Bands of Mourning

by Brandon Sanderson

  She found herself smiling at the intensity in his eyes. “It’s not the treasure hunter that made you decide to go to Dulsing. It’s the detective.”

  He smiled. “You were listening to what MeLaan said to me last night?”

  Marasi nodded.

  “You were supposed to be asleep,” Waxillium said. He flipped the coin, caught it, then tossed the cube back to her. “Going to Aradel would have been the mature, prudent move, but I have to find the answers. And who knows? Maybe the Bands are real. If so, then getting them away from Suit is at least as important as informing the governor of what happened in New Seran.”

  “You think your uncle is trying to make Allomancers with technology, rather than by birth.”

  “A frightening power in the hands of a man like my uncle,” Waxillium said, leaning back into his seat. “Get some sleep. We’re probably going to infiltrate this building project in Dulsing during the night.”

  He settled with his hat over his eyes again. Marasi felt she should do as he said, and so tried to doze off. Unfortunately, there were too many thoughts in her head for sleep.

  After some time, she gave up and returned to her letter. In it, she explained what they’d done and discovered. She needed to send this soon. Perhaps she could find a telegraph station when they changed horses, and send the letter in time for it to make a difference.

  Once done with the letter, she moved to her notes about the missing kandra spike. Kelesina, acting on behalf of the Set, had tried to kill ReLuur, and had assumed success. When Suit had demanded proof, she’d ordered the spike dug up and sent to him in Dulsing. But where would it be kept there? Someplace secure, presumably. How in the world was she going to find it?

  She held up the little cube. Suit had asked after this. Could she use that somehow?

  Marasi frowned, turning the cube. The sides had little grooves between them. She looked closer, and in the sunlight spotted something she hadn’t seen before. A tiny little knob hidden in one groove. It looked like … well, a switch. Nestled in, where it couldn’t be flipped accidentally.

  She used a hairpin to reach in and flip the switch. It moved just as she’d expect it to.

  A switch. It seemed so … mundane. This was either a mystical relic or some kind of secret technology. You didn’t use a switch on things like that; you held them up to starlight, or spoke the special command phrases, or did a dance on the last day of the month while eating a kumquat.

  The switch didn’t seem to have done anything. So, Marasi swallowed and burned a pinch of cadmium.

  The cube began to vibrate in her fingers.

  Then the entire coach lurched, rocking as if it had been struck by something very hard. Marasi hit her head on the roof, then was slammed back down onto her seat.

  The horses screamed, but MeLaan somehow kept them under control. Within moments, the coach had pulled to a stop.

  “What the hell was that?” Waxillium said, hauling himself up off the floor, where he had ended up in a jumble with Steris.

  Marasi groaned, sitting up and holding her head. “I did something stupid.”

  “How stupid?” Waxillium asked.

  “I was testing the device,” Marasi said, “and used Allomancy.”

  Wayne’s head appeared at the door a moment later, hanging down from above. “Was that a speed bubble?”

  “Yes,” Marasi said.

  “That jolt damn near killed the horses,” Wayne said.

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

  Waxillium helped Steris sit up. “What … what went wrong?” she asked, befuddled.

  “Marasi used a speed bubble while we were moving,” Waxillium said. “We hit the threshold and towed her out of it, popping the thing and lurching us from one time frame to the next.”

  “But, she used it on the train,” Steris said.

  “Speed bubbles move with you if you’re on something massive enough,” Waxillium said. “Otherwise, the spinning of the planet would pop you out of every one you made. The train was heavy and fast. The stagecoach is small and just slow enough. So—”

  “So I should have known better,” Marasi said, blushing. “I haven’t done that since I was a kid. But Waxillium, it buzzed.”

  “What?”

  “The cube, it—” Marasi started, realizing she’d dropped the cube in the confusion. She searched around frantically before finally locating it near his foot. She held it up triumphantly. “It had a switch.”

  “A switch?”

  She turned it to the side, showing them the little switch. “You have to slip something small in to move it,” she said. “But it works now.”

