Mistborn Trilogy

by Sanderson, Brandon

  Sazed studied her paper. She seemed so certain. Did she know nothing of proper research techniques? Of questioning, of studying, of postulating and devising answers?

  Of course she doesn’t, Sazed chastised himself. She grew up on the streets—she doesn’t use research techniques.

  She just uses instinct. And she’s usually right.

  He smoothed the paper again, reading its passages. “Lady Vin? Did you write this yourself?”

  She flushed. “Why is everybody so surprised about that?”

  “It just doesn’t seem in your nature, Lady Vin.”

  “You people have corrupted me,” she said. “Look, there isn’t a single comment on this sheet that contradicts the idea that the Deepness was mist.”

  “Not contradicting a point and proving it are different things, Lady Vin.”

  She waved indifferently. “I’m right, Sazed. I know I am.”

  “What about this point, then?” Sazed asked, pointing to a line. “The Hero implies that he can sense a sentience to the Deepness. The mist isn’t alive.”

  “Well, it does swirl around someone using Allomancy.”

  “That isn’t the same thing, I think,” Sazed said. “He says that the Deepness was mad…destructively insane. Evil.”

  Vin paused. “There is something, Sazed,” she admitted.

  He frowned.

  She pointed at another section of notes. “Do you recognize these paragraphs?” It isn’t a shadow, the words read.

  This dark thing that follows me, the thing that only I can see—it isn’t really a shadow. It is blackish and translucent, but it doesn’t have a shadowlike solid outline. It’s insubstantial—wispy and formless. Like it’s made out of a dark fog.

  Or mist, perhaps.

  “Yes, Lady Vin,” Sazed said. “The Hero saw a creature following him. It attacked one of his companions, I think.”

  Vin looked in his eyes. “I’ve seen it, Sazed.”

  He felt a chill.

  “It’s out there,” she said. “Every night, in the mists. Watching me. I can feel it, with Allomancy. And, if I get close enough, I can see it. As if formed from the mist itself. Insubstantial, yet somehow still there.”

  Sazed sat quietly for a moment, not certain what to think.

  “You think me mad,” Vin accused.

  “No, Lady Vin,” he said quietly. “I don’t think any of us are in a position to call such things madness, not considering what is happening. Just…are you certain?”

  She nodded firmly.

  “But,” Sazed said. “Even if this is true, it does not answer my question. The logbook author saw that same creature, and he didn’t refer to it as the Deepness. It was not the Deepness, then. The Deepness was something else—something dangerous, something he could feel as evil.”

  “That’s the secret, then,” Vin said. “We have to figure out why he spoke of the mists that way. Then we’ll know…”

  “Know what, Lady Vin?” Sazed asked.

  Vin paused, then looked away. She didn’t answer, instead turning to a different topic. “Sazed, the Hero never did what he was supposed to. Rashek killed him. And, when Rashek took the power at the Well, he didn’t give it up like he was supposed to—he kept it for himself.”

  “True,” Sazed said.

  Vin paused again. “And the mists have started killing people. They’ve started coming during the day. It’s…like things are repeating again. So…maybe that means that the Hero of Ages will have to come again.”

  She glanced back at him, looking a bit…embarrassed? Ah… Sazed thought, sensing her implication. She saw things in the mists. The previous Hero had seen the same things. “I am not certain that is a valid statement, Lady Vin.”

  She snorted. “Why can’t you just come out and say ‘you’re wrong,’ like regular people?”

  “I apologize, Lady Vin. I have had much training as a servant, and we are taught to be nonconfrontational. Nevertheless, I do not think that you are wrong. However, I also think that, perhaps, you haven’t fully considered your position.”

  Vin shrugged.

  “What makes you think that the Hero of Ages will return?”

  “I don’t know. Things that happen; things I feel. The mists are coming again, and someone needs to stop them.”

  Sazed ran his fingers across his translated section of the rubbing, looking over its words.

  “You don’t believe me,” Vin said.

  “It isn’t that, Lady Vin,” Sazed said. “It’s just that I am not prone to rushing to decisions.”

