The Bands of Mourning (Mistborn #6) - Brandon Sanderson Page 0,1
to miss evening recitation.”
“They won’t notice I’m gone. They never check.”
Inside the hut, Master Tellingdwar droned on about proper Terris attitudes. Submission, meekness, and what they called “respectful dignity.” He was speaking to the younger students; the older ones, like Waxillium and his sister, were supposed to be meditating.
Telsin scrambled away, moving through the forested area of Elendel referred to simply as the Village. Waxillium fretted, then hurried after his sister.
“You’re going to get into trouble,” he said once he caught up. He followed her around the trunk of an enormous oak tree. “You’re going to get me into trouble.”
“So?” she said. “What is it with you and rules anyway?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I just—”
She stalked off into the forest. He sighed and trailed after her, and eventually they met up with three other Terris youths: two girls and a tall boy. Kwashim, one of the girls, looked Waxillium up and down. She was dark-skinned and slender. “You brought him?”
“He followed me,” Telsin said.
Waxillium smiled at Kwashim hopefully, then at Idashwy, the other girl. She had wide-set eyes and was his own age. And Harmony … she was gorgeous. She noticed his attention on her and blinked a few times, then glanced away, a demure smile on her lips.
“He’ll tell on us,” Kwashim said, drawing his attention away from the other girl. “You know he will.”
“I won’t,” Waxillium snapped.
Kwashim gave Waxillium a glare. “You might miss evening class. Who’ll answer all the questions? It will be rusting quiet in the classroom with nobody to fawn over the teacher.”
Forch, the tall boy, stood just inside the shadows. Waxillium didn’t look at Forch, didn’t meet his eyes. He doesn’t know, right? He can’t know. Forch was the oldest of them, but rarely said much.
He was Twinborn, like Waxillium. Not that either of them used their Allomancy much these days. In the Village, it was their Terris side—their Feruchemy—that was lauded. The fact that both he and Forch were Coinshots didn’t matter to the Terris.
“Let’s go,” Telsin said. “No more arguing. We probably don’t have much time. If my brother wants to tag along, then fine.”
They followed her beneath the canopy, feet crackling on leaves. With this much foliage, you could easily forget you were in the middle of an enormous city. The sounds of shouting men and iron-shod hooves on cobbles were distant, and you couldn’t see or smell the smoke in here. The Terris worked hard to keep their section of the city tranquil, quiet, peaceful.
Waxillium should have loved it here.
The group of five youths soon approached the Synod’s Lodge, where the ranking Terris elders had their offices. Telsin waved for the group of them to wait while she hurried up to a particular window to listen. Waxillium found himself looking about, anxious. Evening was approaching, the forest growing dim, but anyone could walk along and find them.
Don’t worry so much, he told himself. He needed to join in their antics like his sister did. Then they’d see him as one of them. Right?
Sweat trickled down the sides of his face. Nearby, Kwashim leaned against a tree, completely unconcerned, a smirk growing on her lips as she noticed how nervous he was. Forch stood in the shadows, not crouching, but rusts—he could have been one of the trees, for all the emotion he showed. Waxillium glanced at Idashwy, with her large eyes, and she blushed, looking away.
“Of course it is,” Telsin said. “And she got called into her office for an emergency. Right, Idashwy?”
The quiet girl nodded. “I saw Elder Vwafendal running past my meditation room.”
Kwashim grinned. “So she won’t be watching.”
“Watching what?” Waxillium asked.
“The Tin Gate,” Kwashim said. “We can get out into the city. This is going to be even easier than usual!”
“Usual?” Waxillium said, looking in horror from Kwashim to his sister. “You’ve done this before?”
“Sure,” Telsin said. “Hard to get a good drink in the Village. Great pubs two streets over though.”
“You’re an outsider,” Forch said to him as he stepped up. He spoke slowly, deliberately, as if each word required separate consideration. “Why should you care if we leave? Look, you’re shaking. What are you afraid of? You lived most of your life out there.”
You’re an outsider, they said. Why was his sister always able to worm her way into any group? Why did he always have to stand on the outside?
“I’m not shaking,” Waxillium said to Forch. “I just don’t want to get into