Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)

Inquisitors.

Kelsier refused to flinch, though by every instinct he dreaded these creatures. He had bested one of their champions. He would fear them no longer. Instead, he paced his confines, trying to discern what the three Inquisitors were lugging toward him. Something large and heavy, but it didn’t glow at all.

A body, Kelsier realized. Headless.

Was this the one he’d killed? Yes, it must be. Another Inquisitor was reverently carrying the dead one’s spikes, a whole pile of them, all placed together inside a large jar of liquid. Kelsier squinted at it, taking a single step out of his prison, trying to determine what he was seeing.

“Blood,” Fuzz said, suddenly standing nearby. “They store the spikes in blood until they can be used again. In that way, they can prevent the spikes from losing their effectiveness.”

“Huh,” Kelsier said, stepping to the side as the Inquisitors tossed the body into the Well, then dropped in the head. Both evaporated. “Do they do this often?”

“Each time one of their number dies,” Fuzz said. “I doubt they even know what they are doing. Tossing a dead body into that pool is beyond meaningless.”

The Inquisitors retreated with the spikes of the fallen. Judging by their slumped forms, the four creatures were exhausted.

“My plan,” Kelsier said, looking to Fuzz. “How is it going? My crew should have discovered the warehouse by now. The people of the city . . . did it work? Are the skaa angry?”

“Hmmm?” Fuzz asked.

“The revolution, the plan,” Kelsier said, stepping toward him. God shifted backward, getting just beyond where Kelsier would be able to reach, hand going to the knife at his belt. Perhaps that punch earlier had been ill-advised. “Fuzz, listen. You have to go nudge them. We’ll never have a better chance of overthrowing him.”

“The plan . . .” Fuzz said. He unraveled for a moment, before returning. “Yes, there was a plan. I . . . remember I had a plan. When I was smarter . . .”

“The plan,” Kelsier said, “is to get the skaa to revolt. It won’t matter how powerful the Lord Ruler is, won’t matter if he’s immortal, once we toss him in chains and lock him away.”

Fuzz nodded, distracted.

“Fuzz?”

He shook, glancing toward Kelsier, and the sides of his head unraveled slowly—like a fraying rug, each thread seeping away and vanishing into nothing. “He’s killing me, you know. He wants me gone before the next cycle, though . . . perhaps I can hold out. You hear me, Ruin! I’m not dead yet. Still . . . still here . . .”

Hell, Kelsier thought, cold. God is going insane.

Fuzz started pacing. “I know you’re listening, changing what I write, what I have written. You make our religion all about you. They hardly remember the truth any longer. Subtle as always, you worm.”

“Fuzz,” Kelsier said. “Could you just go—”

“I needed a sign,” Fuzz whispered, stopping near Kelsier. “Something he couldn’t change. A sign of the weapon I’d buried. The boiling point of water, I think. Maybe its freezing point? But what if the units change over the years? I needed something that would be remembered always. Something they’ll immediately recognize.” He leaned in. “Sixteen.”

“Six . . . teen?” Kelsier said.

“Sixteen.” Fuzz grinned. “Clever, don’t you think?”

“Because it means . . .”

“The number of metals,” Fuzz said. “In Allomancy.”

“There are ten. Eleven, if you count the one I discovered.”

“No! No, no, that’s stupid. Sixteen. It’s the perfect number. They’ll see. They have to see.” Fuzz started pacing again, and his head returned—mostly—to its earlier state.

Kelsier sat down on the rim of his prison. God’s actions were far more erratic than they had been earlier. Had something changed, or—like a human with a mental disease—was God simply better at some times than he was at others?

Fuzz looked up abruptly. He winced, turning his eyes toward the ceiling, as if it were going to collapse on him. He opened his mouth, jaw working, but made no sound.

“What . . .” he finally said. “What have you done?”

Kelsier stood up in his prison.

“What have you done?” Fuzz screamed.

Kelsier smiled. “Hope,” he said softly. “I have hoped.”

“He was perfect,” Fuzz said. “He was . . . the only one of you . . . that . . .” He spun suddenly, gazing down the shadowy room beyond Kelsier’s prison.

Someone stood at the other end. A tall, commanding figure, not made of light. Familiar clothing, of both white and black, contrasting with itself.

The Lord Ruler. His spirit, at least.

Kelsier stepped up onto the rim of stone around the pool and waited as the Lord Ruler strode toward the light of the Well. He stopped in place when he noticed Kelsier.

“I killed you,” the Lord Ruler said. “Twice. Yet you live.”