  “But, you’ve thought about the Hero of Ages, haven’t you?” Vin said. “He was part of your religion—the lost religion of Terris, the thing you Keepers were founded to try and discover.”

  “That is true,” Sazed admitted. “However, we do not know much about the prophecies that our ancestors used to find their Hero. Besides, the reading I’ve been doing lately suggests that there was something wrong with their interpretations. If the greatest theologians of pre-Ascension Terris were unable to properly identify their Hero, how are we supposed to do so?”

  Vin sat quietly. “I shouldn’t have brought it up,” she finally said.

  “No, Lady Vin, please don’t think that. I apologize—your theories have great merit. I simply have a scholar’s mind, and must question and consider information when I am given it. I am far too fond of arguing, I think.”

  Vin looked up, smiling slightly. “Another reason you never made a good Terris steward?”

  “Undoubtedly,” he said with a sigh. “My attitude also tends to cause conflicts with the others of my order.”

  “Like Tindwyl?” Vin asked. “She didn’t sound happy when she heard that you’d told us about Feruchemy.”

  Sazed nodded. “For a group dedicated to knowledge, the Keepers can be rather stingy with information about their powers. When the Lord Ruler still lived—when Keepers were hunted—the caution was warranted, I think. But, now that we are free from that, my brethren and sisters seem to have found the habit of secrecy a difficult one to break.”

  Vin nodded. “Tindwyl doesn’t seem to like you very much. She says that she came because of your suggestion, but every time someone mentions you, she seems to get…cold.”

  Sazed sighed. Did Tindwyl dislike him? He thought, perhaps, that her inability to do so was a large part of the problem. “She is simply disappointed in me, Lady Vin. I’m not sure how much you know of my history, but I had been working against the Lord Ruler for some ten years before Kelsier recruited me. The other Keepers thought that I endangered my copperminds, and the very order itself. They believed that the Keepers should remain quiet—waiting for the day when the Lord Ruler fell, but not seeking to make it happen.”

  “Seems a bit cowardly to me,” Vin said.

  “Ah, but it was a very prudent course. You see, Lady Vin, had I been captured, there are many things I could have revealed. The names of other Keepers, the location of our safe houses, the means by which we managed to hide ourselves in Terris culture. My brethren worked for many decades to make the Lord Ruler think that Feruchemy had finally been exterminated. By revealing myself, I could have undone all of that.”

  “That would only have been bad had we failed,” Vin said. “We didn’t.”

  “We could have.”

  “We didn’t.”

  Sazed paused, then smiled. Sometimes, in a world of debate, questions, and self-doubt, Vin’s simple bluntness was refreshing. “Regardless,” he continued, “Tindwyl is a member of the Synod—a group of Keeper elders who guide our sect. I have been in rebellion against the Synod a number of times during my past. And, by returning to Luthadel, I am defying them once again. She has good reason to be displeased with me.”

  “Well, I think you’re doing the right thing,” Vin said. “We need you.”

  “Thank you, Lady Vin.”

  “I don’t think you have to listen to Tindwyl,” she said. “She’s the type who acts like she knows more than she does.”<
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  “She is very wise.”

  “She’s hard on Elend.”

  “Then she probably does so because it is best for him,” Sazed said. “Do not judge her too harshly, child. If she seems off-putting, it is only because she has lived a very hard life.”

  “Hard life?” Vin asked, tucking her notes back into her pocket.

  “Yes, Lady Vin,” Sazed said. “You see, Tindwyl spent most of her life as a Terris mother.”

  Vin hesitated, hand in pocket, looking surprised. “You mean…she was a Breeder?”

  Sazed nodded. The Lord Ruler’s breeding program included selecting a few, special individuals to use for birthing new children—with the goal being to breed Feruchemy out of the population.

  “Tindwyl had, at last count, birthed over twenty children,” he said. “Each with a different father. Tindwyl had her first child when she was fourteen, and spent her entire life being taken repeatedly by strange men until she became pregnant. And, because of the fertility drugs the Breeding masters forced upon her, she often bore twins or triplets.”

  “I…see,” Vin said softly.

