The Final Empire

by Brandon Sanderson

  “But that’s a good thing.”

  Marsh cocked his head slightly. “Oh? And what would be the greater advantage? Being immune to—but ignorant of—some Soother’s attentions? Or instead knowing—from your bronze—exactly which emotions he is trying to suppress?”

  Vin paused. “You can see something that specific?”

  Marsh nodded. “With care and practice, you can recognize very minute changes in your opponents’ Allomantic burnings. You can identify precisely which parts of a person’s emotions a Soother or Rioter intends to influence. You’ll also be able to tell when someone is flaring their metal. If you grow very skilled, you might even be able to tell when they’re running low on metals.”

  Vin paused in thought.

  “You begin to see the advantage,” Marsh said. “Good. Now burn bronze.”

  Vin did so. Immediately, she felt two rhythmic thumpings in the air. The soundless pulses washed over her, like the beating of drums or the washings of ocean waves. They were mixed and muddled.

  “What do you sense?” Marsh asked.

  “I…think there are two different metals being burned. One’s coming from Kelsier down below; the other is coming from you.”

  “Good,” Marsh said appreciatively. “You’ve practiced.”

  “Not much,” Vin admitted.

  He cocked an eyebrow. “Not much? You can already determine pulse origins. That takes practice.”

  Vin shrugged. “It seems natural to me.”

  Marsh was still for a moment. “Very well,” he eventually said. “Are the two pulses different?”

  Vin concentrated, frowning.

  “Close your eyes,” Marsh said. “Remove other distractions. Focus only on the Allomantic pulses.”

  Vin did so. It wasn’t like hearing—not really. She had to concentrate to distinguish anything specific about the pulses. One felt…like it was beating against her. The other, in a strange sensation, felt like it was actually pulling her toward it with each beat.

  “One’s a Pulling metal, isn’t it?” Vin asked, opening her eyes. “That one’s Kelsier. You’re Pushing.”

  “Very good,” Marsh said. “He is burning iron, as I asked him to so that you could practice. I—of course—am burning bronze.”

  “Do they all do that?” Vin asked. “Feel distinct, I mean?”

  Marsh nodded. “You can tell a Pulling metal from a Pushing metal by the Allomantic signature. Actually, that’s how some of the metals were originally divided into their categories. It isn’t intuitive, for instance, that tin Pulls while pewter Pushes. I didn’t tell you to open your eyes.”

  Vin shut them.

  “Focus on the pulses,” Marsh said. “Try and distinguish their lengths. Can you tell the difference between them?”

  Vin frowned. She focused as hard as she could, but her sense of the metals seemed…muddled. Fuzzy. After a few minutes, the lengths of the separate pulses still seemed the same to her.

  “I can’t sense anything,” she said, dejected.

  “Good,” Marsh said flatly. “It took me six months of practice to distinguish pulse lengths—if you’d done it on the first try, I’d have felt incompetent.”

  Vin opened her eyes. “Why ask me to do it, then?”

  “Because you need to practice. If you can tell Pulling metals from Pushing metals already…well, you apparently have talent. Perhaps as much talent as Kelsier has been bragging about.”

  “What was I supposed to see, then?” Vin asked.

  “Eventually, you’ll be able to sense two different pulse lengths. Internal metals, like bronze and copper, give off longer pulses than external metals, like iron and steel. Practice will also let you sense the three patterns within the pulses: one for the physical metals, one for the mental metals, and one for the two greater metals.

  “Pulse length, metal group, and Push-Pull variance—once you know these three things, you will be able to tell exactly which metals your opponent is burning. A long pulse that beats against you and has a quick pattern will be pewter—the internal Pushing physical metal.”

  “Why the names?” Vin asked. “External and internal?”

  “Metals come in groups of four—or, at least, the lower eight do. Two external metals, two internal metals—one each that Pushes, one each that Pulls. With iron, you Pull on something outside of yourself, with steel you Push on something outside of yourself. With tin you Pull on something inside of yourself, with pewter you Push on something inside of yourself.”

