“It will if we give them someone else to follow,” Spook said, turning back to look across the waters. “Someone who can survive fires; someone who can restore water to the city streets. We’ll give them miracles and a hero, then expose their leader as a hypocrite and a tyrant. Confronted with that, what would you do?”
Sazed didn’t respond immediately. Spook made good points, even about Sazed’s metalminds still being useful. Yet Sazed wasn’t certain what he thought of the changes in the young man. Spook seemed to have grown far more competent, but …
“Spook,” Sazed said, stepping in closer, speaking quietly enough that the soldiers standing behind couldn’t hear. “What is it you aren’t sharing with us? How did you survive the leap from that building? Why do you cover your eyes with cloth?”
“I …” Spook faltered, showing a hint of the insecure boy he had once been. For some reason, seeing that made Sazed more comfortable. “I don’t know if I can explain, Saze,” Spook said, some of his pretension evaporating. “I’m still trying to figure it out myself. I’ll explain eventually. For now, can you just trust me?”
The lad had always been a sincere one. Sazed searched those eyes, so eager.
And found something important. Spook cared. He cared about this city, about overthrowing the Citizen. He’d saved those people earlier, when Sazed and Breeze had just stood outside, watching.
Spook cared, and Sazed did not. Sazed tried—he grew frustrated with himself because of his depression, which had been worse this evening than it usually was.
His emotions had been so traitorous lately. He had trouble studying, had trouble leading, had trouble being of any use whatsoever. But, looking into Spook’s eager eyes, he was almost able to forget his troubles for a moment.
If the lad wanted to take the lead, then who was Sazed to argue?
He glanced toward his room, where the metalminds lay. He had gone so long without them. They tempted him with their knowledge.
As long as I don’t preach the religions they contain, he thought, I’m not a hypocrite. Using this specific knowledge Spook requests will, at least, bring some small meaning to the suffering of those who worked to gather knowledge of engineering.
It seemed a weak excuse. But, in the face of Spook taking the lead and offering a good reason to use the metalminds, it was enough.
“Very well,” Sazed said. “I shall do as you request.”
Ruin’s prison was not like those that hold men. He wasn’t bound by bars. In fact, he could move about freely.
His prison, rather, was one of impotence. In the terms of forces and gods, this meant balance. If Ruin were to push, the prison would push back, essentially rendering Ruin powerless. And because much of his power was stripped away and hidden, he was unable to affect the world in any but the most subtle of ways.
I should stop here and clarify something. We speak of Ruin being “freed” from his prison. But that is misleading. Releasing the power at the Well tipped the aforementioned balance back toward Ruin, but he was still too weak to destroy the world in the blink of an eye as he yearned to do. This weakness was caused by part of Ruin’s power—his very body—having been taken and hidden from him.
Which was why Ruin became so obsessed with finding the hidden part of his self.
47
ELEND STOOD IN THE MISTS.
Once, he had found them disconcerting. They had been the unknown—something mysterious and uninviting, something that belonged to Allomancers and not to ordinary men.
Yet, now he was an Allomancer himself. He stared up at the shifting, swirling, spinning banks of vapor. Rivers in the sky. He almost felt as if he should get pulled along in some phantom current. When he’d first displayed Allomantic powers, Vin had explained Kelsier’s now-infamous motto. The mists are our friend. They hide us. Protect us. Give us power.
Elend continued to stare upward. It had been three days since Vin’s capture.
I shouldn’t have let her go, he thought again, heart twisting within him. I shouldn’t have agreed to such a risky plan.
Vin had always been the one to protect him. What did they do now, when she was in danger? Elend felt so inadequate. Had their situations been reversed, Vin would have found a way to get into the city and rescue him. She’d have assassinated Yomen, would have done something.
And yet, Elend didn’t have her flair of brash determination. He was too much of a planner and was too well acquainted with politics. He couldn’t risk himself to save her. He’d already put himself into danger once, and in so doing, had risked the fate of his entire army. He couldn’t leave them behind again and put himself in danger, particularly not by going into Fadrex, where Yomen had already proven himself a skilled manipulator.
No further word had come from Yomen. Elend expected ransom demands, and was terrified of what he might have to do if they came. Could he trade the fate of the world for Vin’s life? No. Vin had faced a similar decision at the Well of Ascension, and had chosen the right option. Elend had to follow her example, had to be strong.
Yet the thought of her captured came close to paralyzing him with dread. Only the spinning mists seemed to somehow comfort him.
She’ll be all right, he told himself, not for the first time. She’s Vin. She’ll figure a way out of it. She’ll be all right. …
It felt odd, to Elend, that after a lifetime of finding the mists unsettling he would now find them so comforting. Vin didn’t see them that way, not anymore. Elend could sense it in the way she acted, in the words she spoke. She distrusted the mists. Hated them, even. And Elend couldn’t really blame her. They had, after all, changed somehow—bringing destruction and death.
Yet, Elend found it hard to distrust the mists. They just felt right. How could they be his enemy? They spun, swirling around him just slightly as he burned metals, like leaves spinning in a playful wind. As he stood there, they seemed to soothe away his concerns about Vin’s captivity, giving him confidence that she would find a way out.
He sighed, shaking his head. Who was he to trust his own instincts about the mists over Vin’s? She had the instincts born of a lifetime of struggling to survive. What did Elend have? Instincts born of a lifetime of partygoing and dancing?
Sound came from behind him. People walking. Elend turned, eyeing a pair of servants carrying Cett in his chair.
“That damn Thug isn’t around here, is he?” Cett asked as the servants set him down.
Elend shook his head as Cett waved the servants away. “No,” Elend said. “He’s investigating some kind of disturbance in the ranks.”
“What happened this time?” Cett asked.
“Fistfight,” Elend said, turning away, looking back toward Fadrex City’s watch fires.
“The men are restless,” Cett said. “They’re a little like koloss, you know. Leave them too long, and they’ll get themselves into trouble.”
Koloss are like them, actually, Elend thought. We should have seen it earlier. They are men—just men reduced to their most base emotions.
Cett sat quietly in the mists for a time, and Elend continued his contemplations.
Eventually, Cett spoke, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “She’s as good as dead, son. You know that.”