فصل 45

45

“The hero of ages won’t be Terris,” Tindwyl said, scribbling a note at the bottom of their list.

“We knew that already,” Sazed said. “From the logbook.”

“Yes,” Tindwyl said, “but Alendi’s account was only a reference—a thirdhand mention of the effects of a prophecy. I found someone quoting the prophecy itself.” “Truly?” Sazed asked, excited. “Where?”

“The biography of Helenntion,” Tindwyl said. “One of the last survivors of the Council of Khlennium.” “Write it for me,” Sazed said, scooting his chair a bit closer to hers. He had to blink a few times as she wrote, his head clouding for a moment from fatigue.

Stay alert! he told himself. There isn’t much time left. Not much at all….

Tindwyl was doing a little better than he, but her wakefulness was obviously beginning to run out, for she was starting to droop. He’d taken a quick nap during the night, rolled up on her floor, but she had carried on. As far as he could tell, she’d been awake for over a week straight.

There was much talk of the Rabzeen, during those days, Tindwyl wrote. Some said he would come to fight the Conqueror. Others said he was the Conqueror. Helenntion didn’t make his thoughts on the matter known to me. The Rabzeen is said to be “He who is not of his people, yet fulfills all of their wishes.” If this is the case, then perhaps the Conqueror is the one. He is said to have been of Khlennium.

She stopped there. Sazed frowned, reading the words again. Kwaan’s last testimony—the rubbing Sazed had taken at the Conventical of Seran—had proven useful in more than one way. It had provided a key.

It wasn’t until years later that I became convinced that he was the Hero of Ages, Kwaan had written. Hero of Ages: the one called Rabzeen in Khlennium, the Anamnesor….

The rubbing was a means of translation—not between languages, but between synonyms. It made sense that there would be other names for the Hero of Ages; a figure so important, so surrounded by lore, would have many titles. Yet, so much had been lost from those days. The Rabzeen and the Anamnesor were both mythological figures vaguely familiar to Sazed—but they were only two among hosts. Until the discovery of the rubbing, there had been no way to connect their names to the Hero of Ages.

Now Tindwyl and he could search their metalminds with open eyes. Perhaps, in the past, Sazed had read this very passage from Helenntion’s biography; he had at least skimmed many of the older records, searching for religious references. Yet, he would never have been able to realize that the passage was referring to the Hero of Ages, a figure from Terris lore that the Khlenni people had renamed into their own tongue.

“Yes…” he said slowly. “This is good, Tindwyl. Very good.” He reached over, laying his hand on hers.

“Perhaps,” she said, “though it tells us nothing new.”

“Ah, but the wording might be important, I think,” Sazed said. “Religions are often very careful with their writings.” “Especially prophecies,” Tindwyl said, frowning just a bit. She was not fond of anything that smacked of superstition or soothsaying.

“I would have thought,” Sazed noted, “that you would no longer have this prejudice, considering our current enterprise.” “I gather information, Sazed,” she said. “Because of what it says of people, and because of what the past can teach us. However, there is a reason I took to studying history as opposed to theology. I don’t approve of perpetuating lies.” “Is that what you think I do when I teach of religions?” he asked in amusement.

Tindwyl looked toward him. “A bit,” she admitted. “How can you teach the people to look toward the gods of the dead, Sazed? Those religions did their people little good, and their prophecies are now dust.” “Religions are an expression of hope,” Sazed said. “That hope gives people strength.” “Then you don’t believe?” Tindwyl asked. “You just give the people something to trust, something to delude themselves?” “I would not call it so.”

“Then you think the gods you teach of do exist?”

“I…think that they deserved to be remembered.”

“And their prophecies?” Tindwyl said. “I see scholarly value in what we do—the bringing to light of facts from the past could give us information about our current problems. Yet, this soothsaying for the future is, at its core, foolishness.” “I would not say that,” Sazed said. “Religions are promises—promises that there is something watching over us, guiding us. Prophecies, therefore, are natural extensions of the hopes and desires of the people. Not foolishness at all.” “So, your interest is purely academic?” Tindwyl said.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

Tindwyl studied him, watching his eyes. She frowned slowly. “You believe it, don’t you?” she asked. “You believe that this girl is the Hero of Ages.” “I have not yet decided,” Sazed said.