  “But, bronze and copper,” Vin said. “Kelsier called them internal metals, but it seems like they affect external things. Copper keeps people from sensing when you use Allomancy.”

  Marsh shook his head. “Copper doesn’t change your opponents, it changes something within yourself that has an effect on your opponents. That’s why it is an internal metal. Brass, however, alters another person’s emotions directly—and is an external metal.”

  Vin nodded thoughtfully. Then she turned, glancing toward Kelsier. “You know a lot about all the metals, but you’re just a Misting, right?”

  Marsh nodded. He didn’t look like he intended to respond, though.

  Let’s try something, then, Vin thought, extinguishing her bronze. She lightly began burning copper to mask her Allomancy. Marsh didn’t react, instead continuing to look down at Kelsier and the caravan.

  I should be invisible to his senses, she thought, carefully burning both zinc and brass. She reached, just as Breeze had been training her to do, and subtly touched Marsh’s emotions. She suppressed his suspicions and inhibitions, while at the same time bringing out his sense of wistfulness. Theoretically, that would make him more likely to talk.

  “You must have learned somewhere?” Vin asked carefully. He’ll see what I did for sure. He’s going to get angry and—

  “I Snapped when I was very young,” Marsh said. “I’ve had a long time to practice.”

  “So have a lot of people,” Vin said.

  “I…had reasons. They’re hard to explain.”

  “They always are,” Vin said, slightly increasing her Allomantic pressure.

  “You know how Kelsier feels about the nobility?” Marsh asked, turning toward her, his eyes like ice.

  Ironeyes, she thought. Like they said. She nodded to his question.

  “Well, I feel the same way about the obligators,” he said, turning away. “I’ll do anything to hurt them. They took our mother—that’s when I Snapped, and that’s when I vowed to destroy them. So, I joined the rebellion and started learning all I could about Allomancy. Inquisitors use it, so I had to understand it—understand everything I could, be as good as I could, and are you Soothing me?”

  Vin started, abruptly extinguishing her metals. Marsh turned back toward her again, his expression cold.

  Run! Vin thought. She almost did. It was nice to know that the old instincts were still there, if buried just a bit.

  “Yes,” she said meekly.

  “You are good,” Marsh said. “I’d have never known if I hadn’t started rambling. Stop it.”

  “I already have.”

  “Good,” Marsh said. “That’s the second time you’ve altered my emotions. Never do it again.”

  Vin nodded. “Second time?”

  “The first was in my shop, eight months ago.”

  That’s right. Why don’t I remember him? “I’m sorry.”

  Marsh shook his head, finally turning away. “You’re Mistborn—that’s what you do. He does the same thing.” He was looking down at Kelsier.

  They sat quietly for a few moments.

  “Marsh?” Vin asked. “How did you know I was Mistborn? I only knew how to Soothe back then.”

  Marsh shook his head. “You knew the other metals instinctively. You were burning pewter and tin that day—just a tiny bit, barely noticeable. You probably got the metals from water and dining utensils. Did you ever wonder why you survived when so many others died?”

  Vin paused. I did live through a
lot of beatings. A lot of days with no food, nights spent in alleys during rain or ashfalls…

  Marsh nodded. “Very few people, even Mistborn, are so attuned to Allomancy that they burn metals instinctively. That’s what interested me in you—that’s why I kept track of you and told Dockson where to find you. And, are you Pushing my emotions again?”

  Vin shook her head. “I promise.”

  Marsh frowned, studying her with one of his stony gazes.

  “So stern,” Vin said quietly. “Like my brother.”

  “Were you close?”

  “I hated him,” Vin whispered.

  Marsh paused, then turned away. “I see.”

  “Do you hate Kelsier?”

  Marsh shook his head. “No, I don’t hate him. He’s frivolous and self-important, but he’s my brother.”

  “And that’s enough?” Vin asked.

  Marsh nodded.

  “I…have trouble understanding that,” Vin said honestly, looking out over the field of skaa, boxes, and sacks.

  “Your brother didn’t treat you well, I presume?”

  Vin shook her head.

  “What about your parents?” Marsh said. “One was a nobleman. The other?”

