The Mistborn Trilogy (126 page)

“The Lady Heir,” one of them whispered. “What of her?”

“Lady Vin bears a great responsibility,” Demoux said. “You can see the weight bowing her down, and how frustrated she is with the problems in the city. She is a straightforward woman, and I don’t think she likes the Assembly’s politicking.”

“But, she’ll protect us, right?” one asked.

“Yes,” Demoux said. “Yes, I believe she will. Sometimes, I think that she’s even more powerful than the Survivor was. You know that he only had two years to practice as a Mistborn? She’s barely had that much time herself.”

Vin turned away.
It comes back to that,
she thought.
They sound rational until they talk about me, and then…

“She’ll bring us peace, someday,” Demoux said. “The heir will bring back the sun, stop the ash from falling. But we have to survive until then. And we have to fight. The Survivor’s entire work was to see the Lord Ruler dead and make us free. What gratitude do we show if we run now that armies have come?

“Go and tell your Assemblymen that you don’t want Lord Cett, or even Lord Penrod, to be your king. The vote happens in one day, and we
need
to make certain the right man is made king. The Survivor chose Elend Venture, and that is whom we must follow.”

That’s new,
Vin thought.

“Lord Elend is weak,” one of the people said. “He won’t defend us.”

“Lady Vin loves him,” Demoux said. “She wouldn’t love a weak man. Penrod and Cett treat you like the skaa
used
to be treated, and that’s why you think they’re strong. But that’s not strength—it’s oppression. We have to be better than that! We have to trust the Survivor’s judgment!”

Vin relaxed against the lip of the roof, tension melting a bit. If Demoux really was the spy, then he wasn’t going to give her any evidence this night. So, she put her knives away, then rested with her arms folded on the rooftop’s edge. The fire crackled in the cool winter evening, sending billows of smoke to mix with the mists, and Demoux continued to speak in his quiet, reassuring voice, teaching the people about Kelsier.

It’s not even really a religion,
Vin thought as she listened.
The theology is so simple—not at all like the complex beliefs that Sazed speaks about.

Demoux taught basic concepts. He held up Kelsier as a model, talking about survival, and about enduring hardships. Vin could see why the direct words would appeal to the skaa. The people really only had two choices: to struggle on, or to give up. Demoux’s teachings gave them an excuse to keep living.

The skaa didn’t need rituals, prayers, or codes. Not yet. They were too inexperienced with religion in general, too frightened of it, to want such things. But, the more she listened, the more Vin understood the Church of the Survivor. It was what they needed; it took what the skaa already knew—a life filled with hardship—and elevated it to a higher, more optimistic plane.

And the teachings were still evolving. The deification of Kelsier she had expected; even the reverence for her was understandable. But, where did Demoux get the promises that Vin would stop the ash and bring back the sun? How did he know to preach of green grasses and blue skies, describing the world as it was known only in some of the world’s most obscure texts?

He described a strange world of colors and beauty—a place foreign and difficult to conceive, but somehow wonderful all the same. Flowers and green plants were strange, alien things to these people; even Vin had trouble visualizing them, and she had heard Sazed’s descriptions.

Demoux was giving the skaa a paradise. It had to be something completely removed from normal experience, for the mundane world was not a place of hope. Not with a foodless winter approaching, not with armies threatening and the government in turmoil.

Vin pulled back as Demoux finally ended the meeting. She lay for a moment, trying to decide how she felt. She’d been near certain about Demoux, but now her suspicions seemed unfounded. He’d gone out at night, true, but she saw now what he was doing. Plus, he’d acted so suspiciously when sneaking out. It seemed to her, as she reflected, that a kandra would know how to go about things in a much more natural way.

It’s not him,
she thought.
Or, if it is, he’s not going to be as easy to unmask as I thought.
She frowned in frustration. Finally, she just sighed, rising, and walked to the other side of the roof. OreSeur followed, and Vin glanced at him. “When Kelsier told you to take his body,” she said, “what did he want you to preach to these people?”

“Mistress?” OreSeur asked.

