Mistborn Trilogy - Brandon Sanderson [932]
He tapped his pen, frowning. What was bothering him? They say I will hold the future of the entire world on my arms. . . . Alendi’s words, from his logbook written so long ago. The words of the First Generation confirmed that was true.
There was still something for Vin to do. Yet, the power at the Well of Ascension was gone. Used up. How could she fight without it? Sazed looked up at his audience of ancient kandra. “What was the power at the Well of Ascension, anyway?”
“Even we are not certain of that, young one,” Haddek said. “By the time we lived as men, our gods had already passed from this world, leaving the Terris with only the hope of the Hero.”
“Tell me of this thing,” Sazed said, leaning forward. “How did your gods pass from this world?”
“Ruin and Preservation,” said one of the others. “They created our world, and our people.”
“Neither could create alone,” Haddek said. “No, they could not. For, to preserve something is not to create it—and neither can you create through destruction only.”
It was a common theme in mythology—Sazed had read it in dozens of the religions he’d studied. The world being created out of a clash between two forces, sometimes rendered as chaos and order, sometimes named destruction and protection. That bothered him a little bit. He was hoping to discover something new in the things men were telling him.
And yet . . . just because something was common, did that make it false? Or, could all of those mythologies have a shared, and true, root?
“They created the world,” Sazed said. “Then left?”
“Not immediately,” Haddek said. “But, here is the trick, young one. They had a deal, those two. Preservation wanted to create men—to create life capable of emotion. He obtained a promise from Ruin to help make men.”
“But at a cost,” one of the others whispered.
“What cost?” Sazed asked.
“That Ruin could one day be allowed destroy the world,” Haddek replied.
The circular chamber fell silent.
“Hence the betrayal,” Haddek said. “Preservation gave his life to imprison Ruin, to keep him from destroying the world.”
Another common mythological theme—the martyr god. It was one that Sazed himself had witnessed in the birth of the Church of the Survivor.
Yet . . . this time it’s my own religion, he thought. He frowned, leaning back, trying to decide how he felt. For some reason, he had assumed that the truth would be different. The scholarly side of him argued with his desire for belief. How could he believe in something so filled with mythological clichés?
He’d come all this way, believing that he’d been given one last chance to find the truth. Yet, now that he studied it, he was finding that it was shockingly similar to religions he had rejected as false.
“You seem disturbed, child,” Haddek said. “Are you that worried about the things we say?”
“I apologize,” Sazed said. “This is a personal problem, not related to the fate of the Hero of Ages.”
“Please, speak,” one of the others said.
“It is complicated,” Sazed said. “For some time now, I have been searching through the religions of mankind, trying to ascertain which of their teachings were true. I had begun to despair that I would ever find a religion that offered the answers I sought. Then, I learned that my own religion still existed, protected by the kandra. I came here, hoping to find the truth.”
“This is the truth,” one of the kandra said.
“That’s what every religion teaches,” Sazed said, frustration mounting. “Yet, in each of them I find inconsistencies, logical leaps, and demands of faith I find impossible to accept.
“It sounds to me, young one,” Haddek said, “that you’re searching for something that cannot be found.”
“The truth?” Sazed said.
“No,” Haddek replied. “A religion that requires no faith of its believers.”
Another of the kandra elders nodded. “We follow the Father and the First Contract, but