The Bands of Mourning

by Brandon Sanderson

  The whole empty thing.

  Shattered glass lay on the floor of the dais. Wax could pick out corners; it was the remains of a glass box that had once topped the pedestal, enshrouding what had lain there.

  The room was quiet and still, frost on the floor in places, dust disturbed by the opening of the stone door floating in the air. There were no other doors or openings in the walls.

  “Gone,” Wax whispered. “Someone beat us here.”

  26

  “Why’s everyone looking at me?” Wayne said.

  “Natural reaction,” Marasi said. She held a gun on Edwarn, as did MeLaan.

  Wax carefully picked his way across the floor. Looks like a throne room, he thought absently. The others started to follow, and he held them back with an upraised hand.

  “Stay in this center row walking toward the dais,” he ordered them, not looking. “There’s a pit trap on either side, and that slightly depressed square over there? It’ll drop a sharpened blade from the ceiling.”

  “How does he know that?” Steris asked. She clutched her notebook, within which she made lists.

  “Wax has a natural affinity for things what kill people,” Wayne said. “You’re all still lookin’ at me. Rusts, you think I somehow got in here and lifted the rusting thing?”

  “No,” Marasi admitted. “But someone did. ReLuur the kandra?”

  “No,” Wax said, crouching and picking among the pieces of glass on the steps leading up to the pedestal. “These have been here a long time, judging by the dust.”

  There was no way the kandra had gone down that corridor outside. Too many traps were left, and all the ones that had been sprung had bodies near them.

  It was likely that the kandra had snapped his pictures and wisely returned home to gather more of his kind and mount a proper expedition. Kandra were immortal; he wouldn’t be hasty in trying to get in here. He’d have planned to take years studying the temple and extracting its secrets.

  Who, then?

  Telsin passed him, stepping to the dais. Glass crunched under her feet, and Wax glanced up to see her staring at the empty pedestal, aghast. “How?” she murmured.

  MeLaan shook her head. “What would you do, if you’d secretly stolen the thing? Leave the place gaping open to let everyone know, or reset the traps and sneak away?”

  No, Wax thought. Reset the traps? Unlikely. He glanced at his uncle, who stood with pipe in hand, staring at the dais with bristling anger. He was surprised by this.

  Or was that an act? Was this all a setup, after taking the Bands, to throw Wax off? Wax brushed the dust from a piece of glass, then dropped it and selected a larger chunk, one of the corner pieces. Wax eyed it critically, then took another piece and set it alongside.

  “This is a disappointment,” Edwarn said. He seemed genuinely troubled.

  This wasn’t him, Wax thought, stretching out one of his mistcoat tassels and using it judge the length of the shard of glass. No, this goes back way further than that.…

  He stood up, the arguments of the others becoming a distant buzz to him as he regarded the supposed resting place of the Bands of Mourning. A small velvet-topped pedestal, frozen in time.

  “I guess that is that,” Edwarn said. “Time for this to end, then.”

  Wax spun, whipping out his gun. He pointed it not at Edwarn, but at his sister.

  She stared him down, hand at her pocket. Then she slowly removed a gun. Where had she gotten that? He couldn’t sense it. Aluminum.

  “Telsin,” Wax said, voice hoarse.

  Edwarn wouldn’t have come in here without a mole. She made the most sense. But rusts.

  “I’m sorry, Waxillium,” she said.

  “Don’t do this.” He hesitated. Too long. She raised the gun.

  He fired. She did the same. His shot swerved away from her, Pushed by Allomancy. But her shot—aluminum—took him just below the neck.

  * * *

  Marasi moved before she had time to think. Her rifle already in position, she shot at Suit. Whatever was happening, having him dead couldn’t hurt.

  Unfortunately, her bullet veered as well, missing Edwarn. Then her weapon flew backward from her hands. Suit smiled at her with infuriating unconcern.

  At the pedestal, Waxillium stumbled back. He’d been hit right where the collarbone met his neck. He tried to remain on his feet, but Telsin shot him a second time, in the abdomen. Waxillium collapsed, rolled down the steps to the base of the dais, and groaned.

