Mistborn: Secret History

Still, it was grand to be more than just a spirit. He could see into the Physical Realm again, though metal continued to glow brightly to his eyes. It was a relief to be able to see something other than misty shadows and glowing souls.

  He wished that view were more encouraging. Endless seas of ash. Very few cities, dug out like craters. Burning mountains that spewed not only ash, but lava and brimstone. The land had cracked, creating rifts.

  He tried not to think of that, but of the people. He could feel them, like he felt the very crust and core of the planet. He easily found which ones had souls that were open to him, and eagerly he swung down in. Surely among these he could find one who could deliver a message to Vin.

  Yet they didn’t seem to be able to hear him, no matter how he whispered to them. It was frustrating and baffling. He held the powers of eternity. How could he have lost the ability he’d had before, the ability to communicate with his people?

  Around him, Ruin laughed.

  “You think your predecessor didn’t try that?” Ruin asked. “Your power cannot leak through those cracks, Preservation. It tries too hard to shore them up, to protect them. Only I can widen cracks.”

  Whether his reasoning was correct or not, Kelsier couldn’t tell. But he did confirm time and time again that madmen could no longer hear him.

  However, now he could hear people.

  Everyone, not just the mad. He could hear their thoughts like voices—their hopes, their worries, their terrors. If he focused too long on them, directed his attention to a city, the multitude of thoughts threatened to overwhelm him. It was a buzz, a rush, and he found it difficult to separate individuals from the mess.

  Above it all—land, cities, ash—hung the mists. They coated everything, even in the daytime. While trapped entirely in the Cognitive Realm, he hadn’t seen how pervasive they were.

  That’s power, he thought, gazing upon it. My power. I should be able to hold that, manipulate it.

  He couldn’t. That left Ruin far stronger than he was. Why had Preservation left the mists untouched like that? It was still part of him, of course, but it was like . . . like a diffused army, spread as scouts throughout the kingdom, rather than gathered for war.

  Ruin wasn’t so inhibited. Kelsier could see his power at work now, revealed in ways that had been too grand for him to recognize before Ascending. Ruin ripped open the tops of ashmounts, holding them pried apart, letting death spew forth. He touched koloss all across the empire, driving them to murderous frenzies. When they ran out of people to kill, he gleefully turned them against one another.

  He had hold of multiple people in every remaining city. His machinations were incredible—complex, subtle. Kelsier couldn’t even follow all the threads, but the result was obvious: chaos.

  Kelsier could do nothing about it. He held unimaginable power, yet he was still impotent. But importantly, Ruin had to act to counter him.

  That was an important revelation. He and Ruin were both everywhere; their souls were the very bones of the planet. But their attention . . . that could only be divided so far.

  If Kelsier tried to change things where Ruin was focused, he always lost. When Kelsier tried to stop the ashmounts, Ruin’s arms ripping them open were stronger than his trying to seal them. When he tried to bolster Vin’s armies with a sense of encouragement, Ruin acted like a blockade, keeping him away.

  In a desperate attempt, he made a push to approach Vin herself. He wasn’t certain what he could do, but he wanted to try battering Ruin away—push himself, and see what he was capable of doing.

  He threw everything he had into it, straining against Ruin—feeling the friction of their essences meeting as he drew nearer to Vin, who was locked in a room within the palace of Fadrex. His essence meeting Ruin’s caused shocks through the land, trembles. An earthquake.

  He was able to draw close. He could feel Vin’s mind, hear her thoughts. She knew so little—like he had known so little when he’d begun this. She didn’t know about Preservation.

  The clashing pushed Kelsier’s essence away, ripping Preservation back from him, exposing his core—like a grinning skull as the flesh was torn free. A soul lined with darkness, but which was Connected to Vin somehow. Tied to her by the inscrutable lines that made up the Spiritual Realm.

