Bands of Mourning

by Brandon Sanderson

  “Do you ever wonder, Waxillium,” Telsin said softly, “how you got where you are?”

  “Sometimes, I suppose,” he said. “Though I figure I can trace it. I don’t always like it, but it makes sense, if I stop and think it through.”

  “I can’t do the same,” she said. “I remember being a child, and assuming the world belonged to me. That I’d be able to seize it when I grew older, accomplish my dreams, become something great. Yet as I’ve aged, I feel like less and less is under my control. I can’t help thinking it shouldn’t be that way. How could I have been so in control as a youth, yet often feel so helpless as an adult?”

  “That’s our uncle’s fault,” Wax said. “For keeping you captive.”

  “Yes, and no. Wax, I’m an adult—with greying hair and over half my life behind me. Shouldn’t I have a clue as to what this is all about?” She shook her head. “That’s not Edwarn’s fault. What have we done, Waxillium? We’re alone. Our parents are dead. We’re the adults now, yet where are our children? What’s our legacy? What have we accomplished? Don’t you ever feel like you never actually grew up? That everyone else did, but you’re secretly faking?”

  No, he didn’t feel that way. But he grunted in agreement anyway—it was good to hear her show a side of herself other than feverish hatred of Suit and his people.

  “Is that why you’re so keen to come here?” Wax asked. “You think that what we find in there will accomplish something?”

  “At least it will help society,” Telsin said.

  “Unless it destroys society.”

  “Pushing society forward is no destruction. Even if, in doing so, it leaves us behind.”

  She withdrew into herself again. He couldn’t blame her, after her ordeal. He wished there had been time to go back to Elendel, see her situated in someplace warm and safe, before flying back here.

  They retraced their steps, passing the traps they’d already set off. Fallen blocks of stone from the ceiling, darts and spears from the walls, even a stone wall that had dropped to block them, though MeLaan had kept it from falling all the way by slamming a large rock underneath. Wax had been able to wiggle into the space and Push a few coins upward to lift it farther, then they propped it up with rocks in the tracks at the sides. They still had to stoop to go underneath.

  They did find two more traps, which they set off as well. Wax found himself increasingly dissatisfied. So much work, he thought, noting again the wall section that had fallen in to release scythes that cut the air. That trap had gotten entangled on itself, and so hadn’t endangered them at all—but the ingenuity required to put it together was marvelous.

  “Allik,” he said, prompting the short man to swap back to his Connection medallion. “Why would your people build such an obvious resting place for the Bands? Why make this temple, which proclaims that something precious is inside, then go to the effort of making all these traps? Why not just hide the Bands someplace unassuming, like a cave?”

  “They are a challenge, like I said, Thoughtful One,” Allik said. “And it was not my people who did this, not specifically. The original priests who crafted this place were of no people currently living among us.”

  “Yes,” Wax said, “and you told me the Sovereign left his weapon here with orders to protect it because he was going to return for it. Right?”

  “That is the legend.”

  “These traps don’t make sense, then,” Wax said, waving back down the hallway. “Wouldn’t they have been worried for your king’s safety?”

  “Simple traps could not affect him, Unobservant Master,” Allik said with a laugh. A nervous laugh. He’d glanced at MeLaan again. “The traps are a declaration, and a challenge.”

  They walked on, but still Wax felt unsatisfied. Allik’s explanations made a sort of sense—as much sense as building the temple up in the mountains. It was everything Wax would have expected from such a place, down to the smallest details.

  Perhaps that was the problem.

  “Wax!” Wayne’s head poked into the corridor before them. They were almost back to the front entryway. “Wax, there you are. Your uncle, mate. He’s here.”

  “How close?” Wax asked, speeding up.

  “Close, close,” Wayne said. “Like, on our doorstep and demandin’ rent money close.”

  He’d hoped to have the Bands before that happened. “We’ll need to try to collapse the entryway,” Wax said as he reached Wayne. “Or maybe this hallway. Seal them out while we finish in here.”

  “We could do that,” Wayne said. “Or…”

  “Or what?” Wax asked, stopping in place.

  “We’ve got him captured,” Wayne said, thumbing over his shoulder. “Marasi has a gun to his rusting head.”

