The Way of Kings

“I wanted to see something,” Teft said. “You’re holding that pouch of spheres Lopen gave you, you see, and your own pouch with what we’ve gathered lately. More Stormlight than you’ve probably ever carried, at least recently.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Kaladin demanded. What was that heat inside of him, that burning in his veins?

“Gancho,” Lopen said, his voice awed. “You’re glowing.”

Kaladin frowned. What is he–

And then he noticed it. It was very faint, but it was there, wisps of luminescent smoke curling up from his skin. Like steam coming off a bowl of hot water on a cold winter night.

Shaking, Kaladin put the medical pack on the broad rim of the water barrel. He felt a moment of coldness on his skin. What was that? Shocked, he raised his other hand, looking at the wisps streaming off of it.

“What did you do to me?” he demanded, looking up at Teft.

The older bridgeman was still smiling.

“Answer me!” Kaladin said, stepping forward, grabbing the front of Teft’s shirt. Stormfather, but I feel strong!

“I didn’t do anything, lad,” Teft said. “You’ve been doing this for a while now. I caught you feeding off Stormlight when you were sick.”

Stormlight. Kaladin hastily released Teft, fishing at the pouch of spheres in his pocket. He yanked it free and pulled it open.

It was dark inside. All five gemstones had been drained. The white light streaming from Kaladin’s skin faintly illuminated the inside of the bag.

“Now that’s something,” Lopen said from the side. Kaladin spun to find the Herdazian man bending down and looking at the medical pack. Why was that so important?

Then Kaladin saw it. He thought he’d set the pack on the rim of the barrel, but in his haste he’d just pressed it against the side of the barrel. The pack now clung to the wood. Stuck there, hanging as if from an invisible hook. Faintly streaming light, just like Kaladin. As Kaladin watched, the light faded, and the pack slumped free and fell to the ground.

Kaladin raised a hand to his forehead, looking from the surprised Lopen to the curious Teft. Then he glanced around the lumberyard, frantic. Nobody else was looking at them; in the sunlight, the vapors were too faint to see from a distance.

Stormfather… what… how…

He caught sight of a familiar shape above. Syl moved like a blown leaf, tossed this way and that, leisurely, faint.

She did it! Kaladin thought. What has she done to me?

He stumbled away from Lopen and Teft, running toward Syl. His footsteps propelling him forward with too much speed. “Syl!” he bellowed, stopping beneath her.

She zipped down to hover before him, changing from a leaf to a young woman standing in the air. “Yes?”

Kaladin glanced around. “Come with me,” he said, hurrying to one of the alleys between barracks. He pressed himself up against a wall, standing in the shade, breathing in and out. Nobody could see him here.

Syl alighted in the air before him, hands behind her back, looking closely at him. “You’re glowing.”

“What have you done to me?”

She cocked her head, then shrugged.

“Syl…” he said threateningly, though he wasn’t certain what harm he could do a spren.

“I don’t know, Kaladin,” she said frankly, sitting down, her legs hanging over the side of the invisible platform. “I can… I can only faintly remember things I used to know so well. This world, interacting with men.”

“But you did do something.”

“We have done something. It wasn’t me. It wasn’t you. But together…” She shrugged again.

“That isn’t very helpful.”

She grimaced. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Kaladin raised a hand. In the shade, the light streaming off of him was more obvious. If someone walked by… “How do I get rid of it?”

“Why do you want to get rid of it?”

“Well, because… I… Because.”

Syl didn’t respond.

Something occurred to Kaladin. Something, perhaps, he should have asked long ago. “You’re not a windspren, are you?”

She hesitated, then shook her head. “No.”

“What are you, then?”

“I don’t know. I bind things.”

Bind things. When she played pranks, she made items stick together. Shoes stuck to the ground and made men trip. People reached for their jackets hanging on hooks and couldn’t pull them free. Kaladin reached down, picking a stone up off the ground. It was as big as his palm, weathered smooth by highstorm winds and rain. He pressed it against the wall of the barrack and willed his Light into the stone.

He felt a chill. The rock began to stream with luminescent vapors. When Kaladin pulled his hand away, the stone remained where it was, clinging to the side of the building.

Kaladin leaned close, squinting. He thought he could faintly make out tiny spren, dark blue and shaped like little splashes of ink, clustering around the place where the rock met the wall.

“Bindspren,” Syl said, walking up beside his head; she was still standing in the air.

“They’re holding the rock in place.”

“Maybe. Or maybe they’re attracted to what you’ve done in affixing the stone there.”