Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)(22)

“Someone destroyed the gateway in,” Nazh noted. “Someone incredibly foolhardy. Brash. Stupid. Didn’t—”

“You’re overselling it,” Kelsier said. “The Drifter told me what I did.”

“The . . . who?” Khriss asked.

“Fellow with white hair,” Kelsier said. “Lanky, with a sharp nose and—”

“Damn,” Khriss said. “Did he get to the Well of Ascension?”

“Stole something there,” Kelsier said. “A bit of metal.”

“Damn,” Khriss said, looking at her servant. “We need to go. I’m sorry, Survivor.”

“But—”

“This isn’t because of what you just told us,” she said, rising and waving for Nazh to help gather their things. “We were leaving anyway. This planet is dying; as much as I wish to witness the death of a Shard, I don’t dare risk doing it from up close. We’ll observe from afar.”

“Preservation thought you’d be able to help,” Kelsier said. “Surely there is something you can do. Something you can tell me. It can’t be over.”

“I’m sorry, Survivor,” Khriss said softly. “Perhaps if I knew more, perhaps if I could convince the Eyree to answer my questions . . .” She shook her head. “It will happen slowly, Survivor, over months. But it is coming. Ruin will consume this world, and the man once known as Ati won’t be able to stop it. If he even cared to.”

“Everything,” Kelsier whispered. “Everything I’ve known. Every person on my . . . my planet?”

Nearby, Nazh bent down and picked up the fire, making it vanish. The oversized flame just folded up upon itself in his palm, and Kelsier thought he saw a puff of mist when it did so. Kelsier picked up his stool with one finger, unscrewed the bolt on the bottom, and palmed it into his hand before handing the stool to Nazh.

Nazh then tugged on a hiking pack, tied with scroll cases across the top. He looked to Khriss.

“Stay,” Kelsier said, turning back to Khriss. “Help me.”

“Help you? I can’t even help myself, Survivor. I’m in exile, and even if I weren’t I wouldn’t have the resources to stop a Shard. I probably should never have come.” She hesitated. “And I’m sorry, but I cannot invite you to come with us. The eyes of your god will be upon you, Kelsier. He’ll know where you are, as you have pieces of him within. It has been dangerous enough to speak here with you.”

Nazh handed her a pack, and she slung it over her shoulder.

“I am going to stop this,” Kelsier told them.

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?