Finally, Demoux stood, holding the still steaming cup in his hands. People gathered around, sitting on the cold cobblestones, huddled beneath blankets or cloaks.
“We shouldn’t fear the mists, my friends,” Demoux said. His wasn’t the voice of a strong leader or forceful battle commander—it was the voice of hardened youth, a little hesitant, but compelling nonetheless.
“The Survivor taught us of this,” he continued. “I know it’s very hard to think of the mists without remembering stories of mistwraiths or other horrors. But, the Survivor gave the mists to us. We should try and remember him, through them.”
Lord Ruler … Vin thought with shock. He’s one of them—a member of the Church of the Survivor! She wavered, uncertain what to think. Was he the kandra or wasn’t he? Why would the kandra meet with a group of people like this? But … why would Demoux himself do it?
“I know it’s hard,” Demoux said below, “without the Survivor. I know you’re afraid of the armies. Trust me, I know. I see them too. I know you suffer beneath this siege. I … don’t know if I can even tell you not to worry. The Survivor himself knew great hardship—the death of his wife, his imprisonment in the Pits of Hathsin. But he survived. That’s the point, isn’t it? We have to live on, no matter how hard this all gets. We’ll win, in the end. Just like he did.”
He stood with his mug in his hands, looking nothing like the skaa preachers Vin had seen. Kelsier had chosen a passionate man to found his religion—or, more precisely, to found the revolution the religion had come from. Kelsier had needed leaders who could enflame supporters, whip them up into a destructive upheaval.
Demoux was something different. He didn’t shout, but spoke calmly. Yet, people paid attention. They sat on the stones around him, looking up with hopeful—even worshipful—eyes.
“The Lady Heir,” one of them whispered. “What of her?”
“Lady Vin bears a great responsibility,” Demoux said. “You can see the weight bowing her down, and how frustrated she is with the problems in the city. She is a straightforward woman, and I don’t think she likes the Assembly’s politicking.”
“But, she’ll protect us, right?” one asked.
“Yes,” Demoux said. “Yes, I believe she will. Sometimes, I think that she’s even more powerful than the Survivor was. You know that he only had two years to practice as a Mistborn? She’s barely had that much time herself.”
Vin turned away. It comes back to that, she thought. They sound rational until they talk about me, and then …
“She’ll bring us peace, someday,” Demoux said. “The heir will bring back the sun, stop the ash from falling. But we have to survive until then. And we have to fight. The Survivor’s entire work was to see the Lord Ruler dead and make us free. What gratitude do we show if we run now that armies have come?
“Go and tell your Assemblymen that you don’t want Lord Cett, or even Lord Penrod, to be your king. The vote happens in one day, and we need to make certain the right man is made king. The Survivor chose Elend Venture, and that is whom we must follow.”
That’s new, Vin thought.
“Lord Elend is weak,” one of the people said. “He won’t defend us.”
“Lady Vin loves him,” Demoux said. “She wouldn’t love a weak man. Penrod and Cett treat you like the skaa used to be treated, and that’s why you think they’re strong. But that’s not strength—it’s oppression. We have to be better than that! We have to trust the Survivor’s judgment!”
Vin relaxed against the lip of the roof, tension melting a bit. If Demoux really was the spy, then he wasn’t going to give her any evidence this night. So, she put her knives away, then rested with her arms folded on the rooftop’s edge. The fire crackled in the cool winter evening, sending billows of smoke to mix with the mists, and Demoux continued to speak in his quiet, reassuring voice, teaching the people about Kelsier.
It’s not even really a religion, Vin thought as she listened. The theology is so simple—not at all like the complex beliefs that Sazed speaks about.
Demoux taught basic concepts. He held up Kelsier as a model, talking about survival, and about enduring hardships. Vin could see why the direct words would appeal to the skaa. The people really only had two choices: to struggle on, or to give up. Demoux’s teachings gave them an excuse to keep living.
The skaa didn’t need rituals, prayers, or codes. Not yet. They were too inexperienced with religion in general, too frightened of it, to want such things. But, the more she listened, the more Vin understood the Church of the Survivor. It was what they needed; it took what the skaa already knew—a life filled with hardship—and elevated it to a higher, more optimistic plane.
And the teachings were still evolving. The deification of Kelsier she had expected; even the reverence for her was understandable. But, where did Demoux get the promises that Vin would stop the ash and bring back the sun? How did he know to preach of green grasses and blue skies, describing the world as it was known only in some of the world’s most obscure texts?
He described a strange world of colors and beauty—a place foreign and difficult to conceive, but somehow wonderful all the same. Flowers and green plants were strange, alien things to these people; even Vin had trouble visualizing them, and she had heard Sazed’s descriptions.
Demoux was giving the skaa a paradise. It had to be something completely removed from normal experience, for the mundane world was not a place of hope. Not with a foodless winter approaching, not with armies threatening and the government in turmoil.
Vin pulled back as Demoux finally ended the meeting. She lay for a moment, trying to decide how she felt. She’d been near certain about Demoux, but now her suspicions seemed unfounded. He’d gone out at night, true, but she saw now what he was doing. Plus, he’d acted so suspiciously when sneaking out. It seemed to her, as she reflected, that a kandra would know how to go about things in a much more natural way.
It’s not him, she thought. Or, if it is, he’s not going to be as easy to unmask as I thought. She frowned in frustration. Finally, she just sighed, rising, and walked to the other side of the roof. OreSeur followed, and Vin glanced at him. “When Kelsier told you to take his body,” she said, “what did he want you to preach to these people?”
“Mistress?” OreSeur asked.
“He had you appear, as if you were him returned from the grave.”
“Yes.”
“Well, what did he have you say?”
OreSeur shrugged. “Very simple things, Mistress. I told them that the time for rebellion had arrived. I told them that I—Kelsier—had returned to give them hope for victory.”
I represent that thing you’ve never been able to kill, no matter how hard you try. They had been Kelsier’s final words, spoken face-to-face with the Lord Ruler. I am hope.
I am hope.
Was it any wonder that this concept would become central to the church that sprang up around him? “Did he have you teach things like we just heard Demoux say?” Vin asked. “About the ash no longer falling, and the sun turning yellow?”
“No, Mistress.”
“That’s what I thought,” Vin said as she heard rustling on the stones below. She glanced over the side of the building, and saw Demoux returning to the palace.