  “Mad,” Vin said. “She heard voices. It got so bad that my brother was afraid to leave us alone with her. But, of course, he didn’t have a choice….”

  Marsh sat quietly, not speaking. How did this get turned back to me? Vin thought. He’s no Soother, yet he’s getting as much out of me as I’m getting out of him.

  Still, it was good to speak it finally. She reached up, idly fingering her earring. “I don’t remember it,” she said, “but Reen said that he came home one day and found my mother covered in blood. She’d killed my baby sister. Messily. Me, however, she hadn’t touched—except to give me an earring. Reen said…He said she was holding me on her lap, babbling and proclaiming me a queen, my sister’s corpse at our feet. He took me from my mother, and she fled. He saved my life, probably. That’s part of why I stayed with him, I guess. Even when it was bad.”

  She shook her head, glancing at Marsh. “Still, you don’t know how lucky you are, having Kelsier as a brother.”

  “I suppose,” Marsh said. “I just…wish he wouldn’t treat people like playthings. I’ve been known to kill obligators, but murdering men just because they’re noble…” Marsh shook his head. “It’s not just that, either. He likes people to fawn over him.”

  He had a point. However, Vin also detected something in his voice. Jealousy? You’re the older brother, Marsh. You were the responsible one—you joined the rebellion instead of working with thieves. It must have hurt that Kelsier was the one everybody liked.

  “Still,” Marsh said, “he’s getting better. The Pits changed him. Her…death changed him.”

  What’s this? Vin thought, perking up slightly. There was definitely something here, too. Hurt. Deep hurt, more than a man should feel for a sister-in-law.

  So that’s it. It wasn’t just “everyone” who liked Kelsier more, it was one person in particular. Someone you loved.

  “Anyway,” Marsh said, his voice growing more firm. “The arrogance of the past is behind him. This plan of his is insane, and I’m sure he’s partially doing it just so he can enrich himself, but…well, he didn’t have to go to the rebellion. He’s trying to do something good—though it will probably get him killed.”

  “Why go along if you’re so sure he’ll fail?”

  “Because he’s going to get me into the Ministry,” Marsh said. “The information I gather there will help the rebellion for centuries after Kelsier and I are dead.”

  Vin nodded, glancing down at the courtyard. She spoke hesitantly. “Marsh, I don’t think it’s all behind him. The way he’s setting himself up with the skaa…the way they’re starting to look at him…”

  “I know,” Marsh said. “It started with that ‘Eleventh Metal’ scheme of his. I don’t know that we have to worry—this is just Kell playing his usual games.”

  “It makes me wonder why he’s leaving on this trip,” Vin said. “He’ll be away from the action for a good month.”

  Marsh shook his head. “He’ll have an entire army full of men to perform for. Besides, he needs to get out of the city. His reputation is growing too unwieldy, and the nobility is becoming too interested in the Survivor. If rumors got out that a man with scars on his arms is staying with Lord Renoux…”

  Vin nodded, understanding.

  “Right now,” Marsh said, “he’s playing the part of one of Renoux’s distant relatives. That man has to leave before someone connects him to the Survivor. When Kell gets back, he’ll have to keep a low profile—sneaking into the mansion instead of walking up the steps, keeping his hood up when he’s in Luthadel.”

  Marsh trailed off, then stood. “Anyway, I’ve given you the basics. Now you just need to practice. Whenever you’re with Mistings, have them burn for you and focus on their Allomantic pulses. If we meet again, I’ll show you more, but there’s nothing else I can do until you’ve practiced.”

  Vin nodded, and Marsh walked out the door without any other farewell. A few moments later, she saw him approach Kelsier and Renoux again.

  They really don’t hate each other, Vin thought, resting with both arms crossed atop the railing. What would that be like? After some thought, she decided that the concept of loving siblings was a little like the Allomantic pulse lengths she was supposed to be looking for—they were just too unfamiliar for her to understand at the moment.

  “The Hero of Ages shall be not a man, but a force. No nation may claim him, no woman shall keep him, and no king may slay him. He shall belong to none, not even himself.”

