The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn, #6)

by Brandon Sanderson

’Cuz in my experience, marryin’ is the one thing people seem to get worse at the more they do it. Well, that and bein’ alive.”

Because people were people, and if there was one thing you could count on, it was that some of them would be weird. Or rather that all of them would be weird when circumstances happened to align with their own individual brand of insanity.

“In the ancient days, the Last Emperor discovered a metal that transformed him into a Mistborn. A metal anyone could burn, it is said. This whispers of a hidden possibility, something lesser, but still incredible. What if one could somehow manipulate Identity and Investiture to create a set of bracers which imparted Feruchemical or Allomantic ability upon the person wearing them? One could make any person a Mistborn, or a Feruchemist, or both at once.”

Holding your brain hostage against your own stupidity—that was how to get stuff done.

It was unnerving, and it was such a waste! If you had to shoot a man, society had already failed.

It seemed to him that the smarter a man was, the more likely he was to pretend he knew more than he did.

“The Lord Ruler’s own power, Waxillium,” Telsin said, passionate. “The Bands of Mourning. We could find them, use them before he does.

I dont trust her

They believe that the Bands of Mourning were left with us as a test—but opposite the one we all assume. They think the Sovereign intended to see if we would take the power when we should not.

“I saw it in his eyes, first. That hunger, that fire. And then I found it in myself. He’s a flame, Waxillium is, and fire can be shared. When I’m out here, when I’m with him, I burn, Marasi. It’s wonderful.”

“You actually love him, don’t you?” Marasi asked. “Well, love is a strong emotion, one that requires careful deliberation to—” “Steris.” “Yes.” She looked down at her notebook. “It’s foolish, isn’t it?” “Of course it is,” Marasi said. “Love is always a foolish emotion. That’s what makes it work.” She found herself reaching over and pulling Steris into a hug with one arm. “I’m happy for you, Steris.”

The difference between good and evil men is not found in the acts they are willing to commit—but merely in what name they are willing to commit them in.”

“Telsin,” Wax said, voice hoarse. Edwarn wouldn’t have come in here without a mole. She made the most sense. But rusts. “I’m sorry, Waxillium,” she said. “Don’t do this.” He hesitated. Too long. She raised the gun. He fired. She did the same. His shot swerved away from her, Pushed by Allomancy. But her shot—aluminum—took him just below the neck.

I knew i couldnt trust this b

Suit obeyed her. She wasn’t simply a member of the Set; she outranked Waxillium’s uncle. And she was obviously an Allomancer; the way she’d used the Allomantic grenade proved that.

“I’m dead then.” “Yes,” Harmony said. “Your body, mind, and soul have separated. Soon one will return to the earth, another to the cosmere, and the third … Even I do not know.”

Then she burned her metals. All of them. In that one transcendent moment, she felt herself change, expand. She felt the Lord Ruler’s own power, stored in the Bands of Mourning—the spearhead clutched in her fingers—surge through her, and she felt she would burst.

She hovered in the sky, flush with power. In that moment, she was the Ascendant Warrior.

“You found it,” Wax said. She nodded eagerly. “Just took a little old-fashioned detective work.” “You saved me,” Wax said.

“Will you be my bride? I want to be married to you. Right now, before the Survivor and that priest. Not because words on a paper say we have to, but because we want to.”

“I’m painfully tired of being alone, Steris. It’s time I admitted that. And you … well, you’re incredible. You truly are.”

Tales of men with red eyes who visited in the night. She added the stories to her files of research about Trell, the ancient god that people were somehow worshipping again. A god that had crafted spikes to corrupt the kandra Paalm, and whose name was on the lips of many of the prisoners.

Of course, the softly glowing red eyes were another sign. So far as Suit had been able to determine, Waxillium and his fools had no knowledge of these creatures. They didn’t understand, couldn’t understand. The Set had Faceless Immortals of its own.

The creature engaged the explosive device, blowing itself—and Suit—to oblivion.

Well damn

They called them copperminds. A very special kind of Feruchemical storage. One that stored memories.