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Kaladin ran towards the waves and the red rising sun, his blue surfboard underarm. Moash sprinted next to him with his own orange board. The water swept around Kaladin's legs and seeped into his wetsuit, but he had done this a thousand times, so he knew when to expect the push-and-pull of the water. He barely hesitated when the cold water reached his belly, but he kept his balance and powered on to the waking wave.
He had woken in the early morning to the sweet sound of chickens. He lived in a campervan on the West Coast of Alethkar, chasing the biggest waves. His campervan was a tiny, stained, white plastic box, but it was just enough to keep Syl and himself comfy.
At a rest stop between Sadeas province and the South-East coast of Alethkar, he had found the weimaraner puppy in his tiny cabinet of tupperware. Not knowing how she got in there, nor how to take care of another being (storms, he struggled to care for himself), he left her behind with a friendly chull farmer he passed. He drove away, satisfied with his decision, imagining her herding chulls for the rest of her days, jumping on grass and chasing spren…
The next afternoon, Kaladin had the fright of his life when he took the lid off a pan he was about to use for pasta, only to be greeted with a tiny blue-eyed demon. Ever since, they had been inseparable. Syl clung to him with the infatuation of a curious child, and he tolerated her antics with the patience of a big brother-
Not now.
Now, he needed to concentrate on the incoming wave. It was quite big. One of the biggest he'd ever faced, perhaps. Moash's tip regarding the position of Salas turned out to be true, it seemed.
Kaladin was now on his belly, taking powerful strokes with his arms through the water. Soon he'd reach that precious point of the breaking wave, and he'd stand up and surf, and surf, and surf…
---
Adolin Kholin had to lean against the railing of his family’s yacht as ardents and scribes bustled past with violet wine bottles and party banners. It was his twenty-third birthday party, and Dalinar had taken the liberty of using the celebration as an excuse to gather the princedoms - or at least their sons and daughters - in one place. Adolin wasn’t sure what this would entail, but unity didn’t come high on the list. According to his own experiences, alcohol only seemed to make people more distant. Alas, it wasn’t his responsibility to make such decisions yet, so he carried out his father’s plans with dignity. Afterall, he did get to choose the theme, the balloons, the lights and the music. Even though Dalinar preferred to leave the decorating to the hands of Navani and the Kholin staff, he allowed his son to take the reins in this instance, to compromise.
Adolin turned to the land and judged the view. The sky was as blue as the lining of his formal uniform, but today he wouldn't need it. He was to relax and take a break from the pressures of the Codes and the duties of princeship.
His eyes settled on the shoreline, where he could see surfers riding the - totally dangerous - waves. He winced involuntarily as he watched a wave break on a rocky headland, froth spraying everywhere as the water seemed to crawl up the cliff face, before deciding to lumber back to the ocean. However, the surfers seemed to take it all in stride, and Adolin was completely in awe at the control they displayed. One surfer in particular crested an unbroken wave and glided on it for an age, his dark hair waving in the wind and his long silhouette perfectly poised on the board. Adolin didn't realise how transfixed he was, nor for how long the man surfed parallel to the shore, before the wave finally broke and he slipped into the water, out of Adolin’s line of sight.
---
When Kaladin trudged back up the red sand beach, it was late morning. The winds began to blow offshore, so the waves lost their orderly nature, and instead became a chaos of churning white horses. Well, rhysadiums. The winds were really picking up. Moash wanted to practise his balance on the smaller, but choppier, waves. Kaladin was already content with that skill, so he left Moash early to check on Syl, who he had left on a long, blue lead by the van.
He flopped on the rocks further up the little inlet he and Moash had settled with that morning. He lunged for some grass before it could hide away, and used the bunch to wipe the board from sand. Syl bounded up to him, a cremling wiggling in her mouth. Kaladin grimaced at its many legs, then gave Syl a nicely rounded, striped rock. She instantly dropped the cremling and dove for the rock instead. The cremling scurried away between the cracks of the crem-caked rock.
