Mistborn #02 The Well of Ascension

up his lamp to reveal. . .
    A wall. The room ended abruptly, and his light sparkled off the wall. It held a steel plate, like those above. This one was a good five feet across, and nearly as tall. And it bore writing. Suddenly interested, Sazed set down his pack and stepped forward, raising his lamp to read the top words on the wall.
    The text was in Terris.
    It was an old dialect, certainly, but one that Sazed could make out even without his language coppermind. His hand trembled as he read the words.
I write these words in steel, for anything not set in metal cannot be trusted .
I have begun to wonder if I am the only sane man remaining. Can the others not see? They have been waiting so long for their hero to come—the one spoken of in Terris prophecies—that they quickly jump between conclusions, presuming that each story and legend applies to this one man .
My brethren ignore the other facts. They cannot connect the other strange things that are happening. They are deaf to my objections and blind to my discoveries .
Perhaps they are right. Perhaps I am mad, or jealous, or simply daft. My name is Kwaan. Philosopher, scholar, traitor. I am the one who discovered Alendi, and I am the one who first proclaimed him to be the Hero of Ages. I am the one who started this all .
And I am the one who betrayed him, for I now know that he must never be allowed to complete his quest .
    "Sazed."
    Sazed jumped, nearly dropping the lamp. Marsh stood in the doorway behind him. Imperious, discomforting, and so dark. He fit this place, with its lines and hardness.
    "The upstairs quarters are empty," Marsh said. "This trip has been a waste—my brethren took anything of use with them."
    "Not a waste, Marsh," Sazed said, turning back to the plate of text. He hadn't read all of it; he hadn't even gotten close. The script was written in a tight, cramped hand, its etchings coating the wall. The steel had preserved the words despite their obvious age. Sazed's heart beat a little faster.
    This was a fragment of text from before the Lord Ruler's reign. A fragment written by a Terris philosopher—a holy man. Despite ten centuries of searching, the Keepers had never fulfilled the original goal of their creation: they had never discovered their own Terris religion.
    The Lord Ruler had squelched Terris religious teachings soon after his rise to power. His persecution of the Terris people—his own people—had been the most complete of his long reign, and the Keepers had never found more than vague fragments regarding what their own people had once believed.
    "I have to copy this down, Marsh," Sazed said, reaching for his pack. Taking a visual memory wouldn't work—no man could stare at a wall of so much text, then remember the words. He could, perhaps, read them into his coppermind. However, he wanted a physical record, one that perfectly preserved the structure of lines and punctuation.
    Marsh shook his head. "We will not stay here. I do not think we should even have come."
    Sazed paused, looking up. Then he pulled several large sheets of paper from his pack. "Very well, then," he said. "I'll take a rubbing. That will be better anyway, I think. It will let me see the text exactly as it was written."
    Marsh nodded, and Sazed got out his charcoal.
    This discovery . . .he thought with excitement. This will be like Rashek's logbook. We are getting close !
    However, even as he began the rubbing—his hands moving carefully and precisely—another thought occurred to him. With a text like this in his possession, his sense of duty would no longer let him wander the villages. He had to return to the north to share what he had found, lest he die and this text be lost. He had to go to Terris.
    Or. . .to Luthadel. From there he could send messages north. He had a valid excuse to get back to the center of action, to see the other crewmembers again.
    Why did that make him feel even more guilty?

When I finally had the realization—finally connected all of the signs of the Anticipation to Alendi—I was so excited. Yet, when I announced my discovery to the other Worldbringers, I was met with scorn .
    Oh, how I wish that I had listened to them .

13
    MIST SWIRLED AND SPUN, LIKE monochrome paints running together on a canvas. Light died in the west, and night came of age.
    Vin frowned. "Does it seem like the mists are coming earlier?"
    "Earlier?" OreSeur asked in his muffled voice. The kandra wolfhound sat next to her on the rooftop.
    Vin nodded.