His people could not both raise food and resist the Conqueror’s demon armies. In the end, that was why they fell.
Sazed nodded slowly. “How much of this text do we have?”
“Not much,” Tindwyl said. “Six or seven pages. This is the only section that mentions the Deepness.”
Sazed sat quietly for a moment, rereading the passage. Finally, he looked up at Tindwyl. “You think Lady Vin is right, don’t you? You think the Deepness was mist.”
Tindwyl nodded.
“I agree,” Sazed said. “At the very least, what we now call ‘the Deepness’ was some sort of change in the mist.”
“And your arguments from before?”
“Proven wrong,” Sazed said, setting down the paper. “By your words and my own studies. I did not wish this to be true, Tindwyl.”
Tindwyl raised an eyebrow. “You defied the Synod again to seek after something you didn’t even want to believe?”
He looked into her eyes. “There is a difference between fearing something and desiring it. The return of the Deepness could destroy us. I did not want this information—but neither could I pass by the opportunity to discover it.”
Tindwyl looked away. “I do not believe that this will destroy us, Sazed. You have made a grand discovery, that I will admit. The writings of the man Kwaan tell us much. Indeed, if the Deepness was the mists, then our understanding of the Lord Ruler’s Ascension has been enhanced greatly.”
“And if the mists are growing stronger?” Sazed asked. “If, by killing the Lord Ruler, we also destroyed whatever force was keeping the mists chained?”
“We have no proof that the mists are coming by day,” Tindwyl said. “And on the possibility of them killing people, we have only your hesitant theories.”
Sazed glanced away. On the table, his fingers had smudged Tindwyl’s hurriedly written words. “That is true,” he said.
Tindwyl sighed softly in the dim room. “Why do you never defend yourself, Sazed?”
“What defense is there?”
“There must be some. You apologize and ask forgiveness, but your apparent guilt never seems to change your behavior! Do you never think that, perhaps, if you had been more outspoken, you might be leading the Synod? They cast you out because you refused to offer arguments on your own behalf. You’re the most contrite rebel I’ve ever known.”
Sazed didn’t respond. He glanced to the side, seeing her concerned eyes. Beautiful eyes. Foolish thoughts, he told himself, looking away. You’ve always known that. Some things were meant for others, but never for you.
“You were right about the Lord Ruler, Sazed,” Tindwyl said. “Perhaps the others would have followed you if you had been just a little more … insistent.”
Sazed shook his head. “I am not a man from one of your biographies, Tindwyl. I am not even, really, a man.”
“You are a better man than they, Sazed,” Tindwyl said quietly. “The frustrating part is, I’ve never been able to figure out why.”
They fell silent. Sazed rose and walked to the window, opening the shutters, letting in the light. Then he extinguished the room’s lamp.
“I will leave today,” Tindwyl said.
“Leave?” Sazed asked. “The armies might not let you pass.”
“I wasn’t going to pass them, Sazed. I plan to visit them. I have given knowledge to young Lord Venture; I need to offer the same aid to his opponents.”
“Ah,” Sazed said. “I see. I should have realized this.”
“I doubt they will listen as he has,” Tindwyl said, a hint of fondness slipping into her voice. “Venture is a fine man.”
“A fine king,” Sazed said.
Tindwyl didn’t respond. She looked at the table, with its scattered notations, each drawn from one or another of their copperminds, scribbled in haste, then shown and reread.
What was this night, then? This night of study, this night sharing thoughts and discoveries?
She was still beautiful. Auburn hair graying, but kept long and straight. Face marked by a lifetime of hardship that had not broken her. And eyes … keen eyes, with the knowledge and love of learning that only a Keeper could claim.
I should not consider these things, Sazed thought again. There is no purpose to them. There never was. “You must go, then,” he said, turning.
“Again, you refuse to argue,” she said.
“What would be the point of argument? You are a wise and determined person. You must be guided by your own conscience.”
“Sometimes, people only seem determined upon one course because they have been offered no other options.”
Sazed turned toward her. The room was quiet, the only sounds coming from the courtyard below. Tindwyl sat half in sunlight, her bright robes slowly growing more illuminated as the shadows fell away. She seemed to be implying something, something he had not expected to ever hear from her.
“I am confused,” he said, sitting back down in a slow motion. “What of your duty as a Keeper?”
“It is important,” she admitted. “But … certain, occasional exceptions must be allowed. This rubbing you found … well, perhaps it merits further study before I depart.”
Sazed watched her, trying to read her eyes. What is it I feel? he wondered. Confused? Dumbfounded?
Afraid?
“I cannot be what you wish, Tindwyl,” he said. “I am not a man.”
She waved her hand indifferently. “I have had more than enough of ‘men’ and childbearing over the years, Sazed. I have done my duty to the Terris people. I should like to stay away from them for a time, I think. A part of me resents them, for what was done to me.”
He opened his mouth to speak, but she held up a hand. “I know, Sazed. I took that duty upon myself, and am glad for my service. But … during the years spent alone, meeting with the Keepers only on occasion, I found it frustrating that all their planning seemed to be directed at maintaining their status as a conquered people.
“I only ever saw one man pushing the Synod toward active measures. While they planned how to keep themselves hidden, one man wanted to attack. While they decided the best ways to foil the Breeders, one man wanted to plot the downfall of the Final Empire. When I rejoined my people, I found that man still fighting. Alone. Condemned for fraternizing with thieves and rebels, he quietly accepted his punishment.”
She smiled. “That man went on to free us all.”
She took his hand. Sazed sat, astonished.
“The men I read about, Sazed,” Tindwyl said quietly, “these were not men who sat and planned the best ways to hide. They fought; they sought victory. Sometimes, they were reckless—and other men called them fools. Yet, when the dice were cast and the bodies counted, they were men who changed things.”
Sunlight entered the room in full, and she sat, cupping his hand in hers. She seemed … anxious. Had he ever seen that emotion in her? She was strong, the strongest woman he knew. That couldn’t possibly be apprehension he saw in her eyes.
“Give me an excuse, Sazed,” she whispered.
“I should … very much like it if you stayed,” Sazed said, one hand in hers, the other resting on the tabletop, fingers trembling slightly.