She didn't question her place any longer. She was either mad or she was the Hero of Ages. It was her task to defeat the mists. Yet. . .she thought, frowning. Shouldn't the thumpings be getting louder, not softer? The longer they traveled, the weaker the thumpings seemed. Was she too late? Was something happening at the Well to dampen its power? Had someone else already taken it?
We have to keep moving.
Another person in her place might have asked why he had been chosen. Vin had known several men—both in Camon's crew and in Elend's government—who would complain every time they were given an assignment. "Why me?" they would ask. The insecure ones didn't think they were up to the task. The lazy ones wanted out of the work.
Vin didn't consider herself to be either self-assured or self-motivated. Still, she saw no point in asking why. Life had taught her that sometimes things simply happened. Often, there hadn't been any specific reason for Reen to beat her. And, reasons were weak comforts, anyway. The reasons that Kelsier had needed to die were clear to her, but that didn't make her miss him any less.
She had a job to do. The fact that she didn't understand it didn't stop her from acknowledging that she had to try to accomplish it. She simply hoped that she'd know what to do when the time came. Though the thumpings were weaker, they were still there. They drew her forward. To the Well of Ascension.
Behind her, she could feel the lesser vibration of the mist spirit. It never disappeared until the mists themselves did. It had been there all morning, standing just behind her.
"Do you know the secret to this all?" she asked quietly, turning toward the spirit in the reddish mists. "Do you have—"
The Allomantic pulse of the mist spirit was coming from directly inside the tent she shared with Elend.
Vin jumped off the rock, landing on the frosted ground and scrambling to the tent. She threw open the flaps. Elend slept inside, head just barely visible as it poked out of the blankets. Mist filled the small tent, swirling, twisting—and that was odd enough. Mist didn't usually enter tents.
And there, in the middle of the mists, was the spirit. Standing directly above Elend.
It wasn't even really there. It was just an outline in the mists, a repeating pattern caused by chaotic movements. And yet it was real. She could feel it, and she could see it—see it as it looked up, meeting her gaze with invisible eyes.
Hateful eyes.
It raised an insubstantial arm, and Vin saw something flash. She reacted immediately, whipping out a dagger, bursting into the tent and swinging. Her blow met something tangible in the mist spirit's hand. A metallic sound rang in the calm air, and Vin felt a powerful, numbing chill in her arm. The hairs across her entire body prickled.
And then it disappeared. Fading away, like the ringing of its somehow substantial blade. Vin blinked, then turned to look through the blowing tent flap. The mists outside were gone; day had finally won.
It didn't seem to have many victories remaining.
"Vin?" Elend asked, yawning and stirring.
Vin calmed her breathing. The spirit had gone. The daylight meant safety, for now. Once, it was the nights that I found safe, she thought. Kelsier gave them to me.
"What's wrong?" Elend asked. How could someone, even a nobleman, be so slow to rise, so unconcerned about the vulnerability he displayed while sleeping?
She sheathed her dagger. What can I tell him? How can I protect him from something I can barely see? She needed to think. "It was nothing," she said quietly. "Just me. . .being jumpy again."
Elend rolled over, sighing contentedly. "Is Spook doing his morning scout?"
"Yes."
"Wake me when he gets back."
Vin nodded, but he probably couldn't see her. She knelt, looking at him as the sun rose behind her. She'd given herself to him—not just her body, and not just her heart. She'd abandoned her rationalizations, given away her reservations, all for him. She could no longer afford to think that she wasn't worthy of him, no longer give herself the false comfort of believing they couldn't ever be together.
She'd never trusted anyone this much. Not Kelsier, not Sazed, not Reen. Elend had everything. That knowledge made her tremble inside. If she lost him, she would lose herself.
I mustn't think about that! she told herself, rising. She left the tent, quietly closing the flaps behind her. In the distance, shadows moved. Spook appeared a moment later.
"Someone's definitely back there," he said quietly. "Not spirits, Vin. Five men, with a camp."
Vin frowned. "Following us?"
"They must be."
Straff's scouts, she thought. "We'll let Elend decide what to do about them."
Spook shrugged, walking over to sit on her rock. "You going to wake him?"
Vin turned back. "Let him sleep a little longer."
Spook shrugged again. He watched as she walked over to the firepit and unwrapped the wood they'd covered the night before, then began to build a fire.
"You've changed, Vin," Spook said.
She continued to work. "Everyone changes," she said. "I'm not a thief anymore, and I have friends to support me."
"I don't mean that," Spook said. "I mean recently. This last week. You're different than you were."
"Different how?"
"I don't know. You don't seem as frightened all the time."
Vin paused. "I've made some decisions. About who I am, and who I will be. About what I want."
She worked quietly for a moment, and finally got a spark to catch. "I'm tired of putting up with foolishness," she finally said. "Other people's foolishness, and my own. I've decided to act, rather than second-guess. Perhaps it's a more immature way of looking at things. But it feels right, for now."
