And yet, a part of Sazed resisted. That made him feel deeply guilty; the villagers needed his teachings, and he wished dearly to help them. However … he felt that he was missing something. The Lord Ruler was dead, but the story did not seem finished. Was there something he had overlooked?
Something larger, even, than the Lord Ruler? Something so large, so big, that it was effectively invisible?
Or, do I just want there to be something else? he wondered. I’ve spent most of my adult life resisting and fighting, taking risks that the other Keepers called mad. I wasn’t content with feigned subservience—I had to get involved in the rebellion.
Despite that rebellion’s success, Sazed’s brethren still hadn’t forgiven him for his involvement. He knew that Vin and the others saw him as docile, but compared with other Keepers he was a wild man. A reckless, untrustworthy fool who threatened the entire order with his impatience. They had believed their duty was to wait, watching for the day when the Lord Ruler was gone. Feruchemists were too rare to risk in open rebellion.
Sazed had disobeyed. Now he was having trouble living the peaceful life of a teacher. Was that because some subconscious part of him knew that the people were still in danger, or was it because he simply couldn’t accept being marginalized?
“Master Terrisman!”
Sazed spun. The voice was terrified. Another death in the mists? he thought immediately.
It was eerie how the other skaa remained inside their hovels despite the horrified voice. A few doors creaked, but nobody rushed out in alarm—or even curiosity—as the screamer dashed up to Sazed. She was one of the field-workers, a stout, middle-aged woman. Sazed checked his reserves as she approached; he had on his pewtermind for strength, of course, and a very small steel ring for speed. Suddenly, he wished he’d chosen to wear just a few more bracelets this day.
“Master Terrisman!” the woman said, out of breath. “Oh, he’s come back! He’s come for us!”
“Who?” Sazed asked. “The man who died in the mists?”
“No, Master Terrisman. The Lord Ruler.”
Sazed found him standing just outside the village. It was already growing dark, and the woman who’d fetched Sazed had returned to her hovel in fear. Sazed could only imagine how the poor people felt—trapped by the onset of the night and its mist, yet huddled and worried at the danger that lurked outside.
And an ominous danger it was. The stranger waited quietly on the worn road, wearing a black robe, standing almost as tall as Sazed himself. The man was bald, and he wore no jewelry—unless, of course, you counted the massive iron spikes that had been driven point-first through his eyes.
Not the Lord Ruler. A Steel Inquisitor.
Sazed still didn’t understand how the creatures continued to live. The spikes were wide enough to fill the Inquisitor’s entire eye sockets; the nails had destroyed the eyes, and pointed tips jutted out the back of the skull. No blood dripped from the wounds—for some reason, that made them seem more strange.
Fortunately, Sazed knew this particular Inquisitor. “Marsh,” Sazed said quietly as the mists began to form.
“You are a very difficult person to track, Terrisman,” Marsh said—and the sound of his voice shocked Sazed. It had changed, somehow, becoming more grating, more gristly. It now had a grinding quality, like that of a man with a cough. Just like the other Inquisitors Sazed had heard.
“Track?” Sazed asked. “I wasn’t planning on others needing to find me.”
“Regardless,” Marsh said, turning south. “I did. You need to come with me.”
Sazed frowned. “What? Marsh, I have a work to do here.”
“Unimportant,” Marsh said, turning back, focusing his eyeless gaze on Sazed.
Is it me, or has he become stranger since we last met? Sazed shivered. “What is this about, Marsh?”
“The Conventical of Seran is empty.”
Sazed paused. The Conventical was a Ministry stronghold to the south—a place where the Inquisitors and high obligators of the Lord Ruler’s religion had retreated after the Collapse.
“Empty?” Sazed asked. “That isn’t likely, I think.”
“True nonetheless,” Marsh said. He didn’t use body language as he spoke—no gesturing, no movements of the face.
“I …” Sazed trailed off. What kinds of information, wonders, secrets, the Conventical’s libraries must hold.
“You must come with me,” Marsh said. “I may need help, should my brethren discover us.”
My brethren. Since when are the Inquisitors Marsh’s “brethren”? Marsh had infiltrated their numbers as part of Kelsier’s plan to overthrow the Final Empire. He was a traitor to their numbers, not their brother.
Sazed hesitated. Marsh’s profile looked … unnatural, even unnerving, in the dim light. Dangerous.
Don’t be foolish, Sazed chastised himself. Marsh was Kelsier’s brother—the Survivor’s only living relative. As an Inquisitor, Marsh had authority over the Steel Ministry, and many of the obligators had listened to him despite his involvement with the rebellion. He had been an invaluable resource for Elend Venture’s fledgling government.
“Go get your things,” Marsh said.
My place is here, Sazed thought. Teaching the people, not gallivanting across the countryside, chasing my own ego.
And yet …
“The mists are coming during the day,” Marsh said quietly.
Sazed looked up. Marsh was staring at him, the heads of his spikes shining like round disks in the last slivers of sunlight. Superstitious skaa thought that Inquisitors could read minds, though Sazed knew that was foolish. Inquisitors had the powers of Mistborn, and could therefore influence other people’s emotions—but they could not read minds.
“Why did you say that?” Sazed asked.
“Because it is true,” Marsh said. “This is not over, Sazed. It has not yet begun. The Lord Ruler … he was just a delay. A cog. Now that he is gone, we have little time remaining. Come with me to the Conventical—we must search it while we have the opportunity.”
Sazed paused, then nodded. “Let me go explain to the villagers. We can leave tonight, I think.”
Marsh nodded, but he didn’t move as Sazed retreated to the village. He just remained, standing in the darkness, letting the mist gather around him.
It all comes back to poor Alendi. I feel bad for him, and for all the things he has been forced to endure. For what he has been forced to become.
8
VIN THREW HERSELF INTO THE mists. She soared in the night air, passing over darkened homes and streets. An occasional, furtive bob of light glowed in the mists—a guard patrol, or perhaps an unfortunate late-night traveler.
Vin began to descend, and she immediately flipped a coin out before herself. She Pushed against it, her weight plunging it down into the quiet depths. As soon as it hit the street below, her Push forced her upward, and she sprang back into the air. Soft Pushes were very difficult—so each coin she Pushed against, each jump she made, threw her into the air at a terrible speed. The jumping of a Mistborn wasn’t like a bird’s flight. It was more like the path of a ricocheting arrow.