Page 22 of The Sunlit Man

Ignoring Auxiliary’s second prompting for an explanation, Nomad walked forward. Haunted by what he might find. Worried that he was going mad. Yet desperate to know. Could it…

“Kal?” he asked into the storm.

The figure turned, revealing a hawkish face and an eminently punchable grin.

“Aw, Damnation,” Nomad said with a sigh. “Wit? What the hell areyoudoing here?”

“What?” Wit said,dusting off his blue uniform—which was untouched by the rain. “A master can’t check in on his favorite student now and then?”

He glowed softly, visible even in the darkness, and his substance rippled at the rain’s interference. Like he was a reflection on a puddle. This was an illusion, but why now? How had he…

“Auxiliary?” Nomad demanded. “Did you reinforce my Connection to Wit when you were playing with my soul earlier?”

Since I am dead, the knight replies with a huff, I don’t really have to care if you’re angry at me or not.

Oh, storms. That’s what had happened. Now that they had the proper threshold for it, Auxiliary had reached through the distance and let Wit Connect to Nomad.

“So,” Wit said, looking him up and down, “that’s a…curious outfit.”

“It’s what you get,” Nomad said, “when your clothing gets set on fire by the sunlight, then you are dragged behind a speeding hovercycle for a half hour.”

“Chic,” Wit said.

“I don’t have time for you, Wit,” Nomad said. “The Night Brigade is out there. Hunting me. Because of whatyoudid to me.”

“You may have saved the cosmere.”

“I absolutely didnotsave the cosmere,” Nomad snapped, finding a pebble in his pocket and throwing it through Wit’s head. The image rippled and then restored. “I might have savedyouthough.”

“Same difference.”

“It’s not,” Nomad said. “It’s really not.” He stepped closer to Wit’s projection. “If they catch me, they’ll be able to connect the Dawnshard to you. And then they’ll be onyourtail.”

Wit didn’t respond. He clasped his hands behind his back and stood up straight, a trick he’d taught Nomad years ago to convince an audience you were thinking about something very important.

“You’ve had a hard time of it lately,” Wit said, “haven’t you, apprentice?”

“I’mnotyour apprentice,” Nomad said. “And don’t pretend to care now. You didn’t do anything when my friends and I were dying to arrows all those years ago. I went to Damnation then, and you sat around playing a flute. Don’t youdarepresume to imply youcare about menow! I’m just another tool to you.”

“I never did get a chance to apologize for…events in Alethkar.”

“Well, it’s not like you had the opportunity to,” Nomad said. “After frequently talking to my superior officer, asking him to pass messages to me. After living together in the same city for years andnever stopping by. You left me to rot. And it ate you away from the inside, didn’t it? Not because you care. But because someone knew what you really were, then had the audacity not to die and simplify your life.”

Wit actually looked down at those words. Huh. It wasn’t often that one could stab him with a knife that hurt. Took familiarity. And truth. Two things Wit was far too good at avoiding.

“There was a boy, once,” Wit began, “who looked at the stars and wondered if—”

Nomad deliberately turned and walked away. He’d heard far, far too many of this man’s stories to care for another.

“I was that boy,” Wit said from behind. “When I was young. On Yolen. Before this all began—before God died and worlds started ending. I…I was that boy.”

Nomad froze, then glanced over his shoulder. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, but droplets of it still interrupted Wit’s figure.

He didn’t often speak of his past. Of…those days long ago. He claimed to not remember much about his childhood—a time spent in a land of dragons and bone-white trees.

“Are you lying?” Nomad called to him. “Is this a fabrication? The perfect hook designed to reel me in?”

“No lies, not right now,” Wit said, gazing up at the sky. “I can remember…sitting on a rooftop. Looking up and wondering what the stars were.

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