“He had you appear, as if you were him returned from the grave.”

“Yes.”

“Well, what did he have you say?”

OreSeur shrugged. “Very simple things, Mistress. I told them that the time for rebellion had arrived. I told them that I—Kelsier—had returned to give them hope for victory.”

I represent that thing you’ve never been able to kill, no matter how hard you try.
They had been Kelsier’s final words, spoken face-to-face with the Lord Ruler.
I am hope.

I am hope.

Was it any wonder that this concept would become central to the church that sprang up around him? “Did he have you teach things like we just heard Demoux say?” Vin asked. “About the ash no longer falling, and the sun turning yellow?”

“No, Mistress.”

“That’s what I thought,” Vin said as she heard rustling on the stones below. She glanced over the side of the building, and saw Demoux returning to the palace.

Vin dropped to the alleyway floor behind him. To the man’s credit, he heard her, and he spun, hand on dueling cane.

“Peace, Captain,” she said, rising.

“Lady Vin?” he asked with surprise.

She nodded, approaching closer so that he’d be able to see her better in the night. Fading torchlight still lit the air from behind, swirls of mist playing with shadows.

“I didn’t know you were a member of the Church of the Survivor,” she said softly.

He looked down. Though he was easily two hands taller than she, he seemed to shrink a bit before her. “I…I know it makes you uncomfortable. I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right,” she said. “You do a good thing for the people. Elend will appreciate hearing of your loyalty.”

Demoux looked up. “Do you have to tell him?”

“He needs to know what the people believe, Captain. Why would you want me to keep it quiet?”

Demoux sighed. “I just…I don’t want the crew to think I’m out here pandering to the people. Ham thinks preaching about the Survivor is silly, and Lord Breeze says the only reason to encourage the church is to make people more pliant.”

Vin regarded him in the darkness. “You really believe, don’t you?”

“Yes, my lady.”

“But you knew Kelsier,” she said. “You were with us from near the beginning. You know he’s no god.”

Demoux looked up, a bit of a challenge in his eyes. “He died to overthrow the Lord Ruler.”

“That doesn’t make him divine.”

“He taught us how to survive, to have hope.”

“You survived before,” Vin said. “People had hope before Kelsier got thrown in those pits.”

“Not like we do now,” Demoux said. “Besides…he had power, my lady. I felt it.”

Vin paused. She knew the story; Kelsier had used Demoux as an example to the rest of the army in a fight with a skeptic, directing his blows with Allomancy, making Demoux seem as if he had supernatural powers.

“Oh, I know about Allomancy now,” Demoux said. “But…I felt him Pushing on my sword that day. I felt him use me, making me more than I was. I think I can still feel him, sometimes. Strengthening my arm, guiding my blade….”

Vin frowned. “Do you remember the first time we met?”

Demoux nodded. “Yes. You came to the caverns where we were hiding on the day when the army was destroyed. I was on guard duty. You know, my lady—even then, I knew that Kelsier would come for us. I knew that he’d come and get those of us who had been faithful and guide us back to Luthadel.”

He went to those caves because I forced him to. He wanted to get himself killed fighting an army on his own.

“The destruction of the army was a test,” Demoux said, looking up into the mists. “These armies…the siege…they’re just tests. To see if we will survive or not.”

“And the ash?” Vin asked. “Where did you hear that it would stop falling?”

Demoux turned back to her. “The Survivor taught that, didn’t he?”

Vin shook her head.

“A lot of the people are saying it,” Demoux said. “It must be true. It fits with everything else—the yellow sun, the blue sky, the plants….”

“Yes, but where did you first hear those things?”

“I’m not sure, my lady.”

Where did you hear that I would be the one to bring them about?
she thought, but she somehow couldn’t bring herself to voice the question. Regardless, she knew the answer: Demoux wouldn’t know. Rumors were propagating. It would be difficult indeed to trace them back to their source now.

“Go back to the palace,” Vin said. “I have to tell Elend what I saw, but I’ll ask him not to tell the rest of the crew.”

