Sazed nodded. “Religious truths are my particular specialty.”
“But, you remember other things too?”
Sazed nodded.
“Like what?”
“Well,” Sazed said, closing the tome he had been studying. “Languages, for instance.”
Vin immediately recognized the glyph-covered cover. “The book I found in the palace! How did you get it?”
“I happened across it while searching for you,” the Terrisman said. “It is written in a very old language, one that hasn’t been spoken regularly in nearly a millennium.”
“But you speak it?” Vin asked.
Sazed nodded. “Enough to translate this, I think.”
“And . . . how many languages do you know?”
“A hundred and seventy-two,” Sazed said. “Most of them, such as Khlenni, are no longer spoken. The Lord Ruler’s unity movement of the fifth century made certain of that. The language people now speak is actually a distant dialect of Terris, the language of my homeland.”
A hundred and seventy-two, Vin thought with amazement. “That . . . sounds impossible. One man couldn’t remember that much.”
“Not one man,” Sazed said. “One Keeper. What I do is similar to Allomancy, but not the same. You draw power from metals. I . . . use them to create memories.”
“How?” Vin asked.
Sazed shook his head. “Perhaps another time, Mistress. My kind . . . we prefer to maintain our secrets. The Lord Ruler hunts us with a remarkable, confusing passion. We are far less threatening than Mistborn—yet, he ignores Allomancers and seeks to destroy us, hating the Terris people because of us.”
“Hating?” Vin asked. “You’re treated better than regular skaa. You’re given positions of respect.”
“That is true, Mistress,” Sazed said. “But, in a way, the skaa are more free. Most Terrismen are raised from birth to be stewards. There are very few of us left, and the Lord Ruler’s breeders control our reproduction. No Terrisman steward is allowed to have a family, or even to bear children.”
Vin snorted. “That seems like it would be hard to enforce.”
Sazed paused, hand laying on the cover of the large book. “Why, not at all,” he said with a frown. “All Terrisman stewards are eunuchs, child. I assumed you knew that.”
Vin froze, then she blushed furiously. “I . . . I’m . . . sorry. . . .”
“Truly and surely, no apology is required. I was castrated soon after my birth, as is standard for those who will be stewards. Often, I think I would have easily traded my life for that of a common skaa. My people are less than slaves . . . they’re fabricated automatons, created by breeding programs, trained from birth to fulfill the Lord Ruler’s wishes.”
Vin continued to blush, cursing her lack of tact. Why hadn’t anyone told her? Sazed, however, didn’t seem offended—he never seemed to get angry about anything.
Probably a function of his . . . condition, Vin thought. That’s what the breeders must want. Docile, even-tempered stewards.
“But,” Vin said, frowning, “you’re a rebel, Sazed. You’re fighting the Lord Ruler.”
“I am something of a deviant,” Sazed said. “And, my people are not as completely subjugated as the Lord Ruler would believe, I think. We hide Keepers beneath his very eyes, and some of us even gather the courage to break our training.”
He paused, then shook his head. “It is not an easy thing, however. We are a weak people, Mistress. We are eager to do as we are told, quick to seek subjugation. Even I, whom you dub a rebel, immediately sought out a position of stewardship and subservience. We are not so brave as we would wish, I think.”
“You were brave enough to save me,” Vin said.
Sazed smiled. “Ah, but there was an element of obedience in that too. I promised Master Kelsier that I would see to your safety.”
Ah, she thought. She had wondered if he’d had a reason for his actions. After all, who would risk their life simply to save Vin? She sat for a moment in thought, and Sazed turned back to his book. Finally, she spoke again, drawing the Terrisman’s attention. “Sazed?”
“Yes, Mistress?”
“Who betrayed Kelsier three years ago?”
Sazed paused, then set down his fountain pen. “The facts are unclear, Mistress. Most of the crew assumes it was Mare, I think.”
“Mare?” Vin asked. “Kelsier’s wife?”
Sazed nodded. “Apparently, she was one of the only people who could have done it. In addition, the Lord Ruler himself implicated her.”
“But, wasn’t she sent to the Pits too?”
“She died there,” Sazed said. “Master Kelsier is reticent about the Pits, but I sense that the scars he bears from that horrid place go much deeper than the ones you see on his arms. I don’t think he ever knew if she was the traitor or not.”
“My brother said that anyone would betray you, if they had the right chance and a good enough motive.”
Sazed frowned. “Even if such a thing were true, I would not want to live believing it.”
It seems better than what happened to Kelsier: being turned over to the Lord Ruler by one you thought you loved.
“Kelsier is different lately,” Vin said. “He seems more reserved. Is that because he feels guilty for what happened to me?”
“I suspect that is part of it,” Sazed said. “However, he is also coming to realize that there is a large difference between heading a small crew of thieves and organizing a large rebellion. He can’t take the risks he once did. The process is changing him for the better, I think.”
Vin wasn’t so certain. However, she remained silent, realizing with frustration how tired she was. Even sitting on a stool seemed strenuous to her now.
“Go and sleep, Mistress,” Sazed said, picking up his pen and relocating his place in the tome with his finger. “You survived something that probably should have killed you. Give your body the thanks it deserves; let it rest.”
Vin nodded tiredly, then climbed to her feet and left him scribbling quietly in the afternoon light.
* * *
Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I’d remained there, in that lazy village of my birth. I’d have become a smith, like my father. Perhaps I’d have a family, sons of my own.
Perhaps someone else would have come to carry this terrible burden. Someone who could bear it far better than I. Someone who deserved to be a hero.
17
Before coming to Mansion Renoux, Vin had never seen a cultivated garden. On burglaries or scouting missions, she had occasionally seen ornamental plants, but she’d never given them much heed—they, like many noble interests, had seemed frivolous to her.
She hadn’t realized how beautiful the plants could be when arranged carefully. Mansion Renoux’s garden balcony was a thin, oval structure that overlooked the grounds below. The gardens weren’t large—they required too much water and attention to form more than a thin perimeter around the back of the building.
Still, they were marvelous. Instead of mundane browns and whites, the cultivated plants were of deeper, more vibrant colors—shades of red, orange, and yellow, with the colors concentrated in their leaves. The groundskeepers had planted them to make intricate, beautiful patterns. Closer to the balcony, exotic trees with colorful yellow leaves gave shade and protected from ashfalls. It was a very mild winter, and most of the trees still held their leaves. The air felt cool, and the rustling of branches in the wind was soothing.