The Way of Kings

“They do,” Hesina said. “Spren appear when something changes – when fear appears, or when it begins to rain. They are the heart of change, and therefore the heart of all things.”

“This longroot,” Kal said, holding it up skeptically.

“Has a spren.”

“And if you slice it up?”

“Each bit has a spren. Only smaller.”

Kal frowned, looking over the long tuber. They grew in cracks in the stone where water collected. They tasted faintly of minerals, but were easy to grow. His family needed food that didn’t cost much, these days.

“So we eat spren,” Kal said flatly.

“No,” she said, “we eat the roots.”

“When we have to,” Tien added with a grimace.

“And the spren?” Kal pressed.

“They are freed. To return to wherever it is that spren live.”

“Do I have a spren?” Tien said, looking down at his chest.

“You have a soul, dear. You’re a person. But the pieces of your body may very well have spren living in them. Very small ones.”

Tien pinched at his skin, as if trying to pry the tiny spren out.

“Dung,” Kal said suddenly.

“Kal!” Hesina snapped. “That’s not talk for mealtime.”

“Dung,” Kal said stubbornly. “It has spren?”

“I suppose it does.”

“Dungspren,” Tien said, then snickered.

His mother continued to chop. “Why all of these questions, suddenly?”

Kal shrugged. “I just– I don’t know. Because.”

He’d been thinking recently about the way the world worked, about what he was to do with his place in it. The other boys his age, they didn’t wonder about their place. Most knew what their future held. Working in the fields.

Kal had a choice, though. Over the last several months, he’d finally made that choice. He would become a soldier. He was fifteen now, and could volunteer when the next recruiter came through town. He planned to do just that. No more wavering. He would learn to fight. That was the end of it. Wasn’t it?

“I want to understand,” he said. “I just want everything to make sense.”

His mother smiled at that, standing in her brown work dress, hair pulled back in a tail, the top hidden beneath her yellow kerchief.

“What?” he demanded. “Why are you smiling?”

“You just want everything to make sense?”

“Yes.”

“Well next time the ardents come through the town to burn prayers and Elevate people’s Callings, I’ll pass the message along.” She smiled. “Until then, keep peeling roots.”

Kal sighed, but did as she told him. He checked out the window again, and nearly dropped the root in shock. The carriage. It was coming down the roadway from the mansion. He felt a flutter of nervous hesitation. He’d planned, he’d thought, but now that the time was upon him, he wanted to sit and keep peeling. There would be another opportunity, surely…

No. He stood, trying to keep the anxiety from his voice. “I’m going to go rinse off.” He held up crem-covered fingers.

“You should have washed the roots off first as I told you,” his mother noted.

“I know,” Kal said. Did his sigh of regret sound fake? “Maybe I’ll just wash them all off now.”

Hesina said nothing as he gathered up the remaining roots, crossed to the door, heart thumping, and stepped out into the evening light.

“See,” Tien said from behind, “from this side it’s green. I don’t think it’s a spren, Mother. It’s the light. It makes the rock change…”

The door swung closed. Kal set down the tubers and charged through the streets of Hearthstone, passing men chopping wood, women throwing out dishwater, and a group of grandfathers sitting on steps and looking at the sunset. He dunked his hands into a rain barrel, but didn’t stop as he shook the water free. He ran around Mabrow Pigherder’s house, up past the commonwater – the large hole cut into the rock at the center of the town to catch rain – and along the breakwall, the steep hillside against which the town was built to shield it from storms.

Here, he found a small stand of stumpweight trees. Knobby and about as tall as a man, they grew leaves only on their leeward sides, running down the length of the tree like rungs on a ladder, waving in the cool breeze. As Kal got close, the large, bannerlike leaves snapped up close to the trunks, making a series of whipping sounds.

Kal’s father stood on the other side, hands clasped behind his back. He was waiting where the road from the manor turned past Hearthstone. Lirin turned with a start, noticing Kal. He wore his finest clothing: a blue coat, buttoning up the sides, like a lighteyes’s coat. But it was over a pair of white trousers that showed wear. He studied Kal through his spectacles.

“I’m going with you,” Kal blurted. “Up to the mansion.”

“How did you know?

“Everyone knows,” Kal said. “You think they wouldn’t talk if Brightlord Roshone invited you to dinner? You, of all people?”

Lirin looked away. “I told your mother to keep you busy.”

“She tried.” Kal grimaced. “I’ll probably hear a storm of it when she finds those longroots sitting outside the front door.”

Lirin said nothing. The carriage rolled to a stop nearby, wheels grinding against the stone.

“This will not be a pleasant, idle meal, Kal,” Lirin said.