Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)(40)

He had to hope that the wards on that orb would shade him from the dark god’s eyes, as they had when Kelsier had first arrived at Fadrex. He needed to leave this place, strike out, lose Ruin’s interest and then try to contact Marsh or Spook, get them to relay a message to Vin.

It hurt him to leave her behind in Ruin’s clutches, but there was nothing more he could do.

Kelsier left that very hour.





4





Kelsier was nowhere in particular when God finally died.

He couldn’t place the location. No town nearby, at least not one that hadn’t been buried in ash. He had intended to head toward Luthadel, but with all the landmarks covered over—and with no sun to guide him—he wasn’t certain he’d been going the right direction.

The land trembled, the misty ground quivering. Kelsier pulled up short, looking at the sky, at first expecting that Ruin was causing this tremor.

Then he felt it. Perhaps it was the small Connection he had to Preservation from his time at the Well of Ascension. Or maybe it was the piece inside him that the god had placed, the piece inside them all. The light of the soul.

Whatever the reason, Kelsier felt the end like a long, drawn-out sigh. It sent a chill up his spine, and he scrambled to find a thread of Preservation. They had been all over the ground earlier in his trip, but now he found nothing.

“Fuzz!” he screamed. “Preservation!”

Kelsier . . . The voice vibrated through him. Goodbye.

“Hell, Fuzz,” Kelsier said, searching the sky. “I’m sorry. I . . .” He swallowed.

Odd, the voice said. After all these years appearing for others as they died, I never expected . . . that my own passing would be so cold and lonely. . . .

“I’m here for you,” Kelsier said.

No. You weren’t. Kelsier, he’s splitting my power. He’s breaking it apart. It will be gone . . . Splintered. . . . He’ll destroy it.

“Like hell he will,” Kelsier said, dropping his pack. He reached inside, gripping the glowing orb filled with liquid.

It’s not for you, Kelsier, Preservation said. It’s not yours. It belongs to another.

“I’ll get it to her,” Kelsier said, taking up the sphere. He drew in a deep breath, then used Nazh’s knife to smash the orb, spraying his arm and body with the glowing liquid.

Lines like threads burst out from him. Glowing, effulgent. Like the lines from burning steel or iron, except they pointed at everything.

Kelsier! Preservation said, his voice strengthening. Do better than you have before! They called you their god, and you were casual with their faith! The hearts of men are NOT YOUR TOYS.

“I . . .” Kelsier licked his lips. “I understand. My lord.”

Do better, Kelsier, Preservation commanded, his voice fading. If the end comes, get them below ground. It might help. And remember . . . remember what I told you, so long ago. . . . Do what I cannot, Kelsier. . . .

SURVIVE.

The word vibrated through him, and Kelsier gasped. He knew that feeling, remembered that exact command. He’d heard that voice in the Pits. Waking him, driving him forward.

Saving him.

Kelsier bowed his head as he felt Preservation fade, finally, and stretch into the darkness.

Then, full of borrowed light, Kelsier seized the threads spinning around him and Pulled. The power resisted. He didn’t know why—he had only a rudimentary understanding of what he was doing. Why did the power attune to some people and not others?

Well, he’d Pulled on stubborn anchors before. He yanked with all his might, drawing the power toward him. It struggled, defying him almost like it was alive . . . until . . .

It broke, flooding into him.

And Kelsier, the Survivor of Death, Ascended.

With a cry of exultation, he felt the power flow through him, like Allomancy a hundred times over. A feverish, molten, burning energy that washed through his soul. He laughed, rising into the air, expanding, becoming everywhere and everything.

What is this? Ruin’s voice demanded.

Kelsier found himself confronted by the opposing god, their forms extending into eternity—one the icy coolness of life frozen, unmoving. The other the scribbling, crumbling, violent blackness of decay. Kelsier grinned as he felt utter and complete shock from Ruin.

“What was it,” Kelsier asked, “that you said before? Anything I can do, you will counter? How about this?”

Ruin raged, power flaring in a cyclone of anger. The persona cracked apart, revealing the thing, the raw energy that had plotted and planned for so long, only to be stopped now. Kelsier’s grin widened, and he imagined—with delight—the sensation of ripping apart this monster that had killed Preservation. This useless, outdated waste of energy. Crushing it would be so satisfying. He willed his boundless power to attack.

And nothing happened.

Preservation’s power resisted him still. It shied away from his murderous intent, and push though he would, he couldn’t make it hurt Ruin.

His enemy vibrated, quivering, and the shaking became a sound like laughter. The churning dark mists recovered, transforming back into the image of a deific man stretching through the sky. “Oh, Kelsier!” Ruin cried. “You think I mind what you have done? Why, I’d have chosen for you to take the power! It’s perfect! You’re merely an aspect of me, after all.”