Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)(23)

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.”

“Pity,” Preservation repeated. “Is that . . . is that what I’ve become? Yes . . . Yes, it is.”

He reached up with a vaguely outlined hand and seized Kelsier’s arm from underneath. Kelsier gasped, then cut off as Preservation grabbed him by the back of the neck with his other hand, locking his gaze with Kelsier’s. Those eyes snapped into focus, fuzziness becoming suddenly distinct. A glow burst from them, silvery white, bathing Kelsier and blinding him.

Everything else was vaporized; nothing could withstand that terrible, wonderful light. Kelsier lost form, thought, very being. He transcended self and entered a place of flowing light. Ribbons of it exploded from him, and though he tried to scream, he had no voice.

Time didn’t pass; time had no relevance here. It was not a place. Location had no relevance. Only Connection, person to person, man to world, Kelsier to god.

And that god was everything. The thing he had pitied was the very ground Kelsier walked upon, the air, the metals—his own soul. Preservation was everywhere. Beside it, Kelsier was insignificant. An afterthought.

The vision faded. Kelsier stumbled away from Preservation, who stood, placid, a blur in the air—but a representation of so much more. Kelsier put his hand to his chest and was pleased, for a reason he couldn’t explain, to find that his heart was beating. His soul was learning to imitate a body, and somehow having a racing heart was comforting.

“I suppose I deserved that,” Kelsier said. “Be careful how you use those visions, Fuzz. Reality isn’t particularly healthy for a man’s ego.”

“I would call it very healthy,” Preservation replied.

“I saw everything,” Kelsier mumbled. “Everyone, everything. My Connection to them, and . . . and . . .”

Spreading into the future, he thought, grasping at an explanation. Possibilities, so many possibilities . . . like atium.

“Yes,” Preservation said, sounding exhausted. “It can be trying to recognize one’s true place in things. Few can handle the—”

“Send me back,” Kelsier said, scrambling up to Preservation, taking him by the arms.

“What?”

“Send me back. I need to see that again.”

“Your mind is too fragile. It will break.”

“I broke that damn thing years ago, Fuzz. Do it. Please.”

Preservation hesitantly gripped him, and this time his eyes took longer to start glowing. They flashed, his form trembling, and for a moment Kelsier thought the god would dissipate entirely.

Then the glow spurted to life, and in an instant Kelsier was consumed. This time he forced himself to look away from Preservation—though it was less a matter of looking, and more a matter of trying to sort through the horrible overload of information and sensation that assaulted him.