The Mistborn Trilogy

by Brandon Sanderson

  “I will guard it with my life, Mistress,” OreSeur said, his shoulder splitting open to make room for the bit of metal.

  Vin turned to join Elend as they walked down the steps, moving to meet with the guards below.

  45

  I know what I have memorized. I know what is now repeated by the other Worldbringers.

  “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, howe
ver, 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 thin
k 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.”