  Edwarn was an Allomancer.

  Telsin was in the Set.

  Again, Marasi reacted before she knew what she was doing. Wayne leaped for Suit, but Suit took a hit from the dueling canes without flinching, then used his own cane—which was banded in metal—and Pushed it against Wayne.

  Wayne was flung toward Marasi, canes clattering to the floor. He grunted, hitting the ground as Marasi tried to leap for Suit. Perhaps if she caught just him in a bubble with her, Wayne could—

  Her metal reserves were gone. Wayne stumbled up behind her, looking similarly confused. Telsin had tossed something between the two of them.

  A small metal cube. Another Allomantic grenade. She was an Allomancer too. She tossed a bag of something to Suit. Coins.

  Wayne recovered from his surprise, leaping toward Edwarn again. But the man Pushed a handful of coins. Wayne cursed, flinching in midair as the coins ripped through his body. Marasi watched in horror, and nearby someone screamed.

  Shock. No. She wouldn’t let herself be stunned. She hurled herself at Suit, though he casually shoved her aside. She briefly caught hold of his shirt as she fell, but then her fingers slipped. Her head knocked against the stones as she hit.

  Dazed, she was able to see Waxillium stumble to his feet. He lurched, bleeding, as Telsin fired again. Then he charged: but not for the doorway, or for Suit. He scrambled toward the side of the room, away from everything. The only thing in that direction was a corner, surely trapping him—

  The floor dropped, plunging Waxillium into the pit.

  Nearby, Wayne climbed to his feet.

  “Keep him down!” Suit shouted, launching coins at Wayne.

  Telsin, atop the dais, fired on Wayne. She wasn’t a terribly good shot, but between her and Edwarn, they managed to hit several times.

  That didn’t drop him, not with the gold metalmind. He made a rude gesture and ran out the door, healing from the wounds almost as soon as he was hit.

  Suit growled as Telsin’s weapon clicked, out of bullets. Marasi tried to grab Suit by the legs and maybe trip him, but he kicked her in the chest. She grunted, breath knocked out of her, and Suit put his foot against her throat.

  “Wayne!” Suit yelled. “Come back or I’ll kill the others!”

  No reply. Wayne, it seemed, had taken the chance to escape down the hallway outside. Good. He wasn’t abandoning them; he had correctly realized that their chances were best if he escaped.

  “I’ll do it!” Suit yelled. “I’ll kill her!”

  “You think he cares about that?” Telsin asked.

  “Honestly, I can’t tell with that one,” Suit said. He waited a moment to see if Wayne replied, then sighed, taking his foot off Marasi’s neck.

  Dazed, still having trouble breathing, she took stock of the situation. MeLaan was writhing on the floor. When had that happened? Allik and Steris stood frozen with wide eyes. This had all taken place in a flash. A few years back, Marasi would have been like those two, stunned and confused. She was impressed, on one level, that she’d been able to react as quickly as she had.

  Her growth hadn’t been enough. Edwarn picked up her rifle, sighting it on her. “Over you go,” he said, gesturing with the gun for Marasi to crawl to Steris and Allik so he could cover them all at once. She considered trying something, but what? Her metal reserves were gone, and the import of what had just transpired was settling upon her.

  Waxillium was maybe bleeding to death at the bottom of that pit. Wayne had escaped, but had no bendalloy. MeLaan was do
wn.

  She might have to do something about this herself.

  “Please,” Allik said, frantically grabbing Marasi by the arm as she joined the other two. “Please.”

  He was panicked, but she couldn’t blame him. He’d seen Waxillium—the man he worshipped—fall, and was once again in Suit’s hands. Steris narrowed her eyes at Telsin.

  Waxillium had seen the truth, but too slowly. He hadn’t searched her, and he’d hesitated instead of firing. For all his cleverness, Waxillium had a hole in his judgment regarding Suit and Telsin. He always had.

  Not that you did any better, Marasi thought.

  Telsin walked calmly down the steps, holding her handgun before herself. “That was bungled.”

  “Bungled?” Edwarn said. “I thought it went well.”

  “I let Waxillium escape.”

