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You’ve read about this, she thought. It’s one of the ancient powers available only to Mistborn. It was called duralumin, an arcane metal. Using it, an Allomancer could burn their entire metal reserve at once. Like detonating a keg of gunpowder instead of a single bullet, it released an enormous burst of Allomantic energy. At least … that was what she remembered. It hadn’t been relevant in centuries, because no one could have two Allomantic powers at once. Unless you had Hemalurgic spikes.
What kind of gangsters tried to outgun the constables? The kind who are heavily armed, Marasi thought.
Waxillium Ladrian standing just behind her, mistcoat tassels flaring as he turned and aimed a pistol right over her shoulder. He fired with a single crack of gunpowder. The shot drilled straight through the viewfinder on the machine gun and sent the man who had been firing it to the ground, a bullet through the eye. “Sorry I’m late,” Wax announced to the crowd. “Had to wait for gunfire to lead me to you. Shall we carry on, then?”
“I’ve been waiting for this for years,” she said—her accent fading away. “Planning, preparing. I was built for you, Wayne. Aren’t you honored? I was made to kill you!”
A figure in fine clothing dropped beside them. “Getruda,” he said to the woman, “I’m disappointed in you.” Then he pointed a gun at Wayne’s head.
“And … there’s more, Waxillium. He tries to hide it, but I think … something is wrong with Harmony. I see a dark shadow behind him.”
Hmmmm I have theories
He hadn’t told her everything that had happened to him years ago. She thought maybe Wax had died for a moment. Before she’d found him broken in that cold, forgotten shrine. He’d met with Harmony. Now Wax talked like this sometimes. With an authority regarding religious matters that she hadn’t heard from priests.
“Oi!” Wayne said, sitting up. “Hey, Wax! Somebody done sewn a sack of dicks together and made a person! It’s even walking!” The room fell silent. Then VenDell snickered. “Are you going to apologize for that, Ladrian?” Gave asked. “Oh!” Wayne said, heaving himself to his feet. “It’s Gave Entrone. Sorry, Lord Mayor! I mistook you for something else. Though the resemblance, it’s downright uncanny, it is.”
Wax had never seen Death himself, though Marasi had met the creature once. Known as Ironeyes, the ancient Inquisitor had weighty spikes through his eyes, the points jutting out the back of his skull. One of his eye sockets had been crushed during a fight, as recorded in the Words of Founding that Harmony—Sazed—had left. Wax could make out the scars, intermingled with faded tattoos, outlining the eye sockets. Death wore voluminous black robes and had ghostly skin—looking ill. The hands jutting from his sleeves were so lean they appeared skeletal.
Something emanated from him. A dread that crushed the soul like a hand around yesterday’s broadsheet. A … No, Wax thought. I do not fear this. I’ve stared down death already. Strangely, the sensation of dread evaporated from him. Had that been … emotional Allomancy?
“That accent of yours … real old, real interesting … I actually kinda got it right.”
“Lord Ruler,” he muttered. “That was a performance, wasn’t it? And to think that I was the reasonable one in the crew.”
Wait is Death???? Who I think it is
“Ironeyes?” Marasi asked. “Are you … well?” “No,” he said. “I run low on atium, and so age finally emerges from the shadows. It has always stalked me. Now it senses the kill. I was here in Bilming, seeking answers. They try to re-create the metal, and I thought maybe …” “If you run out …” Marasi said, “… you die?” He nodded. “I was going to let it happen. I have lived so much, far longer than my due. But I helped destroy this world—unwillingly, yes, but my weakness led to much sorrow. I swore I would help. And so, I struggle yet to live …”
“I’ve grown too weak to continue hunting those who would destroy this land.
“Ironeyes?” Marasi asked, stepping over. “You may call me Marsh,” he said softly. “It … feels good to hear that name. To remember what I used to be.”
OMG
“This is my brother’s symbol,” Marsh said. “He does what he thinks is best. As has always been the case with him. He … is not the best at self-reflection, but he does want to protect Scadrial. His agents will align with your interests.”