“How can you even consider such a thing, Sazed?” Tindwyl asked. “Don’t you see? Hope is a good thing—a wonderful thing—but you must have hope in something appropriate. If you perpetuate the dreams of the past, then you stifle your own dreams of the future.” “What if the past dreams are worthy of being remembered?”

Tindwyl shook her head. “Look at the odds, Sazed. What are the chances we would end up where we are, studying this rubbing, in the very same household as the Hero of Ages?” “Odds are irrelevant when a foretelling is involved.”

Tindwyl closed her eyes. “Sazed…I think religion is a good thing, and belief is a good thing, but it is foolishness to look for guidance in a few vague phrases. Look at what happened last time someone assumed they had found this Hero. The Lord Ruler, the Final Empire, was the result.” “Still, I will hope. If you did not believe the prophecies, then why work so hard to discover information about the Deepness and the Hero?” “It’s simple,” Tindwyl said. “We are obviously facing a danger that has come before—a recurring problem, like a plague that plays itself out, only to return again centuries later. The ancient people knew of this danger, and had information about it. That information, naturally, broke down and became legends, prophecies, and even religions. There will be, then, clues to our situation hidden in the past. This is not a matter of soothsaying, but of research.” Sazed lay his hand on hers. “I think, perhaps, that this is something we cannot agree upon. Come, let us return to our studies. We must use the time we have left.” “We should be all right,” Tindwyl said, sighing and reaching to tuck a bit of hair back into her bun. “Apparently, your Hero scared off Lord Cett last night. The maid who brought breakfast was speaking of it.” “I know of the event,” Sazed said.

“Then things are growing better for Luthadel.”

“Yes,” Sazed said. “Perhaps.”

She frowned. “You seem hesitant.”

“I do not know,” he said, glancing down. “I do not feel that Cett’s departure is a good thing, Tindwyl. Something is very wrong. We need to be finished with these studies.” Tindwyl cocked her head. “How soon?”

“We should try to be done tonight, I think,” Sazed said, glancing toward the pile of unbound sheets they had stacked on the table. That stack contained all the notes, ideas, and connections that they’d made during their furious bout of study. It was a book, of sorts—a guidebook that told of the Hero of Ages and the Deepness. It was a good document—incredible, even, considering the time they’d been given. It was not comprehensive. It was, however, probably the most important thing he’d ever written.

Even if he wasn’t certain why.

“Sazed?” Tindwyl asked, frowning. “What is this?” She reached to the stack of papers, pulling out a sheet that was slightly askew. As she held it up, Sazed was shocked to see that a chunk from the bottom right corner had been torn off.

“Did you do this?” she asked.

“No,” Sazed said. He accepted the paper. It was one of the transcriptions of the rubbing; the tear had removed the last sentence or so. There was no sign of the missing piece.

Sazed looked up, meeting Tindwyl’s confused gaze. She turned, shuffling through a stack of papers to the side. She pulled out another copy of the transcription and held it up.

Sazed felt a chill. The corner was missing.

“I referenced this yesterday,” Tindwyl said quietly. “I haven’t left the room save for a few minutes since then, and you were always here.” “Did you leave last night?” Sazed asked. “To visit the privy while I slept?” “Perhaps. I don’t remember.”

Sazed sat for a moment, staring at the page. The tear was eerily similar in shape to the one from their main stack. Tindwyl, apparently thinking the same thing, laid it over its companion. It matched perfectly; even the smallest ridges in the tears were identical. Even if they’d been torn lying right on top of one another, the duplication wouldn’t have been so perfect.

Both of them sat, staring. Then they burst into motion, riffling through their stacks of pages. Sazed had four copies of the transcription. All were missing the same exact chunk.

“Sazed…” Tindwyl said, her voice shaking just a bit. She held up a sheet of paper—one that had only half of the transcription on it, ending near the middle of the page. A hole had been torn directly in the middle of the page, removing the exact same sentence.

“The rubbing!” Tindwyl said, but Sazed was already moving. He left his chair, rushing to the trunk where he stored his metalminds. He fumbled with the key at his neck, pulling it off and unlocking the trunk. He threw it open, removed the rubbing, then unfolded it delicately on the ground. He withdrew his fingers suddenly, feeling almost as if he’d been bitten, as he saw the tear at the bottom. The same sentence, removed.

