The Lost Metal (Mistborn, #7)

by Brandon Sanderson

were ten times worse than any other bandit that ever walked the Roughs.” “Ten times?” Wayne said. “Yup.” “That’s a lot! Almost double!”

“What’s harder, love?” she asked. “Doing what’s right or doing what’s wrong?” “Doing what’s right.” “So who gets stronger?” Ma asked. “The fellow what does the easy thing, or what does the hard thing?”

“Jak couldn’t fly over this one, for the second of the bandits hid in the canyon. Noways Joe. He was a master of pistols, and could also fly, and turn into a dragon, and eat rocks. If Jak tried to sneak past, Joe would shoot him from behind.”

“But the mesa was Blatant Barm.” “WHAT?” “That’s right,” Ma said. “Barm had joined up with the koloss—the ones that change into big monsters, not the normal ones like old Mrs. Nock. And they showed him how to turn into a monster of humongous size. So when Jak tried to land on it, the mesa done gobbled him up.”

“You are whatever you want to be, Wayne. You’re the wind. You’re the stars. You are all endless things.”

“I need a knife to get through this,” she said. “You can use my razor-sharp wit.” “Alas, Wayne, you aren’t the type of tool I need at the moment.” “Ha!” he said. “I like that one.”

The group known as the Set, once run by Wax’s Uncle Edwarn, then revealed to involve his sister, Telsin, as well. A group that followed, or worshipped, or somehow furthered the machinations of a dark figure known as Trell. A god, she thought. From ancient times.

to reveal a rough-hewn tunnel leading downward. One of the many that dotted this region, dating back to the ancient days before the Catacendre. To the time of myths and heroes, ashfalls and tyrants.

Cravat?” Steris said, reading from the list. “Tied and pinned,” Wax said, pulling it tight. “Shoes?” “Polished.” “First piece of evidence?” Wax flipped a silvery medallion in the air, then caught it. “Second piece of evidence?” Steris asked, making a mark on her list. He pulled a small folded stack of papers from his pocket. “Right here.” “Third piece of evidence?” Wax checked another pocket, then paused, looking around the small office—his senator’s chamber in the House of Proceedings. Had he left them … “On the desk back home,” he said, smacking his head. “I brought a spare,” Steris said, digging in her bag. Wax grinned. “Of course you did.” “Two, actually,” Steris said, handing over a sheet of paper, which he tucked away. Then she consulted her list again.

Little Maxillium stepped up beside his mother, looking very serious as he scanned his own list of scribbles. At five years old he knew his letters, but preferred to make up his own. “Dog picture,” Max said, as if reading from his list. “I might need one of those,” Wax said. “Quite useful.” Max solemnly presented it, then said, “Cat picture.” “Need one of those too.” “I’m bad at cats,” Max said, handing him another sheet. “So it looks like a squirrel.”

The boy’s sister—Tindwyl, as Steris liked traditional names—babbled in the corner, where Kath, the governess, was watching her.

“Is a kiss for my wife on that list?” Wax asked. “Actually, no,” she said, surprised. “A rare oversight,” he said, then gave her a lingering kiss.

“I propose that we vote down this bill and work on something better. Something that actually promotes peace and unity. A national assembly, with representation for each Outer City—and an elected supreme official elevated by that body.”

Who among those looking at him now were secretly their agents? Rusts, he didn’t even understand their motives. They wanted war—as a way to gain power, certainly. But there was more. They followed orders from something known as Trell.

and eventually landed at 122 for, 118 against. The bill passed. His stomach fell further. If Wax was going to stop a civil war, he’d need to find another way.

She distracted herself by imagining that these caverns must be as old as the Ascendant Warrior—or even older. These tunnels had slumbered through the destruction of the world, through the Catacendre, through the rise and fall of the Final Empire. Had the stones they walked past broken loose from the ceiling during the days of the Ashmounts? She couldn’t help wondering if they would stumble across the mythical Survivor’s Cradle—the Pits of Hathsin—though she knew that was foolish. Wax said he had been to them, and had found no magical metals of lore.