  21

  KELSIER SAT QUIETLY, READING AS HIS boat moved slowly along the canal to the north. Sometimes, I worry that I’m not the hero everyone thinks I am, the text said.

  What proof do we have? The words of men long dead, only now deemed divinatory? Even if we accept the prophecies, only tenuous interpretation links them to me. Is my defense of the Summer Hill really the “Burden by which the Hero shall be dubbed”? My several marriages could give me a “Bloodless bond to the world’s kings,” if you look at it the right way. There are dozens of similar phrases that could refer to events in my life. But, then again, they could all just be coincidences.

  The philosophers assure me that this is the time, that the signs have been met. But I still wonder if they have the wrong man. So many people depend on me. They say I will hold the future of the entire world on my arms. What would they think if they knew that their champion—the Hero of Ages, their savior—doubted himself?

  Perhaps they wouldn’t be shocked at all. In a way, this is what worries me most. Maybe, in their hearts, they wonder—just like I do. When they see me, do they see a liar?

  Rashek seems to think so. I know that I shouldn’t let a simple packman perturb me. However, he is from Terris, where the prophecies originated. If anyone could spot a fraud, would it not be he?

  Nevertheless, I continue my trek, going where the scribbled auguries proclaim that I will meet my destiny—walking, feeling Rashek’s eyes on my back. Jealous. Mocking. Hating.

  In the end, I worry that my arrogance shall destroy us all.

  Kelsier lowered the booklet, his cabin shaking slightly from the efforts of the pullers outside. He was glad that Sazed had provided him with a copy of the translated portions of the Lord Ruler’s logbook before the caravan boats’ departure. There was blessed little else to do during the trip.

  Fortunately, the logbook was fascinating. Fascinating, and eerie. It was disturbing to read words that had originally been written by the Lord Ruler himself. To Kelsier the Lord Ruler was less a man, and more a…creature. An evil force that needed to be destroyed.

  Yet, the person presented in the logbook seemed all too mortal. He questioned and pondered—he seemed a man of depth, and even of character.

  Though, it would be best not to trust his narrative too closely, Kels
ier thought, running his fingers across the page. Men rarely see their own actions as unjustified.

  Still, the Lord Ruler’s story reminded Kelsier of the legends he had heard—stories whispered by skaa, discussed by noblemen, and memorized by Keepers. They claimed that once, before the Ascension, the Lord Ruler had been the greatest of men. A beloved leader, a man entrusted with the fate of all mankind.

  Unfortunately, Kelsier knew how the story ended. The Final Empire itself was the logbook’s legacy. The Lord Ruler hadn’t saved mankind; he had enslaved it instead. Reading a firsthand account, seeing the Lord Ruler’s self-doubt and internal struggles, only made the story that much more tragic.

  Kelsier raised the booklet to continue; however, his boat began to slow. He glanced out the window of his cabin, looking up the canal. Dozens of men trudged along the towpath—a small road alongside the canal—pulling the four barges and two narrowboats that made up their convoy. It was an efficient, if labor-intensive, way to travel; men pulling a barge across a canal could move hundreds more pounds of weight than they could if forced to carry packs.

  The men had pulled to a stop, however. Ahead, Kelsier could make out a lock mechanism, beyond which the canal split into two sections. A kind of crossroads of waterways. Finally, Kelsier thought. His weeks of travel were over.

  Kelsier didn’t wait for a messenger. He simply stepped out onto the deck of his narrowboat and slipped a few coins from his pouch into his hand. Time to be a bit ostentatious, he thought, dropping a coin to the wood. He burned steel and Pushed himself into the air.

  He lurched upward at an angle, quickly gaining a height where he could see the entire line of men—half pulling the boats, half walking and waiting for their shifts. Kelsier flew in an arc, dropping another coin as he passed over one of the supply-laden barges, then Pushing against it when he began to descend. Would-be soldiers looked up, pointing in awe as Kelsier soared above the canal.

  Kelsier burned pewter, strengthening his body as he thumped to the deck of the narrowboat leading the caravan.