Mistborn: The Hero of Ages (27 page)

"What happens if we give him up?" asked one of the other men. "I mean, what if they decide that we're like him? They could ha ve
us
executed! I've seen it before. You turn someone in, and those . . . things come searching for everyone that knew him."

"Problems like his run in the family, they do," another man said. The room grew quiet. They all knew about Spook's family.

"They'll kill us," said the frightened man. " You know they will ! I've seen them, seen them with those spikes in their eyes. Spirits of death, they are." "We can't just let him run about," another man said.

"They'll discover what he is."

"There's only one thing to be done," the large man said, pressing down on Spook's neck even harder. The room's occupants the ones Spook could see nodded solemnly. They couldn't turn him in. They couldn't let him go. But, nobody would miss a skaa urchin. No Inquisitor or obligator would ask twice about a dead child found in the streets. Skaa died all the time.

That was the way of the Final Empire.

"Father," Spook whispered.

The heel came down harder. "You're not my son! My son went into the mists and never came out. You must be a mistwraith."

Spook tried to obj ect, but his chest was pressed down too tight. He couldn't breathe, let alone speak. The room started to grow black. And yet, his ears supernaturally sensitive, enhanced by powers he barely understood heard something.

Coins.

The pressure on his neck grew weaker. He was able to gasp for breath, his vision returning. And there, spilled on the ground before him, was a scattering of beautiful copper coins. Skaa weren't paid for their work the miners were given goods instead, barely enough to survive on. Yet, Spook had seen coins occasionally passing between noble hands. He'd once known a boy who had found a coin, lost in the dusty grime of the street.

A larger boy had killed him for it. Then, a nobleman had killed that boy when he'd tried to spend it. It seemed to Spook that no skaa would want coins they were far too valuable, and far too dangerous . And yet, every eye in the room stared at that spilled bag of wealth.

"The bag in exchange for the boy," a voice said. Bodies parted to where a man sat at a table at the back of the room. He wasn't looking at Spook. He just sat, quietly spooning gruel into his mouth. His face was gnarled and twisted, like leather that had been sitting in the sun for far too long. "Well ?" the gnarled man said between bites.

"Where did you get money like this?" Spook's father demanded.

"None of your business."

"We can't let the boy go," one of the skaa said. "He'll betray us! Once they catch him, he'll tell them that we knew !"

"They won't catch him, " the gnarled man said, taking another bite of food. "He'll be with me, in Luthadel. Besides, if you
don't
let him go, I'll just go ahead and tell the obligators about you all." He paused, lowering his spoon, glancing at the crowd with a crusty look. "Unless you're going to kill me too."

Spook's father finally took his heel off Spook's neck as he stepped toward the gnarled stranger. However, Spook's mother grabbed her husband's arm. "Don't, Jedal," she said softly but not too softly for Spook's enhanced ears. "He'll kill you."

"He's a traitor," Spook's father spat. "Servant in the Lord Ruler's army."

"He brought us coins. Surely taking his money is better than simply killing the boy." Spook's father looked down at the woman. "
You
did this! You sent for your brother. You knew he'd want to take the boy!"

Spook's mother turned away.

The gnarled man finally set down his spoon, then stood. People backed away f rom his chair in apprehension. He walked with a pronounced limp as he crossed the room.

"Come on, boy," he said, not looking at Spook as he opened the door. Spook rose slowly, tentatively. He glanced at his mother and father as he backed away. Jedal stooped down, finally gathering up the coins. Margel met Spook's eyes, then turned away.
This is all I can give
you
, her posture seemed to say.

Spook turned, rubbing his neck, and rushed into the hot red sunlight after the stranger. The older man hobbled along, walking with a cane. He glanced at Spook as he walked.

"You have a name, boy?"

Spook opened his mouth, then stopped. His old name didn't seem like it would do any more.

"Lestibournes," he finally said.

The old man didn't bat an eye. Later, Kelsier would decide that Lestibournes was too difficult to say, and name him "Spook" inste ad. Spook never did figure out whether or not Clubs knew how to speak Eastern street slang. Even if he did, Spook doubted that he'd understand the reference . Lestibournes. Lefting I'm born.

