فصل 17

17

ELEND RODE AT THE FRONT OF HIS MEN, astride a brilliant white stallion that had been scrubbed clean of ash. He turned his mount, looking over the ranks of nervous soldiers. They waited in the evening light, and Elend could see their terror. They had heard rumors, then had those rumors confirmed by Elend the day before. Today, his army would become immunized to the mists.

Elend rode through their ranks, General Demoux riding a roan stallion beside him. Both horses were big destriers, brought on the trip to impress more than for usefulness. Elend and the other officers would spend most of the trip riding in canal boats, rather than on horseback.

He didn’t worry about the morality of his decision to expose his forces to the mists—at least, he didn’t worry about it at that moment. Elend had learned something very important about himself: He was honest. Perhaps too honest. If he was uncertain, it would show in his face. The soldiers would sense his hesitation. So he’d learned to confine his worries and concerns to times when he was only with those closest to him. That meant Vin saw too much of his brooding. However, it left him free at other times to project confidence.

He moved quickly, letting his horse’s hooves beat a thunder for the men to hear. Occasionally, he heard captains call out for their men to be firm. Even so, Elend saw the anxiety in his soldiers’ eyes. And could he blame them? This day, the men would face an enemy that they could not fight, and could not resist. Within the hour, seven hundred of them would lay dead. About one in fifty. Not bad odds, on a grand scale—but that meant little to a man standing and feeling the mist creep around him.

The men stood their ground. Elend was proud of them. He had given those who wished it the opportunity to return to Luthadel instead of facing the mists. He still needed troops in the capital, and he’d rather not march with men unwilling to go into the mists. Almost none had gone. The vast majority had instead lined up in full ranks without having to be ordered, wearing full battle gear, armor polished and oiled, uniforms looking as clean as possible in the ash-stained wilderness. It seemed right to Elend for them to be in their armor. It made them seem as if they were going to battle—and, in a way, they were.

They trusted him. They knew that the mists were advancing toward Luthadel, and understood the importance of capturing the cities with storage caverns. They believed in Elend’s ability to do something to save their families.

Their trust made him even more determined. He reined in his horse, turning the massive beast beside a rank of soldiers. He flared pewter, making his body stronger, giving more power to his lungs, then Rioted the emotions of the men to make them braver.

“Be strong!” he shouted.

Heads turned toward him, and the clanking of armor hushed. His own voice was so loud in his ears that he had to dampen his tin. “These mists will strike down some of us. However, most of us will be untouched—and most who fall will recover! Then, none of us need fear the mists again. We cannot arrive at Fadrex City without having inoculated ourselves! If we did so, we would risk being attacked in the morning, when we are hiding in our tents. Our enemies would force us out into the mists anyway, and we would have to fight with a sixth of our men shaking on the ground from sickness!” He turned his horse, Demoux following behind, and moved along the ranks. “I do not know why the mists kill. But I trust in the Survivor! He named himself Lord of the Mists. If some of us die, then it is his will. Stay strong!” His reminders seemed to have some effect. The soldiers stood a little straighter, facing west, toward where the sun would soon set. Elend reined in again, sitting tall and letting himself be seen.

“They look strong, my lord,” Demoux said quietly, moving his horse up beside Elend’s. “It was a good speech.” Elend nodded.

“My lord . . .” Demoux said, “did you mean what you said about the Survivor?”

“Of course I did.”

“I’m sorry, my lord,” Demoux said. “I didn’t mean to question your faith, it’s just that . . . well, you don’t have to keep up the charade of belief, if you don’t want to.” “I gave my word, Demoux,” Elend said, frowning and glancing at the scarred general. “I do what I say.” “I believe you, my lord,” Demoux said. “You are an honorable man.”

“But?”

Demoux paused. “But . . . if you don’t really believe in the Survivor, I don’t think he would want you speaking in his name.” Elend opened his mouth to reprimand Demoux for his lack of respect, but stopped himself. The man spoke with honesty, from his heart. That wasn’t the kind of thing to punish.

Besides, he might have had a point. “I don’t know what I believe, Demoux,” Elend said, looking back at the field of soldiers. “Certainly not in the Lord Ruler. Sazed’s religions have been dead for centuries, and even he has stopped talking about them. It seems to me that leaves the Church of the Survivor as the only real option.” “With all due respect, my lord,” Demoux said. “That’s not a very strong profession of faith.”

