Mistborn Trilogy
Page 195
Zane heard voices, Vin realized. Right before he died, he seemed to be talking to something. She felt a chill as she rested her head back against the wall.
Zane had been mad. Perhaps there was no connection between the voices he heard and Ruin. Yet, it seemed like too much of a coincidence. Zane had tried to get her to go with him, to seek out the source of the pulsings—the pulsings that had eventually led her to free Ruin.
So, Vin thought, Ruin can influence me regardless of distance or containment. However, now that it has been freed, it can manifest directly. That brings up another question. Why hasn’t it already destroyed us all? Why play games with armies?
The answer to that one, at least, seemed obvious. She sensed Ruin’s boundless will to destroy. She felt as if she knew its mind. One drive. One impulse. Ruin. So, if it hadn’t accomplished its goal yet, that meant it couldn’t. That it was hindered. Limited to indirect, gradual means of destruction—like falling ash and the light-stealing mists.
Still, those methods would eventually be effective. Unless Ruin was stopped. But how?
It was imprisoned before . . . but what did the imprisoning? She’d once assumed that the Lord Ruler had been the one behind Ruin’s imprisonment. But that was wrong. Ruin had already been imprisoned when the Lord Ruler had traveled to the Well of Ascension. The Lord Ruler, then known as Rashek, had gone on the quest with Alendi, in order to slay the presumed Hero of Ages. Rashek’s purpose had been to stop Alendi from doing what Vin had eventually done: accidentally releasing Ruin.
Ironically, it had been better that a selfish man like Rashek had taken the power. For, a selfish man kept the power for himself, rather than giving it up and freeing Ruin.
Regardless, Ruin had already been imprisoned before the quest began. That meant that the Deepness—the mists—weren’t related to Ruin. Or, at least, the connection wasn’t as simple as she’d assumed. Letting Ruin go hadn’t been what had prompted the mists to start coming during the day and killing people. In fact, the daymists had started to appear as much as a year before she’d released Ruin, and the mists had started killing people some hours before Vin had found her way to the Well.
So . . . what do I know? That Ruin was imprisoned long ago. Imprisoned by something that, perhaps, I can find and use again?
She stood up. Too much sitting and thinking had made her restless, and she began to walk, feeling her way along the wall.
During her first day of imprisonment she’d begun, by touch, to scout the cavern. It was huge, like the other caches, and the process had taken her several days. However, she’d had nothing else to do. Unlike the cache in Urteau, this one had no pool or source of water. And, as Vin investigated it, she discovered that Yomen had removed all of the water barrels from what she assumed was their place on the far right corner. He’d left the canned food and other supplies—the cavern was so enormous that he would have had trouble finding time to remove everything, let alone finding a place to store it somewhere else—however, he’d taken all of the water.
That left Vin with a problem. She felt her way along the wall, locating a shelf where she’d left an open can of stew. Even with pewter and a rock, it had taken her a frightfully long time to get into the can. Yomen had been clever enough to remove the tools she could have used for opening the food stores, and Vin only had one vial’s worth of pewter remaining. She’d opened some ten cans of food on her first day, burning away what pewter she’d had inside of her. That food was already dwindling, however, and she was feeling the need for water—the stew did little to quench her thirst.
She picked up the can of stew, carefully eating only a mouthful. It was almost gone. The taste reminded her of the hunger that was a growing complement to her thirst. She pushed the feeling away. She’d dealt with hunger for her entire childhood. It was nothing new, even if it had been years since she’d last felt it.
She moved on, trailing fingers on the side of the wall to keep her bearings. It seemed like such a clever way to kill a Mistborn. Yomen couldn’t defeat her, and he trapped her instead. Now, he could simply wait for her to die of dehydration. Simple, effective.
Perhaps Ruin is speaking to Yomen, too, she thought. My imprisonment could all be part of Ruin’s plan.
Whatever that is.
