فصل 46

46

“ALL RIGHT,” BREEZE SAID, “so does somebody want to speculate on how our team’s spy ended up becoming a pseudo-religious vigilante freedom fighter?” Sazed shook his head. They sat in their cavern lair beneath the Canton of Inquisition. Breeze, declaring that he was tired of travel rations, had ordered several of the soldiers to break open some of the cavern’s supplies to prepare a more suitable meal. Sazed might have complained, but the truth was that the cavern was so well stocked that even a determinedly eating Breeze wouldn’t be able to make a dent in it.

They had waited all day for Spook to return to the lair. Tensions in the city were high, and most of their contacts had gone to ground, weathering the Citizen’s paranoia regarding a rebellion. Soldiers walked the streets, and a sizable contingent had set up camp just outside the Ministry building. Sazed was worried that the Citizen had associated Breeze and Sazed with Spook’s appearance at the executions. It appeared that their days of moving about freely in the city were at an end.

“Why hasn’t he come back?” Allrianne asked. She and Breeze sat at a fine table, pilfered from an empty nobleman’s mansion. They had, of course, changed back to their fine clothing—a suit on Breeze, a peach dress on Allrianne. They always changed as soon as possible, as if eager to reaffirm to themselves who they really were.

Sazed did not dine with them; he didn’t have much of an appetite. Captain Goradel leaned against a bookcase a short distance away, determined to keep a close eye on his charges. Though the good-natured man wore his usual smile, Sazed could tell from the orders he’d given to his soldiers that he was worried about the possibility of an assault. He made very certain that Breeze, Allrianne, and Sazed stayed within the protective confines of the cavern. Better to be trapped than dead.

“I’m sure the boy is fine, my dear,” Breeze said, finally answering Allrianne’s question. “It’s likely he hasn’t come back because he fears implicating us in what he did today.” “Either that,” Sazed said, “or he can’t get past the soldiers watching outside.” “He snuck into a burning building while we were watching, my dear man,” Breeze said, “I doubt he’d have trouble with a bunch of toughs, especially now that it’s dark out.” Allrianne shook her head. “It would have been better if he’d managed to sneak out of that building as well, rather than jumping off the roof in front of everyone.” “Perhaps,” Breeze said. “But, part of being a vigilante rebel is letting your enemies know what you are about. The psychological effect produced by leaping from a burning building carrying a child is quite sound. And, to do that right in front of the tyrant who tried to execute said child? I wasn’t aware that dear little Spook had such a flair for drama!” “He’s not so little anymore, I think,” Sazed said quietly. “We have a habit of ignoring Spook too much.” “Habits come from reinforcement, my dear man,” Breeze said, wagging a fork at Sazed. “We paid little attention to the lad because he rarely had an important role to play. It isn’t his fault—he was simply young.” “Vin was young as well,” Sazed noted.

“Vin, you must admit, is something of a special case.”

Sazed couldn’t argue with that.

“Either way,” Breeze said, “when we look at the facts, what happened isn’t really all that surprising. Spook has had months to become known to Urteau’s underground population, and he is of the Survivor’s own crew. It is logical that they would begin to look to him to save them, much as Kelsier saved Luthadel.” “We’re forgetting one thing, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said. “He jumped from a rooftop ledge two stories up and landed on a cobbled street. Men do not survive falls like that without broken bones.” Breeze paused. “Staged, you think? Perhaps he worked out some kind of landing platform to soften the fall?” Sazed shook his head. “I believe it a stretch to assume that Spook could plan, and execute, a staged rescue like that. He would have needed the aid of the underground, which would have ruined the effect. If they knew that his survival was a trick, then we wouldn’t have heard the rumors we did about him.” “What, then?” Breeze asked, shooting a glance at Allrianne. “You’re not truly suggesting that Spook has been Mistborn all this time, are you?” “I do not know,” Sazed said softly.

