A/N:
Disclaimer – Definitely not Brandon Sanderson or his publishers or agent or anyone else who is officially affiliated with the creation and production of the Mistborn trilogies. If I were, I would be working on the next book instead of pretending to be a fanfiction writer. I am not intending to make any monetary profit off of this one-shot either.
So yes, this is my first time writing something of Mistborn and potentially the only time. I just went on a whim here. Feel free to concrit all you like, it can only help me. c:
"Mare had given him an atium geode, promising him that she'd found two that week."
. . .
Crystals, glittering in the dark.
He barely gave it a moment's thought before he shoved his arm inside, bearing the pain with gritted teeth as the points of the crystals dug into his flesh. They tore up the scabs he already wore upon them, fresh blood welling up again. The metallic smell almost never bothered Kelsier anymore.
A few seconds of feeling around. Nothing.
Kelsier withdrew his arm, pretending that there wasn't blood dripping onto the crystals. In the dim light, he could almost fool himself into believing that.
He already had his required geode for the week. The cold stone was currently pressing against his side, secured onto his waist with scraps of torn cloth. Even in better light, it would be hard to make it out – he was malnourished enough to be that thin. Leaving it behind, at any rate, was only begging for it to be stolen from his terrible excuse of a living space. Turning it in, however, was decidedly not an option for most days.
He had thought it through during his first week, when the Pits of Hathsin had not yet taken their toll. Save it for the last day, the seventh; the taskmasters counted their week of life from the last time they had turned in a geode. Even after finding a geode for the week, keep searching; try to stockpile a reserve. As expected, the latter was much harder to do because of the rarity of the stones.
Shuffling out back first, he kept at it until the tunnel became wide enough so he could turn around. Kelsier looked up towards the distant crack, reddened light visible despite the many outcroppings and twists blocking his view. Sunset was approaching.
He began the laborious process of climbing out. The taskmasters had them work through the whole evening, of course – he suspected that if they could, they would work them through the night too if that didn't come with the high chance of everyone losing their way in the pitch-black darkness. A constant stream of prisoners was certainly a definite, but they also needed a constant stream of atium.
However, it was always at sunset that they collected the geodes.
Today was his last day for turning one in. Earlier that afternoon, Kelsier thought he had been doomed; during their single, paltry meal of the day, he had confessed to Mare that he had found no geode. As soon as they were alone, she had given him one of her own.
"This is the second one I've found this week," she had replied to his concerns. "I promise I'm not lying, Kell."
Willing to believe her, Kelsier had reluctantly accepted it. He was worried however, as he crawled his way up. He knew that in any other circumstances, his wife wouldn't hesitate to save his life in exchange for her own.
At least, he thought he did.
His head finally came out of the crack in the ground, and he took a deep breath, relishing the freshness of the air. Another day alive.
A few drops of his blood splashed onto the dry dirt. He barely gave it a moment's notice.
The taskmasters were waiting among the collection of tiny huts nearby, surrounded by several other prisoners turning in their atium geodes. Kelsier made his way towards them, the otherwise short walk made exhausting by his tunnel traversing, lack of rest, and malnutrition. It disgusted him how weak he was at times.
He took the geode from its hiding place when he was certain no one was looking. Reaching the taskmasters, he turned it in. They placed it in a wagon filled halfway with the others' scavenged geodes. Kelsier glanced around for Mare but didn't spot her. Of course. Her seventh day was tomorrow – she would still be in the tunnels.
Another week alive.
. . .
Kelsier emerged from the crack in the ground.
He heard faint shouting. Flopping out of the narrow opening, he peered through the evening light at the distant group of huts; this tunnel was farther away than the one he had gone into yesterday afternoon. He could make out an unusually large gathering in the center.
Frowning, he slowly stood.
He guessed what was going on – an execution. They always had everyone watch to make an example of the poor victim, but Kelsier supposed that they had simply forgotten about him, as far as he was from the huts.
Well, no point in standing around. He'd never let himself miss an execution. It reminded him of what he was fighting for, why he even came out of the Pits every night instead of just burying himself into the tunnels.