  “Vin!” he shouted, in agony, straining. The fight between him and Ruin caused the earthquake to intensify, and Ruin exulted in that destruction. It weakened his attention for a brief moment.

  “Vin!” Kelsier said, getting closer. “Another god, Vin! There’s another force!”

  Confusion. She didn’t see. Something leaked from Kelsier, drawing toward her. And with a shock, Kelsier saw a terrible sight, something he’d never suspected. A glowing spot of metal in Vin’s ear, so similar to the color of her brilliant soul that he had missed it until he’d gotten very close.

  Vin was spiked.

  “What’s the first rule of Allomancy, Vin!” Kelsier screamed. “The first thing I taught you!”

  Vin looked up. Had she heard?

  “Spikes, Vin!” Kelsier began. “You can’t trust—”

  Ruin returned and shoved Kelsier with a fierce burst of power, interrupting him. To hold on longer would have meant letting Ruin rip the power of Preservation away from him completely, and so he let himself go.

  Ruin shoved him out of the building, out of the city entirely. Their clash brought incredible pain to Kelsier, and he couldn’t help bearing the impression that—divine though he was—he was limping as he left the city.

  Ruin was too focused on this place. Too strong here. He had almost all of his attention pointed at Vin and this city of Fadrex. He was even bringing in Marsh.

  Maybe . . .

  Kelsier tried to get close to Marsh, focusing his attention on his brother. Those same lines were there as had been with Vin, lines of Connection linking Kelsier’s soul to his brother. Perhaps he could get through to Marsh too.

  Unfortunately, Ruin spotted this too easily, and Kelsier was too weakened—too sore—from the previous clash. Ruin rebuffed him with ease, but not before Kelsier heard something emanating from Marsh.

  Remember yourself, Marsh’s thoughts whispered. Fight, Marsh, FIGHT. Remember who you are.

  Kelsier felt a swelling of pride as he fled from Ruin. Something within Marsh, something of his brother, had survived. However, there was nothing Kelsier could do to help now. Whatever Ruin wanted in Fadrex, Kelsier would have to let him have it. To confront Ruin here was impossible, for Ruin could best Kelsier in a direct confrontation.

  Fortunately, Kelsier had made a career of knowing when to avoid a fair fight. The con was on, and when the house guard was alert, your best bet was to lie low for a while.

  Ruin watched Fadrex so intently, it would leave chinks elsewhere.

  5

  Do better, Kelsier.

  He watched and waited. He could be careful.

  The hearts of men are not your toys.

  He floated, becoming the mists, observing how Ruin moved his pieces. The Inquisitors were his primary hands. Ruin positioned them deliberately.

  The weakness of all clever men.

  An opening. Kelsier needed an opening.

  Survive.

  Ruin thought he was in control all across the Final Empire. So sure of himself. But there were holes. He was devoting less and less attention to the broken city of Urteau, with its empty canals and starving people. One of his threads revolved around a young man who wore cloth wrapping his eyes and a burned cloak on his back.

  Yes, Ruin thought he had this city in hand.

  But Kelsier . . . Kelsier knew that boy.

  Kelsier focused his attention on Spook as the young man—overwhelmed and driven to the brink of madness—stumbled onto a stage before a crowd. Ruin had driven him to this point by wearing Kelsier’s form. He was trying to make an Inquisitor of the boy, while at the same time setting up the city to burn in riots and bedlam.

  But his actions in this city were like so many others.
His attention was too divided, with his only real focus on Fadrex. He worked in Urteau, but didn’t prioritize it. He’d already set his plans in motion: Ruin the hopes of this people, burn the city to the ground. All it required was for a confused boy to commit a murder.

  Spook stood onstage, prepared to kill in front of the crowd. Kelsier drew his attention in like a puff of mist, careful, quiet. He was the pulsing of the boards beneath Spook’s feet, he was the air being breathed, he was the flame and fire.

