the wagon, Kaladin dusted off his hands and helped them lift the boulder. Earless Jaks scowled at him, muttering under his breath.
“That’s a nice one,” Kaladin said, nodding to the stone. “Good work.”
Jaks glared at him and stalked off. Dunny gave Kaladin a shrug, then hurried after the older man. As Rock had guessed, getting the crew assigned to stone-gathering duty had not helped Kaladin’s popularity. But it had to be done. It was the only way to help Leyten and the other wounded.
Once Jaks and Dunny left, Kaladin nonchalantly climbed into the wagon bed and knelt down, pushing aside a tarp and uncovering a large pile of knobweed stems. They were about as long as a man’s forearm. He made as if he were moving stones around in the bed, but instead tied a large double handful of the reeds into a bundle using thin rockbud vines.
He dropped the bundle over the side of the wagon. The wagon driver had gone to chat with his counterpart on the other wagon. That left Kaladin alone, save for the chull that sat hunkered down in its rock shell, watching the sun with beady crustacean eyes.
Kaladin hopped down from the wagon and placed another rock in the bed. Then, he knelt as if to pull a large stone out from under the wagon. With deft hands, however, he tied the reeds into place underneath the bed right beside two other bundles. The wagon had a large open space to the side of the axle, and a wood dowel there provided an excellent place for mounting the bundles.
Jezerezeh send that nobody thinks to check the bottom as we roll back into camp.
The apothecary said one drop came per stem. How many reeds would Kaladin need? He felt he knew the answer to that question without even giving it much thought.
He’d need every drop he could get.
He climbed out and lifted another stone into the wagon. Rock was approaching; the large, tan-skinned Horneater carried an oblong stone that would have been too large for most of the bridgemen to handle alone. Rock shuffled forward slowly, Syl zipping around his head and occasionally landing on the rock to watch him.
Kaladin climbed down and trotted across the uneven ground to help. Rock nodded in thanks. Together they hauled the stone to the wagon and set it down on the bed. Rock wiped his brow, turning his back to Kaladin. Sprouting from his pocket was a handful of reeds. Kaladin swiped them and tucked them beneath the tarp.
“What do we do if someone notices this thing we are doing?” Rock asked casually.
“Explain that I’m a weaver,” Kaladin said, “and that I thought I’d weave myself a hat to keep off the sun.”
Rock snorted.
“I might do just that,” Kaladin said. He wiped his brow. “It would be nice in this heat. But best nobody sees. The mere fact that we want the reeds would probably be enough to make them deny them to us.”
“This thing is true,” Rock said, stretching and glancing upward as Syl zipped over in front of him. “I miss the Peaks.”
Syl pointed, and Rock bowed his head in reverence before following after her. Once she had him going in the right direction, however, she flitted back to Kaladin, bobbing up into the air as a ribbon, then falling down to the side of the wagon and reforming her womanly shape, her dress fluttering around her.
“I,” she declared, raising a finger, “like him very much.”
“Who? Rock?”
“Yes,” she said, folding her arms. “He is respectful. Unlike others.”
“Fine,” Kaladin said, lifting another stone into the wagon. “You can follow him around instead of bothering me.” He tried not to show worry as he said it. He had grown accustomed to her company.
She sniffed. “I can’t follow him. He’s too respectful.”
“You just said you liked that.”
“I do. Also, I detest it.” She said that with unaffected frankness, as if oblivious of the contradiction. She sighed, sitting down on the side of the wagon. “I led him to a patch of chull dung as a prank. He didn’t even yell at me! He just looked at it, as if trying to figure out some hidden meaning.” She grimaced. “That’s not normal.”
“I think the Horneaters must worship spren or something,” Kaladin said, wiping his brow.
“That’s silly.”
“People believe much sillier things. In some ways, I guess it makes sense to revere the spren. You are kind of odd and magical.”
“I’m not odd!” she said, standing up. “I’m beautiful and articulate.” She planted her hands on her hips, but he could see in her expression that she wasn’t really mad. She seemed to be changing by the hour, growing more and more…
More and more what? Not exactly humanlike. More individual. Smarter.
Syl fell silent as another bridgeman—Natam—approached. The long-faced man was carrying a smaller stone, obviously trying not to strain himself.
“Ho, Natam,” Kaladin said, reaching down to take the stone. “How goes the work?”
Natam shrugged.
“Didn’t you say you were once a farmer?”
Natam rested beside the wagon, ignoring Kaladin.
Kaladin set down the rock, moving it into place. “I’m sorry to make us work like this, but we need the good will of Gaz and the other bridge crews.”
Natam didn’t respond.
“It will help keep us alive,” Kaladin said. “Trust me.”
Natam just shrugged yet again, then wandered away.
Kaladin sighed. “This would be a lot easier if I could pin the duty change on Gaz.”
“That wouldn’t be very honest,” Syl said, affronted.
“Why do you care so much about honesty?”
“I just do.”
“Oh?” Kaladin said, grunting as he moved back to his work. “And leading men to piles of dung? How honest is that?”
“That’s different. It was a joke.”
“I fail to see how…”
He trailed off as another bridgeman approached. Kaladin doubted anyone else had Rock’s strange ability to see Syl, and didn’t want to be seen talking to himself.
The short, wiry bridgeman had said his name was Skar, though Kaladin couldn’t see any obvious scars on his face. He had short dark hair and angular features. Kaladin tried to engage him in conversation too, but got no response. The man even went so far as to give Kaladin a rude gesture before tromping back out.
“I’m doing something wrong,” Kaladin said, shaking his head and hopping down from the sturdy wagon.