“Because I looked into his eyes,” Vin said, “and knew it was what he wanted me to do. You gave me that, Sazed. You taught me to love him enough to let him die.”
She left him alone in the tent. A few moments later, he returned to his shaving, and found something sitting beside his basin. A small, folded piece of paper.
It contained an aged, fading drawing of a strange plant. A flower. The picture had once belonged to Mare. It had gone from her to Kelsier, and from him to Vin.
Sazed picked it up, wondering what Vin intended to say by leaving him the picture. Finally, he folded it up and slipped it into his sleeve, then returned to his shaving.
The First Contract, oft spoken of by the kandra, was originally just a series of promises made by the First Generation to the Lord Ruler. They wrote these promises down, and in doing so codified the first kandra laws. They were worried about governing themselves, independently of the Lord Ruler and his empire. So, they took what they had written to him, asking for his approval.
He commanded it cast into steel, then personally scratched a signature into the bottom. This code was the first thing that a kandra learned upon awakening from his or her life as a mistwraith. It contained commands to revere earlier generations, simple legal rights granted to each kandra, provisions for creating new kandra, and a demand for ultimate dedication to the Lord Ruler.
Most disturbingly, the First Contract contained a provision which, if invoked, would require the mass suicide of the entire kandra people.
11
KANPAAR LEANED FORWARD ON HIS LECTERN, red crystalline bones sparkling in the lamplight. “All right, then, TenSoon, traitor to the kandra people. You have demanded this judgment. Make your plea.”
TenSoon took a deep breath—it felt so good to be able to do that again—and opened his mouth to speak.
“Tell them,” KanPaar continued, sneering, “explain, if you can, why you killed one of our own. A fellow kandra.”
TenSoon froze. The Trustwarren was quiet—the generations of kandra were far too well behaved to rustle and make noise like a crowd of humans. They sat with their bones of rock, wood, or even metal, waiting for TenSoon’s answer.
KanPaar’s question wasn’t the one TenSoon had expected.
“Yes, I killed a kandra,” TenSoon said, standing cold and naked on the platform. “That is not forbidden.”
“Need it be forbidden?” KanPaar accused, pointing. “Humans kill each other. Koloss kill each other. But they are both of Ruin. We are of Preservation, the chosen of the Father himself. We don’t kill one another!”
TenSoon frowned. This was a strange line of questioning. Why ask this? he thought. My betrayal of all our people is surely a greater sin than the murder of one.
“I was compelled by my Contract,” TenSoon said frankly. “You must know, KanPaar. You are the one who assigned me to the man Straff Venture. We all know what kind of person he was.”
“No different from any other man,” spat one of the Seconds.
Once, TenSoon would have agreed. Yet, he knew that there were some humans, at least, who were different. He had betrayed Vin, and yet she hadn’t hated him for it. She had understood, and had felt mercy. Even if they hadn’t already become friends, even if he hadn’t grown to respect her greatly, that one moment would have earned her his devoted loyalty.
She was counting on him, even if she didn’t know it. He stood a little straighter, looking KanPaar in the eyes. “I was assigned to the man Straff Venture by paid Contract,” TenSoon said. “He gave me over to the whims of his twisted son, Zane. It was Zane who commanded that I kill the kandra OreSeur and take his place, so that I could spy on the woman Vin.”
There were a few hushed whispers at her name. Yes, you’ve heard of her. The one who slew the Father.
“And so you did what this Zane commanded?” KanPaar asked loudly. “You killed another kandra. You murdered a member of your own generation!”
“You think I enjoyed it?” TenSoon demanded. “OreSeur was my generation brother—a kandra I had known for seven hundred years! But . . . the Contract . . .”
“Forbids killing,” KanPaar said.
“It forbids the killing of men.”
“And is not a kandra life worth more than that of a man?”
“The words are specific, KanPaar,” TenSoon snapped. “I know them well—I helped write them! We were both there when these service Contracts were created using the First Contract itself as a model! They forbid us from killing humans, but not each other.”
