The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn, #6)

by Brandon Sanderson

“The trouble with Hemalurgy is in its limitations,” he said. “If you kill a man and steal his Metallic abilities, the resulting gift to you is weakened. Did you know that? What’s more, if you spike yourself too much, you become subject to Harmony’s . . . interference.

“Behold me, Waxillium. Today, I become a god.”

Suit held the Bands. Wax twisted his head as best he could, pinned as he was, to see it. The bearded man smiled broadly, waiting.

“Drained,” he said with disgust. “After all this, we find them empty of attributes. What a waste.”

“Wax,” he said, shaking his head. “No. No. I can’t do this without you.” “Yes you can. Fight.” “Not that part,” Wayne said. “The rest of it. Livin’. We . . . we’ll get you out of this.” He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms, then looked at the stone on top of Wax, then down at the blood pooling beneath. Then he sat back, running his hands through his hair, eyes wide, as if in shock. Wax tried to urge him on, but his lips wouldn’t move. Not enough strength.

Two silvery bracers, each as long as a forearm. “There was a hidden chamber down there, Sequence. And my, what a secret it contained.” Telsin shoved between her scientists and scrambled up to Suit. She took the bracers, awed. “They don’t work,” Suit noted. “What do you mean?” “They’re out of attributes, I think. Their reserves gone.”

they grant Allomancy too,” Telsin said, putting them on and waving toward one of the guards, who tossed her a vial of metals. She downed it, eager. “Well?” Suit asked. “Nothing.” A decoy,

Candles in a dark room. They’re another decoy, Wax thought, mind muddled. Those bracers were too perfect, just like the stories. They were left to fool us.

No, Wax thought, it wouldn’t be somewhere else. He’d need to be able to find it. He’d recognize it. . . . It was. It was here! Wax gasped, and tried to form the words, eyes wide. Wayne gripped his hand, knuckles white. He couldn’t feel it. The darkness arrived, and Wax died.

All his life, only one man had believed in him. Only one man had forgiven him, had encouraged him.

Where did you put the weapon? On the doorstep, under the sign of the Sovereign himself, in his very own hand. Marasi turned, frantic, searching out the oversized spearhead. It lay right beside her, where the guard had dropped it. Waxillium had called it aluminum because he couldn’t sense it, but he hadn’t looked closely enough. If he had, he’d have seen it was made of different interwoven metals, wavy, like the folds forged into the blade of a sword. He couldn’t Push on it, not because it was aluminum. But because it was a metalmind, stored with more power than any they’d ever seen.

Harmony stepped up beside Wax in the misty darkness. They fell in beside one another, walking as was natural for men to do. God looked much as Wax had always imagined Him. Tall, peaceful, hands laced before Himself. Face like a long oval, serene and human, though He towed behind Him a cloak of timelessness. Wax could see it, trailing after. Storms and winds, clouds and rain, deserts and forests, all reflected somehow in this creature’s wake.

“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.”

“You’re the God, not me. You can find a line where You prevent the worst. You can find a line where You’re stopping the worst that is reasonable, while still letting us live our lives.”

Wax found that they’d been rounding a planet. They stood high above it, and had stepped from darkness into sunlight, which let Wax see the world below, bathed in a calm, cool light. Beyond that hung a haze of red. All around, pressing in upon the world. He could feel it choking him, a miasma of dread and destruction.

“I have already done just as you suggest. You do not see it, because the wo...

“Why?” Wax asked. “Because you demanded it of me.” “No I didn’t!” “Yes. A part of you did. An eventuality I can see, one of many possible Waxilliums, all you—yet not set. Know yourself, Waxillium. Would you have had another kill her? Someone she didn’t know?” “No,” he whispered. “Would you have had her live on, a slave in her mind? Corrupted by that cursed spike that would forever leave her scarred, even if replaced?” “No.” He was crying. “And if you had known,” Harmony said, holding his eyes, “that you’d never have been able to pull that trigger unless your eyes were veiled? If you’d realized what knowledge of the truth would do to you—stilling your hand and trapping her in an endless prison of madness—what would you have asked of me?”