“You and Wax are detectives,” he said. “Not me.” “What are you then?” “Bullet stopper,” he said. “Skull knocker. Guy who occasionally gets exploded.”

“So,” Wayne said softly, dangling below, keeping pace with her instead of going on ahead, “wanna hear my list of ways how women break the laws of physics?” “Depends,” Marasi said. “How misogynistic is it? Can you give me a number on some kind of scale?” “Uh … thirteen?” “Out of what?” “Seventeen?”

“Look, I just wanted to point out something interesting. Useful observationalizing ’bout the nature of the cosmere and the relationship between the genders.”

Cycle was the lowest level of real officer in the Set. They were local bosses that operated gangs of hired muscle. Miles Hundredlives had been a Cycle, reporting to the Suit above him.

Hoid, the driver, stepped out.

It gave him an impish stab of glee to pull on the leather harness and strap Max to his back in front of everyone. Then, with a fond kiss for Steris—and a promise to meet her at home—he dropped a bullet casing and turned toward the crowd. “Don’t none of you get jealous or nothin’!” Max shouted. “He can give you a ride fer cheap, if you ask real nice and stop being a pile o’ bad turds!”

Fortunately for her, the Cycle didn’t seem practiced with his powers. Despite the prepared clothing, he obviously found it awkward to move and fight in this bulkier form. What kind of Feruchemist didn’t practice with their abilities?

Feruchemical healing? That proved it. She’d never met someone who naturally had two Feruchemical powers. He was using the forbidden art. Hemalurgy.

Then, horribly, his eyes started to glow faintly red. “Trell is choosing hosts,” he said. “Avatars, bestowed with his power. How would you like to be the accomplishment that proves I’m worthy of immortality, lawwoman? All you have to do is die.”

Instead, she ripped aside his shirt—revealing four spikes pounded in deep between his ribs. As she had suspected. Knife in hand, she began the gruesome work of digging the spikes out. She dug faster as she realized at least one of them was made of a strange metal with dark red spots like rust. One they’d been searching for forever.

“The ash comes again,” the man said through bloody lips, his voice strangely grating. “The world will fall to it. You will get what you deserve, and all will wither beneath a cloud of blackness and a blanket of burned bodies made ash.”

“Your end,” the voice whispered. “Your end comes. Either in ash, or at the hands of the men of gold and red. Gold and—”

Until today. Today, he remembered the parts of his life he’d loved in the north—but he didn’t want them back. He had a life here he loved equally. Maybe more, judging by the warmth he felt as Max laughed. This … this was where he belonged. More, this was where he wanted to belong. It felt calming to realize these things. He’d … finally stopped grieving, hadn’t he?

Curiously, the red-spotted one did not like touching the others—it pulled away from them if brought close.

“Is that …” “Trellium?” she said. “Yes. It has to be.”

dying words reminded her of what Miles Hundredlives had said when he had died. One day, the men of gold and red, bearers of the final metal, will come to you. And you will be ruled by them.

Myths became men. And every society knew how to kill other men.

“Supposedly,” he said. That had been the whole issue with Lessie. Though the numbers varied by species, the principle was the same: spike yourself too many times, and Harmony could control you. It was an exploit to Hemalurgy that went back to the ancient days, when Ruin had directly controlled the Inquisitors, like Death himself. But lately, Marasi had begun to encounter members of the Set with too many powers. Wax hadn’t believed at first, but if she’d confirmed it … “The limitation has been circumvented somehow,” Wax said, inspecting the trellium spike. “Perhaps it has to do with the placement of this spike, as a linchpin?”

This metal was a manifestation—presumably—of the body of a god. Much like harmonium, also called ettmetal.

