Sazed smiled to himself, then gestured toward a chair so that she could sit.
“You can keep shaving,” she said. “It’s all right.”
“Please,” he said, gesturing again.
Vin sighed, taking the seat. “You never answered my question, Saze,” she said. “Why do you keep wearing those steward’s robes? Why do you keep your head shaved, after the fashion of a Terris servant? Why worry about showing disrespect by shaving while I’m here? You’re not a servant anymore.”
He sighed, carefully seating himself in the chair across from Vin. “I’m not exactly sure what I am anymore, Lady Vin.”
The tent walls flapped in a gentle breeze, a bit of ash blowing in through the door, which Vin hadn’t tied closed behind herself. She frowned at his comment. “You’re Sazed.”
“Emperor Venture’s chief ambassador.”
“No,” Vin said. “That might be what you do, but that’s not what you are.”
“And what am I, then?”
“Sazed,” she repeated. “Keeper of Terris.”
“A Keeper who no longer wears his copperminds?”
Vin glanced toward the corner, toward the trunk where he kept them. His copperminds, the Feruchemical storages that contained the religions, histories, stories, and legends of peoples long dead. It all sat waiting to be taught, waiting to be added to. “I fear that I have become a very selfish man, Lady Vin,” Sazed said quietly.
“That’s silly,” Vin said. “You’ve spent your entire life serving others. I know of nobody more selfless than you.”
“I do appreciate that sentiment,” he said. “But I fear that I must disagree. Lady Vin, we are not a people new to sorrow. You know better than anyone here, I think, the hardships of life in the Final Empire. We have all lost people dear to us. And yet, I seem to be the only one unable to get over my loss. I feel childish. Yes, Tindwyl is dead. In all honesty, I did not have much time with her before she did pass. I have no reason to feel as I do.
“Still, I cannot wake up in the morning and not see darkness ahead of me. When I place the metalminds upon my arms, my skin feels cold, and I remember time spent with her. Life lacks all hope. I should be able to move on, but I cannot. I am weak of will, I think.”
“That just isn’t true, Sazed,” Vin said.
“I must disagree.”
“Oh?” Vin asked. “And if you really were weak of will, would you be able to disagree with me?”
Sazed paused, then smiled. “When did you get so good at logic?”
“Living with Elend,” Vin said with a sigh. “If you prefer irrational arguments, don’t marry a scholar.”
I almost did. The thought came to Sazed unbidden, but it quieted his smile nonetheless. Vin must have noticed, for she cringed slightly.
“Sorry,” she said, looking away.
“It is all right, Lady Vin,” Sazed said. “I just … I feel so weak. I cannot be the man my people wish me to be. I am, perhaps, the very last of the Keepers. It has been a year since the Inquisitors attacked my homeland, killing even the child Feruchemists, and we have seen no evidence that others of my sect survived. Others were out of the city, certainly and inevitably, but either Inquisitors found them or other tragedy did. There has certainly been enough of that lately, I think.”
Vin sat with her hands in her lap, looking uncharacteristically weak in the dim light. Sazed frowned at the pained expression on her face. “Lady Vin?”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “It’s just that … you’ve always been the one who gives advice, Sazed. But, now what I need advice about is you.”
“There is no advice to give, I fear.”
They sat in silence for a few moments.
“We found the stockpile,” Vin said. “The next-to-last cavern. I made a copy for you of the words we found, etched in a thin sheet of steel so they’ll be safe.”
“Thank you.”
Vin sat, looking uncertain. “You’re not going to look at it, are you?”
Sazed paused, then shook his head. “I do not know.”
“I can’t do this alone, Sazed,” Vin whispered. “I can’t fight it by myself. I need you.”
The tent grew quiet. “I … am doing what I can, Lady Vin,” Sazed finally said. “In my own way. I must find answers for myself before I can provide them to anyone else. Still, have the etching delivered to my tent. I promise that I will at least look at it.”
She nodded, then stood. “Elend’s having a meeting tonight. To plan our next moves. He wants you there.” She trailed a faint perfume as she moved to leave. She paused beside his chair. “There was a time,” she said, “after I’d taken the power at the Well of Ascension, when I thought Elend would die.”
“But he did not,” Sazed said. “He lives still.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Vin said. “I thought him dead. I knew he was dying—I held that power, Sazed, power you can’t imagine. Power you’ll never be able to imagine. The power to destroy worlds and remake them anew. The power to see and to understand. I saw him, and I knew he would die. And knew I held the power in my hands to save him.”
Sazed looked up.
“But I didn’t,” Vin said. “I let him bleed, and released the power instead. I consigned him to death.”
“How?” Sazed asked. “How could you do such a thing?”
“Because I looked into his eyes,” Vin said, “and knew it was what he wanted me to do. You gave me that, Sazed. You taught me to love him enough to let him die.”
She left him alone in the tent. A few moments later, he returned to his shaving, and found something sitting beside his basin. A small, folded piece of paper.
It contained an aged, fading drawing of a strange plant. A flower. The picture had once belonged to Mare. It had gone from her to Kelsier, and from him to Vin.
Sazed picked it up, wondering what Vin intended to say by leaving him the picture. Finally, he folded it up and slipped it into his sleeve, then returned to his shaving.
The First Contract, oft spoken of by the kandra, was originally just a series of promises made by the First Generation to the Lord Ruler. They wrote these promises down, and in doing so codified the first kandra laws. They were worried about governing themselves, independently of the Lord Ruler and his empire. So, they took what they had written to him, asking for his approval.
He commanded it cast into steel, then personally scratched a signature into the bottom. This code was the first thing that a kandra learned upon awakening from his or her life as a mistwraith. It contained commands to revere earlier generations, simple legal rights granted to each kandra, provisions for creating new kandra, and a demand for ultimate dedication to the Lord Ruler.
Most disturbingly, the First Contract contained a provision which, if invoked, would require the mass suicide of the entire kandra people.
11
KANPAAR LEANED FORWARD ON HIS lectern, red crystalline bones sparkling in the lamplight. “All right, then, TenSoon, traitor to the kandra people. You have demanded this judgment. Make your plea.”