Is he still alive? The Survivor?” “Alive?” Marsh asked. “It depends, I suppose, on your definition. He’s close to alive. How is that?” “You mean … he’s a ghost?” Wayne asked. “After a fashion,” Marsh replied. “He’s less alive than I am, but perhaps more than other ghosts? It’s hard to say. Three of us remain from that original crew. After all this time. Only three. Legs to a tripod, balancing one another. And without one … I do not know what would happen.”
“I’m told it is better to refer to them as Cognitive Shadows,” Marsh mumbled.
The slender woman pushed her overly large spectacles up on her face, but that nearly made her drop the three ledgers she was trying to carry. Shoulder-length black hair fell around her face as she struggled to keep the ledgers in hand. She pushed it back and grinned sheepishly—through lips with bright red lipstick. It was Moonlight.
After all, Marsh had said that people with the interlocking diamond tattoos would be on their side.
“We’re not interested in him,” Moonlight said. “We’re interested in you.
“And what do you add to the team?” “Comic relief.” She cocked an eyebrow. “Maybe a little whimsy,” he said. “Improvisation. Vision.” “You have a broad imagination, then?” “There are broads in my imagination almost all the time.”
Those were good stories. Super dumb, of course, but sometimes you needed cheap storytelling with your cheap booze. Didn’t make no sense to read literature while drinking outta a paper sack.
Ever since the discovery of the “Sovereign” who had ruled and helped the people of the Southern lands, Survivor fervor had been at a high point. Sightings all over the city, particularly on misty nights.
Because intellectually, he agreed with Marasi. He’d voted for legal restrictions on constable authority. Society needed robust checks on everyone’s power. Even his. Especially his.
“Actually,” she said, “it won’t hurt. Did you know that a Feruchemist can store their pain in a metalmind? Oh, and you won’t be able to remove mine from me. We’ve learned better how to hide those. So torture me if you want, Wayne. I’ll find it boring, but nothing more.”
and the cabbie—a woman with dark hair in a ponytail—glanced back at them. “Where to?”
“My organization,” she eventually said, “was created to protect and advance the needs of the planet Scadrial. It’s not my homeland, but I am committed to seeing it remain stable. There are terrible forces moving in the cosmere; my people are going to need allies.”
She tapped her armrest with a fingernail, then looked at her bag, where the rubbings she’d taken were peeking out.
Hopefully the Survivor hasn’t returned unexpectedly. My mentor isn’t always reasonable when it comes to people he sees as Harmony’s agents, and might respond … poorly.”
“I have to say,” Wayne muttered, “that there are better methods of gettin’ my attention. You’re not supposed to take friends captive, Wax, unless it involves a safeword and stretchy ropes.” “Stretchy ropes?” “More fun if you can move a little,” Wayne said. “I got to test them, since I had to be the one getting tied up. You know, on account of the fact that my girlfriend could turn into a puddle of jelly on command. Kind of undermines the point of bondage.” Wax groaned softly as they slipped out onto the street. “I did not need to know any of that, Wayne. Could you maybe avoid being crass on
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“This might be the right time to reveal yourself,” she said. “Huh?” Reddi asked. “Not you, Constable-General,” she said, looking past him toward the lanky Constable Gorglen—the younger man with a long neck and freckles. So unassuming. He met her eyes. “How did you know?” he asked in a grinding, rough voice that didn’t match his frame. “Process of elimination,” she said. “We were promised help, and MeLaan said there were multiple kandra among the constables, but gave only one name. Plus, you walk awkwardly when you have to use a two-legged body.” “Damn,” Gorglen—TenSoon—said.
“What can blind a god?” the governor asked. “Another god,” Steris mumbled.
Bomb is confirmed real, and already fabricated. City-destroying capacity. Enemy is trying to find a way to deliver it to Elendel. It’s time to evacuate the city.