“Another planet?” Marasi said. “Well, maybe between planets?” MeLaan said. “I’m not entirely sure. Harmony wants some of us to strike out, begin exploring, learning about the cosmere. It’s become evident that the cosmere knows about us.” She nodded toward the spike pinched between Wax’s fingers. “What’s it like?” Marasi asked MeLaan, with a certain … hunger in her eyes. “Traveling out there. How … do you even do it?” “It’s difficult,” she said. “Both to get to the other side—which is an inversion of the real world—and to travel while there.

“I get to cross the misted unknown, the dark vastness that Harmony calls ‘Shadesmar.’ I’ll be the first kandra to go out there long-term, with an official mission. “I get to explore the cosmere, Wayne. I get to go and see everything there is—worlds we can only imagine. I get to help those who need it—not one or two people, but entire peoples.”

“I did want to tell you something important,” she whispered as she pulled away. “Something meaningful.” “Yeah?” “You,” she said, squeezing his hand one last time, “were a really good lay, Wayne.” “Really?” “Really. To be honest, you were the best I’ve known.” “You’re seven hundred years old,” he said. “And I was the best?” She nodded. Well now, that was something. Something indeed.

The true him, the one that knew this pain. They’d ridden together on many a dusty path. This pain had been his invisible friend since childhood. The pain of knowing what he really was. The pain of being worthless.

“Perhaps,” Steris said, “these metals—unlike common ones—don’t change states based on temperature, but on other factors.” Wax nodded in thought. Marasi leaned down beside the table, looking at the spike. “It’s full of power,” she said. “It’s a Hemalurgic spike, so it’s …” “ ‘Invested’ is the term the kandra use,” Wax said. “It has taken a part of a person’s soul, through Hemalurgy, and stored it. Like a kind of … battery for life energy.”

“You’ve been trying to divide harmonium into its base metals? You’re trying to create atium!” He looked back into his viewer, continuing to dump flakes into the acid. “Not just atium …” Marasi said. “Lerasium too? That’s the metal that … It created Mistborn! It’s explained in the records left by Harmony. Allomancy entered the world because the Lord Ruler gave lerasium to some of his followers, who burned it and were changed. Those first mythical Mistborn—they held incredible power. You’re trying to replicate that.”

“Waxillium?” Steris said from behind. “You should come look at this.” “What?” he asked, turning. “The trellium spike,” she said, “is reacting to the harmonium.”

“He’s one of your oldest friends.” “Only because he can’t die.” “Ranette …” Jaxy said.

“Curious,” Wax said. Then, on a hunch, he burned a little steel inside of him. The trellium spike rolled away from him again. “I didn’t Push,” he said. “It responded to me burning steel.” “That’s a result!” Steris said, scribbling furiously. “Wax, that’s actually useful.”

“It’s more like magnetism. The trellium spike responds to other sources of Investiture in the way one magnet responds to another one.” “It wants to stay apart from them,” Steris said. “More like it has the same charge,” Wax said. “I doubt that it ‘wants’ anything.” Though, as this was part of a god, who knew? Particularly since, so far as he was aware, other Invested items with a similar charge didn’t repel one another.

Harmonium and trellium. They repelled each other. More and more violently, the closer together they were … I wonder …

It was true; harmonium wasn’t actually an alloy. Yet Harmony held both Ruin and Preservation—so somehow this metal was both atium and lerasium, blended in a way that defied ordinary scientific explanation.

Harmonium was pliable, more so when heated. When softened like this, it seemed to react differently to the air—no longer as volatile. As if … as if it were becoming something else.

“Ruin and Preservation,” Marasi whispered. “Atium and lerasium.” “I think that’s the reason harmonium is so unstable,” Wax explained. “Harmony has trouble acting, right? He’s mentioned it before: his two aspects work against one another, leaving him indecisive, impotent.” “He’s merely in equilibrium,” VenDell said. “Equal parts the need to protect and the need to let things decay.”

We are watching, Marasi, it read. And we are impressed. It had a small symbol at the bottom, with three interlocking diamonds. It looked vaguely familiar to Wax, though he didn’t think he’d ever seen the symbol before. More, the pattern reminded him of something.