The Hero of Ages m-3

by Brandon Sanderson

  Either way, the Allomancy was an additional confirmation of her suspicions. Reen had not been an Allomancer. True, he could have Snapped during their time apart, but she didn't think he had any noble blood to impart him an Allomantic heritage. Vin had gotten her powers from her father, the parent she and Reen had not shared.

  She attacked experimentally, testing this impostor's skill. He stayed out of her reach, watching carefully as she alternately prowled and attacked. She tried to corner him against the shelves, but he was too careful to be caught.

  "This is pointless," the impostor said, jumping away from her again.

  No coins, Vin thought. He doesn't use coins to jump.

  "You'd have to expose yourself too much to actually hit me, Vin," the impostor said, "and I'm obviously good enough to stay out of your reach. Can't we stop this and get on to more important matters? Aren't you even a bit curious as to what I've been doing these last four years?"

  Vin backed into a crouch, like a cat preparing to pounce, and smiled.

  "What?" the impostor asked.

  At that moment, her stalling paid off. Behind them, the overturned lantern finally flickered out, plunging the cavern into darkness. But Vin, with her ability to pierce copperclouds, could still sense her enemy. She'd dropped her coin pouch back when she'd first sensed someone in the room-she bore no metal to give him warning of her approach.

  She launched herself forward, intending to grab her enemy around the neck and pull him into a pin. The Allomantic pulses didn't let her see him, but they did tell her exactly where he was. That would be enough of an edge.

  She was wrong. He dodged her just as easily as he had before.

  Vin fell still. Tin, she thought. He can hear me coming.

  So, she kicked over a storage shelf, then attacked again as the crash of the falling shelf echoed loudly in the chamber, spilling cans across the floor.

  The impostor evaded her again. Vin froze. Something was very wrong. Somehow, he always sensed her. The cavern fell silent. Neither sound nor light bounced off its walls. Vin crouched, the fingers of one hand resting lightly on the cool stone before her. She could feel the thumping, his Allomantic power washing across her in waves. She focused on it, trying to differentiate the metals that had produced it. Yet, the pulses felt opaque. Muddled.

  There's something familiar about them, she realized. When I first sensed this impostor, I thought. . I thought he was the mist spirit.

  There was a reason the pulses felt familiar. Without the light to distract her, making her connect the figure with Reen, she could see what she'd been missing.

  Her heart began to beat quickly, and for the first time this evening-imprisonment included-she began to feel afraid. The pulses felt just like the ones she'd felt a year ago. The pulses that had led her to the Well of Ascension.

  "Why have you come here?" she whispered to the blackness.

  Laughter. It rang in the empty cavern, loud, free. The thumpings approached, though no footsteps marked the thing's movement. The pulses suddenly grew enormous and overpowering. They washed across Vin, unbounded by the cavern's echoes, an unreal sound that passed through things both living and dead. She stepped backward in the darkness, and nearly tripped over the shelves she'd knocked down.

  I should have known you wouldn't be fooled, a kindly voice said in her head. The thing's voice. She'd heard it only once before, a year ago, when she'd released it from its imprisonment in the Well of Ascension.

  "What do you want?" she whispered.

  You know what I want. You've always known.

  And she did. She had sensed it in the moment when she had touched the thing. Ruin, she called it. It had very simple desires. To see the world come to its end.

  "I will stop you," she said. Yet, it was hard to not feel foolish speaking the words to a force she did not understand, a thing that existed beyond men and beyond worlds.

  It laughed again, though this time the sound was only inside her head. She could still feel Ruin pulsing-though not from any one specific place. It surrounded her. She forced herself to stand up straight.

  Ah, Vin, Ruin said, its voice almost fatherly in tone. You act as if I were your enemy.

  "You are my enemy. You seek to end the things I love."

  And is an ending always bad? it asked. Must not all things, even worlds, someday end?

  "There is no need to hasten that end," Vin said. "No reason to force it."

  All things are subject to their own nature, Vin, Ruin said, seeming to flow around her. She could feel its touch upon her-wet and delicate, like mist. You cannot blame me for being what I am. Without me, nothing would end. Nothing could end. And therefore, nothing could grow. I am life. Would you fight life itself?

  Vin fell silent.

  Do not mourn because the day of this world's end has arrived, Ruin said. That end was ordained the very day of the world's conception. There is a beauty in death-the beauty of finality, the beauty of completion.

  For nothing is truly complete until the day it is finally destroyed.

  "Enough," Vin snapped, feeling alone and smothered in the chill darkness. "Stop taunting me. Why have you come here?"

  Come here? it asked. Why do you ask that?

  "What is your purpose in appearing now?" Vin said. "Have you simply come to gloat over my imprisonment?"

  I have not "just appeared," Vin, Ruin said. Why, I have never left. I've always been with you. A part of you.

  "Nonsense," Vin said. "You only just revealed yourself."

  I revealed myself to your eyes, yes, Ruin said. But, I see that you do not understand. I've always been with you, even when you could not see me.

  It paused, and there was silence, both outside and inside of her head.

  When you're alone, no one can betray you, a voice whispered in the back of her mind. Reen's voice. The voice she heard sometimes, almost real, like a conscience. She'd taken it for granted that the voice was just part of her psyche-a leftover from Reen's teachings. An instinct.

  Anyone will betray you, Vin, the voice said, repeating a bit of advice it commonly gave. As it spoke, it slowly slid from Reen's voice into that of Ruin. Anyone.

  I've always been with you. You've heard me in your mind since your first years of life.

  Ruin's escape deserves some explanation. This is a thing that even I had a problem understanding.

  Ruin could not have used the power at the Well of Ascension. It was of Preservation, Ruin's fundamental opposite. Indeed, a direct confrontation of these two forces would have caused the destruction of both.

  Ruin's prison, however, was fabricated of that power. Therefore, it was attuned to the power of Preservation-the very power of the Well. When that power was released and dispersed, rather than utilized, it acted as a key. The subsequent "unlocking" is what finally freed Ruin.

  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 f
ine 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?"