Wind and Truth (The Stormlight Archive, #5)

by Brandon Sanderson

Szeth-son-Neturo no longer danced with the wind.

Every advantage was also a liability, when you depended on it too much.

Sergeant?” Szeth asked. “Always a problem,” the taller man said, striding up to Szeth. “Always goading people. Always acting like you’re better than they are.” “But I am better than they are,”

“Would it be so bad?” his mother asked. “To have solid work again?” “To wash out that hard, Mother,” Szeth said, “I’d have to be incompetent.”

“Gods,” Jaxlim said softly, “do not like being embarrassed.”

Dalinar. The Stormfather’s voice. Please. Don’t take this step. I … Please. It might … “It might what?” Dalinar whispered. It might reveal … me …

Szeth became death for the first time. Before, he’d borrowed that darkness. Today he embraced it. Three … four … seven men he dropped. Unstoppable.

Because Adolin Kholin was bad at a whole terrible host of things. But he refused to let people be one of those.

When you stared down death, it was the people who mattered.

“Good,” he said. “First step to being a soldier: take responsibility for your part and what it can cost others if you don’t do a good job.

No one understood the alien stones at the place’s heart. Alien stones? The fourth moon. Now dead. Now fallen. With stone that is not quite stone. And when gods came here …

What did it say that, in order to present herself as strong, she put on armor and engaged in traditionally masculine activities?

An inquisitive mind did not stop asking questions just because it found answers.

She had not thought she would miss the days when everyone was brutally forthright with their opinions about her—she still bore the scars of that ostracization. Yet at least she’d known at all times where she stood.

“Nothing is fated,” Renarin said. “I learned that painfully, Rlain. There is only possibility and chance, maybe with nudges from outside forces. What comes in the future is our choice.”

Why had Dalinar and Navani brought a child into the Spiritual Realm?

Renarin was … growing to respect who he was rather than who he thought he should be. For much of his life that had been a struggle, as he’d always felt insufficient. Not the warrior his father wanted. Not the religious devotee the ardents wanted. Not the prince the people wanted. In every way, he was a failure.

“I didn’t want to choose any god,” she said, then turned and gestured to the side. “I suppose this one is happy. That we must finally come crawling to him.”

Adolin grabbed the nearest direform and smashed a fist through the malen’s face, breaking carapace, then flesh, then bone. As the corpse sagged in his hands, Adolin took it by one leg and began swinging.

“I swear this oath to you, Honor,” the king said. “I will hold back the darkness. I will protect this land.”

There is no person we would welcome more eagerly into this pact than you. You are the single most honorable man I have ever had the privilege of opposing.”

“It cannot be only kings and scholars, can it?” he said. “What finely dressed, immortal demigod will spare one thought for the woman whose name he does not know?”

“Your suggestions to me,” Szeth added, “about my thoughts. They are … helping. Thank you.”

“We’re a lot alike, you know,” Kaladin said. “We are?” “Left our homes as youths to become soldiers,” Kaladin said. “Ended up fighting battles we didn’t believe in, because of our foolish choices. I see myself in you, Szeth.” “I cannot say the same,” Szeth replied. “I do my job. You always seem to be questioning yours. I find that aspect of you embarrassing.”

“I want you to follow your own conscience!” “My own conscience says I cannot trust my own conscience,” Szeth said, perfectly straight-faced.

I’m at last capable of the strength required to kill myself.”

“Do you want me to make my own decisions?” Szeth called back. “Yes, but—” “This is mine, bridgeman! Come, let’s hurry. For once my fate seems certain, and I find that invigorating.”

“People didn’t leave you alone when you thought you were too far gone.” He didn’t reply to that. Because she was right, yes, but this was also different. Szeth was … Well, Kaladin couldn’t even really define it. Szeth was just so … so … unhelpable.

“But you learn to respect the thing the greatest predator fears.