KanPaar leaned forward again. “Did you argue with this Zane? Suggest perhaps that he should perform the murder himself? Did you even try to get out of killing one of our people?”
“I do not argue with my masters,” TenSoon said. “And I certainly didn’t want to tell the man Zane how to kill a kandra. His instability was well known.”
“So, you didn’t argue,” KanPaar said. “You simply killed OreSeur. And then you took his place, pretending to be him.”
“That is what we do,” TenSoon said with frustration. “We take the place of others, acting as spies. That is the entire point of the Contract!”
“We do these things to humans,” snapped another Second. “This is the first case where a kandra has been used to imitate another kandra. It is a disturbing precedent you set.”
It was brilliant, TenSoon thought. I hate Zane for making me do it, but I can still see the genius in it. Vin never even suspected me. Who would?
“You should have refused to do this act,” KanPaar said. “You should have pled the need for clarification of your Contract. If others were to begin using us in this way, to kill one another, then we could be wiped out in a matter of years!”
“You betrayed us all with your rashness,” said another.
Ah, TenSoon thought. So that is their plan. They establish me as a traitor first, so that what I say later lacks credibility. He smiled. He was of the Third Generation; it was time he started acting like it.
“I betrayed us with my rashness?” TenSoon asked. “What of you, glorious Seconds? Who was it who allowed a Contract to be assigned to Kelsier himself? You gave a kandra servant to the very man who was planning to kill the Father!”
KanPaar stiffened, as if he’d been slapped, translucent face angry in the blue lamplight. “It is not your place to make accusations, Third!”
“I have no place anymore, it seems,” TenSoon said. “None of us do, now that the Father is dead. We have no right to complain, for we helped it happen.”
“How were we to know this man would succeed when others hadn’t,” a Second sputtered. “He paid so well that—”
KanPaar cut the other off with a sharp wave of the hand. It wasn’t good for those of the Second Generation to defend themselves. However, HunFoor—the kandra who had spoken—hadn’t ever really fit in with the others of his generation. He was a little more . . . dense.
“You shall speak no more of this, Third,” KanPaar said, pointing at TenSoon.
“How can I defend myself if I cannot—”
“You aren’t here to defend yourself,” KanPaar said. “This is not a trial—you have already admitted your guilt. This is a judgment. Explain your actions, then let the First Generation pronounce your fate!”
TenSoon fell silent. It was not time to push. Not yet.
“Now,” KanPaar said, “this thing you did in taking the place of one of your own brothers is bad enough. Need we speak on, or would you accept judgment now?”
“We both know that OreSeur’s death has little to do with why I am here,” TenSoon said.
“Very well,” said KanPaar. “Let us move on, then. Why don’t you tell the First Generation why—if you are such a Contract-abiding kandra—you broke Contract with your master, disobeying his interests and helping his enemy instead?”
KanPaar’s accusation echoed in the room. TenSoon closed his eyes, thinking back to that day over a year ago. He remembered sitting quietly on the floor of Keep Venture, watching as Zane and Vin foug
ht.
No. It hadn’t been a fight. Zane had been burning atium, which had made him all but invincible. Zane had played with Vin, toying with and mocking her.
Vin hadn’t been TenSoon’s master—TenSoon had killed her kandra and taken his place, spying on Vin at Zane’s order. Zane. He had been TenSoon’s master. He had held TenSoon’s Contract.
But against all of his training, TenSoon had helped Vin. And, in doing so, he had revealed to her the great Secret of the kandra. Their weakness: that an Allomancer could use their powers to take complete control of a kandra’s body. The kandra served their Contracts to keep this Secret hidden—they became servants, lest they end up as slaves. TenSoon opened his eyes to the quiet chamber. This was the moment he had been planning for.
“I didn’t break my Contract,” he announced.
KanPaar snorted. “You said otherwise when you came to us a year ago, Third.”
“I told you what happened,” TenSoon said, standing tall. “What I said was not a lie. I helped Vin instead of Zane. Partially because of my actions, my master ended up dead at Vin’s feet. But I did not break my Contract.”