  Captured? “Impossible.”

  “Yeah,” Wayne said, sounding troubled. “He walked right up to us, carrying a flag. Says he wants to talk. To you.”

  25

  Wax passed from the temple’s vestibule onto the landing outside. Edwarn Ladrian, his uncle, stood at the top of the steps, just beneath the statue of the Lord Ruler. Wax was accustomed to seeing this man in a sensible suit, surrounded by luxury—so it was somehow both strange and satisfying at the same time to find Edwarn in a thick coat, hood up, fur brushing cheeks red with the cold. His beard was stuck with snow, and he smiled at Wax, gloved hands resting atop an ivory walking stick.

  Marasi knelt in the doorway, her rifle trained directly on him. Edwarn stood alone, though his people—at least a hundred, perhaps more—were setting up tents and dumping supplies in piles on the stone approach.

  “Waxillium!” Edwarn said. “Speaking out here in the cold would prove unpleasant. Might I join you and yours inside?”

  Wax studied the man. What trick was he planning? Edwarn would never place himself solely in Wax’s power, would he?

  “You can put the gun down,” Wax said to Marasi. “Thank you.”

  She rose, hesitant. Wax nodded to Edwarn, who cheerily walked through the doorway. Edwarn was a stout man, plump and round-faced. As Wax stepped into the doorway after him, Edwarn pulled off his gloves and put down his hood, revealing a head of hair that was more silver than black. He removed his parka; beneath it he wore stout trousers, suspenders, and a thick white shirt. However, as he folded the parka over his arm, his cheeks returned to a normal color and he stopped shivering.

  “You do know what the medallions do,” Wax said.

  “Certainly,” Edwarn said. “But their reserves of heat are not eternal, and we don’t know how to refill them. We had to reserve their use for those who were suffering greatly from the cold during our trip.” He glanced toward Allik, who had moved up beside Marasi, taking her arm in one hand and staring death at Edwarn.

  Telsin, Wax thought, seeking the woman out. If she shot their uncle as she had that man in the warehouse …

  She stood all the way across the vestibule, just outside of it, in the hallway with the traps. Wayne had wisely sauntered over and stood nearby, back to the doorway. He nodded lazily to Wax. He was watching her.

  “I see you stole one of my savages,” Edwarn said, gesturing at Allik. “He taught you to use the medallions? Both heat and weightlessness?”

  Wax pursed his lips and didn’t reply.

  “No need to act stupid, Nephew,” Edwarn said. “We could judge their nature from the type of metals involved, of course. It is a pity we didn’t discover the smaller flying machines hidden in the large one. That would have made my trip so much easier.”

  “Why did you come here, Uncle?” Wax demanded, stepping out of the doorway and casually putting his back to the wall, in case there was a sharpshooter outside. He noticed, impressed, that Marasi had done the same.

  “Why did I come? For the same reason as you, Nephew. To find a weapon.”

  “I meant,” Wax said, “why did you come in here, to be taken by me. You’re giving yourself up?”

  “Giving myself— Nephew, I came to negotiate.”

  “I have no
need to negotiate,” Wax said. “I have you now. You’re under arrest for treason, murder, and kidnapping. Allik will stand witness against you.”

  “The savage?” Edwarn said, amused.

  “I also have—”

  Edwarn rapped his cane on the stones. It was banded in metal. Foolish; Wax could use that against him.

  “No need, no need,” Edwarn said. “I am not in your custody, Nephew. Stop entertaining this fantastical delusion that you can achieve anything by harassing me. Even if you were to somehow drag me back to Elendel and throw me in a cage, I’d be released in days.”

  “We’ll see,” Wax said. He raised Vindication, pointing it right at Edwarn’s head. “Run. Give me an excuse, Uncle. I dare you.”

  “So dramatic,” Edwarn said. “Did they teach you that in the Roughs, then?” He shook his head. “Have you looked outside? I have twenty Allomancers and Feruchemists here, son. All well trained, and all ready to kill. You’re in my custody, if anything.”

  Wax cocked Vindication. “Lucky that I’ve got you, then.”