“And because I have other problems to occupy me.” “You didn’t tell me what it was,” Wax said. “That is because I do not know.” “That . . . frightens me.” Harmony looked to him. “It should.”

Marasi clutched the spearhead in two hands. And tapped everything. Power flooded into her, lighting her up like an inferno. Snow hung motionless in the air. She stood up and reached to the belt of one of her captors, removing one of his vials of metal. She took them all, several from each guard, and drank them. She was tapping a metalmind, letting her move at a speed so fast that when she lifted her hand, she could briefly see the pocket of vacuum left behind. She smiled. 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. It was as if an ocean of light had suddenly been pumped into her arteries and veins.

There were no people or objects, just energy coalesced. The metals shone brilliantly, as if they were holes into someplace different. Concentrated essence, providing a pathway to power.

She hung there, and was surprised to see something spinning around her. Mist? Where was it coming from? Me, she realized. She hovered in the sky, flush with power. In that moment, she was the Ascendant Warrior.

“Foralate men!” He waved his hand in a gesture. “Forsalvin!”

“Now what?” Wax asked Harmony. “I fade off into nothing?” “I don’t believe it’s nothing,” God said. “There is something beyond. Though perhaps my belief is merely my own desire wishing it to be so.” “You are not encouraging me. Aren’t You omnipotent?” “Hardly,” Harmony said, smiling. “But I believe that parts of me could be.” “That doesn’t make any sense.” “It won’t until I make it do so,” Harmony said,

Wax hesitated. “Tell me one thing first.” “If it is within my means.” “Did she come here? When she passed?” Harmony smiled. “She asked me to look after you.”

“Go,” Marasi said. “Do what you do best, Waxillium Ladrian.” “Which is what? Break things?” “Break things,” Marasi said, “with style.” He grinned, then downed the vial of metals.

The Bands, still clutched in his left hand, somehow gave him not just Allomancy, but ancient Allomancy. The potency of those who had lived long ago, during the time of the Lord Ruler. Perhaps even more. Was that possible?

They’re all the same. Metal, minds, men, all the same substance. . . .

Wax increased the speed of his thoughts, tapping zinc. He sorted through a dozen scenarios. Find the explosives and Push them away? How far could he get them? Would Suit detonate the bomb before he could arrive?

Poor MeLaan was still here, and her form had started to incorporate the bones, slowly assembling them in a strange configuration. With no spikes, she’d become a mistwraith.

“The definition of a lawman, Uncle, is easy,” Wax said, feeling blood from a dozen cuts trickle down his face. He lifted Suit by the front of his clothing, bringing him close. “He’s the man who takes the bullet so nobody else has to.” With that, Wax decked him across the face and dropped him to the snow, unconscious.

MeLaan swam in a sea of terror. Terror within her own mind; a piece of her knowing this was not right. This being ruled by instinct, this craven set of impulses. But this was what she did. Food. She needed food. No. First a place to hide. From the trembling sounds. Hide away, find a crack. She continued building a body that would let her walk. Flee.

An object dropped on her. It was cold, but not stone. This wasn’t food. She enfolded it and intended to spit it away, but then something happened. Something wonderful. She gobbled up the second one as it was dropped, and began to undulate, frantic. It came back. Memory. Knowledge. Rationality. Self. She exulted in it, ignoring the little holes that were now poked in her memory.

She formed eyes first, and she knew what she would see when she opened them. She’d already tasted him on the air, and knew his flavor. “Welcome back,” Wayne said, grinning. “I think we won.”

“Will it break apart?” Allik asked. She looked at him with surprise, then down at his language medallion. “Warm choc and a blanket will do me for a minute,” he said, settling down and pulling his blanket around him. “Others are in greater need, yah?

“Rusts!” she said, looking at it. “What is this?” It was sweet, thick, warm, chocolaty, and wonderful. “Choc,” he said. “Sometimes it is a man’s only succor in this frozen, lonely world, yah?” “You drink chocolate?” “Sure. Don’t you?” She never had. Plus, this was far sweeter than the chocolate she was used to. Not bitter at all. She took a long, soothing draught. “Allik, this is the most wonderful thing I’ve ever experienced. And I just held the powers of creation themselves.” He smiled.

