The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,125

won’t work on you.”

“Why?”

“Because we’re in your lands,” he said. “The visitor always has to wear the medallion. It’s filled with Connection, yah? Blank Connection, to no place. But Connection can’t just be connected to nothing, so when you tap it, it reaches out and connects you to the place where you are. Makes your soul think you were raised in this place instead, so your language changes.”

Marasi frowned, though Waxillium perked up, pulling up between their two seats. “Curious,” he said. “Very curious.”

“It is the way of the world,” Allik said with a shrug.

“Then why do you have an accent still?” Marasi asked. “If your brain thinks it was raised here?”

“Ah,” Allik said, raising his finger. “My soul thinks I was raised here, in your lands, but it knows that I am Malwish by descent, and that parents are from Wiestlow, so I cannot help but have an accent, yah? I got it from them. It is how the medallions always work.”

“Strange,” Marasi repeated.

“Yah,” Allik agreed. But Waxillium was nodding, as if it made perfect sense to him.

“Those mountains to the right,” Waxillium said, pointing. “Those are some taller peaks than the ones we’ve been passing.”

“Yah!” Allik said. “Good eye, O Observan—”

“Stop with the titles.”

“Yes, um, O Confusing … er…” Allik took a deep breath. “Those are the peaks we’re seeking. Getting close. We’ll have to climb Wilg up even higher. Cold temperatures, dangerous altitudes.”

He hesitated as Waxillium pointed at something ahead. Difficult to see, but distinct once Marasi noticed it. Light, hovering in the darkness—only a glimmer, but stark against the blackness.

“The Seran Range is uninhabited,” Waxillium said, “except in a few of the valleys. Too cold, too many storms.”

“So if there’s a light…” Marasi said.

“Suit has left on his expedition,” Waxillium said, standing up straight. “Time to wake the others.”

23

Wayne was awakened quite rough-like, in a manner unbefitting his grand dreams, in which he was king of the dogs. Had a crown shaped like a bowl and everything. He blinked his eyes, feeling nice and warm, and got hit with a blast of air. Drowsy, he remembered he was flying in some kind of rusting airship with a fellow what had no face. And that was almost as good as that dog thing.

“Can you bring us down closer?” Telsin asked.

“If I do,” the masked guy said, “they’ll hear us, even with Wilg’s fans on low speed. We need to pass over those people below, but I will keep us very high.”

Rusts! Wax’s sister hung half out of the machine’s open side, looking down, though Wayne could barely make her out with the light so low. He hadn’t figured that Telsin would be the adventurous type, what with Wax being all calm and careful most of the time. Yet there she was, doing her best imitation of a pub sign flapping in the wind. He nodded in appreciation, then untied his little belt thing, and got up to look at what she was seeing.

He stepped over their packs, which had toppled from the neat stack Steris had made, then leaned out next to Telsin. That let him look down at a long line of people—lit by lanterns—trudging through what appeared to be waist-high snow. Poor sods.

Wax stepped up to the other opening, looking down with his spyglass. Wayne couldn’t see much, himself. He held on with one hand and took out his box of gum, shaking it. Only one ball left. Damn. Well, at least it had plenty of powder on it. That would help perk him up, it would.

“Do you see him?” Telsin asked.

“I think so,” Wax said. “Wait. Yes, that’s him. I’ll bet they left on their expedition the moment they got word of what happened with us at the warehouse.” He reached into his holster and took out one of his guns. He gave the rusting things names, but Wayne could never keep them straight. It was one of the ones with the long tubey thing on the front what spat bits of metal at the bad guys.

“Let me do it,” Telsin said, voice passionate.

Wayne hesitated, ball of gum halfway to his mouth. That was quite the bloodthirst this woman had.

“You can’t make a shot like this,” Wax said. “Not sure if I can either.”

“Let me try,” Telsin begged. “I don’t care what it takes. I want him dead. Another will take his place, but I want him dead.”

Wax sighted for a long moment, and everyone in the ship seemed to hold their breath. Finally,