The Lost Metal (Mistborn, #7)

by Brandon Sanderson

“Why do you two have this freakish obsession with copying us?” “Survival,” the man said with a grunt, “of those most worthy. Trell demands that her servants prove themselves. Against adversity. Against society. Against the roles we take. And when there are several who fit the same slot in life … well, only the strongest can survive and be rewarded.” “Rusts,” Wayne said. “That is one of the most messed-up things I’ve ever heard, mate.” Not-Wax pried Wayne’s fingers free with pewter-enhanced strength. “It is the way of Autonomy. To find our place in the coming pantheon of rulers, we must be the best versions of ourselves. It is not we who are copying you, but you who seek to take the places which are rightfully ours.”

“Is that the best you can do?” Wax said, backing away—dodging her strikes but staying close enough to be inside a speed bubble if she made one. “Really, I thought you’d be harder than this.” “Stop quotin’ lines from your wife last night,” she snapped, “and fight me!”

“You know, Stinky—can I call you Stinky?—I can respect what you’re doin’. Gettin’ into a man’s head to figure out how to beat him? That’s good strategy.

“You annoying little prick,” the man snapped. “Oh, mate,” Wayne said. “You sweet mama’s baby.” He pulled in closer. “You ain’t even begun to learn how annoying I can be.”

“When you see Death,” Wayne said, kicking the corpse in the side, “tell him he owes me fifty clips.”

I did my part,” Wax whispered. “I became your sword. I want you to do your part now.” My part, Harmony said in his head, is to put you where you can— “No,” Wax said, reloading quickly while staring up at the mists. “Not good enough. Not damn near good enough, Sazed. I can kill men. I’m far too good at that. But I can’t kill a god. If Autonomy intervenes, I will need you.”

Wax felt better immediately, entering the mists. His fatigue washed away, his pains fading. The mist was something ancient, older than Harmony. It had seen the Ascendant Warrior and the Last Emperor stop the end of the world. It had seen the Lord Ruler rise before that, and protected—perhaps threatened—the world when it had been new.

You’ve done something to me, Wax thought at Harmony, nudging them to the side and landing on the roof. Odd things have been happening to me all day. Is it an aftereffect of holding the Bands? No, Harmony said. It is something else. But it didn’t work as I’d hoped.

“Autonomy likes you,” Telsin said. “She called you a masterpiece. I disagreed, but here you are, and I find myself persuaded. Harmony knows he’s growing impotent, that Discord is near, and so he created you. A sword. Who can act when he cannot.”

“Do you think Harmony could do it?” Telsin asked, gesturing to the rocket. “If this were the only way to protect the people of this world? Could he sacrifice one city to save the rest? Or would indecision freeze him?

You’re not merely a sword, Wax, he thought. You’re a detective. That’s the life you chose. Be the person you decided to be. Not the one you’ve been assigned to be.

The detective in him grasped for connections. If she legitimately thought that the world would end if she didn’t destroy Elendel, she’d have launched it anyway. On the hope that it worked. Because if she failed, everything ended anyway—so why not try? Feeling cold, Wax raised his hand and increased his weight. Then he Pushed against the rocket. The whole construction collapsed, and the enormous weapon—the bomb—hit the rooftop with a resounding, hollow clang. It was a decoy.

He spun, searching the darkness, and somehow he was able to see through the mist. As if it thinned just for him. Distant, beyond the city, he picked out the trailing lights of something out on the open sea. An enormous warship, a Pewternaut-class vessel that had been docked all day. A show of force, he’d thought. But also the fastest way to carry something large toward Elendel. A method that couldn’t be stopped by a railway or road blockade. The bomb was on that ship.

“Or maybe you’ll hurry to Elendel, to join everyone who will die in the blast. The bomb is rigged to blow if the ship is stopped or struck by weapons fire. It’s too late. I’ve won. I—” Hit her, Harmony, Wax thought. Cut her off. Now. Telsin gasped. She stumbled, the red glow to her eyes fading, her lips parting, and fell motionless to the rooftop. Her body is pushed past its limits, Harmony told him. Waxillium … she’s being sustained only by the power. Get Autonomy to withdraw. Stop that ship!

Wax looked down through the broken skylight, where mist was pouring in like water into a drain. He could barely make out a corpse below.

Dawnshot flung wide his mistcoat, revealing what had been obscured before: a large metal spike protruding from his lower chest, where it had been pounded right through his clothing to pierce him directly between two ribs.

“They took spikes from the bodies,” the woman said, pointing. “Ordinary ones, not made of your metal. But one granted … duralumin.”

Your failure begins, Autonomy said, voice increasingly distant. You are not worthy.