  “You are not the only one who knew a terrible childhood, Lady Vin. Tindwyl is perhaps the strongest woman I know.”

  “How did she bear it?” Vin asked quietly. “I think…I think I would probably have just killed myself.”

  “She is a Keeper,” Sazed said. “She suffered the indignity because she knew that she did a great service for her people. You see, Feruchemy is hereditary. Tindwyl’s position as a mother ensured future generations of Feruchemists among our people. Ironically, she is exactly the sort of person that the Breeding masters were supposed to avoid letting reproduce.”

  “But, how did such a thing happen?”

  “The breeders assumed they’d already cut Feruchemy out of the population,” Sazed said. “They started looking to create other traits in the Terris—docility, temperance. They bred us like fine horses, and it was a great stroke when the Synod managed to get Tindwyl chosen for their program.

  “Of course, Tindwyl has very little training in Feruchemy. She did, fortunately, receive some of the copperminds that we Keepers carry. So, during her many years locked away, she was able to study and read biographies. It was only during the last decade—her childbearing years through—that she was able to join and gain fellowship with the other Keepers.”

  Sazed paused, then shook his head. “By comparison, the rest of us have known a life of freedom, I think.”

  “Great,” Vin mumbled, standing and yawning. “Another reason for you to feel guilty.”

  “You should sleep, Lady Vin,” Sazed noted.

  “For a few hours,” Vin said, walking toward the door, leaving him alone again with his studies.

  31

  In the end, my pride may have doomed us all.

  Philen Frandeu was not skaa. He had never been skaa. Skaa made things or grew things. Philen sold things. There was an enormous difference between the two.

  Oh, some people had called him skaa. Even now, he could see that word in the eyes of some of the other Assemblymen. They regarded Philen and his fellow merchants with the same disdain that they gave the eight skaa workers on the Assembly. Couldn’t they see that the two groups were completely different?

  Philen shifted a bit on the bench. Shouldn’t the Assembly hall at least have comfortable seating? They were waiting on just a few members; the tall clock in the corner said that fifteen minutes still remained until the meeting began. Oddly, one of those who had yet to arrive was Venture himself. King Elend was usually early.

  Not king anymore, Philen thought with a smile. Just plain old Elend Venture. It was a poor name—not as good as Philen’s own. Of course, he had been just “Lin” until a year and a half ago. Philen Frandeu was what he had dubbed himself after the Collapse. It delighted him to no end that the others had taken to calling him the name without pause. But, why shouldn’t he have a grand name? A lord’s name? Was Philen not as good as any of the “noblemen” sitting aloofly in their places?

  Oh, he was just as good. Better, even. Yes, they had called him skaa—but during those years, they had come to him out of need, and so their arrogant sneers had lacked power. He’d seen their insecurity. They’d needed him. A man they called skaa. But he’d also been a merchant. A merchant who wasn’t noble. Something that wasn’t supposed to have existed in the Lord Ruler’s perfect little empire.

  But, noblemen merchants had to work with the obligators. And, where there had been obligators, nothing illegal could occur. Hence Philen. He’d been…an intermediary, of sorts. A man capable of arranging deals between interested parties who, for various reasons, wanted to avoid the watchful eyes of the Lord Ruler’s obligators. Philen hadn’t been part of a thieving crew—no, that was far too dangerous. And far too mundane.

  He had been born with an eye for finances and trades. Give him two rocks, and he’d have a quarry by the end of the week. Give him a spoke, and he’d change it to a fine horse-drawn carriage. Two bits of corn, and he’d eventually have a massive shipment of grain sailing to the Farmost Dominance markets. Actual noblemen had done the trades, of course, but Philen had been behind it all. A vast empire of his own.

  And still, they couldn’t see. He wore a suit as fine as theirs; now that he could trade openly, he had become one of the wealthiest men in Luthadel. Yet, the noblemen ignored him, just because he lacked a valid pedigree.

  Well, they would see. After today’s meeting…yes, they would see. Philen looked out into the crowd, looking anxiously for the person he had hidden there. Reassured, he looked toward the noblemen of the Assembly, who sat chatting a short distance away. One of their last members—Lord Ferson Penrod—had just arrived. The older man walked up onto the Assembly’s dais, passing by the members, greeting each in turn.

