Chapter Text
With the enemy riflemen in full retreat, my allies begin to break cover. Spook reaches me first, bloody, out of ammo, but able to walk on his own. A moment later, Constable Turstein sails through the air, holding a short portly man I don't recognize. Tapping steel, I reposition and roughly match their speed, helping them to control their landing. The Constable sets the stranger down and gives me a salute. "I found the Ghostblood sniper landing all those perfect headshots. It was even more impressive than I realized: He was positioned half a mile away."
I reel at the thought. But this strange little man does carry a rifle unlike any I've ever seen. Covered in coils, small hoses, glowing gems, and metals I don't recognize, it looks like something out of a science fiction broadsheet.
"Greetings," the elderly little fellow says, shouldering his rifle and shaking my hand. "The name's Dean."
"This one's a tin Compounder," Spook observes. "With senses so extreme, I can see how he could land such long range shots."
A Twinborn Omniscient. A Tineye who can also generate inhuman levels of any of their senses, or deaden specific senses to better focus on others. It's possible he even heard our conversation in the police van earlier, perhaps from many miles away. I'm suddenly certain he's the reason the Ghostbloods were able to find us and assist within minutes of this grand ambush triggering. I give him a firm handshake, and he tips his bowler hat.
"Pleased to meet you all. My role is likely done, for now." Dean flips a switch on his rifle, rotates a couple gemstones, and the thing goes dark and silent. "The four Ire in that church tower are worth taking alive. But I'll do my best to keep you up to speed on how the attack progresses. My people didn't expect additional help, but I'm still grateful for it. The Seventeenth Shard almost never intervenes in the affairs of the Cosmere, but I suppose the Ire's plans were scary enough to force their hand. We Ghostbloods might not have been enough to stop them without great cost, but with the Seventeenth Shard assisting…"
Before my eyes, an unreal display of esoteric arcana begins to play out, with my recent experiences utterly insufficient to give it context. Vast, complex glowing symbols, most silver, but some in other colors, spread from the church tower. Some of these expand into polygonal planes of shimmering energy, others create spiraling vortices of light, and energetic discharges similar to electricity crackle and spread.
As promised, Dean attempts to explain. "Reokai and the Ire leader, Alonoe, are tapping into the Invested conduit they extended through the Cognitive Realm. It's allowing them to employ Aon Dor on a grand scale, despite being so many lightyears from Elantris. Fortunately, from what I've overheard, the Seventeenth Shard brought an Elantrian of their own…"
In a flash of light, a tall solid mystic manifests as if from nothing. His bald head and dark silvery skin feels unreal, and he immediately goes to work. Similar to the man controlling the white glowing threads, he wears numerous nicrosilminds, likely bearing investiture from other worlds. His hands dance across the air, scratching lines of silver light, like thin windows into another reality. He swiftly draws many complex symbols, some resembling geometric art, others feeling like mathematical equations, and some resembling simplistic maps.
Dean smiles and waves. "Nice to finally meet you, Galladon."
"Doloken!" the newcomer hisses. "I'm a bit busy, kolo?" As he draws, some of his symbols flash and vanish, while others grow solid and stable, as if etched onto invisible surfaces. "I'm tryin' to prevent spatial or realmatic transit."
My head spins, but two more of my allies have just arrived. The Kandra VenDell is mostly recognizable, as he did his best to reconstruct his earlier appearance. But it's obvious he's wearing different bones than before. Detective Watsel's left arm hangs limp from two bullets, but she manages to contain her pain. "Wait… you're saying the enemy can teleport and move between realms? No wonder they managed to amass such a potent force without Ellendel knowing."
"You look like a healed Elantrian," VenDell observes, getting no reaction from Galladon. "If you can counter the Ire transportation Aons, they won't be able to escape."
"I'll need to do more than that," Galladon hisses, rapidly drawing a new series of symbols. A glowing energy shield springs to life in front of us, and half a heartbeat later I see why. A terrible blast of blinding silver energy streaks down from the church tower toward us. Galladon's shield shatters to bits of light, but so does the attack. "It's time! Seventeenth Shard, move in!"