Breeze shook his head, chuckling. “I doubt he could have hidden that from us, my dear man. Why, he would have had to go through that entire mess of overthrowing the Lord Ruler, then the fall of Luthadel, without ever revealing that he was anything more than a Tineye! I refuse to accept that.” Or, Sazed thought, you refuse to accept that you wouldn’t have detected the truth. Still, Breeze had a point. Sazed had known Spook as a youth. The boy had been awkward and shy, but he hadn’t been deceitful. It was truly a stretch to imagine him to have been a Mistborn from the beginning.

Yet, Sazed had seen that fall. He had seen the grace of the jump, the distinctive poise and natural dexterity of one burning pewter. Sazed found himself wishing for his copperminds so that he could search for references about people spontaneously manifesting Allomantic powers. Could a man be a Misting early in life, then transform to a full Mistborn later?

It was a simple thing, related to his duties as an ambassador. Perhaps he could spend just a little time looking through his stored memories, seeking examples. . . .

He paused. Don’t be silly, he thought. You’re just looking for excuses. You know that it’s impossible for an Allomancer to gain new powers. You won’t find any examples because there aren’t any.

He didn’t need to look through his metalminds. He had set those aside for a very good reason—he could not be a Keeper, could not share the knowledge he’d collected, until he could sort the truth from the lies.

I’ve let myself get distracted lately, he thought with determination, rising from his place and leaving the others behind. He walked over to his “room” in the cache, with the sheets hung there cutting off his view of the others. Sitting on the table was his portfolio. In the corner, next to a shelf full of cans, sat his sack full of metalminds.

No, Sazed thought. I made a promise to myself. I will keep it. I will not allow myself to become a hypocrite simply because some new religion appears and waves at me. I will be strong.

He sat down at the table, opening his portfolio, taking out the next sheet in the line. It listed the tenets of the Nelazan people, who had worshipped the god Trell. Sazed had always been partial to this religion because of its focus on learning and study of mathematics and the heavens. He’d saved it for near the end, but had done so more out of worry than anything else. He’d wanted to put off what he’d known would happen.

Sure enough, as he read about the religion, he saw the holes in its doctrines. True, the Nelazan had known a great deal about astronomy, but their teachings on the afterlife were sketchy—almost whimsical. Their doctrine was purposefully vague, they’d taught, allowing all men to discover truth for themselves. Reading this, however, left Sazed frustrated. What good was a religion without answers? Why believe in something if the response to half of his questions was “Ask Trell, and he will answer”?

He didn’t dismiss the religion immediately. He forced himself to put it aside, acknowledging to himself that he wasn’t in the right mood for studying. He didn’t feel like he was in the mood for much, actually.

What if Spook really has become Mistborn? he wondered, mind getting drawn back to the previous conversation. It seemed impossible. Yet, a lot of things they thought they’d known about Allomancy—such as the existence of only ten metals—had turned out to be falsehoods taught by the Lord Ruler to hide some powerful secrets.

Perhaps it was possible for an Allomancer to spontaneously manifest new powers. Or, perhaps there was a more mundane reason Spook had managed such a long fall. It could be related to the thing that made Spook’s eyes so sensitive. Drugs, perhaps?

Either way, Sazed’s worry about what was happening kept him from being able to focus on studying the Nelazan religion as he should. He kept getting the feeling that something very important was occurring. And Spook was at the center of it.

Where was that boy?

“I know why you’re so sad,” Spook said.

Beldre turned, shock showing on her face. She didn’t see him at first. He must have been too deep in the misty shadows. It was growing hard for him to tell.

He stepped forward, moving across the plot of land that had once been a garden outside the Citizen’s home. “I figured it out,” Spook said. “At first, I thought that sadness had to do with this garden. It must have been beautiful, once. You would have seen it in its fullness, before your brother ordered all gardens plowed under. You were related to nobility, and probably lived in their society.” She looked surprised at this.

“Yes, I know,” Spook said. “Your brother is an Allomancer. He’s a Coinshot; I felt his Pushes. That day at Marketpit.” She remained silent—more beautiful herself than the garden could ever have been—though she did take a step backward as her eyes finally found him in the mists.