  He looked at it, baffled, then showed it to Steris, who squinted. “What kind of eldritch device,” Steris said, “has an on switch?”

  “Makes sense, I guess,” Waxillium said. “You don’t want your eldritch devices turning on accidentally.”

  “Might end up almost killing your stagecoach drivers,” Wayne grumbled.

  “It didn’t stop your Allomancy?” Waxillium asked Marasi, rubbing his chin.

  She shook her head. She could still sense her metal reserves. “It didn’t seem to do anything.”

  “Huh.” Waxillium held it up. “Could be dangerous.”

  “So we’re testing it, then?” Wayne asked, hanging into the window.

  “Of course we are,” Waxillium said. “But away from the coach.”

  * * *

  Wax held the vibrating cube in his hand. It did respond to his metal burning, but didn’t seem to do anything else.

  They’d stopped near a stand of towering walnut trees, and Wayne was filling his pockets while Marasi watched Wax experiment from a safe distance. MeLaan watered the horses at a stream down the way. Nearby, a field of carrots grew with green sprouts, completely uncultivated. The air smelled fresh, of life untouched.

  He held up the buzzing cube and let his metals die off. The cube stopped vibrating. He burned them again, and it responded—starting slowly, but picking up after about a second or two. But what did it do? Why didn’t it blank his Allomancy as it had on the train?

  Maybe it doesn’t work on the person activating it, he thought. That would make some kind of sense, though he couldn’t fathom how it could tell. “Hey, Wayne,” he said.

  “Yeah, mate?”

  “Catch.”

  Wax tossed the cube to him. Wayne caught it, then jumped as his belt—which held his metal vials and any coins on his person—ripped free from its breakaway straps and sprang away from him. He turned, watching it flop to the ground a good twenty feet down the hill, and when he approached it, it scooted away.

  Wax ran toward him, and as he did, the shotgun in his leg holster pressed backward, as if being Pushed. The effect wore off a few seconds later, and by the time he reached Wayne, the cube had stopped buzzing.

  Wayne held it up. “What was that?”

  Wax plucked the device from his fingers as Marasi rushed over to join them. “It doesn’t steal Allomancy, Wayne. It never did.”

  “But—”

  “It takes the metal one is burning,” Wax said, “and somehow … extends it. You saw. It Pushed your metal away, as if a Coinshot were there near you. The cube used Allomancy.”

  The three of them stood stunned, looking at the little device.

  “We need to try it again,” Wax said. “Wayne, hold this and burn your bendalloy. Marasi, go stand over there. Wayne, once you’re ready, throw the cube to her.”

  They did as directed. Wax stood back. When Wayne ignited his metals, he suddenly became a blur inside his speed bubble. The cube zipped out an eyeblink later and soared through the air toward Marasi, deflected somewhat but still moving in the right direction.

  It engaged just before reaching her, and she became a blur, zipping over to pick up the cube, then zipping back. It took a count of ten before the cube stopped working, dropping her into ordinary time.

  “Did you see that?” Marasi said, awed, holding the cube. “It created a speed
bubble for me. It fed off Wayne’s Allomancy, and replicated it!”

  “It’s what we’ve been lookin’ for, then?” Wayne asked, joining them, having dropped his own bubble.

  “Not quite,” Wax replied, taking the cube and holding it up. “But it’s certainly encouraging. It looks like you have to be an Allomancer to use this—it doesn’t grant new powers, but it does extend the ones you have. It’s like … like an Allomantic grenade.”

  Marasi nodded eagerly. “Which means that the man on the train, the one who used this on us, is a Leecher. He can remove Allomancy in others, and he gave that power to the cube, which he threw at you.”

  “It engages a second or so after you throw it,” Wax said with a nod. “Useful.”

  “And it’s proof that Suit has technology he’s been hiding,” Marasi said.

  “We knew that from the communication device,” Wax said, “but yes, this is even more curious. I’m half tempted to think all this talk of the Bands of Mourning came from rumors about this technology the Set has been developing.”

  “And the symbols?”

  “No idea,” Wax said. “Some kind of cipher they developed?” He tapped the cube, then handed the thing to Marasi.