Wax shook his head, pointing Vindication at the second sailor—the trembling one holding up the lantern. Wayne had of course insisted on a spike for himself. Ruin. Wax hoped what they’d done hadn’t been too blasphemous. No, Harmony’s voice said in his head, not blasphemous, Waxillium. More … a sense of industrious recycling.

Strange. He’d come all the way around to finding God’s voice in his head comforting again.

easy— Wayne crashed down beside him, thanks to a maladroit Steelpush. He scrambled back to his feet. “That part’s harder than it looks,” Wayne admitted. “You sure you got my spike in the right spot, mate?” “I studied the Lord Mistborn’s book thoroughly over the years, Wayne,” he said. “If I’d placed the spike wrong, you’d be in an extreme amount of pain.”

But a blast caused by splitting harmonium with trellium … My friends, I have no idea how much power that would release. I can’t exactly be sure what will happen if something this powerful is ignited. It could set the very atmosphere ablaze. If not, it would potentially vaporize not just Elendel and Bilming, but many cities nearby as well. Your sister is desperate, and Autonomy is callous. I doubt they tested anything on this size or scale in those caverns. We can’t let this explode. But … I also can’t see a way to disarm it.

Our primary concern is a blast out in the bay. Our secondary concern is flooding.”

“Yes,” the governor said. “On my authority. If we are so fortunate as to have overreacted, the city will pay for the losses incurred by the ship captains.” “Ohhh …” Steris said, leaning toward him. “Varlance, that sounded positively heroic.” “Really?” he asked, eager. “Heroic?” “Decisive,” she said. “Very leaderlike.”

He nodded to Steris, and on the back of his hand—mostly obscured—she saw a red tattoo. “Your sister,” the man said, “sends her regards.” Then he launched after the others.

“That the plan doesn’t need you, mate,” Wayne said, and he Pushed. Shoving Wax—via the barrel of the rifle he was holding—outward off the ship and through the mists. Wayne felt real proud of that Push. He did it like Wax did, crouching down first to give it a little lift. His friend gave him a look of outrage … and maybe regret … as he vanished into the misty darkness over the waters. “Land safely, mate,” Wayne whispered. “And survive.”

That, Harmony said, is the faintest bit of lerasium, Wayne. A metal from legend. A metal found by Vin at the Well of Ascension, and used to make Elend Venture a Mistborn. A metal that hasn’t existed for centuries, and as far as I know, hasn’t been made in millennia. Drink that vial and you’ll be a Mistborn, able to use all of the metals. There’s a little of each one in there.

How much bendalloy do you have left? He fished a pouch out of his pocket. Hmm. Maybe enough to— Wayne fished another pouch out of his other pocket. Okay, and— And the pouch in his sock. Uncomfortable, but handy. Wayne, how many pouches do you have? “Seventeen,” he said. “I’m a fancy rich guy now. Will that be enough?” Oh, Wayne. Yes. I think it will.

A figure—mostly transparent—stood beside him, a tall bald man. Terris. And another darker fellow stood behind him. Not in the skin tone sense or anything. Like … this other one was a shadow. It mimicked Harmony as he held out his hands to Wayne. “I knew,” Harmony said softly, “that I had to bring Wax to Elendel. It is possible to see future needs. I understood it would be good to make this choice, though one doesn’t always know why. Even if one is a god.” He hesitated. “I thought I only needed Wax. It seems that I was wrong.”

“Really, I’m the best you could do? Ain’t you God?” Harmony’s eyes softened. “Wayne. You aren’t the best I could do. You’re the best there is. And no being, neither god nor mortal, could have wished for more than one such as you.”

“Will Wax survive this?” “Normally, no person could,” Harmony said. “Considering explosions in water are exceptionally dangerous. Fortunately, this one will be channeled mostly upward—and Wax has pewter now. So long as he burns the metals in those other vials I gave him, he should survive the blast. I will … do what I can to help Preserve him. But Wayne, there is nothing I can do for you. This blast will be too big.”

“Will this … earn me forgiveness?” “Oh, Wayne,” Harmony said. “You’ve heard this from Wax. You have to hear it from me too, I think. You can’t do this for forgiveness. You need no forgiveness, not anymore.”

“Yeah, I know who I am,” Wayne said. “I’m the God. Damn. HERO.” He paused. “Sorry.” “Under the circumstances,” Harmony said, smiling, “I understand.

