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“You lock them in here?” Teft demanded. “In the dark?”
“Many of the mentally deficient react poorly to overstimulation,” the ardent said. “We work hard to give them quiet, calm places to live, free of bright lights.”
“How do you know?” Kaladin asked, striding after the ardent.
“The therapy is prescribed by some of the best thinkers among the ardentia.”
“But how do you know?” Kaladin said. “Do any of them get better? Have you tried multiple theories and compared them? Have you tested different cures or remedies on different patient populations?”
“There are no cures for mental ailments, Brightlord,” the ardent said. “Even the Edgedancers can’t do anything for them, unless their state is related to a recent brain trauma.” He stopped beside a specific door scratched with the glyph for twenty-nine. “With all due respect, Brightlord, you should leave medical issues to those trained in them.” He rapped on the door with his knuckles. “This is him.”
“Open the door,” Kaladin said.
“Brightlord, he might be dangerous.”
“Has he ever attacked anyone?” Kaladin asked. “Has he hurt anyone other than himself?”
“No,” the ardent said, “but the insane can be unpredictable. You could be harmed.”
“Lad,” Teft said, “you could stick us with a hundred swords, and we’d just complain that our outfits got ruined. Open the storming door.”
“Oh. Um, all right.” He fished in his pocket, came out with his spectacles, then fished in the other one until he found a ring of keys. He held the keys close to his nose one by one to see the glyphs on them, then finally unlocked the door.
Kaladin stepped in, his sapphire broam revealing a figure who lay huddled on the floor by the wall. There was some straw for a bed beside the other wall, but the man wasn’t using it.
“Can’t give him blankets or sheets,” the ardent explained, peeking in. “Might try to strangle himself.”
“Noril?” Kaladin asked, hesitant. “Noril, are you awake?”
The man didn’t say anything, though he did stir. Kaladin stepped closer, noting the sewn-up sleeve. The man was missing his entire left arm. The room didn’t smell too bad, all things considered, so at least the ardents kept him clean. The clothing was barely shorts and a thin shirt.
“Noril,” Kaladin said, kneeling. “Your niece, Cressa, is looking for you. You aren’t alone. You have family.”
“Tell her I’m dead,” the man whispered. “Please.”
“She’s worried about you,” Kaladin said.
The man grunted, continuing to lie on the floor, facing the wall. Storms. I know that feeling, Kaladin thought. I’ve been there. He looked around the silent chamber cut off from the sunlight and wind.
This was so, so wrong.
“Can you stand?” he asked Noril. “I won’t force you to go talk to her. I merely want to take you somewhere else.”
Noril didn’t reply.
Kaladin leaned closer. “I know how you feel. Dark, like there’s never been light in the world. Like everything in you is a void, and you wish you could just feel something. Anything. Pain would at least tell you you’re alive. Instead you feel nothing. And you wonder, how can a man breathe, but already be dead?”
Noril turned his head, looking at Kaladin and blinking eyes red from lack of sleep. He wore a rough beard, unkempt.
“Come with me and talk,” Kaladin said. “That’s all you have to do. Afterward, if you want me to tell your niece that you’re dead, I will. You can come back here and rot. But if you don’t come now, I’m going to keep annoying you. I’m good at it. Trust me; I learned from the best.”
Kaladin stood up and offered a hand. Noril took it and let Kaladin haul him to his feet. They walked toward the door.
“What is this?” the ardent said. “You can’t let him out. He’s in our charge! We have to care for…”
He trailed off as Kaladin fixed him with a stare. Storms. Anyone would turn suicidal if kept in here too long.
“Lad,” Teft said, pulling the ardent gently out of the way, “I wouldn’t confront Brightlord Stormblessed right now. Not if you value keeping all your bits attached to you.”
Kaladin led Noril out of the monastery and straight toward the rim of the tower. Teft joined him, and the ardent—Kaladin hadn’t asked his name—trailed along behind. He didn’t go running for help, fortunately, but he clearly wasn’t willing to let them just leave with a patient either.
Noril walked quietly, and Kaladin let him adjust to the idea of being out of his cell.
“Kelek’s breath,” Teft muttered to Kaladin. “I was too harsh on that lady ardent. I chewed her out for keeping Noril instead of sending him to the experts—but if that’s what the experts were going to do, I see why she’d hesitate.”
Kaladin nodded. Soon after, Syl came zipping through the corridor. “There you are,” she said.
“Honorspren can feel where their knight is,” Kaladin said. “So you don’t need to act surprised at finding me.”
Syl gave an exaggerated eye roll, and he swore she made her eyes bigger for emphasis.
“What are we doing?” she said, landing on his shoulder and sitting primly with her legs crossed and her hands on her knees. “Actually, I don’t care. I need to tell you something. Aladar’s axehounds had puppies. I had no idea how much I needed to see puppies until I flew by them this morning. They are the grossest things on the planet, Kaladin. They’re somehow so gross that they’re cute. So cute I could have died! Except I can’t, because I’m an eternal sliver of God himself, and we have standards about things like that.”
“Well, glad you’re feeling better.”
“Yeah,” she said. “Me too.” She pointed toward Noril. “You found him, I see. Taking him to his niece?”
“Not yet,” Kaladin said.
He led Noril past a large corridor where people flowed in both directions. Across that, at long last, they stepped onto a balcony. A larger communal one, like the one by his clinic.
Noril stopped in the archway, his eyes watering as he looked up at the sky. Teft took him by the arm and led him out a little farther, to where some chairs were set beside the railing, overlooking the mountains.
Kaladin stepped up to the railing, and didn’t say anything at first.
Noril finally spoke. “Is she all right? My niece?”
“She’s worried about you,” Kaladin said, turning and settling into one of the seats. “My father—the surgeon you met in Hearthstone—says that you had a rough time of things before he met you.”
The man nodded, his stare hollow. He’d lost his family in a brutal way, Lirin had said, while being unable to help.
“For some of us,” Kaladin said, “it piles up bit by little bit. Until we realize we’re drowning. I thought I had it bad, but I suppose I wouldn’t trade places with you. Getting hit all at once like that…”
Noril shrugged.
“Nightmares?” Teft asked.
“Yeah,” he said. “I can’t remember the details. Maybe that’s some mercy from the Almighty.” He took a deep breath, tipping his head back to see the sky. “I don’t deserve mercy. I don’t deserve anything.”