“You imply that Zane wanted you to help his enemy?” KanPaar said.
“No,” TenSoon said. “I did not break my Contract because I decided to serve a greater Contract. The First Contract!”
“The Father is dead!” one of the Seconds snapped. “How could you serve our Contract with him?”
“He is dead,” TenSoon said. “That is true. But the First Contract did not die with him! Vin, the Heir of the Survivor, was the one who killed the Lord Ruler. She is our Mother now. Our First Contract is with her!”
He had expected outcries of blasphemy and condemnation. Instead, he got shocked silence. KanPaar stood, stupefied, behind his stone lectern. The members of the First Generation were silent, as usual, sitting in their shadowed alcoves.
Well, TenSoon thought, I suppose that means I should continue. “I had to help the woman Vin,” he said. “I could not let Zane kill her, for I had a duty to her—a duty that began the moment she took the Father’s place.”
KanPaar finally found his voice. “She? Our Mother? She killed the Lord Ruler!”
“And took his place,” TenSoon said. “She is one of us, in a way.”
“Nonsense!” KanPaar said. “I had expected rationalizations, TenSoon—perhaps even lies. But these fantasies? These blasphemies?”
“Have you been outside recently, KanPaar?” TenSoon asked. “Have you left the Homeland in the last century at all? Do you understand what is happening? The Father is dead. The land is in upheaval. While returning to the Homeland a year ago, I saw the changes in the mists. They no longer behave as they always have. We cannot continue as we have. The Second Generation may not yet realize it, but Ruin has come! Life will end. The time that the Worldbringers spoke of—perhaps the time for the Resolution—is here!”
“You are delusional, TenSoon. You’ve been amongst the humans too—”
“Tell them what this is all really about, KanPaar,” TenSoon interrupted, voice rising. “Don’t you want my real sin known? Don’t you want the others to hear?”
“Don’t force this, TenSoon,” KanPaar said, pointing again. “What you’ve done is bad enough. Don’t make it—”
“I told her,” TenSoon said, cutting him off again. “I told her our Secret. At the end, she used me. Like the Allomancers of old. She took control of my body, using the Flaw, and she made me fight against Zane! This is what I’ve done. I’ve betrayed us all. She knows—and I’m certain that she has told others. Soon they’ll all know how to control us. And, do you know why I did it? Is it not the point of this judgment for me to speak of my purposes?”
He kept talking, despite the fact that KanPaar tried to speak over him. “I did it because she has the right to know our Secret,” TenSoon shouted. “She is the Mother! She inherited everything the Lord Ruler had. Without her, we have nothing. We cannot create new Blessings, or new kandra, on our own! The Trust is hers, now! We should go to her. If this truly is the end of all things, then the Resolution will soon come. She will—”
“Enough!” KanPaar bellowed.
The chamber fell silent again.
TenSoon stood, breathing deeply. For a year, trapped in his pit, he’d planned how to proclaim that information. His people had spent a thousand years, ten generations, following the teachings of the First Contract. They deserved to hear what had happened to him.
And yet, it felt so . . . inadequate to just scream it out like some raving human. Would any of his people really believe? Would he change anything at all?
“You have, by your own admission, betrayed us,” KanPaar said. “You’ve broken Contract, you’ve murdered one of your own generation, and you’ve told a human how to dominate us. You demanded judgment. Let it come.”
TenSoon turned quietly, looking up toward the alcoves where the members of the First Generation watched.
Perhaps . . . perhaps they’ll see that what I say is true. Perhaps my words will shock them, and they’ll realize that we need to offer service to Vin, rather than just sit in these caves and wait while the world ends around us.
But, nothing happened. No motion, no sound. At times, TenSoon wondered if anyone still lived up there. He hadn’t spoken with a member of the First Generation for centuries—they limited their communications strictly to the Seconds.
If they did still live, none of them took the opportunity to offer TenSoon clemency. KanPaar smiled. “The First Generation has ignored your plea, Third,” he said. “Therefore, as their servants, we of the Second Generation will offer judgment on their behalf. Your sentencing will occur in one month’s time.”