Shallan inhales deeply, her glowing blue aura intensifies, and she resumes her charge. Demoux and his wife are right behind her. Sailing through the air on a vortex of spiraling white threads, the man in the white duster joins them. On closer inspection, the threads look like they're composed of flowing sand.
In a silver flash, a cuboid chunk of earth, rock, and concrete appears in the sky above them.
"Doloken!" Galladon shouts, frantically scribbling symbols. "I missed that equation completely!"
My heart skips a beat, fearing all these mysterious allies are about to be crushed. Those white sand threads can't possibly catch and lift so much mass. But Shallan isn't concerned. She holds up her free hand, which surges with blue power, and she leaps while her allies duck. The instant her hand touches the mass of falling earth, all of it bursts into smoke.
Lift laughs, shouting, "You've finally mastered Soulcasting! Not bad, Shallan!"
"You and I are having words after this is over!" Shallan snaps, resuming her charge.
Still laughing, Lift shouts, "Codenames! Iyatil! Let's get in there!" Blue energy covers Lift's feet, and she skates across the ground toward the tower. "We can't let these Sharders have all the fun!"
"Not yet, fool girl!" Dean shouts. "Get back here so I can return your metalminds!"
Calling this woman a girl might have seemed rude, but with Dean's great age and Lift's lighthearted silliness, it feels fair.
"Oh, right!" Lift circles back, zipping toward Dean, who hurls a pair of bendalloy bracers. She catches them, though almost fumbling one. She barely keeps her balance as she circles around yet again. On course for the tower, she quickly puts on the bracers. "Wyndle! Bring them healing and hurry back to me!"
"Lift is unique in several ways," Dean explains, as a glowing line of crystals spread toward us. "She alone can power Surgebinding with Lifelight instead of Stormlight. Further, she can metabolize calories into Lifelight. When I heard the attack on your van trigger, I foolishly spoke of the danger you faced before reminding Lift to gear up. She zipped off without her metalminds, leaving the rest of us to chase after her."
"I'm glad she did," Wilma says. "My husband and I would be dead without her healing."
Lift's barely visible friend "Wyndle" reaches us, spreading glowing light among our wounded. My remaining pains fade, and my allies are restored. I can't help but marvel. "We'd all be dead without her."
Dean grunts. "Well, it's a miracle she didn't die, running off without her enormous power reserve. Bendalloy Feruchemy allowed her to spend the last three days constantly eating, blowing through half our budget. But it was worth it, since she can tap those stored nutrients to generate Lifelight."
As I watch, Lift does so. Her dull glow erupts into a brilliant nova, and she accelerates past most of the others. A great gush of that power enters Aslydin, rapidly restoring her maimed arm. Soon, Lift is out in front. Another giant cube of earth manifests in the air, this time above Lift. The woman laughs, holding a glowing hand aloft. When the mass of dirt crashes down on her, it breaks up into smaller clods, flowing around her glowing body. Briefly slowed, but healing from what little harm she suffered, Lift resumes her charge.
"I can't keep up with two Elantrians," Galladon says, even as he struggles to create more glowing equations. "I'm stopping all long-distance or realmatic Aons, but I keep missing the smaller equations. Hopefully they won't have time to drop another ten tons of dirt on our assault team."
Doctor Koslenko staggers over to me, hair and clothes singed. My metalsight can no longer see his brassminds, suggesting they're filled to maximum. "That was close," the Doctor says, panting. "I almost didn't notice my metalminds reaching their limit. Another few seconds in that fire…"
"Thank you for taking such risks for us." I can't take my eyes off the battle. "You helped break the spirit of the Ire soldiers. Now, these offworlders can finish this… I hope…"
While Galladon continues to frantically draw silver symbols on the air, Wilma, my allies, and I watch the final attack unfold. Dean gives commentary, but a lot of it sails right over my head.