Why had Ruin chosen her? Why not lead someone else to the Well of Ascension? Someone easier to control? She could understand why Ruin had chosen Alendi, all those years before. During Alendi’s time, the Well had been sequestered high in the mountains. It would have been a very difficult trek, and Ruin would have needed just the right person to plan, then survive, the expedition.
However, during Vin’s day, the Well had somehow been moved to Luthadel. Or, perhaps Luthadel had been built on top of the Well. Either way, it was there, right beneath the Lord Ruler’s palace. Why had Ruin waited so long to free himself? And, of all the people he could have chosen as his pawn, why Vin?
She shook her head as she arrived at her destination—the only other thing of interest in the vast cavern. A metal plate on the wall. She reached up, brushing her fingers across the slick steel. She’d never been an excellent reader, and the last year—spent in war and travel—hadn’t afforded her much time to improve her abilities. And so, it had taken her some time, feeling her way across each groove carved into the metal, to figure out what was written on the plate.
There was no map. Or, at least, not like the ones in the previous storage caverns. Instead, there was a simple circle, with a dot at the center. Vin wasn’t certain what it was supposed to mean. The text was equally frustrating. Vin ran her fingers across the grooves, though she had long since memorized what the words said.
I have failed you.
I have planned these caverns, knowing a calamity is coming, hoping that I might find some secret that might be of use should I fall to the thing’s scheming. Yet, I have nothing. I do not know how to defeat it. The only thing I can think of is to keep it at bay by taking the power at the Well for myself when it returns.
However, if you are reading this, I have failed. That means I am dead. As I write this, I find that prospect to be less tragic than I might previously have assumed. I would rather not deal with the thing. It has been my constant companion, the voice that whispers to me always, telling me to destroy, begging me to give it freedom.
I fear that it has corrupted my thoughts. It cannot sense what I think, but it can speak inside of my head. Eight hundred years of this has made it difficult to trust my own mind. Sometimes, I hear the voices, and simply assume that I am mad.
That would certainly be preferable.
I do know that these words must be written in steel to be preserved. I have written them in a steel sheet, then ordered them scribed into a plate, knowing that in doing so, I reveal my weakness to my own priests. The thing has whispered to me that I am a fool to expose myself by writing this and letting others see it.
That is primarily why I decided to go through with the creation of this plate. Doing so seemed to make the thing angry. That is reason enough, I think. It is good that some few of my loyal priests know of my weakness, if only for the good of the empire, should I somehow fall.
I have tried to be a good ruler. At first, I was too young, too angry. I made mistakes. Yet, I have tried so hard. I nearly destroyed the world with my arrogance, and yet I fear I have nearly destroyed it again through my rule. I can do better. I will do better. I will create a land of order.
The thoughts in my mind, however, make me wonder just how much of what I do has been twisted from my original intentions. At times, my empire seems a place of peace and justice. Yet, if that is so, why can I not stop the rebellions? They cannot defeat me, and I must order them slaughtered each time they rise up. Can they not see the perfection of my system?
Regardless, this is not the place for justification. I need no justification, for I am—after a form—God. Yet, I know there is something greater than I. If I can be destroyed, It will be the cause of that destruction.
Perhaps these stores will let mankind survive a little longer. Perhaps not. I am dead. I doubt that I should care.
Still, I do. For you are my people. I am the Hero of Ages. That is what it must mean: Hero of Ages, a hero that lives through the ages, as I do.
Know that the thing’s power is not complete. Fortunately, I have hidden his body well.
And that was the end. Vin tapped the plate with frustration. Everything about the words on it seemed contrived to frustrate her. The Lord Ruler had led them on this grand chase, then at the end, he offered no hope? Elend was betting so much on what this plaque would contain, and yet, it was virtually worthless. At least the other ones had contained some relevant information about a new metal or the like.
