The Hero of Ages (Mistborn, #3)

by Brandon Sanderson

Near the end, the ash began to pile up in frightening amounts. I’ve spoken of the microbes the Lord Ruler devised to help the world deal with the ashfalls. They did not really feed on ash. Rather, they broke it down as an aspect of their metabolic functions. Volcanic ash is good for soil, depending on what one wishes to grow. Too much of anything, however, is deadly. Water is necessary for survival, yet too much will drown. During the history of the Final Empire, the land balanced on the very knife-edge of disaster via the ash. The microbes broke it down about as rapidly as it fell, but when there was so much of it that it oversaturated the soil, it became more difficult for plants to survive. In the end, the entire system fell apart. Ash fell so steadily that it smothered and killed, and the world’s plant life died off. The microbes had no chance of keeping up, for they needed time and nutrients to reproduce.

The pact between Preservation and Ruin is a thing of gods, and difficult to explain in human terms. Indeed, initially there was a stalemate between them. On one hand, each knew that only by working together could they create. On the other hand, both knew that they would never have complete satisfaction in what they created. Preservation would not be able to keep things perfect and unchanging, and Ruin would not be able to destroy completely. Of course, Ruin eventually acquired the ability to end the world and gain the satisfaction he wanted. But then, that wasn’t originally part of the bargain.

Preservation’s desire to create sapient life was what eventually broke the stalemate. In order to give humankind awareness and independent thought, Preservation knew that he would have to give up part of himself—his own soul—to dwell within humankind. This would leave him a tiny bit weaker than his opposite, Ruin. That tiny bit seemed inconsequential, compared with their total vast sums of power. However, over eons, this tiny flaw would allow Ruin to overcome Preservation, thereby bringing an end to the world. This, then, was their bargain. Preservation got humankind, the only creations that had more Preservation than Ruin in them, rather than a balance. Independent life that could think and feel. In exchange, Ruin was given a promise—and proof—that he could bring an end to all they had created together. It was the pact. And Preservation eventually broke it.

By sacrificing most of his consciousness, Preservation created Ruin’s prison, breaking their deal and trying to keep Ruin from destroying what they had created. This event left their powers again nearly balanced—Ruin imprisoned, only a trace of himself capable of leaking out. Preservation reduced to a mere wisp of what he once was, barely capable of thought and action. These two minds were independent of the raw force of their powers. Actually, I am uncertain how thoughts and personalities came to be attached to the powers in the first place—but I believe they were not there originally. For both powers could be detached from the minds that harnessed them.

It was an odd realization. The deep truth was, he really did trust Vin as more than a person. She was more like a force. Almost a god? It seemed silly, thinking about that directly. She was his wife. Even though he was a member of the Church of the Survivor, it felt wrong to worship her, to think her divine.

Elend slumped to his knees. The ash came up to his chest. Perhaps this was one last reason why he’d wanted to walk home alone. When others were around, he felt as if he had to be optimistic. But alone he could face the truth.

“They’re killing my men,” Elend said. It stepped forward, then stood still, somehow looking urgent. Elend frowned. “You reacted to that. You mean to say they aren’t killing my men?” It waved.

I don’t know why Preservation decided to use his last bit of life appearing to Elend during his trek back to Fadrex. From what I understand, Elend didn’t learn much from the meeting. By then, Preservation was but a shadow of himself—and that shadow was under immense destructive pressure from Ruin. Perhaps Preservation—or the remnants of what he had been—wanted to get Elend alone. Or perhaps he saw Elend kneeling in that field, and knew that the emperor of men was very close to lying down in the ash, never to rise again. Either way, Preservation did appear, and in so doing exposed himself to Ruin’s attacks. Gone were the days when Preservation could turn away an Inquisitor with a bare gesture; gone were the days when he could strike a man down to bleed and die. By the time Elend saw the “mist spirit,” Preservation must have been barely coherent. I wonder what Elend would have done, had he known that he was in the presence of a dying god—that on that night, he had been the last witness of Preservation’s passing. If Elend had waited a few more minutes on that ashen field, he would have seen a body—short of stature, black hair, prominent nose—fall from the mists and slump dead onto the ground. As it was, the corpse was left alone to be buried in ash. The world was dying. Its gods had to die with it.

“Faith,” Spook said, “means that it doesn’t matter what happens. You can trust that somebody is watching. Trust that somebody will make it all right.”

I have come to see that each power has three aspects: a physical one, which can be seen in the creations made by Ruin and Preservation; a spiritual one in the unseen energy that permeates the whole world; and a cognitive one in the minds who controlled that energy. There is more to this. Much more that even I do not yet comprehend.

