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“Lashings don’t work,” Kaladin said softly, keeping an eye down the corridor for guard patrols.
“Gravitational Lashings don’t work,” Syl said. “The other ones do though, right?”
Windrunners had three varieties of Lashings. Most commonly he used the gravitational Lashing, where you infused an object or person and changed the direction gravity pulled them. But there were two others. He’d tested a Full Lashing while carrying Teft to the clinic during the invasion. That Lashing allowed you to infuse an object with Light and command it to stick to anything that touched it. He’d used it during his early days as a bridgeman to stick rocks to a chasm wall.
The last Lashing was the most strange and arcane of the three. The Reverse Lashing made something attract other objects. It was like a hybrid of the other two. You infused a surface, then commanded it to pull on specific items. They were drawn to it. As if … as if the object you infused had become the source of gravity. As a bridgeman, Kaladin had unknowingly used this Lashing to pull arrows through the air to his bridge, making them swerve to miss his friends.
“What you call ‘Lashings,’” Syl said to him, “are really two Surges working together. Gravitation and Adhesion, combined in different ways. You say Gravitation Lashings don’t work, and Adhesion ones do. What about a Reverse Lashing?”
“Haven’t tried,” Kaladin admitted. He stepped to the side and drew the Stormlight out of a different lantern. He felt the energy, the power, in his veins—something he’d been yearning for. He smiled and stepped back, alight with power.
“Try making the glass attract the latch,” Syl said, gesturing. “If you can get the latch to move toward you, it will pop out and unlock.”
He touched the side of the lantern housing. During the last year, he’d practiced his Lashings. Sigzil had monitored, making him do experiments, as usual. They’d found that a Reverse Lashing required a command—or at least a visualization of what you wanted. As he infused the glass, he tried to imagine the Stormlight attracting things.
No, not things. The latch specifically.
The Stormlight resisted. As with the basic gravitational Lashing, he could feel the power, but something blocked it. However, the blockage was weaker here. He concentrated, pushing harder, and—like a floodgate opening—the Light suddenly burst from him. A Reverse Lashing didn’t glow as brightly as it should, considering the Stormlight. It was kind of inverted, in a way. But Kaladin’s actions were followed by a faint click.
The power had attracted the latch, which—pulled by that unseen force—had popped free of its housing. Eager, Kaladin slipped the front of the lantern open, then plucked the gemstone out and slipped it into his pocket.
Syl zipped out. “We need more practice on these, Kaladin. You don’t use them as instinctively as the other two.”
He nodded, thoughtful, and reclaimed the Stormlight he’d pressed into the lantern housing. Then the two of them moved furtively along the corridor, dropping it into darkness with each gemstone stolen.
“Reverse Lashings take effort,” Kaladin told Syl softly. “It makes me wonder though, if I could somehow make basic gravitational Lashings function.” He’d come to rely on those in a fight—the ability to leap into the air, to send his opponent flying off. Even the simple ability to make himself lighter so he flowed more easily through the battle.
He finished off the last of the lanterns, satisfied with the healthy pocketful of Stormlight. A fortune by Hearthstone terms, though he’d started to grow accustomed to having that much on hand. With these gemstones secured in a dark pouch so his pocket wouldn’t glow, the two of them set off on their next task. Supplies.
They kept to the inner part of the floor this time, where they’d be able to see a patrol coming by the light it carried. Kaladin led Syl down some steps, as he had a good idea of where to get food and water.
As he’d hoped, the monastery in the middle of the fourth floor wasn’t a high priority to guard. He found a pair of singers in uniform occupying one watchpost along the way, but was able to sneak down a side corridor and find a completely unguarded door.
Kaladin and Syl entered, then crept through a corridor lined with cells. He still thought of them that way, even though the ardents here insisted they weren’t a prison. Of course, the rooms the ardents themselves stayed in were properly lit, furnished, and downright homey. Kaladin found one of these by the light under the door, checked the glyph painted on the wood, then slipped in.
He startled the ardent inside, the same man he’d met during his earlier visit to this place. Kuno, Kaladin had learned his name was. The ardent had been reading, but scrambled—and failed—to pull his spectacles down onto his eyes as Kaladin crossed the room in a rush and made a shushing gesture.
“Are there other guards?” Kaladin whispered. “I saw two at the front gate.”
“N-no, Brightlord,” Kuno said, spectacles dangling loosely from his fingers. “I … How? How are you here?”
“By the grace of god or luck. I haven’t decided which. I need supplies. Rations, jugs of water. Medical supplies if you have any.”
The man stuttered, then leaned close, ignoring the spectacles in his hand as he squinted at Kaladin. “By the Almighty. It really is you. Stormblessed…”
“Do you have the things I need?”
“Yes, yes,” Kuno said, rising and running his hand across his shaved head, then led the way out of the room.
“You were right,” Syl said from Kaladin’s shoulder as he followed. “They probably secured all the guard posts, clinics, and barracks. But an out-of-the way sanitarium…”
Kuno took them to a little storeroom. Inside, Kaladin was able to find almost everything he needed. A hospital robe and bedpan for Teft. Various other articles of clothing. A sponge and washbasin, even a large syringe for feeding someone unconscious.
Kaladin packed these into a sack along with bandages, fathom bark for pain, and some antiseptic. Some dried rations followed, mostly Soulcast, but they’d do. He tied four wooden jugs of water to a rope he could sling around his neck, then noticed a bucket with some cleaning supplies in it. He picked out four brushes with thick bristles and sturdy wooden handles, used for scrubbing floors.
“Need to … wash some floors, Radiant?” the ardent said.
“No, but I can’t fly anymore, so I need these,” Kaladin said, stuffing them in his bag. “You don’t have any broth, do you?”
“Not handy,” Kuno said.
“Pity. What about a weapon?”
“A weapon? Why would you need one? You have your Blade.”
“Doesn’t work right now,” Kaladin said.
“Well, we don’t keep weapons here, Brightlord,” Kuno said, wiping his face, which was dripping with sweat. “Storms. You mean … you’re going to fight them?”
“Resist them, at least.” Kaladin put the rope with the jugs around his neck, then stood with some effort and settled the weight so the cord didn’t bite too harshly. “Don’t tell anyone about me. I don’t want you getting taken in for questioning. I will need more supplies.”
“You … you’re going to return? Do this … regularly?” The man pulled his spectacles off and wiped his face again.