“Thank you, my lady,” Demoux said, bowing. He turned and hurried away. A second later, Vin heard a thump from behind: OreSeur, jumping down to the street.

She turned. “I was sure it was him.”

“Mistress?”

“The kandra,” Vin said, turning back toward the disappearing Demoux. “I thought I’d discovered him.”

“And?”

She shook her head. “It’s like Dockson—I think Demoux knows too much to be faking. He feels…real to me.”

“My brethren—”

“Are quite skilled,” Vin said with a sigh. “Yes, I know. But we’re not going to arrest him. Not tonight, at least. We’ll keep an eye on him, but I just don’t think it’s him anymore.”

OreSeur nodded.

“Come on,” she said. “I want to check on Elend.”

Sazed glanced at the window shutters, noting the hesitant beams of light that were beginning to shine through the cracks.
Morning already?
he thought.
We studied all night?
It hardly seemed possible. He had tapped no wakefulness, yet he felt more alert—more alive—than he had in days.

Tindwyl sat in the chair beside him. Sazed’s desk was filled with loose papers, two sets of ink and pen waiting to be used. There were no books; Keepers had no need of such.

“Ah!” Tindwyl said, grabbing a pen and beginning to write. She didn’t look tired either, but she had likely dipped into her bronzemind, tapping the wakefulness stored within.

Sazed watched her write. She almost looked young again; he hadn’t seen such overt excitement in her since she had been abandoned by the Breeders some ten years before. On that day, her grand work finished, she had finally joined her fellow Keepers. Sazed had been the one to present her with the collected knowledge that had been discovered during her thirty years of cloistered childbirth.

It hadn’t taken her long to achieve a place in the Synod. By then, however, Sazed had been ousted from their ranks.

Tindwyl finished writing. “The passage is from a biography of King Wednegon,” she said. “He was one of the last leaders who resisted the Lord Ruler in any sort of meaningful combat.”

“I know who he was,” Sazed said, smiling.

She paused. “Of course.” She obviously wasn’t accustomed to studying with someone who had access to as much information as she did. She pushed the written passage over to Sazed; even with his mental indexes and self-notes, it would be faster for her to write out the passage than it would be for him to try and find it within his own copperminds.

I spent a great deal of time with the king during his final weeks,
the text read.

Sazed nodded slowly. “How much of this text do we have?”

“Not much,” Tindwyl said. “Six or seven pages. This is the only section that mentions the Deepness.”

Sazed sat quietly for a moment, rereading the passage. Finally, he looked up at Tindwyl. “You think Lady Vin is right, don’t you? You think the Deepness was mist.”

Tindwyl nodded.

“I agree,” Sazed said. “At the very least, what we now call ‘the Deepness’ was some sort of change in the mist.”

“And your arguments from before?”

“Proven wrong,” Sazed said, setting down the paper. “By your words and my own studies. I did not wish this to be true, Tindwyl.”

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “You defied the Synod again to seek after something you didn’t even want to believe?”

He looked into her eyes. “There is a difference between fearing something and desiring it. The return of the Deepness could destroy us. I did not want this information—but neither could I pass by the opportunity to discover it.”

Tindwyl looked away. “I do not believe that this will destroy us, Sazed. You have made a grand discovery, that I will admit. The writings of the man Kwaan tell us much. Indeed, if the Deepness was the mists, then our understanding of the Lord Ruler’s Ascension has been enhanced greatly.”

“And if the mists are growing stronger?” Sazed asked. “If, by killing the Lord Ruler, we also destroyed whatever force was keeping the mists chained?”

“We have no proof that the mists are coming by day,” Tindwyl said. “And on the possibility of them killing people, we have only your hesitant theories.”

Sazed glanced away. On the table, his fingers had smudged Tindwyl’s hurriedly written words. “That is true,” he said.

Tindwyl sighed softly in the dim room. “Why do you never defend yourself, Sazed?”

“What defense is there?”