Good men will kill as quickly for what they want as evil men—only the things they want are different.”

Once you begin to understand these things, you can see how Ruin was trapped even though Preservation’s mind was gone, expended to create the prison. Though Preservation’s consciousness was mostly wiped out, his spirit and body were still in force. And as an opposite force of Ruin, these could still prevent Ruin from destroying. Or at least keep him from destroying things too quickly. Once his mind was freed from its prison, the destruction accelerated rapidly.

You want to be like Kelsier? Really like Kelsier? Then fight when you are beaten!

Survive!

I named you, Spook. You were my friend.

Survivor of the Flames.

I do not know what went on in the minds of the koloss—what memories they retained, what human emotions they truly still knew. I do know that our discovery of the one creature, who named himself Human, was tremendously fortunate. Without his struggle to become human again, we might never have understood how the koloss, the Inquisitors, and Hemalurgy were linked. Of course, there was another part for him to play. Granted, not a large one, but still important, all things considered.

They had been refilled somehow.

The prison Preservation created for Ruin was not created out of Preservation’s power, though it was of Preservation. Rather, Preservation sacrificed his consciousness—one could say his mind—to fabricate that prison. He left a shadow of himself, but Ruin, once escaped, began to suffocate and isolate this small vestige of his rival. I wonder if Ruin ever thought it strange that Preservation had cut himself off from his own power, relinquishing it and leaving it in the world, to be gathered and used by humankind. In Preservation’s gambit, I see nobility, cleverness, and desperation. He knew that he could not defeat Ruin. He had given too much of himself, and beyond that he was the embodiment of stasis and stability. He could not destroy, not even to protect. It was against his nature. Hence the prison. Humankind, however, had been created by both Ruin and Preservation—with a hint of Preservation’s own soul to give them sapience and honor. In order for the world to survive, Preservation knew he had to depend upon his creations. To give them his trust.

I wonder what he thought when those creations repeatedly failed him.

I don’t wonder that we focused far too much on the mists during those days. But from what I now know of sunlight and plant development, I realize that our crops weren’t in as much danger from misty days as we feared. We might well have been able to find plants to eat that did not need as much light to survive. True, the mists did also cause some deaths in those who went out in them, but the number killed was not a large enough percentage of the population to be a threat to our survival as a species. The ash, that was our real problem. The smoke filling the atmosphere, the black flakes covering up everything beneath, the eruptions of the volcanic Ashmounts … Those were what would kill the world.

I suspect that Alendi, the man Rashek killed, was himself a Misting—a Seeker. Allomancy, however, was a different thing in those days, and much more rare. The Allomancers alive in our day are the descendants of the men who ate those few beads of Preservation’s power. They formed the foundation of the nobility, and were the first to name Rashek emperor. The power in those few beads was so concentrated that it could last through ten centuries of breeding and inheritance.

How did men believe in something that preached love on one hand, yet taught destruction of unbelievers on the other? How did one rationalize belief with the lack of proof? How could they honestly expect him to have faith in something that taught of miracles and wonders in the far past, but carefully gave excuses for why such things didn’t occur in the present day?

I thought myself the Holy First Witness, it said,

“No,” TenSoon said. “He didn’t kill them. You call the Father a monster, but he was not an evil man. He didn’t kill his friends, though he did recognize the threat their powers posed to him. So he offered them a bargain, speaking directly to their minds while he was holding the power of creation.” “What bargain?” Breeze asked, clearly confused. “Immortality,” TenSoon said quietly. “In exchange for their Feruchemy. They gave it up, along with something else.” Sazed stared at the creature in the hallway, a creature who thought like a man but had the form of a beast. “They gave up their humanity,” Sazed whispered. TenSoon nodded. “They live on?” Sazed asked, stepping forward. “The Lord Ruler’s companions? The very Terrismen who climbed to the Well with him?” “We call them the First Generation,” TenSoon said. “The founders of the kandra people. The Father transformed every living Feruchemist into a mistwraith, beginning that race. His good

friends, however, he returned to sapience with a few Hemalurgic spikes. You’ve done your work poorly, Keeper. I expected that you’d drag this out of me long before I had to leave.”

I’ve been a fool, Sazed thought, blinking away te...

The Terris faith is not dead!

