Mistborn #03 The Hero of Ages

wounded soldiers."
    The woman slumped down, still crying. Yomen sighed, though Elend could see the concern in the man's eyes. Yomen was not a heartless man, just a pragmatic one. In addition, his words made sense. It was no use hiding someone inside all of their lives, just because of the possibility that they might fall to the mists.
    Fall to the mists . . . Elend thought idly, glancing at the boy in bed. He had stopped convulsing, though his face was twisted in an expression of pain. It looked like he hurt so much. Elend had only hurt that much once in his life.
    We never did figure out what this mistsickness was all about, he thought. The mist spirit had never returned to him. But, perhaps Yomen knew something.
    "Yomen," he said, walking up to the man, distracting him from his discussion with the surgeons. "Did any of your people ever figure out the reason for the mist-sickness?"
    "Reason?" Yomen asked. "Does there need to be a reason for a sickness?"
    "There does for one this strange," Elend said. "Did you realize that it strikes down exactly sixteen percent of the population? Sixteen percent—to the man."
    Instead of being surprised, Yomen just shrugged. "Makes sense."
    "Sense?" Elend asked.
    "Sixteen is a powerful number, Venture," Yomen said, looking over some reports. "It was the number of days it took the Lord Ruler to reach the Well of Ascension, for instance. It figures prominently in Church doctrine."
    Of course, Elend thought. Yomen wouldn't be surprised to find order in nature—he believes in a god who ordered that nature.
    "Sixteen . . ." Elend said, glancing at the sick boy.
    "The number of original Inquisitors," Yomen said. "The number of Precepts in each Canton charter. The number of Allomantic metals. The—"
    "Wait," Elend said, looking up. "What?"
    "Allomantic metals," Yomen said.
    "There are only fourteen of those."
    Yomen shook his head. "Fourteen we know of, assuming your lady was right about the metal paired to aluminum. However, fourteen is not a number of power. Allomantic metals come in sets of two, with groupings of four. It seems likely that there are two more we haven't discovered, bringing the number to sixteen. Two by two by two by two. Four physical metals, four mental metals, four enhancement metals, and four temporal metals."
    Sixteen metals . . .
    Elend glanced at the boy again. Pain. Elend had known such pain once—the day his father had ordered him beaten. Beaten to give him such pain that he thought he might die. Beaten to bring his body to a point near death, so that he would Snap.
    Beaten to discover if he was an Allomancer.
    Lord Ruler! Elend thought with shock. He dashed away from Yomen, pushing back into the soldiers' section of the infirmary.
    "Who here was taken by the mists?" Elend demanded.
    The wounded regarded him with quizzical looks.
    "Did any of you get sick?" Elend asked. "When I made you stand out in the mists? Please, I must know!"
    Slowly, the man with one arm raised his remaining hand. "I was taken, my lord. I'm sorry. This wound is probably punishment for—"
    Elend cut the man off, rushing forward, pulling out his spare metal vial. "Drink this," he commanded.
    The man paused, then did as asked. Elend knelt beside the bed eagerly, waiting. His heart pounded in his chest. "Well?" he finally asked.
    "Well . . . what, my lord?" the soldier asked.
    "Do you feel anything?" Elend asked.
    The soldier shrugged. "Tired, my lord?"
    Elend closed his eyes, sighing. It was a silly —
    "Well, that's odd," the soldier suddenly said.
    Elend snapped his eyes open.
    "Yes," the soldier said, looking a bit distracted. "I . . . I don't know what to make of that ."
    "Burn it," Elend said, turning on his bronze. "Your body knows how, if you let it."
    The soldier's frown deepened, and he cocked his head. Then, he began to thump with Allomantic power.
    Elend closed his eyes again, exhaling softly.
    Yomen was walking up behind Elend. "What is this?"
    "The mists were never our enemy, Yomen," Elend said, eyes still closed. "They were just trying to help."
    "Help? Help how? What are you talking about?"
    Elend opened his eyes, turning. "They weren't killing us, Yomen. They weren't making us sick. They were Snapping us. Bringing us power. Making us able to fight."
    "My lord!" a voice suddenly called. Elend turned as a frazzled soldier stumbled into the room. "My lords! The koloss are attacking! They're charging the city!"
    Elend felt a start. Ruin. It knows what I just discovered—it