Rhythm of War (The Stormlight Archive 4)

He spotted something in the distance, and soared toward it. Navani’s flying platform was finally reaching the Plains. The front of the top deck was packed with faces, gawking at the landscape.

Kaladin alighted on the deck, returning the salutes from the Windrunners left to guard the ship. “I’m sorry the trip took so long,” he told the gathering refugees. “At least it’s given us plenty of time to get things ready for you.”

* * *

“We’ve begun organizing the tower by neighborhoods,” Kaladin said an hour later as he led his parents through Urithiru’s deep hallways. He held aloft a large sapphire for light. “It’s difficult to keep a sense of community in here, with so many hallways looking alike. You can get turned around easily, start to feel like you’re living in a pit.”

Lirin and Hesina followed, entranced by the multicolored strata in the walls, the high ceilings, the general majesty of an enormous tower carved completely from stone.

“We originally organized the tower by princedom,” Kaladin continued. “Each of the Alethi highprinces was assigned a section of a given floor. Navani didn’t like how that turned out; we weren’t using as much of the rim of the tower—with its natural light—as she wanted. It often meant crowding large numbers of people into vast rooms that clearly hadn’t been designed as living spaces, since the highprinces wanted to keep their people close.”

He ducked under a strange outcropping of stone in the hallway. Urithiru had numerous such oddities; this one was round, a stone tube crossing the center of the hallway. Perhaps it was ventilation? Why had it been put right where people walked?

Many other features of the tower defied logic. Hallways dead-ended. Rooms were discovered with no way in save tiny holes to peek through. Small shafts were discovered plummeting down thirty or more stories. One might have called the arrangement mad, but even at its most baffling, hints of design—such as crystal veins running along the corners of rooms, or places where strata wove to form patterns reminiscent of glyphs set into the wall—made Kaladin think this place was purposeful and not haphazard. These oddities had been built for reasons they couldn’t yet fathom.

His parents ducked under the obstruction. They’d left Kaladin’s brother with Laral’s children and their governess. She seemed to be recovering from the loss of her husband, though Kaladin thought he knew her well enough to see through the front. She truly seemed to have cared for the old blowhard, as had her children, a solemn pair of twins far too withdrawn for their young age.

Under Jasnah’s new inheritance laws, Laral would gain the title of citylady, so she’d gone to be formally greeted by Jasnah. While the rest of the people received an orientation to the tower via Navani’s scribes, Kaladin wanted to show his parents where the people of Hearthstone would be housed.

“You’re quiet,” Kaladin said to them. “I suppose this place can be stunning at first. I know I felt that way. Navani keeps saying we don’t know the half of what it can do.”

“It is spectacular,” his mother said. “Though I’m a little more stunned to hear you referring to Brightness Navani Kholin by her first name. Isn’t she queen of this tower?”

Kaladin shrugged. “I’ve grown more informal with them as I’ve gotten to know them.”

“He’s lying,” Syl said in a conspiratorial tone from where she sat on Hesina’s shoulder. “He’s always talked like that. Kaladin called King Elhokar by his name for ages before becoming a Radiant.”

“Disrespectful of lighteyed authority,” Hesina said, “and generally inclined to do whatever he wants, regardless of social class or traditions. Where in Roshar did he get it?” She glanced at Kaladin’s father, who stood by the wall inspecting the lines of strata.

“I can’t possibly imagine,” Lirin said. “Bring that light closer, son. Look here, Hesina. These strata are green. That can’t be natural.”

“Dear,” she said, “the fact that the wall is part of a tower roughly the size of a mountain didn’t clue you in to the fact that this place isn’t natural?”

“It must have been Soulcast in this shape,” Lirin said, tapping the stone. “Is that jade?”

Kaladin’s mother leaned in to inspect the green vein. “Iron,” she said. “Makes the stone turn that shade.”

“Iron?” Syl said. “Iron is grey though, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Lirin said. “It should be copper that makes the rock green, shouldn’t it?”

“You’d think that, wouldn’t you?” Hesina said. “I’m pretty sure that’s not how it works. In any case, maybe we should let Kal show us on to the prepared rooms. He’s obviously excited.”

“How can you tell?” Syl asked. “I don’t think he ever gets excited. Not even when I tell him I have a fun surprise for him.”

“Your surprises,” Kaladin said, “are never fun.”

“I put a rat in his boot,” Syl whispered. “It took me forever. I can’t lift something so heavy, so I had to lead it with food.”

“Why in the Stormfather’s name,” Lirin said, “would you put a rat in his boot?”

“Because it fit so well!” Syl said. “How can you not see how great the idea was?”

“Lirin surgically removed his sense of humor,” Hesina said.

“Got good money for it on the open market too,” Lirin said.

Hesina leaned in close to Syl. “He replaced it with a clock, which he uses to monitor exactly how much time everyone else wastes with their silly emotions.”

Syl looked at her, smiling hesitantly—and Kaladin could tell she wasn’t quite certain it was a joke. When Hesina nodded encouragingly, Syl let out a genuine laugh.

“Now, let’s not get ridiculous,” Lirin said. “I don’t need a clock to monitor how much time everyone wastes. It’s evident that number is nearly a hundred percent.”

Kaladin leaned against the wall, feeling a familiar peace at their banter. Once, having them close again would have been nearly everything he wanted. Watching Lirin obsess. Hearing Hesina trying to get him to pay attention to the people around him. The fond way Lirin took the jokes, playing into them by being comically stern.

It reminded Kaladin of days spent at the dinner table, or gathering medicinal herbs from the cultivated patches outside of town. He cherished those pastoral memories. Part of him wished he could simply be their little boy again—wished they didn’t have to intersect with his current life, where they would undoubtedly start hearing of the things he’d endured and done. The things that eventually had broken him.

He turned and continued down the hallway. A steady light ahead told him they were approaching the outer wall. Molten sunlight, open and inviting. The cold Stormlight sphere in his hand represented power, but a secretive, angry sort. Inspect gem light, and you could see it shifting, storming, trying to break free. Sunlight represented something more free, more open.

Kaladin entered a new hallway, where the strata lines on the walls turned downward in a fanning pattern—like lapping waves. Sunlight poured in through doorways on the right.