More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
It was set several hundred years after the events of The Hero of Ages and was me exploring what it’s like to live in a world where the original epic became the basis for society’s myths and legends.
You see that? They’re frightened!” “Congratulations,” she said. “Do you think they’ll give me a reward if I shoot you?”
so he had a nice view of the Field of Rebirth. Long shadows stretched from the statues of the Ascendant Warrior and the Last Emperor in the green park where, according to fanciful legend, their corpses had been discovered following the Great Catacendre and the Final Ascension.
tusks, like a demon of the Deepness from old stories.
The tall, compact tenements cast dark shadows even in the afternoon. As if this were the place dusk came for a drink and a chat before sauntering out for its evening duty.
We ain’t supposed to live in ash anymore. Harmony said it, he did.”
At times like this he appeared more primal, like one of the ancient Mistborn from the legends. Not a creature of law, but a sliver of the night itself come to collect its due.
He whipped her about, raising something cold to her neck. A glass dagger.
At any rate, killing those willing to pay him would be like blasting your silver mine with dynamite to try finding gold.”
He’d always found it odd that so many died when they were old, as logic said that was the point in their lives when they’d had the most practice not dying.
“Proper loafing requires company. One man lying about is being idle; two men lying about is a lunch break.”
“You just recognized this because the killer was making others do his work for him, which is an expertise of yours.” “As I said. Genius.
News stories that people agreed with, or were scared by, sold the most copies.
The etched letters over the top proclaimed, in High Imperial, WASING THE ALWAYS OF WANTING OF KNOWING.
He was head of one of the more important street gangs in the area, but never stabbed people too badly when he mugged them and was polite with the people he extorted. He was practically a model citizen.
“You should not be defined by what you do, but by what you are.” “A man is what he does.”
Marasi would argue that statistically, leading his house here was more effective in creating general human happiness, but he wasn’t a man of numbers; he was a man who trusted his gut. His gut missed knowing the people he served.
Tindwyl Promenade, which ran along this canal, was crowded—even more so than usual.
And if I’d found you in the process of armed robbery all those years ago, I’d have shot you too.” “You’re not lying, are you?” “Of course not. I’d have shot you right in the head, Wayne.” “You’re a good friend,” Wayne said. “Thanks, Wax.” “You’re the only person I know that I can cheer up by promising to kill him.”
“Your grasp of the language is startling,” Wax said, “considering how you so frequently brutalize it.” “Ain’t nobody what knows the cow better than the butcher, Wax.”
Turned out a man or woman was much more likely to do good work if they were invested—if they felt ownership of what they did and could see that it mattered. Her personal studies proved that crime decreased when people had a sense of identity with and ownership of their community. That was the problem, because modern society was eroding those concepts. Life seemed more transient now, with people commonly relocating and changing jobs during their lifetime—
You had to adapt. Move. Change. That was good, but it could also threaten identity, connection, and sense of purpose. The governor’s guards studied the crowd with hostility, muttering about miscreants, as if seeing the crowd as barely contained malefactors who were looking for any excuse to riot and loot. To the contrary, these people wanted something stable, something that would let them sustain their communities or forge new ones. Rioting was rarely caused by greed, but frequently by frustration and hopelessness.
He needed time to think—preferably with his earring in—
Hey, Hoid. Can I catch a ride up there with you?” The new coachman shrugged, making room for Wayne on top of the carriage.
He took his earring out of his pocket—the earring of the Pathian religion. His was special. He’d been hand-delivered it under mysterious circumstances. Lately though, he had avoided wearing it, as the book made clear what it must be.
Unfortunately, a voice said in his mind, your fears about the earring are correct. It is a Hemalurgic spike.
Very well. I am Harmony, the Hero of Ages, once called Sazed. At the end of one world, I took upon myself the powers of protection and destruction, and in so doing became the caretaker of the world to come. I am here, Waxillium, to tell you that you are not insane.
There are … beings in this world who are neither human nor koloss. Something related to both. You call them the Faceless Immortals.