  “Why me?” she asked.

  “It’s yours. You found it; you figured out how to turn it on. Besides, I have a feeling it’s going to be the most effective in your hands.”

  She held it a moment, then her eyes widened. Being a Pulser wasn’t very useful when you were catching yourself in a bubble where you moved slowly compared to everyone else. However, if you could trap someone else in that bubble …

  Wayne whistled softly.

  “I’ll try not to lose it,” Marasi said, tucking the device away. “We’ll need to study it later, find out how it works.”

  I wonder … Wax thought, remembering something else. He played his hunch, reaching into his pocket and fishing out the golden bracelet that Kelesina had been wearing.

  He tossed it to Wayne.

  “What’s this?” Wayne asked, holding it up toward the sky. “Pretty hoop o’ gold, that is. Who’d you trade this off of? I could use this, mate. It would make a nice metalmind.”

  “I think it’s already one,” Wax said, deflating. It had been a silly idea in the first place.

  Wayne gasped.

  “What?” Marasi said.

  “It’s a metalmind,” Wayne said. “Damn me, but it is. And I can sense it. Wax, you got your knife?”

  Wax nodded, yanking his knife from his gunbelt, and when Wayne proffered his hand, he sliced a small cut along the back. It resealed immediately.

  “Maaaate,” Wayne whispered. “It’s someone else’s metalmind, but I can use it.”

  “Like VenDell said,” Wax said, taking the bracelet from Wayne’s fingers. “A metalmind with no Identity. Rusts. I have to flare my metal to even get the faintest line pointing to it. This thing must be stuffed full of power.”

  More than any metalmind he’d ever sensed, in fact. He could usually push on those without too much trouble. He’d barely be able to shift this one.

  “Why didn’t I notice what it was immediately?” Wayne said. “I had to be told. And, oh, rusts! This is proof of the Bands of Mourning, ain’t it?”

  “No,” Wax said. “I can’t sense a reserve in the bracelet—I can’t use this, as I’m not a Bloodmaker. It’s not a metalmind anybody can use, just one that anyone with the right powers already can use.”

  “That’s still remarkable,” Marasi said.

  “And disturbing,” Wax said, staring at that innocent-looking loop. The only way to have created this would involve using a Feruchemist with two powers. So either the Set had access to full-blooded Feruchemists, or his fears were coming true. They’d figured out how to use Hemalurgy.

  Or it’s a relic, he thought. There’s that possibility. Perhaps this and the box were artifacts of another time.

  He tossed the bracelet back to Wayne. “How much is in it?”

  “A heap,” Wayne said. “But it’s not endless. The reservoir got smaller when I healed that cut.”

  “Hang on to it, then,” Wax said, turning as he heard his name. MeLaan was at the edge of the glade, waving. Wax left Wayne and Marasi, striding over to the tall, slender kandra woman, still worried about what these discoveries meant. What did the bracelet indicate? Was there more to be discovered? Metalminds that granted anyone who touched them incredible powers? For the first time, he really started to wonder. What if the Bands were real? What would happen to society if Metalborn powers were simply something you could purchase?

  He trudged up to MeLaan. “I think you’ll want to see this,” she said, waving for him to follow her up the side of a steep hill covered in foliage. At the top, they had a view of the land to the northeast. Some was cultivated in rows and rings, but much was like what they’d just left—wilderness blooming with random patches of fruits or vegetables. A cool breeze blew across him, barely enough to temper the heat of the sunlight above.

  Seeing it all, feeling that perfect breeze, made Wax realize what annoyed him so much about the problems between Elendel and the outer cities. Did these people comprehend what life was like out in the Roughs, where planting was fraught with uncertainty, and the danger of starvation was real?

  They think people are foolish for living in the Roughs, Wax thought, taking the old-fashioned spyglass that MeLaan handed him. They don’t understand what it’s like to get trapped out there for generations, too poor—or too stubborn—to return to the Basin.

