The two of them had never been what one would call familial. They had taken divergent paths in life, but that wasn’t the true source of the distance between them – it wasn’t even due to Marsh’s stern ways butting against Kelsier’s glibness, or Marsh’s unspoken jealousy for things Kelsier had.
No, the truth was they had been raised knowing that at any point they could be dragged before the Inquisitors and murdered for their half-blooded nature. Each had reacted differently to an entire life spent, essentially, with a death sentence: Marsh with quiet tension and caution, Kelsier with aggressive self-confidence to mask his secrets.
Both had known a single, inescapable truth. If one brother were caught, it meant the other would be exposed as a half-blood and likely killed as well. Perhaps this situation would have brought other siblings together. Kelsier was ashamed to admit that for him and Marsh, it had been a wedge. Each mention of “Stay safe” or “Watch yourself” had been colored by an undercurrent of “Don’t screw up, or you’ll get me killed.” It had been a vast relief when, after their parents’ deaths, the two of them had agreed to give up pretense and enter the underground of Luthadel.
At times Kelsier toyed with fantasies of what might have been. Could he and Marsh have integrated fully, becoming part of noble society? Could he have overcome his loathing for them and their culture?
Regardless, he wasn’t fond of Marsh. The word “fond” sounded too much of walks in a park or time spent eating pastries. One was fond of a favorite book. No, Kelsier was not fond of Marsh. But strangely, he still loved him. He was initially happy to find the man alive, but then perhaps death would have been better than what had been done to him.
It took Kelsier weeks to figure out the reason Ruin was so interested in Marsh. Ruin could talk to Marsh. Marsh and other Inquisitors, judging by the glimpses and the sensation he received of words being sent.
How? Why Inquisitors? Kelsier found no answers in the visions he saw, though he did witness an important event.
The thing called Ruin was growing stronger, and it was stalking Vin and Elend. Kelsier saw it clearly in a trip through the pulses. A vision of the boy, Elend Venture, sleeping in his tent. The power of Ruin coalescing, forming a figure, malevolent and dangerous. It waited there until Vin entered, then tried to stab Elend.
As Kelsier lost the pulse, he was left with the image of Vin deflecting the blow and saving Elend. But he was confused. Ruin had waited there specifically until Vin returned.
It hadn’t actually wanted to hurt Elend. It had just wanted Vin to see him trying.
Why?
3
“It’s a plug,” Kelsier said.
Fuzz – Preservation, as the god had said he could be called – sat outside the prison. He was still missing half his face, and the rest of him was leaking in larger patches as well.
These days the god spent more time near the Well, for which Kelsier was grateful. He had been practicing how to pull information from the creature.
“Hmmm?” Preservation asked.
“This Well,” Kelsier said, gesturing around him. “It’s like a plug. You created a prison for Ruin, but even the most solid of burrows must have an entrance. This is that entrance, sealed with your own power to keep him out, since you two are opposites.”
“That…” Preservation said, trailing off.
“That?” Kelsier prompted.
“That’s utterly wrong.”
Damn, Kelsier thought. He’d spent weeks on that theory.
He was starting to feel an urgency. The pulses of the Well were growing more demanding, and Ruin seemed to be growing increasingly eager in its touch upon the world. Recently the light of the Well had started to act differently, condensing somehow, pulling together. Something was happening.
“We are gods, Kelsier,” Preservation said with a voice that trailed off, then grew louder, then trailed off again. “We permeate everything. The rocks are me. The people are me. And him. All things persist, but decay. Ruin… and Preservation…”
“You told me this was your power,” Kelsier said, gesturing again at the Well, trying to get the god back on topic. “That it gathers here.”
“Yes, and elsewhere,” Preservation said. “But yes, here. Like dew collects, my power gathers in that spot. It is natural. A cycle: clouds, rain, river, humidity. You cannot press so much essence into a system without it congealing here and there.”
Great. That didn’t tell him anything. He pressed further on the topic, but Fuzz grew quiet, so he tried something else. He needed to keep Preservation talking – to prevent the god from slumping into one of his quiet stupors.
“Are you afraid?” Kelsier asked. “If Ruin gets free, are you afraid he will kill you?”
“Ha,” Preservation said. “I’ve told you. He killed me long, long ago.”
“I find that hard to believe.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m sitting here talking to you.”
“And I’m talking to you. How alive are you?”
A good point.
“Death for one such as me is not like death for one such as you,” Preservation said, staring off again. “I was killed long ago, when I made the decision to break our promise. But this power I hold… it persists and it remembers. It wants to be alive itself. I have died, but some of me remains. Enough to know that… there were plans….”
It was no use trying to pry out what those plans were. He didn’t remember whatever this “plan” was that he’d made.
“So it’s not a plug,” Kelsier said. “Then what is it?”
Preservation didn’t reply. He didn’t even seem to hear.
“You said to me once before,” Kelsier continued, speaking more loudly, “that the power exists to be used. That it needs to be used. Why?”
Again no answer. He was going to need to try a different tactic. “I looked at him again. Your opposite.”
Preservation stood up straight, turning his haunting, half-finished gaze upon Kelsier. Mentioning Ruin often shocked him out of his stupor.
“He is dangerous,” Preservation said. “Stay away. My power protects you. Do not taunt him.”
“Why? He’s locked up.”
“Nothing is eternal, not even time itself,” Preservation said. “I didn’t imprison him so much as delay him.”
“And the power?”
“Yes…” Preservation said, nodding.
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, he will use that. I see.” Preservation started, as if realizing – or maybe just recalling – something important. “My power created his prison. My power can unlock it. But how would he find someone who would do it? Who would hold the powers of creation, then give them away…”
“Which… we don’t want them to do,” Kelsier said.
“No. It will free him!”
“And last time?” Kelsier asked.
“Last time…” Preservation blinked, and seemed to come to himself more. “Yes, last time. The Lord Ruler. I made it work last time. I’ve put her into the spot to do this, but I can hear her thoughts…. He’s been working on her…. So mixed up…”
“Fuzz?” Kelsier asked, uncertain.
“I must stop her. Someone…” His eyes unfocused.
“What are you doing?”
“Hush,” Fuzz said, voice suddenly more commanding. “I’m trying to stop this.”