“There must be some. You apologize and ask forgiveness, but your apparent guilt never seems to change your behavior! Do you never think that, perhaps, if you had been more outspoken, you might be leading the Synod? They cast you out because you refused to offer arguments on your own behalf. You’re the most contrite rebel I’ve ever known.”

Sazed didn’t respond. He glanced to the side, seeing her concerned eyes. Beautiful eyes.
Foolish thoughts,
he told himself, looking away.
You’ve always known that. Some things were meant for others, but never for you.

“You were right about the Lord Ruler, Sazed,” Tindwyl said. “Perhaps the others would have followed you if you had been just a little more…insistent.”

Sazed shook his head. “I am not a man from one of your biographies, Tindwyl. I am not even, really, a man.”

“You are a better man than they, Sazed,” Tindwyl said quietly. “The frustrating part is, I’ve never been able to figure out why.”

They fell silent. Sazed rose and walked to the window, opening the shutters, letting in the light. Then he extinguished the room’s lamp.

“I will leave today,” Tindwyl said.

“Leave?” Sazed asked. “The armies might not let you pass.”

“I wasn’t going to pass them, Sazed. I plan to visit them. I have given knowledge to young Lord Venture; I need to offer the same aid to his opponents.”

“Ah,” Sazed said. “I see. I should have realized this.”

“I doubt they will listen as he has,” Tindwyl said, a hint of fondness slipping into her voice. “Venture is a fine man.”

“A fine king,” Sazed said.

Tindwyl didn’t respond. She looked at the table, with its scattered notations, each drawn from one or another of their copperminds, scribbled in haste, then shown and reread.

What was this night, then? This night of study, this night sharing thoughts and discoveries?

She was still beautiful. Auburn hair graying, but kept long and straight. Face marked by a lifetime of hardship that had not broken her. And eyes…keen eyes, with the knowledge and love of learning that only a Keeper could claim.

I should not consider these things,
Sazed thought again.
There is no purpose to them. There never was.
“You must go, then,” he said, turning.

“Again, you refuse to argue,” she said.

“What would be the point of argument? You are a wise and determined person. You must be guided by your own conscience.”

“Sometimes, people only seem determined upon one course because they have been offered no other options.”

Sazed turned toward her. The room was quiet, the only sounds coming from the courtyard below. Tindwyl sat half in sunlight, her bright robes slowly growing more illuminated as the shadows fell away. She seemed to be implying something, something he had not expected to ever hear from her.

“I am confused,” he said, sitting back down in a slow motion. “What of your duty as a Keeper?”

“It is important,” she admitted. “But…certain, occasional exceptions must be allowed. This rubbing you found…well, perhaps it merits further study before I depart.”

Sazed watched her, trying to read her eyes.
What is it I feel?
he wondered. Confused? Dumbfounded?

Afraid?

“I cannot be what you wish, Tindwyl,” he said. “I am not a man.”

She waved her hand indifferently. “I have had more than enough of ‘men’ and childbearing over the years, Sazed. I have done my duty to the Terris people. I should like to stay away from them for a time, I think. A part of me resents them, for what was done to me.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. “I know, Sazed. I took that duty upon myself, and am glad for my service. But…during the years spent alone, meeting with the Keepers only on occasion, I found it frustrating that all their planning seemed to be directed at maintaining their status as a conquered people.

“I only ever saw one man pushing the Synod toward active measures. While they planned how to keep themselves hidden, one man wanted to attack. While they decided the best ways to foil the Breeders, one man wanted to plot the downfall of the Final Empire. When I rejoined my people, I found that man still fighting. Alone. Condemned for fraternizing with thieves and rebels, he quietly accepted his punishment.”

She smiled. “That man went on to free us all.”

She took his hand. Sazed sat, astonished.

“The men I read about, Sazed,” Tindwyl said quietly, “these were not men who sat and planned the best ways to hide. They fought; they sought victory. Sometimes, they were reckless—and other men called them fools. Yet, when the dice were cast and the bodies counted, they were men who
changed
things.”

Sunlight entered the room in full, and she sat, cupping his hand in hers. She seemed…anxious. Had he ever seen that emotion in her? She was strong, the strongest woman he knew. That couldn’t possibly be apprehension he saw in her eyes.