Moving like living things, dozens of scarves and blankets flow out of the tower, twisting in the air like eels, zipping toward the charging Invested. Some of the blankets are covered in glowing silver inscriptions and trail white fire. Iyatil spins, flinging her cloak into the air. I didn't notice earlier, but the cloak is lined with dozens of very full pockets. Gloves pour out of those pockets, zipping through the air, followed by the cloak itself. The gloves intercept the scarves in a bizarre aerial battle. The scarves try to reach and grapple with Ghostbloods and Sharders, while the gloves grab and slow the scarves. Threads of white sand join this surreal battle, and Shallan's Shardblade slices through several scarves that get too close. But when the sword hits one of the larger blankets, it doesn't slice through. The glowing symbols flow from the blanket to the Shardblade, which vanishes in a burst of mist. The blanket engulfs Shallan, and I tap steel, intending to intervene…
"Don't," Dean says calmly, his unequaled sensory enhancement detecting the change in my heartbeat. "Without detailed knowledge of Aon Dor and Awakening, even you would be a liability. But don't worry… They've got this."
The blanket pinning Shallan turns to blood, a hideous but effective means of escape, and a moment later she's back on her feet. With visible struggle, she manages to summon her Shardblade again.
Without Dean's running commentary, I would have little understanding of what follows. Thankfully, he's concise and focussed, providing just enough context and explanation for me to grasp the basics.
Lift is the first to reach the church tower. She pulls a pouch from her belt and scatters seeds, then her power flows across the ground. In seconds, those seeds have grown explosively, forming vines that rapidly snake up the tower. A scarf reaches her, and tries to grapple her, but it slips off, unable to get a grip. Her "Abrasion" powers let her manipulate friction. She's made herself all but impossible to hold, retaining friction on only her hands and feet so she can climb the vines. Demoux, Iyatil, and Aslydin follow right behind her. The woman referred to as "Codenames" has swapped out her Hemalurgic spikes, and she launches herself skyward with a steelpush. When she reaches the upper window, a focussed energy blast from inside punches through her chest, but she rapidly heals. Apparently, she has a broad collection of Hemalurgic spikes, full metalminds, and allomantic vials, making her ready for nearly any contingency. Baon the "Sand Mastrell" soon joins her, using ribbons of sand to elevate himself to the window. Drenched in blood from her earlier "Soulcasting," Shallan doesn't bother climbing, instead slicing her way into the church with her Shardblade.
Dean's right. This is way too crazy for me to get involved. Not when he's confident that they'll win.
Flashes of light, blasts of concentrated energy, splitting stone, and discharging weapons make me all the more relieved that I'm not in that upper room. Dean's commentary can't keep up with the action, and all I can do is hope no one suffers lasting harm. The roof of the tower vanishes in a gush of fire, far too quickly to be natural, and in seconds the fire is extinguished and the roof no longer exists. Apparently, the roof didn't actually burn. It became fire.
My brain hurts.
Lashing ribbons of sand and thrashing vines can be seen battling with living ropes and spinning coils of geometric light. Then, in a shocking instant, the entire church tower transforms into translucent crystal… and then shatters into tiny cubes.
In the midst of the crystalline rain, the Ire and Ghostbloods howl in surprise and alarm, but those of the Seventeenth Shard look calm. I guess this mind-blowing development was planned, for Galladon immediately activates a vast and complex collection of arcane symbols. Countless silver lines dance between the falling crystals, slowing everyone's fall. Tapping steel to better observe the chaos in slow motion, I focus on the four figures that make up the Ire leadership. The two bald, silver-skinned mystics are trying to draw equations on the air, but the silver lines flickering between the unnumbered crystals keep disrupting their efforts. The two other figures with them, a short man and a Terris woman, make no attempt to resist.
When everyone comes to rest on the heap of tiny crystals, the will of the Ire leaders is clearly broken. Shallan holds her Shardblade to the throat of the ancient woman Dean identifies as "Alonoe." Vines and sand ribbons bind the wrists and ankles of all four hostiles…
…and it's over.