“How is this possible?” Tindwyl whispered. “How could someone know so much of our work—so much of us?” “And yet,” Sazed said, “how could they know so little of our abilities? I have the entire transcription stored in my metalmind. I can remember it right now.” “What does the missing sentence say?”

“’Alendi must not reach the Well of Ascension; he must not be allowed to take the power for himself.’” “Why remove this sentence?” Tindwyl asked.

Sazed stared at the rubbing. This seems impossible….

A noise sounded at the window. Sazed spun, reaching reflexively into his pewtermind and increasing his strength. His muscles swelled, his robe growing tight.

The shutters swung open. Vin crouched on the sill. She paused as she saw Sazed and Tindwyl—who had also apparently tapped strength, growing to have almost masculine bulk.

“Did I do something wrong?” Vin asked.

Sazed smiled, releasing his pewtermind. “No, child,” he said. “You simply startled us.” He met Tindwyl’s eye, and she began to gather up the ripped pieces of paper. Sazed folded up the rubbing; they would discuss it further later.

“Have you seen anyone spending too much time around my room, Lady Vin?” Sazed asked as he replaced the rubbing. “Any strangers—or even any particular guards?” “No,” Vin said, climbing into the room. She walked barefoot, as usual, and she didn’t wear her mistcloak; she rarely did in the daytime. If she had fought the night before, she had changed clothing, for there were no stains of blood—or even sweat—on this outfit. “Do you want me to watch for anyone suspicious?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” Sazed said, locking the chest. “We fear that someone has been riffling through our work, though why they would wish to do so is confusing.” Vin nodded, remaining where she was as Sazed returned to his seat. She regarded him and Tindwyl for a moment.

“I need to talk to you, Sazed,” Vin said.

“I can spare a few moments, I think,” Sazed said. “But, I must warn you that my studies are very pressing.” Vin nodded, then glanced at Tindwyl. Finally, she sighed, rising. “I guess I will go and see about lunch, then.” Vin relaxed slightly as the door closed; then she moved over to the table, sitting down in Tindwyl’s chair, pulling her legs up before her on the wooden seat.

“Sazed,” she asked, “how do you know if you’re in love?”

Sazed blinked. “I…I do not think I am one to speak on this topic, Lady Vin. I know very little about it.” “You always say things like that,” Vin said. “But really, you’re an expert on just about everything.” Sazed chuckled. “In this case, I assure you that my insecurity is heartfelt, Lady Vin.” “Still, you’ve got to know something.”

“A bit, perhaps,” Sazed said. “Tell me, how do you feel when you are with young Lord Venture?” “I want him to hold me,” Vin said quietly, turning to the side, looking out the window. “I want him to talk to me, even if I don’t understand what he’s saying. Anything to keep him there, with me. I want to be better because of him.” “That seems like a very good sign, Lady Vin.”

“But…” Vin glanced down. “I’m not good for him, Sazed. He’s scared of me.” “Scared?”

“Well, he’s at least uncomfortable with me. I saw the look in his eyes when he saw me fighting on the day of the Assembly attack. He stumbled away from me, Sazed, horrified.” “He’d just seen a man slain,” Sazed said. “Lord Venture is somewhat innocent in these matters, Lady Vin. It wasn’t you, I think—it was simply a natural reaction to the horror of death.” “Either way,” Vin said, glancing back out the window. “I don’t want him to see me that way. I want to be the girl he needs—the girl who can support his political plans. The girl who can be pretty when he needs her on his arm, and who can comfort him when he’s frustrated. Except, that’s not me. You’re the one who trained me to act like a courtly woman, Saze, but we both know that I wasn’t all that good at it.” “And Lord Venture fell in love with you,” Sazed said, “because you didn’t act like the other women. Despite Lord Kelsier’s interference, despite your knowledge that all noblemen were our enemies, Elend fell in love with you.” “I shouldn’t have let him,” Vin said quietly. “I need to stay away from him, Saze—for his own good. That way, he can fall in love with someone else. Someone who is a better match for him. Someone who doesn’t go kill a hundred people when she gets frustrated. Someone who deserves his love.” Sazed rose, robes swishing as he stepped to Vin’s chair. He stooped down, placing his head even with hers, laying a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, child. When will you stop worrying and simply let yourself be loved?” Vin shook her head. “It’s not that easy.”