Kaladin wiggled out of the constricting wetsuit and changed into an ash-grey sweatshirt and ratty black sweatpants (fashion was never one of Kaladin’s strong suits). He left his hair unbound to dry, and the salt and wind made it curl into its natural waves. After stretching and preparing the van for another long drive to a sheltered campsite he’d spend the night in, he sent Syl back to the van and sidled back to the shoreline, wondering how Moash was doing.
He looked left.
Far out to sea, where the waves were contained under the surface of the sea, a pleasure boat thrummed with activity.
He looked right.
And there was Moash. He was too far out to sea than what was safe. He was gripping on the board, shivering, as the under-currents swept him away along the rockier coast line. If Moash tried to return inland now, he’d be pulverised on the rocks.
Whatever went through Kaladin’s mind, he wasn’t sure what it was, even with hindsight. The only coherent thought he had at that moment was that his friend was in danger, that the coast guard would be too slow, and that Kaladin was the only one nearby who had a surfboard himself.
He barely hesitated to strap the board leash to his ankle. He ran against the waves, into the sea.
The water was much colder than Kaladin was used to, as he didn’t have his wetsuit on this time. The waves were much smaller, and they counteracted their own forces as they crashed into each other. But that didn’t mean that it was easier to move through the water. Kaladin was thrust this way and that, and could barely keep to a straight course towards his friend. His arms were dragged under the surface with every stroke, and the sleeves of his sweatshirt filled with water, so that they became heavy weights.
Moash finally noticed what Kaladin was doing, and he turned his board with new vigour, aiming to meet his friend in the middle.
“No!” Kaladin yelled, lips dry and cracking from the seasalt. “Don’t go against the tide, or you’ll tire yourself! Just… just wait there! Let the current take you along, and don’t come back to the shore until there are only beaches!” The newly-formed plan sank into Kaladin’s panicked mind as he said it aloud.
When he had first come out, he hadn’t had a plan, he’d just… acted.
Kaladin’s belly went cold for another reason other than the water. This is what people meant when they said ‘not to act without thinking’, because now he’d put himself in danger by listening to only his emotions. And now Moash was going to be okay, because the current was a steady flow further out to sea, where Moash was, and there was a stretch of beach behind the headland that he was quickly being carried towards.
But Kaladin was stuck in a current that couldn’t seem to make up its mind. If it was carrying him anywhere, it was straight towards the jagged headland. It was strong and conflicting, and it pulled at his legs and made him slip off the board. A wave hit the underside of it, slamming it into Kaladin’s thorax, winding him so hard he could see black spots. Kaladin couldn’t get his diaphragm to work. He heard gurgling and choking, and could taste pungent saltwater that instantly made his stomach turn inside out. A wall of water came up behind him, and doused him overhead. He was wrenched away from the board as he plunged into the water. It was the middle of the day, but the sea had never been so black and cold. The leash jerked around his ankle, but he didn’t feel the ligaments tear. He could only thrust out his arms wildly, kick to the surface. Because that’s where he could breathe, right? He broke the surface and desperately heaved in air, but his lungs were still choked with seawater. If Kaladin had panicked before, it was nothing compared to what it was now. He coughed and sputtered and kicked and pushed up, up, up to the air, but no relief came. He couldn’t feel his legs, his eyes were unseeing. He might have found the board again, and he might have clutched to it as if it would personally take him back to the shore right then, right now. But his mind wasn’t making sense of anything. What might have been, may never have been.
After what felt like an age, Kaladin’s body cramped up, and the black dots covered his vision completely.
---
In the early afternoon, Adolin greeted his arriving guests. They arrived at the moored kholin yacht in speedboats and small pleasure boats rented from the Karanak city pier. Almost everyone had arrived - even Sabriel and his wife, even though they were three decades older than most people there.
Adolin, for the most part, wasn't enjoying himself. Several lighteyes were already drinking heavily for the only purpose to get drunk on free wine, and someone had already ripped the banner on the railing that Renarin and his college friends had helped paint.