  “You shot him thrice,” Edwarn said. “He’s as good as dead.”

  “And you’re going to trust that?” Telsin asked.

  Edwarn sighed. “No.”

  Telsin nodded, her expression calm as she slid a knife from her pocket, then knelt and plunged it into MeLaan. Steris cried out, stepping toward them.

  “What did you do to her?” Marasi asked.

  They didn’t answer, but Marasi suspected the truth. There were liquids that, when injected into kandra, immobilized them and made them start to lose their shapes. It was temporary, but Marasi could only guess that while she had been focused on Suit, Telsin had somehow used one of those on MeLaan. With her arms twisted, her legs broken, the kandra’s skeleton hadn’t been in any shape for her to fight.

  Telsin worked for a gruesome moment and came out with a spike. She tucked it into her pocket, then kept working. Suit walked over to Marasi, and through his ripped shirt Marasi caught a glint of metal peeking between two of his ribs. Not a large spike like the one Ironeyes had. Something more subtle.

  They hadn’t just been experimenting with Hemalurgy—they’d used spikes to grant themselves powers.

  Telsin finally got the second spike out of poor MeLaan and pocketed it. The kandra melted, a mess of greenish-brown flesh and muscles without anything to cling to—oozing out of her clothing, leaving her bones and her skull of green crystal to gaze vacantly at the ceiling.

  Telsin pointed toward the pit Waxillium had fallen into. “Chase him down.”

  “Me?” Suit said. “Surely we can wait for—”

  “No waiting,” Telsin said. “You know him best. You hunt him down. He is still alive. I’ve met rocks less durable than my brother.”

  Suit sighed again, but nodded this time, swapping guns with Telsin so he’d have the aluminum pistol, then reloading it. He walked toward the pit. Marasi glanced at Telsin, who watched MeLaan’s remains but held the rifle at the ready.

  Should Marasi charge her? Suit obeyed her. She wasn’t simply a member of the Set; she outranked Waxillium’s uncle. And she was obviously an Allomancer; the way she’d used the Allomantic grenade proved that.

  Suit climbed down, using a rope. Shortly after that, Marasi heard footsteps outside, and soon an array of soldiers in uniforms like those from the warehouse piled in.

  “The short one,” Telsin said, urgent. “Wayne. Did you pass him?”

  “Sir?” one of the soldiers asked. “No, we haven’t seen him.”

  “Damn,” Telsin said. “Where did that rat get to? I need as many men as we can get scouring that hallway and the plain outside. He’s extremely dangerous, particularly if he has another vial of bendalloy.”

  Marasi turned to Steris, who was still dazed, eyes wide, still looking at the hole where Waxillium had fallen. Allik held Marasi’s arm, his eyes visible behind his mask.

  “I’ll get us out of this,” she whispered to them.

  Somehow.

  27

  He’ll tell on us.… You know he will.

  Wax rolled onto his back, staring upward. Darkness. The pit had twisted during the fall—he remembered ramming into one of its curves—and deposited him here.

  Rusts … how could his vision swim when he couldn’t see anything? He fumbled at his gunbelt and came up with a vial, which he managed to down, replenishing his metal reserves.

  You coming? Of course you’re not. You never want to risk trouble.

  No. He could see something. A lone candle in a black room. He blinked his eyes, but it was gone. A vision of the past. A memory …

  Light in a dark room. Set there to distract …

  That was what the dais up above had been. The Bands had never been there. The people who had built the place left the broken glass, the empty rack, the dais and the pedestal—all as a ruse. But they’d made a mistake.

  The glass box they’d broken had been too large to fit on the pedestal.

  Candle in a dark room … Wax thought. That meant the Bands were somewhere else. He blinked, and thought—as his eyes adjusted—he actually could pick out light.

  He wasn’t in a narrow pit. That hole had dumped him out somewhere. He heaved himself over in a twist, coming to his knees, and felt at his gut. Blood there. A bad hit, all the way through, judging by the wetness he felt trickling down the back of his thigh. He’d taken a shot to the leg too, but that didn’t matter. He’d broken that leg in his fall anyway.