  “Philen,” Penrod said, noticing him. “A new suit, I see. The red vest suits you.”

  “Lord Penrod! Why, you’re looking well. You got over the other night’s ailment, then?”

  “Yes, it passed quickly,” the lord said, nodding a head topped with silver hair. “Just a touch of stomach ills.”

  Pity, Philen thought, smiling. “Well, we’d best be seated. I see that young Venture isn’t here, though….”

  “Yes,” Penrod said, frowning. He’d been most difficult to convince to vote against Venture; he had something of a fondness for the boy. He had come around in the end. They all had.

  Penrod moved on, joining the other noblemen. The old fool probably thought he was going to end up as king. Well, Philen had other plans for that throne. It wasn’t Philen’s own posterior that would sit in it, of course; he had no interest in running a country. Seemed like a terrible way to make money. Selling things. That was a much better way. More stable, less likely to lose one his head.

  Oh, but Philen had plans. He’d always had those. He had to keep himself from glancing at the audience again.

  Philen turned, instead, to study the Assembly. They had all arrived except Venture. Seven noblemen, eight merchants, and eight skaa workers: twenty-four men, with Venture. The three-way division was supposed to give the commoners the most power, since they ostensibly outnumbered the noblemen. Even Venture hadn’t understood that merchants weren’t skaa.

  Philen wrinkled his nose. Even though the skaa Assemblymen usually cleaned up before coming to the meetings, he could smell the stink of forges, mills, and shops on them. Men who made things. Philen would have to be certain they were put back in their place, once this was over. An Assembly was an interesting idea, but it should be filled only with those who deserved the station. Men like Philen.

  Lord Philen, he thought. Not long now.

  Hopefully, Elend would be late. Then, maybe they could avoid his speech. Philen could imagine how it would go anyway.

  Um…now, see, this wasn’t fair. I should be king. Here, let me read you a book about why. Now, um, can you all please give some more money to the skaa?

  Philen smiled. />
  The man next to him, Getrue, nudged him. “You think he’s going to show up?” he whispered.

  “Probably not. He must know that we don’t want him. We kicked him out, didn’t we?”

  Getrue shrugged. He’d gained weight since the Collapse—a lot of it. “I don’t know, Lin. I mean…we didn’t mean. He was just…the armies…We have to have a strong king, right? Someone who will keep the city from falling?”

  “Of course,” Philen said. “And my name isn’t Lin.”

  Getrue flushed. “Sorry.”

  “We did the right thing,” Philen continued. “Venture is a weak man. A fool.”

  “I wouldn’t say that,” Getrue said. “He has good ideas….” Getrue glanced downward uncomfortably.

  Philen snorted, glancing at the clock. It was time, though he couldn’t hear the chimes over the crowd. The Assembly meetings had become busy since Venture’s fall. Benches fanned out before the stage, benches crowded with people, mostly skaa. Philen wasn’t sure why they were allowed to attend. They couldn’t vote or anything.

  More Venture foolishness, he thought, shaking his head. At the very back of the room—behind the crowd, opposite the stage—sat two large, broad doors letting in the red sunlight. Philen nodded toward some men, and they pushed the doors shut. The crowds hushed.

  Philen stood to address the Assembly. “Well, since—”

  The Assembly hall doors burst back open. A man in white stood with a small crowd of people, backlit by red sunlight. Elend Venture. Philen cocked his head, frowning.

  The former king strode forward, white cape fluttering behind him. His Mistborn was at his side, as usual, but she was wearing a dress. From the few times Philen had spoken with her, he would have expected her to look awkward in a noblewoman’s gown. And yet, she seemed to wear it well, walking gracefully. She actually looked rather fetching.

  At least, until Philen met her eyes. She did not have a warm look for the Assembly members, and Philen glanced away. Venture had brought all of his Allomancers with him—the former thugs of the Survivor’s crew. Elend apparently wanted to remind everyone who his friends were. Powerful men. Frightening men.