"It's not immature," Spook said.
Vin smiled, looking up at him. Sixteen and hardly grown into his body, he was the same age that she'd been when Kelsier had recruited her. He was squinting against the light, even though the sun was low.
"Lower your tin," Vin said. "No need to keep it on so strong."
Spook shrugged. She could see the uncertainty in him. He wanted so badly to be useful. She knew that feeling.
"What about you, Spook?" she said, turning to gather the breakfast supplies. Broth and mealcakes again. "How have you been lately?"
He shrugged yet again.
I'd almost forgotten what it was like to try and have a conversation with a teenage boy, she thought, smiling.
"Spook. . ." she said, just testing out the name. "What do you think of that nickname, anyway? I remember when everyone called you by your real name." Lestibournes—Vin had tried to spell it once. She'd gotten about five letters in.
"Kelsier gave me my name," Spook said, as if that were reason enough to keep it. And perhaps it was. Vin saw the look in Spook's eyes when he mentioned Kelsier; Clubs might be Spook's uncle, but Kelsier had been the one he looked up to.
Of course, they all had looked up to Kelsier.
"I wish I were powerful, Vin," Spook said quietly, arms folded on his knees as he sat on the rock. "Like you."
"You have your own skills."
"Tin?" Spook asked. "Almost worthless. If I were Mistborn, I could do great things. Be someone important."
"Being important isn't all that wonderful, Spook," Vin said, listening to the thumpings in her head. "Most of the time, it's just annoying."
Spook shook his head. "If I were Mistborn, I could save people—help people, who need it. I could stop people from dying. But. . .I'm just Spook. Weak. A coward."
Vin looked at him, frowning, but his head was bowed, and he wouldn't meet her eyes.
What was that about? she wondered.
Sazed used a bit of strength to help him take the steps three at a time. He burst out of the stairwell just behind Tindwyl, the two of them joining the remaining members of the crew on the wall top. The drums still sounded; each had a different rhythm as it sounded over the city. The mixing beats echoed chaotically from buildings and alleyways.
The northern horizon seemed bare without Straff's army. If only that same emptiness had extended to the northeast, where the koloss camp seemed in turmoil.
"Can anyone make out what's going on?" Breeze asked.
Ham shook his head. "Too far."
"One of my scouts is a Tineye," Clubs said, hobbling over. "He raised the alarm. Said the koloss were fighting."
"My good man," Breeze said, "aren't the foul creatures always fighting?"
"More than usual," Clubs said. "Massive brawl."
Sazed felt a swift glimmer of hope. "They're fighting?" he said. "Perhaps they will kill each other!"
Clubs eyed him with one of those looks. "Read one of your books, Terrisman. What do they say about koloss emotions?"
"They only have two," Sazed said. "Boredom and rage. But—"
"This is how they always begin a battle," Tindwyl said quietly. "They start to fight among themselves, enraging more and more of their members, and then. . ."
She trailed off, and Sazed saw it. The dark smudge to the east growing lighter. Dispersing. Resolving into individual members.
Charging the city.
"Bloody hell," Clubs swore, then quickly began to hobble down the steps. "Messengers away!" he bellowed. "Archers to the wall! Secure the river grates! Battalions, form positions! Get ready to fight! Do you want those things breaking in here and getting at your children!"
Chaos followed. Men began to dash in all directions. Soldiers scrambled up the stairwells, clogging the way down, keeping the crew from moving.
It's happening, Sazed thought numbly.
"Once the stairwells are open," Dockson said quietly, "I want each of you to go to your battalion. Tindwyl, you have Tin Gate, in the north by Keep Venture. I might need your advice, but for now, stay with those boys. They'll listen to you—they respect Terrismen. Breeze, you have one of your Soothers in each of battalions four through twelve?"
Breeze nodded. "They aren't much, though. . .."
"Just have them keep those boys fighting!" Dockson said. "Don't let our men break!"
"A thousand men are far too many for one Soother to handle, my friend," Breeze said.
"Have them do the best they can," Dockson said. "You and Ham take Pewter Gate and Zinc Gate—looks like the koloss are going to hit here first. Clubs should bring in reinforcements."
The two men nodded; then Dockson looked at Sazed. "You know where to go?"
"Yes. . .yes, I think so," Sazed said, gripping the wall. In the air, flakes of ash began to fall from the sky.
"Go, then!" Dockson said as one final squad of archers made its way out of the stairwell.
"My lord Venture!"
Straff turned. With some stimulants, he was able to remain strong enough to stay atop his saddle—though he wouldn't have dared to fight. Of course, he wouldn't have fought anyway. That wasn't his way. One brought armies to do such things.
He turned his animal as the messenger approached. The man puffed, putting hands on knees as he stopped beside Straff's mount, bits of ash swirling on the ground at his feet.