Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

Elend asked.
    "Honestly, Your Majesty?"
    "Of course."
    "It is offensive and degrading," OreSeur said.
    Vin raised an eyebrow. That's forward of you, Renoux , she thought. Feeling a little belligerent today, are we ?
    He glanced at her, and she tried—unsuccessfully—to read his canine expression.
    "But," Elend said, "you'll wear the body anyway, right?"
    "Of course, Your Majesty," OreSeur said. "I would die before breaking the Contract. It is life."
    Elend nodded to Vin, as if he'd just made a major point.
    Anyone can claim loyalty , Vin thought. If someone has a "Contract" to ensure their honor, then all the better. That makes the surprise more poignant when they do turn on you .
    Elend was obviously waiting for something. Vin sighed. "OreSeur, we'll be spending more time together in the future."
    "If that is what you wish, Mistress."
    "I'm not sure if it is or not," Vin said. "But it's going to happen anyway. How well can you move about in that body?"
    "Well enough, Mistress."
    "Come on," she said, "let's see if you can keep up."

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 my plans will fail .
    Afraid of a doom worse, even, than the Deepness .

7
    SAZED NEVER THOUGHT HE'D HAVE reason to appreciate dirt floors. However, they proved remarkably useful in writing instruction. He drew several words in the dirt with a long stick, giving his half-dozen students a model. They proceeded to scribble their own copies, rewriting the words several times.
    Even after living among various groups of rural skaa for a year, Sazed was still surprised by their meager resources. There wasn't a single piece of chalk in the entire village, let alone ink or paper. Half the children ran around naked, and the only shelters were the hovels—long, one-room structures with patchy roofs. The skaa had farming tools, fortunately, but no manner of bows or slings for hunting.
    Sazed had led a scavenging mission up to the plantation's abandoned manor. The leavings had been meager. He'd suggested that the village elders relocate their people to the manor itself for the winter, but he doubted they would do so. They had visited the manor with apprehension, and many hadn't been willing to leave Sazed's side. The place reminded them of lords—and lords reminded them of pain.
    His students continued to scribble. He had spent quite a bit of effort explaining to the elders why writing was so important. Finally, they had chosen him some students—partially, Sazed was sure, just to appease him. He shook his head slowly as he watched them write. There was no passion in their learning. They came because they were ordered, and because "Master Terrisman" willed it, not because of any real desire for education.
    During the days before the Collapse, Sazed had often imagined what the world would be like once the Lord Ruler was gone. He had pictured the Keepers emerging, bringing forgotten knowledge and truths to an excited, thankful populace. He'd imagined teaching before a warm hearth at night, telling stories to an eager audience. He'd never paused to consider a village, stripped of its working men, whose people were too exhausted at night to bother with tales from the past. He'd never imagined a people who seemed more annoyed by his presence than thankful.
    You must be patient with them , Sazed told himself sternly. His dreams now seemed like hubris. The Keepers who had come before him, the hundreds who had died keeping their knowledge safe and quiet, had never expected praise or accolades. They had performed their great task with solemn anonymity.
    Sazed stood up and inspected his students' writings. They were getting better—they could recognize all of the letters. It wasn't much, but it was a start. He nodded to the group, dismissing them to help prepare the evening meal.
    They bowed, then scattered. Sazed followed them out, then realized how dim the sky was; he had probably kept his students too late. He shook his head as he strolled between the hill-like hovels. He again wore his steward's robes, with their colorful V-shaped patterns, and he had put in several of his earrings. He kept to the old ways because they were familiar, even though they were also a symbol of oppression. How would future Terris generations dress? Would a lifestyle forced upon them by the Lord Ruler become an innate part of their culture?
    He paused at the edge of the village,