Shadows of Self (Mistborn #5)(95)

But Rust and Ruin, she wasn’t going to just ignore something like this.

*

Flying through the air at night let Wax see the distinct presence of humankind, as marked by strict boundaries. Where they dwelled, there was illumination. Pinpricks in the darkness, men and women staking a claim on the night. The lights spread like the roots of a tree.

His uncle had left him far from where he wanted to be. Fortunately, for a Coinshot even the vastness of Elendel was manageable. He didn’t immediately turn inward, however, to visit the kandra Homeland. His uncle’s words haunted him, and before those Bleeder’s gibes. They attacked from two different directions, like pins pushed into either temple.

He needed to think, to be alone. Perhaps then he could sort through what this mess meant. He landed on a rooftop overlooking the vast glowing carpet of lights before him. A cat watched him from a nearby flower box, its eyes alight. Below was another row of pubs. Loud, raucous. Surely it was past two in the morning, yet they showed no signs of quieting down.

Rusts, how he hated that one could never feel truly alone in the city. Even in the privacy of his mansion, the quiet was marred by the incessant passage of carriages outside.

He leaped away into the night, frightening the cat. He soared high in a long arc, trying to get far enough away that he couldn’t hear the men shouting drunkenly in the row of pubs. His search took him eastward, toward the edge of the city. As he approached, something emerged from the mists like the bleached spine of some ancient monster. Eastbridge, a massive construction that spanned the Irongate River here.

On one hand, he marveled that humankind could create something like this—an enormous riveted marvel, big enough to let motors pass and also hold railroad tracks. On the other hand, the mists completely engulfed the bridge, giving it an even more skeletal cast. Humankind would create, and take pride in those creations, but Harmony’s presence could make it all seem trivial.

Did He know? Wax landed atop one of the bridge’s towers, boots clanging. Could He have saved Lessie?

The answer was simple. Of course Harmony had known. To believe in a God was to accept that He or She wasn’t going to deliver you from every problem. It wasn’t something Wax had ever dwelled on. Living in the Roughs, he’d accepted that sometimes you just had to weather things on your own. Help didn’t always come. That was life. You dealt with it.

But now, something felt different. He’d spoken to Harmony. Hell, Wax was out here right now because of a request from God Himself. That made it all the more personal. God hadn’t saved Lessie, hadn’t given Wax warning. And now He expected Wax to just hop to it and do as He demanded?

And what would you do? Wax addressed himself, walking along the bridge’s lofty pinnacle. Let the city burn? Let Bleeder keep killing?

Of course he couldn’t. Harmony knew that too. He had Wax by the throat.

Are you there? Wax asked, sending the thought out. Harmony?

He felt at his ear before remembering that he’d taken out his earring. By necessity, yes, but in that moment he was glad not to have it. Not to let God get a purchase on his mind, for the thoughts he had weren’t particularly pious.

Wax strode through the mists, while down below a lone motorcar puttered across the bridge. Bleeder was toying with him. He could feel her fingers sneaking in, piercing his skull, wrapping around his mind. He could see exactly what she was doing, yet couldn’t banish the questions she raised.

Wax paused at one end of the tower’s top. From here he could see the edge of the city, where the lights gave way to the darkness of the countryside. Behind him, the city was a brilliant blaze, thousands upon thousands of lights, but the electric lines hadn’t yet come out past the bridge. On the outskirts of Elendel, the lights stopped. The last few hung on the bridge, like lighthouses looking out at the vast blackness of the sea.

He yearned for that darkness. To leap out into it, escape all this responsibility—stop needing to worry about hundreds of thousands of people he couldn’t know, and get back to helping the few he could.

Freedom. Freedom, to Wax, wasn’t the absence of responsibility. He didn’t doubt that if he left again, he’d find himself as a lawman once more. No, freedom was not lack of responsibilities—it was being able to do what was right, without having to worry if it was also wrong.

He didn’t contemplate leaving, not seriously. But he did sit for a time, looking out at that darkness. Trying to look past the people, the shadowed suburbs, and see simplicity again. Rusts. What he wouldn’t give to trade all the politicians, games, and secrets for an honest murderer calling him out on the street.

Coward.

His own thought. Not from Harmony, or Bleeder. That made it all the more like a punch to the gut, for he knew it to be the truth. Wax took a deep breath and stood up again, shouldering his burdens. He turned away from the darkness and leaped off the bridge, Pushing himself into the night again. He’d come here for a moment’s solace, to think.

Turned out, he didn’t like where those thoughts were taking him.





19



As much as Wayne appreciated all the fancy treats the governor was providing, he had to admit he wasn’t entirely sympathetic to the man’s plight. After all, the whole point of having someone in charge—like the governor—was about makin’ sure people knew which fellow to kill.

That was why they had elections, wasn’t it? Innate got to be in charge and order everybody about, but when the assassins got bored, they didn’t go whack the guy what sold fish on the street corner. They went for the guy in charge. You had to take the good with the bad, you did. On one hand, you got fancy sweets any time of day. On the other hand, you might find murderers in your loo. That was the breaks.