Silence descends. My heart pounds, my body aches, and my allies pant in pain and weariness. I slowly turn, taking in the sight of the ruined town. Some buildings burn, others have completely collapsed, and bullet holes riddle every surface. Dozens of riflemen litter the area, though thankfully many are only wounded. The heroic Constable Neltson lies dead next to the still form of the Twinborn Miracle.
But at last, we're on the brink of getting some answers.
Galladon erects a series of shimmering energy fields around defeated Ire, who make no attempt to resist. Their expressions show a mix of frustration, loss, and weariness, but little fear. It seems the Seventeen Shard don't have a murderous reputation.
Lift and Codenames hurry over to the Ire Miracle, and it seems my earlier theory was correct. With unnatural luck, he survived the bullet my wife put through his head. Swapping out Hemalurgic spikes, Codenames searches the Miracle carefully, leeching him and all of his metalminds, ensuring he can't Compound. Handcuffing him, Lift heals the man with a gush of glowing blue light, and his eyes flutter open. Codenames stands guard, a boot on his back, forcing him to stare at the corpse of the Twinborn Hero.
"You healed that murderer?" Shallan snaps, disgusted.
"He's no starve'n threat right now," Lift insists, her voice a mix of defensive and defiant.
"He killed a far better man than he is," Shallan counters. "And if he ever gets access to more chromium…"
"I won't let ya kill a helpless–"
"He's only helpless for now!" Shallan shouts. "Forgive me, flighty chaotic Edgedancer, but you can't expect me to trust your judgment. Not after you joined the very people that handed you over to the Fused."
"These people didn't do that!" Lift insists, getting up in Shallan's face. "The Ghostbloods back home might be nasty and scary, but the ones on most other worlds aren't like that!"
"They all answer to the Lord of Scars!"
"And his only goal is to protect his homeworld! The people of Skadrial have suffered enough! They might not have Odium here, but they–"
"The Ghostbloods murdered your friend Gereh, accidentally killed a Herald, and tried to blackmail me into–"
"Not these Ghostbloods!"
Expression darkening, Shallan summons her Shardblade. In response, a silver rod manifests in Lift's hand. Galladon and Dean rush forward, the one taking position at Shallan's side, the other reactivating his advanced rifle. Soon, the Ghostbloods and Sharders have squared off. Some look confused or reluctant, but others are clearly itching for a fight.
"We have to prevent this," Wilma says, her voice strained.
Detective Watsel nods. "Absolutely. They saved our lives, and their organizations can help Skadrial."
Do more good than harm. In this case, by doing just a little harm, I might be able to prevent a tragedy. "It's too dangerous for the rest of you," I whisper. "Stay back…"
Dean starts to turn toward me. "I wouldn't–"
He doesn't finish his sentence. I tap steel, and move. I rip the rifle from Dean's hands, flinching at the sound of his fingers breaking, and I steelpush the weapon away.
The latest healing I received from Lift did two things for me. First, the obvious: I've fully recovered from the earlier battles, and I'm in better condition than when I woke up this morning. Second, I know I can take major risks, since any self harm from moving too quickly can be mended. If Lift healed the enemy Miracle, she'll certainly heal me… and anyone I injure.
First, to negate a couple powers I don't understand, and that I probably can't handle if they're turned against me.
I dash up to Baon and Galladon, who are focussed fully on the Ghostbloods. I push my speed so hard that even small dextrous motions cause air resistance to burn my skin. I remove Baon's nicrosil bracelets, followed by Galladon's bracers, trying to minimize the amount of skin they both lose. Wincing at the necessity, I then rip out Galladon's earrings. To use Feruchemy for the storing and tapping of offworld Investiture, they likely both have bendalloy Hemalurgic spikes, but these are wisely hidden from sight. Hopefully, taking their nicrosilminds will be enough to deny them access.