“Common or extraordinary,” Shallan said, “the god of gods was killed by its own creations. Yes, I can guess why Odium fears Mishram. Sometimes the parents’ greatest fear should be their children.” She raised her knife, stained with Mraize’s blood. “You helped make me, yes. That hasn’t saved any of the others.”

“Immortality,” Tanavast said, his voice echoing the thunder from above. “I offer it to you, Talenel.” “Ah,” Taln said. “No, thank you. With all due respect.” “… Excuse me?” Tanavast said. “Isn’t this what all men secretly want?” “I have heard too many stories,” Taln said. “Living out those eons doesn’t suit men well. Though if you have a new pair of sandals, I wouldn’t mind those.”

“Most were … sent at the start…” she said, looking into the distance. “To the first monastery. The Bondsmith. We were to gather there with weapons, then patrol the borders of Shinovar because someone was coming…” She focused on him, and her eyes widened. “You were coming.”

The soldiers had not cried. They’d bled their tears out long ago.

He removed the loose block by the wall, reached in, and came out with a handful of scratchy wool. Sewn together into the shape of a lamb. Oh, glories within

He’d been so strong, so sure he didn’t need anything, until that moment. Until he trembled, squeezed his eyes shut, then put the small toy to his forehead. And wept.

Szeth wasn’t so much like Kaladin as … “Szeth,” Kaladin said. “How old were you when they took you from your home?” “Eleven,” Szeth whispered, hoarse. “I was eleven.” Szeth wasn’t Kaladin. Szeth was Tien.

“Szeth, it’s not your fault, what they did to you.”

“The world needs killers,” Kaladin said. “So if it can’t find them, it makes them out of whatever raw materials are at hand. Like children who love to dance.”

“Rule number one,” Kaladin called after him. “You’re not a thing. You’re a person. Rule number two, you get to choose. And there’s a third rule, Szeth. You deserve to be happy.”

“We talk a lot about taking responsibility, Szeth. It’s what Dalinar teaches, and storm me if it’s wrong, but I don’t think you have any difficulty taking responsibility. “The truth is, there’s a balance. You are a product of what life, society, and people have done to you. You bear blame for what you did, but others bear a lot of it too. It’s never too late to accept that your past might not be an excuse, but it is a valid explanation. So tell me. What do you—Szeth-son-Neturo—want for yourself? With no influence from anyone else, not even me. What do you want?”

Szeth stared at Kaladin, then finally took his outstretched hand. Kaladin had anticipated a firm handshake, but Szeth went for the full hug, like a child needing reassurance from a parent. Which was strange, considering how much older Szeth was than him—only now, Kaladin could see the eleven-year-old boy in the assassin. A boy who was never allowed to grow up, and who had somehow maintained a fragile child’s view of morality.

“I want to stop hurting people. I want to stop being a source of pain. I never want to be forced to take another life. I want to be done, Kaladin. I want to be done.”

Kaladin supposed that once in a while, every person—even ruthless assassins—needed a hug.

“Thank you,” Notum said. “For giving me a place, unconventional though it is. We will hold back the enemy, Adolin. Remember, Honor is not dead.” “Not so long as he lives within us,”

I’m glad you found someone better suited to you, though I thought you and Shallan a strange pairing until I realized something. You both share the same sense of whimsy.”

Sigzil knew this figure all too well. Moash. Once friend. Teft’s killer.

“I’m sorry, Elid,” he said. “For ruining your life.” “Eh, that life was boring,” she said.

Though he knew deep down that they hadn’t been a family for years now, it still hurt. Because this break, last of all, seemed final.

Not for the first time, he wondered why he kept struggling. Centuries. Friends failed. Most recently a woman abandoned, when she’d so believed in him …

She laughed. “Always blustering, Vasher.” She took a box from under her arm and opened it, displaying a fabrial shaped a little like a handgun, only with spikes at the front. Well, hell. She’d finally gotten a painrial.