There was a darkness to these men that the stories hadn’t conveyed. Marasi was glad for it, but she had stepped to that ledge, then turned back. Proud though she was of having fulfilled her mission for the kandra, she had decided that things would be different for her in the future. She was all right with that. It was what she had chosen.

Steris had joined Waxillium on the field, and he’d put his arm around her shoulders. Marasi smiled. Now that was an image she’d never thought she’d find comforting. But they would do well together.

“We thank you for your help,” Jordis was saying, her voice touched by the same accent Allik had. “But our appreciation does not allow us to ignore thievery. We expect that our property will be returned.” “I don’t see any of your property here,” Waxillium replied coldly. “I see only an artifact we recovered. Well, that and my airship.”

“Tell the others,” Marasi said to Allik. “Please.” He removed his medallion and launched into a furious explanation in his language, waving his hands, then gesturing at MeLaan. She cocked an eyebrow, then made her skin translucent—displaying a skeleton that was so cracked and mangled, Marasi was left momentarily stunned. How was MeLaan still standing? The captain took this in. “We,” Steris said, “will give the Bands to the immortal kandra. They are wise and impartial, tasked with serving all people. They will promise not to let us use the Bands unless we are attacked by your kind.”

What did one make of a society where everyone hid their true feelings behind a mask, only letting out calculated reactions?

“But Captain, you will return with something more valuable than an old relic or even your fallen ship. You’ll have new trading partners in a land brimming with Metalborn. Has it been mentioned that my lord Waxillium holds an important seat in our government? That he has a dramatic influence over trade, tariffs, and taxation? Those among your people who secure favorable treaties with us could become very rich indeed.”

The Basin had not made a friend this day. Hopefully some last-minute scrambling had prevented them from making an enemy.

Wax stood before the statue of the Lord Ruler, with that single spike in his eye. He’d checked the belt, which was aluminum. No kind of charge. If there had ever been two bracers, he had to assume they’d been made into this one spearhead.

I held your power, he thought toward the statue, if only a tiny bit of it. Rusts . . . I think I understand. He’d given the Bands to MeLaan, and she had made them vanish into her flesh. He was glad to know that they were effectively out of his reach. Too much power.

The power they offer is something . . .” “. . . Sublime and devastating at once?” Marasi asked. “Dangerous because of what it could do in the wrong hands, yet somehow more dangerous in your own?”

He didn’t blame Wayne for what he’d done to Telsin. Yes, taking her to Elendel for justice—and interrogation—would have been better. And yes, he found that he’d rather have pulled the trigger himself. Harmony was right about that. But either way, Telsin was dealt with. That meant— Blood on the snow. No skimmer. More importantly, no body.

“It’s not done,” he said. “But in some ways, that’s better.” “Because your sister isn’t dead?” He turned toward Marasi. It seemed that despite hours in this frozen place, the cold had only just reached inside of him. “No,” he said. “Because now I have someone to hunt.”

“I thought it meant you’d forgiven yourself.” “Nah,” Wayne said. “I was just real mad at your sister.” “You knew, didn’t you?” Wax asked, frowning. “That she’d heal?” “Well, I didn’t wanna kill someone in cold blood—” “That’s good, I suppose.” “—but there weren’t no fire around to light her with first.” “Wayne . . .” The shorter man sighed. “I saw the metalminds peekin’ outta her sleeves. Figured, if you’re gonna give yourself one power from a Feruchemist, you’d wanna be able to heal. I ain’t gonna kill your sister, mate. But I didn’t mind makin’ her jump a bit, and I needed MeLaan’s spikes.”

But I wasn’t of sound mind, so to speak. I thought you were dead, mate. Really thought it. And I kept thinkin’ to myself, ‘Would Wax kill her for real? Or would he give her another chance, like he gave me?’ So I let her be. I stayed my hand, ’cuz it was the last thing I could do for you. Does that make sense?”

“Thank you. I’m glad you’re learning.” It felt disingenuous to say that when inside, in truth, he wished Wayne had stripped off her metalminds and left her a frozen corpse.