Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [454]
“I honestly don’t know,” Vin said.
“Aged meat is delicious.”
“You mean ‘rotten’ meat.”
“Aged,” OreSeur said insistently as she picked him up, preparing to carry him down from the wall. The top of Keep Hasting was a good hundred feet tall—far too high up for OreSeur to jump, and the only path down would be through the inside of the abandoned keep. Better to carry him.
“Aged meat is like aged wine or aged cheese,” OreSeur continued. “It tastes better when it’s a few weeks old.”
I suppose that’s one of the side effects of being related to scavengers, Vin thought. She hopped up on the lip of the wall, dropping a few coins. However, as she prepared to jump—OreSeur a large bulk in her arms—she hesitated. She turned one last time, looking out at Straff’s army. It was fully visible now; the sun had risen completely above the horizon. Yet, a few insistent swirls of mist wavered in the air, as if trying to defy the sun, to continue to cloak the city, to stave off the light of day….
Lord Ruler! Vin thought, struck by a sudden insight. She’d been working on this problem so long, it had begun to frustrate her. And now, when she’d been ignoring it, the answer had come to her. As if her subconscious had still been picking it apart.
“Mistress?” OreSeur asked. “Is everything all right?”
Vin opened her mouth slightly, cocking her head. “I think I just realized what the Deepness was.”
30
But, I must continue with the sparsest of detail. Space is limited. The other Worldbringers must have thought themselves humble when they came to me, admitting that they had been wrong. Even then, I was beginning to doubt my original declaration.
But, I was prideful.
I write this record now, Sazed read, pounding it into a metal slab, because I am afraid. Afraid for myself, yes—I admit to being human. If Alendi does return from the Well of Ascension, I am certain that my death will be one of his first objectives. He is not an evil man, but he is a ruthless one. That is, I think, a product of what he has been through.
I am also afraid, however, that all I have known—that my story—will be forgotten. I am afraid for the world that is to come. Afraid that Alendi will fail. Afraid of a doom brought by the Deepness.
It all comes back to poor Alendi. I feel bad for him, and for all the things he has been forced to endure. For what he has been forced to become.
But, let me begin at the beginning. I met Alendi first in Khlennium; he was a young lad then, and had not yet been warped by a decade spent leading armies.
Alendi’s height struck me the first time I saw him. Here was a man who was small of stature, but who seemed to tower over others, a man who demanded respect.
Oddly, it was Alendi’s simple ingenuousness that first led me to befriend him. I employed him as an assistant during his first months in the grand city.
It wasn’t until years later that I became convinced that Alendi was the Hero of Ages. Hero of Ages: the one called Rabzeen in Khlennium, the Anamnesor.
Savior.
When I finally had the realization—finally connected all of the signs of the Anticipation to him—I was so excited. Yet, when I announced my discovery to the other Worldbringers, I was met with scorn. Oh, how I wish that I had listened to them.
And yet, any who know me will realize that there was no chance I would give up so easily. Once I find something to investigate, I become dogged in my pursuit. I had determined that Alendi was the Hero of Ages, and I intended to prove it. I should have bowed before the will of the others; I shouldn’t have insisted on traveling with Alendi to witness his journeys. It was inevitable that Alendi himself would find out what I believed him to be.
Yes, he was the one who fueled the rumors after that. I could never have done what he himself did, convincing and persuading the world that he was indeed the Hero. I don’t know if he himself believed it, but he made others think that he must be the one.
If only the Terris religion, and