The Way of Kings (The Stormlight Archive 1)

They’d left a place for Kaladin. He sat down, using Dalinar’s cloak as a cushion for his back and head. He gratefully took a bowl of stew that Drehy handed him.

“We’ve been talking about what the men saw today,” Teft said. “The things you did.”

Kaladin hesitated, spoon to his mouth. He’d nearly forgotten—or maybe he’d intentionally forgotten—that he’d shown his men what he could do with Stormlight. Hopefully Dalinar’s soldiers hadn’t seen. His Stormlight had been faint by then, the day bright.

“I see,” Kaladin said, his appetite fleeing. Did they see him as different? Frightening? Something to be ostracized, as his father had been back in Hearthstone? Worse yet, something to be worshipped? He looked into their wide eyes and braced himself.

“It was amazing!” Drehy said, leaning forward.

“You’re one of the Radiants,” Skar said, pointing. “I believe it, even if Teft says you aren’t.”

“He isn’t yet,” Teft snapped. “Don’t you listen?”

“Can you teach me to do what you did?” Moash cut in.

“I’ll learn too, gancho,” Lopen said. “You know, if you’re teaching and all.”

Kaladin blinked, overwhelmed, as the others chimed in.

“What can you do?”

“How does it feel?”

“Can you fly?’

He held up a hand, stanching the questions. “Aren’t you alarmed by what you saw?”

Several of the men shrugged.

“It kept you alive, gancho,” Lopen said. “The only thing I’d be alarmed about is how irresistible the women would find it. ‘Lopen,’ they’d say, ‘you only have one arm, but I see that you can glow. I think that you should kiss me now.’”

“But it’s strange and frightening,” Kaladin protested. “This is what the Radiants did! Everyone knows they were traitors.”

“Yeah,” Moash said, snorting. “Just like everyone knows that the light-eyes are chosen by the Almighty to rule, and how they’re always noble and just.”

“We’re Bridge Four,” Skar added. “We’ve been around. We’ve lived in the crem and been used as bait. If it helps you survive, it’s good. That’s all that needs to be said about it.”

“So can you teach it?” Moash asked. “Can you show us how to do what you do?”

“I… I don’t know if it can be taught,” Kaladin said, glancing at Syl, who bore a curious expression as she sat on a nearby rock. “I’m not certain what it is.”

They looked crestfallen.

“But,” Kaladin added, “that doesn’t mean that we shouldn’t try.”

Moash smiled.

“Can you do it?” Drehy asked, fishing out a sphere, a small glowing diamond chip. “Right now? I want to see it when I’m expecting it.”

“It’s not a feastday sport, Drehy,” Kaladin said.

“Don’t you think we deserve it?” Sigzil leaned forward on his stone.

Kaladin paused. Then, hesitantly, he reached out a finger and touched the sphere. He inhaled sharply; drawing in the Light was becoming more and more natural. The sphere faded. Stormlight began to trickle from Kaladin’s skin, and he breathed normally to make it leak faster, making it more visible. Rock pulled out a ragged old blanket—used for kindling— and tossed it over the fire, disturbing the flamespren and making a few moments of darkness before the flames chewed through.

In that darkness, Kaladin glowed, pure white Light rising from his skin.

“Storms…” Drehy breathed.

“So, what can you do with it?” Skar asked, eager. “You didn’t answer.”

“I’m not entirely certain what I can do,” Kaladin said, holding his hand up in front of him. It faded in a moment, and the fire burned through the blanket, lighting them all again. “I’ve only known about it for sure for a few weeks. I can draw arrows toward me and can make rocks stick together. The Light makes me stronger and faster, and it heals my wounds.”

“How much stronger does it make you?” Sigzil said. “How much weight can the rocks bear after you stick them together, and how long do they remain bonded? How much faster do you get? Twice as fast? A quarter again as fast? How far away can an arrow be when you draw it toward you, and can you draw other things as well?”

Kaladin blinked. “I… I don’t know.”

“Well, it seems pretty important to know that kind of stuff,” Skar said, rubbing his chin.

“We can do tests,” Rock folded his arms, smiling. “Is good idea.”

“Maybe it will help us figure out how we can do it too,” Moash noted.

“Is not thing to learn.” Rock shook his head. “Is of the holetental. For him only.”

“You don’t know that for certain,” Teft said.

“You don’t know for certain I don’t know for certain.” Rock wagged a spoon at him. “Eat your stew.”

Kaladin held up his hands. “You can’t tell anyone about this, men. They’ll be frightened of me, maybe think I’m related to the Voidbringers or the Radiants. I need your oaths on this.”

He looked at them, and they nodded, one by one.

“But we want to help,” Skar said. “Even if we can’t learn it. This thing is part of you, and you’re one of us. Bridge Four. Right?”

Kaladin looked at their eager faces and couldn’t stop himself from nodding. “Yes. Yes, you can help.”

“Excellent,” Sigzil said. “I’ll prepare a list of tests to gauge speed, accuracy, and the strength of these bonds you can create. We’ll have to find a way to determine if there’s anything else you can do.”

“Throw him off cliff,” Rock said.

“What good will that do?” Peet asked.

Rock shrugged. “If he has other abilities, this thing will make them come out, eh? Nothing like falling from cliff to make a man out of a boy!”

Kaladin regarded him with a sour expression, and Rock laughed. “It will be small cliff.” He held up his thumb and forefinger to indicate a tiny amount. “I like you too much for large one.”

“I think you’re joking,” Kaladin said, taking a bite of his stew. “But just to be safe, I’m sticking you to the ceiling tonight to keep you from trying any experiments while I’m asleep.”

The bridgemen chuckled.

“Just don’t glow too brightly while we’re trying to sleep, eh, gancho?” Lopen said.

“I’ll do my best.” He took another spoonful of stew. It tasted better than usual. Had Rock changed the recipe?

Or was it something else? As he settled back to eat, the other bridgemen began chatting, speaking of home and their pasts, things that had once been taboo. Several of the men from other crews—wounded whom Kaladin had helped, even just a few lonely souls who were still awake— wandered over. The men of Bridge Four welcomed them, handing over stew and making room.

Everyone looked as exhausted as Kaladin felt, but nobody spoke of turning in. He could see why, now. Being together, eating Rock’s stew, listening to the quiet chatter while the fire crackled and popped, sending dancing flakes of yellow light into the air…