Although Renarin was a couple of years behind in college (due to the difficulties Dalinar found in trying to find a place that would actually accommodate Renarin’s needs as a Prince and a person with ASD), he had settled in well with his two friends. Shallan and Tien knew each other through the art club, as Shallan would draw plants and creatures, and Tien would carve various things between training as a carpenter. They had no limits when it came to curiosity, and they’d often hype each other up with no sense of restraint, which would then lead to weird and wonderful stories that Renarin would recount at the dinner table, a small grin on his face. They encouraged him to join the arts club too, and nowadays Renarin enjoyed calligraphy - something that had Dalinar momentarily mortified, before he smothered the expression with a classic blackthorn expression of stoic kingly-ness. For Adolin, whoever made his brother happy, he’d treat them as heralds, even though he’d never met them in person.
It was during Adolin’s pondering when he heard an alert from the radio in the cabin. Setting down his glass of red, he picked up the receiver.
“Emergency message to all vessels nearby. A man has been swept to sea. He had a blue surfboard. Last seen at midday. If you see him, call 99…. I repeat-”
Adolin knew what to do.
---
The man wasn’t hard to spot, as he had seen him before. He knew first-hand where he had been, and what the currents were like. Adolin called the intercom, instructing people to stand steady and prepare for man-overboard. He took control of the steering perhaps a bit prematurely as he heard some thumps as people fell on their arses with the sudden movement. He turned the yacht eastwards, towards the jagged headland.
To the side of the headland was an inlet in the rock that was invisible at first glance. It was completely sheltered from the wind and eerily quiet. The inlet was far enough from the dangerous headland for the yacht to dock perpendicular to the mouth, so that they could all peer in.
Within the inlet, the man was draped over his surfboard, part of his face submerged with every ebb of the water, half of his body immersed. He was unresponsive, even as his surfboard knocked against the ragged rock. Gasps and exclamations sounded on the lower deck.
With the air of a man who had been trained in this exercise a hundred times, Adolin marched to the lower decks, hoisting on a life jacket. He grabbed the emergency red-and-white float, threw it over the low side, vaulting soon after.
As he swam towards him, he realised that the man’s knuckles were white with tension. He was still conscious.
“Hey,” Adolin called. “Hey, it’s okay. I've come to help you…” the man turned his head so slightly it was barely a twitch, but Adolin knew that this man could definitely hear him. He was just incredibly weak. Adolin swam closer. “I need you to put this on, okay?” he gestured at the float-ring that he had dragged with him by a rope.
The man reached for the ring with an uncoordinated arm, promptly missed and slipped from the board, plunging into the water.
“Shit storms! Fuck!” Adolin dove for the man and hoisted him up from under his arms. They both sank low in the water as Adolin’s lifejacket tried to support the two. The man choked out wracking coughs on Adolin’s shoulder.
Awkwardly, Adolin jerked the ring back close to him, and somehow manoeuvred the man until he was supported by it. “Right. Storms. Don't do that again. At least until we get back on board.”
But when he tried to swim back, the man let out a gut-wrenching cry.
“Storms! What is it-? Ah, I forgot about the leash.” Adolin paddled to the man’s foot, which was swollen and blue-purple from the leash. Adolin brought out a pocket knife from the life jacket and cut the leash. They would have to fetch the board another time - there was no way he’d be able to hoist it onto the deck from the water.
Cobalt Kholinar guards received them on the low end of the yacht's stern, hoisting the man onto the deck by the underarms and his sweatshirt, then wrapping them both in fluffy towels. They propped the man up against the cabin wall, coughing and bruised, his ankle looking… not what an ankle should look like, Adolin diagnosed. Party goers started to crowd around them. “Step back! Give the man some breathing room!” Adolin ordered.
“He’s rather handsome for a darkeyes,” Monim mused, peering down to look under the man’s hair. “I would have him for myself if his hair wasn’t so girly,” she scrunched up her nose.
“This darkeyes nearly drowned. Let’s prioritise, people,” Adolin said.
“I know exactly what would warm him up,” Joadan leered drunkenly over the man. A small chorus of “ew”s and “gross”s sounded in the crowd. But it was just a small chorus.
“Right, that's it. Get out of the way.” Adolin ducked under the man’s shoulder and hauled him up with an arm around his waist. The man gasped and shivered, but allowed himself to be taken away from the crowd to the Master cabin, the cobalt guard in tow.
