Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)

Khriss lifted a hand and curled her fingers in an unfamiliar gesture, bidding him farewell it seemed. She turned away from the clearing and strode away, into the brush. Nazh followed.

Kelsier sank down. They’d taken the stools, so he settled onto the ground, bowing his head. This is what you deserve, Kelsier, a piece of him thought. You wished to dance with the divine and steal from gods. Should you now be surprised that you’ve found yourself in over your head?

The sound of rustling leaves made him scramble back to his feet. Nazh emerged from the shadows. The shorter man stopped at the perimeter of the abandoned camp, then cursed softly before stepping forward and removing his side knife, sheath and all, and handing it toward Kelsier.

Hesitant, Kelsier accepted the leatherbound weapon.

“It’s a bad state you and yours are in,” Nazh said softly, “but I rather like this place. Damnable mists and all.” He pointed westward. “They’ve set up out there.”

“They?”

“The Eyree,” he said. “They’ve been at this far longer than we have, Survivor. If someone will know how to help you, it will be the Eyree. Look for them where the land becomes solid again.”

“Solid again . . .” Kelsier said. “Lake Tyrian?”

“Beyond. Far beyond, Survivor.”

“The ocean? That’s miles and miles away. Past Farmost!”

Nazh patted him on the shoulder, then turned back to hike after Khriss.

“Is there hope?” Kelsier called.

“What if I told you no?” Nazh said over his shoulder. “What if I said I figured you were damn well ruined, so to speak. Would it change what you were going to do?”

“No.”

Nazh raised his fingers to his forehead in a kind of salute. “Farewell, Survivor. Take care of my knife. I’m fond of it.”

He vanished into the darkness. Kelsier watched after him, then did the only rational thing.

He ate the bolt he’d taken from the bottom of the stool.





3





The bolt didn’t do anything. He’d hoped he’d be able to make Allomancy work, but the bolt just settled into his stomach—a strange and uncomfortable weight. He couldn’t burn it, despite trying. As he walked, he eventually coughed it back up and tossed it away.

He stepped to the transition from the island to the misty ground around Luthadel, and felt a new weight upon him. A doomed world, dying gods, and an entire universe he’d never known existed. His only hope now was . . . to journey to the ocean?

That was farther than he had ever gone, even during his travels with Gemmel. It would take months to walk that far. Did they have months?

He stepped off the island, crossing onto the soft ground of the misted banks. Luthadel loomed in the near distance, a shadowy wall of curling mist.

“Fuzz?” he called. “You out there?”

“I’m everywhere,” Preservation said, appearing beside him.

“So you were listening?” Kelsier asked.

He nodded absently, form frayed, face indistinct. “I think . . . Surely I was . . .”

“They mentioned someone called the Eyes Ree?”

“Yes, the I-ree,” Preservation said, pronouncing it in a slightly different way. “Three letters. I R E. It means something in their language, these people from another land. The ones who died, but did not. I have felt them crowding at the edges of my vision, like spirits in the night.”

“Dead, but alive,” Kelsier said. “Like me?”

“No.”

“Then what?”

“Died, but did not.”

Great, Kelsier thought. He turned toward the west. “They are supposedly at the ocean.”

“The Ire built a city,” Preservation said, softly. “In a place between worlds . . .”

“Well,” Kelsier said, then took a deep breath. “That’s where I’m going.”

“Going?” Preservation said. “You’re leaving me?”

The urgency of those words startled Kelsier. “If these people can help us, then I need to talk to them.”

“They can’t help us,” Preservation said. “They’re . . . they’re callous. They plot over my corpse like scavenging insects waiting for the last beat of the heart. Don’t go. Don’t leave me.”

“You’re everywhere. I can’t leave you.”

“No. They’re beyond me. I . . . I cannot depart this land. I’m too Invested in it, in every rock and leaf.” He pulsed, his already indistinct form spreading thinner. “We . . . grow attached easily, and it takes one who is particularly dedicated to leave.”

“And Ruin?” Kelsier said, turning toward the west. “If he destroys everything, would he be able to escape?”

“Yes,” Preservation said, very softly. “He could go then. But Kelsier, you can’t abandon me. We . . . we’re a team, right?”

Kelsier rested his hand on the creature’s shoulder. Once so confident, now little more than a smudge in the air. “I’ll be back as soon as I can. If I’m going to stop that thing, I’ll need some kind of help.”

“You pity me.”

“I pity anyone who’s not me, Fuzz. A hazard of being the man I am. But you can do this. Keep an eye on Ruin, and try to get word to Vin and that nobleman of hers.”