“Kandra,” Wax said. “Like TenSoon, the Guardian. Or the person who gave me this earring.” They can take the corpses of the dead and use their bones to mimic a person who has died—they wear bodies like you wear clothing, changing back and forth as they wish. They were created by the Lord Ruler using Hemalurgy.
When you have the earring in, yes. I gain the ability to hear you from Preservation, and the ability to speak to you from Ruin. Each had only one half. I always found it puzzling.
Owning things of value is secondary to creating things of value where none once existed.”
“I doubt that you care,” Steris said, leaning in, “but I consider your motives to be irrelevant. You save lives. You … saved my life. My gratitude is not influenced by what was running through your head as you did so.”
Marasi paled, joining him. “If you are thinking of sneaking guns in—” “Not guns,” Wayne said with a grin. “A different kind of weapon. Math.”
If we happen to survive, please don’t tell TenSoon that I murdered a bunch of people again. It upsets him.” “Sure. I can do that.”
So Wayne did the only reasonable thing. He spat out his gum, then decked the fellow.
Metal. In some ways, that was the true mark of mankind. Man tamed the stones, the bones of the earth below. Man tamed the fire, that ephemeral, consuming soul of life. And combining the two, he drew forth the marrow of the rocks themselves, then made molten tools.
“My temper is really short.” “Temper?” Wayne said, passing him. “That’s a funny name for it, mate, but if the ladies like you givin’ silly names to your body parts, I ain’t gonna say nothin’.”
It made sense. But rich folk, they had a different word for the crapper. They’d call it a “commode” or a “washroom.” That way, when someone asked for the crapper, they knew it was a person they needed to oppress.
The law is not something holy, son. It’s simply a reflection of the ideals of those lucky enough to be in charge.”
“How can you do this?” Wax asked. “You’re going to watch it all burn?” “Ashes are excellent fertilizer,” Edwarn said. “Unless they pile so high they smother everything.”
No, freedom was not lack of responsibilities—it was being able to do what was right, without having to worry if it was also wrong.
“She was strong and vulnerable all at once,” TenSoon whispered. “She was my last master, and my greatest. She had a way of pouring everything of herself into what she did. When she fought, she was the blade. When she loved, she was the kiss. In that regard, she was far more … human than any I have known.”
“Freedom,” Wax said, tapping the page. “She talked about that with me. What does it mean?” “I don’t know,” TenSoon said, voice even more a growl than before. “She has betrayed everything we are. But then, so did I. So perhaps we are a pair, she and I. Two of the oldest monsters remaining on this planet, now that many of the Seconds have taken the escape of ending their own lives.”
Sure, taking down a homicidal shapeshifter was important and all, but rusts, this seemed a bad time to be hanging around with conners and noblemen. Listening to this speech, he was half inclined to string himself up, which was really disturbing, since he was generally suicidal only in the mornings.
Wax naturally preferred the pistol. A handgun was an extension of one’s focus, a weapon of precision—like a thrown coin in anteverdant days. The soul of the Coinshot, his will made manifest.
“Why would he care?” Wax said, still sick. “He uses me to kill all the time.” “You are His Ruin,” TenSoon said. “I am His Preservation.”
Hesitant, but feeling there was little else he could do for this poor creature, he picked her up and held her close. Let her die in someone’s arms. It revolted him to do so, after what she had done. But damn it, it was right. Bleeder turned her head toward him, and her expression softened as she shook, smiling through bloodied lips. “You’re … you’re as surprising as a … dancing donkey, Mister Cravat.”
Ask him if he knew I would come to love you!” “No…” “He moved us, even then!” she whispered. “I refused. I wouldn’t manipulate you into returning to Elendel! You loved it out there. I wouldn’t bring you back, to become his pawn…” “Lessie?” Harmony, it was her. It was her. “Ask him … Wax,” she said. “Ask him … why … if he knows everything … he’d let you kill me…” She grew still.
“She was sent to you long ago,” TenSoon said, sitting back on his haunches. “The woman you knew as Lessie was always one of us.” No …
“I killed her,” Wax whispered, squeezing his eyes closed. “I killed her again.”