“Few things are. Yet, I tell you this, Lady Vin. Love must be allowed to flow both ways—if it is not, then it is not truly love, I think. It is something else. Infatuation, perhaps? Either way, there are some of us who are far too quick to make martyrs of ourselves. We stand at the side, watching, thinking that we do the right thing by inaction. We fear pain—our own, or that of another.” He squeezed her shoulder. “But…is that love? Is it love to assume for Elend that he has no place with you? Or, is it love to let him make his own decision in the matter?” “And if I’m wrong for him?” Vin asked.

“You must love him enough to trust his wishes, even if you disagree with them. You must respect him—no matter how wrong you think he may be, no matter how poor you think his decisions, you must respect his desire to make them. Even if one of them includes loving you.” Vin smiled slightly, but she still seemed troubled. “And…” she said very slowly, “if there is someone else? For me?” Ah….

She tensed immediately. “You mustn’t tell Elend I said that.” “I won’t,” Sazed promised. “Who is this other man?”

Vin shrugged. “Just…someone more like myself. The kind of man I should be with.” “Do you love him?”

“He’s strong,” Vin said. “He makes me think of Kelsier.”

So there is another Mistborn, Sazed thought. In this matter, he knew he should remain unbiased. He didn’t know enough about this second man to make a judgment—and Keepers were supposed to give information, but avoid specific advice.

Sazed, however, had never been very good at following that rule. He didn’t know this other Mistborn, true, but he did know Elend Venture. “Child,” he said, “Elend is the best of men, and you have been so much happier since you’ve been with him.” “But, he’s really the first man I loved,” Vin said quietly. “How do I know it’s right? Shouldn’t I pay more attention to the man who is a better match for me?” “I don’t know, Lady Vin. I honestly don’t know. I warned you of my ignorance in this area. But, can you really hope to find a better person than Lord Elend?” She sighed. “It’s all so frustrating. I should be worrying about the city and the Deepness, not which man to spend my evenings with!” “It is hard to defend others when our own lives are in turmoil,” Sazed said.

“I just have to decide,” Vin said, standing, walking over toward the window. “Thank you, Sazed. Thank you for listening…thank you for coming back to the city.” Sazed nodded, smiling. Vin shot backward out the open window, shoving herself against some bit of metal. Sazed sighed, rubbing his eyes as he walked over to the room’s door and pulled it open.

Tindwyl stood outside, arms crossed. “I think I would feel more comfortable in this city,” she said, “if I didn’t know that our Mistborn had the volatile emotions of a teenage girl.” “Lady Vin is more stable than you think,” Sazed said.

“Sazed, I’ve raised some fifteen daughters,” Tindwyl said, entering the room. “No teenage girl is stable. Some are just better at hiding it than others.” “Then, be glad she didn’t hear you eavesdropping,” Sazed said. “She is usually rather paranoid about such things.” “Vin has a weak spot regarding Terris people,” Tindwyl said with a wave of her hand. “We can likely thank you for that. She seems to give great value to your advice.” “Such as it is.”

“I thought what you said was very wise, Sazed,” Tindwyl said, sitting. “You would have made an excellent father.” Sazed bowed his head in embarrassment, then moved over to sit down. “We should—” A knock came at the door.

“Now what?” Tindwyl asked.

“Did you not order us lunch?”

Tindwyl shook her head. “I never even left the hallway.”

A second later, Elend poked his head into the room. “Sazed? Could I talk to you for a bit?” “Of course, Lord Elend,” Sazed said, rising.

“Great,” Elend said, striding into the room. “Tindwyl, you are excused.” She rolled her eyes, shooting an exasperated glance at Sazed, but stood and walked from the room.

“Thank you,” Elend said as she shut the door. “Please, sit,” he said, waving to Sazed.

Sazed did so, and Elend took a deep breath, standing with hands clasped behind his back. He had gone back to his white uniforms, and stood with a commanding posture despite his obvious frustration.

Someone stole my friend the scholar away, Sazed thought, and left a king in his place. “I assume this is about Lady Vin, Lord Elend?” “Yes,” Elend said, beginning to pace, gesturing with one hand as he spoke. “She doesn’t make any sense, Sazed. I expect that—hell, I count on it. She’s not just female, she’s Vin. But, I’m left unsure how to react. One minute she seems warm to me—like we were before this mess hit the city—and the next minute she’s distant and stiff.” “Perhaps she’s just confused herself.”

