Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)

“I am hope,” Kelsier whispered.

“I cannot save you. But we must trust.”

“In what?”

“In the man I was. In the . . . the plan . . . The sign . . . and the Hero . . .”

“Vin. He has her, Fuzz.”

“He doesn’t know as much as he thinks,” Preservation whispered. “That is his weakness. The . . . weakness . . . of all clever men . . .”

“Except me, of course.”

Preservation had enough spark left to chuckle at that, which did Kelsier some good. He stood up, dusting off his clothing. Which was somewhat pointless, seeing as how there was no dust here—not to mention no actual clothing. “Come now, Fuzz, when have you known me to be wrong?”

“Well, there was—”

“Those don’t count. I wasn’t fully myself back then.”

“And . . . when did you become . . . fully yourself?”

“Only just now,” Kelsier said.

“You could . . . you could use that excuse . . . anytime. . . .”

“Now you’re catching on, Fuzz.” Kelsier put his hands on his hips. “We use the plan you set in motion when you were sane, eh? All right then. How can I help?”

“Help? I . . . I don’t . . .”

“No, be decisive. Bold! A good crewleader is always sure of himself, even when he isn’t. Especially when he isn’t.”

“That doesn’t make . . . sense. . . .”

“I’m dead. I don’t need to make sense anymore. Ideas? You’re crewleader now.”

“. . . Me?”

“Sure. Your plan. You’re in charge. I mean, you are a god. That should count for something, I suppose.”

“Thank you for . . . finally . . . acknowledging that. . . .”

Kelsier deliberated, then set his pack on the ground. “You’re sure this can’t help? It builds links between people and gods. I’d think it could heal you or something.”

“Oh, Kelsier,” Preservation said. “I’ve told you that I am dead already. You cannot . . . save me. Save my . . . successor instead.”

“Then I will give it to Vin. Would that help?”

“No. You must tell . . . her. You can reach . . . through the gaps in souls . . . when I cannot. Tell her that she must not trust . . . pierced by metal. You must free her to take . . . my power. All of it.”

“Right,” Kelsier said, tucking away the glass globe. “Free Vin. Easy.”

He just had to find a way past Ruin.





3





“So, Midge,” Kelsier whispered to the dozing man. “You got that?”

“Mission . . .” the scruffy soldier mumbled. “Survivor . . .”

“You can’t trust anyone pierced by metal,” Kelsier said. “Tell her that. Those exact words. It’s a mission for you from the Survivor.”

The man snorted awake; he was supposed to have been on watch, and he stumbled to his feet as his replacement approached. Kelsier regarded the glowing beings, anxious. It had taken precious days—during which Ruin had kept him far from Vin—to search out someone in the army who was touched in the head, someone with that distinctive soul of madness.

It wasn’t that they were broken, as he had once guessed. They were merely . . . open. This man, Midge, seemed perfect. He responded to Kelsier’s words, but he wasn’t so unhinged that the others ignored him.

Kelsier followed Midge eagerly through camp to one of the cookfires, where Midge started chatting, animatedly, with the others there.

Tell them, Kelsier thought. Spread the news through camp. Let Vin hear it.

Midge continued speaking. Others stood up around the fire. They were listening! Kelsier touched Midge, trying to hear what he was saying. He couldn’t make it out though, until a thread of Preservation touched him—then the words started to vibrate through his soul, faintly audible to his ears.

“That’s right,” Midge said. “He talked to me. Said I’m special. Said we shouldn’t trust none of you. I’m holy, and you just ain’t.”

“What?” Kelsier snapped. “Midge, you idiot.”

It went downhill from there. Kelsier stepped back as men around the cookfire squabbled and started shoving one another, then they began a full-on brawl. With a sigh, Kelsier settled down on the misty shadow of a boulder and watched several days’ worth of work evaporate.

Someone laid a hand on his shoulder, and he glanced toward Ruin, who had appeared there.

“Careful,” Kelsier said, “you’ll get you on my shirt.”

Ruin chuckled. “I was worried, leaving you alone, Kelsier. But it seems you’ve been serving me well in my absence.” One of the brawlers punched Demoux right across the face, and Ruin winced. “Nice.”

“Needs to follow through more,” Kelsier mumbled. “You need to really commit to a punch.”

Ruin smiled a deep, knowing, insufferable smile. Hell, Kelsier thought. I hope that’s not what I look like.

“You must realize by now, Kelsier,” Ruin said, “that anything you do, I will counter. Struggle serves only Ruin.”

Elend Venture arrived on the scene, gliding on a Steelpush that Kelsier envied, looking properly regal. That boy had grown into more of a man than Kelsier had ever expected he would. Despite that stupid beard.

Kelsier frowned. “Where is Vin?”

“Hm?” Ruin said. “Oh, I have her.”