Brandon SANDERSON: The Well of Ascension

It’s that atium , Elend thought with frustration. He’d never found the Lord Ruler’s cache – but that didn’t stop the despots in the empire from assuming he was hiding it somewhere.

“Well, at least your father didn’t send the assassins,” Ham said, ever the optimist.

Elend shook his head. “Our relationship wouldn’t stop him, Ham. Trust me.”

“He’s your father,” Ham said, looking troubled.

“Things like that don’t matter to Straff. He probably hasn’t sent assassins because he doesn’t think I’m worth the trouble. If we last long enough, though, he will.”

Ham shook his head. “I’ve heard of sons killing their fathers to take their place… but fathers killing their sons… I wonder what that says about old Straff’s mind, that he’d be willing to kill you. You think that–”

“Ham?” Elend interrupted.

“Hum?”

“You know I’m usually good for a discussion, but I don’t really have time for philosophy right now.”

“Oh, right.” Ham smiled wanly, standing and moving to go. “I should get back to Mardra anyway.”

Elend nodded, rubbing his forehead and picking up his pen yet again. “Make sure you gather the crew for a meeting. We need to organize our allies, Ham. If we don’t come up with something incredibly clever, this kingdom may be doomed.”

Ham turned back, still smiling. “You make it sound so desperate, El.”

Elend looked over at him. “The Assembly is a mess, a half-dozen warlords with superior armies are breathing down my neck, barely a month passes without someone sending assassins to kill me, and the woman I love is slowly driving me insane.”

Vin snorted at this last part.

“Oh, is that all?” Ham said. “See? It’s not so bad after all. I mean, we could be facing an immortal god and his all-powerful priests instead.”

Elend paused, then chuckled despite himself. “Good night, Ham,” he said, turning back to his proposal.

“Good night, Your Majesty.”

THE BODY SHOWED NO OVERT wounds. It still lay where it had fallen – the other villagers had been afraid to move it. Its arms and legs were twisted in awkward positions, the dirt around it scuffed from predeath thrashings.

Sazed reached out, running his fingers along one of the marks. Though the soil here in the Eastern Dominance held far more clay than soil did in the north, it was still more black than it was brown. Ashfalls came even this far south. Ashless soil, washed clean and fertilized, was a luxury used only for the ornamental plants of noble gardens. The rest of the world had to do what it could with untreated soil.

“You say that he was alone when he died?” Sazed asked, turning to the small cluster of villagers standing behind him.

A leather-skinned man nodded. “Like I said, Master Terrisman. He was just standing there, no one else about. He paused, then he fell and wiggled on the ground for a bit. After that, he just… stopped moving.”

Sazed turned back to the corpse, studying the twisted muscles, the face locked in a mask of pain. Sazed had brought his medical coppermind – the metal armband wrapped around his upper right arm – and he reached into it with his mind, pulling out some of the memorized books he had stored therein. Yes, there were some diseases that killed with shakes and spasms. They rarely took a man so suddenly, but it sometimes happened. If it hadn’t been for other circumstances, Sazed would have paid the death little heed.

“Please, repeat to me again what you saw,” Sazed asked.

The leather-skinned man at the front of the group, Teur, paled slightly. He was in an odd position – his natural desire for notoriety would make him want to gossip about his experience. However, doing so could earn the distrust of his superstitious fellows.

“I was just passing by, Master Terrisman,” Teur said. “On the path twenty yards yon. I seen old Jed working his field – a hard worker, he was. Some of us took a break when the lords left, but old Jed just kept on. Guess he knew we’d be needing food for the winter, lords or no lords.”

Teur paused, then glanced to the side. “I know what people say, Master Terrisman, but I seen what I seen. It was day when I passed, but there was mist in the valley here. It stopped me, because I’ve never been out in the mist – my wife’ll vouch me that. I was going to turn back, and then I seen old Jed. He was just working away, as if he hadn’t seen the mist.

“I was going to call out to him, but before I could, he just… well, like I told you. I seen him standing there, then he froze. The mist swirled about him a bit, then he began to jerk and twist, like something really strong was holding him and shaking him. He fell. Didn’t get up after that.”

Still kneeling, Sazed looked back at the corpse. Teur apparently had a reputation for tall tales. Yet, the body was a chilling corroboration – not to mention Sazed’s own experience several weeks before.

Mist during the day.

Sazed stood, turning toward the villagers. “Please fetch for me a shovel.”

Nobody helped him dig the grave. It was slow, muggy work in the southern heat, which was strong despite the advent of autumn. The clay earth was difficult to move – but, fortunately, Sazed had a bit of extra stored-up strength inside a pewtermind, and he tapped it for help.

He needed it, for he wasn’t what one would call an athletic man. Tall and long-limbed, he had the build of a scholar, and still wore the colorful robes of a Terris steward. He also still kept his head shaved, after the manner of the station he had served in for the first forty-some years of his life. He didn’t wear much of his jewelry now – he didn’t want to tempt highway bandits – but his earlobes were stretched out and pierced with numerous holes for earrings.

Tapping strength from his pewtermind enlarged his muscles slightly, giving him the build of a stronger man. Even with the extra strength, however, his steward’s robes were stained with sweat and dirt by the time he finished digging. He rolled the body into the grave, and stood quietly for a moment. The man had been a dedicated farmer.

Sazed searched through his religions coppermind for an appropriate theology. He started with an index – one of the many that he had created. When he had located an appropriate religion, he pulled free detailed memories about its practices. The writings entered his mind as fresh as when he had just finished memorizing them. They would fade, with time, like all memories – however, he intended to place them back in the coppermind long before that happened. It was the way of the Keeper, the method by which his people retained enormous wealths of information.

This day, the memories he selected were of HaDah, a southern religion with an agricultural deity. Like most religions – which had been oppressed during the time of the Lord Ruler – the HaDah faith was a thousand years extinct.

Following the dictates of the HaDah funeral ceremony, Sazed walked over to a nearby tree – or, at least, one of the shrublike plants that passed for trees in this area. He broke off a long branch – the peasants watching him curiously – and carried it back to the grave. He stooped down and drove it into the dirt at the bottom of the hole, just beside the corpse’s head. Then he stood and began to shovel dirt back into the grave.

The peasants watched him with dull eyes. So depressed , Sazed thought. The Eastern Dominance was the most chaotic and unsettled of the five Inner Dominances. The only men in this crowd were well past their prime. The press gangs had done their work efficiently; the husbands and fathers of this village were likely dead on some battlefield that no longer mattered.