  Freedom in the Roughs came at a cost. Either way, the Basin was—literally—paradise, crafted for men by a God who wanted to compensate the world for a millennium of ashes and ruin. It seemed that even in paradise, men would find reasons to squabble and fight.

  Wax raised the spyglass. “What am I looking for?”

  “Check the road about a mile up,” MeLaan said. “By that creek with the bridge over it.”

  He spotted a couple of men lounging in a field with axes. From the looks of it, they’d been cutting at the trunk of a dead tree. Another fallen tree crossed the roadway.

  “What do you see?” MeLaan asked.

  “A roadblock that doesn’t want to look like one,” Wax said. “That tree across the road is arranged to seem as if it just fell there, but the furrows on the ground indicate it was dragged there intentionally, and has been moved a time or two since being placed.”

  “Good eye,” MeLaan said.

  “You can’t have it,” he said, turning the spyglass and looking toward the farmsteads in the area. “Soldiers stationed in that farmhouse over there, I’d guess. And none of the other homes have smoke rising from them. Probably abandoned. You’re unlikely to find a farmstead this time of day without dinner in the oven.”

  “They’re waiting for us?”

  “No, this is too extensive for that,” Wax said. “This is a perimeter. They’re trying not to have it look like one, to prevent word from spreading, but they’ve cordoned off this entire area. What the hell is happening in there?”

  MeLaan shook her head, looking baffled.

  “Well, we can’t take the coach any farther,” Wax said, handing back the spyglass. “How are you at bareback?”

  “Well, I haven’t thrown any riders off recently, but I don’t get occasion to be a horse very often, so I can’t say how I’ll feel today.”

  Wax blinked.

  “Oh, you meant riding,” MeLaan said. “Yeah, I’m fine. I doubt I’m the one you’ll have to worry about.” She nodded back toward Steris walking into the grove, trailed by Wayne, who had filled his hat with walnuts.

  “Right,” Wax said.

  Hopefully some of their horses would prove docile.

  * * *

  Twilight settled upon the land fitfully, like a tired eye struggling to stay open. It was the variety of the land down here in the south, Wax figured. One moment you could be riding through a wooded hollow, all in shadow, and the next you’d crest a hill into an
open field and find that the sun hadn’t quite dropped below the horizon yet.

  Still, darkness did eventually arrive, but with it came no mists. Wax realized he’d been longing to feel them envelop him again.

  MeLaan led the sortie, keeping to forested areas when possible. She or Wayne would scout ahead, listening for patrols, but the Set was attempting to hold such a large area that they obviously couldn’t watch the whole wilderness. Marasi, of course, was an accomplished rider—and seemed pleased to have a reason to change into her new constable’s trousers and jacket.

  Steris surprised him. She did just fine, even riding in a skirt. She’d packed one full enough that she could tuck it beneath her and ride bareback without exposing too much. She took to it without complaint, as she’d done with practically everything else on this trip.

  The few farmsteads or hunter’s camps they passed on their ride were empty. Wax felt a mounting disquiet. Yes, this was a small, largely unpopulated region in the Basin’s backwaters—but it was still profoundly disturbing that the Set could dominate it so fully.

  Once they reached the final patch of trees near the village, MeLaan scouted ahead, then came back and waved for him to follow. He crawled up with her to peer at the village from the tree line.

  Bright electric floodlights lit the perimeter around an enormous structure in what obviously had once been the center of the village of Dulsing. Wooden, windowless, huge, it was still under construction, judging by the scaffolding at the sides and the unfinished roof at the top. The town’s buildings had mostly been torn down, leaving only a few at the perimeter untouched.

  The roofless top of the building glowed with a warm light. Where were they getting so much electricity? MeLaan handed him the spyglass and he raised it, inspecting the perimeter. Those were definitely soldiers, wearing red uniforms with some mark on the breast that wasn’t distinguishable at this distance. They carried rifles at their shoulders, and the floodlights created a bright ring around the place. Focused outward, not toward the building, which left plenty of shadowed areas inside that ring. So they’d have cover once they got past the perimeter.

  “What do you think?” he asked. “Is that some kind of bunker?”