“Eventually,” Spook continued, “I decided that I must be wrong. Nobody mourns so much for a simple garden, no matter how lovely. After that, I thought the sadness in your eyes must come from being forbidden to take part in your brother’s councils. He always sends you out, into the garden, when he meets with his most important officials. I know what it’s like to feel useless and excluded among important people.” He took another step forward. The rough earth lay torn beneath his feet, covered by an inch of ash, the dreary remnants of what had once been fertile ground. To his right stood the lone shrub that Beldre often came to gaze at. He didn’t look toward it; he kept his eyes on her.

“I was wrong,” he said. “Being forbidden your brother’s conferences would lead to frustration, but not such pain. Not such regret. I know that sorrow now. I killed for the first time this afternoon. I helped overthrow empires, then helped build them anew. And I’d never killed a man. Not until today.” He stopped, then looked into her eyes. “Yes, I know that sorrow. What I’m trying figure out is why you feel it.” She turned away. “You shouldn’t be here,” she said. “There are guards watching—” “No,” Spook said. “Not anymore. Quellion sent too many men into the city—he’s afraid that he’ll suffer a revolution, like happened in Luthadel. Like he himself inspired here when he seized power. He’s right to be afraid, but he was wrong to leave his own palace so poorly guarded.” “Kill him,” Kelsier whispered. “Quellion is inside; this is the perfect chance. He deserves it, you know he does.” No, Spook thought. Not today. Not in front of her.

Beldre glanced back at him, her eyes growing hard. “Why have you come? To taunt me?” “To tell you that I understand,” Spook said.

“How can you say that?” she said. “You don’t understand me—you don’t know me.”

“I think I do,” Spook said. “I saw your eyes today, when you watched those people being marched to their deaths. You feel guilty. Guilty for your brother’s murders. You sorrow because you feel you should be able to stop him.” He took a step forward. “You can’t, Beldre. He’s been corrupted by his power. He might once have been a good man, but no longer. Do you realize what he’s doing? Your brother is murdering people simply to get Allomancers. He captures them, then threatens to kill their families unless they do as he asks. Are those the actions of a good man?” “You are a simplistic fool,” Beldre whispered, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“I know,” Spook said. “What are a few deaths when it comes to securing the stability of a kingdom?” He paused, then shook his head. “He’s killing children, Beldre. And he’s doing it simply to cover up the fact that he’s gathering Allomancers.” Beldre was silent for a moment. “Go,” she finally said.

“I want you to come with me.”

She looked up.

“I’m going to overthrow your brother,” Spook said. “I am a member of the Survivor’s own crew. We took down the Lord Ruler—Quellion will hardly provide us with a challenge. You don’t have to be here when he falls.” Beldre snorted quietly in derision.

“It’s not just about your safety,” Spook said. “If you join with us, it will be a strong blow to your brother. Perhaps it will convince him that he is wrong. There could be a more peaceful way of making this happen.” “I’m going to start screaming in three heartbeats,” Beldre said.

“I don’t fear your guards,” Spook said.

“I don’t doubt that,” Beldre said. “But if they come, you’ll have to kill again.” Spook wavered. He stayed where he was, however, calling her bluff.

And so she started screaming.

“Go kill him!” Kelsier said over her screams. “Now, before it’s too late! Those guards you killed—they were just following orders. Quellion, he’s the true monster.” Spook ground his teeth in frustration, then finally ran, fleeing from Beldre and her screams, leaving Quellion alive.

For the moment.

The group of rings, clasps, ear loops, bracelets, and other bits of metal gleamed on the table like a treasure hoard of legend. Of course, most of the metals were rather mundane. Iron, steel, tin, copper. No gold or atium.

Yet, to a Feruchemist, the metals were worth far more than their economic value. They were batteries, stores that could be filled, then drawn upon. One made of pewter, for instance, could be filled with strength. Filling it would drain the Feruchemist of strength for a time—making him weak enough that simple tasks grew difficult—but the price was worthwhile. For, when necessary, he could draw that strength forth.