Street slang for "I've been abandoned."

. 59 201

I now believe that Kelsier's stories, legends, and prophecies about the " Eleventh Metal" were f
abricated by Ruin. Kelsier was looking for a way to kill the Lord Ruler, and Ruin ever subtle provided
a way.

That secret was indeed crucial. K elsier's Eleventh Metal provided the very clue we needed to de feat
the Lord Ruler. However, even in this, we were manipulated. The Lord Ruler knew Ruin's goals, and
would never have released him from the Well of Ascension. So, Ruin needed other pawns and f or that
to happen, the Lord Ruler needed to die. Even our greatest victor y was shaped by Ruin 's subtle
fingers.

24

DAYS LATER, MELAAN'S WORDS
still pricked TenS oon's conscience.

You come, proclaim dread news, then leave us to solve the problems on our own?
During his year of imprisonment, it had seemed simple. He would make his accusations, deliver his information, then accept the punishment he deserved.

But now, strangely, an eternity of imprisonment seemed like the easy way out. If he let himself be taken in such a manner, how was he better than the First Generation? He would be avoiding the issues, content to be locked away, knowing that the outside world was no longer his problem. Fool , he thought. You 'll be imprisoned f or eternity or, at least, until the kandra themselves are destroyed, and you die of starvation.
That's not the easy way out! By accepting
your punishment,
you

're doing the honorable, orderly thing.

And by so doing, he would leave MeLaan and the others to be destroyed as their leaders refused to take action. What's more, he would leave Vin without the information she needed. Even f rom within the Homeland, he could feel the occasional rumbles in the rock. The earthquakes were still remote, and the others likely ignored them. But TenSoon worried.

The end could be nearing. If it was, then Vin needed to know the truths about the kandra. Their origins, their belief s. Perhaps she could use the Trust itself. Yet, if he told Vin anything more, it would mean an even greater betrayal of his people . Perhaps a human would have found it ridiculous that he would hesitate now. However, so far, his true sins had been impulsive, and he'd only later rationalized what he'd done. If he fought his way free of prison, it would be different. Willful and deliberate. He closed his eyes, feeling the chill of his cage, which still sat alone in the large cavern the place was mostly abandoned during the sleeping hours. What was the point? Even with the Blessing of Presence which let TenS oon focus, despite his uncomfortable confines he could think of no way to escape the meshed cage and its Fifth Generation guards, who all bore the Blessing of Potency. Even if he did get out of the cage, TenSoon would have to pass through dozens of small caverns. With his body mass as low as it was, he didn't have the muscles to fight, and he couldn't outrun kandra who had the Blessing of Potency. He was trapped. In a way, this was comforting. Escape was not something he preferred to contemplate it simply wasn't the kandra way. He had broken Contract, and deserved punishment. There was honor in facing the consequences of one's actions.

Wasn't there?

He shif ted positions in his cell. Unlike that of a real human, the skin of his naked body did not become sore or chapped from the extended exposure, for he could re-form his f lesh to remove wounds. However, there was little to do about the cramped feeling he got from being forced to sit in the small cage for so long. Motion caught his attention. TenSoon turned, surprised to see VarSell and several other large Fif ths approaching his cage, their quartzite stone True Bodies ominous in size and coloring.

Time alread y? TenSoon thought. With the Blessing of Presence, he was able to mentally recount the days of his imprisonment. It was nowhere near time. He frowned, noting that one of the Fifths carried a large sack. For a moment, Ten-Soon had a flash of panic as he pictured them towing him away inside the sack. It looked filled already, however.

Dared he hope? Days had passed since his conversation with MeLaan, and while she had returned several times to look at him, they had not spoken. He'd almost forgotten his words to her, said in the hope that they would be overheard by the minions of the Second Generation. VarSell opened the cage and tossed the sack in. It clinked with a familiar sound. Bones.

"You are to wear those to the trial, " VarSell said, leaning down and putting a translucent face up next to TenS oon's bars. " Orders of the Second Generation. " "What is wrong with the bones I now wear?" TenS oon asked carefully, pulling over the sack, uncertain whether to be excited or ashamed.