Ruin tried many times to get spikes into other members of the crew. Though some of what happened makes it seem that it was easy for him to gain control of people, it in fact was not. Inserting a spike in precisely the right place—at the right time—was incredibly difficult, even for as subtle a creature as Ruin. For instance, he tried very hard to spike both Elend and Yomen. Elend managed to avoid it each time, as he did on the field outside the small town that contained the next-to-last storage cache. Ruin did manage to get a spike into Yomen once. Yomen, however, removed the spike before Ruin got a firm grip on him. It was much easier for Ruin to get a hold on people who were passionate and impulsive than it was for him to hold on to people who were logical and prone to working through their actions in their minds.

One might notice that Ruin did not send his Inquisitors to Fadrex until after Yomen had—apparently—confirmed that the atium was there in the city. Why not send them as soon as the final cache was located? Where were his minions in all of this? One must realize that Ruin considered all people his minions, particularly those whom he could manipulate directly. He didn’t send an Inquisitor because they were busy doing other tasks. Instead he sent someone who, in his mind, was the exact same thing as an Inquisitor. He tried to spike Yomen and failed, and by that time Elend’s army had arrived. So he used a different pawn to investigate the cache for him and discover if the atium really was there or not. He didn’t commit too many resources to the city at first, fearing a deception from the Lord Ruler. I still wonder, as Ruin did, if the caches were in part intended for just that purpose—to distract him and keep him occupied.

“Then return here with something I can use to scratch the metal. These words must be written in steel, and I cannot speak them aloud.”

In those moments when the Lord Ruler held the power at the Well but was feeling it drain away from him, he understood a great many things. He saw what Feruchemy could do, and rightly feared it. Many of the Terris people, he knew, would reject him as the Hero, for he didn’t fulfill their prophecies well. They’d see him as the usurper he was—the one who killed the Hero they sent. I think, over the years, Ruin would subtly twist him to do terrible things to his own people. But at the beginning, I suspect his antagonism toward them was motivated more by logic than by emotion. He was about to unveil a grand power in the Mistborn. I suppose he could have kept Allomancy secret and used Feruchemists as his primary warriors and assassins. However, I think he was wise to choose as he did. Feruchemists, by the nature of their powers, have a tendency toward scholarship. With their incredible memories, they would have been very difficult to control over the centuries. Indeed they were difficult to control even when he suppressed them. Allomancy not only provided a spectacular new ability without that

drawback, but it offered a mystical power he could use to bribe kings to his side.

“You can’t fool me, Vin,” Ruin said. “I am God.” Marsh raised one hand—releasing her arm—then swung one hand toward her. He moved with power, Allomantic pewter clearly burning within him. Vin flipped her hand up and downed the vial of metals she’d stolen from his sash. Marsh froze, and Ruin fell silent. Vin smiled.

Inquisitors had little chance of resisting Ruin. They had more spikes than any of his other Hemalurgic creations, and that put them completely under his domination. Yes, it would have taken a supreme will for anyone to resist Ruin even slightly while bearing the spikes of an Inquisitor.

“Good luck,” Sazed said. “May … our god preserve you.”

My name is Sazed, Keeper of Terris, and I have been sent to speak with the First Generation.”

Koloss also had little chance of breaking free. Four spikes, and their diminished mental capacity, left them open to domination. Only in the throes of a blood frenzy did they have a taste of true autonomy. Four spikes made them easier for Allomancers to control. In our time, it required a duralumin Push to take control of a kandra. Koloss, however, could be taken by a determined ordinary Push, particularly when they were afraid.

When the Lord Ruler offered his plan to his Feruchemist friends—the plan to change them into mistwraiths—he was making them speak on behalf of all the land’s Feruchemists. Though he changed his friends into kandra to restore their minds and memories, the rest he left as nonsapient mistwraiths. These bred more of their kind, living and dying, becoming a race unto themselves. From these children of the original mistwraiths, he made the next generations of kandra. However, even gods can make mistakes, I have learned. Rashek, the Lord Ruler, thought to transform all of the living Feruchemists into mistwraiths. But he did not think of the genetic heritage left in the other Terris people, whom he left alive. So it was that Feruchemists continued being born, if only rarely. This oversight cost him much, but gained the world so much more.

The question remains, where did the original prophecies about the Hero of Ages come from? I now know that Ruin changed them, but did not fabricate them. Who first taught that a Hero would come, one who would be an emperor of all humankind, yet would be rejected by his own people? Who first stated he would carry the future of the world on his arms, or that he would repair that which had been sundered? And who decided to use the neutral pronoun, so that we wouldn’t know whether the Hero was a woman or a man?

For in that moment, Ruin had feared her.