  Ruin was here, raging, demanding that Spook murder. It wasn’t the careful, smiling persona. This was a purer, rawer form of the power. This piece of him had little of Ruin’s attention, and he hadn’t brought his full power to bear.

  It didn’t notice Kelsier as he drew back from the power, exposing his own soul and drawing it close to Spook. Those lines were there, the lines of familiarity, family, and Connection. Strangely, they were even stronger for Spook than they’d been for Marsh and Vin. Why would that be?

  Now, you must kill her, Ruin said to Spook.

  Under that anger, Kelsier whispered to Spook’s broken soul. Hope.

  You want power, Spook? Ruin thundered. You want to be a better Allomancer? Well, power must come from somewhere. It is never free. This woman is a Coinshot. Kill her, and you can have her ability. I will give it to you.

  Hope, Kelsier said.

  Back and forth. Kill. Ruin sent impressions, words. Murder, destroy. Ruin.

  Hope.

  Spook reached for the metal at his chest.

  No! Ruin shouted, sounding shocked. Spook, do you want to go back to being normal? Do you want to be useless again? You’ll lose your pewter, and go back to being weak, like you were when you let your uncle die!

  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.

  “Half dream?” Spook asked.

  “You’re almost dead, kid,” Kelsier said. “Smashed your spirit up pretty good. Lots of cracks.” He smiled. “That let me in.”

  There was more to it. This young man was special. At the very least, their relationship was special. Spook believed in him as no other had.

  Kelsier thought on this as he plucked another piece of grass and chewed on it.

  “What are you doing?” Spook asked.

  “It looks so strange,” Kelsier said. “Like Mare always said it would.”

  “So you’re eating it?”

  “Chewing it, mostly,” Kelsier said, then spat it to the side. “Just curious.”

  Spook puffed in and out. “Doesn’t matter. None of this matters. You’re not real.”

  “Well, that’s partially right,” Kelsier said. “I’m not completely real. Haven’t been since I died. But then I’m also a god now . .
. I think. It’s complicated.”

  Spook looked at him, frowning.

  “I needed someone I could chat with,” Kelsier said. “I needed you. Someone who was broken, but who had resisted him.”

  “The other you.”

  Kelsier nodded.

  “You always were so harsh, Kelsier,” Spook said, staring out over the rolling green fields. “I could see that deep down, you really hated the nobility. I thought that hatred was why you were so strong.”

  “Strong like scar tissue,” Kelsier whispered. “Functional, but stiff. It’s a strength I’d rather you never need.”

  Spook nodded, and seemed to understand.

  “I’m proud of you, kid,” Kelsier said, giving him a fond punch to the arm.

  “I almost ruined everything,” he said, eyes downcast.

  “Spook, if you knew how many times I’ve almost destroyed a city, you’d be embarrassed to talk like that. Hell, you barely even broke that place. They’ve put out the fires, rescued most of the population. You’re a hero.”

  Spook looked up, smiling.

  “Here’s the thing, kid,” Kelsier said. “Vin doesn’t know.”

  “Know what?”

  “The spikes, Spook. I can’t get the message to her. She needs to know. And Spook, she . . . she has a spike in her too.”

  “Lord Ruler . . .” Spook whispered. “Vin?”

  Kelsier nodded. “Listen to me. You’re going to wake soon. I need you to remember this part, even if you forget everything else about the dream. When the end comes, get people underground. Send a message to Vin. Scratch the message in metal, for anything not set in metal cannot be trusted.

  “Vin needs to know about Ruin and his false faces. She needs to know about the spikes, that metal buried within a person lets Ruin whisper to them. Remember it, Spook. Don’t trust anyone pierced by metal! Even the smallest bit can taint a man.”

  Spook began to fuzz, waking.

  “Remember,” Kelsier said. “Vin is hearing Ruin. She doesn’t know who to trust, and that’s why you absolutely must get that message sent, Spook. The pieces of this thing are all spinning about, cast to the wind. You have a clue that nobody else does. Send it flying for me.”