“Nazh does have a point,” Khriss said. “Your questions are dangerous. Once you step behind the curtain and see the actors as the people they are, it becomes harder to pretend the play is real.”
“I . . .” Kelsier leaned forward, clasping his hands before him. Hell . . . that fire was warm, but it didn’t seem to be burning anything. He stared at the flames and swallowed. “I woke up from death after having, deep down, expected there to be no afterlife. I found that God was real, but that he was dying. I need answers. Please.”
“Curious,” she said.
He looked up, frowning.
“I have heard many stories of you, Survivor,” she said. “They often laud your many admirable qualities. Sincerity is never one of those.”
“I can steal something else from your manservant,” Kelsier said, “if it will make you feel more comfortable that I am what you expected.”
“You can try,” Nazh said, walking around the fire, folding his arms and obviously trying to look intimidating.
“The Shards,” Khriss said, drawing Kelsier’s attention, “are not God, but they are pieces of God. Ruin, Preservation, Autonomy, Cultivation, Devotion . . . There are sixteen of them.”
“Sixteen,” Kelsier breathed. “There are fourteen more of these things running around?”
“The rest are on other planets.”
“Other . . .” Kelsier blinked. “Other planets.”
“Ah, see,” Nazh said. “You’ve broken him already, Khriss.”
“Other planets,” she repeated gently. “Yes, there are dozens of them. Many are inhabited by people much like you or me. There is an original, shrouded and hidden somewhere in the cosmere. I’ve yet to find it, but I have found stories.
“Anyway, there was a God. Adonalsium. I don’t know if it was a force or a being, though I suspect the latter. Sixteen people, together, killed Adonalsium, ripping it apart and dividing its essence between them, becoming the first who Ascended.”
“Who were they?” Kelsier said, trying to make sense of this.
“A diverse group,” she said. “With equally diverse motives. Some wished for the power; others saw killing Adonalsium as the only good option left to them. Together they murdered a deity, and became divine themselves.” She smiled in a kindly way, as if to prepare him for what came next. “Two of those created this planet, Survivor, including the people on it.”
“So . . . my world, and everyone I know,” Kelsier said, “is the creation of a pair of . . . half gods?”
“More like fractional gods,” Nazh said. “And ones with no particular qualifications for deityhood, other than being conniving enough to murder the guy who had the job before.”
“Oh, hell . . .” Kelsier breathed. “No wonder we’re all so bloody messed up.”
“Actually,” Khriss noted, “people are generally like that, no matter who made them. If it’s any consolation, Adonalsium originally created the first humans, therefore your gods had a pattern to use.”
“So we’re copies of a flawed original,” Kelsier said. “Not terribly comforting.” He looked upward. “And that thing? It used to be human?”
“The power . . . distorts,” Khriss said. “There’s a person in that somewhere, directing it. Or perhaps just riding it at this point.”
Kelsier remembered the puppet Ruin had presented, the shape of a man. Now basically a shell filled with a terrible power. “So what happens if one of these things . . . dies?”
“I’m very curious to see,” Khriss said. “I’ve never viewed it in person, and the past deaths were different. They were each a single, stunning event, the god’s power shattered and dispersed. This is more like a strangulation, while those were like a beheading. This should be very instructive.”
“Unless I stop it,” Kelsier said.
She smiled at him.
“Don’t be patronizing,” Kelsier snapped, standing up, the stool falling down behind him. “I am going to stop it.”
“This world is winding down, Survivor,” Khriss said. “It is a true shame, but I know of no way to save it. I came with the hopes that I might be able to help, but I can’t even reach the Physical Realm here any longer.”
“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 o
cean? 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?
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.
Unfortunately, in turning his attention away from Preservation he risked giving it to something else—something equally demanding. There was a second god here, black and terrible, the thing with the spines and spidery legs, sprouting from dark mists and reaching into everything throughout the land.
Including Kelsier.
In fact, his ties to Preservation were trivial by comparison to these hundreds of black fingers which attached him to that thing Beyond. He sensed a powerful satisfaction from it, along with an idea. Not words, just an undeniable fact.
You are mine, Survivor.
Kelsier rebelled at the thought, but in this place of perfect light, truth had to be acknowledged.
Straining, soul crumbling before that terrible reality, Kelsier turned toward the tendrils of light spreading into the distance. Possibilities upon possibilities, compounded upon one another. Infinite, overwhelming. The future.
He dropped out of the vision again, and this time fell to his knees panting. The glow faded, and he was again on the banks of Lake Luthadel. Preservation settled down beside him and rested his hand on Kelsier’s back.
“I can’t stop him,” Kelsier whispered.
“I know,” Preservation said.
“I could see thousands upon thousands of possibilities. In none of them did I d
efeat that thing.”
“The ribbons of the future are never as useful as . . . as they should be,” Preservation said. “I rode them much, in the past. It’s too hard to see what is actually likely, and what is just a fragile . . . fragile, distant maybe. . . .”
“I can’t stop it,” Kelsier whispered. “I’m too like it. Everything I do serves it.” Kelsier looked up, smiling.
“It broke you,” Preservation said.
“No, Fuzz.” Kelsier laughed, standing. “No. I can’t stop it. No matter what I do, I can’t stop it.” He looked down at Preservation. “But she can.”
“He knows this. You were right. He has been preparing her, infusing her.”
“She can beat it.”
“A frail possibility,” Preservation said. “A false promise.”
“No,” Kelsier said softly. “A hope.”
He held his hand out. Preservation took it and let Kelsier pull him to his feet. God nodded. “A hope. What is our plan?”
“I continue to the west,” Kelsier said. “I saw, in the possibilities . . .”
“Do not trust what you saw,” Preservation said, sounding far more firm than he had earlier. “It takes an infinite mind to even begin to glean information from those tendrils of the future. Even then you are likely to be wrong.”
“The path I saw started by me going to the west,” Kelsier said. “It’s all I can think to do. Unless you have a better suggestion.”
Preservation shook his head.
“You need to stay here, fight him off, resist—and try to get through to Vin. If not her, then Sazed.”
“He . . . is not well.”
Kelsier cocked his head. “Hurt in the fighting?”
“Worse. Ruin tries to break him.”
Damn. But what could he do, except continue with his plan? “Do what you can,” Kelsier said. “I’ll seek these people to the west.”
“They won’t help.”
“I’m not going to ask for their help,” Kelsier said, then smiled. “I’m going to rob them.”
Part Four
Journey