“I’m having trouble with faith lately, Demoux,” Elend said, looking up, watching flakes of ash drift through the air. “My last god was killed by the woman I eventually married—a woman you claim as a religious figure, but who spurns your devotion.” Demoux nodded quietly.

“I don’t reject your god, Demoux,” Elend said. “I meant what I said—I think having faith in Kelsier is better than the alternatives. And, considering what’s going to be coming at us in the next few months, I’d rather believe that something—anything—is out there helping us.” They were quiet for a few moments.

“I know that the Lady Heir objects to our worship of the Survivor, my lord,” Demoux finally said. “She knew him, as did I. What she doesn’t understand is that the Survivor has become so much more than just the man Kelsier.” Elend frowned. “That sounds like you calculatedly made him a god, Demoux—that you believe in him as a symbol only.” Demoux shook his head. “I’m saying that Kelsier was a man, but a man who gained something—a mantle, a portion of something eternal and immortal. When he died, he wasn’t just Kelsier, the crewleader. Don’t you think it odd that he was never Mistborn before he went to the Pits?” “That’s the way Allomancy works, Demoux,” Elend said. “You don’t gain your powers until you Snap—until you face something traumatic, something that nearly kills you.” “And you don’t think that Kelsier experienced those kinds of events before the Pits?” Demoux asked. “My lord, he was a thief who robbed from obligators and noblemen. He lived a very dangerous life. You think he could have avoided beatings, near-deaths, and emotional anguish?” Elend paused.

“He gained his powers at the Pits,” Demoux said quietly, “because something else came upon him. People who knew him speak of how he was a changed man when he came back. He had purpose—he was driven to accomplish something the rest of the world thought impossible.” Demoux shook his head. “No, my lord. Kelsier the man died in those Pits, and Kelsier the Survivor was born. He was granted great power, and great wisdom, by a force that is above us all. That is why he accomplished what he did. That is why we worship him. He still had the follies of a man, but he had the hopes of a divinity.” Elend turned away. The rational, scholarly side of him understood exactly what was happening. Kelsier was gradually being deified, his life made more and more mystical by those who followed him. Kelsier had to be invested with heavenly power, for the Church couldn’t continue to revere a mere man.

And yet, another part of Elend was glad for the rationalization, if only because it made the story that much more believable. After all, Demoux was right. How did a man living on the streets last so long before Snapping?

Someone screamed.

Elend looked up, scanning the ranks. Men began to shuffle as the mists appeared, sprouting in the air like growing plants. He couldn’t see the soldier who had fallen. Soon, the point was moot, for others began to scream.

The sun began to be obscured, blazing red as it approached the horizon. Elend’s horse shuffled nervously. The captains ordered the men to remain steady, but Elend could still see motion. In the group before him, pockets appeared in the ranks as men randomly collapsed to the ground, like marionettes whose strings had been cut. They shook on the ground, other soldiers backing away in horror, mist moving all around.

They need me, Elend thought, grabbing his reigns, Pulling on the emotions of those around him. “Demoux, let’s ride.” He turned his horse. Demoux did not follow.

Elend spun. “Demoux? What—”

He choked off immediately. Demoux sat in the mists, shaking horribly. Even as Elend watched, the balding soldier slipped from his saddle, collapsing to the ankle-deep ash below.

“Demoux!” Elend yelled, hopping down, feeling like a fool. He’d never thought to wonder if Demoux was susceptible—he’d just assumed that he, like Vin and the others, was already immune. Elend knelt beside Demoux, his legs in the ash, listening to soldiers scream and captains yell for order. His friend shook and twisted, gasping in pain.

And the ash continued to fall.

Rashek didn’t solve all the world’s problems. In fact, with each thing he did fix, he created new issues. However, he was clever enough that each subsequent problem was smaller than the ones before it. So, instead of plants that died from the distorted sun and ashy ground, we got plants that didn’t provide quite enough nutrition.

He did save the world. True, the near-destruction was his fault in the first place—but he did an admirable job, all things considered. At least he didn’t release Ruin to the world as we did.