I have failed you. It was infuriating—almost crushingly so—to come all this way, then find that the Lord Ruler had been as stumped as they were. And, if he’d known more—as his words implied that he did—why hadn’t he shared it on the plate? And yet, she could sense his instability even through these words—his washing back and forth from contrition to arrogance. Perhaps that was Ruin’s influence on him. Or, perhaps it was simply the way he had always been. Either way, Vin suspected that the Lord Ruler couldn’t have told her much more that would have been of use. He’d done what he could, holding Ruin at bay for a thousand years. It had corrupted him, perhaps even driven him mad.
That didn’t stop her from feeling a sharp sense of disappointment at what the plate contained. The Lord Ruler had been given a thousand years to worry about what would happen to the land if he were killed before the power returned to the Well, and even he hadn’t been able to come up with a way out of the problem.
She looked up toward the plate, though in the darkness, she could not see it.
There has to be a way! she thought, refusing to accept the Lord Ruler’s implication that they were doomed. What was it you wrote at the bottom? “I have hidden his body well.”
That part seemed important. However, she hadn’t been—
A sound rang through the darkness.
Vin turned immediately, growing tense, feeling for her last metal vial. Proximity to Ruin had made her jumpy, and she found her heart beating with anxiety as she listened to the echoing sounds—sounds of stone grinding against stone.
The door to the cavern was opening.
One might ask why Ruin couldn’t have used Inquisitors to release him from his prison. The answer to this is simple enough, if one understands the workings of power.
Before the Lord Ruler’s death, he maintained too tight a grip on them to let Ruin control them directly. Even after the Lord Ruler’s death, however, such a servant of Ruin could never have rescued him. The power in the Well was of Preservation, and an Inquisitor could only have taken it by first removing his Hemalurgic spikes. That, of course, would have killed him.
Thus, Ruin needed a much more indirect way to achieve his purpose. He needed someone he hadn’t tainted too much, but someone he could lead by the nose, carefully manipulating.
49
SAZED MADE A SMALL NOTATION ON HIS DIAGRAM, comparing measurements of the waterway. From what he could tell, the Lord Ruler hadn’t really needed to do much to create the underground lake. Water had already been flowing into the cavern. The Lord Ruler’s engineers had simply widened the passageways, bringing in a steadier, surer flow that outpaced the natural drainage.
The result was an aquifer of good size. Some machinery in a side cave proved to be a mechanism for plugging the outlets at the bottom—presumably so that one could keep the water reserve from escaping, should something happen to the incoming supply. Unfortunately, there was no existing way to block off the inlets.
Before the Lord Ruler’s creation of the reservoir, only a small amount of the water had passed into the cavern. The rest flowed instead into what were now the streets, filling the canals. So, Sazed assumed, if he could stop the water from entering the cavern, it would refill the canals.
I’ll need to know more about water pressure, Sazed thought, so I can provide enough weight to plug those inlets. He thought he’d seen a book on the subject inside his metalmind.
He leaned back in his chair, tapping his metalmind. Memory blossomed inside his head as he withdrew a section of text: an index he’d made listing the titles of books he had in his storage. As soon as he pulled the text out, the words became as clear to him as if he’d just read and memorized them. He scanned through the list quickly, seeking the title he needed. When he found it, he scribbled it on a piece of paper. Then, he placed the list back inside his coppermind.
The experience was odd. After replacing the list, he could recollect having drawn the material out—but, he had no memory whatsoever of what the index had contained. There was a blank in his mind. Only the words scribbled on the paper explained things that he’d known just seconds before. With that title, he could draw the appropriate book into his mind in its entirety. He selected the chapters he wanted, then stuck the rest back into the coppermind, lest they decay.
And, with those chapters, his knowledge of engineering was as fresh as if he’d just read and studied the book. He easily figured out the proper weights and balances he’d need to craft barriers that would, he hoped, return water to the streets above.
