The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  Do I really believe he’s the kandra? she thought. Or do I just want him to be the kandra, so that I don’t have to suspect my real friends?

  He continued to walk below, her tin-enhanced ears easily picking out his footfalls. Behind, OreSeur scrambled up onto the top of the roof, then padded over and sat down beside her.

  I can’t just attack, she thought. I need to at least watch, see where he’s going. Get proof. Perhaps learn something in the process.

  She waved to OreSeur, and they quietly followed along the rooftops, trailing Demoux. Soon, Vin noticed something odd—a flicker of firelight illuminating the mists a few streets over, making haunted shadows of buildings. Vin glanced at Demoux, trailing him with her eyes as he wandered down an alleyway, moving toward the illumination.

  What…?

  Vin threw herself off the roof. It took only three bounds for her to reach the source of the light. A modest bonfire crackled in the center of a small square. Skaa huddled around it for warmth, looking a little frightened in the mists. Vin was surprised to see them. She hadn’t seen skaa go out in the mists since the night of the Collapse.

  Demoux approached down a side street, greeting several of the others. In the firelight she could confirm for certain that it was him—or, at least, a kandra with his face.

  There were, perhaps, two hundred people in the square. Demoux moved as if to sit on the cobblestones, but someone quickly approached with a chair. A young woman brought him a mug of something steaming, which he received gratefully.

  Vin leaped to a rooftop, staying low to keep from being exposed by the firelight. More skaa arrived, mostly in groups, but some brave individuals came alone.

  A sound came from behind her, and Vin turned as OreSeur—apparently having barely made the jump—scrambled the last few feet over the edge onto the roof. He glanced down at the street below, shook his head, then padded over to join her. She raised a finger to her lips, nodding down at the growing group of people. OreSeur cocked his head at the sight, but said nothing.

  Finally, Demoux stood, holding the still steaming cup in his hands. People gathered around, sitting on the cold cobblestones, huddled beneath blankets or cloaks.

  “We shouldn’t fear the mists, my friends,” Demoux said. His wasn’t the voice of a strong leader or forceful battle commander—it was the voice of hardened youth, a little hesitant, but compelling nonetheless.

  “The Survivor taught us of this,” he continued. “I know it’s very hard to think of the mists without remembering stories of mistwraiths or other horrors. But, the Survivor gave the mists to us. We should try and remember him, through them.”

  Lord Ruler… Vin thought with shock. He’s one of them—a member of the Church of the Survivor! She wavered, uncertain what to think. Was he the kandra or wasn’t he? Why would the kandra meet with a group of people like this? But…why would Demoux himself do it?

  “I know it’s hard,” Demoux said below, “without the Survivor. I know you’re afraid of the armies. Trust me, I know. I see them too. I know you suffer beneath this siege. I…don’t know if I can even tell you not to worry. The Survivor himself knew great hardship—the death of his wife, his imprisonment in the Pits of Hathsin. But he survived. That’s the point, isn’t it? We have to live on, no matter how hard this all gets. We’ll win, in the end. Just like he did.”

  He stood with his mug in his hands, looking nothing like the skaa preachers Vin had seen. Kelsier had chosen a passionate man to found his religion—or, more precisely, to found the revolution the religion had come from. Kelsier had needed leaders who could enflame supporters, whip them up into a destructive upheaval.

  Demoux was something different. He didn’t shout, but spoke calmly. Yet, people paid attention. They sat on the stones around him, looking up with hopeful—even worshipful—eyes.

  “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 n
ot 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.”

  37

  And so, I come to the focus of my argument. I apologize. Even forcing my words into steel, sitting and scratching in this frozen cave, I am prone to ramble.

  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.

  He seemed frustrated, as one might imagine. His soldiers could not stand against the Conqueror’s koloss, and his men had been beaten back repeatedly ever since FellSpire.
However, the king didn’t blame his soldiers. He thought that his problems came from another source: food.

  He mentioned this idea several times during those last days. He thought that if he’d had more food, he could have held out. In this, Wednegon blamed the Deepness. For, though the Deepness had been defeated—or at least weakened—its touch had depleted Darrelnai’s food stores.

  His people could not both raise food and resist the Conqueror’s demon armies. In the end, that was why they fell.

  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?”