Mistborn: Secret History (Mistborn, #3.5)(43)

Spook looked at Ruin, grimaced, then cut into his body and pulled the spike free.

Hope.

Ruin screamed in denial, his figure fuzzing, spider leg knives spearing out of the broken shape he wore. Destruction sprouted from the figure and became black mist.

Spook sank down onto the platform, slumping to his knees, then fell forward. Kelsier knelt and held him, drawing Preservation’s power back to himself. “Oh, Spook,” he whispered. “You poor, poor child.”

He could feel the youth’s spirit sputtering. Broken. Cracked through to the core. The boy’s thoughts drifted to Kelsier. Thoughts of a woman he loved. Thoughts of his own failures. Confused thoughts.

Deep down, this boy had been following Ruin because he’d wished so desperately for Kelsier to guide him. He’d tried so hard to be like Kelsier himself.

It twisted Kelsier about, seeing the faith of this youth. Faith in him. Kelsier, the Survivor.

A pretend god.

“Spook,” Kelsier whispered, touching Spook’s soul with his own again. He choked on the words, but forced them out. “Spook, her city is burning.”

Spook trembled.

“Thousands will die in the flames,” Kelsier whispered. He touched the boy’s cheek. “Spook, child. You want to be like me? Really like me? Then fight when you are beaten!”

Kelsier looked up at the spiraling, churning form of Ruin, angered. More of Ruin’s attention was focusing this direction. It would soon rebuff Kelsier.

Beating it here was only a small victory, but it was proof. This thing could be resisted. Spook had done it.

And would do it again.

Kelsier looked down at the child in his arms. No, not a child any longer. He opened himself to Spook, and spoke a single, all-powerful command.

“Survive!”

Spook screamed, burning his metal, startling himself to lucidity. Kelsier stood up, triumphant. Spook lurched to his knees, his spirit strengthening.

“Whatever you do,” Ruin said to Kelsier, as if seeing him there for the first time, “I counter.”

The force of destruction exploded outward, sending tendrils of darkness into the city. He didn’t push Kelsier away. Kelsier wasn’t certain if that was because his attention was still too focused elsewhere, or if he just didn’t care whether Kelsier stayed to witness the end of this city.

Fires. Death. Kelsier saw the thing’s plan in a flashing moment: burn this city to the ground, extinguish all signs of Ruin’s failure. End the people here.

Spook was already moving, confronting the people around him, giving orders as if he were the Lord Ruler himself. And was that . . .

Sazed!

Kelsier felt a comforting warmth upon seeing the quiet Terrisman stepping up to Spook. Sazed always had answers. But here he looked haggard, confused, exhausted.

“Oh, my friend,” Kelsier whispered. “What has he done to you?”

The group obeyed Spook’s orders, rushing off. Spook lagged behind them, walking down the street. Kelsier could see the threads of the future, in the Spiritual Realm. Coated in darkness, a city destroyed. Possibilities ending.

But a few lines of light remained. Yes, it was still possible. First this boy had to save his city.

“Spook,” Kelsier said, forming himself a body of power. Nobody could see him, but that didn’t matter. He fell into step beside Spook, who practically stumbled along. One foot after the other, barely moving.

“Keep moving,” Kelsier encouraged. He could feel this man’s pain, his anguish and confusion. His faith battered. And somehow, through Connection, Kelsier could talk to him as he’d not been able to do to others.

Kelsier shared in Spook’s exhaustion with each trembling, agonized step. He whispered the words over and over. Keep moving. It became a mantra. Spook’s young woman arrived, helping him. Kelsier walked on his other side. Keep moving.

Blessedly, he did. Somehow the exhausted young man stumbled all the way to a burning building. He stopped outside, where Sazed had been forced to shy away. Kelsier read their attitudes in the slump of their shoulders, the fear in their eyes, reflecting flames. He heard their thoughts, pulsing from them, quiet and afraid.

This city was doomed, and they knew it.

Spook let the others pull him back from the fires. Emotions, memories, ideas rose from the boy.

Kelsier didn’t care about me, Spook thought. He didn’t think of me. He remembered the others, but not me. Gave them jobs to do. I didn’t matter to him. . . .

“I named you, Spook,” Kelsier whispered. “You were my friend. Isn’t that enough?”

Spook stopped in place, pulling against the grip of the others.

“I’m sorry,” Kelsier said, weeping, “for what you must do. Survivor.”

Spook pulled from the grip of the others. And as Ruin raged above, sputtering and screaming—finally bringing in his attention to begin forcing Kelsier back—this young man entered the flames.

And saved the city.





6





Kelsier sat on a strange, verdant field. Green grass everywhere. So odd. So beautiful.

Spook walked over and settled down next to him. The boy removed the cloth from his eyes and shook his head, then ran his fingers through his hair. “What is this?”

“Half dream,” Kelsier said, plucking a piece of grass and chewing on it.