“You must be very skilled,” Allik said. “More skilled than any who has lived among us. Or…” He chuckled. “Or you’d have to have all the powers, rather than adding yours to the medallion, then passing it to another to have it added to! If that were the case, you’d be a great god indeed. As powerful as the Sovereign.”

“He did create one of these,” Waxillium said, rubbing the medallion with his thumb. “One with all of the abilities. A bracer, or a set of them, that granted all sixteen Allomantic abilities and all sixteen Feruchemical abilities.”

Allik wilted.

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it, Allik?” Waxillium asked, looking into the man’s eyes.

Marasi leaned forward. Waxillium said he wasn’t good at reading people, but he was wrong. He was great at it—so long as reading them involved bullying them.

“Yes,” Allik whispered.

“You traveled from your lands to find the Bands of Mourning,” Waxillium said. “Why are they up here?”

“Hidden away,” Allik said. “When the Sovereign left us, he took them with him, along with his priests, his closest servants. Well, some of them eventually returned, yah? With stories to tell. He’d taken them on a great journey, and had them build a temple for him in a hidden range of mountains. He’d left the priests there, with the Bands, and told them to protect them until he returned for them. And, that was dumb, yah? Because we could really use those to fight the Deniers of Masks.”

“Deniers of masks? Like us?”

“No, no,” Allik said, laughing. “You’re just barbarians. The Deniers are really dangerous.”

“Hey,” Wayne called from behind them, hair whipping in the wind, hat held in his hands. When had he woken up? “We knocked your big ship outta the sky, didn’t we?”

“You?” Allik said, laughing. “No, no. You could not have so harmed Brunstell. He fell to a great storm. It is a danger of our ships—so light, so easily troubled by storms. We would have landed Brunstell, but we were in the mountains, searching. We were so close to the temple, but then… yah. Blown out of the mountains over your lands. Smashed into that poor village. The barbarians there were nice at first. Then the others came.”

He shrank down in his chair.

Waxillium patted him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Wonderful One,” Allik said. He heaved a sigh. “Well, ever since the Sovereign’s elite told us the stories, we’ve tried to find the bracers.”

“Find them?” Waxillium said. “You told us he’d left the Bands there for himself.”

“Well, yah, but everyone interprets it as a challenge. A test sent by the Sovereign? He was fond of those. Why would he let priests tell us about them, if he didn’t want us to come claim them?