Despite moving so fast I feel my skin trying to peel off, I can't avoid the notice of so many powerful Invested. Dean's superhuman senses have him tracking me with ease, along with Iyatil and Codenames. If I slow down, there's no telling what these offworlders might be capable of. I blitz Codenames, whose flexibility in switching out Hamalurgic spikes makes her uniquely vulnerable: those spikes need to be easy to get to. I pull out the three she's currently wearing, and manage to rip a pouch from her belt. I doubt it contains all of her spikes, but hopefully I've limited her options.
I doubt much more than a second has passed in real-time, but most of the Ghostbloods and Sharders are already reacting. Galladon tries and fails to draw on the air, and Baon's white sand refuses to obey him, but the others are still dangerous. Codenames is reaching into a coat pocket, Iyatil is whispering something to her cloak, and Dean's drawing a concealed pistol. But it's Lift who manages to counter me first.
Blue light flows from her across the ground, faster than even me, and my feet shoot into the air. A frictionless surface is terrifying while running so fast, and I fully expect to die in a high-speed crash. But Lift only wants to stop me, not kill me. The glowing light has two roles. While much of it doomed me to a dramatic wipeout, the rest flows into my body. I tumble and roll, but my bones heal almost as fast as they break. My neck twists at a horrible angle, but my paralysis is fleeting. Exposed skin rips away only to be replaced. In the end, Lift's healing is more effective than she probably intended. Despite my spectacular crash, I'm back on my feet, dizzy, bewildered, but intact.
And Shallan's Shardblade is spinning through the air, aimed at my legs. I doubt she wants me dead, but if that ethereal weapon hits, I'll be helpless. Lift's light covers the ground all around me, with only this one small patch safe to stand on, and I have no more metal to drop and push off of…
Before I can panic, the glorious sword bursts into mist and vanishes inches from my legs.
Startled, I hesitate, unsure what this might mean. Shallan's expression shifts to frustration, and even a hint of betrayal… but she's already switched tactics.
The air around me shimmers, and in a flash, I'm encased in stone from the neck down.
I stop tapping steel, shouting for Wilma and the others to stay back. All around me, a storm of angry dialogue breaks out. Shouted accusations and fierce arguments warn of impending bloodshed, and the anger directed at me is already shifting away. I deliberately attacked both parties in hopes of holding everyone's attention, but now that I'm trapped in a multi-ton stone block, they ignore me. Shallan briefly chastises her Shardblade, which I finally understand is "Pattern." The ethereal entity clung to Wilma for most of the day, and followed me around yesterday before I had any knowledge of the "Cosmere." Apparently, having spent so much time with us, the strange creature refused to harm me.
Too bad all my efforts might have been in vain.
The Ghostbloods and the Seventeenth Shard now seem more at odds than they did before. The Hemalurgic spikes, nicrosilminds, and other gear I separated from their owners have already been reclaimed, and everyone looks ready to fight. Even if my allies tried to intervene, it would likely just cause a three-way battle. The two bald Ire leaders laugh bitterly from where they lie bound. The enemies they couldn't defeat are on the brink of attacking each other.
Thankfully, someone else intervenes.
The shimmering heaps of broken crystal from the destroyed church tower transform into smoke, which swirls and shifts, briefly forming a vast, winged shape. A deep, booming voice roars, "Stand down, petty children!" A powerful soothing hits me, dampening all of my emotions, and the belligerent offworlders visibly fight to resist it. When the smoke dissipates, a glowing golden figure stands in the midst of the opposed groups, smiling with easy confidence. Over eight feet tall, impossibly glorious, and clearly more than human, he effortlessly seizes the attention of all.
And, like I did, he becomes everyone's target.
As she did with me, Shallan turns the air surrounding this newcomer into rock. This time though, the transformation lasts less than a second. The rock turns to water, gushing outward and dousing everyone near the golden giant.
The Ghostbloods and the Seventeenth Shard rally. Ribbons of white sand from Baon and Awakened gloves from Iyatil converge on the newcomer, while Galladon rapidly inscribes Aons on the air. Dean takes aim, and Codenames scrambles to swap out her Heamalurgic spikes. Lift, Demoux and Aslydin come in low, trying to grapple.