He worked alone, sitting at a fine stolen desk, a lantern lighting the cavern around him. Even with the knowledge provided by his copperminds, it was difficult work, with many calculations—not exactly the kind of research he was accustomed to. Fortunately, a Keeper’s copperminds were not limited to his own interests. Each Keeper kept all of the knowledge. Sazed could vaguely remember the years he’d spent listening and memorizing. He’d only needed to know the information well enough to remember it for a short time, then he could dump it into a coppermind. In that way, he was both one of the smartest and most ignorant men who had ever lived—he had memorized so much, but had intentionally forgotten it all.
Regardless, he had access to texts on engineering as well as religion. Knowing such things did not make him a brilliant mathematician or architect—however, it did give him enough competence to make him a good deal better than a layman.
And, as he worked, he was finding it more and more difficult to deny that scholarship was something at which he excelled. He was not a leader. He was not an ambassador. Even while he served as Elend’s chief ambassador, he’d spent much of his time looking through his religions. Now, when he should be heading the team in Urteau, more and more he found himself letting Spook take the lead.
Sazed was a man of research and of letters. He found contentment in his studies. Even though engineering wasn’t an area he particularly enjoyed, the truth was, he’d much rather study—no matter what the topic—than do anything else. Is it such a shameful thing, he thought, to be the man who likes to provide information for others, rather than be the one who has to use that information?
The tapping of a cane on the ground announced Breeze’s arrival. The Soother didn’t need a cane to walk; he just preferred to carry one to look more gentlemanly. Of all the skaa thieves Sazed had known, Breeze did by far the best job of imitating a nobleman.
Sazed quickly jotted down a few more notations, then returned the chapters on water pressure to his coppermind. No need to let them decay while speaking to Breeze. For, of course, Breeze would want to talk. Sure enough, as soon as Breeze sat at Sazed’s table, he scanned the diagrams, then raised an eyebrow. “That’s coming along nicely, my dear man. You may have missed your calling.”
Sazed smiled. “You are kind, Lord Breeze, though I fear an engineer would find this plan unsightly. Still, I think it will be sufficient.”
“You really think you can do it?” Breeze asked. “Make the waters flow as the lad asked? Is it even possible?”
“Oh, it is quite possible,” Sazed said. “
My expertise—not the plausibility of the task—is the item in question. The waters once filled those canals, and they can do so again. In fact, I believe that their return will be far more spectacular than the original flow. Before, much of the water was already diverted into these caverns. I should be able to block most of that and return the waters above in force. Of course, if Lord Spook wishes to keep the canals flowing, then we will have to let some of the water escape down here again. Canal works generally don’t have much of a current, especially in an area where there are many locks.”
Breeze raised an eyebrow.
“Actually,” Sazed continued, “canals are far more fascinating than you might expect. Take, for instance, the methods of transforming a natural river into a canal—making it what is called a navigation—or perhaps look at the methods of dredging used to remove silt and ash from the depths. I have one particular book by the infamous Lord Fedre, who—despite his reputation—was an absolute genius when it came to canal architecture. Why, I’ve had to . . .” Sazed trailed off, then smiled wanly. “I apologize. You’re not interested in this, are you?”
“No,” Breeze said, “but it’s enough that you are, Sazed. It’s good to see you excited about your studies again. I don’t know what it was you were working on before, but it always bothered me that you wouldn’t share it with anyone. Seemed like you were almost ashamed of what you were doing. Now, however—this is like the Sazed I remember!”
Sazed looked down at his scribbled notes and diagrams. It was true. The last time that he had been so excited about a line of study was . . .
When he’d been with her. Working on their collection of myths and references regarding the Hero of Ages.
“In truth, Lord Breeze,” Sazed said, “I do feel somewhat guilty.”
Breeze rolled his eyes. “Sazed. Do you always have to be feeling guilty about something? Back in the original crew, you felt you weren’t doing enough to help us overthrow the Lord Ruler. Then, once we killed him, you were distraught because you weren’t doing what the other Keepers told you to. Do you want to tell me exactly how you go about feeling guilty for studying, of all things?”