“Give me an excuse, Sazed,” she whispered.

“I should…very much like it if you stayed,” Sazed said, one hand in hers, the other resting on the tabletop, fingers trembling slightly.

Tindwyl raised an eyebrow.

“Stay,” Sazed said. “Please.”

Tindwyl smiled. “Very well—you have persuaded me. Let us return to our studies, then.”

Elend walked the top of the city wall in the morning light, sword at his hip clicking against the side of the stonework with each step.

“You almost look like a king,” a voice noted.

Elend turned as Ham climbed the last few steps up to the wall walk. The air was brisk, frost still crystalline in shadows on the stone. Winter was approaching. Perhaps it had arrived. Yet, Ham wore no cloak—only his usual vest, trousers, and sandals.

I wonder if he even knows what it is like to be cold,
Elend thought.
Pewter. Such an amazing talent.

“You say I nearly look like a king,” Elend said, turning to continue walking along the wall as Ham joined him. “I guess Tindwyl’s clothing has done wonders for my image.”

“I didn’t mean the clothing,” Ham said. “I was talking about that look on your face. How long have you been up here?”

“Hours,” Elend said. “How did you find me?”

“The soldiers,” Ham said. “They’re starting to see you as a commander, Elend. They watch where you are; they stand a little straighter when you’re around, polish their weapons if they know you’ll be stopping by.”

“I thought you didn’t spend much time with them,” Elend said.

“Oh, I never said that,” Ham said. “I spend lots of time with the soldiers—I just can’t be intimidating enough to be their commander. Kelsier always wanted me to be a general—I think, deep down, he thought that befriending people was inferior to leading them. Perhaps he was right; men need leaders. I just don’t want to be one of them.”

“I do,” Elend said, surprised to hear himself say so.

Ham shrugged. “That’s probably a good thing. You are, after all, king.”

“Kind of,” Elend said.

“You’re still wearing the crown.”

Elend nodded. “It felt wrong to go without it. It sounds silly, I know—I only wore it for a short time. But, people need to know that someone is still in charge. For a few more days at least.”

They continued to walk. In the distance, Elend could see a shadow upon the land: the third army had finally arrived in the wake of the refugees it had sent. Their scouts weren’t certain why the koloss force had taken so long to get to Luthadel. The villagers’ sad tale, however, gave some clue.

The koloss had not attacked Straff or Cett. They lay waiting. Apparently, Jastes had enough control over them to keep them in check. And so they joined the siege, another beast waiting for the opportunity to spring on Luthadel.

When you can’t have both freedom and safety, which do you choose…?

“You seem surprised to realize that you want to be in charge,” Ham said.

“I just haven’t ever voiced the desire before,” Elend said. “It sounds so arrogant, when I actually say it. I want to be king. I don’t want another man to take my place. Not Penrod, not Cett…not anyone. The position is mine. This city is mine.”

“I don’t know if ‘arrogant’ is the right word, El,” Ham said. “Why do you want to be king?”

“To protect this people,” Elend said. “To guard their safety—and their rights. But, also to make certain that the noblemen don’t end up on the wrong end of another rebellion.”

“That’s not arrogance.”

“It is, Ham,” Elend said. “But it’s an understandable arrogance. I don’t think a man could lead without it. Actually, I think it’s what I’ve been missing through most of my reign. Arrogance.”

“Self-confidence.”

“A nicer word for the same concept,” Elend said. “I can do a better job for this people than another man could. I just have to find a way to prove that fact to them.”

“You will.”

“You’re an optimist, Ham,” Elend said.

“So are you,” Ham noted.

Elend smiled. “True. But this job is changing me.”

“Well, if you want to keep the job, we should probably get back to studying. We only have one day left.”

Elend shook his head. “I’ve read all I can, Ham. I will not take advantage of the law, so there’s no reason to search for loopholes, and studying other books looking for inspiration just isn’t working. I need time to think. Time to walk….”