Many of these metalminds, spread out on the table in front of Sazed, were empty at the moment. Sazed had last used them during the horrific battle that had ended with the fall—then rescue—of Luthadel over a year before. That battle had left him drained in more ways than one. Ten rings, lined up on the side of the table, had been used to nearly kill him. Marsh had shot them at Sazed like coins, piercing his skin. That, however, had allowed Sazed to draw forth their power and heal himself.

At the very center of the collection were the most important metalminds of all. Four bracers—meant to clasp on to the upper or lower arms—sat gleaming and polished, made of the purest copper. They were the largest of his metalminds, for they held the most. Copper carried memories. A Feruchemist could take images, thoughts, or sounds that were fresh in his mind, then store them away. While inside, they wouldn’t decay or change, as memories could while held in the mind.

When Sazed had been a young man, an older Feruchemist had read out the entire contents of his copperminds. Sazed had stored the knowledge in his own copperminds; they contained the sum total of Keeper knowledge. The Lord Ruler had worked hard to smother people’s memories of the past. But the Keepers had gathered them—stories of how the world had been before the ash came and the sun had turned red. The Keepers had memorized the names of places and of kingdoms, had gathered the wisdom of those who were lost.

And they had memorized the religions that had been forbidden by the Lord Ruler. These he had worked the most diligently to destroy, and so the Keepers had worked with equal diligence to rescue them—to secure them away inside of metalminds, so someday they could be taught again. Above all, the Keepers had searched for one thing: knowledge of their own religion, the beliefs of the Terris people. Those had been forgotten during the destructive chaos following the Lord Ruler’s ascension. However, despite centuries of work, the Keepers had never recovered this most precious knowledge of all.

I wonder what would have happened if we had found it, Sazed thought, picking up a steelmind and quietly polishing it. Probably nothing. He’d given up on his work with the religions in his portfolio for the moment, feeling too discouraged to study.

There were fifty religions left in his portfolio. Why was he deluding himself, hoping to find any more truth in them than he had in the previous two hundred and fifty? None of the religions had managed to survive the years. Shouldn’t he just let them be? Looking through them seemed to be part of the great fallacy in the work of the Keepers. They’d struggled to remember the beliefs of men, but those beliefs had already proven they lacked the resilience to survive. Why bring them back to life? That seemed as pointless as reviving a sickly animal so it could fall to predators again.

He continued to polish. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Breeze watching him. The Soother had come to Sazed’s “room,” complaining that he couldn’t sleep, not with Spook still outside somewhere. Sazed had nodded, but continued polishing. He didn’t wish to get into a conversation; he just wanted to be alone.

Breeze, unfortunately, stood and came over. “Sometimes, I don’t understand you, Sazed,” Breeze said.

“I do not endeavor to be mysterious, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said, moving on to polish a small bronze ring.

“Why take such good care of them?” Breeze asked. “You never wear them anymore. In fact, you seem to spurn them.” “I do not spurn the metalminds, Lord Breeze. They are, in a way, the only sacred thing I have left in my life.” “But you don’t wear them, either.”

Sazed continued polishing. “No. I do not.”

“But why?” Breeze asked. “You think that she would have wanted this? She was a Keeper too—do you honestly think she’d want you to give up your metalminds?” “This particular habit of mine is not about Tindwyl.”

“Oh?” Breeze asked, sighing as he seated himself at the table. “What do you mean? Because honestly, Sazed, you’re confusing me. I understand people. It bothers me that I can’t understand you.” “After the Lord Ruler’s death,” Sazed said, putting down the ring, “do you know what I spent my time doing?” “Teaching,” Breeze said. “You left to go and restore the lost knowledge to the people of the Final Empire.” “And did I ever tell you how that teaching went?”

Breeze shook his head.

“Poorly,” Sazed said, picking up another ring. “The people didn’t really care. They weren’t interested in the religions of the past. And why should they have been? Why worship something that people used to believe in?” “People are always interested in the past, Sazed.”

“Interested, perhaps,” Sazed said, “but interest is not faith. These metalminds, they are a thing of museums and old libraries. They are of little use to modern people. During the years of the Lord Ruler’s reign, we Keepers pretended that we were doing vital work. We believed that we were doing vital work. And yet, in the end, nothing we did had any real value. Vin didn’t need this knowledge to kill the Lord Ruler.