“Moonlight,” the woman said after a glance. “You have to read this. Travel to Bjendal has been completely upset. That’s four primary systems we can’t visit without extreme danger, if you count Roshar. I’ve said it for years: The perpendicularities are no longer viable. They never were good for mass transportation or commerce, no matter how hard those fools on Nalthis try.
“Marasi, meet Codenames,” Moonlight said. “Codenames, meet Marasi. We’re working on a mission together.” “Wow,” Codenames said,
“what language is this even in?” “Thaylen,” Codenames said.
As she watched with amazement, these tendrils expanded from his temples, forming spectacles. Completely made of crystal, the lens parts more transparent than the rest. A second set of lenses, smaller, formed in front of the others—giving him extra magnification. “How …” Marasi said, glancing at Moonlight. “How does he do that?” “I fear,” TwinSoul said, pulling tight one of the rubbings, “that such information is not lightly shared with an outsider, even an honored guest. I must trust that Moonlight thinks this is acceptable for you to see, but I apologize. I will not explain without leave from
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“It’s called an aether,” Moonlight said, walking up behind her. “An ancient entity predating the creation of your world. TwinSoul can grow it, manipulate it. Would you like to know more?” “Yes,” Marasi whispered. Moonlight smiled. “And you shall. Once you join us.”
Breaching it has proven beyond even the arts of the Survivor himself.” “Not for lack of trying,” Codenames added.
“Because those aren’t supplies for the factory,” Moonlight said, meeting Marasi’s eyes. “They’re stockpiles of food and arms for the cavern underneath. This is our incursion point.”
“It’s time to talk to Kelsier.”
Codenames’s “friend” turned out to be a glowing sphere of light the size of a child’s head—though perfectly symmetrical and marked at the center with an arcane symbol. It floated over to Marasi, then bobbed in the air and spoke with a soft masculine voice.
It melded into the shape of a person’s head—a man with strong, angular features. She was shocked to find that most of the paintings and statues of the Survivor were accurate. Except for the spike through his right eye—a feature that was replicated in the light, same as the rest of his head and hair.
“Respect me.” Some mechanism inside clicked, and the door opened. “Another … what was it … Identity lock?” Marasi asked. “No, this is even more secure,” Moonlight said. “It’s a lock that is Awake, and can tell from your Intent if you’ve been given a passcode or if you’ve stolen it.” A lock … that was awake? As in alive?
“What is it?” Marasi whispered. “Concentrated Investiture,” Moonlight said. “Unkeyed from any Identity. This is an energy source that can power things like your Metallic Arts.” “Those are powered by the gods.” “Exactly,” Moonlight said. “This power comes from a god’s corpse. Two of them actually, intermingled. It’s exceptionally difficult to recover. The things that you could do with this … well, that I could do with this. You’d only be able to use it as a hyperefficient replacement for your metals. You don’t know how good you have it here on Scadrial, being able to power your abilities with
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“Electrolysis,” Moonlight noted. “Aluminum is actually pretty easy to make, once you know the process.” “Wait,” Marasi said, hurrying to join her as they left the room, “you can make aluminum with electrolysis?” “Yeah,” Moonlight said. “We’ve been using it to fund our operations for almost two decades now. I’d bet half the aluminum in the Basin came from us originally.” “And you’re casually letting me in on the secret?” “It’s a free sample,” Moonlight said.
A coldness spread through Wax as he looked at the last appointment, in Gave’s own hand. It simply said, They arrive. Rusts. What did that mean?
This wasn’t a lock designed for someone who could Push or Pull. It was designed for someone who could do both. The third pin required a Pull. In short, it was a lock designed for a Mistborn to open. Or in this case, someone using Hemalurgy to cheat.
That means, Moonlight, I really need to know what you’re capable of.” “Art criticism,” she said. “Fighting, if needed. Wisecracks when appropriate.” “I meant any extraordinary abilities,” Marasi said. “Her wisecracks are extraordinary,” TwinSoul said, his eyes twinkling. “Why, they’re so remarkable that I quite often can’t see which part of them is supposed to be wise.”