TenSoon frowned. A month? Why wait?
Either way, it was over. He bowed his head, sighing. He’d had his say. The kandra now knew that their Secret was out—the Seconds could no longer hide that fact. Perhaps his words would inspire his people to action.
TenSoon would probably never know.
Rashek moved the Well of Ascension, obviously.
It was very clever of him—perhaps the cleverest thing he did. He knew that the power would one day return to the Well, for power such as this—the fundamental power by which the world itself was formed—does not simply run out. It can be used, and therefore diffused, but it will always be renewed.
So, knowing that rumors and tales would persist, Rashek changed the very landscape of the world. He put mountains in what became the North, and named that location Terris. Then he flattened his true homeland, and built his capital there.
He constructed his palace around that room at its heart, the room where he would meditate, the room that was a replica of his old hovel in Terris. A refuge created during the last moments before his power ran out.
12
“I’M WORRIED ABOUT HIM, Elend,” Vin said, sitting on their bedroll.
“Who?” Elend asked, looking away from the mirror. “Sazed?”
Vin nodded. When Elend awoke from their nap, she was already up, bathed, and dressed. He worried about her sometimes, working herself as hard as she did. He worried even more now that he too was Mistborn, and understood the limitations of pewter. The metal strengthened the body, letting one postpone fatigue—but at a price. When the pewter ran out or was turned off, the fatigue returned, crashing down on you like a collapsing wall.
Yet Vin kept going. Elend was burning pewter too, pushing himself, but she seemed to sleep half as much as he did. She was harder than he was—strong in ways he would never know.
“Sazed will deal with his problems,” Elend said, turning back to his dressing. “He must have lost people before.”
“This is different,” Vin said. He could see her in the reflection, sitting cross-legged behind him in her simple clothing. Elend’s stark white uniform was just the opposite. It shone with its gold-painted wooden buttons, intentionally crafted with too little metal in them to be affected by Allomancy. The clothing itself had been made with a sp
ecial cloth that was easier to scrub clean of ash. Sometimes, he felt guilty at all the work it took to make him look regal. Yet it was necessary. Not for his vanity, but for his image. The image for which his men marched to war. In a land of black, Elend wore white—and became a symbol.
“Different?” Elend asked, doing up the buttons on his jacket sleeves. “What is different about Tindwyl’s death? She fell during the assault on Luthadel. So did Clubs and Dockson. You killed my own father in that battle, and I beheaded my best friend shortly before it. We’ve all lost people.”
“He said something like that himself,” Vin said. “But, it’s more than just one death to him. I think he sees a kind of betrayal in Tindwyl’s death—he always was the only one of us who had faith. He lost that when she died, somehow.”
“The only one of us who had faith?” Elend asked, plucking a wooden, silver-painted pin off his desk and affixing it to his jacket. “What about this?”
“You belong to the Church of the Survivor, Elend,” Vin said. “But you don’t have faith. Not like Sazed did. It was like . . . he knew everything would turn out all right. He trusted that something was watching over the world.”
“He’ll deal with it.”
“It’s not just him, Elend,” Vin said. “Breeze tries too hard.”
“What does that mean?” Elend asked with amusement.
“He Pushes on everyone’s emotions,” Vin said. “He Pushes too hard, trying to make others happy, and he laughs too hard. He’s afraid, worried. He shows it by overcompensating.”
Elend smiled. “You’re getting as bad as he is, reading everybody’s emotions and telling them how they’re feeling.”
“They’re my friends, Elend,” Vin said. “I know them. And, I’m telling you—they’re giving up. One by one, they’re beginning to think we can’t win this one.”
Elend fastened the final button, then looked at himself in the mirror. Sometimes, he still wondered if he fit the ornate suit, with its crisp whiteness and implied regality. He looked into his own eyes, looking past the short beard, warrior’s body, and scarred skin. He looked into those eyes, searching for the king behind them. As always, he wasn’t completely impressed with what he saw.
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