  The shot near his neck was the worst. He knew this without even touching it, knew it by the way his body worked—by the way pieces of him were growing numb, the way certain muscles didn’t respond right.

  That light. A soft blue. Not a candle, but one of the built-in lights of the building. He crawled toward the light, dragging his broken leg, scraping on stone, sweat streaming down the sides of his face and mixing with the blood he spilled to the ground.

  “Harmony,” he whispered. “Harmony.”

  No reply. Now he prayed? What of his hatred?

  For a time, that light was everything to him. An hour could have passed as he crawled, or perhaps it had been only a minute. As he neared, he saw sentries in the darkness. People sitting arrayed before the light, casting long shadows into the depths of the room. The ceiling was low, barely taller than a man could stand. That was why … why the people had to sit.…

  Focus! he thought at himself, flaring his metal. The sentries had metal on them. And … yes, one other faint line, pointing toward a spot on the floor up ahead. Another trap.

  The flared metal seemed to bring him clarity, helping him push back the muddled sensation. Blood loss. He was fading quickly. Still, a shade more alert, he saw those sentries for what they were. Corpses. Seated, somehow, draped in warm clothing. He passed the first row of them and looked in on frozen faces, shriveled with the passing of time but remarkably well preserved. Each held a mask in its lap. They sat in four concentric rings, looking at the light up ahead.

  Here, the ones who had built this place had died. Then how … how had word of the key to the door been passed on.…

  Wax crawled among the huddled dead, frozen despite their warm clothing. He could imagine them seated here, waiting for the end, as the heat in their metalminds dwindled. The cold, creeping in as night does after sunset, a final, consuming darkness.

  And ahead, another pedestal. Smaller, carved of white rock. A simple light glowing on its top revealed a set of metal bracers. No fancy trimmings here, just the silent reverence of the dead.

  Something sounded behind him, a scrape of boots on stone; then a light flooded the room from there.

  “Waxillium?” Edwarn’s voice called.

  Wax huddled down.

  “I know you’re here, son,” Edwarn said. “That’s quite the trail of blood you’re leaving. This is over, as you must realize.”

  He’s an Allomancer now, Wax thought, remembering what Edwarn had done to Marasi’s gun. The man carried a pistol, the aluminum one that Telsin had used.

  Telsin … How long had she been working with them? He hated that he’d guessed, hated that his first instinct—even if he’d been right—had been to pull a gun on his only sibling. It just made to
o much sense. She’d caused Wayne to knock the backpack out the door. She’d killed the brute in the warehouse, when he’d been about to speak—potentially addressing her, outing her as a member of the Set.

  Suit wouldn’t … wouldn’t have come into the temple with them unless he had the upper hand.…

  He needed to stay focused. Edwarn was approaching. Wax was tempted to Push a bullet toward the man, but held himself back. Edwarn raised the light, illuminating the vast emptiness and looking slowly around himself. He didn’t seem to have spotted Wax, and the bodies all had some metal on them, so Edwarn’s steelsight wouldn’t reveal Wax. But the blood trail would soon betray him.

  Still, Wax waited. He bowed himself, huddling down in the line of figures, imitating their stooped postures.

  Have to get those bracers …

  He’d get shot before he could reach them. If he could even make it that distance without passing out.

  “I did try to protect you,” Suit said.

  “What did you do to my sister?” Wax demanded, his voice echoing in the darkness.

  Suit smiled, walking forward, scanning the bodies. If he could draw the man closer …

  “I didn’t do anything to her,” Suit said. “Son, she recruited me.”

  “Lies,” Wax hissed.

  “The old world is dying, Waxillium!” Edwarn said. “I told you that a new one will soon be born, a world where men like you don’t belong.”

  “I can find my place in a world of airships.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about,” Suit said. “I’m talking about the secrets, Waxillium. The world where constables exist only to make people feel secure. It will be a world of shadows, of hidden government. The shift is already happening. Those who rule these days are not the men who smile at crowds and make speeches.”

  Edwarn moved around a corpse, then followed Wax’s blood trail with his eyes. Only a few more steps.