“I am probably the last of the Keepers. The thoughts in these metalminds will die with me. And, at times, I can’t make myself regret that fact. This is not an era for scholars and philosophers. Scholars and philosophers do not help feed starving children.” “And so you don’t wear them anymore?” Breeze said. “Because you think they’re useless?” “More than that,” Sazed said. “To wear these metalminds would be to pretend. I would be pretending that I find the things in them to be of use, and I have not yet decided if I do or not. To wear them now would seem like a betrayal. I set them aside, for I can do them no justice. I’m just not ready to believe, as we did before, that gathering knowledge and religions is more important than taking action. Perhaps if the Keepers had fought, rather than just memorized, the Lord Ruler would have fallen centuries ago.” “But you resisted, Sazed,” Breeze said. “You fought.”

“I don’t represent myself any longer, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said softly. “I represent all Keepers, since I am apparently the last. And I, as the last, do not believe in the things I once taught. I cannot with good conscience imply that I am the Keeper I once was.” Breeze sighed, shaking his head. “You don’t make sense.”

“It makes sense to me.”

“No, I think you’re just confused. This may not seem to you like a world for scholars, my dear friend, but I think you’ll be proven wrong. It seems to me that now—suffering in the darkness that might just be the end of everything—is when we need knowledge the most.” “Why?” Sazed said. “So I can teach a dying man a religion that I don’t believe? To speak of a god, when I know there is no such being?” Breeze leaned forward. “Do you really believe that? That nothing is watching over us?” Sazed sat quietly, slowing in his polishing. “I have yet to decide for certain,” he finally said. “At times, I have hoped to find some truth. However, today, that hope seems very distant to me. There is a darkness upon this land, Breeze, and I am not sure that we can fight it. I am not sure that I want to fight it.” Breeze looked troubled at that. He opened his mouth, but before he could respond, a rumble rolled through the cavern. The rings and bracers on the table quivered and clinked together as the entire room shook, and there was a clatter as some foodstuffs fell—though not too many, for Captain Goradel’s men had done good work in moving most of the stockpile off of shelves and to the ground, in order to deal with the quakes.

Eventually, the shaking subsided. Breeze sat with a white face, looking up at the ceiling of the cavern. “I tell you, Sazed,” he said. “Every time one of those quakes comes, I wonder at the wisdom of hiding in a cave. Not the safest place during an earthquake, I should think.” “We really have no other option at the moment,” Sazed said.

“True, I suppose. Do . . . does it seem to you like those quakes are coming more frequently?” “Yes,” Sazed said, picking up a few fallen bracelets from the floor. “Yes, they are.” “Maybe . . . this region is just more prone to them,” Breeze said, not sounding convinced. He turned, looking to the side as Captain Goradel rounded a shelf and approached them in a rush.

“Ah, come to check on us, I see,” Breeze said. “We survived the quake quite handily. No need for urgency, my dear captain.” “It’s not that,” Goradel said, puffing slightly. “It’s Lord Spook. He’s back.”

Sazed and Breeze shared a look, then rose from their chairs, following Goradel to the front of the cavern. They found Spook walking down the steps. His eyes were uncovered, and Sazed saw a new hardness in the young man’s expression.

We really haven’t been paying enough attention to the lad.

The soldiers backed away. There was blood on Spook’s clothing, though he didn’t appear wounded. His cloak was burned in places, and the bottom ended in a charred rip.

“Good,” Spook said, noticing Breeze and Sazed, “you’re here. Did that quake cause any damage?” “Spook?” Breeze asked. “No, we’re all fine here. No damage. But—”

“We have little time for chatter, Breeze,” Spook said, walking past them. “Emperor Venture wants Urteau, and we’re going to deliver it to him. I need you to start spreading rumors in the city. It should be easy—some of the more important elements in the underworld already know the truth.” “What truth?” Breeze asked, joining Sazed as they followed Spook through the cavern.

