The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,128
man—who had crossed half the distance to the new ship, then stopped, staring at it. Telsin had strode on ahead, MeLaan tailing her. He quickly joined the rest of them as they followed after Telsin and MeLaan.
“Your sister,” Wayne said to Wax, “is kinda…”
“Severe?” Marasi said.
“I was gonna say bonkers,” Wayne admitted. “Though I’m not sure if it’s the good kinda bonkers or the bad kind, as of yet, as I haven’t had time to give it the proper evaluatin’.”
“She’s been through a lot,” Wax said, eyes ahead. “We’ll get her home and give her some physicians to talk to. She’ll mend.”
Wayne nodded. “Course, she won’t fit in wif us anymore if she does.”
They continued, and that fortress, rusts it was impressive. Made of broad stone blocks, the type that some poor fellow probably broke his back lugging about, it had steps out front leading up to an enormous statue. At first he was surprised, as all the way out here seemed an odd place for a sculpture—but then, the ones back in Elendel had been shat on by about a million birds, so perhaps this was the best place to keep your statue.
The group of them made their way up the steps, fighting the wind. The medallion meant the wind wasn’t cold enough to chill his nethers, but it was still annoying. At the top of the steps they had to walk around that statue, which was in the shape of a fellow in a long coat holding a spear to his side, its tip resting on the stones. Wayne scratched his face, stepping back and craning his neck.
“What’s wrong with his eye?” Wayne asked, pointing.
Marasi stepped up beside him, squinting in the darkness. “A spike,” she said softly. “Like on that coin of Waxillium’s.”
Yup, that was it. One spike, jutting through his right eye. Wayne rounded the statue, which had snow piled about its base.
“One spiked eye,” Wax said, thoughtful. “This place was built by the Lord Ruler. Why would he have them make a statue of him with one eye spiked through?”
“He carries a spear,” Marasi said. “For the one that he used to kill the Survivor?”
“A metal spear,” Wax noted. “But no lines. Aluminum. Looks like some on his belt too. Expensive.”
Marasi nodded. “The Lord Ruler was run through with three spears, by the Lord Mistborn’s testimony. ‘Once stabbed by a beggar, for the poverty he brought. Once stabbed by a worker, for the slavery he enforced. Last stabbed by a prince, for the lords he corrupted.’ The spears didn’t hurt him.”
“Come on,” Telsin called from inside the building, where she’d been joined by Steris.
Wax and the masked fellow moved off, but Wayne kept looking up at the statue.
“So I’ve been thinkin’,” Wayne said as MeLaan passed him.
“Yeah?” she asked, glancing at him.
Rusts. Wax might think it weird, considering she was like a billion years old or something, but it seemed like even longer since a woman had looked at him like that. It wasn’t a lusty look or anything like that, it was … what was the word …
Fond.
Yup, that would do.
“Wayne?” she asked.
“Oh, right. Um, well, this place is abandoned, right? So none of the stuff in it belongs to anyone.”
“Well, I’m sure a lot of people would claim it,” MeLaan said. “But ownership would be tough to prove.”
“So…”
“So I’d say don’t touch anything anyway,” MeLaan said.
“Oh. Right.”
She smiled at him, then continued on in through the open doorway behind the statue. It was big, gaping, like a fellow’s mouth after you kick ’im right in the canteen.
He looked back at the statue, then poked at the spearhead with his toe. Then he hit it with his heel. Then he hit with a rock. Finally, he twisted it a few times.
It fell right off, clanging to the stone beneath. It had been practically hanging free. And Wax was wrong, only the head was of metal—the oversized spear was wood. Aluminum, you say? Wayne thought with a smile.
Now, he didn’t care much for what rich folks said was worth money. Unless it was, by itself, worth more than a house. Little Sophi Tarcsel, the inventor, did need more funds.
He wrapped the big spearhead, which was as large as his palm, with a handkerchief to keep it from freezing his fingers off, and started whistling as he jogged after the others. As he passed, he noticed that there once had been gates on this doorway, big ones, but they lay in frozen splinters.