“Right, then,” Wayne said. “I’m gonna need your hat.” “My … hat?” “Gotta sculpt a speed bubble just right,” Wayne said, “and put everything I have into the Push. Burn so much bendalloy in one moment, it practically melts me from the inside—slow time so much, even electric signals get dull.” “I don’t wear a hat.” “You’re God. Improvise somethin’.” Harmony paused, then touched Wayne on the head. He felt it start to glow, as if something had been settled there. Earrings too. He felt earrings like a proper Terrisman wore. Something he’d maybe always been, just in secret. It wasn’t nothin’ magical. But when he wore someone’s hat, he thought he could understand them. And who was better to understand than God himself?

Then he burned duralumin and Pushed. People didn’t often refer to speed bubbles and slowness bubbles as Pushing and Pulling, like they talked about Steelpushes and Ironpulls. But it was the same. What Wayne did, it was Pushing on reality itself. Distorting it, shoving it inward, warping it. Today he Pushed harder than any person in history. He Pushed like a god, on account of wearing Sazed’s own hat. On account of that strange metal, and on account of Wayne bein’ the hero.

as a whole damn stomach full of bendalloy was burned in an instant. God himself froze. Standing motionless. The bubble crystallized into a visible sphere. Lights that had been blinking halted, half-on. Something funny even happened to his eyesight, everything going all strange until he took another vial of Harmony’s metals and burned steel to see that way instead.

His crystalline speed bubble shattered. And all became red light and blossoms of fire.

briefly, through the omnipresent light—the sight of a figure dulling the wave directly in front of him. A calm Terrisman standing tall on the surface of the water, with one hand stretched forward.

Wayne, trying to save his life? That frustrating, infuriating … … that wonderful man. “Farewell, my friend,” Wax whispered, choking on his emotion. “You incredible rusting man. Thank you.”

What was that? A tiny light, drifting closer. Small, yet unyielding in the mists. It resolved into … a lantern? On a small boat? How … The boat motored right up to him, and then a man in a coachman’s outfit with white gloves stood up on the deck and reached out to Wax. “Carriage,” Hoid said, “for you. Sir.”

Wayne floated. Floated someplace high. Damn. Was that the planet itself beneath him?

Huh. Who’d have thought being dead would be so much like being drunk? He could write a whole damn book of scripture about that, he could.

Vast. His robes like the infinite colors of creation, his essence seeming to expand into the darkness of space itself. But at his core, he had the appearance of a bald, kindly Terrisman. “Hey, God,” Wayne said. “How’s … um … creation? Time and space? Reality? You know, things?” “Good,” Harmony replied. “Because of you.”

You were Invested when you died, so you will persist a short time, but will soon join the Beyond.”

“It’s so big.” “Yes, Wayne,” Harmony said. “I realize that a person might become intimidated, seeing all this. Recognizing the vastness of what they’ve lived upon. It is a lot to take in, I think. It can make a person feel small, insignificant, and—” Wayne grinned. “And I saved the whole damn thing!” Harmony paused. “Well, I suppose you did. With some help from Marasi and Waxillium.” Harmony gestured toward a red haze, swirling away from the planet as if in a funnel, vanishing into the distance.

“Nervous,” Harmony said, his expression distant. “I can see pieces moving in the cosmere. Aligning. Pointed at us. We are not free of their influence. But we have … time, now. Time to prepare. Thanks to you, Wayne.”

“I saved the whole damn world. I … I’m probably the best constable who ever rusting lived!” “I … suppose …” Harmony said, “that Vin, Elend, and the others weren’t constables …”

Have you such a request, Wayne?” Huh. Any question? That was a hard one. He pondered a moment. “So,” he said, “before she left, MeLaan told me that I was the best lay she ever had, and I was wondering—” “Wayne,” God interrupted, “what is it Ranette always says to you?” “Try dodging this?” “The other thing.” “Don’t ruin the moment by bein’ all skeevy?” “Yes, that one.” “Right, right,” Wayne said, nodding. “Good point.

“Good. Then tell me this, God,” Wayne said, pointing at him. “Was that the biggest damn explosion a person ever made?” Harmony raised an eyebrow. “That’s your last question? Your final request of God before you pass into eternity?” “Hell yes! Figure now that I’m dead, I’ll get the other answers right soon. You ain’t going to trick me into asking a useless question. So tell me. Was it?” Harmony smiled. “Ah, Wayne. I suppose that most other things that could rival it—like the detonations of the Ashmounts—would be categorized as acts of God. Therefore, I declare that it is. Yes, Wayne. You exploded yourself in the biggest damn explosion a person has ever made in the history of our planet.”

He felt himself really going now. So, he held out a hand to God. Who, smiling, shook it. “I knew you’d glow,” Wayne said, with a wink. With that, Wayne stretched into another place, into another time. He stretched into the wind. And into the stars. And all endless things.