Quellion actually placed his spike himself, as I understand it. The man was never entirely stable. His fervor toward following Kelsier and killing the nobility was enhanced by Ruin, but Quellion already had the impulses. His passionate paranoia bordered on insanity at times, and Ruin was able to prod him into placing that crucial spike. His spike was bronze, and he made it from one of the first Allomancers he captured. That spike made him a Seeker, which was one of the ways he was able to find and blackmail so many Allomancers during his time as king of Urteau. My point here is that people with unstable personalities were more susceptible to Ruin’s influence, even if they didn’t have a spike in them. That is likely how Zane got his spike.

There is something special about the number sixteen. For one thing, it was Preservation’s sign to humankind. Preservation knew, before he imprisoned Ruin, that he wouldn’t be able to communicate with humankind once he diminished himself. So he left clues—clues that couldn’t be altered by Ruin. Clues that related to the fundamental laws of the universe. The number was meant to be proof that something unnatural was happening, and that there was help to be found. It may have taken us long to figure this out, but when we eventually did understand the clue—late though it was—it provided a much-needed boost. As for the other aspects of the number … well, even I am still investigating that. Suffice it to say that it has great ramifications regarding how the world and the universe itself works.

Yes, there are sixteen metals. I find it highly unlikely that the Lord Ruler did not know of them all. Indeed, the fact that he spoke of several on the plaques in the storage caches meant that he knew at least of those. I must assume that he did not tell humankind of them earlier for a reason. Perhaps he held them back to give him a secret edge, much as he held back the single nugget of Preservation’s body that made men into Mistborn. Or perhaps he decided that humankind had enough power in the ten metals they already understood. Some things we shall never know. Part of me still finds what he did regrettable. During the thousand-year reign of the Lord Ruler, how many people were born, Snapped, lived, and died never knowing that they were Mistings, simply because their metals were unknown? Of course, this did give us a slight advantage at the end. Ruin had a lot of trouble giving duralumin to his Inquisitors, since they’d need an Allomancer who could burn it to kill before they could use it. And since none of the duralumin Mistings in the world knew about their power, they didn’t burn it and reveal themselves to Ruin. That left most Inquisitors without the power of duralumin, save in a few important cases—such as Marsh—where they got it from a Mistborn. This was usually considered a waste, for if a Mistborn was killed with Hemalurgy, only one of their sixteen powers could be drawn out and the rest would be lost. Ruin deemed it much better to try to subvert them and gain acc...

She launched off the wall, shooting through the mist, ash, and rain. She wore her mistcloak, more out of nostalgia than utility. It was the same one she’d always had—the one that Kelsier had given her on her very first night of training.

From the Well of Ascension, of course, a voice whispered in her head. It’s the same power, after all. Solid in the metal you fed to Elend. Liquid in the pool you burned. And vapor in the air, confined to night. Hiding you. Protecting you. Giving you power! Vin gasped, drawing in breath—a breath that sucked in the mists. She felt suddenly warm, the mists surging within her, lending her their strength. Her entire body burned like metal, and the pain disappeared in a flash. Marsh swung his axe for her head, spraying water. And she caught his arm.

I have spoken of the Inquisitors’ ability to pierce copperclouds. As I said, this power is easily understood when one realizes that many Inquisitors were Seekers before their transformation, which meant their bronze became twice as strong. There is at least one other case of a person who could pierce copperclouds. In her case, however, the situation was slightly different. She was a Mistborn from birth, and her sister was the Seeker. The death of that sister—and subsequent inheritance of power via the Hemalurgic spike used to kill that sister— left her twice as strong at burning bronze as a typical Mistborn. And that let her see through the copperclouds of lesser Allomancers.

She shouldn’t have been alive. She’d run out of pewter, yet she felt it flaring inside, burning brighter than it ever had before. She felt like the bleeding sun blazed within her, running molten through her veins.

She once asked Ruin why he had chosen her. The primary answer is simple. It had little to do with her personality, attitudes, or skill with Allomancy. She was merely the sole child Ruin could find who was in a position to gain the right Hemalurgic spike—one that would grant her heightened power with bronze, which would then let her sense the location of the Well of Ascension. She had an insane mother and a sister who was a Seeker, and was herself Mistborn. That was precisely the combination Ruin needed. There were other reasons, of course. But even Ruin didn’t know those.

Some important decisions were made in public, on a battlefield or in a conference room. But others happened quietly, unseen by others. That didn’t make the decision any less important to Sazed. He would believe. Not because something had been proven to him beyond his ability to deny. But because he chose to.