  “I am not so important to the Set as all that,” Edwarn said with a smile. “Don’t think they wouldn’t shoot through me to get to you. But it won’t come to that. You won’t use me as a hostage. What would there be for you to gain? We’ve already dug out your little flying ship. You aren’t getting out of here alive. Not unless I order it.”

  Wax clenched his jaw as Edwarn walked to the side of the entryway and settled down on a stone shelf there. He fished in his pocket and brought out a pipe, then nodded in greeting toward Steris, who had been seated on the shelf but immediately moved away.

  “Could I borrow that lantern?” Edwarn asked.

  Steris held out the lantern. He stuck a lighting stick into it, then used that in turn to light his pipe. He puffed at it a few times, then leaned back, smiling pleasantly. “So?”

  “What do you want from me?” Wax said.

  “To accompany you,” Edwarn said. He nodded toward the hallway beyond. “Our interrogation of the savages—now that we’ve been able to force them to speak properly—indicates that there is a hallway full of traps beyond here. And…” Edwarn hesitated. “Ahh, so you’ve been through the traps, have you? Then you know about the door?”

  “How do you know this?” Allik said, stepping forward, fists clenched. Marasi put a warning hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “What have you done to my crewmates?”

  “You’ve made yours talk too, I see,” Edwarn said. “A pity the Lord Ruler gave his fantastic knowledge to them, don’t you think? Barely men. They must hide their—”

  “How do you know?” Allik continued, speaking more loudly. “About the hallway? About the door?”

  “Your captain knew many things you did not, I believe,” Suit said. “Did she tell you about the group of Hunters she carried as subcaptain in her youth? How she got them drinking, and listened to their secrets? They were planning to return here, she said, for the prize.”

  “My captain,” Allik said, voice strained. “She lives?”

  Suit smiled, puffing on his pipe, then turned to Wax. “I can get you through the door. I have the key, passed from the lips of a dying priest, to a doomed Hunter, to an airship captain, and now at last to me.” He spread his hands, smoking pipe in one.

  “You’re trying to trick me,” Wax said, narrowing his eyes.

  “Of course I am,” Suit said. “The question is, can you best me? Without an accommodation, we are at an impasse. My men outside can’t get in here. It’s too fortified a position, and we can’t risk explosives lest we damage the prize. You, however, can’t get out. You can’t get the Bands without my help, but you can’t pass my army of Allomancers either. You’ll starve in here.”

  Wax ground his teeth. Rusts, he hated this man. Edwarn … Suit … he was the infection that ate at the wounds of noble society. Spreading his disease. Bringing fever. He was the very definition of the games Wax hated.

  “Waxillium,” Telsin said from the doorway. “Don’t trust him. He’ll trick you. He’ll win. He always wins.”

  “We’ll try it your way, Uncle,” Wax said reluctantly. “I’ll let you open the door, but then you must return here.”

  Edwarn sniffed. “I get to go inside, past the door, and see what is there. Otherwise, you will get no help from me.”

  “You’ll be under guard. I’ll have a gun to your head.”

  “I have no objection to this.” He puffed on his pipe, held the smoke in his mouth, then let it out between the teeth of his smile.

  Wax gave his uncle a thorough frisk. He had no Allomantically reactive metal on his body save for that on his cane, but he didn’t have any aluminum either. At least not in a large enough concentration to be dangerous.

  “You first,” Wax said, waving his gun toward the doorway. He ignored Telsin’s glare. Wayne stood up and held her to the side as Edwarn sauntered through, trailing pipe smoke. Marasi fell in beside Wax as he followed, gripping her rifle with white knuckles. Allik, Steris, and MeLaan came next. Wayne and Telsin took the rear, keeping Wax’s sister as far from Uncle Edwarn as possible.

  “You sure about this?” Marasi asked as they passed rubble, strewn spears, and darts.

  Wax didn’t answer. He thought furiously about what his uncle could be planning. What had Wax missed? He had several theories by the time they reached the door.

  Edwarn stood before it, looking the symbols up and down. “Push on that one,” he said, pointing toward one of the engraved circles. “With Allomancy.”

