The creature fell still. It was getting harder and harder to see it in the mists. Elend flared his tin, but that didn’t make the creature any more distinct. It seemed to be … fading.
“Where was it you wanted me to go?” Elend asked, more for himself than expecting an answer. “You pointed … east? Did you want me to go back to Luthadel?”
It waved with half-enthusiasm again.
“Do you want me to attack Fadrex City?”
It stood still.
“Do you not want me to attack Fadrex City?”
It waved vigorously.
Interesting, he thought.
“The mists,” Elend said. “They’re connected to all this, aren’t they?”
Waving.
“They’re killing my men,” Elend said.
It stepped forward, then stood still, somehow looking urgent.
Elend frowned. “You reacted to that. You mean to say they aren’t killing my men?”
It waved.
“That’s ridiculous. I’ve seen the men fall dead.”
It stepped forward, pointing at Elend. He glanced down at his sash. “The coins?” he asked, looking up.
It pointed again. Elend reached into his sash. All that was there were his metal vials. He pulled one out. “Metals?”
It waved vigorously. It just continued to wave and wave. Elend looked down at the vial. “I don’t understand.”
The creature fell still. It was getting more and more vague, as if it were evaporating.
“Wait!” Elend said, stepping forward. “I have another question. One more before you go!”
It stared him in the eyes.
“Can we beat it?” Elend asked softly. “Can we survive?”
Stillness. Then, the creature waved just briefly. Not a vigorous wave—more of a hesitant one. An uncertain one. It evaporated, maintaining that same wave, the mists becoming indistinct and leaving no sign that the creature had been there.
Elend stood in the darkness. He turned and glanced at his koloss army, who waited like the trunks of dark trees in the distance. Then he turned back, scanning for any further signs of the mist spirit. Finally, he just turned and began to tromp his way back to Fadrex. The koloss followed.
He felt … stronger. It was silly—the mist spirit hadn’t really given him any useful information. It had been almost like a child. The things it had told him were mostly just confirmations of what he’d already suspected.
Yet, as he walked, he moved with more determination. If only because he knew there were things in the world he didn’t understand—and that meant, perhaps, there were possibilities he didn’t see. Possibilities for survival.
Possibilities to land safely on the other side of the chasm, even when logic told him not to jump.
I don’t know why Preservation decided to use his last bit of life appearing to Elend during his trek back to Fadrex. From what I understand, Elend didn’t really learn that much from the meeting. By then, of course, Preservation was but a shadow of himself—and that shadow was under immense destructive pressure from Ruin.
Perhaps Preservation—or, the remnants of what he had been—wanted to get Elend alone. Or, perhaps he saw Elend kneeling in that field, and knew that the emperor of men was very close to just lying down in the ash, never to rise again. Either way, Preservation did appear, and in doing so exposed himself to Ruin’s attacks. Gone were the days when Preservation could turn away an Inquisitor with a bare gesture, gone—even—were the days when he could strike a man down to bleed and die.
By the time Elend saw the “mist spirit,” Preservation must have been barely coherent. I wonder what Elend would have done, had he known that he was in the presence of a dying god—that on that night, he had been the last witness of Preservation’s passing. If Elend had waited just a few more minutes on that ashen field, he would have seen a body—short of stature, black hair, prominent nose—fall from the mists and slump dead into the ash.
As it was, the corpse was left alone to be buried in ash. The world was dying. Its gods had to die with it.
56
SPOOK STOOD IN THE DARK cavern, looking at his board and paper. He had it propped up, like an artist’s canvas, though he wasn’t sketching images, but ideas. Kelsier had always outlined his plans for the crew on a charcoal board. It seemed like a good idea, even though Spook wasn’t explaining plans to a crew, but rather trying to work them out for himself.
The trick was going to be getting Quellion to expose himself as an Allomancer before the people. Durn had told them what to look for, and the crowds would be ready, waiting for confirmation of what they had been told. However, for Spook’s plan to work, he’d have to catch the Citizen in a public place, then get the man to use his powers in a way that was obvious to those watching.
I can’t let him just Push on a distant metal, then, he thought, scratching a note to himself on the charcoal board. I’ll need him to shoot into the air, or perhaps blast some coins. Something visible, something we can tell everyone to watch for.
That would be tough, but Spook was confident. He had several ideas scratched up on the board, ranging from attacking Quellion at a rally to tricking him into using his powers when he thought nobody was looking. Slowly, the thoughts were jelling into a cohesive plan.
I really can do this, Spook thought, smiling. I always felt such awe for Kelsier’s leadership abilities. But, it’s not as hard as I thought.
Or, at least, that was what he told himself. He tried not to think about the consequences of a failure. Tried not to think about the fact that he still held Beldre hostage. Tried not to worry about the fact that when he awoke some mornings—his tin having burned away during the night—his body felt completely numb, unable to feel anything until he got more metal as fuel. Tried not to focus on the riots and incidents his appearances, speeches, and work among the people were causing.
Kelsier kept telling him not to worry. That should be enough for him. Shouldn’t it?
After a few minutes, he heard someone approaching, footsteps quiet—but not too quiet for him—on the stone. The rustle of a dress, yet without perfume, let him know exactly who it was.
“Spook?”
He lowered the charcoal and turned. Beldre stood at the far side of his “room.” He’d made himself an alcove between several of the storage shelves, partitioned off with sheets—his own personal office. The Citizen’s sister wore a beautiful noble gown of green and white.
Spook smiled. “You like the dresses?”
She looked down, flushing slightly. “I … haven’t worn anything like this in years.”
“Nobody in this city has,” Spook said, setting down the charcoal and wiping his fingers on a rag. “But, then, that makes it pretty easy to get them, if you know which buildings to loot. It looks like I matched your size pretty well, eh?”
“Yes,” she said quietly, drifting forward. The gown really did look good on her, and Spook found it a little difficult to focus as she drew closer. She eyed his charcoal board, then frowned. “Is … that supposed to make any sense?”
Spook shook himself free of his trance. The charcoal board was a mess of scratches and notations. That, in itself, would have made it difficult enough to read. There was, however, something else that made it even more incomprehensible.