Adolin guided the man to the large bed, but stopped as they reached it. They were both soaking wet, and Adolin doubted that making the bed wet would be very healthy for someone who almost drowned several times. Instead, he sat the man down in a wooden chair in the corner of the room, and gave him his own towel to add to the one already around his shoulders.
“I'm gonna get you a change of clothes,” he began, when suddenly the man buckled over and hurled his stomach contents on Adolin’s jeans. “I'm going to get me a change of clothes too,” he continued meekly.
“Er… do you want me to watch him, Brightlord?” one of the guards offered.
“No, there’s no need. He’s not going anywhere. You’ll be more useful outside watching the others to make sure no-one’s crawling through the windows.”
There was no medic on board, as the greatest illness Adolin expected was a hangover. Adolin suspected that his knowledge on field medicine was no better than anyone else’s, even the Cobalt guards’. “Seems like I’m stuck with you,” he grumbled to the darkeyes. But he doubted the man heard that in his present state. Adolin’s brow creased with concern. He needed to alert the coast guard that he found the missing man, then make sure he’s going to survive the journey back to the shore, then get a doctor…
But firstly he needed to get changed.
Adolin quickly dipped into the walk-in wardrobe and changed into simple comfy trousers and a warm turtleneck. Next, he collected his warmest spare clothes and returned to the shivering darkeyes.
“Can you hear me?” he tried, and the man opened his eyes a fraction to give Adolin a glare that he frankly didn't think he deserved. “I'll take that as a yes,” he grumbled again, but approached the darkeyes all the same. “I'm going to have to help you change into something dry. I sent the scribes and ardents away so more people could fit aboard - well there is Tol who’s serving drinks, but he’ll know nothing about health. And there are the guards, but they’re all busy. So… I'm all there is until we get back to shore.” The man grunted. “Just work with me, okay? So strip.” The man’s eyes flew open at that and made a weird noise from the back of his throat. “I knew you had more energy left. Come on, you need to get dry.”
“I know that,” the darkeyes spoke for the first time with a cracked voice that was abused from coughing up sea water and vomit.
“That's great! Let's do it then,” Adolin countered cheekily.
“I- I’m getting to that…” the darkeyes said, not a little tiredly. Adolin instantly felt guilty: this guy was already going through it, he didn’t need Adolin’s banter too.
“Sorry… I'll help you with that.” Adolin sat at the darkeye’s feet to take off his single trainer and wet socks. His ankle and feet were grey-blue. The man started with his own sweatshirt, and Adolin helped peel the thing off him over his head after the darkeye’s arms started to droop with fatigue. He was lithe and young underneath, with a glowing alethi tan surfers were prone to have.
“What's your name? How old are you?”
“Kaladin. Nineteen.”
“Oh cool. I’m Adolin. Twenty-three, if you haven’t noticed the banners,” he grinned. Kaladin grunted. Adolin lifted the green knit over Kaladin’s head and gathered his hair though. Kaladin stood up to remove his sweatpants.
“How did you get into surfing?”
Kaladin sighed. “I like surfing- ah!” He leant too hard on his ankle. Adolin offered his shoulder and Kaladin grudgingly leant on it whilst he put on Adolin’s white trousers. Adolin finally helped him hobble to the bed and lie down, then fetched a large bowl.
“If you have to hurl, aim here,” he said, and put the bowl on the side table. The bowl contained punch. “It's disgusting - the punch, that is. It deserves to be hurled in, so do so at your free will.”
Kaladin gave him an odd look, then leant stiffly in the pillows, letting out a long, involuntary groan. Adolin raised an eyebrow. “You good?”
“I just… haven’t slept in such a big bed for a while.”
“Oh… sure. I’ll be in the main cabin if you need me. I’ve made sure no-ones going to come in, by the way.” But Kaladin was already asleep.
---
After Adolin set the course on for the yacht back to the city pier, he checked in on Kaladin. The darkeyes was shivering uncontrollably, curled in on himself and panting. Gently, Adolin settled on top of the covers on the other side of the bed and touched Kaladin's forehead. It was burning up. He felt his balled-up fists, and they were deathly cold. Adolin settled against Kaladin’s back, hoping his body heat would help the darkeyes at least slightly, whilst listening to the party outside.
He wasn’t missing much.