Mistborn: The Wax and Wayne Series: The Alloy of Law, Shadows of Self, The Bands of Mourning (The Mistborn Saga)

by Brandon Sanderson

But the mark of a great man is one who knows when to set aside the important things in order to accomplish the vital ones.”

“Now, if you were studying buffoonery and idiotic behavior,” Wayne added, “that is something we’re experts on.”

“You wanna know why I really came to find you?” “Why?” “I thought of you happy in a comfy bed, resting and relaxing, spending the rest of your life sipping tea and reading papers while people bring you food and maids rub your toes and stuff.” “And?” “And I just couldn’t leave you to a fate like that.” Wayne shivered. “I’m too good a friend to let a mate of mine die in such a terrible situation.”

People today … it seems they are good, or sometimes evil, mostly by inertia, not by choice. They act as their surroundings prepare them to act.

Seemed like you two were having some kind of ‘smart people’ moment. Didn’t want to interfere.” “Wise of you. Your stupidity can be infectious.”

“Wonderful show, Wax. Usually I wait to call someone a bastard until the second date.” He eyed Marasi. “Third if she’s pretty.”

Nothing else dangerous we could find. Other than Wayne’s body odor.” “That’s the smell of incredibleness,” Wayne called from inside.

“Let Wayne go in first. We might have missed a trap or two. Better for him to explode than you.” “Hey!” Wayne said. “I mean it with all fondness,” Waxillium said,

“He is dead, young lady,” an aged, distinguished voice said from the darkness. “I am sorry for your loss.” Her heart just about stopped. “Yes,” the voice continued, “he was simply too handsome, too clever, and too immensely remarkable in all aspects of his existence to allow to live.” Someone pushed open a window, letting in light and revealing Wayne’s face. “I’m afraid it took a hundred men to bring him down, and he killed all but one. His last words were, ‘Tell Wax … that he’s a total git … and he still owes me five notes.’”

“It’s all right, Wayne,” Waxillium said softly. “I’ve made a promise. I told Lord Harms I’d return Steris to him. And I will. That is that.” “Then I will remain and help,” Marasi said. “That is that.” “And I could really use some food,” Wayne added. “Fat is fat.”

“The ways of Wayne are mysterious and incomprehensible,” Wayne said. “What he giveth, he can draw back unto himself. And lo, let it be written and pondered.”

“To be of use in even a single burst of flame and sound is worth more than a lifetime of achieving nothing.”

“Wasing the where of needing,” she read, forming the unfamiliar words. The lofty tongue was used for old documents dating to the time of the Origin, and occasionally for government ceremony. “It’s a call for help.”

The measure of a person is not how much they have lived. It is not how easily they jump at a noise or how quick they are to show emotion. It’s in how they make use of what life has shown them.”

I thought I asked for a little help. A voice returned to him, distinct and unexpected. And a little is what you received, I think. Waxillium started. Well … could I have some more, then? Um, please? I must be careful in playing favorites, the voice inside his mind replied. It upsets the balance. You’re God. Isn’t playing favorites kind of the point? No, the voice replied. The point is Harmony, creating a way for as many as possible to make their own choices.

Ratting out a friend: completely off-limits. Extorting a friend: well, that was just good business sense.

“Wayne, sometimes you completely baffle me.” “Only sometimes?” Waxillium asked.

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.

“Greet every morning with a smile. That way it won’t know what you’re planning to do to it?”

Hey, Hoid. Can I catch a ride up there with you?”

“I spoke to God on the way over here.” “All right…” Marasi said. “I’m glad you’re devout enough to say a prayer now and then.” “Yes. Thing is, He spoke back.”

Someone else moves us.

“I’m worried that interacting with her might prove … theologically difficult.”

“It’s always the quiet ones. Well, and the psychopathic ones. That too.”

“Seems to me that it would be nice to finally be done, you know? It’s like … like you’re running a race, and you don’t know quite where the end is, but you got an idea. An’ you only need to make it that far.

“You are His Ruin,” TenSoon said. “I am His Preservation.”

“I have a theory,” Marasi said to them, “that a gentlewoman should never need to resort to something so barbarous as violence to achieve her goals. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“A true gentlewoman uses the threat of violence instead. So much more civilized.”

’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.”

“Do you ever wonder if perhaps the cosmere is out to overwhelm you, Lord Waxillium?”

“Of course the wedding would fall apart. Several tons of water falling through the roof? Why wouldn’t I have seen that? It’s so utterly outlandish it had to happen. At least the priest didn’t get murdered this time.”

“You’ve given up? Is that how the Ascendant Warrior was? Huh?” “No, in fact,” Marasi said. “She walked up to the man she wanted, slapped the book out of his hand, and kissed him.” “See, there’s how it is!” “Though the Ascendant Warrior also went on and murdered the woman Elend was planning to marry.” “What, really?” “Yeah.” “Gruesome,” Wayne said in an approving tone, then took another swig of sherry.

“Here now,” he continued, “that’s what you’ve gotta do. Be like the Lady Mistborn. Get your murderin’ on, see. Don’t back down. He should be yours, and you gotta let people know.” “My … murderin’ on?” “Sure.” “Against my sister.” “You could be polite about it,” Wayne said. “Like, give her the first stab or whatnot.”

A walnut bounced off VenDell’s head. He immediately turned to glare at Wayne. “Sorry,” Wayne said. “Just had trouble believing someone could be so melodramatic, so I figured you might not be real. Hadda check, ya know?”

“Nice flower,” the kandra said. “Can I have your skeleton when you’re dead?” “My…” Wayne felt at his head. “You’re a Bloodmaker, correct? Can heal yourself? Bloodmaker bones tend to be particularly interesting, as your time spent weak and sickly creates oddities in your joints and bones that can be quite distinctive. I’d love to have your skeleton. If you don’t mind.”

“Four hours?” Steris said. “I need to send for the maids! And the valet! And…” She raised a hand to her head, looking faint. “And I need to make a list.”

The carriage lurched into motion, and Steris leaned out the window, waving farewell to the poor innkeeper. “Framed for murder!” Steris called to her. “It’s on page seventeen of the list I gave you! Try not to let them harass our servants too much when they arrive!”

“I just had my long-held assumptions about someone shattered in a brief moment. I’m wondering if every person I pass has similar depths, and if there’s any way to avoid the mistake of judging them so shallowly that I’m rocked when they show their true complexity. You?” “I was lookin’ at you two,” Wayne said, contemplative as he regarded the snowy landscape outside rather than her, “and wondering. Do sisters ever really get sexy with one another for a fellow to watch, or does that only happen in pub songs?” Marasi let out a long breath. “Thank you for restoring my ability to trust my judgment, Wayne.” “Anytime.”

Thank you for your service; it has been accepted. You will be allowed to serve in another Realm.”