“Perhaps,” Elend agreed. “But shouldn’t at least one of us know what is going on in our relationship? Honestly, Saze, sometimes I just think we’re too different to be together.” Sazed smiled. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Lord Elend. You may be surprised at how similarly the two of you think.” “I doubt that,” Elend said, continuing to pace. “She’s Mistborn; I’m just a regular man. She grew up on the streets; I grew up in a mansion. She is wily and clever; I’m book-learned.” “She is extremely competent, and so are you,” Sazed said. “She was oppressed by her brother, you by your father. Both of you hated the Final Empire, and fought it. And both of you think far too much about what should be, rather than what is.” Elend paused, looking at Sazed. “What does that mean?”

“It means that I think you two are right for each other,” Sazed said. “I am not supposed to make such judgments, and truly, this is just the opinion of a man who hasn’t seen much of you two in the last few months. But, I believe it to be true.” “And our differences?” Elend asked.

“At first glance, the key and the lock it fits may seem very different,” Sazed said. “Different in shape, different in function, different in design. The man who looks at them without knowledge of their true nature might think them opposites, for one is meant to open, and the other to keep closed. Yet, upon closer examination, he might see that without one, the other becomes useless. The wise man then sees that both lock and key were created for the same purpose.” Elend smiled. “You need to write a book sometime, Sazed. That’s as profound as anything I’ve read.” Sazed flushed, but glanced at the stack of papers on the desktop. Would they be his legacy? He wasn’t certain if they were profound, but they did represent the most cohesive attempt that he’d ever made at writing something original. True, most of the sheets contained quotes or references, but a great deal of the text also included his thoughts and annotations.

“So,” Elend said, “what should I do?”

“About Lady Vin?” Sazed asked. “I would suggest simply giving her—and yourself—a little more time.” “Time is at a premium these days, Saze.”

“When is it not?”

“When your city isn’t besieged by two armies,” Elend said, “one of them led by a megalomaniac tyrant, the other by a reckless fool.” “Yes,” Sazed said slowly. “Yes, I think you may be right. I should return to my studies.” Elend frowned. “What are you working on, anyway?”

“Something that has little relevance to your current problem, I fear,” Sazed said. “Tindwyl and I are collecting and compiling references about the Deepness and the Hero of Ages.” “The Deepness…Vin mentioned it, too. You really think it might return?” “I think it has returned, Lord Elend,” Sazed said. “It never left, really. I believe the Deepness was—is—the mists.” “But, why…” Elend said, then held up a hand. “I’ll read your conclusions when you have finished. I can’t afford to get sidetracked right now. Thank you, Sazed, for your advice.” Yes, a king indeed, Sazed thought.

“Tindwyl,” Elend said, “you may come back in now. Sazed, good day.” Elend turned toward the door, and it cracked open slowly. Tindwyl strode in, hiding her embarrassment.

“How did you know I was out there?” she asked.

“I guessed,” Elend said. “You’re as bad as Vin. Anyway, good day, both of you.” Tindwyl frowned as he left; then she glanced at Sazed.

“You really did do a fine job with him,” Sazed said.

“Too fine a job,” Tindwyl said, sitting. “I actually think that if the people had let him remain in command, he might have found a way to save the city. Come, we must return to work—this time, I actually did send someone for lunch, so we should get as much done as possible before it arrives.” Sazed nodded, seating himself and picking up his pen. Yet, he found it difficult to focus on his work. His mind kept returning to Vin and Elend. He wasn’t certain why it was so important to him that they make their relationship work. Perhaps it was simply because they were both friends of his, and he wished to see them happy.

Or perhaps there was something else. Those two were the best Luthadel had to offer. The most powerful Mistborn of the skaa underground, and the most noble leader of the aristocratic culture. They needed each other, and the Final Empire needed them both.

Plus, there was the work he was doing. The specific pronoun used in much of the Terris prophetic language was gender neutral. The actual word meant “it,” though it was commonly translated into modern tongues as “he.” Yet each “he” in his book could also have been written as “she.” If Vin really was the Hero of Ages… I need to find a way to get them out of the city, Sazed thought, a sudden realization washing over him. Those two must not be here when Luthadel falls.

He put aside his notes and immediately began writing a quick series of letters.

The two are not the same.