"They intend to break your bones as part of your punishment," VarSell said, smiling. "Something like a public execution but where the prisoner lives through the process. It's a simple thing, I know but the display ought to leave . . . an impression on some of the younger generations." TenSoon's stomach twisted. Kandra could re-form their bodies, true, but they felt pain just as acutely as any human. It would take quite a severe beating to break his bones, and with the Blessing of Presence, there would be no release of unconsciousness for him.

"I still don't see the need for another body," TenSoon said, pulling out one of the bones.

"No need to waste a perf ectly good set of human bones, Third," VarS ell said, slamming the cage door closed. "I'll be back for your current bones in a few hours." The leg bone he pulled out was not that of a human, but a dog. A large wolfhound. It was the very body TenSoon had been wearing when he'd returned to the Homeland over a year before. He closed his eyes, holding the smooth bone in his f ingers.

A week ago, he'd spoken of how much he despised these bones, hoping that the Second Generation's spies would carry the news b ack to their masters. The S econd Generation was far more traditional than MeLaan, and even she had found the thought of wearing a dog's body distastef ul. To the Seconds, forcing TenSoon to wear an animal's body would be supremely degrading. That was exactly what TenSoon had been counting on.

"You'll look good, wearing that," VarSell said, standing to leave. "When your punishment comes, everyone will be able to see you for what you really are. No
kandra
would break his Contract." TenSoon rubbed the thighbone with a reverent finger, listening to VarSell's laughter. The Fif th had no way of knowing that he'd j ust given TenSoon the means he needed to escape.

. 60 201

The Balance. Is it real?

We've almost f or gotten this little bit of lore. Skaa used to talk about it , before the Collapse.
Philosophers discussed it a great deal in the third and fourth centuries, but by Kelsier's time, it was
mostly a f orgotten topic.

But it was real. There
was
a physiological di f ference between skaa and nobility. When the Lord
Ruler altered mankind to make them more capable of dealing with ash, he changed other things as
well. Some groups of people the noblemen were created to be less fertile, but taller , stronger, and
more intelligent. Others the skaa were made to be shorter, hardier, and to have many children.
The changes were slight , however , and a f ter a thousand years of interbreeding, the di f ferences
had largely been erased.

25

"FADREX CITY," ELEND SAID,
standing in his customary place near the narrowboat's prow. Ahead, the broad Conway Canal the primary canal route to the west continued into the distance, turning to the northwest. To Elend's left, the ground rose in a broken incline, forming a set of steep rock formations. He could see them rising much higher in the distance.

Closer to the canal, however, a broad city was nestled in the very center of a large group of rock formations. The deep red and orange rocks were the type left behind when wind and rain wore away weaker sections of stone, and many of them reached high, like spires. Others f ormed j agged, hedgelike barriers like stacks of enormous blocks that had been fused together, reaching some thirty and forty feet into the air.

Elend could barely see the tips of the city's buildings over the stone formations. Fadrex had no formal city wall, of course only Luthadel had been allowed one of those but the rising rocks around the city formed a set of terrace-like natural fortifications.

Elend had been to the city before. His father had made certain to introduce him in all of the Final Empire's main cultural centers. Fadrex hadn't been one of those, but it had been on the way to Tremredare, once known as the capital of the West. In forging his new kingdom, however, Cett had ignored Tremredare, instead establishing his capital in Fadrex. A clever move, in Elend's estimation Fadrex was smaller, more defensible, and had been a ma j or supply station for numerous canal routes.

"The city looks different from the last time I was here," Elend said.

"Trees," Ham said, standing beside him. "Fadrex used to have trees growing on the rocky shelves and plateaus." Ham glanced at him. "They're ready for us. They cut down the trees to provide a better killing field and to keep us from sneaking up close."

Elend nodded. "Look down there."

Ham squinted, though it obviously took him a moment to pick out what Elend's tin-enhanced eyes had noticed. On the northern side of the city the one closest to the main canal route the rock terraces and shelves fell down into a natural canyon. Perhaps twenty feet across, it was the only way into the city, and the def enders had cut several troughs into the floor. They were bridged at the moment, of course, but getting through that narrow entryway, with pits in front of the army and archers presumably firing from the rocky shelves above, with a gate at the end . . .