Kelsier began to walk.
As he got nearer, the shouts became more coherent. He could make out some words.
"... whipping? ... Bea-ting! Bea-ting! Bea-ting!"
He gave a sorrowful shake of the head. Perhaps it was the relief they felt when seeing a person that wasn't them condemned to death; perhaps they were simply just that sick, or maybe the Pits had driven them insane. Whichever excuse, it didn't change the fact that Kelsier was disappointed in his fellow man for taking joy in seeing someone beat to death.
It was the noblemen that created this. He had to remember that. It wasn't any of their faults – it was the noblemen. They drove his fellow skaa to this.
He pretended that there wasn't any irrationality to that hatred.
Even closer. The sound of kicks and of a body tumbling along the dirt echoed through the huts, background noise to go with the crowd's chanting.
Kelsier had submerged himself into the mass of slaves when he suddenly sensed that something was wrong. It took a moment for it to occur to him.
Mare. Where was she? They usually searched each other out. She knew where he had gone this afternoon; she should've been watching for him, waiting.
He forced himself through the rest of the crowd, dread exploding in his chest.
The sight was a pain to see.
"Mare!" It took one long second to realize that it was him screaming her name.
Soldiers grabbed his arms. Kelsier realized that he had been about to dive towards his wife and was trying to struggle through their grip like a fish even now. His thoughts were detached. Why was this all so surreal?
The taskmasters, they must have been waiting for him. Their smirks told him the truth. That was why no one came for him.
"Mare! No, no!"
One of his restraints glanced at him with a strange mixture of frustration and... something else. Pity. His height was short, heavyset – a skaa soldier. A betrayal of their kind. If Kelsier's eyes weren't riveted on the sight of his wife being beaten to death, he would've spat at him.
Don't give me your false pity. If you truly wanted to help me, you would let go of my arm right now. Bitter thoughts.
He and Mare locked eyes, that single second stretching into eternity. Hers were filled with pained tears, the water trailing down her bloodied cheeks. She refused to make a sound, but her eyes spoke for her.
Live for me, Kelsier, they seemed to say. Make a green world for me.
Her lips mouthed a single sentence. I'm sorry.
And then that eternal second was torn away from them.
Kelsier eventually dropped to his knees. When did everyone leave? Did that even matter?
He stared at Mare's unmoving body. Beaten, limbs splayed. There was a distinct sense of absence there that made it not a person, but a...
No.
Her body got closer. He was vaguely aware of dragging himself to her. He stopped when her back was within arm's reach. Kelsier did so, noticing the many shallow gashes layered on his arm. Fresh scabs and old scars covering the flesh. So many of them.
He turned Mare's body over. Her gaze was blank. The tear tracks had been replaced by dirt crusted onto the wetness of the blood. There was no smile, no punchline to be seen. Not even any last words. He had seen death before, but this was different in a way that flipped his world upside-down.
She was gone. This is what his mistake had brought them.
Or maybe it had been her – no.
Kelsier kneeled like that, staring at her face as if any second now, it would be brought back to life. Time and place, those things didn't matter.
An infinity later, hands appeared to grasp Mare's underarms. She was pulled away. He offered resistance, but everything seemed cold, frozen. Just lifting his hands became a difficult ordeal. He knew the taskmasters would come for him soon. They wouldn't tolerate him not going back to work.
Let them. They would have to drag him away and push him down a hole themselves. Kelsier didn't have the emotion left in him to do anything.
Live for me, Kelsier.
"Why, Mare?" he whispered. "Why did you lie? I should be the dead one."
I'm sorry.
His heart felt steeped in grief. He was drowning, the surface and its light disappearing. Heavy tears rolled down his cheeks. He let them.
CRACK.
. . .
A messenger cowered before Lord Straff Venture's rage. The nobleman almost killed the man himself. "Be gone from my sight."
There was a whimper, a "yes sir, of course, sir." The courier left in a hurry.
Lord Venture turned back to the window, his keep's gardens suddenly losing their satisfying appeal from before. He crushed the missive in his fist.