None of these attempts succeed.
And Shallan doesn't even try. She hesitates, pondering…
In a flash, the man's appearance changes. He shrinks to normal size, replaces his golden glow with blue Stormlight, and now looks clearly human. I get only a brief look at his white hair, narrow face, and sharp features before he launches himself into the air with a duralumin-enhanced steelpush. His movements speed up to a blur, and the only Awakened glove that comes close zips off at a random angle. He's burning bendalloy to create a bubble of accelerated time. The air around him seems to twist and warp, prismatic color flows from his left hand, while his right hand rapidly draws Aons. Despite everything I've seen, this display still manages to blow my mind.
This man is Mistborn… and possesses many other forms of Investiture as well. Multicolored energy shields manifest around him, fending off the white sand and the grasping gloves, while enhanced Allomancy deflects any metal sent his way. In mere seconds, he's made the combined efforts of these superpowered offworlders appear weak.
"Stop ya starve'n goons!" Lift shouts. "His first appearance was just a Lightweaving! Don't you recognize him?"
"It's Wit," Shallan calls, exasperated. "He literally can't harm us, despite all his power."
The bubble of accelerated time vanishes, along with the shimmering force fields. "Alas, tis so!" The multi-Invested Mistborn manages to pull off an elaborate bow in midair. "Though it's most impolite for you to come out and say it! One's mystique of dangerous cunning and unfathomable potential can only suffer when such an important secret is spread."
Shallan shrugs. "You've meddled too frequently on too many worlds for your secrets to hold much longer. Everyone will know who you are sooner or later."
The kandra VenDell surprises me by stepping forward. "Might you be the erudite wanderer 'Cephandrius'?"
Galladon scratches his chin. "I've heard him referred to as Midius."
Detective Watsel says, "No, he's 'Hoid.' Silverlight has numerous theories about him."
"He's the Queen's Wit from Roshar!" Lift says, chuckling. "Stop making things up!"
The Ire Radiant Kun'alar has recovered from her earlier beating, though she's bound and helpless. "You're all wrong! This is the god Lunu'anaki! Show him respect!"
"Stop, all of you," the white-haired Mistborn says coyly. "You'll make me blush. All that matters is that I'm here to prevent exceptional stupidity. There is, admittedly, a near-infinite supply of stupidity in the universe, but even I have limits to what can be overlooked. There are perils in the Cosmere far too dire for ones such as you to waste time squabbling. Stopping the Ire on this world was splendidly done… but it would be a shame for you all to cooperate so well only to spoil the ending."
If this strange man has many names, I'll stick with the one used by Harmony's Faceless Immortals. "Cephandrius" seems fitting for someone of such power and grandeur.
A gunshot causes most of the onlookers to flinch. Incredibly, the bullet tears through Cephandrius, maiming his left arm... for perhaps a quarter of a second. He merely looks irritated, maybe a bit insulted, as the wound vanished in the blink of an eye. "What… What was that for?"
Dean ignores the outraged looks from his colleagues and deactivates his advanced rifle. "Just a bit of science. I heard that Hoid possesses healing from more sources than Stormlight alone. And, sure enough, you healed quicker than any Radiant could. I'm a lot more willing to accept that you might be a Mistborn Radiant Elantrian Awakener… and perhaps more."
Blinking, Cephandrius drops to the ground, landing with an elegant steelpush to counter his momentum. "I'm not sure if I should be offended or flattered."
A new voice I don't recognize seems to come from empty air. "You're quite capable of feeling both at once."
Cephandrius smirks. "Ah yes. I forgot to mention I didn't come alone."
The air behind him shimmers, a ripple of colored light folds back, and two more figures come into view.
"May I introduce Duchess Khrissalla of Taldain, Scholar of Galactic fame, and the Threnodite Cartographer, Nazrilof."
Author's Update: I don't plan on massively overhauling this story to incorporate any of the monumental reveals of Stormlight 5, but I couldn't resist adding yet another of Hoid's aliases to the scene where no one could agree what to call him.