  Wax cleared everyone back save Wayne. The shorter man nodded, wearing the bracelet that would let him heal great amounts, speed bubble at the ready in case somehow Edwarn planned the activation of the door to be a trap.

  Wax Pushed. Something clicked.

  “Now there,” Edwarn said, pointing. “The one with the triangular shape.”

  Click.

  “Finally this one,” Edwarn said, tapping one with the back of his hand.

  “That’s it?” Wax said.

  “Get them wrong and the thing freezes shut, I’m told,” Edwarn said idly. “It has a clockwork timer. Won’t be ready again for ten years. You could spend a lifetime guessing, and still have only a small chance of opening it.” He looked at Wax and smiled. “Apparently these symbols spell out something the Lord Ruler would have understood.”

  Wax glanced back at Allik, who shook his head, baffled. “They really make no sense to me.”

  Wax turned around, held his breath, and Pushed on the final symbol. It clicked. Then, with a deep scrape of stone on metal, the entire thing slid to the side, opening a path. Edwarn stepped toward it, but Wax leveled his gun, causing the man to hesitate.

  “I’ll have you know,” Edwarn said, “that I worked a very long time to find what was in this place. It seems unfitting that another should pass that door before me.”

  “Tough,” Wax said, grabbing Telsin’s shoulder as she tried to slip by him and enter. “MeLaan?”

  “Right,” the kandra said. Rusts, she limped as she passed through the door. One of her legs was longer than the other, because of the breaks. She said she didn’t feel pain, but if she chose to lie to him, he’d never know.

  She stepped into the other room, which had a soft blue glow coming from it. More of those glass lights in the walls.

  “Nothing hit me on the way in,” she said from within. “Want me to walk around a bit?”

  “Just around the doorway area,” Wax called to her, gun still held on Edwarn. “Make sure it’s safe for us.”

  They waited a tense few moments. No traps activated in the other room that he could hear.

  “How can you wait?” Telsin asked. “Knowing what could be back there? A wonder beyond understanding.”

  “It isn’t going anywhere.”

  “You never want to know what’s beyond the door,” Telsin whispered. “You never did chase the horizon. Where is your curiosity?”

  “It’s alive and well. The things I’m cu
rious about are simply different from the ones you find exciting.”

  “All clear,” MeLaan said from the other room.

  Wax nodded for the others to go first, everyone but him and Edwarn. “Stay near the door,” he told them.

  Once they were inside, he stepped closer to his uncle.

  “Threatening,” Edwarn said, looking him up and down. “You separated us from the others, Waxillium. Planning a little intimidation?”

  “I care for the people in that room,” Wax said softly. “I suspect more than a monster like you can ever know.”

  “You think me emotionless?” Edwarn said, his voice stern. “I tried to spare your life, Waxillium. I argued before the Set on your behalf. There was a time when I loved you like a son.”

  Wax raised Vindication again.

  “When we’re done with this,” Wax said, “you’re going to give me names. The others in the Set. I’m going to drag you back to Elendel, and there you’ll talk.”

  “And you’d brutalize me to get those names, no doubt,” Edwarn said.

  “I follow the law.”

  “Which can be changed—or bent—to suit your needs. You call me a monster; you hate me because I seek rule. And yet you serve those who do the very same things as I. Your senate? It strangles the life from children with its economic policies.” Edwarn stepped forward, a motion which put the barrel of Wax’s gun right at his temple. “The longer you live, Waxillium, the more you’ll know I am right. The difference between good and evil men is not found in the acts they are willing to commit—but merely in what name they are willing to commit them in.”

  “Waxillium?” Marasi appeared at the stone doorway. “You’ll want to see this.”

  Wax ground his teeth together and felt his eye twitching. He pulled the gun away from his uncle’s head and waved it toward the door.

  Edwarn sauntered in, pipe trailing smoke. Wax followed, and entered the solitary room at the center of the fortresslike temple. The dais here was the one depicted in the mural at the temple’s entrance. It rose from the center of the room, gilded and slender, with steps leading up to it. On it was a small square pedestal topped with red velvet and a golden rack suitable for the display of a precious relic. A soft white light, not blue like those at the sides of the room, shone from above the dais and illuminated the whole thing.