“That Quellion is using Allomancers,” Spook said, his voice echoing in the cavern. “I’ve now confirmed what I suspected before—Quellion recruits Mistings from the people he arrests. He rescues them from his own fires, then holds their families hostage. He relies on the very thing he’s preaching against. The entire foundation for his rule, therefore, is a lie. Exposing that lie should cause the entire system to collapse.” “That’s capital, we can certainly do that . . .” Breeze said, glancing at Sazed again. Spook kept walking, and Sazed followed, trailing Spook as he moved through the cavern. Breeze moved away, probably to fetch Allrianne.

Spook stopped beside the water’s edge. He stood there for a moment, then turned toward Sazed. “You said that you have been studying the construction that brought the water down here, diverting it from the canals.” “Yes,” Sazed said.

“Is there a way to reverse the process?” Spook asked. “Make the water flood the streets again?” “Perhaps,” Sazed said. “I am not certain that I have the engineering expertise to accomplish the feat, however.” “Is there knowledge in your metalminds that would help you?” Spook asked.

“Well . . . yes.”

“Then use them,” Spook said.

Sazed paused, looking uncomfortable.

“Sazed,” Spook said. “We don’t have much time—we have to take this city before Quellion decides to attack and destroy us. Breeze is going to spread the rumors, then I am going to find a way to expose Quellion as a liar before his people. He’s an Allomancer himself.” “Will that be enough?”

“It will if we give them someone else to follow,” Spook said, turning back to look across the waters. “Someone who can survive fires; someone who can restore water to the city streets. We’ll give them miracles and a hero, then expose their leader as a hypocrite and a tyrant. Confronted with that, what would you do?” Sazed didn’t respond immediately. Spook made good points, even about Sazed’s metalminds still being useful. Yet Sazed wasn’t certain what he thought of the changes in the young man. Spook seemed to have grown far more competent, but . . .

“Spook,” Sazed said, stepping in closer, speaking quietly enough that the soldiers standing behind couldn’t hear. “What is it you aren’t sharing with us? How did you survive the leap from that building? Why do you cover your eyes with cloth?” “I . . .” Spook faltered, showing a hint of the insecure boy he had once been. For some reason, seeing that made Sazed more comfortable. “I don’t know if I can explain, Saze,” Spook said, some of his pretension evaporating. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. I’ll explain eventually. For now, can you just trust me?” The lad had always been a sincere one. Sazed searched those eyes, so eager.

And found something important. Spook cared. He cared about this city, about overthrowing the Citizen. He’d saved those people earlier, when Sazed and Breeze had just stood outside, watching.

Spook cared, and Sazed did not. Sazed tried—he grew frustrated with himself because of his depression, which had been worse this evening than it usually was.

His emotions had been so traitorous lately. He had trouble studying, had trouble leading, had trouble being of any use whatsoever. But, looking into Spook’s eager eyes, he was almost able to forget his troubles for a moment.

If the lad wanted to take the lead, then who was Sazed to argue?

He glanced toward his room, where the metalminds lay. He had gone so long without them. They tempted him with their knowledge.

As long as I don’t preach the religions they contain, he thought, I’m not a hypocrite. Using this specific knowledge Spook requests will, at least, bring some small meaning to the suffering of those who worked to gather knowledge of engineering.

It seemed a weak excuse. But, in the face of Spook taking the lead and offering a good reason to use the metalminds, it was enough.

“Very well,” Sazed said. “I shall do as you request.”

Ruin’s prison was not like those that hold men. He wasn’t bound by bars. In fact, he could move about freely.

His prison, rather, was one of impotence. In the terms of forces and gods, this meant balance. If Ruin were to push, the prison would push back, essentially rendering Ruin powerless. And because much of his power was stripped away and hidden, he was unable to affect the world in any but the most subtle of ways.

I should stop here and clarify something. We speak of Ruin being “freed” from his prison. But that is misleading. Releasing the power at the Well tipped the aforementioned balance back toward Ruin, but he was still too weak to destroy the world in the blink of an eye as he yearned to do. This weakness was caused by part of Ruin’s power—his very body—having been taken and hidden from him.

Which was why Ruin became so obsessed with finding the hidden part of his self.